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Ferin Drigo - Playing It Cool Well. This was interesting, and potentially disastrous if either of them saw him and sprang the alarm. The first order of business was preventing that. He simply focused slightly, and drew upon his other self, the octopus that dreamt it was a man, or a lionfish, or seaweed, or a ray. The world seemed to bend itself around him, his skin, hair, and clothing quickly changing colour and pattern to match what was behind him. Popping Hybrid Body Rearrangement to get Lurker in man-form for 4m. Personal: 15/19, Peripheral: 17/17 So camouflaged, he shadowed the apothecary’s movements, approaching until he was close enough to read the labels on the cart’s many little containers. They all had different colors, either on the vessels themselves or the wax-and-silk seals on the lids. Mete leaf, qat, opium, maiden tea, packets of crushed petals and phials of luridly-colored powder, wide-bottomed flasks filled with thick, red or indigo syrups… ...and at the very top of the cart, little black boxes of fired clay, no larger than you’d use for holding tobacco or hashish, brushed in white with the characters for ”seven” and ”health”. Which the golem began to promptly and diligently unload first. Of course. This would take timing and precision. He allowed the golem to stack the little black boxes, waited until Ubosh was watching the door rather than the vault, until the golem was reaching back onto the cart for something rather than looking at the cubes, and allowed a ghostly hand to flick out to the stack, bringing back one little cube with it, to disappear into a pocket that was not a pocket. A thought occurred to him as he worked, and another hand went out, this time to weave a little bit of the world around the space where the missing cube had gone. Sudden Snap-Shadow to grab a cube(2m), Many-Pockets Meditation to store it in hammerspace (2m), and Thieving Magpie Prana to prevent anybody from noticing it’s gone (3m). Personal 11/19, Peripheral 14/17. Dex+Larc roll is 6 dice, and I don’t like those odds. Dropping 2m on a success, 1m on an extra die, 1-die stunt. Personal 8/19, Peripheral 16/17 due to mote regen. Caste mark still at ‘glittering’. 6 sux. Phew. The golem was set on its task, implacably and inexorably unloading the valuable drugs and medicines from its master’s cart. In this, it looked only forward, never backward. Seven boxes of seven bounties paste stacked. Five more from this batch. Four, then three, then two, then one. Then none. Eleven boxes in total. The golem paid no mind to the discrepancy. There were more boxes to unload. Golem rolls 4 sux to notice Ferin’s theft. Ubosh actually has a fairly-high dice pool for Per+Aware, but he’s DISTRACTED at the moment, incurring a -2 internal penalty. 5 sux on six dice, so that probably saved Ferin’s bacon. Stolen treasure safely in hand (and knowledge of the vault’s location in mind for when he had angry wolfgoats with strong backs to do the heavy lifting, smashing, and so forth), Ferin turned his attention to making good his escape. A ventilation shaft on the wall caught his eye, and when Ubosh turned his attention away from the lab’s front door, Ferin hooked his fingers (fingernails, really) into the seam where the housing of the slats met the wall, and made as though to pull himself up. As he did so, again, he changed. Personal 5/19, Peripheral 16/17. The seam offered no very great purchase for a man, but for a rat… His perspective changed, and for a moment his claws scritched on the wall, before he pulled himself up and into the vent. He gave a ratty little sigh. One problem solved. About three to go.
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Nov 20, 2015 01:25
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Twice-Polished Jasper This was all... weirdly quick. Huh. Jasper spent a moment remembering his lies and then stepped forward. "I am Maethis, how may this humble man aid you, Blessed?"
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Nov 22, 2015 01:06
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Harmful to Minors Stolas' flickering 'blinks' are unsteady and erratic, difficult to predict. The knuckles of his talons are white with rage, clenched around the polished horn of his bow. Flames billowing with each of the cataphract's ragged breaths, he takes his time lining up his shot. His aim vacillates - Silence, to Shadow, to Silence, to Shadow. Duty first to Lord, or to vengeance against Amdusias' killer? The owl-knight notes the way Silence blocks his shot, rushing to interpose himself; listens to Shadow recount the names of the children she'd saved from far worse than him. A horrid, unnatural smile twists his face where his beak joins with softer flesh. Why choose, when there's a way to be sure he'll miss no-one? He tilts his bow a few more degrees upward and looses his shaft - straight at Faomei and Lauva atop the fallen log. For Silence, the world slows to a horrible, nightmarish crawl. His faceted eyes track the arrow's flight, too swift to safely swat aside. Shadow's closer, but still focused on her spell. There's no time for anything more elegant. His head swivels to focus on a point directly in the line of fire, and he braces his legs to leap. Yeah. This is gonna su- Shadow drops to all fours well, three of four, with one hand holding her weapon's haft up and over her back, but still and pounces. The flames of her sorcery waver briefly, but do not abate - rather, her anima carries the spell for her, the spectral tiger of her totem igniting with mystical fire as she hurtles forward... ...and bites Stolas' arrow out of the air. Landing in a crouch, she slowly returns to an upright posture, murder in her slitted eyes as she resumes her spell. Faomei and Lauva gasp briefly in horror and excitement as they're put in harm's way, and then it's over before they even have time to properly register what had just happened. Faomei starts jumping and dancing so hard she might fall from the log. If Silence still had eyelids, he would blink. Never mind then. Shadow can handle herself. He'll handle that motherfucker. The mantis ducks low and barrels forward, trailing a cold, white wake of anima-flame. Quick as he is, Stolas always seems a fraction quicker, bleeding away like morning mist. No matter how hard Silence pushes himself, he comes no closer, always floating just a few steps out of reach. How is he even doing that...? And then it occurs to Silence that he's run further than the clearing is wide, and yet he's still within its bounds. loving elves and their loving glamours. He shakes off the illusion just in time to avoid plowing into the treeline, whips about just in time to knock aside the arrow aimed right at the base of his neck, where his shield-like 'mantle' of chitin meets his thorax, and executes a low, hooking sweep with an armored leg just in time to catch the owl behind the knee. Stolas folds and flops, twisting helpless in the air until Silence smashes the cataphract across his spine. Briefly, the owl is no longer airborne, kissing the dirt hard enough to leave an impression of his face in the crater before rebounding upward again. Silence contemptuously turns his back and gives a brief nod to Shadow. All yours. Woo! 2-point stunt for Shadow on her defense of the kiddies - she takes a point of Limit from Essence Crisis to learn Vigilant Mastiff Stance (which I am houseruling to the same cost and activation speed as War Lion stance from Ex3 because 7m1wp and a Simple activation is loving  ) but blocks the hell out of Stolas' arrow without interrupting her cast. Silence then rushes Stolas, barely catching up with a Valor channel, and hits him with a full-strength Throat-Baring Hold, reducing his soak by a whopping 11 for Shadow's firebird. Stick a fork in this turkey, misty - he's done.Silence posted:Essence: Personal 0/23, Peripheral 7/52 Stolas posted:Essence: 50/50 WP 5/8
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Dec 29, 2015 02:08
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Safe in my Shadow - PE: 0/23, PPE: 3/36 | WP: 8/10 | Limit 0/10 Mutations: War-form, Steady (+3 resist knockdown), Natural Armor (+3 soak), Night Vision, Skulker, Hyper-Awareness Virtues: Valor 3/5, Compassion 3/5 [RLF: Round 5 of 6] The phoenix- and it is a phoenix this time- doesn't return to Shadow's hand, swelling with the power of her anima banner and hovering just over her head. The spectral tiger emblazoned behind her watches proudly as she spits the arrow aside, the feathers charred and burned. "Silvia!" The name of her firstborn echoes through the clearing, and the phoenix spreads its wings, the feathers enlongating. "Estar! Doran!" Her two sons, as dissimilar as night and day. The firebird's crest forms an elaborate tiara of flame and its tail spread as extravagantly as a peacock's. "Halie!" The youngest, still just a babe in Silvia's arms as the temple burned down around them. She could still hear her babies crying through the door, feel the heat flush on her skin. They said that Luna visited each of her chosen in their moment of exaltation, welcomed them into her arms. Shadow only remembered eyes in the smoke. Golden orbs, wide and faceted. "Go! Save them, and all the others like them!" Strength fills her like an empty cup. She spills it out all at once in a torrent, and the phoenix takes flight. Finishing spellcast on Flight of the Brilliant Raptor, full channel on Wits Ex (8m) Wits+Occ = 12, +1 sux from RLF = 13 sux. Combat Block posted:Moonsilver Grand Grimscythe: (+2 acc +2 defense, included)
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Dec 29, 2015 05:34
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Bye Bye Birdie Phoenix strikes owl, and Stolas burns. Not like flesh, or even feathers - he explodes in a spray of multicolored sparks, like fireworks at the grandest of festivals (or one of Ferin's more spectacular mishaps). His pearl-enameled armor catches light and burns like dry kindling. The flitting wisps he'd absorbed from Amdusias remains reappear, issuing from the cataphract's every wound; they linger a moment longer, as if entranced by the colorful spectacle, then vanish again as the pyre subsides. A palpable wave of relief washes over Shadow, flowing from the very land. It's as if the Raksha had been thorns, buried painfully in the 'flesh' of the demesne itself. When the firelight clears, Stolas' lance and scythe remain behind. The former is lodged point-first in the soil like a grave marker, while the latter is affixed at a right angle some ways off the ground. The scythe's haft is tethered with what Shadow recognizes as the cataphract's girdle, looped thrice in an elaborate knot, and a wineskin hangs from a cord caught on the end of the sickle. Staff, Sword, Ring, and Cup... Silence shrinks back into human form, albeit still with wicked claws extending from his fingertips and rows of tines sprouting from his forearms. Clicking his tongue, he seizes one of the fleeing hobgoblins by the neck and draws back his other arm to run it through...only for the jabbering creature to dissolve into dry leaves and autumnal fog. He blinks. "...well okay then." "Yeah!" Faomei giggles and claps her hands, rocking back and forth on her perch. "Take that, boogeyman!" "Ain't so tough," Lauva folds her arms and scowls in her best attempt at a stoic grimace. "Give 'em a few whacks, and they're already dead!" "Speaking of a few whacks," Silence mutters to Shadow, "think these two have some explaining to do." Blue Jade and White Elephants The wind dragon casts an appraising look at "Maethis", her feet still lodged in her stirrups. Nodding once in satisfaction, she motions to her attendant, who unfurls a very official-looking scroll from which the Dynast reads aloud. "Be it known, by the sacred writ of the Blood of the Dragons, on the authority of the Empress of All Under Heaven, that these lands are now a protectorate of the Scarlet Empire, and a Satrapy under the franchise of the Exalted House Cathak. Be it known that Metin of House Maethis, late of Thorns, is by Imperial Decree raised to the status of Probationary Governor, charged to justly administer, protect, and uphold the Empress' holy rule in these territories, bounded on the South by the Yellow River and the East by the Greater Rock River..." She pauses, her grey eyes narrowing as she notes something conspicuous in its absence. "...and to suffer no Anathema upon this soil, save that the Princes of the Earth may know to carry out the Wyld Hunt. By Her enlightened will, it is done." At this, her servant affixes the scroll to the tines of a cast-iron standard and hands it to her, whereupon she thrusts the point into the stony ground. "I am Dragonlord Cathak Ruhera of the 23rd Imperial Legion, and I have traveled far in few days. We require lodging, refreshment, and entertainment." Ruhera's steely eyes again flicker to the treeline and the hills. "Your feast will afford us an opportunity to discuss matters of...pressing import." The wind rises and howls perhaps on command, setting the scroll-banner to billowing dramatically in the breeze. Brushed on crimson silk and emblazoned with the mons of House Cathak, its elegant calligraphy - in the most refined and formal of High Realm - bears mute testament in echo of Ruhera's words. Below the speech itself is a bewildering maze of characters and ideograms, declaring in excruciating detail the very specific terms of Metin Maethis' tenure as governor. Ordinances to follow, allowances for Imperial injunction, quartering of Legionary troops, tribute... ...that can't be right. A ledger talent of jade by mid-season? Another two real talents by year's end? Well here comes a wild complication. Jasper, your social and investigative skills will likely come in handy here, assuming you decide not to just kill Ruhera on the spot. Applicable pools are Int+Craft, Int+Lore, Per+Investigate, Per+Socialize, and Wits+War.
