[Shatter the Circle] Nexus 1:0 - Invocation & Invitation of Fates Intertwined

"I know you heard me the first time," Sol says quietly. "If you want to go, I won't stop you. I'm just saying - I can help you, and in a way that lets you help yourself after we part ways. If you want to take your bits and leave, then I hope I'll see you around."
 
"Don't worry, I'll make it clear that I'm not 'with' you in any official sense, just someone who was here when things got crazy and is willing to vouch for your story."
 
Kacie said:
The Wolf -


It's impossible not to hear the wailings of the drunk one.


"Oh, most perfect of all faithful bitches! Most white and unsullied by the filth, of teeth swifter than rats, jaws greater than the grasping cargo cranes! Come back, come back to me! Herquin the Unfortunate will be the Blessed with you by my side!"


A moment later, the wailing rises yet higher - "WHAT DO I NEED TO DO TO APPEASE YOU?!?"


If only the smells were as easy to ignore. Instead, they crawl into nostrils, and stab into the brain - fetid sweet stink of sickness, acrid piss, clinging heated tar, and the horrible soot drifting down from the incessant forges. The most insidious is the soot - it coats and covers, hiding the other scents. It, along with natural adaption, dulls the sense of smell, and this is the true horror; a predator with deadened senses is prey.


Sludge cakes paws, a mushy surface leaving prints, overwhelming smells, horrible to push off against into a run, sucking back against movement. There is no clean water with which to wash the sludge free, and every instinct screams poison at the idea of licking paws clean during a rest.


To say nothing of the fleas, ticks, and every other parasitic vermin attempting to latch on for a free lunch.


Rats. Cockroaches. Insects, mice, vermin - instinct screams such lesser forms not only survive, but thrive. Shed skin and form, adapt. At least the stink won't be physically painful.


Every night, this pantomime is harder to maintain.


Why? Why are you here?
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Herquin the Unfortunate will remain so for another night at least, as the Wolf traces her serpentine path through the streets of Nexus, his cries fading in short order. This city, this wretched cesspit of Creation, was wearing on her. As terrible as the Wyld was, it was majestic in its possibility. Even those parts of the Wyld that were drag, fetid and dark were somehow grander in their misery.


Perhaps it was time to take a new form, there were some who would suit, and others that she could fine in this place. To shed herself, her old life, to become something anew. The Rat Within the World.


Padding up along a series of broken planks onto a creaking roof, sparing herself at least from the mud for a time, she finds the prospect faintly nauseating. Rather, she should ignore whatever impulse drew her back, whatever compulsion kept her from simply turning tail. Yet that too seemed somewhat...unpalatable.


Instead, she found herself wandering again, tracing a long circle through the oppressive night air, eventually finding herself huddled miserably on a roof within sight of the brothel, idly trying to wipe her paws off on a plank.
 
The girl stops crawling, and sobs quietly.


A man runs into the saloon, yells, "Wot's all this?!" Behind him a handful of similar sorts pile through after him; all are docks-working types, the sort that shift heavy cargo and form make-shift mobs to go after thieves.


"Whar's the Wolf?"


The barkeep points, hands shaking, to the over-filling altar dripping rotgut. "Mad spirit, gone now," he says, rapidly. "Must'a come in with some shipment, uh, just like those big spider-things last month!"


The man sneers. "An' yah just happen to be helpin' yourself to the good stuff? Well, yur head, not mine! You tell that wrinkled bag that runs this place, yew'll know what happens end o' th' week, ifn there's no pay."
 
Sol rises and leads the girl back to his table, offering her the remainder of his dinner, just as the thugs walk in.


These must be his goons. If they reflect their employer... well, it probably would be too much to hope for.


"So, you lot work for Nar Naz, then?" Sol says lightly, as he rises to face them. Despite his prior, snap judgement, he takes his time now to size them up, take a good measure of them. Callused hands and heavy builds, muscle cloaked by fat from heavy eating, small wounds all over their bodies because the life of a dockhand isn't for coddled babies...


