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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 (8,259 Views) | |||
| Storyteller[ST] | Mon Dec 12, 2016 5:56 am Post #301 | ||
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Save Civilians - Inferna, Keter, Yurim The building that was once a Shadow Temple is a dilapidated structure made of interlaced white and black stone. Based on the spacing of the lantern stands, you suspect that long ago the lighting would have created a complex pattern of shadows on the floor, walls and ceiling: an artistic interplay of light and darkness that is so critical to the abilities of people called Shadowdancers. Whoever Inferna can't evacuate using the Burning Hatred is instead taken by either Keter, Yurim or the Friends. The latter faction have hardened considerably from experience. Many have awakened powers of their own, able to fade and manipulate the shadows cast by the wildfire. Injured and uninjured alike are now gathered in the frigid halls, wondering what's next. Save Posse - Glug, Alex, Tanya Your mounts' hooves sink into two feet of snow as you proceed into the backswamps. Darktrees push up from layers of ice. Bioluminescent moths flutter around you, attracted to the scent of blood. You start spotting pieces of airship tangled in swamp-boughs almost immediately, but the primary mass of the craft is even deeper. The aft of the ship is pointing almost straight up, leaving a forest of ruined wood in the spaces around it. Tangled vines and branches, even high above your head, make it look like the swamp is already trying to reclaim the area. Glug, as you and Tanya work your way deeper into the wreck field, you spot movement under the ruined planks of wood. Viktor's hand shoots up, forming a fist. It slams palm-down onto the ground and drags itself out. The limb is not connected to anything, but it crawls and crawls, digging its fingertips in so hard that the skin rips. As you follow the limb's path, you come across a woman you don't recognize. She has medium skin, black hair, spectacles, and is wearing the grey rags of a prisoner. Her leg is pinned under a beam, and she's surrounded by the dregs of the Dalca Brothers Gang and the Quiet Road. Mangled, eyeless, but trying to help each other. "That bounty hunter wandered off," Bacek tells you. "Aufdein!" "Yes?" the familiar voice says as it pushes through the crowd. Its owner is in ruined robes, unmasked. Aufdein Korso's body is covered in interlacing bony plates with hinged joints. The merchant's face is a series of complex parts including a curled, needle-tipped proboscis; a couple pairs of finger-like mouthparts; and eye-bundles with disturbingly human irises. He has a couple crests made of feathery antennae. Further evoking a moth are his three, formerly four, wings, each patterned to show a convincing-looking mimicry of eyes. Those wings are covered in scales so small that they appear to give off powder when touched. Korso's three -- formerly four -- arms are tipped with spindly finger-like claws, four fingers each. Pressed together they could have convincingly looked like two human-sized arms. His whole body is covered in white hair-like structures, making him look warm and maybe even a bit fuzzy. The hairs on his face are carefully preened into a fashionable human style, something like a mustache and beard. When Aufdein Korso sees that you have more supplies, Tanya, he's quick to accept the offering. "Thank you for coming to help us! I was worried we'd be left for dead." You also give supplies away to anyone who is well enough to administer them. Tanya, you move into the wreckage to go "below deck." The room is dark save for the occasional flicker of raw mana oozing out of a flight rune. You see a massive form chained to some kind of monster-anchoring Aufdein Korso invention. Etchings, once dim, flare up with a blue glow. They're all shaped like the numeral II, covering the body of the beast. They reflect off the monster's dark green scales, which cover his whole body now. One of his antlers has broken clean off. His mouth is hinged open, and his throat gives off a blue glow from deep within. But his eyes? Those human eyes, grafted onto scarred sockets, are dull like the dead. Ansgar moves in place, settling onto his haunches and then pushing up into a sitting position. He's even bigger than he used to be. He has a long, whiplike tail. Spurs of bone have broken from his hide, bleeding blue light. He holds himself with a hunched posture, feral. And when he looks at you in the eyes, Tanya, and assesses you, his lower jaw hinges in half like a snake and he releases a deafening metallic scream straight in your face. You dauntlessly force the Clearsense cure into his tooth-lined mouth. The draconid's muscles relax. His eyes, while still cloudy, focus on you regardless. "Look. Let this undying body serve as proof of my devotion. With the Doctrine cut into my skin, I am free of the False God's sanctity. His idolators will never use me to fuel their ghastly devices again." He clenches his fists. "Release me! I will purge this dying land of all the False God has touched! The puppets of he and his woman-king will bleed the colors of the Motherland and her Doctrine! Release me now!" Meanwhile, Glug, you try to help in the area where Bacek is trapped. "Let's hitch your draft horse to the beam and get the lionesses in on it," she instructs you. "With everyone's strength combined, we should be able to lift it and the connected debris enough to slide me out. I'll need a splint and crutches, maybe an amputation, but I'll manage." Alexandra, you work out a meeting place at the edge of town to go see Czajka. She weakly agrees with your suggestions. You find her a ways away from the meeting point, slumped at the base of a darktree and picking senka off of her eyes with her remaining strength. Alien semi-spirits cover her body. More are bubbling out of the undergrowth, undulating in her direction. You lift her up and put her on Apple's back. She slumps forward, limp against you with her head resting on your shoulder, eyes closed. She's not even holding onto you. Alex, she feels incredibly cold to you, and her breaths are coming way too slow -- maybe two or three a minute. You summon Vixy and send the elemental off to help those defending the Castle. Czajka is conscious, but barely. With both you and Czajka in the same area, two shadow-lovers in the same area during some kind of senka outbreak, you attract the creatures into the burning areas of the Old City. More senka appear faster than the existing ones can pursue you. Once the spirits determine that they can't catch you, they turn on the people in the area -- in other words, the mop-up crews in the Wolves of Lantos. Predatory and parasitic monsters gather in droves around individuals close by, slowing them down. "He's talking to me," Czajka murmurs. "He says that anything-- anything will look sickly if it ain't in the place it's supposed to be." She forces a sigh. "Alright. I give up. You finally got me." With those final words, aimed at someone who isn't you, the bounty hunter slips into a deep sleep. Save Castle - Anci, Lorica Anci, you spring to the aid of the Castle by jumping the Cascadian werewolves from behind, disrupting their siege efforts alongside your spellslinging summons. That reduces the pressure enough not just for Tamrixa to launch a berserk counterattack, but also for Lorica to launch an attack on Maksym himself. Lorica, your opening strike misses and hits a nearby werewolf instead. The canid screams as one of her arms swells with tumorous clusters. Maksym smiles at you. "Good little Twist," he tells you, and disappears while you're mid-charge. The burned werewolf reappears next to Anci, producing a long stiletto from his tattered clothing. Before he can plunge the blade, leafless trees explode from the snow all around him. Each and every one of them misses, even going so far as to twist around him. Anci, you notice that he had to pause to focus. Lorica, you change direction and charge into the copse you've made. "Was it a boy or a girl, Anci?" the werewolf says -- before a bolt of lightning from one of the summons hits the tip of his stiletto and goes through his body. That stuns him long enough for you, Lorica, to throw him down with raw strength. Vixy, Alexandra's summoned fire elemental, plows into the fight not long after that. Maksym's coterie counterattack, riddling all three of you with wounds in order to free their shadow-lover packmate. The ensuing fight is an absolute mess, a mixture of Pariah abilities, Cascadian wolves and Maksym's rampant cheating. The moment it looks like you might gain the upper hand, a badly wounded Maksym howls. A chorus of responses throughout the Old City signal the beginnings of a retreat. Maksym transforms as he flees. His beast form is the size of a very large dog, with a humpback and ribs jutting from tightly stretched skin, and incredibly fast -- much faster than you or your mounts. Rather than a pelt, he is covered in third-degree burn scars. Any other surviving wolves scramble. You might pursue them, but as soon as you turn a corner you're almost bowled over by a stagecoach covered in rickety, makeshift armor plating. Perched on the driver's seat are two yipping werecoyotes: one holding the six-in-hand reins and the other firing wild shots from a repeating crossbow. The latter uses a hook on the end of his weapon to rip open the coach door, allowing Maksym to shoot inside. Then they're off, careening into the fiery streets. Everyone Either the fires wear themselves out or the cause of their magically augmented spread has been injured or killed. The aftermath is apocalyptic in appearance. Buildings are twisted and blackened, gathering with snow drifts from the ongoing blizzard. The Castle is a wreck. Unsalvageable. All your efforts, gone. Picking through the wreckage of your former headquarters, you discover the savaged corpse of the demon Tamrixa surrounded by three werewolf bodies. Czajka's mother didn't go down without a fight, and her last stand lasted long enough to allow the Pariahs to evacuate most of the Alkaev's Home employees. Their destination: the old Shadow Temple. As the assassins of the Shadow-Killer, perhaps this new base of operations -- located deep in the Old City, near the lower bend of the Wine River -- is fitting. It's also packed: not just with citizens you rescued, but also the recently transported survivors of the Bacek freeing operation. You can ask those involved in the mission for more details if you'd like. Among your named posse members and allies, there were no deaths both at Starek and Nine Angels. Here is an overview of most notable injuries:
The date of the grand opening is drawing near. The Wolves haven't made a move. You inflicted considerable damage on them and their shadow-lover, Maksym. You kept your rapport with the Old City locals, further undermining the intent of that strike. They are pinned. They will put everything into the grand opening. They know you'll strike at that time, because there is no better time to destroy Kir Lantos and seize your revenge. A week left. You need to focus on recovery, all of you. Gather your strength. Train. Improve yourself. You won't have another chance. Five nights left. Everyone's holding their breath, almost. Four nights left. The ripped scorchline, a snake made of streamlined metal plates bent in organic arcs, is resting in Nine Angels Station. You walked into Czajka's room and saw that she vanished. She never even woke up. Three nights left. Things look like they're on the upswing a bit, but that's easy considering how low you were before. And with three nights left, you find Zuraw showing around an urgent note. You haven't noticed her around much except for the occasional meeting with Viktor and a cloistered Yevhen. The younger brother was destroyed by the Starek mission and the seeming loss of Czajka soon after. Sometimes you hear him screaming when you're trying to sleep. Zuraw's note reads: Please allow me to organize a gathering of all able bodies for a discussion of the challenges coming very soon.