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Jan 2, 2016 06:42
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Twice-Polished Jasper 3m personal left before Stunt rewards Jasper boggled. It was natural, perhaps, that upon realizing the land still held relics that Grayfalls would come calling. He had been prepared to fight Yudo, but this sudden political play had actually caught him off guard. More of the Princes of Earth had come to treat with him, now as an ally (albeit an alliance of lies on both sides). This could be dangerous, but also offered immense opportunities. While his eyes took in most of the details of the document quickly, mentioning ‘tribute’ made him wary. He dropped to his knees in supplication. “Blessed of Dragons, this is more than I’ve hoped for, but I fear it is also more than this land might bear! What is mine is yours, and I would treat you as well as my humble means might manage, but this land could not provide tribute worth this sum. The ores come out toxic and are often unrefinable, even the very stones seem tainted. I have a small sample of the tainted ore, wrapped in layers of leather, if you would judge it for yourself. Barracks I can build, food I can provide, troops I might well be able to supply, but this land groans even at my meagre takings and repels my attempts to access its wonders,” he said, gesturing to the perpetual storm over the horizon. “Indeed, now my savants tell me the road I stand next to is tainted by strange and wyld energies, and I’ve only a glimmer of how to solve it. Forgive me, Blessed One, but I know not if I can, in earnesty and honestness, accept your offer of aid. I feel I would be luring you into a trap in a cursed land.” Whiiiich was true. Carefully so. But his tone, while obsequious, certainly left the option for bargaining: Don’t expect much and leave me a few years to uncover the manse, and I’m sure we can come to an arrangement. Manip+Cha+Conviction, Irresistable salesman+4m (7m total): 10 successes. As she spoke he focused on her voice, on the way she moved, on her very heartbeat, which he could pick up from here. It couldn't be this simple, there had to be more. Her very essence was a kind of purity in this place, fighting both wyld and taint alike, but only inasmuch as she was honest with herself and her nature. His hands touched the ground, feeling the pulse of Creation, and seeing how well it sync'd with her presence and her words. Per+Investigate (7d10) Judge’s Ear (3m) 4 successes to detect dissembly, +3sux against actual lies. Metin Maethis only mostly a fiction. Jasper did not survive the fall of Thorns to have his grand projects yanked away by a Realm that left the city to die. And he'd taken the measure of Yudo, now it was time to do the same to this Dragon. Inwardly, he supressed a jolt of sadness, that his childhood heroes could be little more than thugs. It burned him like a fire, a fire he would use. Courtier’s Eye Technique (3m): 8 successes to judge her connections vs Yudo and company He bowed his head in supplication, but continued to read into the document as he did so. His ear was opened for lies and dissembling, his mind unknotted the legalese. He wished Ferin was here. At least the barracks looked easy enough to build. Int+Craft (7d10):3 successes to think about what she wants me to build for the Realm
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Jan 7, 2016 17:57
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Safe in my Shadow Shadow exhaled slowly and could see her own breath in air. She was cold, cold enough to shiver, having put every ounce of her own heat into the spell. She buried her scythe's blade in the soft ground next to her and sank into a cross-legged lotus pose. Eyes closed, ears flat against her skull, she calmed the bloodlust that still sang in her veins, urging her to keep going, to find something else to sink her fangs into now that the hated Owl knight was dead. If there had been a corpse, she could have sated herself on that. Thrice-Damned faeries, depriving her of the hunt's reward. "They do, but not here," she told Silence, opening one eye wide enough to look at the pair of them. "Let's go home."
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Jan 7, 2016 20:23
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Shadow and Silence - Who what now? “So, not that I don’t appreciate a good warning to the others,” the light warhorse said, passing under the childrens’ log to allow them to carefully step down onto his back, “but are we going to leave those here?” Scythe, lance, girdle, and wineskin still marked the spot of Stolas’ death, shimmering with chill mist despite the warmth of spring. Shadow looked at the fallen tools and snorted. “Best not to, given the lengths they’ll go to retrieve them.” She stood up and her warform shrank in stature, fur receding into flesh as her armor readjusted to her human form. She always felt as if it was too big on her that way, but perhaps it was just the weight. She approached the lance first, raising one hand and testing the aura it gave off. It wouldn’t be past the Owl to leave a trap among his grave goods. Per/Occ: 7 sux. There was a peculiarity to the faerie’s graces, if anything about them could ever have been called ‘typical’. They felt new, somehow - untested, unproven. The scythe’s cutting edge still had flashing, not yet polished away by use. The blackthorn lance was still heavy and unseasoned. These might indicate a novice among the Raksha, yet he certainly hadn’t fought like one. And where were the Unicorn’s graces? The signs of his own oaths? Bits and pieces of the creature still littered the clearing, largest of which was his spiraled horn, but nothing that looked sufficiently artificial. Strange. Shadow probed further. The grave goods flickered like a silver mirror. It was like looking through a prism of glass - a slight twist of perspective, and the entire picture changed. The belt became a bridle, the wineskin became a feed-bag. The scythe and the lance vanished altogether, and Shadow felt another aura, another presence, emanating from the shattered Unicorn’s horn and his obsidian hooves. It reminded her of some trees she’d seen, where two saplings had grown too close to one another and their trunks merged above the ground. But this didn’t seem accidental - it felt deliberate, like the work of some mad gardener, or… ...a craftsman. “Chimera,” Shadow whispered, with the same disgust and revulsion as most would say ‘Anathema’. She did not want to touch the tainted things, but there was nothing for it. The lance and scythe had to be affixed to Silence, side-saddle, the rest she bound together with the bridle and carried herself. ---- “MAMA!” “Faomei!” Hifua, the tailor, dropped to her knees and swept her daughter into her tight embrace. “Are you well? Have you been hurt? Your hand! Let me see the burn, we’ll need to clean it and dress it…” Lauva didn’t have anyone similar to run to and share an emotional reunion. She settled for giving Sab’s stalwart old mule a pat on the nose and a fresh carrot. “Thank you,” Hifua exclaimed, choking back tears of relief. “Thank you for saving my daughter yet again. She...she is a spirited girl, and I am sorry for all the trouble she has caused. I am in your debt.” Shadow set her burdens aside and took Lauva’s hand. Gently, she led the girl to Hifua. “You lost one, but I found two. Would you keep her a while for me, until her family returns?” “Of course, Chosen one,” Hifua bowed. “It will be my honor. Come,” she told the girls. “I’m afraid the stew’s no good, but there are gourds and radishes, and sweet figs if you’re good and eat all your vegetables.” Shadow watched them go, pleased with herself. She turned to Silence. “Are you well? I hope this wasn’t too much, so soon after- well, everything.” “Little hungry. Shame about the stew, I guess,” In a flash, he was human again; bereft of support, Stolas armaments spun alarmingly in the air for a moment before he caught them and set them down. The cut on his arm had already vanished without a hint of scarring. “Might be some deer, though.” Silence’s antennae twitched, scenting the air. “What do you think, Kanai? Any luck hunting?” “That is deeply-unsettling,” Lindram replied coolly from behind him. “Good evening Assessor,” Shadow said, only inclining one ear behind her. “And to you,” Lindram returned the greeting. “And to answer your question, I’ve had some luck hunting, but I have it on good authority the taste is absolutely dreadful.” She held up an annotated scroll, bound with twine and scrawled with the character for autumn. “You are Silence of Stilled Breath.” It was not a question. “That I am.” Silence turned to regard her. “Kanai’s aunt Lindram?” he ventured. “The same,” she answered. “I’ve heard a great deal of you and your allies, but given...recent events...it seemed prudent to hear from you directly.” “Ask away,” he told her, taking a drink an earthen jar of springwater. “Are you and my niece paramours?” Silence sprayed water out of his nose, and all over the front of his clothes and the ground. “N-no!” he exclaimed as soon as he was done coughing and choking. “She’s been like a sister to me!” he blurted, before he could consider the implications. “Ah. That is good to know,” Lindram said. “I have had rather enough of family lying to me this past week.” “Weren’t you supposed to be all the way up in Greyfalls?” Silence asked, glaring up through bloodshot eyes. “Someone apparently felt differently,” she told him. “Someone with an axe to grind, it seems. Which reminds me -” Lindram offered the scroll to Shadow again. “I’ve gathered what knowledge I could on our little guest. Suffice it to say, someone quite important in the spirit courts must bear a grudge against us if she’s involved.” “Any more good news?” Shadow said with uncharacteristic irritation, untying the scroll case. “Oh, I suppose you should know that there were Raksha of an... unusual... nature loose in the woods. Were, but we don’t know from where or why yet. I wonder if it has something to do with the road-serpent, but could not say for certain.” “...road-serpent?” Silence echoed, nonplussed. “The Hand’s fighting a bull-man!” Lauva volunteered cheerfully, mushy, orange squash still staining the front of her smock. She’d fairly raced back from the dining cloth Hifua had laid out, having devoured her portion in the span of less than a minute. The tailor still stumbled after her, shouting in a language Shadow didn’t understand, but the look on her face was plain enough. “The Hand?” Lindram tilted her head. “Another Raksha?” Silence asked. “Naw, this one’s a real boy. Bull. He’s wearin’ iron an’ all. Got a buncha soldiers with him too,” Lauva jumped up and down, pumping both her tiny fists in excitement. “Said somethin’ about the Hand killing his brother?” “Oh, hell,” Silence put his face in his palms. Shadow’s ears flattened against her hair. “Najid can take care of himself,” she said, dismissively. “As long as he isn’t trying to teach stubborn young men lessons at any rate.” She rolled the scroll back up and retied the string. It would take time to read in full but the gist was clear. “Your city is proving to be an exceptionally poor neighbor to have,” she told Lindram. “Would you believe it was nicer once?” Lindram asked apologetically. A fang slipped over Shadow’s bottom lip. Perhaps it was the battle frenzy talking, but she seemed remarkably serious when she said: “We could always improve things by burning it down.”
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Jan 11, 2016 00:00
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"Corban" looks dubiously at Pham and Ngu. "...Bees?" He takes a moment to give them a once-over, completely deadpan. "You know, if you use mud and dock leaves, you can pull the stingers out and it won't be so bad." He sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Let's leave the possibility of an angry god out of this for the moment, shall we? The paperwork to track down and correct improper sacrifices is a nightmare, and I don't know about you lads, but I'd rather find any other plausible explanation if at all possible." He glares at the hapless pair, ineffectually. "If we're very lucky, I might even be able to save your jobs." He slumps. "I saw iron on that manifest, so we can rule out Raksha or other Wyld creatures - " Corban spits, and touches an iron fastening pin on his tunic "- and I haven't heard of any Bee-Men around here." He sighs again. "How far East is that pack of Anathema supposed to be, then? I keep hearing rumours that they're right up on our doorstep, and then other stories saying they're closer to Greyfalls, and I only just transferred here and why are you just standing there staring in silence?" After being met with silence that stretches several seconds past the point of comfort, Corban spreads his hands pleadingly. "Come on, lads. I'm trying to help you out here, but... The Vice-Factor wants the shipment, the cart, and the ox back, or you're sacked, and right now, we're left with the possibilities that you're both lying bout what happened and got yourself deliberately stung to Saturnday and back to cover it up; that there was, in fact, an angry god responsible; or that one of Them" The handsign for 'Anathema' and a crescent on the forehead emphasize his choice of phrase and the capital letter "have decided that they want a shipment of mostly raw materials for gods-know-what reason. In any case, you have no idea where the cart or its shipment are, the tracks are just gone, with no sign of where it could be, and our situation is, at best, maddeningly complicated and full of paperwork for all of us, or very possibly extremely dangerous, in an imminent (and most likely fatal) sense." He looks at Pham and Ngu, glumly. "No use for it, then. We have to get back to the station so that you two can give statements about what happened." "...Separately." He glances at the guards who had accompanied him. "Erm, Quaestor. Take half of your guards and start an expanding perimeter to look for the cart, but please don't get yourself sucked into that swamp or killed. If we're not back out by midafternoon, get back to your posts; it wouldn't do to have you out here after nightfall, especially if there's Them about. Stationmaster Bock was very insistent that we not have to deal with anyone's ghost on account of budget reasons." Corban turns and dejectedly starts making his way back to Blackport. Oh hey look at that not actually answering the question at all and dragging things out even more! I'm hoping that we can set up a reunion between the infiltration team to figure out what the hell we're actually going to be doing and in the meantime try to run interference on Grigori's efforts to unfuck things.