They're strong, but not too bright. Tough and capable enough to do heavy labour for a living and dull enough to keep doing it for a living. It would be a simple thing to buy them out with the basic pleasures all men had, and equally simple to have them do one's will once you had them eating from the palm of your hand.


The flesh remembers what the mind has forgotten. Tell me your secrets, Sol thinks as he studies them while waiting for an answer.

Sol's dice pool is Perception 5 + Ability 5 + Spec 3 + 1 Stunt.


[dice]4621[/dice]


[dice]4622[/dice]
 
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Misuro stood up, letting the chair he was on scrape against the floor to draw the attention to himself, and not the bartender or (what he believed to be) a mortal scholar. "Easy, friend, no need to get mad. I was here when that spirit showed up and I can vouch for the man. The wolf was easily the biggest of it's kind I had ever seen, undoubtedly unnatural."
 
The men scowl at Sol. "Wot's it to yah?"


Sol can see from the way they hold themselves that while they did burst in expecting violence, this isn't what they expected, and they aren't threatened in the least by the barkeep or the saloon's current occupants.


The tar dripping off their boots is still hot; they must have been calking boats just before now, and got the word very recently that there was trouble here - perhaps a lookout for Nar Naz was in the saloon when the Wolf appeared? And they they came ready - boot hooks and long-knives aplenty - but not for spirits. The leader seems to have a worn old charm, but after that it's the pouches of salt each man has, tied next to the knife-sheathes in easy reach and water-proofed. No firedust weapons, likely not firedust, but salt would help against ghosts and might bribe spirits. That said -- if word was there was a Spirit, then there may be more men. If word was Wolf, then these may be it. Regardless, they do seem intent on protecting their investment, or rather, the boss's investment. For what that's worth.


The lead man frowns at Misuro. "Don't matter none, iffn it's gone now. Word'll go it's safe, 'nd people cin git back t' drinkin' and coin spendin'." Grins, gaps in teeth showing black. "Coin's the issue, 'n they knows that, 'ere."


Sol notices that the chicken on the floor has disappeared - while his attention was turned, the girl dropped off the stage and is wolfing it down, crouched low and out of sight of the men.
 
Kacie said:
The men scowl at Sol. "Wot's it to yah?"
Sol can see from the way they hold themselves that while they did burst in expecting violence, this isn't what they expected, and they aren't threatened in the least by the barkeep or the saloon's current occupants.


The tar dripping off their boots is still hot; they must have been calking boats just before now, and got the word very recently that there was trouble here - perhaps a lookout for Nar Naz was in the saloon when the Wolf appeared? And they they came ready - boot hooks and long-knives aplenty - but not for spirits. The leader seems to have a worn old charm, but after that it's the pouches of salt each man has, tied next to the knife-sheathes in easy reach and water-proofed. No firedust weapons, likely not firedust, but salt would help against ghosts and might bribe spirits. That said -- if word was there was a Spirit, then there may be more men. If word was Wolf, then these may be it. Regardless, they do seem intent on protecting their investment, or rather, the boss's investment. For what that's worth.
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"Maybe I want to join up. Nar Naz's the big man in the neighborhood. Big men have deep pockets, no? Used to be a savant sort myself, worked for Lucent Ombra. You know, that scavenger lord fellow who passed away 'bout half a year ago? He taught me everything I knew, but I knew a hell of a lot more than him."


Sol grins, and then he indicates the charm being carried by their leader, and the small pouches they all carry.


"Unless you chaps don't like the way your food tastes, I'm willing to bet you lot aren't exactly at peace with the spirit world yourself. Salt's for the dead; they can't cross a line of it, hurts them like nothing else. I'm no exorcist, but I know my way around creatures of magic, and more importantly, I can put them to rest. Not just stabbing them till they vanish and reform to bother you again, but making the problem go away for good. Which, when you think about it, isn't that far away from exorcism. Plus, I don't judge. Man does what a man has to survive, as long as you can walk away from it, it's all good."

