Fantasy The Great Games of Nye

[Lost Echo]

They looked…rough. Like they’d seen a ghost, or something much worse. Even Goliath, the jerkhead, was shook up for all that he claimed to have found nothing.

Marigold took up most of their attention, for all the Vixie barely listened. Instead Adrian was focused on something called the Labyrinth. He asked where it was, while the fox girl was more focused on what it was. She knew true labyrinths weren’t mazes, they just followed a long single path. Or at least she thought that was the difference. Regardless, for all the jester spoke, none of it was useful.

She could almost pass Bean’s comments off as a joke. If she didn’t think too hard, she could laugh, though it was a little hollow as she remembered his crazy eyes. But the thought of where they were going--someplace she wasn’t totally clear on for all Marigold rambled--was enough to distract her.

She prepared to follow, redoing her hair so it stayed out of her face, when Adrian spoke. Whoever was watching him would have to keep him safe from Bean too. That wasn’t going to be her. Thankfully, Faraji took control, though she didn’t think the man understood yet the danger from the centurion.

Goliath Jet Anne Boolean Arcanist

 

[Lost Echo]

There were so many people. Gailene didn’t know what to expect, but this chaos was not it. How did the guards not notice all these people not working? As she scanned the faces, she realized she knew these people. Not all of them, but she recognized many of the faces in passing at the very least. She lingered in the back, hiding practically, as she watched people, people she considered friends come up to Irina like she had as a child. Eager, desperate to please.

Gailene didn’t know what to do. Irina was asking them to murder someone! Assassinate him. The young girl didn’t want to kill anyone. That was what prison was for. To let people continue to live even after making mistakes. But her sister had already admitted to killing the centurions. That was necessary. She’d said. They’d been committing crimes, atrocities against the people the Hydralines were meant to protect as well as guard.

She hated Lord Vincent: he wanted to control Xysma. But she didn’t want him dead. Her hands were limp as Irina shook them, but she grabbed on after a moment. “Rini…” Her eyes burned. “Come home. We can stop this. We can stop the guards from hurting our people. As Hydralines we have the power to stop it. That’s our duty.” Not to kill someone. “Together we can root out corruption. We can fix this.”

“People trust you. They’ll tell you what’s wrong.” It was a trust Gailene had assumed she’d had. “And we can fight for them. Keep them safe.”

“Let someone else deal with Nye. You know the other nobles won’t just let people make a democracy. The Hydraline’s would stay out of it, focusing on Xysma.”

Jet ManofManyRoles EldridSmith rozukitsune

 

[Jet]

​

The icebergs were nearly gone but the smaller ones were their own threat; shards thumped the deck like knives stabbing the wood. Ice fell in hailstorms from the waves high above him, death in spades he escaped with the twisting of his body and the swiftness of his steps. He fired another earth bolt and barely missed Mavior before destroying one of the last icebergs, proudly clenching his fist.

"You're a lucky man!" The words came between bouts of deranged laughter. "Never been a good shot!"

He noted the imposing attributes of his reserved companion, surprising as they were. The bookworm had reserves of strength beyond the average warrior, but he was one big fucking target. Maybe that would come in handy one day. The lines could always shift if the other side made a compelling offer, and today's friends could become tomorrow's enemies — such was life for a man with money as his prize.

"Ay Mav you see any more?" He brushed away his thoughts and looked deeply at the waters. "I don't see shi—

He was interrupted when an ice shard without any manners to speak of, and without even a moment of house training, smacked him in the back of his head. He lurched forward and stars swam through his vision, he saw double for a moment and his ears rang like bells. "Fucking dandy!" He gently touched the bloody spot on his head. "When this is over, I'm taking a long piss on the ocean."

"Fucking hate this place, the stories are all bollocks mate. I don't see no fuckin mermaids, no fuckin sea monsters, no fuckin ghost ships and no fuckin sirens. Just this shit." He picked up the chunk and tossed it whence it came, grumbling as he looked upon the incoming wave. It was truly massive — towering over the masts and moving like the wind. Zak rushed to the prow and gripped the rails until his knuckles turned white. He looked back at Darius and shouted across the deck, "Can we scale that?"

The captain grinned but there was anxiety in his eyes, even he was unsure what would happen. "A coin flip," he answered with a laugh. "Pray it lands favorably."

"Brilliant," Zak muttered as Darius shouted brace three times over and over. It seemed this would be the moment of truth.

Meanwhile, the creature drew closer from the frozen depths of the ocean, a low groan from an ancient mouth lined with long teeth. Wise eyes watched and waited for the perfect moment to reveal themselves, and perhaps that would be soon. But for now it waited like a shadow directly beneath the ship, and only the sharpest eyes could perceive it.

ManofManyRoles Goliath Emphoa EldridSmith

 

[Jet]

It seemed Irina was human after all. Her smile cracked at the sudden outburst from her well meaning sister, innocent as she was, a decent person who'd been sheltered from the truth of their lives. That Hydralines were as monstrous as the ruthless lords back in Nye, and their accounts fattened even faster from their use of slave labor. The sisters lived comfortably because thousands of others suffered from the day they were born into servitude, a microcosm of the disease Irina aimed to cure. The system would crumble and yes the following years would be a gamble, but for the first time people would forge their own destinies. It would be bloody and brutal and streets would run red, but progress wasn't always pretty.

"Return home?" Her eyes softened at the sweetness of the suggestion, as if her family awaited with open arms and a feast in her honor, and even if there was one awaiting her, the green cloaks would surely poison her sky fish. "My wildest fever dreams always take me to the warmth of our halls. The feasts we enjoyed and the taste of wine not brewed in a bucket — how I've missed such luxuries."

She warmly smiled and shook her head. "But I've long passed the point of no return. I'd be ignored as a mindless waif indoctrinated by the unwashed masses. Surely you know it's true?"

"And don't go feeling sorry for that fossil with his golden toilets!" Her sharp words were laced with venom. "Vincent is every bit the monster his opponents claim he is. His centurions ravage the west killing for sport like wild beasts. He empowers the most brutal rulers in the islands. He taxes the poor until their shirts are ripped from their backs, and the proceeds are dumped into relic hunting and mad science."

Her gaze turned to the rest of them now, though colder and more serious than before. "Toppling him will start a chain reaction. The nobles will move against the council in their diminished form, centurions will flock to the highest bidder and kill each other in the streets — snakes eating their own tails."

Her mouth curled into a self congratulatory smile, arrogance and confidence in equally abundant measure. "We must exercise caution of course, and a level of patience my colleagues struggle to understand, but we can wipe the slate clean when the time comes."

