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Serenity HP 12/19 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 10/12 Serenity matched the man's gaze for a long moment before leaning over and opening her pack. She rifled through it quickly, finally producing a tight square of paper. Unfolding it, she set it down on the table and pushed it forward. It was a notice she had taken, calling upon the adventurous to dare the depths and journey to Aqualantis. This particular one happened to mention the rumors of chimerical creatures, and promised a sizable sum for a live specimen. "To my knowledge, yes. Ramona had planned to go to Aqualantis. Lured, like many others, by the promise of wealth if they should discover the secrets of the sunken city. Whether that is the actual truth, I do not know. However, after an incident on the surface she chose not to accompany us. If I had to guess, it was due to a concern that her continued presence would be a threat to my safety. I have mixed opinions on how legitimate that concern is, but that is neither here nor there." She folded her hands on the table. "Now, I am not presuming your own intentions or motives. But I must make this clear: Do not ask me to aid you against her in any fashion. I cannot do so, and it would sour what I hope can become a mutually respectful relationship for so long as I remain here. Anything aside from that, however, I am entirely happy to lend my skills towards. You need only ask. The hospitality of Ikaria is much appreciated, and I will repay it in kind if I am able." Using Charming and Open to learn what Telsen wishes she would do. He gets a question of his own.
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Oct 20, 2016 20:41
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STATHIS No way you’re that lucky? Well, maybe you better think again. It looks like sometimes even the down-and-out roll boxcars now and again. The case officer who walks through the door into this cramped-rear end interrogation room is none other than Gail herself! She’s stuck out here in the rear end-end of nowhere, busted to the equivalent of scrubbing latrines out in a backwater nowhere for her role in trying to whistleblow on that aether crystal case some years ago. The PERT were real pleased with how you had a hand in stopping the export trade in those things. A little less so in how Gail tried to take out their production - because it turned out, as she tells you, Stanton was in deep with a few of the higher-ups in Engineering. They’d been using the lives of Stanton’s temp workers to build up an emergency power reserve - the kind of thing that could keep the lights on and the pumps running when all other sources failed. She warns you to be drat careful who you trust - she’s got no allies on the force anymore, and that means neither do you. When Karthas Murgo took power and organized the Emergency Strategic Coordination unit, he had a mandate from J.R. Warwick himself, who nobody’d dare question, to purge the ranks of disloyalty. (To him.) Anybody who was even a little dirtier than her had something he could use against them - and she’s only still got her job at all because she was too good a cop to kick off the force entirely. You’ve got the chance to Parley for a favor here, if you can think of the right leverage; or to fill her in on the details about how you got stuck here; or even just to grill her for info. What do you do? SLAVA These guys sure are taking their sweet time with you. The pictures and fingerprints you submit wearily to - just another bit of bureaucratic red tape - the retina scan a little less so. These dust-souled functionaries might even rival the home country for sheer obstructionism. Luckily for you, you’ve fed recently enough that your cadaverous flesh actually has some blood in it for them to draw - but no matter how the lab workers might try, they’ll not be able to trace it to your essential self, not by means scientific nor magical. You gave up that particular identifier a long time ago. You imagine it’ll cause no small measure of confusion. You think back to the briefing packet Ramona sent you, just after you agreed to this job. Emergency Strategic Coordinator. That was Murgo’s title, if she’s to be believed, right around the time of the disastrous fiasco in the Aqualantean slums, that claimed the lives of all her comrades - the one that left her scarred and burnt and humbled. It’s a fair drat bet he’s the one pulling the strings here - why else would an isolated research facility need two law enforcement authorities, one clearly newer and harder than the other? You can be sure, at any rate, that while these dust-souls might be too beleaguered to apprehend your true purpose here, once the description of several elven castaways washing up at Ikaria Station reaches his ears, two of them known associates of Ramona, your bounty will surely be able to connect the dots. At length, the ESCO officers return, and begrudgingly grant you right of residency - congratulations, you’re now a legally recognized castaway. This might actually be the first time you’ve actually been granted citizenship in any polity, human, elven, or otherwise, since your name and deeds were purged from the Long Chants. Something on the wanted board catches your eye - it’s none other than a portrait of dear old Eudoxia. The years have certainly been unkind to her. Her notice doesn’t seem to be an Aqualantean poster, strangely - it looks more like she’s on some kind of international criminal watch-list. Serial murder, from the looks of it - as well as a raft of lesser charges for larceny, arson, and destruction of property. Armed and extremely dangerous, the poster warns - it encourages all sightings of her to be reported to the freaking army. The bounty’s a pittance compared to Ramona’s though. What a pity - although the taste of a soul like hers should be recompense aplenty. So where were you staying, anyway, while you were on the Raft waiting for Ramona to sell you her bounty? What do you do once they finish registering you and let you go? NORI The desk clerk takes only a few moments to note your name, place of origin, and date of arrival - he looks up in amazement when you say you’re from Tian. Very few survivors from that district, he tells you respectfully, have chosen to return since the Sink. In fact, you’re the only such on this station - all the others, and those numbering less than a dozen, all dwell in Aqualantis proper, there to help rebuild the city they so nearly lost. He welcomes you back home with a grin of pleasure, and, after snapping a couple quick photographs of your armor and scratching out a few lines of notes in your personnel file, gives you leave to go. You no longer have an Outstanding Warrant in your name - or rather, you’re not going to be mistaken for Ramona every time you walk through an airlock anymore. Now that you’re registered, you’ve basically got the run of the station, and you’ve even got some free time while the others finish being processed. What do you do with it? SERENITY The peace officer fixes you with a long, unreadable stare, his face showing no sign of expression or emotion. Then he nods, once. “Very well,” he says, and some of the hardness goes out of his face. “You’re new to the faith,” he tells you, and clasps your right hand hard in his for a moment. “Obviously so. Jaira must have come to you in a time of great need, elf. She has no great love for your kind - and your scar is clearly fresh. May you wear it well, and always keep your enemies where you can see them. I hope we will not find ourselves at odds. Truth walk with you.” He rises and opens the door, indicating you’re free to go - but he makes another request of you as you depart. “One more thing - that is, if you’re willing. The force might have need of your skills. I’m sure you heard - three of our own have been lost. They’ve gone to survey the seabed not far from here - but they’re a day and a half past when we expected them to return. I and my men will depart in the Kerambit shortly, and we mean to bring them home if we can - living or dead. Will you and yours accompany us?” Telsen wishes you would provide his department with some extra manpower, but if you’re clever, maybe you can Parley with him for the equipment to delve the Abyss Wurm's lair. He wishes to know in return: How can I get you to give me a detailed account of your journey here, including how it went wrong? What do you do?
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Oct 22, 2016 23:26
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Serenity HP 12/19 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 10/12 Serenity nodded at the man as he stood by the door. "I will have to speak with my companions about it first, but hopefully they will be amenable. If they agree, I would ask something in return. We need passage to Aqualantis proper eventually. Would you be willing to lend us the use of the Kerambit when that time comes?" She stood and walked towards the door. "I understand resources are tight and you do not know us very well. No need to answer that just yet until you can be certain we are trustworthy. After we get your men back, I hope your mind will be made up. And I will tell you what you wish to know about my journey here." Parley: 2d6+3 10 In the meantime, Serenity will go find her companions and find out how altruistic they are feeling.
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Oct 25, 2016 01:42
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Slava 20/24 HP; Level 5, 12/12 XP; 1/2 Armor "Fine." is the curt response to the question of whether to aid the peace officer. A 'living or dead' rescue implied souls to dine upon. As for Eudoxia, if the local army is putting up their pittance of a bounty on her, I shall go to them for information. As a mercenary of repute they are likely to aid me rather than put more of their soldiers at risk.
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Oct 25, 2016 19:14
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Nori 23/23 HP | 1/1 Armor | XP 0/10 I thank the ESCO officer, and collect my gear. On my way out I ask where I can buy some supplies and get directed down the hall. It's a pleasant but boring transaction. They have nothing in the way of weapons or ammo for an outsider. But, as you can imagine for a research station, they have a decent enough selection of travel rations and various odds and ends that could prove useful in a pinch. I pull out my money pouch and start buying: Dungeon Rations (5 uses, 3 coins, 1 weight) x2 Adventuring Gear (5 uses, 20 coins, 1 weight) Spending 26 coins total After I'm done securing my gear I return to the ESCO offices in time to see the others finishing up with their registrations. "So what's the plan now?" I ask.