Sol notices that the chicken on the floor has disappeared - while his attention was turned, the girl dropped off the stage and is wolfing it down, crouched low and out of sight of the men.
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Sol moves to hide the girl from their eyes. He stands up to bring their line of sight up and away from her.


"So, what do you say - introduce me to the boss?"
 
Kacie said:
The lead man frowns at Misuro. "Don't matter none, iffn it's gone now. Word'll go it's safe, 'nd people cin git back t' drinkin' and coin spendin'." Grins, gaps in teeth showing black. "Coin's the issue, 'n they knows that, 'ere."
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"So I have your assurance that the barman wont be hassled if he's short of late on his next few payments because of the Wolf? It would be pretty unreasonable to hold him to a debt he can't pay due to circumstances outside his control.


OOC


Presence check, 9 dice for 5 successes
 
The men shuffle a bit, uneasy, when Sol speaks.


"Not sure. I'm not paying yew, I knows that!" the lead man finally says. "Up to Nar Naz."


And stares at Misuro, mouth open dumbly for a moment. His men heft their weapons.


He yells, gripping his knives, "Yew drop that talk, a'for we learn yew manners! Who's yew to be say'n what the boss does!"

Misuro beats their MDV. Lead man makes his Awareness check - Misuro seems dangerous - but because MDV was beat, either he capitulates or he has to attack.


Situation lies with Misuro - if Misuro apologizes and backs down with another Presence roll, then combat can be averted. If Misuro wants a fight, he has one, and he should roll Join Battle. Sol should roll Join Battle to see where in the lineup he comes; action rests on Misuro.


And before you think I'm being horribly by the book, I basically decided to let you guys determine the outcome on this. Pride (and threats of mob beat down) dictated the thugs' reactions, here. That and it's about time for a fight.
 
"You really want to let this go all the way?" Sol asks. It's not clear whether it's directed to Misuro or the thugs, and he doesn't much care as he bends down to guide the girl to safety. She and the bartender are innocent; he's going to make sure they can at least take cover together.


"Come on, kid, behind the counter. And you, old man," he says, flipping him another obol. "Keep the both of you safe till the fighting's done."
 
With extreme deliberation and care Misuro slowly pulled his daiklave from where it was strapped to his back. It was wrapped in a tarp to disguise the fact that it was made or Orichalcum, but only a fool would mistake it for anything other than a weapon of one of the Chosen. "Think very, very carefully before you make your next move."


OOC


Presence check, 9 dice for 6 successes, spending 3 personal motes on Irresistible Salesman Spirit, the implicit action being encouraged is "stand down".
 
There is absolute silence, except for the steady pat pat pat of alcohol dripping over the altar's full rim, and hitting the floor. Murmurs from outside, creaking wood, a man in the distance cussing at anything and everything.


The men in the doorway are staring at the tarp-wrapped daiklave, and both Strangers can see their hands have gone numb, eyes wide in terror.


They put their hands up, dropping their hooks to the floor with muffled clunks, and the men in the back run. The first three hear their comrades running, and the first man's mouth works, trying to stammer out something, then he breaks and pushes, the three of them tripping over each other, they can't disappear fast enough.


The barkeep stands there, slack jawed, and with a shaky hand, reaches for a mug, and without looking pours the mug brimfull of the 'best of the house' - rotgut through and through, but better than what's dripping down the side of the altar.


Sets it very carefully on the counter, still staring at the wrapped daiklave.


"Oh sir, imeanLord," he breathes. "Please forgive us. Please spare us."


He backs away slowly until he hits the wall, whereupon he starts to slink slowly towards the floor.
 
"Well, I think if he'd wanted to start killing people, the floor would be knee-deep in the dead by now," Sol says lightly, approaching the daiklave and running a finger down its length, trying to discern its aspect. Jade, probably. But you never knew.