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| Keter | Wed Dec 14, 2016 10:44 am Post #302 | ||
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It was messy, but they managed to get as many people as they could evacuated to the next best place to hole up in against the storm surrounding Nine Angels. It could be felt on the frigid air, the end was nigh for better or worse. What people could regroup did, those who could join up did, and what last vestiges of information they could get, they did. Setting the fire made sense, to try and burn down the Old City to pave way for the future, to burn with it the supposed dregs of Nine Angels and the enemies of Kir Lantos, but the problem in the planning came in once more underestimating the capabilities of this chaotic group called the Wine River Pariahs. Still, they were a long way from assured victory. Sheriff Jakob Rijinders by himself had proven an almost nightmarish encounter, costing several deals just to fell. Fortunately Keter had managed to keep his own price surprisingly low for just how effective the deal was, but he felt that any further deals would bring him down to the levels of those accursed by their interactions with the Ethereal. At first he had just been heeding the advice of his Shadow, but as time had crawled on he watched the effects within the Pariahs becoming more and more pronounced. If the Ethereal was really raising its prices with each dealing, then just how far would it go, and how far would even the Pariahs go to continue dealing with it? It was unsettling to think about, but many things in this place were. To the Black Monkey, Gloomwood was practically a heavenly place of darkness, with little light to shine through the darkness, comforting his shadowy soul, yet so far every day spent in it had been more trouble than the last. It was beginning to wear down on his mind, from the Taming of Balefire and their job that night, to being captured, to hearing how loosely information could be gained, to hiding away from any prying eyes, to fighting for survival, to working with people he could barely trust to take down a monster of light. To the effects of taking down that monster of light. It seemed to be just him, but Keter could feel the change in his own mind. When he severed the Sheriff's head from his shoulders, when he felt how easy it was, it did something to his own mind, jarring something loose. Maybe it had started before that, when the sky became blindingly bright, like the sun had been magnified a hundredfold. He hated bright light. Then the effects became pronounced while the Old City burned, like something clawing from within his mind that the Shade was trying to keep from consuming him. He needed to handle it. He needed to meditate, and so he did. There were many things he had not meditated on since gaining his freedom the first time, and so while the Pariahs sought to further ignore him, he decided upon meditative introspection into his own past. Well, until that was interrupted by one of the Pariahs, the Princess, Carmen, approaching him. Once she was done with him and he with her, he changed his focus to the next thing that was clearly bothering him. He changed his focus to the present, to the events since his arrival in Balefire, and everything that had happened, trying to find answers within himself of himself before their final strike against their enemy. His Shade watched and listened while he meditated, keeping him and his surroundings within its comprehension while it tried to learn of what was going on, to relay information back to him when it was finished and when he was finished. There was so much to do, so much to handle, but if Keter were to have a place in it then it was likely to be simple. Shadowdancing might prove little more than a useful maneuvering tool to Kir Lantos's forces, but he was strong, fast, and had barely utilized the other abilities he possessed. By the time it came for the final encounter, he would be ready. OOC
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| Lorica | Wed Dec 14, 2016 8:05 pm Post #303 | ||
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Her prey was slippery. He wriggled out of the reach of her claws, her teeth, her knives, always one step ahead. Lorica pursued him in a mindless frenzy, swiping at other werewolves only when they attempted to get in her way. They raked her with claws, snapped at her with sharp teeth, but they were small injuries. She was the apex predator, the alpha. These weakling were beneath her notice. Their time would come soon enough. Apparently her quarry realized the futility of facing her, weak as he was. He changed shape, shifting and darting away. The Keeper followed after him, roaring. Steam rose from her body, gushing out of her mouth with every exhalation. She was coated in blood and yet she kept up the pursuit, utterly single-minded. Then three crossbow quarrels hit her in quick succession, thudding into her skin. The first caught her side, the next in one thigh, and the last in her forearm. She staggered to a halt, howling in frustration as Marksym disappeared into the carriage. Lorica collapsed to her knees, clawing at her own body. She tore the bolts free, throwing them aside with a grunt. Her skin writhed and grew with unnatural speed, muscle and tendons and skin knitting back together. Her injuries slowly sealed shut, even the scars vanishing as the corruption went to work. The black thorns disappeared back into her skin, lying dormant until they were called upon once more. "I swear to the Well, I am going to eat that [removed]er alive," she managed between heavy pants. "I will splash in his guts like a child in a puddle. I'll slice off his eyelids so he'll have no choice but to watch. I will..." She lapsed into silence as she drifted into unconsciousness. Time passed and the Pariahs recovered. Her own injuries had probably been the worst among those that stayed in Nine Angels, but the crew raiding Starek was much worse off. Viktor was in pieces, Yevhen had no eyes, Ansgar was half-mad, Korso lost an arm and a wing, and Czajka was completely catatonic. It was practically a massacre, but at least Bacek got out unharmed. The woman proved invaluable within days: her skill at untangling logistical nightmares was all that kept the huge number of refugees in the 'Old City' from succumbing to starvation or frostbite. She sat in with Czajka once or twice, but the woman was freezing to the touch, no matter how many blankets they piled on top of her prone body. Eventually she just vanished into the night, leaving no trace behind. She hated feeling useless like that. It was what led her to approaching Viktor later. "Hey there Chuckles..." She managed a shaky grin in his direction. "I... I know that Buckles is having a hard time of it right now. I might... be able to help some. With the physical stuff, maybe?" She quickly explained that she'd once helped heal a friend's eye after it had been cut out with a rapier. "I know it's not much, but I can try to do the same for him after all this is over. We owe you that. You didn't have to help us at all, and here he is..." A particularly piercing scream from the younger Dalca brother interrupted her rambling, making her point for her. Lorica winced slightly but pushed forward, continuing before Viktor could get a word in edgewise. "Maybe after we get him somewhere further from the Ethereal? It could make it harder for senkas to find him?" She really knew less about the Ethereal predators than she should, given the circumstances. After they had a few days to recover Lorica went to find Korso again. Even though his specia had been revealed, the man still preferred to wrap himself in multiple layers of flowing clothing to obscure his figure. "Hey Veils. By now you must know we plan on raiding the Kir Lantos, right?" She shrugged. "I was wondering... Can you give us some more details about scorchliners and how they function? This one especially." "I beg your pardon, miss Wells?" Aufdein said, clutching his robes tighter around his mothlike body. "This seems like an interesting endeavor indeed... Well, I suppose I can help as much as my knowledge allows. I have some experience and higher awareness of the news, but I never personally worked for the Wine River Transport Company."
