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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 (8,258 Views) | |
| Anci | Sun Dec 18, 2016 12:12 am Post #316 |
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There was a general notion of what to do now, Lore rattled things off well enough and everyone seemed to be coming together on their end. Hopefully Carmen would be okay, she was virtually in the belly of the beasts that were onboard the scorchliner, Glug seemed like the sort to be able to handle himself wherever he got up to inside it. Anci got on with the summoning, letting the otherside critter infect and reshape a scrap piece of iron. It body was huge and wide, soft metal wings rippling gently around a metal lattice-style sphere that served as its central core. The top of it was a stark bright white that stood out in the gloom they were assembled in, but underneath it was solid black. Once they got into the air it’d be harder to spot. Anci figured it could safely handle carrying three or four passengers each and she could manipulate its two feeding tendrils to act as ropelines or ferry people to and from the Scorchliner. She stayed busy directing the summon to and fro, intending to be one of the last ones onto the Scorchliner so she could keep her attention on keeping the critter in line. From there the soft-metal wing opened up underneath her, letting her drop through and slide down the dangling tendril before planting her feet ontop of the Scorchliner. She held onto the tendril to keep herself steady, making for the gap between the two cars instead of forcefully digging her way in like Lore was. After that she let the summon a little off the leash to shadow the scorchliner. It might be handy to have an element of surprise above them, or an escape route. OOC
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| Alexandra | Sun Dec 18, 2016 12:33 am Post #317 |
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Alex nodded to Zuraw. "Here comes the scorchliner now. We'll be aiming for the front engine." She sighed. "Sir Zuraw, you'll get out of here safe. I promise it. Let's save Nine Angels and finish this drawn-out vengeance." Alex called into life a halo of ten glowing orbs. She gave Apple a hyah! and spurred the horse into action. <Get out alive! If you encounter superior enemies, call for help and try to retreat. Nobody fights alone. Bacek, let's try and keep a good track of where everyone is in this mess.> Apple surged through the backswamps and came alongside the surging scorchliner. She reached up to grab at any bit of the furniture on the outside that she could and pull herself onboard. Mira stepped up in yet another hull and accelerated - it lacked the punch of the mardra 6 hull she originally had, but it was good enough - to burst from a hidden position along the scorch to grab anything she could really reach onto and pull herself onboard. [OOC: Ember Spitter cast. 1 charge for Hellfire Soul.] Edited by Alexandra, Sun Dec 18, 2016 12:34 am.
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| Storyteller[ST] | Sun Dec 18, 2016 4:38 am Post #318 |
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Diplomacy - Carmen Click to survive. Enter Scorchliner - Glug, Yurim, Lorica, Keter, Anci, Alexandra Click to push back.
Edited by Storyteller, Sun Dec 18, 2016 1:15 pm.
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| Keter | Sun Dec 18, 2016 11:26 pm Post #319 |
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Keter laughed as he hit the ground, quickly tumbling back to his feet before taking off after the Scorchliner in the dark of the storm, one hand fixed to the top of his hat to keep it planted firmly on top of his head. Every chance he could, his momentum was only interrupted momentarily by Shadow Shifting, instantaneously moving another hundred and fifty feet through the darkness. Of course they would have protection against shadowdancers! How did Keter not see this coming? Yet rather than frustration, he felt joy, he felt excitement, chasing the Scorchliner on foot. This was something he had never even before dreamed of, but to be presented with this as an opportunity seemed like something he was just destined to accomplish. Perhaps there was no way short of dealing with the damnable Ethereal to simply appear within one of the carriages and their shadows therein, but he could always try for the roof access. From what he could see, that seemed like much more of a realistic and distinct possibility. What are you doing? The Shade within his mind questioned, mostly the sanity of the concept. Jumping a carriage! Keter replied with joyous anticipation. At least use the cat! I'm not that good at riding! When one of the security noticed him, when they fired at him, that was when he would make his move. Seeming nearly instantaneous, he would launch himself on top of the Scorchliner, speeding through the dark sky like an arrow to deliver pain unto those who would think to use him for target practice. He had no intention of actually fighting any of the rooftop security, but instead using his host of strength, speed, skills, and abilities, his collective capabilities, to launch them with powerful blows from the top of the scorchliner, each one angled and with enough force put behind it to launch them upwards and outwards. Moving across such a piece of transportation would definitely prove to be a new experience, but Keter worried little about adjusting to the unique eccentricities of its movement. His primary concern was staying on top of things without falling off, throwing the security from the scorchliner while he hunted for a point of entry. He would dodge and counter, weave and mislead, feint and strike, moving backwards only to look for the right moment to strike before resuming forwards. Those fool enough to try and shooting at him again he would charge with that nearly instantaneous retaliation, those who came at him with weapons he would dsiarm before striking them once more. He might not have known what a mana cannon was, but he could guess at which things they were and that they were some form of weapon to avoid getting hit by at all costs. Fighting On a Scorchliner