"So I guess you can be glad that those fellows didn't decide to escalate it, because believe you me, I would have joined in as well, and buildings usually don't tend to survive my involvement."


Then, to Misuro: "You know, if you're quick, you can probably chase them back to their lair, and probably Nar Naz too, if you're inclined to follow. Me, I need to make sure this girl gets a place to rest. Got any rooms, old timer?" Sol asks.


He seems completely fearless - that, or he's not at all intimidated by a presumable Exalt.
 
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Misuro put the daiklave back in the straps on his back before Sol could have a chance to fondle it. Really, it was extremely poor move on his part, were Misuro actually a Dragon-Blooded, Sol would have probably lost the finger. "No harm, no foul." He said to the barman. Misuro picked up the drink and downed in, his Solar constitution the only thing that kept it from burning a hole in his throat. "Appreciate the drink, though, here." He dropped a small pouch of money on the bar, which would be enough to pay for the drink, plus however much he had taken earlier.


"I probably should have a talk with Nar Naz, just to be on the safe side." Agreed Misuro. "Catch up when you can, I'll try to avoid bloodshed, but it's nice to know I'll have backup on the way."
 
"I have no doubt there'll be bloodshed if they try to fight back. And they'll probably fight back," Sol shrugs.


"More fool they. Dragons guide your blade, Prince of the Earth."
 
"Appreciate it, see you when you're done here." Said Misuro, painfully aware of the irony of the situation. Making his way outside, he began to look for the telltale signs of panicked running that the gangsters were sure to leave.
 
Sol doesn't waste a lot of time ordering a room for the poor waif, in this building or the next. "You do know how to bathe, right?' he asks, as he guides her upstairs.


"I'm going to go... talk to this Nar Naz fellow now; you're not obligated to stay here, but I meant it when I said I wanted to help, and you can rest here if you'd like. I'll have them send up something to eat. I'll probably be back by tonight."


Just in case he isn't, he digs deep to pay up for a week's room and board. With that done, he flashes her an impish smile, before heading back down the streets himself. His path takes him near the beat of Old Chang Kee, a wizened merchant with a cart of curry puffs and fried things that he peddles to the hungry denizens of Nexus.


"Chang Kee, long time no see," Sol says. "How's the foot doing? Hope the apothecaries had what I recommended. Listen - I know you work the waterfront sometimes; ever heard of a fellow called Nar Naz? Big crimelord, nobody messes with him? Well, there's someone who is going to mess with him, and I figure there's going to be enough bodies that I ought to get in there early and start pulling people out of the line of fire. Come on, help me out here..."

[dice]4714[/dice]


Rollng my Contacts background of 5 to find some information on Nar naz.
 
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Sol is perceptive enough to notice that: firstly, the girl's wound needs treating. Badly. The pus needs to be drained, the wound flushed with a salt-water solution, and then disease spirits need to be appeased or brow-beaten into submission.


And flight is still a distinct possibility - Sol's not what she expected. Being kept is not what she expected. And the fear of everything that's happened - every second motion is muscles tensing to flee.


But his coin; she can't deny he has coin.


- - -


Misuro has no trouble following the trail of panicked men. If anything, there are too many panicked trails - first the saloon patrons, and now this batch of thugs.


It's by the unsettled street merchants hawking their wares that he pieces together the route taken; those who just saw Nar Naz's thugs run past are far more bewildered and jumpy. A few dead ends, a few retraced streets, and he's roughly got the hang of it.


After a number of blocks, the trail gets harder to follow. Some quick questioning, and he learns that the thugs are peeling off, going other ways. But it's easy to figure out where the lead man is headed - the merchants remember him, and more than a few, while unsettled, have an air of schadenfreude as they remember the man racing past, terror on his face.