"And you won't face repercussions unless you bumble like fools. You must simply provide the opportunity — a door opened here and a window opened there, a dose of misinformation and sabotage. Our man will deal the final blow, unless you want the honors Charlie."

Irina gestured at an empty area across the room. It was cordoned off from the buzzing masses all around them, a crumb of privacy in the madness. "I grow weary of pitching sales like a fish merchant. You must come to your own conclusions as free people do, not servants like Vincent would have you."

ManofManyRoles EldridSmith Lost Echo rozukitsune

 

[Huntertabbysandshark3]

Ava Marco
Interaction: Jet Lost Echo ZackStop​

"well iv been told sometimes I know what I'm doing, when you spend your days working in a smith you get a lot of time to think on things so I just think a lot, got good at thinking and lifting stuff" Ava would say proudly while.. still eating.. she wasn't even surprised that she got it so correct as she had full confidence in her explanation on the matter it was only sensible much like the sword analogy even if it only made sense to Ava, but since it did make.

Ava watched the strangeness go on around them she slightly zoned out but the explanation of the superimposing made enough sense to her, basically you'd explode if you let the bubble because of magical reasons, good enough for her. "I mean I thought it made a lot of sense. just don't try to overthink it Damian it makes life a lot easier you know?, still seems we've gotten ourselves into a big ol consiparcy soo.. guess we gotta see it through right?" She'd say with a chipper tone, trying to make the best of the situation.. even though she was confused.. or well just as confused as anyone else would be.

 

[Goliath]

“Of course, I can put out the fire,” Leon spoke with a nod .. unsure if it was to convince himself or the others on his team. But it was already obvious he wasn’t able enough to protect himself while focusing on the water. That was what had gotten him into this shitty position in the first place. His shoulder still aching.

“But I would appreciate the help,” Leon smiled when Yua said she could also smother the flame with dust. Honestly glad he wouldn’t have to do it completely on his own.

The country boy looked down seeing the hand now gripping his wrist while he was critiqued for his analogy about the cork. However, to his relief, Yua at least agreed to listen to his request and deal with the arrow later. Thus a genuine smile crossed his face as he nodded along with her idea. A dust cloud to decrease his sight wasn’t bad at all. And it seemed the others agreed. Turning back to the house, still burning with who knew what inside. But it was the only one the attacker seemed interested in. So it was important for .. something??

Leon didn’t like the change in Mischa’s demeanor. Not really understanding what had happened, but everyone dealt with stress differently he supposed. And it didn’t stop the soft blush rushing to his cheeks when he heard the compliment despite the cold nature. “Hey! I have no intention of dying here. Don’t worry about me,” he gave a reassuring thumbs up trying to lighten the mood. But Leon soon focused on the plan to draw the attacker's attention, which had fully distracted him.

Leo was a calm guy, many would describe him as happy-go-lucky and it took a lot for him to get upset. — But the arrow being ripped from his shoulder by his own teammate? The redhead grit his teeth to not cry out like a wounded animal while the blood began to pour from his shoulder. His head snapping to the small blonde standing next to him as she dropped it to the ground. His eyebrows furrowed in anger.

“I said it was fine. I said to leave it. Just because you’re a doctor or whatever does not give you permission to touch someone when and however you please,” he hissed, his blue eyes cold. Maybe it was harsh. But it was an equally harsh method used against him. To break his trust on purpose. He scoffed at the apology, shaking his head in disbelief. “You think I have any intention of letting you look me over?” Leon laughed coldly.

He looked over as Mischa tore a strip of her own shirt adding it to the top of his freshly dressed wound. It was nice she cared .. even in her odd state. And it was the only thing to keep him from getting any angrier. Well, that and Rat speaking up that she should have left it alone, validating his feelings. “Healed? Don't worry about that now,” he spoke, his turn to reassure the other.

He was glad to see Rat so focused on the task. The determination not to let Mischa die strengthening his own resolve while he stared at the different items pulled from his bag in awe. “Whoa..” he whispered under his breath. This was technology he’d never seen before, but his sister would have loved it. Not knowing what the small device did. But now didn’t seem like the time to ask.

Leon followed the group out the door, watching as Mischa took flight. He was unsure what he was supposed to do .. but instinct had gotten him this far. His faith put in the dust cloud and the magitech. — And he had a few tricks of his own up his sleeve. Hopeful this would all work out as Mischa flew above them and the assailant aimed.

Jet (Misha) Emphoa (Rat) ManofManyRoles (Yua)

 

[ManofManyRoles]

Yua Smith
ユア・スミス

Yua stowed the remains of the gauze strip she had used to thrice bind Leon's shoulder, only to hear the riip of Mischa tearing her own shirt and using it to bind Leon's arm...over the gauze she had just used. At this point where they being doubly sure, or was there something more to that? She couldn't ponder on it, they didn't really have the time to consider if it was a doubt on the part of her, the gauze, or some sentimental showing. She'd internally winced at Leon's bloody howl, she expected it and she hated it. "Well," Yua started lamely when Mischa asked about her approval, "I'd just bound the wound but it doesn't hurt the matter, I suppose."

The petite blonde took a deep breath to relax herself as Mischa prepared to fly off into danger, though Leon rounding on her took her attention first. Internally she wanted to curl into a ball and die, there was nothing she hated more than knowing she was the cause of broken trust and suffering. Externally, however, she had to keep what little cool she could manage. She kept her voice calm and even as she could, glancing nervously towards the archer on the rooftops and then the arrow on the ground as she chewed her lip for a moment in nerves."Yes, you did tell me to leave it, and I apologize that I didn't. But I have, and had, the means to stop any bleeding. The alternative was for us to leave it in, and risk the mage up there from altering the stone outside of your body to further harm you, or whatever else they'd have in mind. Or we could run the risk of your arm getting jerked, and the arrow slamming into your bone, tearing your muscle, or severing a nerve. Treating bloodloss would be easier than trying to re-attach nerves if they get severed. If you don't want to trust me, I understand, but I don't want to see any of you hurt or dead. I don't want to see anyone suffering. And I'm not letting anyone die," she added empathetically.

She gave Rat an apologetic look as well, and another glance towards Mischa before she took off. She took a deep breath then to focus, lifting her left hand, the one of flesh and bone, up towards the archer. The dust and soil from the ground billowed out in a wide plume, half of which she directed towards the fire to smother it and the other towards the archer to blind his vision. She didn't need fine control to any of this, she just needed mass...a blanket of earth, and a cloud of dust, was easy enough to manage. She shifted her stance, widening her legs just a bit to shoulder length, a small divet beginning to form around her from where she was pulling the loose dirt in excess. As the warrior lined up to loose his arrows towards Mischa, he would find himself inside a plume of terra firma, clinging around him like a choking smog...stinging his eyes and obscuring his vision, but far from lethal. It was fine if they didn't trust her, it was fine if Leon hated her in that moment...she could live with that. What she wouldn't live with is knowing that someone died when she could have made the difference.