It was the day before the ceremony. The scorchliner sat in Nine Angels station, the gleaming metal carapace visible from a great distance due to the lights set up all around the transport. Lorica stared at it from the fringes of the 'New City,' her identity obscured by heavy winter clothing, a smoldering cigar clamped between her lips. Striking at the vehicle was impossible while it rested in the station. There were too many eyes on it, too many guards... not to mention all the Wolves and two Ethereal Ancients. Attacking the scorchliner right now was akin to suicide. Lorica flicked the cheroot away and turned her back on the bright lights, fading back into the perpetual shadows of Gloomwood. Bacon was hitched nearby, watched by Anci on the back of her odd, frog-like mount. The Keeper mounted the boar, scratching its thick pelt fondly. She put two fingers in her mouth and whistled shrilly. Neriah appeared out of the gloom within the minute, riding better than Lorica despite the loss of one hand. The three of them rode along, moving in parallel to the course of the scorchliner ditch leading away from the city. The Keeper watched the half-angel out of the corner of her eye for a while before speaking. "Hey kid... You've helped us out a lot, here. I hope you know how much I appreciate it." She flashed a crooked grin at the girl. "And it cost you. I know that. Don't think I don't realize what you've sacrificed all because I knocked you around in front of the Paladins." Lorica gestured at her missing hand. "I have some healing magic. After all this is over... I can try to fix that. Grow one back that's just as ugly as the last one." An amiable chuckle took any bite out of the words. "I dunno what you wanna do after all this chaos, but you should get out of Nine Angels. I'm sure we can find something better for you." Eventually they reached a spot the Paladins had discovered earlier, given Lorica's request: a place where the scorchliner ditch crested over a hill in the backswamps, temporarily blinding the conductor to what waited on the other side. It was near the end of the ditch laid out in the material plane before the difficult terrain necessitated it fading into the Ethereal. "Now don't go telling the other Pariahs about this," she confided to the two women, swinging off of Bacon. "You two and Sparky are just about the only ones I trust in this little gang. The rest of them embody varying degrees of shittery. There's one or two I might stick a knife in by the end of the week. I'll catch up our resident knight in silent armor when we go back to the church." She laced her fingers, extending both arms in front of her and cracking her knuckles one by one. "Take porky here and back off a ways. Would hate to catch you by mistake." Once they had obeyed she reached out to the Wellspring, corruption and all. She fixed her mind on her goal, attempting to guide the intermingled strength and violence that came with the madness. Her face split into an eerily wide grin, raising both hands like a conductor. "Mine," she hissed, mana vapor gushing between her teeth. The ground trembled with the word. Every darkplant shivered, their roots clawing at the earth, digging deeper with unnatural fervor. With a quaking shudder the ground on the other end of the rise sank down, the elevation changing by close to a hundred feet in a matter of minutes. The scorchliner ditch suddenly ended at a cliff, the rest of its tracks choked with vegetation and buried beneath the forest floor by the shifting earth. Hopefully the conductor wouldn't have enough time to realize what was ahead before the vehicle went plummeting into space. Lorica's logic was simple: the Ethereal plane appeared to layer onto the material world like a second skin, with similar topography and details. That much was evident from the time they'd spent in Nine Angels and on the Wine River, where sometimes the overlap was visible. That being said, she figured that a sudden change in the geography might not translate across the planar boundary. If the scorchliner unexpectedly flew into space it might shift and find itself buried under a ton of soil... or even find itself still flying through space to crash into the floor of the basin on the other side. In any case, she doubted the workers had built a scorchliner ditch for this eventuality on either plane. Still, the effort was draining. After thirty minutes of perfecting the trap she let go of her deathgrip on the Wellspring's power, quaking in the wake of its fury. She collapsed to her knees, suddenly freezing. "Let's go back," she croaked when the other two hesitantly approached her. "This should be a surprise... for everyone but us." She laughed weakly. Tomorrow should be interesting. Lorica was mostly recovered by the ceremony for the Kir Lantos' maiden voyage. She wore her large overcoat and stormie, a scarf wrapped around the lower half of her face so only her eyes were visible. She accompanied Anci to the ceremony, not wanting her friend to go it alone. "Give 'em hell," she whispered to the Sulerian. Her knives were hidden up her baggy sleeves in makeshift sheathes, ready to drop into her grip at the slightest provocation.
Edited by Lorica, Wed Dec 14, 2016 10:34 pm.
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| Carmen | Wed Dec 14, 2016 9:28 pm Post #304 | ||
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Carmen spent much of the lead time speaking with Ansgar, Korso, the Scribe and Keter. She learned much more than she had bargained for through her conversations; mostly about herself, and her failure to recognize the threat that had been staring her in the face ever since she'd left Balefire. It was a disheartening realization, and Inferna's voice taunted her almost constantly. Carmen had become more and more reclusive, in the days approaching the scorchliner voyage, staring at her gold-leafed VIP ticket and muttering to herself. Whether this was a descent into madness was not yet apparent. The other Pariahs were making preparations and plans of their own - very little of it was being openly shared with the group. The trust among them felt as tenuous as ever, like a cord stretched so taut that it threatened to snap at any moment. There was no rectifying that now. There was only time enough to move forward in the hopes that this flimsy alliance would survive until the scorchliner was destroyed, and Kir Lantos ended once and for all. In the times when her mind quieted enough for her to act rationally, Carmen approached those Pariahs who had not been aboard the barge; the ones they had recruited over the course of their time in Nina Angels. She inquired about the scorchliner, freely admitted that the blueprints were still an enigma that needed solving, and solicited them for any help that might be offered. If there was a weakness in the design that could be exploited, the Pariahs needed to find it quickly, and put a plan into action within what few days they had left. |
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| Tanya | Wed Dec 14, 2016 9:45 pm Post #305 | ||
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Chatting with NPCs "Right," Tanya said, tactfully ignoring Neriah's hand-swipe. "If you're up for it, we can try to get that done tomorrow morning, or even tonight. It'd mean using the apothecary as a surgery and you'd be stuck with one of my not-exactly-angelic hands, but I was able to fix a middleman up in the old shop and I can regenerate my limbs. It'd be good to get you fixed up before we try to take the scorchline." And, she thought but kept to herself, there's no guarantee either of us will live to get the surgery done. She spent much of the following days helping the Pariahs recuperate and, if Neriah opted to take her up on an immediate transplant, regenerating her hand. She also handed out Brightroot to all the surviving residents of Old Town. There had been more than a few injuries inflicted during the attempted massacre, and she had no desire to quell an insurrection when those who had been bitten started to turn. Her last conversation was with Aufdein Korso, revealed to be a sort of acclimatized senka. She had a vague suspicion that there might be a touch of ethereal involved in the products he manufactured, but she had to admit that they worked as advertised. "Hello, Mr. Korso." She cocked her head, temporarily distracted from her purpose by another thought. "How did you come by that name? Does it mean anything?" She shook herself and continued. "Sorry - that's not what I came here to ask. I'm here to see if you know of any way to cure lycanthropy once it's taken hold. If I could nebulize it and pump it into the scorchliner cars, it would be a damn sight easier to deal with Lantos' wolves." Edited by Tanya, Wed Dec 14, 2016 9:46 pm.
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| Mobster Man | Wed Dec 14, 2016 9:51 pm Post #306 | ||
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Yurim spent his time thinking, only talking to Bacek once about trying to strand the train in the shadow plane before going to a quiet corner. Yurim wasn't a holy man, but the Shadow Temples always held a special place in his heart, he had learned of his abilities in one of the temples and had learned more about his father in them. He offered a small prayer to whatever gods would listen, it was a simple one, just asking for the shadows to be deeper and darker than ever and that the people they would be forced to leave behind would be hidden from their foes. Yurim spent this rest of his time with the Friends, "I'm not gonna force you guys to come with us, it's not a simple in and out or smash and grab. This is about ruining the life's work and ending the life or Kir Lantos. You've got plenty of reasons to help and plenty to stay hidden and out of sight, but personally I want you guys to join in. This will be the ultimate test of skills and we're gonna need as much help as we can get. So make your decisions and report back to me." Once it was time to gather around, Yurim shared his idea of stranding the Scorchliner in the Shadow Plane, he felt it would be a good idea, and a living hell to the passengers. |
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| Anci | Wed Dec 14, 2016 10:26 pm Post #307 | ||
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Victory was there, a pyrrhic one though. Maksym’s question rattled around in her head, it had hit her like a hard slap in the face. The jarring surprise of it, so much had happened she’d nearly forgotten about that deal with the Ethereal. Someone like that didn’t deserve to know those memories. Lore seemed to be taking the outcome worse though, crumpling into an inactive heap. Anci did what she could to make her comfortable and kept watch while the recovery efforts went on until Lore woke up. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Anci had to go and Before leaving she stopped by Farethi, looking to shake down the vampire bugwaifu for some supplies. "Hey? How are you doing? Sorry for all the problems you are putting up with. You were not paid to deal with all this." Anci waved her hand at the Old City's squalor. "...sorry to bother you, but I am not here just for comfort. I am going to be looking for Drote and my mount. They are both hurt, if there is something I might be able to take with me to help them enough to get them back I would be very grateful." For Drote she checked the springs first before heading to the river, trying the rhythmic splashing used before to get his attention. She thought about getting a hold of some 'friend juice', but she had no idea what kind of critters might respond to that lure.