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Jan 14, 2016 18:49
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Only She Stands There. Pulling herself free of the tunnel and back into the cool night air brings with it an odd mix of sensations for the Albino. Relief that she is out of the seeping, muck filled tunnels and an odd sense of nostalgia, a longing for the time when she rested under the sands of her home, ready to emerge and run across the sands in the endless fight for survival. And for the time when she wasn't caked in swamp mud, something that is rapidly proving to be even more cloying and sticky than regular mud. Still, the trio are inside the walls of the compound and as yet undiscovered. The Albino knows she should do either the smart thing or the Exalted thing. The Smart thing would be to quietly find the others. The Exalted thing would be to do something big and flashy and dramatic. Instead she chooses a third option, and slips into one of the buildings nearby. From the anvil just outside it is obviously a blacksmiths, and if it is anything like the forge the Ancient One keeps, that means there will be a trough of water. Thankfully, blissfully, wonderfully, there is, and even if it is nowhere near the crystal clear water her fellow exalt maintains to quench metal in it is enough to clean the mud and dirt off. After several long moments the Night Caste steps away from the trough, running a hand through her hair to squeeze the water out before motioning her newfound ... newfound what? prisoners? rescued hostages? minions? Something else to decide. The woman sighs again and considers the situation. Well. She is at least clean now, but not exactly closer to anything. Certainly the others will have gotten themselves into trouble already, and either stolen or tricked the Guild into buying their own compound from themselves at a horrifying mark up or something. Behind her the Mole Hound makes a halfhearted snarl - the desert animal has managed to clamber into the water trough, and while it isn't happy to be semi submerged, it certainly isn't one to tolerate the Pangolin beastman taking its place either. The Night Caste doesn't really register the sound, though her eyes do light up as its significance dawns on her. She can talk to the animals (apparently. Something to investigate later) and they can talk back, so why not take advantage of that? The Albino doesn't hesitate, slipping from the forge and across the compound like a ghost, utterly unseen by what few guards are halfheartedly patrolling. She doesn't even hesitate as she steps through the gate to the low, rough building the rest of the Mole Hounds are kept in. The door isn't locked, because honestly, anyone who did try to get inside deserves everything they get. That might just come back to bite the guild in the rear end, possibly quite literally. Time will tell. Inside the building itself the roof is low enough that the Night Caste needs to stoop. No windows, but darkness was always the friend of the True People. The ring of vicious red eyes gleaming in the gloom though, that might be a problem. http://orokos.com/roll/344995 The remaining Mole Hounds move up, surrounding the Albino. Not attacking, not yet, but the air is thick with tension, the silence broken only by low, deep growls and the soft snapping of already salivating jaws. In her heart, her soul, the woman's Exaltation sings. This is why it exists, to stand on the knife edge between life and death, possible and impossible. No one can walk into a fortified compound and then on into the pen of a pack of vicious, starving apex predators. In the gloom, teeth glint in the darkness. Not the Mole Hounds though. The Albino is grinning, and the ring of animals moves back a few paces, every animal deciding that right now, one of the others is higher ranked in the pack. One of the others can go first. Not me. Not right now. A voice rings out, and the nearest animals actually fall back, snapping and whimpering. Not the words of an outcast Dune Folk. The commands of a Solar Exalt. "You will OBEY." King Doom fucked around with this message at 00:17 on Jan 17, 2016 |
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Jan 17, 2016 00:10
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Know Thy Enemy Cascading Vermilion Autumn, Taishin-Hatamoto of the Court of Seasons, Beloved of the Seven Fangs, Usher of Harvests and Lady of Abundance Spirit Classification: Local Deity (Kitsune) Influence and Authority: Feast and Famine, contagion borne of spoiled food and unclean conduct, fortune and providence of farmers, hunters, and herders Immaculate Holidays: 1 Ascending Wood, 28 Descending Wood (beginning and end of harvest season) Unsanctioned Holidays: None confirmed; suspected of partaking in the murderous festival-hunts of her superiors, but no complaints and audits have resulted in formal censure Shrines and Temples: Small, dedicated altar at Great Forks; frequent beneficiary of unlawful portraiture in Sawgrass Plains and the Waxwoods of Greyfalls Satrapy; temple proper in Broken Anvil of the so-called Bishopric of Steel Known Allies: Seven Fangs, Calendar Gods of the Month of Resplendent Wood, notorious solicitors of illicit worship and man-killers; Rin Many-Talents, itinerant deity of commerce, wealth, and prosperity; informal influence throughout Wood-aligned spirit courts in the Hundred Kingdoms region. Direct superior to Spindlecane Jinu of Thorns (deceased), White Cornica of the Steppes (goddess of rice and salt), and the Bunnysatvah, He Who Nibbles The Leaf (governor of grasslands and fields). Cathak Yudo. Cathak Maechen. 'Jacko'. Must assume General Kitono's blessing in this matter, if not direct involvement. Known Enemies: Us. Powers and Boons: Accomplished sorceress, shapechanger, able to bewitch or beguile others in a manner similar to that of fae. May grant blessings of wisdom, long life, and protection against misfortune, or lay curses of pestilence, famine, and ruin. Wields ethereal fire, and may turn innocuous items such as paper fans or silk sashes into lethal weapons. Talismans and Banes: Scalding water drives her into her native form, and her kind fear hunting hounds. May be bribed by offerings of rice, wine, or pearls, and obsessively drawn to mirrors. Long-term effects of tail amputation unclear, but early results are promising. Know Thy...Enemy? Actions speak louder than words, but it's the things not done, the words not spoken that say volumes about Cathak Ruhera. She bears the rank of Dragonlord, higher than Yudo or Maechen, and yet she is unmistakably here on their behalf. She has come with but a token escort, prioritizing speed and stealth over force or presence. Her every other glance is to the treeline, or the hilltops, or the far horizon of the high road. She does not want to be here. Duty commands it, and it would not be duty to her juniors. A Dragonlord takes her orders from a General. Ruhera is here on Kitono's orders, all but alone, in the heartland of Anathema territory. Her job is to overawe the starstruck rube from Thorns with her station. An army would have helped with that, and kept her person secure. Speed, and stealth...the General must want to take the manses and their treasures for his own House, with Nellens none the wiser. With these demands for quartering, he hopes to secure them before anyone else can protest. Ruhera's horse balks beneath her, shying away from the proffered nugget of ore. She takes it in any case, taking in its nauseating sheen and chaotic marbling. The Dragonlord feels it out with her own anima, a swift, fleeting, and temperamental aura, probing for its secrets...and Jasper's. "This is a terrible burden you have shouldered," she offers at last. "It is not one you should have to bear alone. The Realm can be a gracious patron, Maethis of House Metin. You will see that there are benefits to our rule...if we are shown due respect." She dismounts, and her manservant follows suit, taking her horse and his own to stable. "We shall not stay overlong, but we must have refreshment for our journey home. Do inform your servants." Jasper: Ruhera's offer is sincere, albeit blatantly-lopsided in the Realm's favor. She's only the messenger in this, and is clearly not thrilled about being sent alone onto Anathema turf. She has her orders, and, given Kitono's schemes, she probably has to have something to show for her efforts - but she's eager to leave, and you can probably parlay that into a more-favorable arrangement. It's odd that a Dragonlord could be sent on errands by a Winglord and Talonlord...but then, it's odd that someone with Yudo's seniority would only be a Winglord. Either Yudo lied about his and Maechen's ranks, or there's some weird, Dynastic favorite-unfavoritism psychodrama happening behind the scenes. Probably both! Dog Daze This makes no sense. There is food. Giving orders. But...if food gives orders...is it still food? <Master!> the maimed female snarls, addressing her Pack. <Intruder!> a sodden male snaps back, and She recognizes the one who'd escaped her wrath. <Master!> her companion counters. <Intruder!> <Master!> <Intruder!> <Master!> <...Master?> <Master!> <Master!> And with that, the matter is settled to the Pack's satisfaction. "Oh, this is getting interesting," a voice croons from above her. With a metallic *spang!*, another cage bar pops free, letting loose another group of prisoners. Yellow eyes leer down at She, their owner's face a nightmarish cross of goat, wolf, and death's-head. "So you're Drigo's sleeve of trumps, are you?" The hulking beastman gives a low, mocking bow. "Kraal Glory-Brand. At your...service," he growls the last word, as if attempting to spit its taste from his tongue. "He's already gone, of course. If he'd told you to expect differently...well, that's Drigo." "Shut up!" a little puma boy snarls, flinging a dirt clod at the monster's head. "You shut up! This is all your fault!" "If I give offense, you are welcome to remain here," Kraal grins nightmarishly. "He swore an oath. He has not abandoned us." A sallow-scaled lizardman in a shapeless, red garment struggles to open the wasps' enclosure, his bleeding claws slowly pulling apart the mesh, one wire at a time. "Oh! You are..." he turns and falls to his knees, nearly toppling from his precarious perch in the process. "Chosen one. You have our gratitude, although I fear that I know you not-" "She is the White Ghost." The wasp's queen folds her upper pair of hands together, holding her lower pair splayed to either side in a gesture of welcome. "The last light, who guides those lost within the dark...or casts the wicked to the scythes of the Silver Death." Kraal makes a gagging noise. Something stirs within the lowest cell. The black earth rolls and heaves, disgorging something pale and dripping, something with six red eyes and as many flailing arms, two of which end in great, alabaster claws... ...and then Ferin, He of the Hat of Unfortunate Fashionability, currently bearing a poo poo-eating grin and a little black box with white calligraphy. "Chosen one!" the lizardman exclaims. "...owwww..." the scorpion-woman groans. "I-is that it?" the puma-boy gasps. "Is that the medicine my mom needs?" <Sharp Lady!> the injured mole-hound barks in alarm. <Intruder?> another asks. Here we go again! She gets a 2-die stunt on her Presence roll, for 3 extra successes. With that, She handily succeeds, commanding the loyalty of the pack. Have your choice of 4m or 1wp, Doom. Ferin returns with the medicine, and the beastfolk are working on breaking out of their cages...but the old lizardman isn't having much luck, and Kraal and the goat-wolves seem to be jailbreaking the most militant breeds first. Working Demotivation No sooner is Corban Fellspoint back at Blackport than he's once again accosted by Vice-Factor Grigori. "Ah, good. You found them." Grigori gives Corban a hearty, if affected, slap on the back, and Pham and Ngu equally-vigorous slaps on the faces. "My office. Now," he barks at them. "You, Fellspoint," he grunts at Quill. "Good work, and an early congratulations on your promotion if that cart turns up." Ngu just groans miserably. "Next job," the Vice-Factor continues, ignoring the welt-riddled cart drivers. "Grab the Overseer-Principal and as many of his as you can, and go see what that-" he jerks his thumb at one of the slave warehouses, from which comes a rising ruckus of barking dogs and other, stranger noises "-is all about. See Ubosh in the Apothecariat first, or the hounds'll tear you apart. Good man," he finishes without even looking at Corban, dragging Pham and Ngu off by their ears. Arcane Fate's kind of a mixed blessing, ain't it?