Emphoa Goliath Jet​

 

[Anne Boolean]

It seemed that none of the others wanted to elaborate. Left at just that, Nihal would have concluded their search was unfruitful. And yet, their expressions seemed to go beyond simple disappointment. Perhaps when searching, there were outcomes worse than not finding what you were looking for.

Marigold was dramatic and a suck up, but the cat boy couldn't deny that he could spin a good yarn. It certainly explained his profession and clothes, although perhaps he was too interested in method acting. Adrian didn't seem to find it as entertaining and interrupted, to which Nyaall give a disappointed frown. The guy's quip about his name was enough to bring a small smile to his face again though.

Marigold did get to the point though, and apparently it had earned him his life, at least in the discussion that Vivian and Bean were having. Before they started walking, Adrian brought up the question of who would look after their guide. The singer's eyes scanned the group. The most power of them was too busy playing pranks on seemingly the most agitated. He presumed they weren't interested, but perhaps it would be best for them to not handle this job. Faraji took initiative and volunteered. Nyaall had planned on it if no one else would, but the condition might have been that Marigold be gagged. Either that, or he could only speak to tell stories.

"Well, if that's settled, should we head for the labyrinth now? Or should we do some prepwork first?" he asked. He eyed the shimmering ceiling above them, pondering where in the sky the sun currently would have been. "How long would it take to traverse the labyrinth? If it's getting late, maybe it'd be wise to rest for the night and start tomorrow?" That being said, he had practically become nocturnal with how much he had been partaking in night life lately. He was feeling fine to continue, but maybe some of the less disorganized members of the party would have preferred to rest.

Jet (Adrian, Bean), Goliath (Goliath), Lost Echo (Vixie), Arcanist (Faraji)

 

[Emphoa]

Evaline was mostly quiet as she crossed her arms over her chest, her eyebrows furrowed with thought as she swayed her head and mulled over what their options were. Goign in with a disguise for each of them truly wasn't a bad idea- she also believed that for now, while she was worried about the other group, it might have been better to keep theirs small while they were investigating. The time to reunite with the others would come along naturally, she was sure... If they hadn't come face to face with trouble in the mean time. Their smaller numbers also helped to bring less attention their way.

Her eyebrows furrowed for a moment, and finally the white haired woman lifted her head up.

"... I think speaking to her directly would resolve this faster, as Kilderkin says." She finally stated, and he offered Kwame an apologetic look, but she knew that it seemed to be the most logical next step within her mind. To be able to move forward instead of beating around the bush just felt like the easiest way to get the information they were looking for. Even if it seemed that this would be a wild goose chase... Her eyes drifted towards the chaos that was already raging, and she was sure with this happening now... There was no way this wouldn't be some wild goose chase, even if they were to speak with the associates themselves.

She sighed out, and she calmed her nerves.

"Moving towards the center isn't a bad idea- a disguise for Kwame would be an even better one." She finally agreed, and she offered a somewhat small smile towards the large man. "You do sort of stick out like a sore thumb, my friend. I am sure that we will be able to get through this." She reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder briefly before she crossed her arms back over her chest and her eyebrows pinched together. "... We should certainly see what they might have available, and if they have nothing then we can scavenge in nearby homes to see what we might be able to put together, right?"

Jet Fred Colon

 

[Jet]

​

He moved with precision and focus in his smooth quiet steps, slow and plodding but accurately placed on the uneven ground — a staircase hewn by hand and covered with trash and human filth. The air was heavy and moist and burned their noses with acrid fumes, though the slaves barely noticed. They worked near pools of wretched ichor without batting an eyelash, and the old man was no exception.

"You must become accustomed to your new life," he said. "There is no hope for escape, the yellow king cannot be challenged!" He looked at a man sitting besides the path, one of the spies who reported dissent for extra scraps of food. They were like snakes hiding in the deepest parts of the forest, dangerous as they were numerous, and some were hard to see. In this case it was very obvious they were being watched, a message was being sent.

The old man would oblige for now.

"You must learn to worship him outlander." His gaze was even more telegraphed than before, an obvious sign there were enemies all around them – though perhaps enemy was a strong word. They were hopeless slaves looking for any way to survive, all they needed was hope to fight against their masters.

"Come." His tone was hushed as a group passed them by, some were surely spies. "I know a place without... distractions"

He led them deeper until reaching the bottom of the mine, a network of tunnels sprawling from the rough staircase. There was almost no light here, and the few workers were almost dead from exhaustion and starvation, their skin was the grey color of spoiled meat.

"This way." He passed a corpse without sparing even a glance, storming down a tunnel until he reached a dead end. He traced the wall with rough fingers and calloused palms, red sand flaked from the wall before he found a slight buldge. He peeled away a stone revealing a handle he twisted once before pulling back. The wall shuddered and swung back revealing a circular room with tables and chairs and a pathetic excuse for a bar, replete with homemade swill held in buckets.

"Now we can speak freely." His warmth had a hint of something else now, the sharpness of determination hiding in the gracious welcome. He nodded at the bouncers — two brutish men without shirts to cover their impressive musculature, who replaced the stone and pushed the door back in place. The man tossed them a coin before sitting at one of the old rusted tables. "It is rare when a new prisoner is guaranteed to be loyal, and to come on a military boat no less? You are not untrained fools."

He smiled at them both. "Together we can put this place behind us, and—

Ambition filled his deep brown eyes. "Maybe we get rich on the way out?"

EldridSmith Monbon

 

[Jet]

​

Mari guided them with the sheer swiftness of a sloth climbing trees. He pointed out shimmer snakes and mud crawlers and all manner of penta-pede, and pools of water dotting the cratered ground. They were clear as glass but he warned them not to drink their contents. Their meter was off and would kill them in minutes after imbibing a single drop — or so he said along with dubious claims about his life. He was the kind of man who made every single conversation about himself, the perfect date when a mirror was looking for company. He regailed them with many tales from here and there and everywhere across earth, and who could say what was true? He spoke with such confidence and flow that it seemed like the memories of a well seasoned adventurer, but many of his stories strained credulity to the breaking point.

The rest talked among themselves including Bean who occasionally made random, unconnected observations about the cavern they traversed. He was every bit the boy his age implied him to be, even if he could level cities. Adrian wondered if that's what made him menacing. The power of death in a boy who screamed, "Oy whatna dozen 'ells is that!" when he saw a glowing spider.