Finally the trail dives off the main claustrophobic "streets" - glorified alleys at best - and into a truly closed and stinking alley leading up, wide enough for two people to pass, barely. Arched doors, rotting but reinforced, are on either side, while filth and feces slide slowly down from emptied chamberpots. Fitting the daiklave through such a space requires side-stepping down the alley, or holding it in hands, angling it appropriately.


Finally the alley crests the minor hill, and shit flows the other way. From the undisturbed trickle of sewage, Misuro knows the door on his right must be the place - that and it's a solid door smelling of tar and oil.


- - -


Chang Kee first looks happy to see you, Sol, and then his memory catches up with him, as well as the impact of 'Nar Naz'.


"No, no, no, noooo," he moans. "Oh, what have you gotten yourself into? Back out of it, before it's too late! Don't bother trying to save anyone!"


His voice drops to a whisper. "Nar Naz takes all that drop in the fights, his men, and anyone unlucky enough to cross him. They're never seen again!"


He looks around, searching the corners, then adds, "And I don't mean they all end up in the Rivers!"


Shakes his head. "He's making use of them. No idea if he's cremating them on the sly to make people worry, or cooking them up and serving them to his men, or serving them to the Others. Or to the spirits."


In a normal voice, says, "Doesn't matter! Stay away from them. Bad business, bad for your health!"


Holds out a fresh egg custard tart. "Have a custard?"
 
Kacie said:
Sol is perceptive enough to notice that: firstly, the girl's wound needs treating. Badly. The pus needs to be drained, the wound flushed with a salt-water solution, and then disease spirits need to be appeased or brow-beaten into submission.
And flight is still a distinct possibility - Sol's not what she expected. Being kept is not what she expected. And the fear of everything that's happened - every second motion is muscles tensing to flee.


But his coin; she can't deny he has coin.
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Sol scratches his head. How is he going to get his point across? If he leaves her, there's a high chance she'll run. If he stays, Misuro is going to be left without backup, and even with that daiklave of his, one could never be too careful around people who could mess with the flow of life and death.


It's obvious she doubts me, he thinks. I mean, who the hell would go this far for someone else for no reward? Unless...


"Hmm. All right. I'll pay you five yen for every day you stay with me, plus food and board. In exchange, I own you. Call me your master, your employer, anything you want, but I get to do anything I want to your body and you listen to me, no matter what."


Cruel? Heartless? Thoughtless? Sol wonders if he should have said that, even if he already did. However, he's aware that she's trying to sniff out what he wants from her, and perhaps phrasing his request in this way is probably a more honest and understandable way of putting it across.


A thought that flits through his head states: Compassion is actually the greediest and most selfish of the Cardinal Virtues; it takes the feelings and situations of others and makes one care about them so much that they become an extension of the self. Well, if I am to be a sinner, then let me be a most magnificent villain. Even evil has standards, after all.





"If you don't like it, you can walk out the door and I won't follow. But you will never get a better deal in this city than what I'm offering. Think about it. If you're still here by the time I get back, I'll assume you're interested."


He closes the door behind. No more time to lose.

Chang Kee first looks happy to see you, Sol, and then his memory catches up with him, as well as the impact of 'Nar Naz'.
"No, no, no, noooo," he moans. "Oh, what have you gotten yourself into? Back out of it, before it's too late! Don't bother trying to save anyone!"


His voice drops to a whisper. "Nar Naz takes all that drop in the fights, his men, and anyone unlucky enough to cross him. They're never seen again!"


He looks around, searching the corners, then adds, "And I don't mean they all end up in the Rivers!"


Shakes his head. "He's making use of them. No idea if he's cremating them on the sly to make people worry, or cooking them up and serving them to his men, or serving them to the Others. Or to the spirits."


In a normal voice, says, "Doesn't matter! Stay away from them. Bad business, bad for your health!"


Holds out a fresh egg custard tart. "Have a custard?"
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Sol catches on pretty quick, and his expression flashes through the requisite cycles of morbid curiosity and abject terror as Chang Kee goes about his spiel, peppered with exclamations of "really?" and "no way!" He does, however, help himself to a custard tart and scarf it down eagerly.