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Feb 6, 2016 22:02
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Only She Stands There. <This one wishes the wretched burrowing thing had barked 'stranger', for this one has just thought of a most amusing reply.> Several pairs of canine eyes favour the woman with identical, confused looks. Several humanoids do the same, though that most likely is down to the fact the woman is barking. <Is this one... of course. Of course. To wonder aloud if the ancient Solar Tyrants faced such trials? Of course not. No, this one knows, for she has seen memories that the forgotten tyrants were able to spend their time> "just laying around eating exquisite" <delicacies> "literally ,called into existence simply to satisfy such" <jaded> "desires as... gaah. GAAH!" The Albino rubs her temples, a look of annoyance on her face as she forces her unruly tongue back under some semblance of control and back to using a human language, even if it is a horribly butchered not-people one. Okay, so. Back to what passes for reality. Now that she doesn't have to pay attention to the quite literally nightmarish Mole-Hound pack the woman can cast a practised eye over the cages. A variety of locks, new, cheap, mass produced ones, a few surprisingly good quality ones weakened by age and ill maintenance before being salvaged and brought here, a few cages simply nailed shut, one or two with skeins of metal wires twisted into tangled but effective lumps. Not an issue individually, but all together and as quickly as possible? While trying to remember to talk to herself under her breath instead of barking? Taking the +4 motes reward. Spending 10 motes for +5 sux. roll her is 9 dice (5 dex/4 larceny) + 3 assistance from the beastfolk making it 12+5sux: http://orokos.com/roll/371100 13 sux Current Essence Essence 17/1 King Doom fucked around with this message at 02:31 on Feb 9, 2016 |
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Feb 9, 2016 02:28
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Keys are for Chumps New or old, crude or sophisticated, these obstacles are only locks, and She was made to thwart such petty things. The most heavily-rusted ones are simply snapped, either by the Solar's hands or those of Ma-Ha-Suchi's brood. These cells house the smaller, frailer breeds of beastfolk...breeds with commensurate deftness to compensate. Hares and parrots make short work of tangled wires and clockwork tumblers. No longer at risk from the mole-hounds, the pangolin sets about digging beneath the lowest cages, making tunnels in the mud large enough to pass their prisoners. The puma-boy lends the old lizardman assistance, shredding the wasps' enclosure with his claws. Every few lengths of wire, he looks back anxiously at Ferin and his sleeping mother, tail lashing in agitation and distress. Under She's expert direction, the slave pens are rapidly dismantled. Every cage opened is another set of hands (or close enough) to lend their strength and skill. The hawk-woman stretches her wings, glancing frantically between the door and the gap below the roof, not quite yet daring to believe herself free. The Ixcoatli snakemen thank the Exalts graciously, then huddle together to whisper, giving the rest of the crowd a wide berth. The others are only too happy to oblige, shooting murderous looks at them, as well as the goat-wolves and the captive elf. Certain of these escapees are not well-liked by the others, and from what reaches She and Ferin's ears, this dislike has been well-earned. At last, only a handful of captives remain. Faridah, the scorpion-woman and the Sharp Lady of the mole-hounds' dread, refuses to leave her cage. Even now, she cradles the pangolin's mauled brother, struggling in vain to keep him awake and alive despite her own injuries. The puma-woman slips deeper into her sleeping sickness, despite the lizardman's best efforts. Nobody has been willing to let the elf out of her cell. Nobody save Kraal and his kin have even been willing to approach it, and the way he smiles while brandishing the pole of sharpened metal suggests he only wants to remove part of her from the cage. The mole-dogs snap and snarl, then huddle and whine, not daring to come any closer to the dreaded Hollow Lady. "Oh," Nimhe sighs, and the lead slabs entombing her shift and rock again, "to be free of this durance vile, of the tyrannies of steel and shape. Where are you, where are you? Where is my sword, my vow?" Her blindfolded eyes turn again to Ferin. "Where is my prince, to take me from this gaol?" Goddamn, 13 sux. Call that a 1-die stunt for 2m, and She handily frees everyone before the guards even know what the gently caress. Well. ALMOST everyone. Scorpion-girl and Puma-mom still need medical attention, as does the pangolin-man's brother, and nobody seems keen to let Nimhe out. Must be the whole world-ravaging, soul-devouring thing.
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Feb 10, 2016 07:10
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Ruhera meets Jasper’s mighty road Twice-Polished Jasper 3m personal left before Stunt rewards, assuming I get 4 more during the ride. All rolls can be found HERE Jasper sighed in relief. This, at least, was a start. Hmm. Servants. Well, his work crew had now kept up the ruse with two other Dragon Blooded, he could be certain they would be able to keep it up once more, although he’d probably have to double his wine production to make it up to them. He briefly thought about his own quarters and forge: reasonably well appointed, relatively free of dangerous iconography, and he’d moved most of the Manse reclamation plans to the worksite… and he’d left his glass daiklave in Kanai’s cart once he heard a Dynast was on her way. Phew. Should be safe. But he still had the problem of the wyld snake, and needed to better impress the risks of this place upon the Dynast… “I would be glad to offer you what I can. The local wine is crude but passable, and we’ll slaughter a goat immediately. Eh, there is but one problem, however, in that it is a long day’s hike up to the Steppes, and we’d not be there before dark. I keep another home much closer, but some of my servants have said the road there, this road, is haunted by some spirit or pest or bogart. I trust them, but am sure they’ve exaggerated it. Shall we ride?” he asked, and mounted up. “Of…course,” Ruhera answered uneasily, resting one hand on her brace of javelins. “Peasants and servants are prone to their little imaginings...but all the same. Sometimes a devil is but a wild beast...and sometimes, it is truly a devil. Show me - I will rally the Hunt, if need be.” Jasper took the lead, to demonstrate his confidence in the safety of the route. In truth, it was also so he could keep a keen eye on the road, checking it for strange ripples or other signs of warning as the iron-shod hooves of his horse beat out a steady rhythm next to the muffled nothings coming from the blue jade of Ruhera’s horse. It was the sudden variation in that beat, the sudden inexplicable weirdness in it, that clued Jasper in, first. He could feel the horse’s steps under his spine, those movements had not changed, but the sound was different, like the ground was moving even though it appeared solid and steady. It wasn’t enough. He focused too much on the ground while his enemy, near-invisible against the woods, arched and struck from a hundred paces away. A body thicker than a guild wagon struck at the both of them, and Jasper was thrown from his horse, hitting the ground with a rib-snapping impact. Perception + Awareness: 2 successes. Jasper will accept a wound or crippling effect Let’s take a lesson from Pillars of Eternity, and go with “Bruised Ribs”. 1B, -1 penalty to Stamina, or -2 dice if it’s a Resistance-based dicepool. “RAKSHA!” Ruhera screamed, and loosed her first javelin. The shivering metal splintered and erupted mid-flight, turning to a lance of frozen lightning. It left a smoldering gash in the serpent’s side, cauterized by the heat of the thunderbolt. The creature shrieked and thrashed, and its smaller kin slithered through the underbrush to defend it, snapping at the horses’ legs. “This… this is too much! This is more than they spoke of!” Jasper said, and immediately began to move to retreat. He moved to defend Ruhera, but had to consciously slow his movements. His weapons begged him to wield them with sunbright movements, to snap to his fingers with a speed faster than the wind. He resisted. He had to defend himself, defend Ruhera, without giving away his skill or his nature. It was a very close thing. More than once he had to take a blow he might have been able to parry, for he was not able to imagine a scenario wherein he might accidentally avoid it, but he kept his brow unmarked by light. Dex+Melee: 4 successes, spending 2m to offset prior injury, leaving him with 2 personal (before stunts). Maybe take a wound? The beast was frightfully-swift once it was in motion, but ponderous and heavy. Distraction slowed it, and it balked at leaving its nest within the trails. Its indecision cost it its meal, and its sweeping coil, thick as a redwood, swung wide of Jasper (albeit by an uncomfortably-thin margin). Escaping over plant and vine was a peril of a different time. He beat a hasty retreat, and when he thought Ruhera was not looking he would take great leaping tumbles in response to blows from the beast. In truth, he dodged when the beast struck, leaping right before the blows actually hit, to cover ground away. He trusted Ruhera to look after herself. Survival was all that mattered, now, survival and secrecy. STR+Athletics: 4 successes, activating Monkey Leap Technique to let me cover more ground than I could on a normal horse. At last they were free. Safety was in sight. With one mighty dive he escaped road and snake and woods alike, but as he landed there was a little oddity, a little trick of the light, as his hammer shimmered, for a split moment, in his hands between himself and the ground as it thumped into his own chest, only for it to vanish again. Groggy, bleary, smeared with blood and mud, Jasper rolled over onto his back, the gaping rent in his princely lamellar armor plainly revealed to the Sun and to Dynast and to Kanai’s rangers alike. “This is clearly going to take a lot more manpower, and a lot more work, than I could have possibly believed!” he said at last. “Lady Cathak, are you well?” Manipulation + Presence, use the motes I gained from stunts to apply full excellency and Salesman Spirit for the deal ‘leave us alone and you won’t have to deal with this’: 12 successes rolled in IRC. Mile'ionaha fucked around with this message at 16:10 on Feb 11, 2016 |
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Feb 11, 2016 16:01
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Only She Stands There. With a flick of a wrist the last lock all but disintegrates, not picked but deftly taken apart from the inside, the individual pieces all but fired across the room as the springs holding the tumblers in place are freed. The Albino takes a step back as the cage swings open and the last of the Beastfolk are released. The scene is ever so slightly disorientating, the edges of her vision utterly normal, the Exalts essence massively drained and leaving her feeling like there should be something there, red flecks, ever so slight greying, tunnel vision, anything. The sheer, utter absence of anything unusual is perhaps the worst thing for an essence user to notice, the lack of that unique awareness signifying a return to mundanity, to normality. Worse than that is the knowledge that there is more to do, more essence to spend. moving ever so slightly more mechanically than before the Albino slides out a black cloth roll filled with medical equipment from one of the concealed pockets in her armour and moves towards one of the two injured former captives. The first, the Scorpion Woman isn't too bad - while the Night Caste might have had a few half formed worries about utterly incomprehensible anatomy, it rapidly becomes obvious that the chitin covering most of her has kept her safe and the damaged parts are already starting to split, ready to be shed. A little time for the new chitin underneath to harden and food to replenish what was used and the scorpionkin is going to be as good as the circumstances allow. Patient patched up the Albino pauses, working down a mental checklist. What would her beloved sister do now? reassure the patient. Actually, the Lunar would have done that first. Come to think of it she would have actually made an effort to communicate in the first place. Ah well. Allowing herself to focus on what the arachnid woman is saying aaaand... actually, it's apparently a lot of increasingly coherent muttering about hallucinating a demon and how she will not let her guard down. Given the Dune Folk and the scorpion kin have had more than one encounter in the past, it isn't hard to work out who the demon is. giving the scorpion woman an awkward pat on the head the night caste manages to mutter "this one is not the envenomed ones foe, and this one further states that when this one encountered others of the scorpion very little was consumed, nor did it taste much like spiced crab and... this one will go away now." The second, the Pangolin beastkin is worse in some ways and easier in others. More damage, more injuries, more wear and tear and ill treatment, but a much more familiar shape, a much more familiar form. Set that, snap that back into place, stitch that up, cut that open so it can drain properly and suddenly the woman is blinking in surprise because there is nothing left to repair. The albino looks at the pangolin kin and for a second or two it is difficult to say who is most shocked. the Pangolinman reacts first though, holding up a taloned hand and asking "please don't try to reassure me!" 1st roll 3 diff, 4 int/4 med, 5 sux http://orokos.com/roll/372004 2nd roll 5 diff, 4 int/ 4 med, + 3 sux for 6 motes, 8 sux http://orokos.com/roll/372404 Current Essence Essence 14/0
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Feb 11, 2016 23:52