Eventually they reached the cavern wall and the poet graciously bowed his head, gesturing at a nondescript spot no different than the rest. It seemed like a dead end until he pointed out a small fissure in the wall — and fortunately none of them had eaten over the last several hours. Even the smallest buldge would've stopped them as they scraped through the narrow gap where stones split apart, feeding into a tunnel made of steel and covered with geometric patterns, lines branching down the walls and ceilings with the flow of the paths. The walls were immaculately clean even after hundreds of years without attention, and only a fine layer of dust showed the abandonment of its halls.

Mari moved with the unstoppable confidence of a steam engine. He was always one step ahead and knew every pattern and pathway to take, even though every passage was the same as the last. He was sure they were going the right direction and maybe his confidence was contagious! Maybe the others were convinced until he stopped on a dime, looked back and smiled like a sheep.

"My friends!"

"It seems I'm lost!"

Bean was the first one to throw a punch, followed by whoever thought violence was the answer in this case, and then Bean threw another few punches for good measure. When he was done he spat on the ground and looked upon his weary group, they'd been going for hours and the tunnels were cold, cramped and seemingly endless. His men were hungry and thirsty and exhaustion was visible in their eyes, and even more abundant was their frustration — hell it was his frustration too. He needed to clear his head.

"Fuck it." He tossed his bag on the ground. "Take a wink and get your minds right, need to figure this out or I'm blasting my way outta here, and I can promise you lads won't like that. "

Adrian scowled at the poet before using his bag as a pillow, that was all he needed to sleep. The ground was cold but flat enough to rest when he was tired, though he doubted it would come easy tonight. There was far too much to enrage him about his utterly shit day.

Arcanist Anne Boolean Goliath Lost Echo

 

[Jet]

The mercenary was impatient and brash without any time for pleasantries, but his business would have to wait for now. He was in a new world with dangers beyond what he could possibly understand — ancient magics and legends from before time began, and now they were in the epicenter. This was a place where the fantastic became real and very lethal to those who were unprepared, so no, Abaranne refused to rush.

"Patience Spivey, do you even know what your business is?" Her eyes twinkled with amusement at his impatience. "Beyond the centurion who died in these forests? Do you know the game you've unwittingly entered?"

"The great snake has wrapped around your legs." Her amusement was replaced by apprehension and tension with each word, as if speaking them drained her spirit. "Apep the world eater, mount of the seer."

"The seer vanished but his beast remained in our capital — whispering in the ears of our once great kings, poisoning them with visions of hidden treasure."

With each sentence she was more somber and reserved, mourning deaths that would soon happen. There was no happiness in the news she was breaking to them, no relishment for the pain of their friends. "I witnessed the attack." Her gaze turned to the strange one in metal skin. "Your companions have been taken to the bottomless mine — none ever return from the black depths of that hell."

"That is where the yellow king sent my three eldest sons, where he sends all the sons and daughters that his warbands claim, where he sent the centurion you seek. Within they toil for what the great snake promised at the center of the earth, as tools for the yellow king's madness."

Arcanist Lost Echo ZackStop

 

[ZackStop]

​

Spivey was about as impatient as the old woman had surmised, but was it so unreasonable? They literally fell from the sky and nothing has gone well since. This talk of seers didn't peek their interest to say the least, not enough to distract them from their main goal of getting out of this jungle.

"God damn, it's hot." Spivey muttered under the old woman's speech, hooking a finger around their coat collar and pulling at it to make some form of ventilation. They were all fairly overdressed for this climate, excluding maybe Esther, who didn't come with unnecessary layers of metal or a coat like Spivey's dumb ass. Only so much wind magic can be used before there was nothing left in the tank, but the merc wasn't keen on stripping even if it was very tempting at the rate this was going. It was certainly not getting any colder.

"Well pardon me Elder," They spoke up after waiting for her to finish, sounding a bit irritable through all the voice modulation. "but my business was the same as everyone on that ship; making it to an 'Old Umbria' as my contract detailed. Now that we're compromised, my business is surviving." Spivey glanced around behind them looking for a place to sit, but settled on sitting on the back of the turtle. "That was a real nice story, but I'd like to hear about how we can get back to our mission, or at the very least, get home. But don't tell me I have to hear that big shitty tuba again, because if that's the case I'd rather big Pepe swallow me whole."

Arcanist Lost Echo Jet

 

[rozukitsune]

Narzas blinked as they were suddenly back where they'd been before, her head spinning again at the sudden change. A condition that wasn't helped when Marjorie reappeared and announced she'd be following them for a while longer. Fantastic. When Johan mentioned he had a splitting headache, she couldn't help but to silently nod in agreement. Well, that wasn't what she had... but she could sympathize. Personally, she felt like she might throw up. She noted Ren watching Marj like a hawk and couldn't help but smile to herself at that. Maybe the boy would survive this adventure yet. His instincts were getting better.

She utterly failed to notice the man limping toward them all as her eyes were mostly considering the spot behind them where they'd just theoretically come from. If she walked that way again would she reappear in Damian's shop, or was it gone? So many questions. She closed her eyes and tried to rally her stomach to settle back down. 'I hate time travel.' She mentally grumbled as she waited for it to slowly abate.

"He was obviously lying to us... about how much I don't know. But this is your mission Johan... and your personal attachment Anya. Whatever the two of you decide, I'm in." She turns to flash them half a smile. "It's not as if we've got any better leads. Besides, if we can succeed in saving at least one person from a horrible fate I'll count myself lucky to have been there to see it."

@ Jet @ Lost Echo @ ZackStop Huntertabbysandshark3

 

[Jet]

​

Mischa knew almost nothing about battlefields and combat tactics, but running away from certain death? Being a massive pain in the ass? That was in her blood since birth; she was excellent at distracting men until they died of annoyance or frustration, or passed out from over-using their magic. In this case it was even easier than usual. The others would use her distractions and she would barely be at risk. It would only take a few dives and some twists of her body, a few turns and twirls with arrows cutting past her face, close but never hitting their mark.

"That's it?" Her words were plain but honestly said. "I was told you come from a great warrior tribe? Is this what passes for greatness here?"

"I expected more."

The man scowled in return. He muttered a curse before facing the building once more, his gaze now turned from the distraction. He leaped down and formed twenty arrows from the ground beneath his feet, sharper than spears and pointed at the flimsy wooden wall. They would punch through and shred everything on the other side, and her friends wouldn't see it coming. He was going to kill them all.