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Oct 26, 2016 02:45
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Serenity HP 12/19 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 10/12 Serenity nodded at Nori as she returned. "Now? Well...a Mr. Telsen has asked if we would be willing to provide backup for a rescue operation. It's those individuals that Miss Lissette mentioned; the ones that hadn't reported in. I am, of course, willing, but I made it clear I cannot speak for anyone but myself." She absently tugged at an ear. "I will be blunt. Nothing was offered for our aid. But the good will of the people is never a bad thing, and it may be we could earn the use of their sub for our own purposes. Doubtless with supervision, and with a limited window, but still. We need to get to Aqualantis itself. And that beast 01 slew. I was in no condition to look around even discounting the blood clouding everything up. But I would be very surprised if their was not wealth to be found in the depths of that place."
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Oct 27, 2016 01:08
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Nori 23/23 HP | 1/1 Armor | XP 0/10 I nod thoughtfully. "I'm really wanting to get to AQL soon as we can and handle this Murgo thing, but drat, if these people want our help it's the least we can do for their hospitality, y'know? Count me in."
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Oct 27, 2016 01:14
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EVERYBODY “It’s settled, then. We’ll be casting off shortly - assemble in the cargo bay in one hour.” It’s all official now: papers stamped, notes notarized, every last jot and tittle accounted for - and just in time for you to leave again. When you’re all done raiding the station’s storehouses of food, equipment, and information, you make your various ways to the cargo locks, where Lissette and a pair of engineers in her employ have laid out 01’s shattered warframe on a spare workbench. She bustles up to Serenity, hardly able to contain her excitement. “E-excuse me, miss? I don’t think we had a chance to speak earlier - is this your arbeiter? Er, was this your arbeiter. I don’t know why you’d bring it all this way, but oh my goodness, I - I’ve never seen anything like it!” Her two understudies seem to be engrossed in an enthusiastic discourse on, to all appearances, his one working knee joint. “None of us have - and Medlyn used to work in the ergomalleum complexes back before the Sink! Please, you’ve got to let us take a closer look at it.” What do you do?
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Oct 27, 2016 06:15
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Stathis Argyle HP 14/18 | Armor 1 | XP 1/11 | Load 6/6 It'd been too long since I talked with an honest cop. Hell, last time was probably Gail ten years ago, during the Maxfield Case. It was just chance that got me pulling a loose thread on his twisted web of lies and deceit, a mother worrying after a son who stopped writing. My investigations eventually had me cross paths with Gail as she was tracking down a social services worker who went missing, and eventually led us both to Stanton. Got her promoted and everyone wanted to get the local hero on their side. Her dwarf-like stubbornness is probably why she's back to beat cop now. The coffee's nice, handles the intake for the clerk. Catch up, trade stories of the last ten years. She doesn't need to know why I'm at the Raft, just like I already know why she hasn't quit. She's a bit surprised about my letting the sub get "ghost-jacked" but only the 'bot had a shot at piloting the thing with the cockpit breached, and even if that thing knew how to do anything other than murder it destroyed itself to kill the overgrown fish. It was nice to hear she hadn't just had ten years of the worst things happening in rapid succession, just mostly here at the end. Cleaned up the streets a bit, got things moving in the right direction before the Sink happened. More things change, more they stay the same. I ask her about Serenity's kid she's looking for, any other elves moving through the city and the like. Maybe some talk, anything. ~Later~ I give a look at Lisette, a careful glance at the wrecked 'bot. "Does this closer look involve leaving it's remains here? Sounds like we're doing somebody a favor." Discern Realities: 2d6+1 6 the requested Discern How I've Been (Parley): 2d6+3 9 Fuckin' I dunno what to promise here? Or my leverage even????
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Oct 28, 2016 09:23
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Serenity HP 12/19 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 10/12 Serenity watched as the two subordinates picked over 01's remains like vultures. She took a deep breath and cleared her head. It wouldn't do to snap at them for simple curiosity. "...I will make you an offer. You may have the arms and legs. Those sorts of gross motor components. The head and torso however will be given sacraments and sent to its rest in the sea. To rest, and to watch over you against the darker things that lurk within the depths. That...arbeiter...has earned his rest and it is the least I can do to see he is granted it." Let me know if you think this warrants parley. Serenity will be polite, but she will absolutely brook no argument on this. 01 chose to serve her, but she never liked that it appeared to be something he had to do, rather than chose to do. She will not help anyone (re)create a race of robot slaves. Sure, maybe nobody here has that intention, but she's not naive enough to think somebody won't get that bright idea. And while she hasn't the slightest idea how 01 worked, she is willing to bet the important answers lie where the heart and mind would be in a biologic. Anyway. Barring the other characters wanting to have a word with her, Serenity is geared up and ready to go.
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Oct 28, 2016 09:52
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THE ESCO OFFICES Stathis, the door opens on you and Gail right when you’re at your chummiest. It’s someone you haven’t seen before - a hard man in quasi-military police uniform, nine-fingered just like Serenity suddenly seems to be, and all he has to do is look at your cop friend. His face hardly moves an inch. Maybe one of his eyebrows goes up a fraction. He doesn’t even have to say anything. Just looks at you, looks at her, then closes the door. You’d have to know her to see it - Gail’s learned to hide her reactions very well - but she’s shaken, badly. The interview doesn’t last long after that, and she’s all business. All cop. You don’t even get a chance to really ask about the bard’s missing kid - she cuts you off and hurries through your papers before letting you out the door. If you didn’t know her you’d think she was pissed off, but you can see she’s scared, scared as hell. Maybe her position here was more precarious than you thought it was... You don’t need to roll Parley after all, because I can’t think of any leverage you’d have on her either. You do, at least, have a pretty good idea of who’s really in control here. THE MACHINE SHOP Stathis and Serenity, Lissette frowns, but, reluctantly, she accepts the bard’s offer. “I...suppose I can agree to that much,” she says. “Whatever it must have done for you, something sure did a number on it. This engineering is incredible, you know - you really are doing us a favor. Even our arbeiters aren’t this well made.” She motions her assistant Medlyn over; the other woman breaks off her inspection of the sheared-off end of his severed leg and, after hearing your conditions, promises the same. “Really, we need the cameras all working out there more than we need a scarecrow,” she grouses, but agrees all the same. “Come on - you too, Florian.” But when he promises - when he says that he’ll give 01 his due sacraments and send him honorably into the sea - Serenity, behind his voice, you can hear the unmistakeable tone of discord sound. Florian is lying in his heart. You’re certain of it. Through the walls, a low throbbing hum resonates - that must be the Kerambit coming in now, making ready to dock where you came in last night. The red light atop the personnel lock winks out, replaced by amber. Lissette whispers something under her breath harshly - you don’t catch what it is - but she jerks her head at her assistants, and they both rush to cover up your bodyguard’s body with a heavy black tarp, while she slips back to her desk by the airlock and starts conversing with whoever’s on the other side. The tromp of several boots can faintly be heard coming from the hatch to the freight corridor - is it time to go already? ESCO certainly does keep a very punctual schedule. Whatever you’re going to do, you’d better make it quick. What do you two do? Slava and Nori, unless you’ve got a really good reason to be elsewhere, you’re both here too while this is going on. What do you two do?
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Oct 30, 2016 00:03
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Serenity HP 12/19 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 10/12 As Lissette moved to cover 01, Serenity put a hand on Florian's shoulder. "I really appreciate you and your coworkers respecting my wishes like this. It would break my heart of someone were to desecrate my companion's remains. Things would get so very unpleasant. I might have to call on the old treaties between my people and the human nations. The ones where elvish law and punishment takes precedence in matters involving them and their servants." She spoke obliquely, referring to nobody in particular. "Traditionally we opt for a duel to the death. Usually with blades. And these days so few humans train with swords, given the advent of firearms. Meanwhile, I've been handling them for most of my life. And while I'm hardly on the level of a dedicated warmaster...I've fought spirits, zombies, a kraken, assassination squads, tritons, and even an abyss wyrm. And that's just in the last few weeks. And given that the arbeiter was basically a surrogate father to my youngest, I would be quite emotional. Possibly motivated towards vengeance beyond all reason." She shook her head and gave him a kind smile. "I digress. The point being, is it is very good nobody here would gainsay my word. Being disemboweled is a terrible way to die."
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Oct 30, 2016 03:43
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Slava 20/24 HP; Level 5, 12/12 XP; 1/2 Armor I smile. That is how we should regard humans. However, for a moment I considered that it might be humans she had spent most of her life handling, rather than swords as she intended to convey. After all, if memory served, her contributions in combat were less than intimidating.