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| Carmen | Tue Dec 20, 2016 12:54 am Post #320 |
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When Carmen's eyes fluttered open, blood filled her vision and gummed her eyelashes. Kir Lantos' dismembered body hovered over her for an instant before what remained of him was forced back into his seat. She coughed and sputtered, confused, tasting copper. Her sight bore a dark halo at the fringes. There was a sudden vertigo as Tatiana lifted Carmen up and dropped her back in her chair unceremoniously. The Marquise kept eating. Carmen blinked, and it wasn't until she lifted her right hand to wipe the blood from her face that she realized her left arm was numb. Her head turned, her eyes falling upon the wounds on her shoulder and her midsection. Carmen's face contorted with abject horror. Her jaw dropped open. She'd meant to scream, but no sound came out. Inferna was shouting something in her head, but Carmen couldn't distinguish what she was saying. She fumbled for her ring, swiveling open the hidden chamber and scooping out Korso's balm on one trembling finger. Blood was pooling under her feel, oozing in hot waves from the gashes in her torso. Carmen's whole form began to shake. Even as she massaged the ointment into the bleeding bite wound on her shoulder, her fingers started to grow cold as her body sequestered and compartmentalized what liquids it had left. Her tattoo sputtered and flared to life, a soft glow encasing her and preventing further assault, but no more was needed. Kir Lantos had done all that was necessary to kill her, or infect her, in the blink of an eye. Karstoff kept talking, appearing to have no idea that any of what Carmen had suffered was an issue. She wanted evidence against her Clerk. That would be a fair request, if only his accuser wasn't actively dying. Carmen slumped toward her injured side, muscles failing one by one. With her blood-coated hand she grabbed the table and righted herself. Her stoats scampered up her legs and stood on her shoulders, growling and spitting at Lantos. "I have this," she said through quaking lips. From her sleeve she slid the letter she'd received from Antonio Krupin, summoning her to the first meeting between what would be the Wine River Pariahs. "And this," she pushed forward the letter Kir Lantos had written to her just a few days ago, requesting a meeting at his office in Nine Angels. "Look at the penmanship. The calligraphy of the signatures. The embellishment on the letter K especially. Two names; Antonio Krupin and Kir Lantos, but these were written and signed by the same hand." A wracking cough overtook her and she caught a spray of blood in her palm. Things were broken within of her, and she felt her insides rubbing together in a way that felt altogether unnatural. Inferna kept shouting. Her violin, back on her original seat a few table away, beckoned. "I am not like you," she said, looking at Tatiana pleadingly. "Or like my father. I cannot simply shrug off wounds such as these the way you can. . ." She winced and clutched her side tight with a gasp, trying to stem the bleeding. "He thought we would be executed after the attack on Wine River Transport," she wheezed, "which he orchestrated as Antonio Krupin. My colleagues and I had no chance of success, of course; our mission was botched when we were deliberately sold down the river, if you can forgive the phrase, which your Clerk did as himself, Kir Lantos. He sent his stolen daughter with us, too, Sir Cinzia Zuraw, the true daughter of Ria Zuraw and Pureblood Torsten. She still rides with us, as a Pariah. Did you love Ria, Clerk Lantos? I wondered for a time about your hatred of humans. Ria choose Torsten over you. Two men, one woman. That just might be the oldest story there is." She reached out weakly and clasped her bloody hand around the wrist of the nearby servant. "Fetch that for me. Please," she said, weakly nodding toward her instrument. Turning back to the Marquise, she continued, albeit with difficulty. "Your Clerk skirmished with us in Nine Angels, made attempts on the life of Aufdein Korso, and began a crackdown on that filthy gutter of a city. We resisted. And when he failed to end our guerrilla war, he sent me that second letter. He warned me about the two ethereal ancients. He warned me not to get your attention, Marquise. He said it would lead to the death of everyone in Nine Angels." Her eyes blurred and her mouth went dry. She had to bite her tongue and chew her lips to coax life into them to be able to keep speaking. "If you want more evidence, you can tour the Old City. See the blocks burned to ashes to quell our supporters. Have an arcanotechnician loyal to you inspect the semblances of progress that have been draped over Nine Angels like a wedding veil. The work was too shoddy and too quick; thrown together to meet today's deadline. When it fails, so too with the revitalized trade and expanded industry. Zakona still infest Nine Angels. You've done a good job hiding them, Clerk, but a person hardly needs to see the rats to catch a death of plague." Finally, she peeled a sticky hand off her midsection to fetch one more document hidden in the folds of her dress. She unfolded the poster with its illustration of a utopian scorchliner. "Everything Kir Lantos has said to me has been a lie. This poster, and everything on it, is a lie. There is no paradise here. No miracle of development has come to Nine Angels. He lies to everyone. The Pariahs, his 'daughter', the city. . .even to you, Marquise. Now p-please," she stammered painfully. "I m-must beg your pardon and take my leave." The parchment fell from Carmen's failing grip. The pool of blood beneath her chair had grown wide and dark. Her skin was pallid, her eyes sunken, her lips a pale hue. She turned back to the servant, hoping he had retrieved her violin as she had asked. If not, she would try to get to it herself, crawling on hands and knees across the compartment if she had to. OOC
Edited by Carmen, Tue Dec 20, 2016 3:07 pm.