Without thinking she dove like a falcon hunting prey, wind whipped her face and burned her reddened eyes. Her words carried far as she warned them to duck down, a monotone scream as she leaned her shoulder out like a spear, aimed at his head to incapacitate or kill him, and there was no warcry on her lips. There was no witty insult to cement his final defeat, she was clinical until he smiled like a madman, wheeled around and raised up his knee.

There was a crunch and then she bounced from a hard surface, her vision flickered and words trapped themselves in her throat, for some reason she couldn't speak. There was a dull ache in her stomach, a man was standing over her with a smile — why was he standing there? Was he there to help? Mischa reached out at the stone thing in his hand, it looked like a pointy weapon. Why was there a weapon in his hand? What had she done to offend him? Her gaze moved to where the dull ache was coming from, had she eaten something bad?

"Wait don't," she wanted to speak but the words were trapped once again. Her lungs had no wind to speak them. Her lips trembled as he pressed the spear upon her neck, and he said something bad but what was it? It all sounded underwater.

"Wait—" she said before wheezing in air, and slowly she understood what he said.

"Come out now weak ones!" He pushed the spear against her neck. "Come out or she die!"

ManofManyRoles Emphoa Goliath

 

[Jet]

​

Kwame never shied from the challenges he faced. He embraced them like a ship hammering waves on the raging winter seas, never taking half measures unless fate forced his hand — and today wasn't one of those days. His disguise would be grotesque with the trappings of a downtrodden prisoner, chewed rotten clothes from the nearest pile of steaming trash, boots from a corpse and mud covering his skin. But the crescendo came when he took out his massive combat knife, more a minutature sword than anything else, and shaved the hair from his head. He was quite skilled and surely enough — the sun reflected from his dome like a pool of clean water.

He checked himself in the nearest window that wasn't cracked to pieces. He was hideous and none would ever confuse him for a knight. His cloths stank and for some strange reason, he itched under the tattered fabrics he wore. His boots creaked with his steps and the ground poked through the bottoms of his shoes; even the prisoners would think him fowl.

With a ponderous look he stroked his square chin. "Should rip my tunic for a more authentic—"

He glanced at the window for good measure. "On second thoughts this will suffice, and no more will my name be Kwame. You may call me—"

His mind creaked and rattled searching for a name, creativity had never been his strongsuit.

"You may call me Joseph Gallows."

It was a combination of revered names from his readings. Joseph Nile of the founding war five hundred years ago, and Sebile Gallows, a remarkable historian and archeologist. Her work had been instrumental in learning about the old Umbrian empire. It was an obscure duo coming together for a common, but believable name. He would have to act the part as well though — speech was equally important to looks.

"Right then mi'ladies," he said like common scum. "Time is wasting, we must—

He cleared his throat and tried the line once again, but this time with feeling. "Clocks burning yeah? On with ya!"

They crossed town following the leads they'd been given, a map with locations and hints where she'd be. It was an industrial park near the murder scene they were investigating, an area she'd been sighted many times over the past year. They scoured the streets looking for what they weren't sure, but thankfully it was a peaceful area. There were no garrisons for the prisoners to burn down, no castle walls to scale with ladders. There were no stores to loot and all the people were scared, huddling in groups along the street. They'd turned the warehouses into communal homes away from the crowded tenements across town. There was a street preacher speaking of salvation soon to come. The end times were upon them for the one-thousandth time, apparently the moon had spoken and the planets were all aligned with it, like a cosmic game of pool.

There were militants watching them from windows and rooftops, a thief waited for her moment to pounce, men whispered as they passed them by. There was a pub made from scrap at the corner of a street, rusted metal and a door made from woods of different colors. There was one man who went down a manhole and closed the lid behind him, a woman who climbed a spire tipped with a radio transmitter. There was also a poster on a wall that was clearly made by hand. It showed a black hand holding a hammer above the ruling family crest, and below read, "You are the revolution."

Fred Colon Emphoa

 

[Goliath]

Goliath was now sure he had successfully been given his own personal hell for a mission. Perhaps someone had cursed him?? No. That thought was only because of what he’d seen in the cabin. But everything had been fucked up from the moment he stepped on this god-forsaken floating rock in the sky. And he was thoroughly over it.

The pace of their slow walk was maddening. The rambling about the different animals was almost enough to put him to sleep. And to top it off he didn’t believe a single fucking word coming out of Merigold’s mouth! Goliath wouldn’t hesitate to drink the groundwater if it came to it. He’d had much worse in his life. Much much worse.

He did his best to ignore the outlandish stories that the man in the front was spinning. Draven had always said ‘You’ll never win the fight with someone who only lives in his reality.’ So he didn’t call it out as being impossible. On the bright side, the others were more enjoyable company .. or at least they were more bearable. Hell, even Bean wasn’t too bad at the moment, showing his younger age and less desire to kill all of them.

When they stopped, and the tiny crack was gestured to, Goliath’s eyes went wide. They were — supposed to wedge between the walls?? Maybe for the smaller members of their party it was no big deal. The child and the scrawny poet for example. Still .. he couldn’t show his fear, pressing his eyes shut as he sidestepped through. Not thinking about the rock he’d been trapped under at the arena and doing his best to tell himself he wouldn’t get stuck.

Goliath took in his new surroundings once he was through. The cleanliness. The weird lines everywhere. The drop in temperature. He reached out, touching the wall, but instead of stone .. it was metal. And then, just as before, it was back to following Marigold. The twisting, turning paths. He couldn’t even begin to memorize them all but thankfully they had a guide so he didn’t need to.

Goliath was spacing out, almost running into Bean in front of him as the group suddenly stopped without warning. He had a scowl on his face. And then he heard those damn words. Lost. They were lost?!

He was frozen until Bean threw the first punch. And then Goliath wasn’t far behind him. From his form to his speed, it was obvious he had thrown many in his life. ”You stupid ass motherfucker,” he spoke through grit teeth as his fist connected against bone and then stepped to the side so Bean could wail on him further. Goliath knew if he didn’t stop he would kill him. That’s what happened to liars where he was from, especially ones who risked everyone else’s lives.

But the one punch wasn’t enough to calm his frustration at the situation. Hell, another hundred probably wouldn’t, finding himself starting to pace until Bean spoke. Instructing them to rest for now. “Don’t have to tell me twice,” he huffed.

Goliath dropped his backpack onto the ground, his eyes looking over to Adrian who appeared like he was going to sleep out in the open. “Is that the way of the monster hunter?” He asked. Goliath on the other hand unzipped the bottom portion of his bag where he kept his tent.