She stumbled back and fell at his explosive entrance, but leaned up to wrap her arms around him and squeezed before pulling back. She kept her hands on him, petting and running them along his skin. careful to avoid his injuries and newly grown skin, she wanted to help reassure him while she looked him over. "Do not worry about me Friend Drote, I am fine. Where do you hurt? Take your time, speak slowly. Farethi gave me some medicine that can help." Anci was largely a novice to healthcare, but she had knowledge of caring for animals. Admittedly she waited before applying anything. If they had to travel through the waterways again it'd be a waste to have it all wash off.
“Okay, it will be okay. Let me wrap you up and we can take a walk to our new home, okay?” It would take longer to get to the shadowdancer temple, but Anci was willing to take the time if it kept Drote from over exerting himself more than necessary. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ For Froggu she dug up another piece of fruit the undead Apples was trying to kick out from the ground. Silly undead horse, it had no use for fruit! First Anci headed to the scene where Alex lost Froggu, trying to retrace the steps as best she could. Between the fire and time, it would have been a divine miracle for that to work. The other option she had was scoping out the taller landmarks, looking for evidence of his passing while calling out to him.
She let out a sigh of relief finding Froggu relatively okay. He didn't look undead, and he ate the apple. The bridle needed replacement, there'd be one to loot somewhere in the city, maybe even on the way back to the Shadowtemple. "Come on Froggu! More delicious fruit this wayyyyy!" Her promises of apples were also with some gently applied coaxing by tugging along the tack that remained to direct Froggu to follow her. Hopefully. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Anci sought the brothers out, word had gotten around that Yevhen wasn't doing too good though. They'd committed to sending these people to Starek though, they had to shoulder that burden now. "Hey, Viktor. Good to see you patching yourself up." Her grin poorly masked her tension. "How is Yevhen doing?"
Anci raised her hands in a non-threatening gesture. “I will help build that foolish person’s funeral pyre. Is there anything that could help him? How did he come around from the first time?”
Anci kept the silence out of respect, she couldn’t make new eyes or restore a broken mind. “What are you planning on doing now? The Pariahs need all the help we can get...but I think family is more important than that. If it comes down to us or staying to help your brother, then I will pray for his recovery.” Anci averted her eyes for a moment before looking back at Viktor. “This...is not entirely pure. I would ask one last thing of you, I want any scraps of silver you have. The smaller and sharper is better. That is it though, you have helped us so much already it would be awful to ask anymore of you.” ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
With a little bit of liquid courage she got from Lore, Anci finally buckled down to see Ansgar at the temple. She'd delayed it for the first few days since he got back. She'd known some intelligent undead before, but she'd never been friends with someone who'd become one. Finally confronting him in all of his undeath the little speeches and quips she had been turning over the past day and sleepless night all melted away. "By God, you're bigger than before..." was all she managed to blurt out in equal parts awe and fear.
“<[removed]>.” She slipped into Sulerian accidentally, but caught herself and started again in common. “I am sorry Ansgar. I wanted us to go to Starek myself, if I had just been more as- assar- aggressive, got the others to agree. Things would be different.” She wanted to crack a joke about how he couldn’t fit in the snappy outfits they had for him, or that glowing tattoos were out of fashion for a few years now. Anci couldn’t muster up the courage to even say she was sorry that he’d died. She was more terrified he might not see the death and subsequent undeath as something wrong, but serving only to reinforce his beliefs.
“Most of us are not as exposed to the walking dead like you are, so forgive us our misgivings. What has me upset is that you are taking this second chance and are throwing it away again. The cause can be just, the end goals ideal but you are still trying to sacrifice yourself again. There are better ways, stop being a martyr and just try to live. That is what has been keeping me awake. You are a good person and to see you happily throwing away your first and soon second life for a people that excommunicated you is one of the biggest tragedies I have personally witnessed in Nine Angels.” -angry rant length is excessive- ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ “Bacek, could you arrange for a fire to be started a bit before the...morning-night. I need it to draw attention away from the station and while the majority of them are still sleeping. An empty room overlooking the Kir Lantos as well, preferably in a place where people will not ask too many questions.” ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ With or without Bacek’s arrangements, Anci was intent to kick in the hornet’s nest. If they waited any longer the ceremony was going to hit them. Using alchemical unguents to cover up her scent, Anci approached wearing unassuming and drab clothing with her tucked under and out of sight. Cut off the head and the body will die. If the scorchliner’s engine-car could withstand a catacalysmic impact and subsequent detonation caused by a shell from the other side, that’d at least give them a good idea of how ungodly well it was put together. OOC
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| Glug Photall | Wed Dec 14, 2016 10:33 pm Post #308 | ||
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The wreckage and its resulting carnage were easy to find even in the backswamps. Glug pulled on the reins hard to bring Saul to a swift stop and dismounted quickly. “Take the horse,” he told anyone nearby who was listening. “I can make my own way back if needed.” It would be a good vessel for the wounded, and if need be, it could bring more supplies on the return trip. Tanya went below, and Glug heard a bone-chilling scream that made him shiver from deep within the confines of the ruined airship. He looked at it warily; that scream, in his mind, confirmed that Ansgar should not be freed - at least, not by him. If Tanya wanted to free him, she could deal with it - and hopefully, Glug wouldn’t have to. "Let's hitch your draft horse to the beam and get the lionesses in on it," Bacek instructed him. "With everyone's strength combined, we should be able to lift it and the connected debris enough to slide me out. I'll need a splint and crutches, maybe an amputation, but I'll manage." Glug nodded and began rigging up a make-shift harness from the available materials at once. When it was ready, he drew his bow and used it to slap Saul on the flank. The horse felt the sting just enough to make an annoyed sound and get moving, hopefully dragging the beam with it via the rigging. With his equine direction and the muscle of the others, they managed to free Bacek from her position while Tanya did whatever it was she was doing with Ansgar down below. When they returned to the city at last, Glug eyed the skeletal structure warily. He and Saul made it into what was apparently the old Shadow Temple - a place for Shadow Dancers, it seemed - along with the others. The sight of what Korso really looked like was slightly shocking, but Glug had quickly gotten over it. Now, he was mostly just fascinated by the man. He’d always liked moths; they reminded him of…well, him. They were drawn to light, and yet light often burned them; he had been forced into the light by the enemies of his kin as well as some of his own experiences following his escape from them, and he was always getting burned by society. He was smart enough to stay in the darkness, where it was safe(r), though…most of the time. And then came the waiting. It was the waiting that was most painful. So close, and yet so far away…the grand opening was coming. Glug restored his stock of arrows. He practiced his magic, perfecting his technique and memorizing the incantations, limited though it was. If he survived this, he’d think about maybe learning how to shoot from horseback. He’d never bothered - but then again, before this whole affair, he’d never much been one for owning a horse. After that incident with the other greenskin, he’d taken hers for his own. He’d learned to ride it well enough, though he’d never had to shoot from the back of it before. Somehow, he didn’t think that wold be relevant at the opening. Czajka vanished in the interim between the assault on the Dark District and the grand opening. She had apparently been too wounded to remain conscious that night, and now she was gone entirely - likely taken by the Shadow Plane, Glug figured. The shiny new scorchline had been brought in, finally. Things in this city were about to change, and not for the better, in Glug’s oh-so-humble opinion. He focused as much on his archery as on his magic, the image of a dead Kir Lantos growing in his mind as he burned through one cigar after another. His anger was growing, too. He could feel it coming. He could feel the end knocking upon the door. It was almost over. Lantos would be dead soon enough. Yevhen screamed nightly, disturbing Glug’s sleep more than once, the Starek mission having done something horrible to him. And then came Zuraw, who’d been going relatively unnoticed since the night of the mission and assault. She