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Ferin and assorted guest stars - Meet the new plan, same as the old plan As She busied herself with surgery, Ferin helped himself to her waterskin, into which he crumbled the contents of the little cube that was his prize from his raid on the apothecary. After plugging and vigorously shaking the container to ensure it was mixed, he called the old lizardman over to the side of the unconcious jaguar-woman. “Chief, I’m gonna need your help with this one - both to hold her head and to get the dosage right. Is it one cube to a person for this stuff?” “Mixed with water, or thin wine, yes. It dissolves, to form a broth.” His tongue flicked out, tasting the air, then immediately shot back into his mouth. “Ingesting the paste directly is...unwise.” With the old lizardman’s help, Ferin was able to get enough of the bitter liquid down the jaguar-woman’s throat that it would take effect. Once this was done, he turned back to the assembled beastfolk and cleared his throat. With the exception of Kraal and his ilk, the noise in the room ceased. There was no trace of his usual joking manner as he spoke. “Everybody, listen and listen well. Before too long, we’ll be be putting the full breakout plan into motion. However, we have those here who are too sick or injured to fight effectively. If they stay, they risk being targeted during the upcoming actions, and we won’t have the people to effectively defend them and fight the guards at the same time. Rather than risk that, we’re going to evacuate them before beginning the plan. Thanks to Only She Stands There,” and here he indicated the Night Caste with a sweeping gesture and a small bow in her direction, “the mole-hounds will not only not prevent our passage, but at her direction, will aid us in tunneling out of the compound. Those who can move unassisted will aid me in moving those that cannot; I will protect you against the beasts of the swamps as best I am able. I’ve moored a ship not too far from here - once you reach that, you’re as good as free. Any questions?” “A ship? You have a ship?!” the ivory-masked leader of the snakemen demanded incredulously. “Why must we fight at all? Let us reach the river, and be gone from this place!” A chorus of hushed whispers rippled over the crowd. Not all of them were in disagreement with the snake. Ferin’s eyebrows angled down in a frown at this. He speared the ivory-masked snakeman with a gaze dripping all the menace he could muster (for what that was worth). “Simple,” he said after a moment. “If I packed you all on that ship then I might as well have just left you here - conditions’ll be just as bad. And that’s not even considering the other warehouse - just as full as this one, and I aim to break them out, same as you.” “The gaolers will be here soon!” the viper hissed. He looked about, slitted eyes and heat-pits taking in the general mood. “You have transportation…enough.” “Enough,” Ferin nodded with a grim smile. “Yeah, I’ve transportation enough.” He looked the rest of the snake-folk up and down. “The rest of you lot agree with Fearless Leader over here?” There was a tone of real menace in his voice now, of malice coiled and waiting to vent itself on whoever disturbed it first. “We are sworn to fight for him.” Another snake, copper with white banding, stepped forward. “To die for him.” His attire marked him as separate from the rest, likely a lieutenant, or other second-in-command. “Or with him,” he spat meaningfully, giving his superior a sharp glance. Ferin tilted his head back and forth, as though thinking it over. “True - that’s true. But I seem to recall the room was pretty unanimous on swearing another oath not so very long ago, hm? Same promise as Kraal and his lot, same promise as the fae. Old grudges lie for the moment; no harm, direct or indirect to any of your fellow escapees. Sound familiar?” “Yes...I know. I remember,” the masked snake nodded levelly, clearly thinking on the letter of the oath. “Do be aware,” the wasp-queen droned menacingly, and her kin swarmed at her side, in fighting formation in an instant. “If you abandon us, then we likewise have no obligation to you...nor the promise of truce.” Ferin nodded his thanks to the queen. “That’s about the size of it. ‘course, infighting hurts all of us, but I think it’d hurt you just as much. So there’s your choices - take your chances on the line with us, or against us. Not an enviable choice, but at the end of one path there’s nothing but desperate flight through hostile territory. At the end of the other, you’ve got allies beside you. What will it be?” Ferin’s tone makes it clear he only intends to ask once. “...I am no oathbreaker,” the snakes’ leader said at last, and his soldiers breathe a sigh of relief that he isn’t about to get them all killed. “Good.” Ferin smiled. “Grab some bars, and pick five of your men to help me get the sick and the wounded outta here. The rest of you can hold the fort till we get back. Alright?” “Let it be done,” he ordered, and signaled for the others to obey.
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Feb 13, 2016 04:44
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Corban Fellspoint - Of Orders Not Received Corban gave an awkward half-bow to the retreating back of the Vice-Factor, promptly turning on his heel and hurrying away. However, instead of going left to the Overseer-Principal’s offices, he turned right, retracing his steps to Barracks 5. He knocked, diffidently, and poked his head into the man’s quarters. “Erm… Quaestor? About that, er, mission I took the guards out on? It’s, um.” He cleared his throat. “Stationmaster Bock said to say something about it, something about salvage?” The underclerk avoided eye contact. “Don’t remember exactly what, though. Sorry, sir. But I wanted to deliver the message, at least as best as I could.” “Hngh?” The Quaestor looked up from his bowl of porridge. “So it IS salvage, then? Pah!” He kicked his desk with a clubbed foot. “That skinflint Griggs, trying to cheat me out of my share...come on, boys -” he snapped his fingers, and his cadre of hirsute guards slouched to attention. “We’re going to have WORDS about fair payment.” Corban gave a concerned frown at the guards. “Erm. Maybe if you signed the duty roster, sir? Like I said; Stationmaster Bock said something about salvage and recovery, I just don’t remember exactly what.” He feigned a miserable look. “I just got this posting, sir; I don’t want to get caught up in the politics of it all.” “Too late!” the Quaestor shouted. “You signed the papers, took the coin. If you haven’t the stomach for a little blood, sweat, and tears, then you’ve no place here.” He ruffled through the desk until he found the duty roster. “‘Recovery’, he said. Well,” he nodded to his guards, “time for some ‘recovery’ of our own. An’ if you see that skiving little weasel…’Fellspoint’,” he read the name aloud as if describing an especially-unpleasant skin pox, “give ‘im a kick from us.” And at that, they stormed out. Corban gave them a long ten-count to clear out, and then (after exhaling a long-held breath) casually began making his way to the Apothecariat. He knocked on the door, much more confidently. “Sir? I’ve orders from Vice-Factor Grigori. I’m to get something from you so I can check on the pens, sir. Something about mole-dogs?” “Aha.” A muffled voice spoke from the other side. “Come in.” Inside, the apothecary’s apprentices were busily dismantling the workshop, scrubbing and packing each oddment of glass and metal away in crates lined with clean linens. Ubosh himself was nowhere to be seen. “You need the musk?” a wiry Linowan woman asked. “Yes, Miss. The Vice-Factor said something about getting torn apart, otherwise.” Corban nodded, looking around. “Is there any sort of documentation, anything I need to sign? I wouldn’t want Apothecary Ubosh to get charged for something properly credited to the Vice-Factor’s account.” She tapped a clay tablet, its surface still wet enough to draw upon with a stylus. “Mark it off here, sign there. I’ll tell Ubosh - he’s already checking the inventory.” She knocked on a featureless wall at the back of the room. “Bosi! Njoo hapa!” The rest of the students, recognizing the cue, stepped out into the adjoining commons. The golem, also recognizing the cue, stepped out of its niche. Ubosh stomped out of the vault, a scowl on his leathery face. “What now,” he demanded. Corban met Ubosh’s scowl with a bland expression of his own. “I’m to check on the pens and report back to the Vice-Factor; he said that I could chance it alone or get something from you so that I only need to worry about the merchandise, rather than our security.” “Of all the…” Ubosh trailed off, pausing mid-sentence as a thought struck him. "Yakaz, take a break. You’ve earned it." The Linowan girl shrugged and headed for the commons, her spindly fingers already rolling tobacco before she’d even cleared the door. "Here." Ubosh handed Corban a phial of something yellow and pungent. "Mole-hound musk. Tells the dogs that you belong. Dries quickly, so you’ll have only an hour. And…do tell the Vice-Factor - some inventory has gone amiss. Five boxes of seven-bounties paste...and ten wound compresses." He passed a laden tray to Corban. There were only four boxes of the paste, but as many poultices as he’d said. Corban frowned in agreement, tucking the musk into one sleeve. "I’ll be sure to tell him that the next time I talk to him, sir. It’s something he’ll want to know." Corban signed for the musk, noting that it was "on the orders of" Vice-Factor Grigori. Surreptitiously, he also signed for a sufficient quantity to cover himself and a fang of guards, placing the tablet in with the rest of the accounting records. "Thank you, sir." Without waiting for a reply, the underclerk bowed and left on his final errand, shedding his disguise once he was safely out of sight; and Lyric of Heaven’s Quill quickly made his way to the slave pens. Lyric of Heaven’s Quill, Ferin Drigo - Welcome to the Party, Pal! Quill dabbed the musk on his wrists and throat, wincing at the eye-watering aroma that now surrounded him. He cautiously opened the door to the low-slung building, hands slightly up, but apparently relaxed. The earlier cacophony had prepared him to expect a good many things. He was emphatically not prepared to see Ferin holding the room in the palm of his hand. A choked laugh instead turned to a coughing fit as he struggled to cope with the sheer reek of the musk. Ferin held up a hand to forestall the goatwolves and She from starting their ambush. “Hold tight,” he said, shutting the door behind the coughing Sidereal. “He’s our third, and he’ll be joining us on this little trip.” He turned to Quill. “You think it’ll be alright if their new clerk up and vanishes around now? Miss Dagger tells me there are ways to do that while avoiding notice.” “Does she.” Quill’s voice is flat before he regains his humor. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but he already has.” He indicated the candles now held in his hand, rather than in his headband; the now-faded ink smudges on his hand. “Mr. Fellspoint should start fading from their memory fairly soon.” He resisted the urge to scratch the back of his head, where his Essence was starting to itch from the frenetic activity he’d imposed on the outpost. “It’s… a mixed blessing.” He leaned in and lowered his voice so that only Ferin could hear. “Once I’m gone, most of these unfortunates won’t remember me within a day.” “Probably for the best,” Ferin murmured back. “Seems like maybe you don’t want folks upstairs knowing you’re doing this, and witnesses do help that along.” He straightened again, and raised his voice, though not too loudly. “You’re with me on this part of the plan. We’re taking some of the ones who’re still relatively strong and evacuating the wounded. The Sunrise isn’t too far from here. If we can do our thing to bodyguard them through the swamp, we’ll at least have them safe and receiving something like treatment. She’s gonna stay here and watch the fort, such as it is. As you can see, we’ve got the mole-dogs on side, so surfacing well out of line of sight is no great worry. Once we get back, ideally we can do the same for the all-human bunch in the other warehouse - and it’ll be faster now that we’ve not got to worry about the ground being a hazard.” He paused, waiting for Quill’s reaction. Quill’s face went completely blank. He looked at Ferin. Looked at She. Looked at the mole-hounds. And pointedly continued breathing through his mouth, rather than his nose. “That’s… that’s good to hear.” To those in the building with an improved range of hearing, his teeth were singing a long, quavering, high-pitched note. “If it’s any consolation to you, the swamp will probably wash most of the smell off, anyway.” Old Realm: “...I hate you so, so much.” To Thes: time for some rollin’ instructions, I’d think! MadcapViking fucked around with this message at 22:01 on Feb 22, 2016 |
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Feb 22, 2016 21:56
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Ferin Drigo, Lyric of Heaven’s Quill - Plans In Motion After the escape route was dug, Ferin quietly took point, leading the group of injured and sick out through the oozy-wet tunnel. He fervently hoped none of them were claustrophobic, because this would have done it no good whatsoever. When they emerged, he directed the ones who could still walk to carry those who couldn’t to the cover of the swamp. There, his caste mark beginning to glitter, he gave directions to the little convoy in a low, even voice, one that sounded nothing like his usual friendly tone. When to move. Where to move to. What to look for. What not to do. To their complete lack of surprise, the man with a grin that shouted ‘trust me’ was pretty good at going places he shouldn’t, quickly and quietly. One of the things that got most would-be sneaks killed was a lack of presence of mind. Without the ability to bullshit an explanation or merely just to decide when the best time would be to dive out the nearest window, one day luck would catch up with even the very stealthiest. As they emerged from the tunnel, Ferin kept his eyes open and his awareness of the moment sharp, looking for any of the thousand ways the swamp might try to kill them. The water, he noted, was rising around his legs as the little convoy made their way through the mangroves on the paths he indicated. The tide was coming in. And where the tide came in in places like this, there were usually alligators not far behind. “Keep an eye out for alligators, people,” he warned. “We can probably work around them if we find them early.” So where were they? Quill followed carefully, keeping an eye out. At the edge of the river, he just barely caught the telltale splashes of one… no. Two waterspouts. Tiny, brief, but very definitely there. He retied the scholar’s bandana around his forehead, closed his eyes, and focused. He immediately wished he hadn’t. Quill pops Supernal Awareness for “Dangerous Aquatic Entities” within 300 yards, 4m Peri. “...The good news is, we don’t have to worry about alligators.” Ferin went pale (and in his case, that meant he went pale all over). “Bigger fish?” he asked with a sinking feeling. Quill very nearly matched Ferin for color. “Bigger something. Very big. And whatever it is, well. There was a gator. Erm, two gators. Now there’s not.” He tried to look less nervous than he felt. “BIG.” Fear trickled through Ferin. Granted, this was more his speed than some fae-forged warstrider, but in the grand scale of things that offered little enough comfort. He channeled that fear into what passed, for him, as ferocity, and began to blur and change. “Everybody get the injured out of the water,” he growled. “Quill, have you ever seen a swamp dragon?” “Not as such, no.” The Sidereal eyed where he had last picked up on the thing’s presence. “The name in addition to the size does not particularly inspire confidence.” “I heard from Miss Dagger that Sidereals and kung-fu go together like fish and water. I’m thinking that if this doesn’t work, it might be time to show it,” Ferin responded, much more quietly now. His skin began to match colour with the water as he stepped into it without provoking a ripple. “I’m gonna try and put it to sleep, after a fashion. I don’t like our odds against it without She and her axes behind us.” Quill’s face flickered with annoyance before he responded. “The saying we have goes: ‘Every Sidereal is a master of the arts—even on his first day in the dojo.’ It’s one of the things every single one of us is given at least a basic grounding in. Some of the Elders…” He shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” The Joybringer returned to scanning the surface of the water. “I’ve got a couple of tricks up my sleeve, but…” He glanced at the crowd of former captives. “If it starts giving you too much trouble, try to encourage it somewhere that I can see it.” His face was serious, even for him. “It won’t be pretty, though.” Ferin nodded. “Got it.” He sank underwater for perhaps half a minute, then resurfaced, shaking his head. “Tide’s not all the way in just yet. We should leading them onwards; we’re not in range of this thing’s teeth at the moment and we are pretty close to the ship. Just be aware we may have a fight on our hands coming back.” Quill shuddered, thinking of the thing he’d sensed. “I really would prefer to avoid that, if at all possible.”