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Oct 30, 2016 04:28
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THE MACHINE SHOP Stathis, you’re here too. What are you doing while all this is going on? Serenity, Florian stops short at the mention of disembowelment. He breaks out into a fine sweat. “W-you wouldn’t dare,” he stammers. “Why would you just want to throw this away? An abyss w--? Tritons?” He keeps looking at your missing finger, eyes flicking nervously to it, then to your sword, then to your eyes. “Oh God, are you…? L-look, I swear it’ll be okay out there. We can come back and pi-pick it up once you’re underway. It’ll be fine out there. Please don’t report me.” Something’s going on here, and you’re not really sure what. Defy Danger +CHA, or Florian may do something you’re going to regret. What do you do? Nori, Florian turns to you too, beseechingly. “Are you with her?” he asks. “She can’t be serious. Please, you’ve got to understand. ESCO, they’ll do anything if they believe it’ll help us survive down here. Anything. And she said there were…? Oh, this day just gets better and better…look, there’s a lot I can’t tell you right now, but you’ve got to believe me. Don’t make me put that thing out where they can get at it.” What do you do? Slava, the time for idleness has passed - now, as the hatch to the freight corridor creaks open, the time for action has come. A tight phalanx of humans in quasimilitary police uniform marches out, and at their head is one more, mutilated the same way Serenity is - but this is no mere dust-soul. This is another devotee of that foreign moon-goddess. No great depth of flavor here - these humans tend not to live long or widely enough to develop any true subtlety - but the tang of his soul is uncommonly strong, as metallic and unyielding as this station’s steel walls. As the squadron passes by you, something curious happens. The only woman in that phalanx, a slighter figure in a beret, boxy little weapon holstered at her hip - she catches your eye and she winks. What do you do?
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Oct 30, 2016 18:43
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Slava 20/24 HP; Level 5, 12/12 XP; 1/2 Armor I nod my head, narrow my eyes, and smile, all ever so slightly. We should meet. I follow her, and when those other bores are gone, find a way to put myself in her path. As for the man, I would like to find a way to put us into an arena where we could duel. The first will lead me to the second, perhaps.
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Oct 30, 2016 18:51
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Stathis Argyle HP 14/18 | Armor 1 | XP 1/11 | Load 6/6 I look to Serenity. Why she thinks the squirming bookworm is lying beyond me, but her tone conveys her zealous belief that this threat is necessary to get the remains of the bot burned and buried. "Because, it's hers. She can decide what's done with her property..." His furtive glances, she's... What? He's finding meaning in... She had all her fingers when we entered the airlock. Now her hand's like that hardass' who's running the place. Does the egghead think there's a connection? More importantly, is he right? Had to stay up and chat with the corpse, not take the sleep when I could. "Okay, clearly I've been left out of a loop here. How about we take a deep breath and then have a nice calm chat, talk about why we want the things we want instead of obliquely talking around a vague concept while we assume everyone else is on the same page. I'd like that quite a bit." Let's use words instead of threats (Defy Danger+Cha): 2d6+3 8
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Oct 31, 2016 16:05
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Serenity HP 12/19 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 10/12 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aue7Hko6aH4 Serenity's eyes narrowed. "You would not believe the things I would dare." She listened dispassionately as the man attempted to stammer his way out of the corner he had found himself in. People always made this mistake. Thinking that generosity and mercy meant she was a doormat, happy to be trod upon. Every one of them failed to understand that she was the way she was because she chose to be, because the world was ugly enough without contributing more needless pain and misery. But that philosophy did not necessitate turning a blind eye to iniquity. Her gaze flicked to Stathis as he spoke, trying to smooth things over. "This man gave his word to adhere to the deal I made with Lissette regarding 01. They may have his arms and legs. Everything else, his heart and mind, will be put to rest. Yet his words were false. Florian intends to break his oath. And while I make a living through socially acceptable lies, I absolutely will not tolerate a promise made to me being broken. Believe me. The gods treat oath-breakers far more cruelly than anything I could envision. I have quite a great deal of horror to draw from, I should add; I've the whole of the Thousand and Five Agonies of Saint Brellest committed to memory. The four hundred and eighty-third was a white hot brand applied to his testicles. Eight lines about it, in fact." Her gaze shifted back to Florian. "Go and do what your cowardly heart demands of you." Interfere: 2d6+2 10 The Defy Danger roll is dropped to a 6, and Stathis marks XP. Serenity can respect Stathis' wish to cool the situation down, but her hackles are up. If Florian wishes to make life difficult for them because he will not speak plainly, so be it. She is in the right on this matter, even if the means of expressing it are less then kind. Shardix fucked around with this message at 23:12 on Oct 31, 2016 |
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Oct 31, 2016 23:09
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THE MACHINE SHOP Florian endures the bard’s tongue-lashing, his eyes first widening in fear, then welling up with tears - then, abruptly, burning with a new hard light. “No,” he says, simply. "You loving elves are all alike. Think you can just waltz into our home and tell us all what to do. Well, fine. I'll do it. I'll do it myself. No more running. Gods, I'm so tired of this place. I just want to go home." And then he walks away. He goes up to Telsen at the head of his phalanx, taps his shoulder, says something quietly into his ear, and pulls him out of formation. Over at the console, Lissette blanches. Medlyn clutches her stomach and trembles. Florian leads the peace officer over to the workbench and flings aside the heavy tarp - and Telsen’s eyebrows fly up. He actually takes a step back. Slava. you haven’t quite got a chance to get that ESCO officer alone yet, but she’s here in the room with you, the rest of her phalanx, and everybody else. What does everybody do?
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Nov 1, 2016 14:56
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Serenity HP 12/19 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 10/12 Serenity looked at Stathis. "Now we're both out of the loop, it seems. This isn't just some matter of a kid not getting his toys. Nori, any thoughts?" Serenity is just going to wait and see what happens for now.
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Nov 1, 2016 20:47
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Nori 23/23 HP | 1/1 Armor | XP 1/10 "Whoa whoa, everybody fuckin calm down. Serenity, you're coming awful close to threatening MY people. Florian, hermano, what do you mean you can't let 'them' get the robot?" The hatch opens and the obvious soldiers come walking in, I hold up a finger in their direction to hold a moment, as I keep my gaze levelled on the technician. "Well, Florian?" Parley 4 +xp Well...I tried to help...
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Nov 1, 2016 22:03
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Slava 20/24 HP; Level 5, 12/12 XP; 1/2 Armor I find a way beside the intriguing woman and indicate the fracas with my eyes. "What is this?" I ask, sotto voce
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Nov 1, 2016 22:12
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THE MACHINE SHOP Slava, the mystery woman chuckles, indicating her superior officer with a tilt of her chin as he and Florian walk over to the two women at the comms console. The airlock light's still stubbornly amber - are the other officers on the other side of that door having difficulty? "This looks like a good start to a good morning," she responds, eyes trained avidly on the unfolding scene. She licks her lips. There's a tang on your tongue as you get close enough to taste the texture of her soul, a sharp electric jab like licking the terminals of a battery. Discern Realities if you wish to plumb the taste of her soul more deeply - you may be able to get at the sort of things people don't easily talk about that way. Or you two could just keep talking.  What do you do?Everybody else, I'll post for you asap, but it's late and I'm being drowned in work this week. 
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Nov 3, 2016 02:22
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Slava 20/24 HP; Level 5, 12/12 XP; 1/2 Armor "Hm?" I lie as an excuse to get closer. I think I would like to fight this one as well, talking can resume once I place the taste. Discern Realities: 2d6 8 What here is not what it appears to be?