interrupted his shooting to show him some note she’d picked up. Please allow me to organize a gathering of all able bodies for a discussion of the challenges coming very soon. He nodded, irritated but not at her specifically, and waved her away. He finished his shooting, gathered his arrows, and then gathered for the final planning session. At last, it would all be coming to a head. He would personally show Kir Lantos what it meant to piss off a goblin. He would personally show him what it meant to betray Glug Photall. The goal was simple: attack the scorchliner while it was on the move, not the opening itself. Glug scowled initially. That meant there would be no direct assault upon Lantos himself - but Glug had obliterated a man’s reputation once before just so that he could destroy him in the end, all because he had refused to pay Glug for a job. Honestly, considering what he had learned already, Glug wasn’t at all surprised at how this plan was going thus far. And then the second part of the plan came up, the one he really wanted a part in: destroy Kir Lantos himself. The more he’d thought about it, the more he’d realized he didn’t really care about most of these people, after all. He was just using them to get to Lantos. While he wasn’t wholly ashamed of that, he at least recognized with some annoyance that he apparently truly was a goblin, not just one in appearance. And when he realized that, he realized that Keter had only done what he would have done himself in the same position - only he still ended up with the Pariahs. In any event, Lantos would likely be on his own death trap, which meant that they’d have to take it and Lantos down at the same time. Well, at least it would be convenient. Glug didn’t like convenient. Convenient usually smelled like a trap. At least this time, however, he could see the trap before it was sprung. Before, he’d just assumed the job would go to the Abyss, but he hadn’t been able to get out in time. His actions had been minimal, certainly not criminal - just a goblin doing a job, even if it was under false pretenses, and a seemingly clumsy job at that - but he’d been connected to the Pariahs then regardless. So the scorchliner was to be in Nine Angels Station, and Glug would have to secure a position for himself aboard. That wouldn’t be a problem, considering his skill at being undetected. He was no Shadow Dancer, but in most cases, he didn’t have to be. However, he’d need a disguise once he was aboard…so he went and secured one for himself. He gathered up some different clothes from different people in the Shadow Temple and some things with which to hide the colour of his flesh. He picked up a conical cap, a poncho, a kimono…different styles of clothing for an odd look, but given the people he was seeing coming into Nine Angels now, his look would be exceptionally mundane. He would look like just another foreign traveler, and the materials he picked up would allow him to pass as something other than a goblin. The day of the assault, he donned his attire. He was covered as though merely garbed against the cold, only his face revealed (and barely that). What visible flesh he had, he covered in a quick-drying putty that would harden and act as a second skin - a tight mask that would make spotting any hint of green flesh impossible. He donned darkly yellow-tinted spectacles with large, round frames that would conceal his yellow eyes and a hood that would conceal any hint of a pointed ear - or any ears at all, really. Then he donned his conical cap at last. He tested his disguise by spending what little coin he had left on a boy who went to secure him a ticket for the scorchliner; the boy kept the difference in the coin, and Glug secured the ticket. Now he just had to get his weapons aboard. He covered them with spare furs and what-not to make it look like he was just a hunter, and then he headed to the scorchliner station. It was indeed time to end this, once and for all. OOC
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| Alexandra | Wed Dec 14, 2016 10:54 pm Post #309 | ||
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Spoiler: click to toggle Alex picked up her metamana. <Drote, I've got one last job for you. Meet me at the right time and the right place, I've got presents to bring home.> Some time later, Alex and Drote were at the side of the river. Apple had a handcart attached to her, and she didn't look particularly pleased as she nibbled at the awful thing she towed. "That barge has our gear. All of it. Here's the trick. You hit em' from below and I will hit them from above with Vixy. We'll get her up to shore, load everything onto Apple, and get home." Alex welled up arcane power and called on Vixy, leaving her three charges to employ as she wished to ruin their enemies. The moment Drote surfaced, Vixy would jump to the barge and Alex would fly to it, expending a lone charge. On her way there, she planned to use her powers to pull the flame from the lanterns. The day of the ceremony, Alex found Zuraw and promptly gave her a hug. "You ready, Sir Zuraw, Knight of the Backswamp? Fight alongside me one last time, a scumbag's head needs to end up on a pike and I'm still too much of a wuss to fight a werewolf head on. After this, let's get you to the League, eh? I'll buy some tickets for you and you can send me a letter from the beach." She waited just outside the ceremony ground, ready to move at the Kir Lantos the moment there was an opportunity. |
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| Storyteller[ST] | Thu Dec 15, 2016 1:38 am Post #310 | ||
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Lorica You approach Viktor Dalca offering to help Yevhen. He scrunches the less-ripped side of his face. "Y'all try real hard to fix things, and I appreciate that, but it's starting to grate a bit. Sometimes..." The outlaw turns away, running his fingers over his head rapidly. "Sometimes you can't just magically piece people back together over and over." In other words: back off. The night before the ceremony, you open up a conversation with Neriah. The teenager nods tensely at your offerings. I'm sorry, you seemed to have misspoken regarding your ambush point. Scorchliners are not capable of cresting over hills. Their ditches have to be carved into the land itself, regardless of terrain, so that the grade is always less than 3%. Instead, you've set up your trap at a blind corner -- which, for your purposes, does the same thing. Tanya You fix up Neriah's hand before the ceremony, among other preparations. After that, you approach Aufdein Korso and ask about the origin of his name. "It was a name I thought sounded humanoid! Do you like it?" He beams. "My real name is too difficult for people with lips to pronounce." You ask about a way to cure lycanthropy once it's taken hold. Aufdein puts a claw to his chin and thinks. "Perhaps I could take a closer look at the preventatives. There might be something we can isolate." He spends his remaining time coming up with the following invention:
Alexandra You lay the plan onto Drote, who is contentedly sitting next to you on the side of the river. "Okay. Understand." When it's time to begin, he dives into the water with the grace of an otter. This is the first time any of the Pariahs have seen this enkaida in action. He's a monster built to destroy fast-moving sea monsters who might threaten Ivory League ports. That slow-moving barge practically explodes when he exits the water, a furious blur of tooth and nail. Splashing, blood, and gore fill the Wine River in a matter of moments. Before anyone involved in the transport of goods can even counterattack, Vixy comes in to help. In other words, everything goes without a hitch. It does take Drote a little while to fish out random objects from the river, but you couldn't have hoped for anything luckier to go down. Make no mistake: this victory was easy, but it wasn't trifling. The reason that recovering your gear was so easy now is because of choices you and the rest of the Pariahs made from almost the beginning. Out of the corner of your eye, standing with her back against a seven-foot cairn, you see Czajka looking in your direction. Smiling thinly, she touches the brim of her hat in greeting or approval and then fades away with a snowy breeze. Anci In the early hours of the night, as the clocktower burns around hour 0400, you decide to make your move against the scorchliner. With Bacek's setup, you spot tongues of flame exiting a second-floor window facing the place where the Kir Lantos is docked. Even at this ungodly hour, far from the majority of Wine River Transport Company employees are sleeping. They're working tirelessly on the scorchliner, checking and double-checking it to make sure everything will go swimmingly. In addition, the area is swarming with guard Wolves and Sheriffs-of-the-Dispatch. At first the fire attracts no attention whatsoever -- until it gets big enough to threaten to burn out of control. A few wolves and law enforcement peel off to check it out, but otherwise everyone stays at their post. A massive tower appears high over your target, parting the dark clouds, floorless but still potentially devastating. All the weight of such a structure falls on top of the rostrum-carriage -- the front -- of the scorchliner. Dust, debris, and snow shoot in every direction as a resounding crash echoes across the city. Airborne fragments of the monolith are moving fast enough to kill civilian workers and destroy large swathes of the station. Screams. Alarm horns. It's all getting so familiar to you. Something else is different. As the cloud of dust is blown away, it doesn't just reveal innocent people injured or dying on the grounds of the station. The Kir Lantos' armor