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Apr 10, 2016 00:38
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Sharp Words Light on her feet and subtle as a shadow, Only She Stands There creeps across the twilit compound. Not quite day and not quite night, the many-colored blaze of sunset, shining over the canopy of the glades, casts Blackport into muted dusk. Unseen by all, She glides like an ivory ghost to the smeltery - readily-identifiable by the massive doors for admitting Yeddim-pulled fortress-wagons and the sooty grilles on the roof, still fuming with poisonous vapors - and makes quick ingress via an upstairs window. Unseen...but that is not to say unnoticed. "We should retrace our steps," Ngu nods assertively. "Go all the way back to where we picked up the shipment." "You want to waste our time again, that's your prerogative," the guard sergeant waves indifferently with her spear. A stern, coal-black woman of Kirighastite birth, she had, in her youth, briefly entertained the notion of pledging herself to Ahlat, joining the war-god's elite and forswearing mortal marriage for glory. Then the Guild had come and offered her the opportunity for either or both, along with half-again more wages and the prospect, however-dim, of eventual retirement. "We get paid all the same." "We don't," Pham says sourly, stooping to smear fresh mud on his welts. "This is dumb, Ngu - unless you think our thief came back for everything else-" "Or maybe just something else," Ngu interjects. "Something they thought would be on our cart, except it wasn't..." "It was all ingots, wasn't it?" Pham groans. "All cast from the same strike. If it was in the smithy, it was on our cart which we still haven't loving found!" "...still think we should take a look," Ngu grumbles. "Someone already is," Pham points out the open window. "It's not us," the sergeant informs him. She grips her spear tight and waves her guards to take up places around the building, one fang to each exit. One of the roof-mounted scorpions pivots on its coaxial mount, taking aim at the foundry's open window. "We have an intruder." -------- "Now see here-" "No," the forewoman stands her ground. Stout and well-muscled from her years at her trade, covered in shiny burns where the hot metal had become unruly, she glares up at the towering Overseer-Principal. "Weapons come to me for inspection and sorting. I decide where they go from here." "It's a faerie blade!" the Overseer protests, brandishing the weapon for emphasis. And so it is - the gossamer edge glimmers like starlight in the sheltered dark of the foundry. Straight for the first half-yard, it then curves away then back again like horn, ending in a point like a serpent's tooth. "It won't abide the touch of iron - what use would you even have for it?" "It's a devil's weapon," she counters, folding her massive arms. "Gods and devils alike despise a thief, and I won't labor under a curse." "Its owner is a prisoner," the Overseer crows. "Soon to be sold up the river at Great Forks. We will not send a slave bearing arms." "Has Bock approved the transfer?" the forewoman asks, creasing her ruddy brow. "Grigori has approved the transfer." The Overseer turns the weapon over and over, marveling at its balance and otherworldly sharpness. "He bears the Factor's seal, and you would do well to hie to his will." "Then put that cursed thing down, Ecgtheow. You've brought enough trouble with that staff of yours - if anyone's foolish enough to give you a faerie blade, it won't be on my head." Ecgtheow flips the sword in his hand, holding it level as if momentarily contemplating using it on the obstinate forewoman...then sets it on a wooden rack. "This isn't over," he promises. "Nothing ever is," the forewoman waves him away, and returns to her business of minding the smelter-furnaces. From her vantage inside the second-story window, Only She Stands There has a straight shot at the sword. Twenty paces, and it'll be in her hand. Just a little further, and - *eeeeeeeEEEEEEE* *THWUNK!* The smeltery's gates swing wide with a squeal of hinges and a groan of overburdened wood. "Madam Forewoman!" the guard sergeant calls up from the work floor, almost invisible behind the rippling heat from the crucibles. "What now?" the forewoman grumbles, squinting over the rail. "Halt work, close up, and begin roll call. You have an intruder." Uh-oh! She has drawn some unwanted attention - right now you're at ? rather than !, so you can still lie low and wait it out, or just try to evade the guards...or fight your way out. This area has lots of scenery for facilitating any of the above options: smoking furnaces, cooling troughs, clay tubs for storage of raw ingots. Nimhe's sword is in plain sight, but Suspicious Characters “Alright, men and wo...er…folks,” Bull greeted Ferin and Quill’s little caravan. “Welcome aboard the Second Sunrise. I’ll be your captain - name’s Bull. Yer almost free and clear, but I run a tight ship, and I expect you’ll pull your weight…” he blinked and did a double take. “...or maybe just lie down. Take a load off. Knock twice once in awhile, let us know yer still alive.” He shook his head and swore. “Haggard lot you’ve picked up, eh, Ferin? I’ll, hah, chart a course, and we’ll cast off as soon as you give the signal.” Ferin shook his head. He wasn’t smiling, and Bull had known him long enough to know that meant trouble. “Sorry, Bull - not yet. This isn’t all of them - just the ones who were too sick to fight. Hell, this isn’t even all of them, just the ones from the beastman lockdown. There’s another one, same size, for the humans, so we’ll like as not be back with another group of the same size. As for the rest…” Ferin leaned close to his lieutenant and spoke quietly enough that only he could hear. “They wanna fight, and we’ve got enough of them to make a go at it. We’ve got a pack of Ma-Ha-Suchi’s crazy-rear end kids and a Fair Folk warrior sworn to the cause as well, and I made sure the oath had teeth.” He held up a bandaged hand in evidence. “The wolf-goats are as good as two soldiers apiece, and if the faerie’s worth less than ten I’ll eat my hat.” “The faerie will hold you to that, then eat you AND your hat if the goat-wolves don’t beat it to the punch. Hell’s bells,” Bull swore again. “Ferin, what happened to ‘simple’?” “Went out the window around the time we realized their ‘cargo’ was about a thousand humans and beastmen, soon to be slaves. Not the sort of thing we can walk off with, and definitely not the sort of thing I can let happen. Don’t worry, though - I’ve got a plan to avoid an open fight. If it came down to it, we could probably win one, but I’ve got a better idea.” He winked at his old friend. “Why torch the place when we can take it?” “You’ll be the death of me yet.” Bull threw up his hands in resignation. “What’s the plan?” “Once we get the sick humans out and the rest on side, She’ll nick weapons where she can and we’ll use the bars of the cages as clubs for the rest - they used the screw-top kind, which means I can get as many of ‘em as we have fighters. Then, She black-bags the vice-factor, and I make the stationmaster an offer he can’t refuse - work with us and keep the Hundred Kingdoms from getting starved out, and they can keep trading everything save drugs and slaves. If he stonewalls, the threat of five hundred suddenly armed prisoners might make him change his mind.” Ferin looked Bull in the eyes. “If it comes to a fight, though, you need to bail, to get the sick folks out - take them to Shadow, if you can. She’ll be able to treat them.” “I can help.” Bull turned to the speaker, as did the frail old lizardman. “Faridah,” the lizard protested, “you can barely stand.” “I can help,” she repeated stubbornly. “There are few of us who know more than the crudest of medicines, and your eyes are not what they once were. Please...let me help.” “She’s right, chief,” Ferin added. He looked over at the scorpion-girl, and nodded to her. “If you can treat yourself first that’d be best - a doctor who’s at risk of keeling over herself’s a less useful one by far.” He turned back to Bull. “Any of the boys know enough to help her?” “Clay’s stitched some wounds and taken some limbs - hasn’t lost a patient yet.” This was probably because Clay was, by trade, a butcher and not a physician. It struck Bull as impolite to bring this up, given present company. This fact was, however, known to Ferin, who simply looked resigned. “It’ll have to do. Good luck to you all - we’ve got another extraction to organize, ideally before the tide comes in and I have to fight a giant something-or-other to get them out.” Bull’s eyes went wide. “Giant...Drigo, is there a river dragon about?” He turned away and stamped toward the wheel. “If we’re not gone by high tide, we’re not leaving. This many wounded in one place, it’ll smell a fuckin’ banquet to the thing. Less you think you can take one - we sure can’t.” “If it comes to that I’ll try,” said Ferin. “But like fighting at the station, I aim not to. But I gotta get moving now if that’s to be.” “Hell of a day for the bug to get sick, eh?” “I have a name.” Faridah said flatly. “No I-” Ferin was already climbing back over the side. “If Silence were here the place would already be a bloodbath. This way might be more complicated, but it might end better for us. If we’re not back in forty-five minutes, we’re probably not going to be, and you’d best get moving. Got it?” “Loud n’ clear,” Bull tapped the side of his head. “Oy, ya other sorry sons of bitches!” He took a scratched, weatherbeaten hourglass and turned it over, shaking some of its contents down. “When this sand runs out, we’re gone, come Hell or high water - and believe you me, you won’t like the high water!"