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Nov 3, 2016 03:02
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SLAVA "I know that look," she grins. "Old Ninefingers never gets like that unless somebody tries to pull a fast one on him. If my guess is right I'd guess somebody's getting his transit visa reinstated - and somebody else is winding up in a cell.” You move closer, the better to probe her taste with your psychogustatory senses - just another human, dust-souled and bland. But there it is again, that sour electric jolt on your metaphorical tongue. Invigorating. But you need to get closer. “Oh, it might just be a good day after all.” Is she inviting you to take a taste? This close, you can taste the little subtleties - her satisfaction, her pride in service, the born thug’s anticipation of a face to stomp on. This type’s a dime a dozen, a bare step above tasteless gruel - but even the spiritual equivalent of a Dorito is better than going hungry until godsonlyknow when something worth sinking your teeth into shows up. You reach out - and the two of you lock eyes... NORI The soldiers pay no heed to your upraised finger, fanning out in two ranks and coming to parade rest in front of the only door out of here. “Please, you have to believe me,” Florian tells you sadly, just before he turns his back on you and walks away. “We’re falling apart back home, and everyone knows it. Neighbor, you haven’t seen it yet, but you’ll believe me when you do. If you do. ESCO’s all that keeps us together.” He lets out a humorless little laugh. “We can’t leave, Nori. None of us can. Warwick’s keeping us right where he can see us - he knows we’re his best shot at figuring out how to keep Engineering happy and keeping us all breathing. We’re a test bed. And a prison.” He sighs - sounds almost on the verge of tears. “Lissette, she’s had her own ideas, but...I can’t. I wish there was more time to explain, and you’ll just have to trust me, but I can’t go along with that sedition anymore. I just want to go home.” The ESCO officer, with Florian trailing at his heels, bends to examine your ex-trainer’s mortal shell. Scrutinizes the finger-joints and - his eyes flick to you quickly - the gaping rent in his thorax. He rises and addresses Lissette and her other assistant gravely. “This came in with the others last night?” “Yes, sir.” “Did you examine it closely?” “No, sir.” “Try again.” “I-it wasn’t something that was relevant to the charter--” “Medlyn? Or should I go get Dr. del Moreno and ask her to explain this?” “It was the, um, the components in its chest, sir. We weren’t sure if it was photosensitive, we wanted to keep it out of the light until…” she trails off nervously. “Florian tells me she-” -here he indicates your companion Serenity, and the other two women step back a half-a-pace- “-threatened him with torture. That you three were instructed to put this out the airlock. Is this true?” “Y-yes sir.” “Were you trying to hide this from me?” It's your moment to act. What do you do? SLAVA  Screeching acidity floods your tongue - your head jerks back involuntarily, overpowered by a burst dike of emotional backwash as bracing and energizing as clenching your hand on a fistful of razors. It’s as though you lifted a cup to take that first morning sip of fresh coffee, but behind its inviting foamy crust seethed a mugful of boiling battery-acid, and as the drink hits your lips the festering rags of a maggot-ridden fruit bump up against the portals of your teeth - so does the full recognition of the creature behind that human mask burst upon you. Her eyes open wide, wider, the black of one pupil opening like a malignant cancer to spread across fully half her cornea as she stares straight into you and begins to tremble. This is she. That peerless warrior who countless victims of the Elvenwars called the Sword-Wind, the Unmarred, the Noonday Star. Dame Eudoxia Lightbringer. Inches from your teeth. She can’t look away from you. She’s shaking all over. You’ve long known she numbered among the Mad - that her matchless eye for tactics has long since metastasized into something far darker - that she hasn’t been seen in any of the Dominions for two-going-on-three centuries - that nearly every belligerent (human) polity in the Elvenwars would pay dearly for her head on a pike - that you may be the first of her contemporaries she’s laid eyes on since the Hearthfire twins made an ill-advised attempt to bring her back into family custody. What she’s doing here, wearing this dust-soul’s face and identity like a flimsy rubber mask, almost beggars belief - but here she is. You’re standing uncomfortably close to her, almost intimately so, right up against the corner of the phalanx of ESCO soldiers, sixteen strong in two ranks of eight, body-blocking the only way out of here that doesn’t lead to the sea. Both her personalities spear you through and through with their divided gaze. The human mask is offended, indignant, scandalized that some point-eared fop would dare to intrude on her personal space so. Her elder self is seething, boiling over with raw emotion, cringing away from recognition at the same time as she seems to crave it. The hot tremor in her limbs grows more pronounced. She’s quivering on the glass-edge of an explosion. Stepping up to you, she shoves a prodding finger into your chest and says in far too loud and shaky a voice, “Don’t go thInking yow can get frisky with me, bou?cko.” Every ESCO eye in the room snaps to you. Their hands drift discreetly closer to the butts of their weapons. The air is suddenly very tense. What do you do? SERENITY AND STATHIS All eyes are on Slava for at least a moment or two, and you are now free to move about the cabin. What do you two do?
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Nov 6, 2016 16:16
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Slava 20/24 HP; Level 5, 12/12 XP; 1/2 Armor I take advantage of the pregnant pause to fly through my mind-catacombs for the mechanism by which Eudoxia has possessed this human, and how to exploit it. All methods of preserving sanity have been tried, with only variations... Soul injection, perhaps. As if the decomposition of a rotting core would be slowed at all by fleeing into a new body. Let alone stopped, or reversed. SL with DR bonus: 2d6+4 16
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Nov 6, 2016 16:52
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Serenity HP 12/19 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 10/12 All the vague allusions and lack of context was getting irritating. There was obviously something about 01 that was very important to these people. Why couldn't they just spit it out? And this woman next to Slava. What was her problem? Linguistics and voice control was her bread and butter, and it was obvious there was something deeply wrong with her just by how she spoke. That she could barely control her body language only made it more obvious that there was something going on here. Serenity took a breath and allowed her mindset to shift, her subconscious mind expanding to encompass the whole of the minutiae of the scene. Assembling disparate bits of knowledge into a pattern she could work with. Discern Realities: 2d6 8 What is about to happen?
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Nov 6, 2016 16:58
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SLAVA You’re quite right, of course. Nothing known has ever slowed the degeneration of the Mad once they begin to turn. Not transmigration, not encystment, and your particular salvation you know only worked because you made your deal long before the symptoms ever began to show up in you. This is her flesh, elf-flesh - yet she wears a human body-type like it’s truly her own, and not some glove of meat for her transmigrated soul. Insight flashes upon you. The Madness can’t be cured, no, there’s nothing in all the worlds that could cut out that canker once it begins to fester - but perhaps it could be redacted. Forgotten. Not forever, of course: the earliest recorded date on the Wanted poster was some six decades ago, and you know she’s been active outside the Dominions in one form or another at least twice that. The reports are always the same - some hapless group of isolates utterly wiped out, brutally butchered, all the skulls smashed to flinders and the victims’ shredded brains strewn across the wreckage of their lives like a hand-grenade gone off in the overhead bin. And always, every time, there’s one body never accounted for. Yes, this must be how she does it - not transmigration but submersion. Eudoxia has forgotten she was ever among the Mad - but you’re quite the familiar sight, aren’t you? Now would probably be a very bad time to reminisce about days now past. Maybe you’d just better play the ignorant fool and hope whatever’s left of the last one she ate is still integrated enough to keep itself together… Pregnant pauses don’t last forever, though. Knowing all this, what do you do? SERENITY Yes, this is starting to make at least a little sense. You can read their patterns of shifting loyalties - humans are always so overt in their displays. Telsen carries the mandate of authority here, just or otherwise - Lissette, Medlyn, and Florian sought to thwart his will, or to go against his idea of what is right - but Florian looks like he’s had his fill of dissension, and is ready to return to the fold, even if that means committing a betrayal. Why, you’re not sure just yet - but it’s clear each bloc here believes itself to be acting in the best interest of their city, their Aqualantis. Only Medlyn lied in that whole exchange. She has no idea if 01’s ‘components’ react to light or not, and she gave 01 a thorough examination while you were out cold. All four of them think they’ve stumbled upon something of world-shifting consequence. You know he’s old - certainly he’s been in your life long enough to see a child grow. But how old? Old enough, it seems, for Telsen to think he needs a monopoly on lawful force in this room just to take possession of it. That much is clear from the way he stands, from the way he asserts his quiet, almost regretful authority, like a stern father discovering his daughter’s secret stash of heroin. Telsen is about to take your bodyguard into his custody. The airlock door remains stubbornly shut. Increasingly frustrated inquiries come from the speaker grille. Somebody’s going to have to answer whoever’s on the other end of that door, whoever’s captaining the Kerambit for this rescue mission of yours, before too much longer. And suddenly a new voice rips the air - one trembling at the seams and straining like a frayed leash. It’s Slava and...one of the ESCO officers? She’s shoving a finger into his chest and telling him to back off, but the tones of her voice are just plain wrong. They’re all over the place, sawtoothed with all sorts of out-of-control emotion, far more than has any right to be coming out of the mouth of an officer of the law. You have no idea what to expect. No idea what interaction with her could possibly lead to, but she’s clearly as unstable as a handful of mercury fulminate right now. Be very careful how you deal with her... The course of this scene yet hinges upon your actions and the actions of your companions. What do you do? Also answer this question: how did you and 01 first meet?
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Nov 6, 2016 17:44
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Slava 20/24 HP; Level 5, 12/12 XP; 1/2 Armor "Excuse me. I thought you were someone else. A close friend." I raise an eyebrow at the overreaction in the room and point them with my gaze back to the argument. Eudoxia will not press the issue if she wants to keep her identity from breaking down. Planning on how to destroy her begins. I think I would like to find the last of the missing, brainless bodies and show her it. Unlikely that it still exists. Bringing forth one who might recognize the one whose identity she stole to watch them deny that she is who she says... A shame. All I should do is isolate, kill, and turn in. Then I can pretend to leave Aqualantis, as if she were in fact my only bounty, but continue the hunt for Murgo.