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| Lorica | Tue Dec 20, 2016 7:21 pm Post #321 |
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Mana cannons unfolded from the superstructure of the scorchliner, weapon emplacements glowing with arcane energy. Several barrels swung around to train on the summon. Lorica stared down a dozen magical artillery pieces and swallowed nervously. Well shit. The first barrage was deafening, slamming into the otherworldly creature carrying her through the sky. The beast shuddered and faltered, letting out a terrible shriek. The Keeper managed to keep from plunging to her death, but it was a close thing. She grimaced and tugged out her teleportation dagger. She took a few precious seconds to take aim at the scorchliner, trying to adjust for the summon's movement and the velocity of the vehicle. Eventually she had to let the blade fly. It clanked off of the armor atop the Kir Lantos without penetrating the metal plates, but that wasn't her intention. Lorica vanished and reappeared on the scorchliner. She hit the vehicle hard, nearly bouncing off of it immediately. The keeper growled and grasped at its chassis. The last digit of her fingers split open, bony claws piercing out of her flesh and scrabbling at the hull, finding purchase between two of the thick sheets. Her muscles bulged to unnatural proportions as she pulled herself fully atop the scorchliner, settling on all fours, arms and legs spread wide for balance. Her lips pulled back in a rictus grin, her eyes dancing with black spikes. Her skin gleamed with perspiration, beading with drops that seemed to glow in the light of the cannon fire. The shimmery substance spread, creeping across her body, enclosing her in a full suit of armor that covered her like a second skin. Her eyes glared out at Nevenka from behind her visor, gleaming with madness. "Bitch," she spat. [removed]in' die" Lorica charged down the scorchliner, attempting to barrel through the gathered Wolves and mercenaries with brute strength. She drew her silver-laced blades, slashing and stabbing in a frenzy. Spikes and spines extended from her armor in every direction. She swept at the enemies all around, trying to shove them off of the vehicle so she could get closer to the houndmaster. In the process she would hopefully create room for more of the Pariahs to board the transport. The Keeper swept a hand forward, spitting out rough syllables that were nearly indistinguishable. Seething, corrupted energy pulsed through the air, aimed at one of Nevenka's legs in the hope of stealing away her balance and forcing her to drop off of the scorchliner.
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| Tanya | Tue Dec 20, 2016 7:29 pm Post #322 |
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Tanya had half-hoped that the boarders would have already taken over most of the scorchliner by the time it passed by the area where she and her two employees were waiting to provide backup. That, she reflected, watching the Pariahs struggle to get onboard, was silly of her. Nothing was that easy. It appeared the Pariahs had yet to board the Kir Lantos, let alone successfully sabotage it. Alex and Mira were trying to climb onboard while fending off a horde of wolves and bounty hunters trying to repel them. Tanya pointed the scene out to Caedis and Caelum. "There. Ride beside them and help fend off anyone who gets close." Caelum frowned. "Shouldn't we try to get on the scorchliner ourselves?" Tanya shook her head. "Alex is the best arcane technician we have, and our best hope of figuring out how this thing works. We need her onboard, but you'd be just as useful helping the Paladins we leave behind." Caedis grabbed Caelum's reins and pulled the bodyguard away before he could object further. The two of them pulled alongside the scorchliner and started to clear a space. Tanya, meanwhile, focused on the figure standing at the far end of the scorchliner. If that was, as she suspected, Valeriev, then this might be the best chance to get her away from her dogs. She spoke into her earpiece. "Prentum, Korso, or anyone else with wings: Can you get me a ride on top of this thing? I'm going to try to knock Valeriev off before we pass into the ethereal." If anyone agreed, she would hit the top of the scorchliner running. She'd shoot bolts of lightning from her enhanced eye to keep Valeriev occupied as she bore down on the hunter. With her free hand, she fumbled to light and launch a pair if fireworks. She wasn't trying for a direct hit, but a loud and bright explosion immediately behind Valeriev might be distracting enough to keep her from launching too many projectiles of her own. Used
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| Alexandra | Tue Dec 20, 2016 7:54 pm Post #323 |
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Alex gripped onto the side of the scorchliner with her golem arm. A polearm swung low and bounced off the metal exterior. Alex looked up at the handful of men trying to keep her off the scorchliner. They all shot looks to the side as Mira boarded vessel, holding someone's sword by the blade. She tossed the weapon aside and drew her own massive silverized greatsword. She surged into combat and was immediately shoved to the ground by the superior numbers of her foes. Alex yanked herself upwards, a pair of bolts of flame forcing the man above backwards. She lunged over the side railing, chanting a spell and preparing it with her free hand while her golem limb sprouted a silver blade and darted into the man's chest. She stabbed again and again, blood splashing against her face. She finished spell. A blast of wind drove down the catwalk, sending the whole pile of morons on Mira tumbling aside. The golem gradually rose to her feet, battle damage already apparent. A rogue crossbow bolt clipped Alex in the shoulder and she replied with two bolts of flame. "Mira! Get in!" Alex forced open one of the doors to the interior as her golem rushed towards her. The pair ducked inside and closed the door behind them. <Has anyone spotted that Balefire sheriffman? I'm going to make my way up to the lead car and capture it. Make sure you get in the scorchliner, I don't know what will happen if you are outside when we go into the ethereal.> [OOC: Straight Line Wind cast with master concentraiton/arcana/combat casting. Four embers shot, bringing Alex down to six. 2 charges for Hellfire soul.] Edited by Alexandra, Tue Dec 20, 2016 8:24 pm.