He was most of the way through assembling when he looked over at the group once more, noticing Nyall had brought .. pretty much nothing. Who didn’t bring supplies on a mission?! ”Hey Firefly,” he called out to the singer, sticking to the ridiculous nicknames based on his powers. ”I doubt a pretty guy like you wants to sleep on the cold ground? Ask nicely and maybe I’ll share my tent with you,” he smirked. Not thinking the male would actually take him seriously.

Jet (Adrian) Anne Boolean (Nyall)
Arcanist (Faraji) Lost Echo (Vixie)

 

[Anne Boolean]

As was expected, the trip with Marigold was... noisy. The little tid-bids the man dropped were interesting, Nyaall couldn't deny that, and yet, he wasn't all that sure they were completely true. On top of that, although the poet was creative, he didn't quite know how to tell a story. Perhaps it was because his medium was mostly songs, but the other performer of the group found that Marigold's tales ran on much too long and more often than not lacked a point.

Thankfully, the wildlife here was interesting, although the bit about the water being not suitable for drinking was a reminder that they were indeed still in the wild. He was thankful that he wasn't thirsty at the moment. They would have had the proper rations for the trip, right? He eyed the others after realizing his hands were practically empty. He had been quenching his thirst, in a manner of speaking, when he should have been packing. Hopefully one of his companions had packed extra or was at least willing to share.
Between tuning in to the various tales that Marigold had to share, Nihal found himself talking among the others, who made as good company while he was sober as they did while he was drunk. On top of that, Bean seemed to have simmered down a bit, even acting as one would expect a child his age to every so often. The singer couldn't help but let out a chuckle at the excitement the Centurion felt when seeing a glowing spider. It was an adorable reaction that fit perfectly in the cozy period they were going through after harrowing events.

The bard eventually led them to what seemed like a dead end, but when he pointed out the cracks in the wall, Nyaall couldn't help but raise a brow. Cats were nimble, but even the most skilled contortionist had their limits. And yet, the group filed through. He had called upon his familiar's power to light the way so that they had some sort of vision as they stepped through stones and into tunnels of steel that looked to be perfectly preserved in time.

With the way Marigold moved, he imagined the man had traveled through these countless times and knew them like the back of his hand. The cat boy had a few doubts, but he decided to put his faith in the poet. He had no other ideas on how to navigate the labyrinthine structures after all. They must have been quite vast with how long they were traveling. The journey was finally taking its toll on the singer as well.

And then, his doubts were confirmed. When Marigold turned around and announced that they were lost, Nyaall, too exhausted to do much else, just let out a groan. He wanted to so badly join those of his companions who partook in providing their guide a well-deserved beat down, but instead he just let himself fall to a seat on the ground. Bean was thankfully for resting as well.

He hadn't considered sleeping arrangements until Goliath spoke to him, addressing him with a new nickname. "Firefly..." It was cute, honestly. "I like it." He looked over to Adrian, who seemed to be content with just using his backpack as a pillow under the metal ceiling. He glanced over at Vixie, imagining she would have been responsible enough to pack the proper supplies, but... well, it would be cruel to do that with the crush she had. His eyes then finally returned to Goliath, and a matching smirk spread across his lips as well. "You want any expression in particular?" he asked, raising his hands like paws and posing as he did in the interview shown before his and Vivian's fight. "Or you want me to get on my knees and beg?" He moved to a kneeling position with his hands together in front of his chest. "Please sir... please can I share your tent? I'll freeze if I have to spend the night out in the open..." He wasn't even sure if that was all that false at this point. It had been years since he had to rough it, and back then he had done more than playfully beg to try and get a roof over his head.

Goliath (Goliath), Jet (Bean, Adrian, Marigold), Lost Echo (Vixie), Arcanist (Faraji)

 

[Fred Colon]

As Kwame donned his... outfit, so too did Kilderkin. Though perhaps outfit wasn't quite the right word. She shut her eyes, to let herself picture all the minute blood vessels running throughout her body. To feel the water in her bones, in her muscles. A faint pulsing, sloshing sound as she felt for the reservoir of water inside of her.

First, she inflamed the veins in her eyes, making them bloodshot and jaundiced. Then, she pushed blood into her nose, causing it to become swollen and reddened, giving her a look akin to an alcoholic clown, who no longer needed to wear a false red nose, the scarlet skin on her face caused by one too many drinks sufficing. Then she pulled the moisture from her head and hair, giving it a stringy, sickly look. Finally, to complete the disguise, she moved the water in the skin and flesh of her face, causing grotesque, bulbous protrusions to form, twisting her face into something nearly unrecognizable. Her now puffy, swollen lips caused her to speak with a slur. To anyone who looked at her it would be difficult to determine whether she had been born that way, or if it had been the result of some horrible scarring accident. The fact that it was, in truth, neither would be nearly impossible to guess. To top it all off, she slathered herself in soot, though she was already quite covered in it from crawling around the burning city, and Kwame's tunnels.

"Arright." She said, looking Kwame up and down. "That's pretty good, I'd say, Joseph. Call me Reggie, I suppose." Kilderkin smiled inwardly. It was always vaguely amusing to her when she took another fake name. She was sure one day she would lose her real one, lost beneath all the layers. The idea didn't trouble her over much.

As they moved on, Kilderkin scanned the area, alert for hostility, danger, or, less likely, a clue that would lead them towards their objective.

A woman climbing up a tower to a radio transmitter caught her interest. The woman was dressed nicer than most of the people in this area, and had a clear objective. Perhaps it wasn't related to what they were doing, but it caught Kilderkins eye.

"Look at that." She said to the other two. And then she walked towards the base of the spire, and put on her best 'Kildi' face. A dumb bystander looking up at something vaguely interesting.

Jet Emphoa

 

[Jet]

Thomas was an old crustacean of a man. He smelled of salt and seaweed on a warm summer day. His face was like a ship with barnacles scarring the bottom of its hull, and like most men of the sea — the real sea that was, he was a musical man. He hummed a shanty while approaching the cargo he was hauling today. The bastards were green and would vomit once they hit rough waters, typical for the average twat who used air travel these days — airships they called them. But there was no shipping in the air. The veins of commerce were far below on the open ocean, all the rest was for rich men, marines and bloody birds.

Johan looked over Thomas before answering Anya, "Seems true for all the most powerful people, though does he even count as people anymore?" He shrugged before facing Narzas. "Your confidence sings but I'm worried our new friend will... what was the word? Superimpose us when we deliver the goods. Sounds like a quick death at least, could be a lot wor—

"Oy there!" Thomas scowled with an eye almost popping from his head. "Yous the cargo then?"

"Passengers," Johan said.