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Nov 6, 2016 23:31
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Serenity HP 12/19 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 10/12 Five months she'd been on the run from the choir's pet killer. They'd come close enough to sanity for a brief while to accept into their awareness that Serenity was a potential threat. They could not act overtly, no. She'd committed no high crimes and even their power was not enough to gainsay the outcry her murder would provoke. She was too much a public figure in too many lands. But a quiet assassination by a deniable asset far from home? That would suit their needs just fine. How many times had she slipped certain death, now? Too many. And the machine remained as relentless as ever. No doubt it had found her friends and acquaintances and pried likely hideouts from them. Serenity couldn't really blame them. Very few people owed her enough to die for her, and she wouldn't want them too regardless. This was a personal matter. Unfortunately, this personal matter was going to end soon. She was due to give birth any day now. Whether the machine caught her before or after, she would be in no condition to fight. The only hope she had was that it only had orders to kill her. And just maybe, it would be willing to strike a deal. She'd let it complete its mission if she could complete hers. Bring this child into the world and give her over to someone for safekeeping. She would simply have to hope it had at least that much humanity in it. --- The machine raised its blade for the coup de grace. She hadn't even had a chance to defend herself; it had simply burst through the wall and snapped her arm like a twig. More fool her for thinking it would care about using the door. "Go gently caress yourself!" It stopped. "I cannot comply, lacking reproductive organs. Restate the request, or make another." It sounded annoyed as it said this. Serenity meanwhile wasted no time thinking about it. "Drop your weapons! Stand down!" It did so. Serenity stared at her assassin, uncomprehending. "Aren't you supposed to kill me?" "Yes. Unfortunately you seem to have authority to give me orders. It would seem you are descended from my original masters. In light of this, give me permission to end your life functions." The midwife cowered in a corner, making signs against evil as the robot spoke. Serenity wasn't sure herself if this was even happening. "...No. In fact, I order you specifically not to kill me." "I should point out that despite this unforeseen circumstance, you lack authority to fully rescind my instructions. Merely delay them." "Yeah? Well, I'm pretty good at giving people reasons to keep me alive." "My presence here would suggest otherwise." "Well. I can't please everybody. So until I say otherwise, no killing me." "I urge you to reconsider. That is my function. It's what I do." The machine managed to sound actually exasperated. There was something about it...him. This was no mere automaton. There was even hints of unconscious body language to reinforce the sense of frustration. Unthinking machines didn't do that. If she didn't have more important things on her mind right now, the implications would be worth delving into. "How are you at setting a broken arm? Or babysitting?" --- 19 years later Serenity closed her eyes and let out a breath. She opened them again and began to speak. "Alright. Enough. Explain to me, clearly and concisely, what precisely the issue is with my companion's remains. I, having respect for a fallen comrade, simply want him laid to rest. Your man Florian, meanwhile, is babbling incoherently on the matter. Taking exception to everything I say and acting like the offended party when his lies are unveiled. So please. Enlighten me." Shardix fucked around with this message at 01:09 on Nov 9, 2016 |
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Nov 7, 2016 21:13
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EVERYBODY The tension stretches for a long moment, the eyes of the ESCO troopers and their commanding officer flicking from revenant to bard to the frightened forms of Lissette and Medlyn. The one Slava was schmoozing with backs off, apologizing shakily and taking deep, slow breaths. At last, Serenity’s words break the standoff - her reasonable (if frustrated) tone imploring moderation and restraint. “Very well,” Telsen replies, gesturing curtly to his men, and five of them step forward. Medlyn and Lissette shrink back against the console. The hard tone of truth rings behind his every word. “The issue, miss, is that your companion is a war machine of ancient make. Aqualantean Intelligence is well-cognizant of those assets your government retains at its disposal, and at its discretion, and that several treaties proscribe the use of such assets in war. Treaties that you must certainly be aware your government takes as seriously as a child playing house.” He clenches his right fist, the old, knotted stump-scar there clearly visible. “It’s far too dangerous to leave unattended, and I’ll not let it out of my custody until I’m satisfied it’s truly as dead as it seems. Florian was right to bring this to my attention.” “I’m further informed that, contrary to their loyalty to this city and to its survival against the threats plaguing us, two of those under my protection would seek to hide this fact from me - to dispose of a strategic war asset of exceptional age and lethality without so much as seeking to inform their superior officer first. I suspect foul play.” The two women glance at each other guiltily - Medlyn looks like she’s chewing her tongue in order not to say something regrettable to her former coworker. “I suspect sedition, and sabotage, and I will confine these two in my custody until such time as my suspicions are allayed. Take them.” The ESCO troopers seize Medlyn and Lissette, taking one arm each, and frog-march them out of the room despite their vehement protests. “Florian,” he continues regretfully, “either you were part of this potential conspiracy from the beginning, or you’ve gleaned information on seditious activity without bringing it immediately to me. Your actions are commendable, but whatever your motives, I judge them misguided - you are confined to quarters until I discover which is which.” Reluctantly, he too leaves the room in the company of another trooper. “Now. As for the rest of you. You three elves. I don’t know why you’ve come, but you come in citizens’ company, as refugees, having committed no crimes. I must assume you benign, but I don’t know your loyalties, and I have little time to ascertain them. Instead I must ask they be proven.” He strides to the airlock controls and the door hisses open, admitting another squadron of troopers bearing several heavy footlockers. “Four months ago, Ramona de Sahagun made her descent to Aqualantis under cover of humanitarian mission. She was apprehended by our Coordinator, but escaped custody and somehow incited mutiny aboard his vessel, the Visible Hand. Two days after the mutiny, the vessel was recaptured and impounded at the city’s main wharves. She and a small party of confederates attempted to retake their prize, opposed by a contingent of the city’s pre-Sink police force.” “That district is no longer habitable. It was destroyed when its protective dome suffered catastrophic fracture, along with the Visible Hand and all surviving crew. Accounts of the disaster are incoherent, but at a bare minimum hundreds of lives were lost that day. Somehow, against all odds, Karthas Murgo survived to lead us once more out of disaster. We reeled. Do you understand that? We cling to survival now by the skin of our teeth. We’ve had to sacrifice two more districts just to ensure our remaining enviro-plants can support the remaining cubic. Evacuation is no longer an option. We must adapt, and only J.R. Warwick Froedriksson and his strong right hand can save us from annihilation.” “That was then. This is now. Four days ago, a research vessel and its crew departed from this station. As of now, they’re...eighteen hours past their last rendezvous, and we have an approximate fix on their distress beacon.” The troopers unlatch their cargo and fling open the lids - inside, several sets of what looks like that revolting Aquatic Respirator’s well-off stepbrother rest on padded foam. “You four will be part of the advance team. Find that submarine, board it, and bring our people home. Their location puts them deep within an area of bizarre sonar readings - we don’t know what to expect, but extravehicular activity may be necessary if the Kerambit can’t safely dock. Don’t worry.” His mouth twists with distasteful memory. “Nobody was willing to wear the drat things until the gene-smelters could turn out a less disgusting sarcotype.” ***** Serenity, every word this man says rings with conviction - he truly believes himself to have spoken no lie. But is what he telling you really the whole story? The Ramona you knew was no ruthless killer, yet this man accuses her of a mass murder of staggering proportions. How much did she really tell you about why she came here, and for what purpose? The Karthas Murgo you know is a controversial figure for sure - Anastasia shared with you a few rare nuggets of gossip from the homeland, and word in the empress’ courts is that Mr. Murgo is a well-known human trafficker...why is he favored here with such fervent supporters? Slava, your true bounty seems further and further away with each passing moment. Karthas Murgo has wormed himself ever deeper into the corridors of Aqualantean power, and now, to all appearances, he wields the founder’s mandate of authority and power. You’ve got a long way to go before your fangs can taste his throat - but at least you’ve got an appetizer aboard to whet your appetite with. Dame Eudoxia has made her wandering way here too - what fey impulse could have possibly led her here, to this crumbling city? Perhaps she finds a measure of stability in the soldier’s life - in being a tool once more, well-honed and expertly wielded. But you saw the madness in her, bubbling latent behind her mask of forgetfulness, and you know firsthand that she didn’t earn those titles by weaving baskets. If, or when, her illusion of sanity finally splits its seams, you can be sure there’ll be blood in the water... Nori, it looks things here have really gone to poo poo, and it’s taken every effort your countrymen can muster to drag this city back from the brink of annihilation. You’ve come in the nick of time - this place could well use another survivor of your skill and talent, but what devil’s bargain have your fellow Aqualanteans made to ensure their prosperity and security here, so far beneath the waves? Your city is not what it once was. Telsen’s words and actions make that abundantly clear. Ramona’s alleged actions, rather less so - but you knew her, at least for a while. Does she seem to you like the sort to commit mass murder - to sacrifice hundreds in the name of a bounty? One thing’s for sure: not everything is quite what it appears aboard Ikaria Station. Why, then, did those two (three?) mechanics seek to hide 01 from the peace officer’s watchful eyes? What does he hope to gain from taking that antediluvian war machine into his custody? And what, exactly, were Will, May, and Mite meant to investigate - what weird geothaumistry could be of such overriding interest to the Big Man, enough to make it worth the fantastic expense of constructing this far-flung outpost in such incredible haste? Your status as one of the handful of Tianese survivors grants you a measure of trust among the stationers here - but who can you trust? Who here truly has your city’s best intentions at heart? You’ll need to be careful... Stathis, it looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you. There’s so many plots afoot here you can practically taste them, and even more questions yet unanswered. You’ve only just set foot on solid ground after a truly harrowing descent - and hardly have you had a chance to take a smoke break and a good nap before you’re off to brave the black waves again, shanghaied into a rescue mission of uncertain duration and danger. And beyond that, what other threats might overshadow this fragile outpost of civilization? What are you to make of the braid of Xanthonautes, the triton warrior whose men assailed the Alembic - who sought to gain glory through your defeat, then guided you and your companions honorably to safety? What the hell was an Abyss Wurm, that horrifying manifestation of myth-made-flesh, doing slumbering at the precise location of your vessel’s crash - and what ancient horrors might that beast have collected in its buried lair, now laid open for all and sundry to plunder? And, most importantly of all… WHO SANK AQUALANTIS? ***** Let’s get this adventure moving again!  For the purposes of this post, I’ve assumed you’re all on board with this rescue mission - if Telsen’s actions have made you rethink your offer of assistance (explicit or implied), then take it up with me and we’ll figure out what happens next. Otherwise, post about what you do aboard the Kerambit on its way to the Hvalreki’s crash site, and my next post will be about what happens when you get there.WHAT DO YOU DO?