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| Anci | Tue Dec 20, 2016 10:13 pm Post #324 |
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Anci wasted no time while her first summon was being torn apart by the scorchline’s defenders. Its instinct railed to flee, to find shelter of some kind but Lore was still on it and she wouldn’t allow it. The moment Lore took her leave from it, she forced it into the teeth of the enemy to make it lash out at its attackers rather than flee. Before its final death throes Anci had opened a small bottle of mercury and splashed its contents out on the ground. The air around the space went darker in the gloom, leeched of any color as the otherside pressed in closer to reality through the pool of metal. A large feline skeletal structure leapt out of the mercury, trailing the gray liquid behind it like it had just crawled out of a body of water. The body of the gasbag fractured apart under the mana cannon and projectile barrages, crumbling apart and turning into silver dust on the wind. Anci’s new hunter grew in size, invigorated by the unbound lifeforce from the other summon that it consumed. She set it onto the dire dogs that were going after the other pariahs riding along the scorchline. The Quiet Road looked like they were just holding them off, hopefully her summon could tip the tide in their favor. Another sleeker shape scaled out of the pool, the mercury running off and leaving the blackened, angular plating untarnished. The sets of dim white eyes trained on Anci as it half-circled around her, sizing her up. This was the first time it had been on this side of things without being bound by any silver-cage. She was too busy watching the scorchliner whirl by. Anci had Rasaki out, whipping around a hook at high speeds. Anything that stuck out that could be used as a grappling point. Releasing it she tossed it towards a railing on the end of one car, a gust of wind took it wildly off course. Rasaki adjusted but the speed of the scorchline was too much to compensate for. Instead the hook smashed through a window and embedded itself there. And took Anci with it. The speed of the scorchline that’d fouled her aim was her only saving grace, keeping her from being ripped against the ground. It was almost fun except for the excruciating pain from the tension on Rasaki being pulled taught. Her shoulders burned as she tried holding out some slack, relieving the feeling of having her innards ripped out where Rasaki was anchored. Moment by moment the links receded as Rasaki pulled Anci in closer. Dimly through the snow whipping into her face she could see activity around where her hook landed. A feeling of dread overcame her as she suspected she could feel tremors of movement through the hook. Right up until the defenders pried it off, leaving Anci weightlessly sailing through the air. A powerful impact from behind made her scream out. Her yelling didn’t stop as whatever hit her propelled her into the scorchliner at high speeds. Anci was stopped just short, a series of loud and metal impacts resounding around her. She’d been jostled violently around, and now sparing a look back she could see the looming body of her summoned golem. It had used its barbed tentacles to snag a grip onto the scorchliner and caught her midfall, cradling her in the near empty ribcage. There was no way she was thanking it for saving her. For now she used the golem’s body as a step ladder and clambered up onto the roof. Lore was already racing down the length of the scorchliner, ripping into the wolves at every moment. Further towards the front she could see some of the others. Lore was much too impatient, gunning for the bounty hunter at the rear. One of the guns nearby wasn’t disabled, the crew had been wounded but not put down. From this close Anci could make out their strained expressions as they cranked the wheel to spin the turret around and bring the cannon to bear. “Hey!” she shouted, just hoping for a moment to distract them as she yanked a thread lose on a small bag tied to her wrist. The pile of silver and iron shards fell free, coiling around Anci’s hand as she made a series of gestures and launched the shrapnel at the compacted crew from her flanking position. From here she and her golem would take to helping the others clear the roof, if Lore looked to be in trouble Anci would commit their first. Otherwise she’d make to help Alex try and take control of the scorchliner. OOC
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| Mobster Man | Tue Dec 20, 2016 10:25 pm Post #325 |
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Yurim grunted as he rolled across the ground, he had been launched from the Scorchliner, great, they had anti-shadow dancer shit. Yurim growled as his horse caught up with him, he mounted and set out again, this time his plan was a bit different. He stood on his horse's back as he gave it a command, "Faster. Faster." He waited for the next flash of lightning, the lengthened shadows, he jumped at his mount's fastest speed, disappearing into darkness... only to be launched from another shadow not-attached to the scorchliner. Yurim flew threw the air, his scarf's ability sparked to life, slowing his fall as he landed on the roof of one of the cabins. Yurim drew his silver knives, ducking as a werewolf shot a crossbow bolt at him, startled at Yurim's sudden appearance. Yurim grinned, "Thank the dead gods for momentum." He brought his blades down and across enemy arms and legs, he could feel the raking claws of his enemies strike his leather armor, causing light gashes. He whispered "Thanks for my armor." Without it he would have been simply clawed to pieces, but with it he could take a few hits before taking serious damage. He drove one silver blade through a throat, twisted it before ripping it out and driving it into another werewolf's stomach, dragging it through his flesh a bit before kicking it off the roof. Yurim took a second to breath before speaking into his metamana, "I'm on." He looked at the foes on the roof tops, he sighed, it was gonna be a long fight towards the front, but he still started forward. OOC
Edited by Mobster Man, Tue Dec 20, 2016 10:26 pm.