has, in several places, been blown messily off. Anci, you're not the greatest arcane technician in the world, but you do have common sense. A cart is made of wood, an airship is made of wood and metal, and a scorchliner is made of metal -- at least generally speaking. The Kir Lantos might look on the surface like a piece of intricate mettalurgy, what with the sweeping curves and points of anti-senka armor that cover every side of it. So the white substance beneath it comes as a surprise. There are cords of it, you can see, all bundled together and stretched tight across the underframe of the scorchliner. Between those cords -- sinew? -- are plates. Bone? It doesn't bleed, but it does move. Whatever's under that armor is occasionally twitching, or undulating with almost peristaltic movements. It's too late to change the plan now. After the attack, law enforcement and wolves go on the warpath. You have to lie low now. Everyone As crowds gather at the Nine Angels Scorchliner Station, the Kir Lantos sits in its proud position. Its rostral carriage had been repaired over the course of a few hours. The vicious murders and injuries of Wine River workers were quietly swept under the rug. The blood was scrubbed away, the debris was cleared and the worst of the damage was hastily repaired with magic. Whatever had happened in the wee hours of the "morning," someone was trying very hard to make sure it didn't matter. But there are some cracks in the facade. The rostrum doesn't look as high-quality as it once did; the armor doesn't fit quite right. The damage to the station is obvious if one simply looks closer. And the workers -- normal people just trying to make a living -- look absolutely terrified as they go about their work, and not just because Karstoff is around. There's an atmosphere of high alert and tension all-around, except for the crowds of Nine Angels citizens, VIP or otherwise, that are here. The only people in the ceremony area are Carmen and Glug, who are both equipped with tickets to enter the craft once it's time. Everyone else is positioned in the outskirts of town, ready to intercept the scorchliner as it leaves Nine Angels and prepares for its first fade into the Ethereal. Carmen, you weren't able to determine much more about the scorchliner's flaws or the purpose of the blueprints. Bacek is actually with you guys outside town. The Istani rides side-saddle astride a fearless painted mare, keeping a thick brace around her severely broken leg. "Alright, now that I have more than one or two people with me at once, I'm not gonna sugarcoat what kind of shit you guys are in. I didn't think the Pariahs had such bad trust issues until recently. It's so bad that I'm not actually sure who all is doing what, and I have the distinct feeling I've been kept out of the loop when I'm honestly trying to help you." Her shoulders tense up. "It's a really bad position to be in. If your group isn't united, they'll wear you down piece by piece. Guaranteed. And not only that, you had plenty of time to plan, but ended up just dicking around for the most part. It's not looking too good, friends." None of your posse members or subordinate factions have been given any kind of job or role, which would have been fine if you had at least told Bacek a general gist of a plan. What little planning did happen, happened in secret. She sighs. "Sorry. I won't lecture you anymore. You busted me out, after all. Let's see how this goes. I kind of came up with something, I guess." The logistician points up ahead. "The scorchliner will come this way, and that's when we'll board using, uh, whatever means you have I suppose. As long as we're boarded, we should be able to fade without a problem. Me and the Paladins will keep pace, following the line's route as best we can, and maybe if we're lucky we'll fade from proximity too. No idea if metamanas work between planes, but I'll try to help as problems crop up. Since helping you is, you know, why you busted me out in the first place." The last line she delivers with a dully sarcastic sting. Meanwhile, the ceremony is beginning. Music blares from the runes arranged around a band situated nearby. The station thrums with life and activity. All the crowds are arranged to face the entrance to the station yards, where the Kir Lantos remains positioned proudly in its spot among more traditional scorchliners that will facilitate typical Balefire-Nine Angels connections. A thick steel chain is wrapped around the entrance in lieu of a ribbon. The ceremony runs smoothly at the start. A higher-up in the Wine River Transport Company is acting as master of ceremonies, ushering in the different speakers who each give brief speeches about the importance of this new technological marvel. It's all very warm, fuzzy, and sentimental in tone. Kir himself is one of the speakers. The way he's introduced might shock you. "--Clerk of Balefire and Supervisory Co-Director of the Wine River Transport Company, Kir Lantos!" That information might have come in handy a lot earlier, but you have to continue with what you have. His speech is brief, actually. Talking to such a wide variety of citizens, not just his own wolves or his enemies (you), you realize that he's not as charismatic as he'd like to think. It makes sense to you now why he does so many operations from almost the background, climbing his way up the social ladder in less traditional ways. But even then, it's worked. He's a high-ranking Clerk and one of the most influential members of the WRTC. In a place as unforgiving as Balefire, success takes more than wanting. You need a strategy of some sort. And his strategy is working damn well for him. Kir concludes his forgettable, sentimental speech and, as he leaves the temporary stage, bows deeply and bares his throat with a sideways tilt of the head. The final speaker responds to his gesture with an annoyed glare that tempers into a pitying look, and she pats him on the head while taking the floor. All legs and swagger, the Marquise of Balefire, Tatiana Karstoff, stands before the crowd. Her trademark ax is strapped to her back. Everyone on the edges of the stage looks nervous, braced for her to speak. "Welcome to the land of the dead," the Marquise says, her lips splitting into a fanged grin. Awkward silence in the crowd. "Oh, come on. Don't pretend not to know what all those cairns mean. The ones the senka are building along the river and next to the line. I watched them the whole way here." She raises a finger, tilting her head down like she's about to make an important point. A fluffy mane of silver-white hair slides over her shoulders and neck. Her exposed skin is speckled with silver and purple energy that looks painful. "I know you'll stop listening after the first five minutes, so I'll keep this brief. Remember what I'm about to tell you: every country is built on corpses. Whatever single goddamn speck of contentment or luxury you have in your life was made on the bloody hands and broken backs of people who were born in the wrong place, at the wrong time, with the wrong mind, and maybe in the wrong body too. It's not nice. It can be utterly cruel. But it's the way it is, and there's no way it can be changed. Remember that every time you step on a single [removed]ing scorchliner. If you don't look at those cairns and be thankful every damn time you see them, you don't deserve your life." The looks on the faces of the WRTC officials are priceless, you have to admit. She was probably supposed to give an uplifting speech about Balefire becoming an economic powerhouse and all the great benefits of technological advancement. Her speech apparently concluded, Karstoff rips her ax from her back and, in a single motion, splits the chain keeping the entrance closed to the public. Uneasy applause follows, and even more uneasy handshakes between her and the WRTC people, including Kir, come after that. It's almost time. None of you have spotted the other Ethereal ancient, Principal Sheriff Roman Hatiri. From your past experience with him, that's not surprising. He seems like the kind of guy who prefers to be heard (in a way) rather than seen. After some long lines and waiting, the Kir Lantos finishes boarding for its maiden voyage. Ethereal screams rise from the vents on the flanks of each linked carriage. Light and mana surge across the spikes buried in the scar on the ground they call a scorchline. Streams of blue-grey smoke drift around the vehicle. The scorchliner floats forward, slowly at first, keeping itself upright and stable. Another snowstorm is rolling in, rumbling with the occasional hint of thunder. Employees and citizens at the station wave flags of Balefire at the departing scorchliner. Meanwhile, in the VIP carriage, Kir Lantos brings Karstoff a cup of tea. She downs it like a shot and sets it on the saucer, looking out the window but sparing one brief glance at the alfha. "Hold your throat normally, Clerk. I'm not into that dominant-submissive thing you pups insist is the way it's always been." "Ah, my apologies. Old habits. Glad you're so progressive." Kir takes a seat, tapping his fingertips together. "So..." Her wolf-eyes narrow at the thundersnow building up outside. "That was a very interesting tour of the city you took me on. From my knowledge, Nine Angels was a cesspit." "Your Taming of Balefire has reached even the backswamps!" Kir says, heartened by the change of subject. "It transformed well, did it not?" "Too well. Too easy and simple. Not even the Taming's been that way," the Marquise says. "Don't worry. Sooner or later I uncover what's kept from me. I'm sure you know that, Clerk." "Of course, Lady Marquise." Kir's smile is lopsided. The scorchliner plods ever forward into the night, gathering speed as it goes.