"Yous are cargo." Thomas grinned revealing teeth like sunflowers. "Should be happy you're cargo. I like me cargo, care about me cargo making port in one piece — don't care much about ye lives though."

"One piece and alive I hope."

"Ain't exclusive is it?" Thomas chuckled and beckoned them down the street, though Johan waited for a moment. He cast a long glare at the woman who returned from gods knew where, committing untold crimes against humanity, crimes against small orphaned children, crimes against the stock market and himself. He only tolerated her because at this point, it was clear she represented someone. The question was who and why.

Eventually his gaze moved away and as he walked down the street, he spoke with a tone so polite it was disrespectful. "Such a pleasure to have you among us once again."

—​

Hours later they reached a dock with a poor excuse for an airship. Thomas piloted the ship to the ocean miles below them, and sitting there was a submersible made of smooth shiney metal. There were no rivets on the exterior, like it was forged from one continuous piece of steel.

Thomas touched down and dropped the deep sea anchor, before setting a plank to the bobbing submarine. The group crossed over and down the hatch they went, a cramped ladder into the depths of the strange vessel. It smelled of grease and old rusted metal, sea water and gasoline. There was a main room lined with seats and small windows, and the ceiling was only four feet tall. There was a cockpit at the front and another room in the back, but its door was locked and chained shut.

"Mind the small size boy," he said to Ava. He was no fool and obviously she was a woman, but women were bad luck on the sea. To him the women were boys until further notice, his glass eye would make a good excuse.

"Believe it true lads, twas was made by a boy younger than twelve." He tapped the wall beside him. There was a symbol of a cog surrounding a cube. "No matter, she's a well built little bitch, can smuggle anything anywhere — slides right under their garments."

He crawled through the opening to the cramped cockpit, grunting with exertion to contort his old decrepit body. He forced himself in the seat and flipped a dozen switches within a second. The hatch closed above them and engines whirred beneath their feet. The ship shuddered once and then the dive began, making speed for the technologically impossible, a place even centurions were unaware of. The only question was why it was so secretive in the first place, hidden away a thousand meters beneath the sea.

rozukitsune Lost Echo ZackStop Huntertabbysandshark3

 

[Lost Echo]

It started off boring. They entered a cavern, huge and cratered. The stone beneath was rough on her feet--having usually only done exercise on soft grass before. Marigold’s voice echoed as he acted like a tour guide, pointing out all the things that Vixie already knew to avoid. She kind of wanted to burn some of them--agreeing with Bean’s dismay over a glowing spider.

By the time they reached a dead end, Vixie’s feet were hurting, and her chest was starting to heave. She forced herself to take slow even breaths, ignoring the beginning of a burning in her lungs. She wasn’t at her limit, but she definitely would have stopped if she could. She was grateful for the break, even if it meant Mari didn’t know what he was doing.

Though maybe he did. How he made his way through that crack, she didn’t know. Vixie merged with Phil, knowing a fox could get through any hole its head fit through. Feeling her body compress was strange, but she made it through.

It opened up to a tunnel of metal. There were marks, strange patterns that meant nothing to Vixie. There was a thin layer of dust over everything, and she couldn’t help but wonder…hadn’t Marigold gone through these just recently?

But the bard was already walking, leading the way with more confidence than before. Vixie was growing tired, stumbling on the smooth surface, her mind blank as she just put one foot in front of the other. They went on for hours of this. Step. Step. Stumble--sometimes into Nyaall, other times using the wall of the tunnel to stay upright. Then repeat. Step. Step…

She stumbled right into Nyaall when the poet stopped suddenly. Panting, she thought, thank god and leaned against the side of the tunnel. Then Bean punched Marigold. Followed by Goliath. Fueled by desperation, she stood and reached out, “Don’t kill him!” Her high voice echoed through the tunnel. She ran toward Bean, grabbing his arm as he went in for a couple more punches. “We knew better than to trust him. We should have marked the path we were taking.” If only she’d thought of that sooner.

Drained, Vixie slid down the wall, collapsing in a heap. Looking to the others, she saw Goliath pulled out a, a tent?! How did he know to bring one? How did he even carry one?! She looked down at her water bottle attached to her hip, a granola bar tucked beside it. Pulling out the squished bar, she ripped it open, taking a dry bite of it. It required a lot of chewing, but it was supposed to be good for you. She could believe it with this taste. Adrian laid down on the ground, using his bag as a pillow and Vixie was tired enough to do the same.

She looked to her older brother, horrified to see him on his knees in front of Goliath. She wanted to say something, but what? What could she say that wouldn’t hurt him? She couldn’t offer a tent, but… “I could make a fire, if you’re cold.” Her voice sounded sad beneath the exhaustion. She took a sip of her water. Then closed her eyes. She would sleep better as a vulpine than a human. Already merged with Philos-o-fur, she brought his traits forward. Her teachers were always impressed with her control. Beneath her clothes, her skin started to grow fur. Then her arms were covered and her cheeks were slightly furred. Her eyes shifted in a fox’s, though she maintained the same bone structure. Setting her bottle to the side, and stuffing her wrapper into her pocket, she curled up. She was tired enough that sleep was right there.
Jet Arcanist Goliath Anne Boolean

 

[ZackStop]

It was almost like deja vu when the old sailor appeared with his thick scraggly beard and, most notably, bright yellow boots. A strange choice for a man they all soon learned was arguably grumpier than the last one. Ren didn't know what to make of it, being called cargo, but had an entertained smile as he and Johan had a small back and forth. The boy figured it was best to let the Centurion take the helm on their interactions like this, coupled with his last conversation with an old sailor almost threw him off an airship. He was right to keep his mouth out of it. Ren always managed to trip up somewhere and saying the wrong thing to the wrong person.

He did subconsciously follow the Centurion's gaze which landed on none other than Miss Marjorie, who was large concern for this little group.

"Is she really coming along with us?" Ren asked himself rhetorically, though looking down at Phalanx with a disturbed look. The big cat didn't care too much, certainly with the idea to maul her in the event of her going ballistic again. Truly, she was a turbulent one if the craze in her eyes wasn't telling enough.

Time passed and though the small talk was minimal, Ren's head was racing. Exactly what was expected of them from here on was simple enough, but everything that was tacked onto it was less so. Who really knew what to expect down there. An underwater laboratory full of evil scientists? Sounded like a cheesy movie Ren would catch late at night, which lent his imagination plenty of misconceptions of what could happen once they got there. Would they all crawl through air vents? Perform acrobatics around lasers? All scenes he played in his head much earlier when this was originally presented by space-time man. It was a bit concerning, not knowing what to expect in potential danger, and even though the two really didn't know each other, Ren too was concerned about Anya. For her it was personal and that alone was a reason for this to go well. Ren tried to imagine if someone was close to him ended up in a situation as her friend, Hannah, how it would affect him. A melancholy expression appeared on his face as thoughts of his grand father arose.