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| Storyteller[ST] | Wed Dec 21, 2016 2:38 am Post #326 |
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Diplomacy - Carmen Please do it. Scorchliner - Everyone Else He is here. |
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| Glug Photall | Fri Dec 23, 2016 1:13 am Post #327 |
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The storm outside was growing slowly but steadily worse. Yet it wasn’t the storm that concerned him, but rather the dark shapes now mounting what looked like canons. This was confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt when the lightning flashed, momentarily blinding the goblin. But he had a job to do, and it wasn’t admiring the scenery. <”Canons on the sides,”> he relayed over the metamana, his voice a quiet whisper, <”and wolves upon the canons.”> But even as he spoke these words, the world beyond the window came alive with the flashing of light from the canons. Mana cannons, they were…of course…so the wolves knew that they were here. Glug wasn’t surprised. <”Nevermind…”> He could hear battles breaking out upon the roof as well, but thankfully, his reactions to this were concealed by his emotion-altering charm - a vital piece of equipment for infiltration. His view, however, was soon obscured. The wolves were moving in, herding passengers away from the windows they were closing. They were trying to cover up what was going on outside…still, Glug wasn’t surprised. Everything Lantos had done up to this point had been as secretive as possible. With any luck, his secrets had now been lain bare by Carmen. But Glug had his own problems to deal with, disguised or not, as he would have to figure out how to find the source of this thing’s ability to “fade” between planes of existence while not being discovered by the growing security forces. And then Ansgar slammed into the scorchliner with a furious roar. He had gone rogue, it seemed. There was no hiding that something was going on outside now. Glug did manage to take a good, long look around - but something was off…he knew he wasn’t an arcanotechnician or a golemancer, but shouldn’t there be an engine somewhere aboard this thing? Unless…unless this “thing” didn’t need an engine…if this was some kind of creature or perhaps some mixture of life and arcanotech… <”Uh…we may have a problem,”> he said to Carmen and the others over the metamana. <”I don’t think there is an engine aboard. I think the whole scorchliner might be its own engine.”> That was worrisome. If they couldn’t keep this thing, or even part of this thing from fading, then how were they supposed to stop it? Even if they destroyed a significant portion of the scorchliner, the part that was intact might still be able to fade. If that happened, their problems would increase exponentially. They would have to derail this all the more quickly, then…and that meant getting inside. The passengers were getting antsy; they hadn’t signed up to be murdered or robbed (or worse). Glug did a few quick tactical calculations in his head. Right now, he looked just like every other passenger, albeit a wee bit rougher around the edges; it was the hunter’s look, made all the more authentic by the furs bound by animal tendon around his bow and the fetishes bound to the feathered ends of his arrows, all of which were covered by an extra bit of fur presumably put there to keep them from getting damaged by the cold. The quivers were mostly hidden by his cloak, just as his mask of wilderness-tanned humanoid features were hidden by the shadows created by his conical cap. …all of which gave him the perfect idea. With his hand out-of-sight, he slipped a few exploding pebbles out of a belt-pouch. Given the state of things, nobody saw him “accidentally” drop one of them and nudge it with his foot. It rolled across the floor until someone stepped on it - causing it to explode. Moreover, it wasn’t the only one he dropped, and he wasn’t immobile. It wasn’t long before the four exploding pebbles he’d dropped had all been crushed under the feet of the other passengers, and in the resulting noise and confusion, he ventured near the door of the car. He didn’t have time to do anything else. The hum of the scorchliner had not been present in his conscious mind, yet its absence rang out louder to him than the battle raging above his head. It hadn’t escaped the notice of the passengers, either, and the sudden and violent sensation of freefalling made Glug’s stomach leap into his throat all of a sudden. Screams filled the cabins, and Glug winced - but the turmoil wasn’t over. The sudden burning and even more sudden chill that immediately followed made him grit his teeth, and the goblin’s hand found the door if only for something to hold onto as he swayed dangerously. Now he knew what a clam felt like when it was ripped out of its shell. His flesh crawled and slithered, making him shudder just as violently as his stance was shifting, and then there was… …nothing. It took him several long moments for him to recover, calming his writhing innards and regaining his sturdy footing. He only slowly let go of the handle upon the door, and he was certain that his true skin was no different than the false skin he wore in colour despite its usual green hue. What he saw through the window, however, was a dark forest during an eternal night. Unlike the soothing darkness of Balefire, this was more oppressive than the Gloomwood had ever been. It was crowded and confined, like…well, like being in a box, really. So, basically, nothing had changed. But there was a certain sense of seclusion that he hadn’t felt until now, a profound feeling of being completely and utterly alone. It reminded him of his youth, when he longed for company, before he had grown confident enough to travel to the goblin cities once more. He didn’t like it. And now there was a scream in the air as well, one he liked even less. Going to the window, he saw the wall of ice approaching fast and someone with a pair of axes held out wide atop it…Ithuen. That had to be Ithuen. Remembering his diversion and noting that everyone was well and truly distracted now, he slipped into the next scorchliner and went to the window again as the chatter broke into his metamana. Yup…it was Ithuen, all right, and she sounded pissed off. He moved across the scorchliner and through the doors into the next one just in time to see Bearkiller rip through a hoard of wolves like they weren’t even there. He grinned and tips up his conical cap, removing his lenses so that she could see the yellow eyes of her goblin accomplice. Blarglesnapf, he thought to himself. Time to do something violent, I guess. Pocketing his lenses, he draws his bow and unwraps a Blighter’s Arrow. “Good to see you, Bearkiller,” he said aloud as he nocked the arrow. With that, he stepped through the pile of bodies until he came across a ghostly-looking Zuraw finishing one of the wolves off. She didn’t look right, regardless of which form she took; it was disorienting. She grinned at him, and he nodded approvingly. Then Ithuen got close to him. Back-to-back, she said…well, with that, he turned to shoot his arrow right at the door he’d just come through a few moments ago. Might as well stop anyone aboard from following him as best he could. But there stood…Lantos. The Lantos. The progenitor of this entire messy affair. Rage filled him - controlled rage, but rage nevertheless. As the bastard ran forward, Glug shot his arrow in his path, hoping to splatter him with all that gooey acid, and then immediately drew and launched three silver-tips at him while the others fought amongst themselves. The time for stealth was over. Now was the time for killing. OOC