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| Glug Photall | Fri Dec 16, 2016 6:35 pm Post #311 | ||
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<"Glug. We never spoke about a plan once aboard. A grand oversight on our part, to be sure. Somewhere aboard is the device that allows the transition into the ethereal. I highly suggest you try to find it, and hopefully learn how we might disable it. You have all the skills one could hope for to carry this out. If you have another proposal or idea, please, at the very least, keep me informed. I very much want us both to leave this scorchliner alive."> It was true that nobody had come together to develop a cohesive plan for this final mission. Glug had been waiting for someone to lead into it; he wasn’t influential enough in this group to call everyone together for something like that, and he was no master strategist. Besides that, he knew all too well how quickly and horribly plans could go awry; their initial “work” for Lantos was evidence of that, although that had been a unique situation. Then there was that riot that had changed Ansgar and the mission to free Bacek. They had both been successful in their own way, but they had both had their consequences. Thankfully, just prior to arriving at the ceremony, Glug had received more of his gear. He was exceedingly thankful for this. It seemed that the assault on the barge carrying their equipment was successful. Out-of-sight, he stowed some of his gear that he didn’t need on Saul - his dark lantern, information packet, and poisoned chalice set, for example. But he slipped his emotion-altering charm around his neck once more, concealing it beneath his clothing and grateful for the familiar feel of it. That would come in very handy, he was certain. His claw he pocketed for now; posing as a hunter seeking passage would not make the claw seem a natural addition, even given the nature of his disguise. He also pocketed his exploding pebbles. His additional arrows he stowed upon Saul as well; the Exploding Arrows in particular would not be wise to use while he was aboard, and he wasn’t certain the Celestial Arrows would do much good here. The Silver-Tip arrows he was carrying would be far more effective. He took Saul to a nearby stable and, after ensuring that he had a decent enough knowledge of their contents, traded the spell scrolls he was carrying away as payment to the stable master. Saul would be safe there - for a time, at least; certainly long enough to complete this job. At last, he made his way to the ceremony. …which was basically a sham. So Krupin…he had not really worked with Oxbow, then. Which meant that…he must have infiltrated them? Glug had heard nothing of them since he’d been captured, though he’d been a little busy since then. What had become of Oxbow, he wondered? Given that the WRTC was the one hosting this ceremony, he assumed they’d been run off of this deal entirely. But it didn’t matter, especially in light of Karstoff’s open reminder that this scorchliner had been built on corpses. Let’s see…what did he know about Karstoff from his time in Balefire? He knew that she was in charge of the Lords of Balefire, the power-hungry nobility charged with establishing laws in Balefire; she supposedly knew everything that went on in Balefire. So was she involved in this whole affair directly, or was Lantos a separate entity? Did they have any connection at all? Carmen seemed to be the political genius of the group. If she hadn’t figured out that there might be a connection, she likely would soon enough. If they were both going to be on the scorchliner, then they were both certainly going to be among the VIPs. That meant that they would have to meet at some point, and given Carmen’s penchant for politics, if she could make them work against one another…something she had likely already figured out for herself. Glug might not be a politician, but he could probably have figured out enough to keep his head above the water, so to speak. Regardless, it was soon time to board. Once he was aboard, he received a metamana communication from Carmen. <"Glug. We never spoke about a plan once aboard. A grand oversight on our part, to be sure. Somewhere aboard is the device that allows the transition into the ethereal. I highly suggest you try to find it, and hopefully learn how we might disable it. You have all the skills one could hope for to carry this out. If you have another proposal or idea, please, at the very least, keep me informed. I very much want us both to leave this scorchliner alive."> He couldn’t really care less about Carmen beyond whatever she planned to do with Lantos and possibly Karstoff, but he was certainly all for keeping himself alive and in relatively good health. He assumed she had already figured out that there might be a connection between Lantos and Karstoff as well, he decided to make certain she was at least aware of Karstoff if not. <”Understood. Beware of Karstoff, though; she’s dangerous, and there’s no knowing how deeply she’s involved in this.”> With that, he began moving slowly through the scorchliner. His disguise made him look like just another passenger, and it was a motley crew of passengers indeed. He fit in well. His eyes were open for anything that was guarded, even inconspicuously, as the ethereal engine (or whatever it was called) would likely not be unattended. He’d have to act quickly once he was alone with whomever it was that was there - quickly, quietly, and lethally. It was exactly the kind of kill he liked, although he preferred to do that from a distance. But he knew his business well enough that it wouldn’t likely be a problem. OOC
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| Carmen | Sat Dec 17, 2016 2:26 pm Post #312 | ||
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Carmen was seated on a plush velvet bench with tufted arms only meters away from Lantos and Karstoff. Even veiled by one of her magical disguises, she had to constantly calm her nerves, terrified that she might somehow be recognized. A steward served her tea with mint leaves, which she pretended to sip and then set aside. Anything that went into her stomach at this point risked coming right back out. You're actually going to sit down with them, aren’t you? Inferna said incredulously. If they see through your enchantment, they will alert their security. The others will be found. We'll all be killed. And if they don't, they will expel you from their presence like they would spit out a bad oyster, only with less ceremony. She ignored her counterpart and whispered into her metamana. "Glug. We never spoke about a plan once aboard. A grand oversight on our part, to be sure. Somewhere aboard is the device that allows the transition into the ethereal. I highly suggest you try to find it, and hopefully learn how we might disable it. You have all the skills one could hope for to carry this out. If you have another proposal or idea, please, at the very least, keep me informed. I very much want us both to leave this scorchliner alive." Carmen brushed her hair from her face and adjusted the ferrets that curled around her neck. Thanks to Alexandra and Drote, Smoke had been found, and the Five Claw Stoat was coiled tightly with his brother like a great fur sole atop her shoulders. She slid a vial of elven spirits off a passing servant's silver tray, dashed it into her tea, downed it to bolster her courage, and stood up. And you think I'm the one who's insane? Inferna cried. The Princess will get everyone killed. And anyone else will be dismissed out of hand. They might even toss us out off the liner for your audacity! "Then I will be neither," Carmen replied. She slipped her family ring into her right forefinger and walked toward Kir Lantos and Tatiana Karstoff. On her way through the coach, Carmen flagged down another server and plucked the menu off his tray with two fingers. She looked down her nose at it with scrutiny. The dishes had heavy inspiration from the local fare, and to Carmen's mild dismay, most of the ingredients had been produced in the Gloomwood region as well, especially from the river itself, with several strongly flavored fish used in the main courses. There were, thankfully, no ghastly tubers to be found. "The crayfish velouté, to start," she said. "For three." She waved a hand toward Lantos and the Marquisse. The waiter nodded silently and moved aside. Carmen touched his arm gently before he could move away. "And a bottle of dry Lambrusco Rosé." "Apologies, ma'am," he replied. "We have an extensive wine list. Is there a particular winery - " "The Castile, of course," she interrupted. He nodded again and left. Carmen took a deep breath, swallowed hard, schooled her expression and stepped up to Kir and Tatiana. "Lady Marquise," she smiled. "And Clerk Lantos. There appears to be space here at your table. May I join you?" A servant hurried over to pull out her chair. She sat down and smoothed her dress without waiting for an answer. "I hope you do not mind," she continued as three waiters simultaneously set down the bowls of fresh velouté in front of them, each man lifting the silver cloche off at the same time. "I took the liberty of ordering us an appetizer and something to cleanse our palates." The lead waiter primed each wine glass and poured the rosé for the Marquise first, then Carmen, and then Lantos. He set down the bottle in the centre of the table, bowed his head, and left. Carmen eyed the bottle and her glass with hidden trepidation. In for a copper, in for a gold. "Do you like what Mister Krupin has done with Nine Angels, Marquise?" She looked at Kir, and then back at Tatiana. "Oh, how embarrassing. It's Clerk Lantos now. An understandable flip of the tongue, considering the circumstances, I am sure you agree." She smiled gracefully and ate a spoonful of her velouté. "The façades on the buildings are a bit ramshackle, to be sure. They may not last, but with the timeline you had to honor, Clerk, I think you did quite well, especially in view of all the resistance you had to subdue," Carmen said, looking at Lantos again. "Passing through on the scorchliner, the masses won't be able to discern the heavy magical assistance used in the new infrastructure. And the razed sections of the Dark District, or the Old City, rather, can hardly be seen at all." Carmen ate another spoonful and lifted her eyebrows. "Oh my stars. As yet I have not properly introduced myself! Marquisse, we both attended the Congressional Gala, but I do not believe we met directly. Clerk Lantos, you and I have spoken at length. Marquisse, your Clerk knows me as Carmen. The public refer to me as 'The Princess'. I am a Wine River Pariah. You, Clerk, have informed me a number of times that I am nothing and no one." She laid her hand flat on the table, her signet ring glittering in the light cast from magical sconces. Its emblem matched the design on the wine label. "I may be far from home, but I am someone. That, however, is not what we are here to discuss. You have done well to bring light and water to Nine Angels both cheaply and quickly. Peasants move here in droves, enchanted by your veneered city. We should celebrate that achievement. A toast," she said, raising her wine glass. "To your success." Edited by Carmen, Sun Dec 18, 2016 1:12 am.