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Nov 12, 2016 04:32
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Slava 20/24 HP; Level 5, 12/12 XP; 1/2 Armor I try to learn what I can about who Eudoxia thinks she is during the travel time. It may ease my mission to put her at ease and then take her in her sleep, as it were, and that would require me not to cruelly jostle her true self free before I seize the initiative. The pompous Lightbringers consider themselves above such misdirection, but equal footing is an invention that too many Elves take for granted–life, madness, death, they do not wait for the ready. Otherwise the Dame might have made arrangements.
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Nov 12, 2016 09:18
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Serenity HP 12/19 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 10/12 Serenity listened to the man, eyes hard and face neutral. She could appreciate his problems. She could appreciate all the difficulties everyone here labored under. But gods be good they seemed to be doing their level best to utterly infuriate her at every step. Doctor Moreno and her daughter were so far the only people she did harbor some small urge to backhand on principal. But they had scarcely talked; the mother may yet find a way to add herself to the list. The matter with Ramona...well. It certainly sounded damning. But it also did not sound as though anyone knew for certain what caused the dome to crack. Mutiny and small scale violence sounded like Ramona. Mass murder, less so. That of course did not rule out an accident from either side, but still. Concrete details would need to be found. Whatever the case and whatever the trouble, it was not Serenity's place to judge. She would help as she could, and learn what she may. "Fine. Let us waste no further time. Ensure we have extra breathers in case your people require them." Snatching up a breather, Serenity boarded the sub and found a seat. She was finding herself suddenly in a Mood and needing an outlet for her frustrations. Pulling her harp from her pack, she carefully strung it and tested a chord. She nodded as the strings proved to have survived undamaged, and she let her fingers find their place. It was funny. All the time she had spent with 01 he had made waves, but nobody had ever really cared about him besides her and Anastasia. Not in a sense where his existence as an individual mattered. He'd always just been "Her" killer robot. Even 01 himself refused to ever acknowledge any other possibility. Now that he was gone, though, people were fair to rioting over his remains. Would he have appreciated that sentiment? Probably he'd have been utterly indifferent, or snidely condescending. Wish I was standing by the shore Feel the wind blow in my face See the waves roll in for an encore They take a bow, they know their place Shardix fucked around with this message at 09:08 on Nov 15, 2016 |
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Nov 13, 2016 06:33
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Stathis Argyle HP 14/18 | Armor 1 | XP 3/11 | Load 6/6 I could go into detail on the differences between the wreck of a 'bot at the ground here and those used by elven kind but he probably wouldn't care. Probably wouldn't help coming from me anyway, not sure how known driders are outside of the homeland but he clearly thinks I'm an elf and that's what matters in the here and now. Might as well let this blow hard keep the 'bots remains, get this favor out of the way and move on. His words about how the treaties are treated ring in my ears as I board the Kerambit. They mirrored the impassioned speeches of my kin, warning of the growing hunger of the domains of man, as they marched with their mechanized creations ever closer to our homes. I was born during a period of open war, always known the slowly growing fear and anxiety as the frontline crawls ever closer as bullet beat back blade and spell. One tour, the war wore on all of us, the sacrifice of friends and comrades, but we had peace and that was worth something, surely. Even as I saw the crestfallen faces of the veterans I clung to that thought. It was over, it'd be generations until we came into conflict again. And I was almost right, barely a century had passed before some human lord expanded onto elven land as declared by treaty. Citing the needs of his people, ignoring the warnings delivered to cease or face war again. He responded by taking more land. There was no second warning and once more we found ourselves in a war with humans. It went poorly, the zeal of the soldiers we faced exceeded even our own, galvanized as they were by the tales of our first strike against them, and by new innovations in warfare. Guns that could hold as many and more than a quiver could hold arrows, that didn't require half a minute to load and fire. We were ill-prepared to face down the human armies as death was delivered to warcasters from far away and armored veterans fell to privates with a rifle. The news of humans setting foot in the Sacred Glade of She of Innumerable Eyes and Shadows was unsettling. If one of the most holy places wasn't safe, where was? And more frightening, if She stirred would we face her wrath for failing to keep Her lands free of lesser creatures? Suddenly the clergy had decided that the war was worthy of their attentions, rallying the religious to the war efforts and providing honor guards to be used as appropriate. From the Congregation of Innumerable Eyes and Shadows came driders, and more boldly than representatives of other divinity, an offer to take the best soldiers available and bless them with the spider's form. I was asked to volunteer, and I did not decline. For my home, my friends, my family, I became something... Other than elf. An important distinction lost on non-elves. Before my training was finished a new treaty had been forged, won on the generous support given by the Congregations. But everyone knew that this peace would not last and the next century was preparation and amassing knowledge, soldiers, and power for when war broke out once more. Sure enough, a little more than a century humanity found itself new leaders that hadn't learned the lessons from their grandfathers and looked to the borders with a fierce hunger. This time there was no first warning and truly we had broken the treaty this time. It was then my first mission as a drider occurred, a repeat of tactics employed previously against them, we were to strike the supply line, cutting deep into enemy territory and operating largely under our field officer's discretion. A few hits on food caravans and a couple interrogations left us with a tempting target, the town of Kefield apparently supplied a full twenty-five percent of the military's food, on top of the food sold to other towns and cities. Destroying it would be a significant hit against the human war effort, as they'd have to pull more food from elsewhere and lead to scarcity at home. Call was to hit it, despite being almost on the other side of the country from the frontlines. The logic being it was so far away it'd be lightly guarded at best. So we slowly made our way across the countryside before we found out we were either blessed or the luckiest elves in the world. No military presence at all. No militia. Just a sheriff and a couple of deputies, more used to seeing drunks home safe and shooting at coyotes than than killing another man. The only thing keeping this from being the textbook definition of a perfect target was all the farms and ranches left a lot of ground to cover for fifty men, and we only had two squads of five to burn this entire town to the ground and leave no witnesses. One of the other squad, Kalyvas, had the bright idea to drive wild animals into the town at night so they'd attack the livestock. Eventually someone called some kind of meeting and that's when we struck. One squad to handle those at the meeting, the other squad to spread out and work inwards to the town hall, killing anyone they came across. For our part, it went flawlessly. Five driders, five sorceries. Anyone not immediately killed couldn't stop us from finishing the job. From there we worked out until eventually not a single living thing was left in the town besides the ten of us. Always odd to think about my time serving. Once we were back in elven lands, we were ecstatic. Even if Kefield didn't supply as much as we were told, we just hit a target clear on the other side of our enemy's home. Cause some sort of supply problem and who could think it was done directly and personally by us? But now I only see the face of the dazed man, father of two young girls, eyes slowly beginning to focus after the disorientating blast knocked the wind out of him, spared a bloody death by immolation or shards of raw force tearing through his body just to die after I brought my knife through his throat before moving on to the next still moving body to reach down and cleanly, clinically repeating the process. It doesn't matter at this point which side ignored which treaties when. Both have sinned in the name survival, and will continue to do whatever is needed to stay alive. The only thing I can do is try to atone for the sins committed by my own two hands. Spout Lore: 2d6-1 6 ArkInBlack fucked around with this message at 18:12 on Nov 16, 2016 |
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Nov 14, 2016 11:19