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Jun 21, 2016 01:45
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Hospitality "You are fortunate to be alive, Metin Maethis." Cathak Ruhera eyes the wounds on Jasper's exposed chest. "A little closer, and that faerie beast would have crushed you to sausage. I commend your valor, but heed me when I say this is a task for the Exalted." In the distance, her manservant hastens to catch up, driving his horse to exhaustion. "I will alert my Lord General, and we will convene the Hunt with all speed; nevertheless..." Ruhera shakes her head. "Such a horror will take the full might of the Dragons to slay. We will muster our forces, but we cannot guarantee your safety in the interim." She extends a hand to Jasper, helping him to his feet. "You have done much here with little, but I fear this accursed land will be the death of you. Your skills would be welcome in service to the Legion." Ruhera takes his other hand. "It is said...that you may have accepted the...patronage of the monsters that claim this land, as a matter of survival. True or false, I assure you: they will devour you as readily as that Raksha, the very instant the wrong whim should strike them." Hidden over the rise of a nearby bluff, Kanai quietly makes a gagging expression. "Come with me, Maethis. We can purify this land and make it ours." Well that sure is an offer. Ruhera isn't leaving straight away - her horse would literally die of exhaustion if she did - so you have time to think about it. You can also make use of this as a standing invitation, if/when you decide to take care of business in Greyfalls. Oh, and the giant Wyld-snake is still out there. Eating people. Jasper, Kanai, and Wes may want to do something about that, with or without the rest of the group. Patron Monsters "Court...food...shrine...aaaaand that's all I've got." Silence shakes his head to refocus his eyes on the scroll. "This is about that 'Autumn' spirit, right? Just what did she do here?" "She attempted to send me to my death at Shadow's fangs," Lindram says curtly. "I believe she means for us to be at war." "Uh-huh. And she's still alive because...?" "Killing Autumn would also risk war," Lindram explains. "I believe Shadow has a different plan in store for her...but that is for her to explain." "Alright." Silence turns to the No-Moon. "What's the plan? Is it the one that involves burning Greyfalls down? Because..." he glances askew at Lindram "...seems kind of extreme for you." “Nobody’s burning anything yet,” Shadow says, brushing the loose strands of hair from her brow. “The problem is one of scarcity. Greyfalls is expanding influence to feed her people, given the harvest gods are foretelling a time of famine.” “Hey, we met one of those!” Silence perks up. “Or Sab and Naj did. Wasn’t so keen on talking to us - think he was afraid we’d eat him.” “Predator’s curse,” Shadow says, smiling. It’s funny to picture. “Lindram, do you think war is inevitable? I don’t know the political climes of Greyfalls and we don’t have time to try and make peace if it’s already been decided.” “A week ago, I would have said that it was,” Lindram contemplates soberly. “But considering the lengths they went to kill me and lay the blame on you...they must not have much faith in their predictions, or they wouldn’t have bothered.” “So they may not be true?” She thinks about that for a moment. “If they aren’t, and there is reason to suspect so, then the false predictions are being used to sway public opinion in favor of war. The question then is who benefits from targeting me and Jasper. The Twice Burned are the most visible thorn in the Guild’s side, and Ferin’s men the most invisible. Why not either of them?” Shadow flexes the claws on her right hand and answers her own question. “Because we alone don’t have fighting men available, and they wanted to pressure the weakest of us. It nearly worked, too. Greyfalls itself is being used as a pawn, to flush us out for the inevitable Hunt, or simply to have them dash their men against ours until one side fails. It is not outside our ability to raze that city, but if we did, the atrocity would be a rallying cry for every Immaculate within ten thousand miles. ‘Remember Greyfalls!’ they’ll shout, and we’ll still be forced out, by sheer weight of numbers.” “Having seen the forces that sail daily for the Caul, I can’t disagree with that,” Lindram mutters darkly. “What about the Bull?” Silence asks. “Kaneko? Empire seems to be leaving him alone.” “That is different,” Lindram says stiffly. “How?” “No-one fights in the North if it can be helped,” she answers curtly. “If ever he marches further south than Linowan…” “Mmhmm,” Silence nods, electing not to press the matter. “So, who’s pulling Autumn’s strings? The Guild again?” “Not every evil in the world spawns from the Guild,” Shadow corrects. “The fox was working with members of House Cathak, and they were the ones who arranged the little misunderstanding that led to the massacre on the road. They’ve been the most fervent supporters of war as well, which means they have something to gain by it.” “General Kitono,” Lindram frowns. “Our self-proclaimed ‘savior’. I knew him as an arrogant brute with eyes on a higher station, but this is worrisome.” She shakes her head. “I never figured him for cunning.” Shadow snorts. “Even a thug can hire others to be cunning for him. That is precisely how we acquired Autumn’s good graces.” “Kanai’s told me some about him,” Silence mentions. “None of it good.” “He and his Legion repulsed Ma-Ha-Suchi’s assault and lifted their siege,” Lindram informs him. “Many in the city won’t hear a word against him.” “Even if he’s spoiling for another war?” “If it’s the right war…” Lindram exhales softly. “How the hell did they know about Shadow anyhow?” Silence folds his arms crossly. “Way I hear it, she’s kept to herself for years. Barely showed her face around the rest of us, least that anyone was watching.” “That is a good question,” Lindram notes. Shadow sighs. “A very good question, one that needs answering.” Silence looks for one in Lindram’s scroll, still laboring in vain to parse the Old Realm characters...until a single, familiar one caught his eye. “‘Bunnysatvah’,” he quotes. “Sab drew this one. What’s he got to do with this?” “He is Autumn’s subordinate in the hierarchy of worldly spirits.” “...thinking we should ask him about that.” And there’s a little more plot direction for dealing with Shadow’s little fox problem.  EVERYONEAs a general point of direction, I'd like to get the gang back together sooner rather than later. This extended party split has been kind of rough, and I'm more than slightly at fault here, but I'm down for continuing if you all are. I'd like - REALLY like - to update to 3E and reboot the OOC thread, but unfortunately we'd be stuck with either homebrewing Lunar rules or waiting for the splatbook to come out in...I don't know, it's not even listed on the release schedule  .ANYHOW, rather than rage against the developers for the umpteenth time, let's focus on what we CAN do. Per Miles' suggestion I'm willing to speed up current events like Blackport and bullfight to reunite the party. Thesaurasaurus fucked around with this message at 01:53 on Jun 21, 2016 |
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Jun 21, 2016 01:46
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Ferin Drigo - Out of Time The tunnel made by the accommodating mole-hounds was fairly trivially extended to the other side of the warehouse complex, and Ferin emerged from the floor as a thoroughly muddy dog of thoroughly mixed breed. He shook himself clean of as much of the sticky muck and squirmed his way into one of the cages he could reach as a dog before assuming his warform. His slit-pupilled eyes swiveled up at the those above, all suddenly regarding him with mingled hope and alarm. All trace of joking was gone as he addressed his audience in as loud a voice as he dared. “Right. Listen up, all of you, and listen well because we don’t have time for interruptions. In thirty minutes a boat will be leaving from the mangrove swamp outside, to avoid high tide. If you want your sick and injured on it, then everybody shut the hell up, get them ready to move, and pick five or so of the healthy ones to help escort them out.” Ferin paused a moment for the inevitable objections. Charisma + Presence to sell it; 1 bonus die from stunt and one from Reputation - 6 successes. The captives’ hushed whispers and muted weeping trailed off. For several seconds, all eyes were on Ferin, none of the prisoners quite daring to believe that his offer was real, that he was real. No-one spoke - everyone here had learned quickly the consequences of speaking out of turn, and all of them were at least a little afraid of where an Anathema might lead them. “...Drigo?” A thin, cracking voice broke the silence. “Ferin Drigo, outta Nexus? Izzat you?” Someone stirred in one of the middle cages, pulling weakly upright. His face was scarred and weatherbeaten; his halfhearted grin was missing several teeth, and a long, black bandage covered his missing eyes. “Ferin, it’s me, Rook. Is that you?” Climbing into the pens, Ferin would have sworn that he’d find nothing that could distract him there, nothing to tear his attention away from the precious minutes until Bull departed. Had he made the oath, he proved it now a false one. He turned to the sound of the voice, and his strange eyes focused on him, as colours danced and shimmered across his skin. “Rook? We thought - we thought you’d been killed during the job.” Well, Ferin admitted to himself, he thought Rook had died with the others, on the disastrous theft-gone-wrong that prompted the destruction of his old gang and his own Exaltation. Bull and some of the others had been convinced that Rook had been the one that sold them out. He broke from his private thoughts to speak again. “What the hell -” No time, he reminded himself. Rook could - needed to - tell his story walking. He made his boneless way over to his old gang-mate’s cage, and coiled sucker-coated arms around the bars. These ones were rather more diverse in nature than the ones in the beastfolk pens, but he was in luck - this cage was the screw-bar style. He smiled at Rook, realizing it was useless a few seconds too late, and then pulled, and let the bars spin. “Now there’s a welcome tune,” Rook sighed, stretching his cramped limbs. “What happened to your voice, mate? Sound like you’re about to drop from consumption!” That did prompt a laugh from Ferin, the first levity he’d shown since he’d set his time limit with Bull. “Well, I may have changed a bit, but wait long enough and that’ll pass.” He grinned, and narrowly restrained himself from winking at the rest of his audience. “Wha...what’s happening?” A skinny man with dark skin and red hair sat up in his cell. “Are we leaving? Is this a rescue?” “Ah. Forgive me manners,” Rook said. “This is me old pal Ferin. If you’ve any concerns, you should know he’s given the Guild the slip once before.” Ferin nodded. “And this time, so will you.” He looked around. “Yes, this is a rescue, but it’s going to be a little complicated. Take these - “ and here he handed his salvaged bars to various cages - “and get’em to anybody still hale enough and trained enough to fight come an emergency. Everybody else - find those of you who are guaranteed noncombatants by reason of illness or injury, and I’ll try and crack their cells so we can get them out of harm’s way. When I get back, though - “ He grinned, and given that his lips had taken on some of the beaklike qualities of an octopus’ mouth this looked very odd indeed. “Then I’ve got a plan to get us all out of here.” “What about the others?” A Nexican woman in peasant garb spoke up. “The Imanioc and Ixcoatli?” “Already on-side,” Ferin replied, “and I’ve already evacuated their sick and injured.” He began testing cages for the screw-topped design that would let him open them. “I hope that’s not a deal-breaker, because I’ve gotta tell you we’re gonna need everybody we can get, if this plan doesn’t pan out.” He wrenched two more metal poles out of their housings, and passed them off to likely-looking recipients. “No, that’s good,” she breathed a sigh of relief. “Just don’t put the two side by side, or there’ll be trouble.” He simply nodded, lending a rubbery arm to help the immediate evacuees towards the tunnel, where a couple of beastfolk volunteers waited to speed the process. “Anything else?” His tone of voice made it clear that he was not looking forward to a ‘yes’. “What about the rest of us?” A broad-shouldered Marukani man asked, pausing briefly in his work with the metal bar. “Where are you taking us?” “Right now? Nowhere. In about an hour? Quite possibly into the rest of the camp. In a week? Kingdom I know, under the protection of six Anathema. Not too many places safer, these days,” Ferin grunted as he lent the man his aid. “Just so,” the man nodded, and resumed prising open the cages. Ferin gave him a probing look as he worked before speaking again. “Just so’s we’re clear, that last bit is optional. Once the camp is ours, if you want to head off in any direction you please, I’m not gonna stop you - once the camp is ours.” “Good enough for me,” Rook smiles a broken smile. “Help me out, Ferin? Afraid I can’t find my way as well as I used to.” Ferin silently extended an arm in response, and waited for Rook’s response. Given the texture of his warform, he was certain there’d be one. “Eyyyech,” Rook flinched from Ferin’s slimy grip. “Haven’t had time for a bath, have you?” “Not appreciably, but that ain’t it. I’ll explain on the way.”
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Jul 1, 2016 23:20
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Twice-Polished Jasper Jasper, that is, Metin Mathis, gingergly dug in his pockets for a length of cloth or leather he could use to pull a sliver of metal out of his chest. when he realized that sliver was still attached to the rest of his armor, he winced and realized he'd have to undress completely to get the pain away. He wheezed as he got to his feet, feeling the pain throughout his ribs, and started slashing the straps on his breastplate until peeled off of him, its weight carrying it clattering to the ground. His sleeves followed, repurposed as bandages. "I've run once. I cannot run any longer. My wounds need proper dressing, and they would surely open were I to ride. We'll go the long route, around the woods, to rest your horse." he said, his voice now more broken and raspy than it had been. "And then I shall simply have to pray that none, monster, anathema, or bandit, steal my claim while I heal, but at least, if it happens, they'll not do it in my absence." In the wreckage of his armor, basically shirtless, the tired Jasper waited for the ruby red blood that now soaked his make-shift bandages to turn dark and brown, for the trickles to cease, and then, carefully, led Ruhera to a place of relative safety. If she offered him a ride on her horse, he would accept, as long as they took their time. He hoped she took the hint and left.