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| Keter | Fri Dec 23, 2016 4:28 am Post #328 |
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The fodder on top of the scorchliner was simple to knock of. No fighting required, a simple enough understanding of where everything was. . . and this strange sense where everything was, beyond his skills and feats, beyond his abilities combined, there was something else. Keter could not help but feel that the Ethereal had just fulfilled its debt, and that he had just been ripped off, but there was no time to waste on that. Keter found a hatch and descended, managing to get into the transportation before the craft took a sudden drop. The shift in gravity's effects were easy enough to handle, but it was what happened after the fall that caught the Shadowboxer unaware. Keter had to take several looks back at his own skin to make sure it was his naturally pale self. The shifting into the Ethereal plane had felt like his transformations into the demonic form provided by the Shade's power, like it was ripping at every centimeter off his body, trying to rewrite what he was at the basest of levels, but he found relief that his skin was relatively unchanged by the sudden effect. Such a violent shift was wholly unexpected, but other than a momentary queasiness and throbbing of his eyes Keter was fine. The Shade, however. . . Ohh, that was. . . intense! The demonic entity clicked an orgasmic laughing sound within the Black Monkey's mind. The Incarnation found that strangely more disturbing than everything else that was going on around them, I might never have experienced that if not bound to you. "O. . .kay. We have a mission." Keter tried shaking off the additional skin crawling effect from the uncharacteristically pleased sounds that the demon was transmitting into his head. He stopped just short of charging blindly-- not a metaphor that really meant much to him one way or the other-- as he caught glimpse of the outside world through a window. To him it was a curiously beautiful sight, the likes of which seemed similar only to the dreams that he had since arriving in Gloomwood, beset by the haunting nature of the cairns stretching out into the distance. The sight was one he made sure to study for a long while, to commit to memory so that he and every life thereafter could remember it, but there was no time to waste getting lost in the sights. He had to get through the different segments of the Scorchliner, and that would involve fighting against enemies that were crammed within. Fortunately he did not have to worry for very long about handling them on his own as a vaguely familiar sight came in to aid him. . . actually, it went past him and took charge of the situation, swinging axes violently against any enemy fool enough to continue standing in its way. Those axes. . . That was Ithuen, was it not? Further within was even a stranger sight, a car already decorated with the corpses of wolves, with one standing victoriously over the rest. That one was Zuraw, able to shift against all beliefs. Keter could not help but crack a smile at her appearance. Before long they were surrounded by both sides, some fodder to one, and the target to the other, being accompanied by. . . A very convenient tool. A sleeveless Kir Lantos was being accompanied by that familiar sight of the Sheriff, eluding to several things that had gone wrong at Carmen's end. Keter had been expecting things to go wrong with their lack of a reinforced plan, but the Shade. . . Hold back. . . Karstoff? The Shade's ecstasy faded as it heard the Principle Sheriff talking like a villain from an old story, What did he do to Karstoff? When Kir Lantos tried to force his way past, Keter would gladly move out of his way just to flank him and shove one of his silver spikes into the accursed werewolf's side, aiming for the placement of the heart in-between the enemy's ribs with one hand while using the other to try and make sure the werewolf would receive any additional strikes from other sources. He was ignoring his Shadow's words only because he had no answers for it, no sense of what importance that loss of sensation the demon had, but the result of that made his mind go blank and his heart drop as all the warnings it gave him about concealing its presence were apparently thrown out of the window and to the Senka. His mind went on autopilot as he aided in the fight, but beyond combat he was unsure of what to do. "What did you do to Karstoff, Parasitic Prybar?" Whispers clicked from the darkness, like a thousand insects speaking up in unison and all aimed at Hatiri. Hoo Boy
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| Carmen | Fri Dec 23, 2016 2:34 pm Post #329 |
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Carmen held her violin weakly. Her fingers fumbled with the bow, trying, and failing, to get it properly onto the strings. Her hands wouldn't work right anymore, no matter how much she willed them to, and the instrument that was usually so warm to the touch felt cold as ice, her nerves too numb to feel anything. The bounty hunter was there, protecting Carmen from the sight of Tatiana's grotesque transformation, rubbing Carmen's arms and hands to work blood into them; but this was no case of mere hypothermia. Her body hadn't isolated her circulation to protect from cold. The cold, rather, was a symptom, not the disease. Her blood could not be coaxed into her arms and hands and fingers, as there simply wasn't any left to spare. The pool beneath her had grown steadily, and was now a sticky mess that had oozed its way to cover all the floor around her. She slid off her chair, tumbling down and landing in the gooey puddle. Her face lay on the floor. Her eyes stared straight ahead, glassy and unfocused. Her arms had stopped holding her middle; she didn't have the strength to do it anymore. The flow of blood from her sounds slowed only because her body had so little left to give. Her shoulders started to get cold, then her stomach. The biting chill