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ABOARD THE KERAMBIT It’s not exactly the most pleasant trip for you four. The ESCO troopers are as uncommunicative as a sack of bricks, marching you swiftly into their grim grey troopship of a submarine and politely, but firmly, shutting you and the rest of the advance team into yet another cramped personnel bay and locking the hatch behind them. You hardly get more than a few glimpses - unpainted steel bulkheads, stark white strip-lighting, coldly efficient personnel striding through the corridors about their duties - before the door shuts on a room so similar to the garage aboard Ikaria Station that it’s almost like you never left. Nori, this ship and its crew are very different from the Aqualantis you once knew. You went on a submarine trip once, as a kid, when your city still rode the sparkling waves - before all this misfortune ever came upon it. What was it like for you then? An hour or two passes to the sounds of somber harp music and Slava’s continuing attempts to chat up the trooper he so frightened aboard the station. All very cordial this time, no sense in risking another taste when even the littlest nip of that madwoman’s soul seemed to have been enough to rouse her true consciousness to some form of awareness. She believes herself Maria Francesca, ESCO Trooper 1st Class, 5th Platoon, 2nd Regiment, under the authority of Peace Officer Xavier Telsen. Her passionate pride in her city and her service, her supreme confidence in the ability of their Coordinator to lead them out of disaster and into renewed vitality and strength - these are only cunning facades masking a simple, blunt desire to stamp on the faces of the subjugated. A thug, pure and simple, and one who revels in combat and danger. Stathis, the exigencies of your military service have never led you in the direction of elven robotics. Mostly because all surviving examples of that period are currently sealed in the Peace Vaults of several human and dwarven nations, enshrined as archaeological treasures even as they’re held away from any foolhardy attempts to reactivate them, claimed from your people by force of arms after the devastating political and military misadventures of the most recent Elvenwar - humiliated by their supposed inferiors in a way the Dominions had never before suffered in all its centuries of continuity. You catch more than a few of the troopers looking at you with thinly veiled hostility. Some don’t even bother to try and hide it - the naked hate in their eyes is obvious. ESCO’s been recruiting ex-military, it seems. And why wouldn’t they? The war’s over, more or less, for now - and standing armies aren’t the type to keep a certain class of soldier satisfied with their career for very long. No, those sorts tend to gravitate to outfits a lot like this one. Odds are good you, personally, have killed people some of these troopers knew. Maybe just a passing acquaintance. Maybe a friend. Maybe family. You weren’t exactly discriminate when Kefield burned. Seeing you and a war-machine like 01 and what are obviously a pair of high-blooded imperial strutty types - why, it’s enough to boil anyone’s blood. Slava so brazenly chatting up one of their own doesn’t really help matters, either. Why is he so interested in her, anyway? What’s his deal? You may get the chance to find out soon enough. The door swings open once more - it's Telsen with a pair of ratings at his side. "We're approaching the site," he commands - "all of you, come with me." *****   click for bgm The lights of Ikaria are long behind you. Aboard the bridge, the sub's camera and sonar feeds paint a bizarre picture - ahead, a blur of white opacity blots out the sonar readings completely. The forward spotlights illuminate a vast field of bubbles, rising and intermingling and subdividing, spiraling up and up until they're indistinguishable from the currents around you. The cameras pan downwards - at the very bottom of the sea-bed, the rising bubbles and the churning sea merge into a great frothing sickle-shaped dome of white, bulged out from the rocks of the seafloor like a bubble of steam frozen in the moment before it begins to rise. Its margins flex and swell, bulging out and shrinking to the rhythm of an unseen pulse. The backscattered light from the submarine’s spotlights blots out all vision into the bubble field farther than a couple hundred feet: at the edge of visibility you think you can see other such domes. The hull shivers gently underneath the soles of your feet as the Kerambit begins to descend into the field of bubbles. "They're somewhere in there," Telsen informs you. “The distress beacon is only an approximate locator in this environment. Normally we’d have sonar or visual confirmation at this range to back up its signal, but…” He’s not joking - the swirling bubble field blocks out all visibility beyond a few hundred feet, and sonar’s obviously useless in there with so many bubbles in the water to scatter and diffuse the reflected sound. While it’s clear most of the officers here look at the elves on their bridge with wariness if not outright hostility, the presence of Nori among their number lends you just enough legitimacy in their eyes to be worth listening to. The crew, as a man, look to Telsen for guidance through this strange place - and he looks in turn to you. “The time has come to prove your loyalties,” he says. “You among all of us have, if Gisela is to believed, sojourned on the seabed afoot to reach us.” There’s no disdain in his voice this time - only grudging respect and a tiny leavening of admiration. “You have the most recent information available on what might be out here.” (Serenity, there’s the barest hint of untruth in this statement.) “I don’t trust you,” (truth) “but I can respect you.” (Also truth.) “We have two courses of action available: either we take the Kerambit further into this anomaly, or disembark and proceed aboard individual propulsion vehicles. Tell me: what do you think? What should be our course?”  You must now Undertake (at least part of) a Perilous Journey to find and reach the wreck of the Hvalreki. Consider your options carefully, then whoever our trailblazer is: make your decision, and set our course! Each approach - to move within the submarine, or without it - presents its own opportunities and dangers. What do you do?
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Nov 18, 2016 03:02
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While the four of you mull over the next step to take - guide the Kerambit and all its armament into the swirling unknown, or brave the crushing depths again, this time with a squad of troopers at your back and an array of personal vehicles with which to propel you? - a worrying blip appears at the far edge of the sub's sonar readouts. Then another, and another - there have to be dozens of them! The troopers manning the bridge rouse themselves to activity, consulting with one another in clipped military jargon and paging through thick three-ring binders of no-doubt-interestingly-classified information. Some anonymous rating flicks a switch on his command console - embedded speakers in the bulkheads suddenly flick to life, letting in the ceaseless boiling-kettle sound of the roiling chaos beneath you...and one sound other. A very familiar sound. The unmistakable calls of tritons. Oh, and just in case you thought you had lots of time to decide... 
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Nov 18, 2016 04:48
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Slava 20/24 HP; Level 5, 12/12 XP; 1/2 Armor I stay silent. If the tritons come let them.
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Nov 18, 2016 16:32
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Serenity HP 12/19 | Armor 2 | Load 4/9 | XP 10/12 "We'll disembark. I'd rather the sub remain as safe as possible so we have something to come back too." Serenity carefully put her harp back into the pack and set it aside, followed by her cloak. The chill began to set in again, but there was little choice. She had no gear appropriate for extravehicular excursions, and it would only get her tangled up at a bad moment. Something to rectify once she had the opportunity. And some money. "Stathis. You seemed to have reached a rapport with the tritons from before. Do you these ones will respect that token of yours? I'd rather avoid a fight if possible. I would also be curious if they know the cause of this strange scenery." It seemed as though she could dimly recall a tale that touched on something similar, but nothing yet came to mind. She would need to see it up close and hope something would jog her memory. At Alumnus' behest: Defy Danger (+Wis): 2d6 8 Shardix fucked around with this message at 00:22 on Nov 19, 2016 |
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Nov 19, 2016 00:10
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Stathis Argyle HP 14/18 | Armor 1 | XP 3/11 | Load 6/6 "This will be my second encounter with tritons, so what I know is removing the leader is a proven strategy. As for the local sights... Let's get this out of the way now, I suppose." Stathis cracks his knuckles, then his neck, before walking up to Telsen. "What I think, Telsen, is you've given us the bare minimum of information and now ask us for an informed opinion. It's my opinion, as this is still the first time I've been under the sea, that I have no idea what out there is normal and what doesn't belong. So we'll start with those bubbles." Already pen and notepad are in hand, poised and ready as Stathis levels his gaze at Officer Telsen "What's their source, thermal vent? Is it normal for them to be present? If no, when did they start and are they why the Hvalreki was sent out? If that's not why it's here, why is it here, was it carrying anything other than human cargo, what are the chances the airlock is inoperable and what might happen if we then have to breach the vehicle? What is Aqualantis' current standing with local triton tribe and/or clans? If poor, why? It's possible that they are the reason the Hvalreki is missing but what reasons might they have? Revenge? Or just opportunistic?" First, elven battle robots wouldn't knock over a gun store. Second, they'd be at least three times more condescending, six for non-elves. Discern Realities: 2d6 11 What here is not what it appears to be? What should I be on the lookout for? What happened here recently?