"Wow. Thank you, man. I really dodged an arrow there. I'm going to go straight home and rethink my life!"


And in a whisper of his own, he adds, "Get Madame Papilla to give you the roller special. It'll sort the kinks out of your back. Better yet, get some fresh-out-of-the-gangs kid to help you move the heavy loads; it's their main saleable good if they aren't already selling their asses."


He jogs on to the Rivers, keeping an eye out for ambush and danger... and possibly a hail of body parts if Misuro started swinging.
 
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As interesting as watching the steadily emptying brothel was, the fleeing figures of the thugs (some of whom she had heard muttering about her as they retreated) and the rapid pursuit by the stranger with a very large sword caught her eye. If nothing else, it would be wise to keep an eye on this Dragonblood - he had seen her, and if he managed to piece together what she was...


Well, she would add his gore to the things matting her fur, before he had a chance to warn the Wyld Hunt.


The route was just as circuitous on the rooftops as it was on the ground, though it involved slightly less mud and waste, and slightly more startled birds as the white wolf bounded over several gaps to come to a halt above the alley, looking down at the door - and the man standing before it.
 
Misuro looked at the door, debating the best way to go about doing this. On the one hand, he needed to maintain a low profile, lest the Immaculates get called in. On the other hand, if there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was people who used their station to abuse those less fortunate.


"Aw, screw it." Drawing the Daiklave up above his head, Misuro brought it down on the door with a screech of unbreakable legendary artifact meeting weak, pathetic wood and iron.


Walking casually through the newly made entrance, he planted the Daiklave in to the floor in front of him and surveyed the situation. "Where's Nar Naz? I need to talk to him."


OOC


As a precautionary, 6m on Infinite War Mastery for a scene long +3 dice to my pool and 6 motes in Shining Razor Wind for a scene long +2 minimum damage. Personal Motes at 7.
 
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The wood has a bit of a squelching sound, indicating wood-rot has set in despite appearances.


Otherwise -


the door splinters in all directions, shards, splinters, and broken shafts flying everywhere, a dull ringing as the iron meets orichalcum and falls dented to the floor.


The guards on the other side stand, mouths agape -- except for two, who sprint off into the warren of wood and worn stone.


A few long moments, in which the guards manage to close their mouths and back up, in either order.


"Prince of the Earth," says a thin voice. In the guttering lamplight, Misuro sees a thick fellow emerge from the warren, stiffly bow. "You honor us, and surprise us. We are not worthy of your visit. What brings you to this hovel our ours?"


All this would be fine, except for Misuro's finely honed nose, which informs him that there is an unburied corpse far too close for its liking.
 
- Above -


The Wolf crouches, in a foul mood, nearly as foul as the unmentionable scents around and on her.


There is a glint of golden brilliance, so bright it pierces all shadows and stabs into the Wolf's sensitive eyes - nothing mortal could cause this, and it comes from the man's daiklave! Or from him through his daiklave?


The result is unambiguous - the door splinters in one great drawn out crack, one fracture leading to another in the rotting wood held together against its will by poorly inserted iron.

Roll Perc + Awareness to smell the festering corpse-rot inside. Difficulty is 3. Or you can act on the fact something unnatural just happened!
 
The door splinters, cracks and yields before the man. The golden brilliance is unfamiliar, and tastes of untarnished metal and clear certainty. There is something wrong here, and for days, Wolf has been spoiling for a fight. Whoever was inside - criminal, or this man...either would suit her.


She drops down from her perch in a few easy bounds, and stalks slowly in behind Misuro, all massive shoulder muscles and bared teeth as she takes the scene in, though who precisely the low, threatening rumble that emerges from her chest is intended for remains to be seen.

Perception 3 + Awareness 3 = 4,5,6,8,8,3 = 2. Failed by one.


It's just the Solar that draws her down then.
 
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