felt like a vice, compressing her insides until she could feel them no more. The icy fingers stretched out and grasped her heart. She felt it pump hard, once, in protest, and then begin to slow. I'm dying. A tear slid down her pallid cheek and was lost in the sea of blood beneath her. Take up the bow. Say the words. Inferna's voice, usually so loud, felt as though she were miles away. I tried. I can't even move. Another tear rolled over her cheek, and another. Her chest shuddered and her heartbeats came slower and slower. That bastard dog has killed me. Czajka was over her, putting pressure on the cuts, pleading with her. It took Carmen a few moments of struggle to make out what she was saying as more than just punctuations of sound. "Make a deal. Please," she said. Carmen gritted her teeth. No, she thought. Don't be a fool. Carmen quaked when she heard her father's voice in her head. Do you think every transaction I have made was a fortuitous one? Do you think every contract has been weighted in our favor? When you live as long as I have, you learn that sometimes the grapes sour, Carmen, and there isn't a thing you can do to stop it. Sometimes you have to take a loss one year, to ensure the vineyard survives another hundred. That is not a failure. That is simply business. She quivered. Her breaths came in shallow gasps. She couldn't see Czajka anymore; Carmen's eyes had gone black. She couldn't hear what the bounty hunter was saying. The only sound was her own heart beating. Once. . .twice. . . . .three times. Then everything went quiet. Her mind reached out into the blackness, passing through that membrane between her world and the ethereal. She called out to it in the void. "I will not die here. Heal me! Heal me enough so I can play my violin and transform. Tell me what you want in return." She trusted Czajka would do all she could to temper the deal, but what remained of Carmen's mind prepared for the worst. Otherworldly tentacles coiled themselves around Carmen's mind. They pried into her thoughts forcefully, pushing into the deepest recesses. She tried to protest, tried to hold them off, but had no strength left with which to fight. The barricades she'd used to impound her memories were a crumbled ruin. Ghostly feelers stretched out from the void, past the rubble of her former defenses, and seized what they wanted ever so delicately. Then, with sudden violence they wrenched that memory to the surface, forcing Carmen to live through it all over again. Carmen and her brother, Joaquim, were playing in their orchard. They were still children, he twelve years old, her only seven. The game was hide and go seek, and Carmen was running fast as she could, weaving between apple trees, ducking under branches and trying not to trip on fallen fruit as she looked for a place to take cover. She laughed giddily as she heard Joaquim call out that he'd finished counting and was on the move. In a blur she ran past the edge of the apple trees, past the border of what she knew as the Castile estate, and into the gloomy wood that their father had bidden they never enter. Joaquim would never find her here. The trees here didn't grow right. They were leafless, sharp and misshapen. Each bent itself ever so slightly as Carmen approached and flew by, following her movement. There were sorrowful faces in the bark. Black sap dripped from their mouths. Sunken eyes stared at the running girl with sadness. Carmen didn't take note of any of it, too exhilarated by the cleverness of her hiding spot. She dipped under a low-hanging beard of moss, skipped around a fairy ring of mushrooms, and leaped over a gnarled mass of roots. Then the world fell out from under her. She coughed when she came to. Dirt and detritus filled the dark air around her. She was covered in leaves, twigs and filth. Her body hurt. There was something warm all over her legs. She looked up to see the fissure through which she'd fallen. The ceiling of the chamber where she now found herself had given way. She'd fallen twenty feet at least. It was a miracle she had survived. Painfully Carmen pushed herself to her knees and tried to get on her feet. Spikes of agony shot through her, and when she looked down, even in the dim light cast from the gap above, she could see her ankle was broken; her foot twisted at an unnatural angle. She wept, but deep down she knew no one would hear her. This dilemma was one she had to solve on her own. She crawled on hands and knees to the side of the hollow, finding it covered with knotted roots. Carmen pried one loose and hooked it under the crook of her arm, as she had seen old peasants do on her rare excursions through the countryside. With her crutch she was able to walk, and she hobbled her way out of the cavity and into a passage beyond. The walls here looked more deliberate, like they had been dug out with purpose. The corridor grew darker and darker as she walked away from the hollow. The light she pursued now was cast from far-off torches burning in sconces so distant they were little more than pinpricks of light. Still, each step brought her nearer. She called out her brother's name, but her voice only echoed down the passageway. No one answered. It took nearly an hour for the little girl to limp her way to the first set or torches. They marked the end of a stonework passage that led into the freshly-dug tunnel where she had been. The granite looked strong but old, the recesses caked with lichen and luminescent moss. The torches gave off no heat, and their burning did not mar the wood or stain the walls. They were enchanted, and like the rock of the tunnel, looked ancient. Carmen lifted one out of its wrought iron holder and carried it to light her way. Walking was difficult enough with one hand on her makeshift support. With another lifting the torch, her shamble became a wearying struggle. She passed branching tunnels, and wanted somehow to mark her path. After a moment's thought, Carmen started tearing bits of cloth off the hem of her dress and dropped them every few steps. She walked for what felt like hours. Her body was beaten, ready to give out, when she came to a T shaped fork in her path. Carmen looked right, then left. Both directions had scattered fragments of cloth on the floor. Dismay hit her hard in the chest and tremors shook her tiny body. Then she heard the voices. They were muffled, and they echoed as her had, but they called out. Someone was looking for her. "I'm here!" she yelled, stumbling fast now, following the sound, her torch held high. "Down here! Joaquim? Father?!" Carmen burst into a large room. There was a metallic scent that permeated the air, even over the musty smell of this underground warren. Long tables covered with stained glassware and active alchemical equipment filled the space. She shouted again, but there was no answer now. Carmen nervously kept moving forward. Her