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Nov 19, 2016 18:02
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ON THE BRIDGE Stathis, the peace officer receives your rapid-fire questions with crisp efficiency, responding to them almost as fast as you can snap them out. “Well said. No, magical; not at all, four months ago, and yes. You’re not cleared for that; scientific and magitechnical survey equipment, an experimental hydrophonic resonator, a fully stocked geothaumic laboratory, and it depends. Their distress beacon is spotty, but localized: we don’t think the ship can move under its own power. Odds of a hull breach are high. We’ll send lifeboats out with you. Do whatever you need to do to get our people out." He grimaces with distaste as he continues. “Relations are poor. Not without reason. We haven’t been a salutary neighbor. Diplomatic relations are - were - sparse. Their last ambassador was recalled four weeks ago. There have been protests. Denunciations. But they’ve never gone so far as to assault a municipal vessel properly flagged.” He looks out at his ship, his crew, the multiplying blips on the sonar feed. “I’m no fool. I know troop movements when I see them. These are preparations for war. Thank you for the tactical advisory - you may well have saved lives by telling me this.” He turns aside to speak quickly to a rating; she darts off and returns with a thin sheaf of printouts and a sealed folder marked TOP SECRET - CONTINGENCY PLAN KESTREL GREEN CONCORD - NO FOREIGN NATIONALS - FOR COMMANDING OFFICER’S EYES ONLY. He hands you the former and takes the latter for himself. “Reports from the Hvalreki’s crew. Someone’s been playing that resonator. Trying to communicate. The signal is garbled, but it’s all we have. Read.” True to his word, the reports are short and fragmented, evidently having been transcribed from Morse code over an acoustic channel almost drowned in noise - but there’s still a few scraps of useful data in there. One of the reports mentions a gremlin problem. Oh how bloody wonderful. No wonder Telsen thinks that sub might have hull problems. You know the story - every new recruit was taught it. Those ugly little wiresuckers were bred from goblin stock during a previous Elvenwar, well before things were ever desperate enough for the clergy to get involved, and introduced into human lands as an attempt to counter the roundears’ most prominent military advantage: mechanized arms and armor. They were meant to be a limited weapon, but they did their job far too well. Turns out the horrible little nuisances fed just as well on municipal electricity as they did military...not to mention a nutritious urban diet of tin cans, copper wire, coal dust, garbage, rats, pigeons...these days, they’re the apex pest on every major continent. If a breeding pair or two snuck onto the Hvalreki there’s no telling what mischief they’ve been up to. The rest of the communiques aren’t quite so clear. One seems to be talking about some sort of atmosphere under those domes? Not much un-garbled in that one; the only other whole words are “rapture” and “overcome”. A couple others apparently about ill-fated excursions into the domes - somebody aboard has a broken ankle, but the part where it names a name got lost in the noise. The last one is…disquieting. A note in the margins says this one was assembled from several repetitions, and that it’s been transmitting continuously for the last six hours, until approximately forty-five minutes ago when all transmissions ceased. Short, and to the point, it just says: ”NOT ALONE.” Well, poo poo. You’d like to think that he’d never knock over a gun store, wouldn’t you? Evidence proves otherwise - Serenity gave him orders and he carried them out as he saw fit. You also may Spout Lore if you like, about elven battle-robots and the last time you witnessed them used in war. On a 7+, 01’s death, or something like it, is something you’ve seen before: either tell me about it or I’ll make some stuff up. On a 10+, I’ll tell you something useful too.  And as regards Serenity’s observations on the war-braid of Xanthonautes: when you brandish your trophy of victory in full view of a hostile group of tritons, you can take the 10+ result on Flaunt Superiority without needing to roll, and you also take +1 forward. When you demand a cease-fire from a position of strength, anyone in the party can use a token of evidence of honorable victory over a triton force (such as that braid) as leverage for Parley. THE DEPARTURE BAY Your preparations for departure pass in a swirl of activity - even more urgent now that what you must assume is a hostile force, several times larger than the one which foundered the doomed Alembic, is on your metaphorical radar. Maintenance crews are even now finishing the final preflight checks on a half-dozen sleek personal propulsion sleds, little more than a fuselage wrapped around a small propellor and some hand- and footholds to steer it with. One for each of you, and two larger ones with multiple sets of holdfasts and tie-down points for cargo. The crews are breaking a pair of Aqualantean portable lifeboats out of stores for this trip too: compressed hyper-strong fabric bubbles attached to a rudimentary airlock, an eight-hour oxy tank, and the underwater equivalent of a trailer hitch. They’re big enough for six to eight people apiece, and compressed, they’re just small enough to fit one to a cargo sled. There’s not enough room for an engine, so you’ll have to hitch them to something if you want them to go anywhere. The advance team is obviously expecting a tussle - they’re slipping into lightweight bodysuits much like Nori’s and buckling on bulky backpacks with arrays of thruster-nozzles mounted at the corners. Maria Francesca spends a quick moment deep in conversation with her superior officer before strapping on an assault suit of her own and joining the advance team. “I’ll be commanding the troops in his stead,” she says with a too-wide grin, shouldering one of the boxy, undersized firearms the ESCO troopers seem to favor. “A few tickles from the pain ray’ll teach those fishsticks who’s in charge here. Just tell us who to shoot.” Slava, you know full well who that woman really is - maybe it’s better you have her where you can keep an eye on her, instead of back aboard the Kerambit locked in with a passel of soft targets. She seems like she’s getting less stable, more excited and thirsty for blood, as the situation heats up...but is that her human mask talking, or the insane husk of the matchless fighter you once knew? Time will soon tell. And (oh, God, not again) now it’s time to strap on your respirators and head out once more into the sea. Fortunately, and praise whatever God you might care to name, it looks like the Aqualanteans have been making substantial improvements to their survival gear’s design compared to those last-gen models the Guild had laying around. These new models hardly even feel like you’re frenching a fish at all! All the squishy bits have been rehomed to a back-mounted cylindrical tank, connected to a half-face mask by a pair of flexible hoses. No more external gills, no more respiratory flanges - only the slight briny tang in the air you now breathe betrays its source. When you’re all done suiting up, Telsen meets you all one final time as you assemble to go out the airlock. “I have new orders,” he says, dully, that sealed folder of top-secret whatever still tucked under his arm. “This ship and all assets are to return to Ikaria at maximum speed, to augment the fixed defenses there in case of enemy assault, and assist in evacuation if defense becomes untenable. Once you depart, we...won’t be able to return for you. The sleds have a day’s worth of power in them. It should be enough to get you all back to Ikaria safely. I….good luck. I’m sorry.” He won’t meet your eyes anymore. Something in those new orders must have left him deeply conflicted, yet he feels he has no choice but to obey. There’s something here he’s not telling you. Maybe that he can’t tell you. And odds are, considering the size of the stick up this guy’s butt, that it’s nothing particularly good for you or yours. Serenity, belay that Defy Danger; it doesn’t quite apply yet. I’ll tell you when you’re close enough to this anomaly to trigger that Spout Lore you’re thinking about rolling. Also belay the Perilous Journey idea: no matter how long in realtime this scene might last, you’ll probably be able to reach the Hvalreki without needing to spend rations. Everybody: thruster backpacks are available for anyone who wants to Suit Up, free of charge. Whatever gear you, personally, don’t wish to carry on your person, is getting stuck on the cargo sleds for now. THE ANOMALY'S EDGE The sub’s super-size airlock grinds shut behind you. The throb of the Kerambit’s engines has already shifted pitch - the ship is reversing course as fast as it can, making for home at top speed, hoping against hope that it can reach the lights of Ikaria Station in time to defend it against a hostile assault. Your small force - you four, Maria Francesca, and eight other troopers to man the cargo sleds and provide fire support - is now isolated. A baker's dozen against an aquatic army of unknown size and frightfulness, with only an uncertain promise of safe atmosphere anywhere within an hour's reach? This could be grim; but fortunately, you’re not left directionless this time. Each sled contains within it a dead-reckoner that points the way back to Ikaria, and a locator unit pointing towards the (rough) location of the Hvalreki’s distress beacon. On the surface world, the sun would be high in the sky right now; but down here, the lights of your various vehicles seem very small against the immensity of the black and bubble-washed sea… All around you, the sound of the geothaumic anomaly below you burbles, grumbles, shivers the water. Against its ceaseless turmoil, it’s hard to make out the higher-pitched wailing cries of the triton force...but it sounds like that force is dividing itself. The larger portion recedes from your hearing, evidently pursuing the racing Kerambit back to its home port...but a smaller portion does not. They’re not within visible range yet (try though the stabbing spotlights of the ESCO troopers do to pick them out of the black sea), but it’s obvious that that force’s cries draw nearer by the moment. They’re coming for you with frightening swiftness, too fast to outrun. But you have a little time yet before they’re upon you; time enough to deploy the forces at your disposal and choose your battlefield carefully… ...so WHAT DO YOU DO?
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Nov 21, 2016 04:09
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Slava 20/24 HP; Level 5, 12/12 XP; 1/2 Armor I ready my weapons, annoyed that there was no time to look for more before leaving, "So 'tis a suicide mission. Did you know?" I ask Maria and her soldiers. Perhaps they have some heavier blades I could make use of.
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Nov 21, 2016 04:33
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