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| Mobster Man | Sat Dec 17, 2016 7:39 pm Post #313 | ||
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Yurim whispered into his metamana at Bacek's words, "Yeah, I'm not good at planning, I'm a thief, I pick pockets and pick locks. I'm a 'plan on site' kind of guy because the rules of these kinds of games always change. I'll try and make my way towards the conductor at the front." He pulled his scarf tight around his neck, one of his allies had managed to get their gear back, now with his armor he was even sneakier than before, but on this job he didn't wear the mask, he didn't need his vision impaired at all for this bit. The lights int he cabins would illuminate more then just the inside, the outside would have shadows thanks to the windows and the glowing spikes. He activated his metamana, "Alright Friends, stick with this plan, focus on getting the heavily injured out of here and helping the Paladins. Remember, we're thieves, we let our Basher Brothers do the heavy lifting and make sure they don't get downed by surprise attacks, if they get injured, we save them. Make me proud boys." Yurim focused his shadow powers, searching for a shadow he could hop into on the outside of the cabins, after that he'd need to start sensing everything in the area through the shadows, he needed to know his situation first before trying to move ahead. Edited by Mobster Man, Sat Dec 17, 2016 8:06 pm.
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| Lorica | Sat Dec 17, 2016 10:45 pm Post #314 | ||
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Anci's magical strike slammed into the scorchliner, ripping terrible holes in its outer armor. Lorica let out a low whistle as she watched the proceedings. She didn't have long to appreciate her companion's destructive efforts. Guards and wolves swarmed through the crowd, searching for whoever was responsible. The Keeper tugged on her arm, pulling her away from the scorchliner. She pulled out one of her silver knives in her other hand, reverse so its blade was hidden up her sleeve. "It was a good try," she muttered. "We put them on edge, at the very least. Let's meet up with the others." Alex and Drote successfully raided a barge in order to acquire their gear lost at Starek. Lorica wasn't sure why their equipment was being transported away from the penal colony, but she wasn't complaining. She practically crooned as she unfolded a leather sheet, her various knives and daggers strapped along the interior so they didn't jostle together. "I could kiss you, Scorch," she purred as she began to unpack the weapons, strapping them across her body. She stood up, twisting her hips to make sure it was all situated correctly. "I felt naked without these, and not in the fun way." The Keeper made a pair of knives appear by legerdemain, spinning them nimbly. She let out a contented sigh. "Alright. now I'm ready to party." The ceremony was within the hour. She found Zuraw, who was going through her own pre-battle rituals. "Hey there Sparky. Looking good." It was true. The knight was the only person sent to Starek who had emerged from the place unscathed. Lorica settled down next to her, fanning a knife absentmindedly. Now that all her gear was returned, it was rare to see her without a blade in hand. "This is it. Time to strike at the Lantos... and the man it's named after." She bit her lip, thinking back to her own abuser, trying to remember how he made her feel. "Remember that he is just a man. People like Kir... They like to make you feel small, to make you feel hopeless. In the end he can be hurt. He can be killed." She laid her empty hand on the half-werewolf's shoulder, squeezing it briefly. "You're stronger than he is. Don't doubt that for a second. If we run across him on the scorchliner, know that I'll be right behind you. The bastard will never know what hit him." The Keeper smoked a cigar as she waited for the ceremony to finish and the scorchliner to depart, seated on Bacon. The boar was restless, fidgeting and snorting. She couldn't blame her mount. The tension was palpable, and she wasn't the only one that noticed. The queen sparrowhawk spoke up, commenting on the strained atmosphere. Lorica gave Bacek a once-over, pulling down her scarf so her toothy smile was easily visible. "Ah, sorry Songbird. I guess we haven't been good hosts, eh?" She held her hands out. "The problem is, we aren't united. We haven't been from day one. The issue is that within a day of meeting each other, one of our exclusive club already tried to stab the rest of us in the back." She smirked and nodded in Keter's direction. "This shitweasel, in particular. So if it sometimes seems like we'd rather cut each others throats than shake hands... he's the guy who made us this way. Honestly I'm surprised he lived this long." "But don't worry. I'll clue you in, since you're a genius or something." She rode closer to Bacek, lowering her voice to the point it was barely audible over the sound of hoofbeats. "A mile or two down the ditch, there's a bit of an... unexpected change in the geography. Let's just say where it should stay flat and level, it might drop... say, a couple hundred feet. I'm curious to see how a scorchliner handles that, eh?" She leaned hack, guiding Bacon further back from the sparrowhawk. "Should be fun to watch." She then discussed strategy with the woman and the rest of the Pariahs, trying to figure out the best way to accomplish the complete and utter destruction of Kir Lantos. Anci brought forth another one of her otherworldly creatures in order to get them onboard. Lorica left Bacon with some of the Paladins and gripped the summon tightly, fighting the temptation to clamp her eyes shut. She didn't have a problem with heights, per se, but there was a huge difference between standing on her own two feet and being completely at the mercy of a creature. The summon dropped them on the first section of the vehicle, the portion that Anci's spell had weakened that morning. The armor plating had been replaced, but it lacked the sheen from before. The Keeper set her feet wide, grinning wildly as the wind whipped at her clothes. She pulled out a bolo, lifting the curved blade over her head in both hands. She brought it down in a heavy strike, slamming the weapon into the metal armor. The enchantment on the bolo allowed it to shatter solid, inanimate objects, making it perfect for breaking into the scorchliner. She only needed to break enough of the plating for one or two people to drop through the hole. After clearing away the armor, she had another bolo that vibrated as soon as it was drawn, producing a low-pitched humming noise. It should be perfect for chopping through the organic matter they noticed earlier. Lorica would use both of the heavy blades to continue breaking through its outer shell, striking with whichever was more effective, until they gained ingress. If she managed to break into the scorchliner, she would drop in and replace the bolos with her clip-point silver knives, ready to engage any werewolves so the rest of her team could enter the vehicle.
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| Keter | Sat Dec 17, 2016 11:04 pm Post #315 | ||
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Keter could not help but to have a somber smile spread across his face at the truth in Karstoff's words. Every country was built on corpses, and they never really seemed to stop piling up, for better or worse. To have good, there must be dead, whether the dead of the workers who risked their lives to bring forth all manner of amazing things to the world, or the deaths of enemies who threatened the stability of society. Yet countries were not alone in being built upon a foundation of bodies. Progress, people, and stories all needed the dead to fuel them whether they realized it or not, and this story had proven bloody from the beginning, it was just finally about to come to a head. The last chapter of such a tale, right before the epilogue, was where a lot of people could easily be lost to necessity, but The Black Monkey, The Shadowboxer, Keter Laluan, had come too far in this story to take his leave now. If he died, he would have to hope that his next incarnation could finally be rested free from the imprisonment of the Living Myth, to develop first as a person before becoming realized as an Incarnation, but if he survived then he had no idea what to expect next. There was hardly a plan going forward, but Keter had not really been expecting one. The truth was that he was actually more scared that he might survive this ordeal, that somehow things would work out at the other end, because it was there that he had no idea what move to make next. His life and the lives prior had all been constructed around the concept of everything going wrong, it was the only way left that he truly knew how to exist, but since coming to Imythess he had felt lost. Still, he would not make it easy for Death. Come what may, he would go putting up a fight, fighting to survive, fighting to see if there was a tomorrow, and fighting to avenge an age-old debt. Like the obnoxiously named 'One Shadow', Keter waited for a chance the shift into the shadows within the cabin. The shifting of light within would doubtlessly provide eventual entry. Keter would appear near the back of the scorchliner Somewhere in there was the Sheriff, he just knew it. The Sheriff, from that second night, was well-versed in shapeshifting and waiting for the right opportunity to act. With the noise that the Wine River Pariahs had been making since they escaped the prison barge, Keter knew that the Sheriff would just be waiting for their appearance at the scorchliner. If they made too much noise, which was likely with this group, then he and the subordinates he probably had stashed away throughout the vehicle would act. If the night of the Taming of Balefire was anything to judge his power on, Keter or any of the Pariahs were still a ways off from being able to handle him in battle, but based on he acted in that pocketed reality, maybe he would be just as curious in being slowed down by talking. Keter would try to keep a low profile as long as they could keep things silent, try to move through the carriages with his eyes scanning the people for anybody who looked too stiff, or for any repeated faces. He would melt into the shadows as necessary to avoid prying eyes and detection, a trick that simply would not work on the person he was searching for. OOC
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8:40 AM Jul 11