every muscle was taught as a bowstring. "Hello?" she said. She passed a rack of wine bottles stamped and etched with the Castile family crest. Was she back under the estate, she wondered? She had walked far. In truth, she was in the bowels of her own manor house. Its deep, excavated channels spread from its foundation like an underground cobweb. Something gurgled nearby, making her jump and spin around. "Who's there?!" She heard a quick shuffling of feet. Carmen dropped her torch and ran away, out of the large room, down the corridor almost blindly, her crutch splintering under the strain, her ankle sending daggers of pain up her leg with every step. "Help!" she screamed. Carmen crashed through a doorway into a tiny space. She tripped on the uneven cobblestones, her crutch flew across the room, and she landed hard on her hands and knees. Sputtering, she gathered her legs beneath her and looked up. A corpse hung right in front of her. Its throat had been split open, and blood was pouring into a drain beneath that emptied into a channel running along the edge of the room. Carmen's jaw dropped. Her eyes, wide as feasting plates, scanned the room. It was no more than a few feet across. Bodies hung everywhere, like coats pressed too tightly into a wardrobe. Each was naked, with its throat cut and a drain that fed the conduit. The bodies were all children. She stuttered for words, but nothing came out. Two shadows darkened the doorway. Men in stained aprons stood over her. "This one's still alive," one grunted. "I thought you were done in here." "Guess I missed one," the second replied. "I'll get her later. There's no hooks left." The first shook his head, planted a foot on Carmen's chest, and kicked her hard into the back of the room. She fell through the bodies, getting coated in blood, and landed with a shriek. "Wait!" Getting back to their grisly work, both men placed arcane caps over their ears and pulled rounded red-lensed goggles over their eyes. Before Carmen could stand, they stepped back outside, swung the door shut, and pulled down the iron latch to lock it. Blood of other children her age poured over her, soaking her clothes, streaming into the drains and canals in the floor. Carmen gripped her head and bellowed a scream that could shatter glass. No one heard her. No one came. Two days later, Count Angelo Castile pulled his daughter off the gluey floor of the oubliette. She was half starved, and gibbering with madness. When he turned, the two alchemists each tried to blame the other for what had happened. The Count flicked a wrist, and the flesh melted off their bones as they squealed their final breaths. Back in the scorchliner, Carmen felt the oft-unappreciated ecstasy of air filling her lungs. She blinked as consciousness worked its way back into her head. Her hands shook as she pushed herself up onto her knees and checked her blood-covered body over for injury. Tears poured down her face in constant streams, and the walls of the VIP coach felt suddenly much too close. She took up her violin and looked at Czajka. "Thank you," she said, with all her heart. Then she put the instrument under her chin, played a grief-stricken chord, and spoke. "Where there's smoke, there's fire." She vanished in a spiral of oily flames, transforming and reappearing as Inferna in the next car back, in pursuit of Kir Lantos. Cinder she kept close and in his diminutive body, the schorchliner too small for him to move inside, and anywhere outside far too dangerous alone. With both stoats scrabbling up her legs and twirling around her shoulders, Inferna gripped her weapon tight and ran after the werewolf. "Lantos has been declared a Zakona!" she said into her metamana. "Karstoff tried to tell her staff, but something happened to her. She's...changed. Be on your guard. We do not know anything about her, or what she can do." Inferna charged through the compartments, hot on Lantos' trail, her mind focused on one thought alone; no one harms a Castile. Edited by Carmen, Fri Dec 23, 2016 6:17 pm.
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| Lorica | Fri Dec 23, 2016 5:26 pm Post #330 |
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The woman made noises, sounds that it took her several long moments to dissect and ascribe meaning to. "No," she hissed, "There is NOTHING worse than me." She ignored the bite of the trap clamped around her leg, stretching out so her knives could still reach the houndmaster. Electricity crackled through the Wellplate with every kiss of the whip, enervating her muscles, but still she strained to draw blood. Others joined the attack, allowing her to wet her blade, and she howled with triumph as the woman drew back. Words buzzed in her ear, warnings, but she was deep in the grips of madness. Lorica turned her attention to the trap and gripped its jagged teeth in both hands, the sharpened metal grating against dreamsteel. Her muscles swelled, expanding to obscene proportions as she forced the jaws open. The vehicle shuddered as it jumped between planes. The Keeper shifted her weight instinctively, plunging claw-like fingers into a chink in the armor to avoid being thrown off. The environment changed, but she barely noticed. It didn't matter where she was. She was the apex predator, the top of the food chain, and she would not be denied. Her prey took the opportunity to slip away, driven to ground. Lorica followed, crashing to the floor with a jangle of metal. There were more words exchanged, useless noise. Her eyes rolled, head jerking from side to side as she tracked targets. She stiffened as recognition pierced the fog of the corruption. Maksym. Lantos. She quivered with anticipation, unable to hold back a giddy burst of laughter. Her choice in target was determined solely by who was closer: the horribly burned Ethereal-lover. He was distracted with the woman from earlier, brawling, his back turned to her. Lorica reached out to the Wellspring, releasing it to wreak bloody havoc. The ceiling and walls twisted, barbed tentacles thrusting out of its substance and stabbing towards Maksym and his opponent with every intention of binding them in place. Then she was among them, a blur of gleaming armor and silver blades. She barely focused on the Wolves in her path, striking fast and hard to lame them, to keep them out of her way. Lorica also lashed out at the mercenary's armor, knives cutting at any straps to peel away her defenses so that she could carve open the sweet flesh underneath. However, the full brunt of her displeasure was reserved for Maksym himself. Her blades darted towards the disfigured werewolf, ignoring any defenses he could muster. She cut at him wildly and with abandon, laughing the whole time. Rough words were barely discernible between each burst of guffaws. "Good Twist! GOOD TWIST!"
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8:40 AM Jul 11