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Aug 10, 2016 14:30
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Only She Stands There. So. Things are afoot, and as usual the Albino isn’t entirely sure what those things are anymore.There was probably a plan at some point, but ...how did that saying go again? The one about how they never survive contact with the enemy? Moving like a pool of liquid shadow the Night Caste almost flows up behind one of the guards, an arm draped companionably across a shoulder and almost as an afterthought an edge sharper than the man had ever imagined possible resting against his throat. ”This one wonders if the most expendable one knows the saying about plans and the enemy? This one cannot quite remember it, and is most vexed.” The guard, suddenly very, very eager to be helpful, nods enthusiastically. A second or so later most of him drops to the floor and his head, still in the Albino’s hands, has just enough time to look like he really wished he’d thought that through just a touch more than he did before she drops it and sighs in utter annoyance. The guild had to have known there were Exalts in the area. According to He of the ink stained dress and amusingly shaped throbbing forehead vein the guild have entire companies of astrologers, diviners and soothsayers dedicated to looking out for that sort of thing. The fact they still sent guards like that one is actually quite insulting. Or a trap. Either way the Night Caste is mildly annoyed. What was she supposed to be doing again? There was mention of a sword. Possibly. Even if that wasn’t what she was supposed to be sneaking in to obtain, it’s a good bet that there is one here somewhere. Or something like it. It’s just how things are when you happen to be an Exalt. A quick trip around the foundry reveals that there probably is, and it happens to be locked away behind several inches of steel in a reinforced safe only slightly shorter than the Albino herself. A mundane lock wouldn’t even factor into the woman’s plans, but due circumstances that have absolutely nothing to do with barely repressed childhood trauma involving Mole Hounds her hands are shaking just a touch too much to pick the lock. The sensible thing to do would be to just forget about anything stored here, get the glass weapon and vanish before any of the people present can do more than blink. Unfortunately, Exalts aren’t exactly designed for sensible, and anyway there’s a little nagging voice convincing the Night Caste that everyone else in the group will have gone above and beyond what they were meant to do. So. If you can’t steal extra equipment, obviously the next best solution is to steal a means to provide extra equipment. The woman thinks for a moment, but not too long because this is a very bad plan anyway, and goes to work. Still clustered in the center of the foundry the assorted guild workers and guards realise something is going wrong when a flow of liquid metal hits a water barrel and causes an explosion as superheated metal and water meet, a cloud of steam filling the air. Behind the group comes the sound of metal effortlessly sliding through metal, then a tortured scream of cast iron suddenly unable to hold up the weight it once supported and the ground shakes as a metal vat collapses to the floor, spilling yet more liquid metal. That it cuts off two of the avenues of escape don’t go unnoticed. The bottom of a massive stone cauldron filled with baking hot sand swinging from a crane explodes with a thunderous blast of electricity and a half ton of lethally hot silicon spills across the floor towards the increasingly horrified metalsmiths and soldiers for hire, driving them all towards and then onto the raised stone platform. While it is big enough, just, for everyone to cluster on, the sheer heat will be just as lethal as the molten slag, just slightly slower to kill. Out of the smoke, heat and choking, toxic fumes something appears. One of the massive, crudely made tables, the wood rendered by time, heat and countless accidents involving red hot metal into something almost fire proof has been overturned and is slowly moving towards the terrified group, the pure white grin of the black clad figure poling the impromptu boat across the molten lake visible even in the smog. “This one could perhaps open a conversation with a comment both delightfully incisive and witty, but alas it becomes apparent the servants of the guild have most rudely chosen to start choking to death or roasting alive, so she will be brief. Those who wish to live will be taken prisoner and may come aboard this one’s boat. Those who wish to cease living will do so quite soon.” “Don’t listen to her,” Ecgtheow barks, pointing his staff accusingly at the Solar. “We know of this one. She is a maneater, and takes you only to her larder!” “We surrender,” the forewoman says briskly. “What are you - damnable harridan!” Ecgtheow rounds on her. “Have you lost what little sense you had?! Have you no HONOR?!” “Probable death beats certain death,” the forewoman says. “And I’ve no cause to defend what ain’t mine. We all know why Griggs is here. Cashing out, closing shop.” “This one points out that eating nothing but human does actually kill you. Little known fact, but quite true. Something to do with how lean the meat usually is, this one suspects. This may or may not help.” The Albino gestures. “Carry on with your debate. This one can wait.” The forewoman points at her with a leather-strapped hammer. “We’re coming. You owe me a new foundry.” “This one would have committed less sabotage if she had known the others would be so co-operative. Yes though, there will be a new foundry. Quite possibly it will be capable of speech, or flight or something equally as insane. The best approach is just to nod and accept, it works quite well for this one.” With that the woman motions the deeply confused foundry workers onto the table. “Keep your pity,” Ecgtheow tells She, quaking with rage. “Save it for your kith and kin. They’re dead - all of them, already dead. You don’t know who you’ve crossed, but you’ll see.” He smiles an ugly, broken smile. “Everyone you know, everyone you love - they are dead by your hand. And you’ll have just enough time to mourn them and lament your folly before you join them.” The Albino is silent for a moment, apparently considering the guildsmans words before she nods. “This one has heard as much previously. Almost word for word, in fact. Perhaps the most impotent one has heard of the one who spoke such words? His name was Malfeas.” “Who?” “The oldest devil,” the forewoman explains. “King of Hell. Stay or go, Overseer. I’ve no more to say to you.”
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Aug 17, 2016 23:40
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Ferin Drigo - Racing the Clock Ferin didn’t bother to change back into his regular skin for the trip back out to the boat - he had about half an hour before he was stuck in the middle of a swamp with a band of wounded refugees and all the gators and swamp dragons that he had never wanted. Then, just as he entered the mouth of the tunnel out into the swamp, the hearthstone around his neck gave a pulse. Somebody had just died. He diverted his attention to it for the few minutes it took them to clear the tunnel and enter the swamp proper. As they began to wade in, seven more pulses followed, one atop another. She was making her move. It had to be. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about. Thus it was that he channeled his divinely-given focus without heed for being spotted, and shepherded his charges through waters that were beginning to visibly rise with the glowing mark of the crescent moon on his brow, glimmering like a distant star. The water was now high enough that some of the more able wounded opted to swim rather than wade. It was only through the use of their eyes as well as his own that he was able to steer the group around a handful of alligators masquerading as floating logs, trying their luck with the early-bird special, before the biggest creature in their particular could try its luck with them. 4 sux on the roll. I make it, but it’s a close run-thing. Finally, having to help the most-debilitated stay afloat by carrying them in a suckered arm apiece, the little group came in sight of the Second Sunrise, at that moment as marvelous and beautiful as its name suggested. One by one he helped them up the rope that Bull hurriedly let down for them. All went smoothly until, panting with effort, he helped Rook over the railing and onto the deck with a squish of sodden clothing (and of sodden octopus besides). The chatter of his crew as they gratefully weighed anchor fell silent, and in the hush, though he was but a mortal man, Rook knew what the matter was like he could feel their gazes on his skin.. “It’s them, isn’t it.” “Yeah,” Ferin said. The single syllable scared Rook more than his captivity had, because he heard in it what he hadn’t back in the Guild storehouse - suspicion. It was Bull, rather than Ferin, who broke the silence. “The hell you all starin’ at?!” he roared. “High tide’s not five minutes out! Get us moving!” --- For a time, then, the sensation of his old crew’s staring ceased for Rook, as strangely chitinous fingers pulled him to some corner where he’d be out of the way of people doing actual work. He didn’t even register it over the rising sense of fear. He’d known, as soon as he’d heard Ferin’s voice, that he’d ask questions about the night their old gang died eventually. But...well, it was Ferin. The old gang had liked him too well to say it, but they always figured him for a soft touch. Given the circumstances, making a clean breast of things might have at least enabled him to live. Bull had never been quite so forgiving, and by the sounds of it there were others there from the old gang as well. Some time later (he had no idea how long) Ferin’s strangely-slimy hand had grasped his shoulder and led him to a chair. The stares had returned. “Tell us,” Ferin said softly, “what happened on your last job. Don’t worry about being believed, don’t worry about consequences - we just want the truth.” He took a deep breath, and began to speak. He spoke of his capture by the Guild on the night it had all gone wrong. He spoke of the interrogation, as they strove to drag the name and location of his gang out of them. He spoke of his silence as the Guild put out one of his eyes, and then the other. He spoke of his elation then, as he realized the Guild couldn’t take his tongue without losing the information they wanted so badly. He spoke of the Guild torturers suddenly falling silent, and allowing the terrified screams of his family to filter their way to him from the room next door, protesting their innocence. He spoke of his capitulation, and fell silent. --- “Yeah, real sad story you got there.” Bull snorted. “What about us, you turncoat bastard?! WE were your loving family!” Rook said nothing, staring sightlessly at the hands folded in his lap. Ferin watched him for a moment. If this man had been stronger, he would be dead and Ferin would still be back in Nexus with the gang. If he’d been weaker, the Guild would have arrived sooner, and perhaps Ferin might be dead now. He rolled the thoughts around and around in his head, and all of a sudden they seemed like the only thoughts in it. He should be angry, he knew. This man was responsible for the death of so many comrades. But Ferin simply felt empty, hollow. “What would you have me do?” he asked Bull quietly. Bull thought about that one for a while. So did the rest of the crew, if their looks were any indication. “Leave ‘im here,” Bull said at last. “He’s already chosen the Guild over us. Lie down with the dogs, you don’t get to be sorry when you wake up with fleas.” Strange molluscoid eyes looked at him almost reproachfully. “You’re telling me that if the Guild had your wife and children in the other room, you’d trade their torture and death for ours?” “I- you…!” Bull rounded on Ferin, fuming. “Why are we talkin’ about me? He’s the one who did it!” Ferin blinked slowly. “He did. We know now where his breakin’ point lay, and the Guild guessed it for themselves.” He blinked again, faster this time. Not all of the old gang had had honest-to-goodness family alive - it’s why they’d come to think of one another as such. “Once they’d caught him,” he said, trying to fight the strange feeling of detachment, “they had all the time in the world to stack the deck against him, looking for the one thing - whatever it was - that’d be worth more to him than us.” He stood up then, and walked up to their not-quite-prisoner. “Rook,” he said, open your eyes and look at us.” As he spoke he pulled off the black bandana that usually kept them covered. “...too late,” Rook said hollowly. It was true. After the Guild’s mercenaries had finished with him, there was nothing left to see. Bull visibly flinched in revulsion - Rook had always been the gang’s best lookout, and so naturally, the Guild had taken that from him first. “Barbarians,” Faridah hissed, rustling her palps. “Your scars - did they burn you?” “Hmm?” Rook didn’t recognize the new voice. “No, they...after they cut me loose, what was left started hurting bad, and when I felt the fever setting in...I’m no healer, but I remembered what the ironworkers would do when they lost a finger or such.” Ferin stayed silent for an uncomfortably long time after Rook had said his piece. Eventually, he returned his attention to Bull. “He chose this, did he?” Bull clenched his teeth hard enough that Ferin could hear the grinding, the corded muscles bulging in his thick neck with every chew. “...it ain’t fair,” he whispered at last, hoarse and breathless. There were tears in the leathery creases of his face. “Ain’t fair to me, or anyone else who was...it just ain’t fair.” Ferin nodded. “It ain’t. But he didn’t choose this either, he was just the poor fuckin’ sod unlucky enough to get caught. If I’d gone as lookout that day I’d put even money on me being in that chair now. You know who did this to them, and to us.” “Yeah? An’ what happens when they do it again?” Bull demanded. Ferin’s eyes narrowed. “Least for this little station, I’m here to make sure they don’t do it again. For the rest of the world...that’s what the whole operation’s about. Set up a network robust enough and when the Guild’s thugs come calling, the network can step in. We’ll be them, but inside out.” He stepped back. “So for now, he’s just another refugee, alright? We’ll hash the rest of this out when I get back.” Something flickered in his eyes, and his smile turned distinctly nasty. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got an outpost to steal.”
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Oct 13, 2016 02:01
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