"It looks more like a bullet." Ren mumbled with amazement of the submarine's shape. He knelt down to touch it's smooth surface; a single large piece of metal that made up its entire hull. "Must have been made with magic?" He contemplated it to himself with strong fascination.

They dropped down into the of the vessel one by one, and when it came Ren's turn to enter, the strong stench took over his senses. Grease was one scent he was familiar with, it was everything else that was almost too much to bare. It was certainly going to be an unpleasant ride.

"No one would've kept any of that nose cream from earlier, would they?" He did his best to lighten the mood before their descent. Ren turned to take a good long look at cog design before finding a place to hunker down. Perhaps it was the maker's insignia but it didn't ring any bells.

Lost Echo Jet rozukitsune Huntertabbysandshark3

 

[rozukitsune]

Narzas followed the others and the stranger down into the depths of the watery contraption. While the old codger extolled the virtues of his outdated mode of transport, she silently dreaded it. There was a reason most civilizations had moved on to sky transport. Far fewer people got airsick. The worst that tended to happen in the sky was encountering a little bit of turbulence and given the number of magic users that could make such things just go away working in those areas the risk was minimal.

As she packed herself into the tiny space, she was already aching for the open air and sky and they hadn't even left the dock yet. She found a corner and just stuffed herself into it as best she could and curled up with her face in her knees hoping the journey wouldn't be long. Maybe if she didn't look at the ocean she could trick her mind into thinking she was just in some kind of overly cramped vehicle. When Ren joked about them having any of the nose cream from the factory left due to the smell, she couldn't help but smile in appreciation of it. It did stink in here... and that wasn't going to help in the slightest. At least back in the factory it had just been the scent of old death, blood and decay - scents she was far more familiar with. This smell of mingling grease and dirt and grime was already making her recently settled stomach turn once again. She shifted her position so her head could touch the cool steel interior and sighed.

"A better question might be whether or not there's provisions for vomit." She mumbled irritably. Really, the last 24 hours or so had been a lot already on her constitution. It was one thing to fight off one's own bodily functions for a short jaunt into uncomfortable territory. Quite another to keep doing that repeatedly and then still expect it to behave once more for what might be a long journey.

Narzas didn't like her odds.

As Marjorie flounced to the opposite end of the space from herself and settled in as though she were completely at home in the dingy, smelly atmosphere; she wondered if maybe she could poke the psychopath enough the blond would see fit to just kill her already so that she wouldn't have the chance to embarrass herself. The thought was extremely tempting as everyone else filed in and picked a spot. Honestly it was pretty amazing Ava could make it inside at all given how tall she was. Packed in like sardines... air flow corrupted... ocean voyage imminent. Bad, bad, bad. The assassin closed her eyes and chose instead to just try and get some shut-eye.

Lost Echo Jet ZackStop Huntertabbysandshark3

 

[ManofManyRoles]

𝓜𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓻 '𝓜𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓬𝓴' 𝓑𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓮𝓻
Launch, shatter ice, land, warm himself...it was becoming a cycle, and a difficult one. The cold sapped at him worse than it had before he had merged with his familiar. The wind, snow, and ice made him exhausted in a way he hadn't considered possible before, and if he was a less driven person he'd have let the sensation of slumber that called to him take over. But no, he wouldn't let the exhaustion win out...this wasn't how he died. More than that, his sister was on this ship...he'd already gotten her crippled by bringing her into the crowd of the games, he wasn't about to be the reason she died.

Water matted his hair to his scalp, and his goggles were coated in a thick layer of frost and water by now, making it difficult to see. After he landed again, he raised a shuddering hand up to his face, a thumb brushing it aside. Spinning on his heel, he launched himself once more into the air towards an iceberg. As he flew forward, a wad of something flew by...was that dirt? The deranged laughter from Zak behind him made him come to a halt in the air, floating there like some sort of specter in the storm and staring back towards the ship. "I don't believe in luck!" Mavior called back in a raised voice that somehow still held its same neutral tone as ever, "I'd say you're a fine enough shot to not hit me, however!...I don't see any more ice-"

Well, there was more ice...and it made itself known by nailing Zak straight to the back of the skull. Hopefully it just broke skin, not bone. The roar of the wind and waves seemed deafening now, and Mavior spun around in time to note the mountain of a wave coming towards the ship. He couldn't do anything about that...as far as he knew, none of them could do anything about it. He spun around, hearing Darius shout to brace thrice into the wind...what were they to brace onto at this point? Brace for the depths of the ocean? His gaze drifted to the water beneath the ship, and Mavior's jaw set tight. It was a vague shape...but it was big, and deeper in the darkness than most men would be able to see. Some animals may not have been able to see the shape, as well, he internally mused. But he saw...he saw a shadow larger than he'd have ever liked. Rocketing back towards the ship Mavior landed onto the deck again, skidding across the slick wood as he lashed a hand out to grab a rope about the base of the main mast. He took a deep breath and dug as deep as he could. And then, as loud as he could over the howl of the wind and waves, surprisingly loud for one such as him... "Something is beneath the ship! Something's below us!"

Jet EldridSmith Emphoa Goliath

 

[ManofManyRoles]

Charlie Redding
As soon as Zulan stated things were going to get "philosophical", Charlie was pretty sure a few of her brain cells committed ritualistic suicide. Great, big words to say a whole lot of the same ol' shit smaller words would do. Her eyes took on an almost glazed look as she appeared to entirely disassociate from Zulan's showing of philosophy. Whether she was really paying attention or not was anyone's guess, but it looked like the Craggie had checked right the hell out. However, she still seemed to maintain her spatiel awareness for she seemed to notice Renee's eyes on her, and a suddenly much more focused and less glossy-eyed glance was tossed her way. She raised her brow ever so slightly, as if she wanted to inquire where the red-heads brain was at, but as Zulan continued to talk she continued to space out...thankfully, his rambling wasn't forever.

Her attention darted to their guide, Gailene, and Charlie had more than a few choice words she'd like to offer that level of naivety...not her place though. That kind of wishful thinking was a great way to end up with a few busted ribs and an empty purse. Far be it from her to teach that lesson, though. Charlie instead focused her gaze on Irena, the elder sibling of the Hydralines a little more...worldly it'd seem. "Aye, sounds like a right mess however ya wanna go about it, lass. Reminds me of a bloke I knew once, really. Daft c-" Charlie's word was drowned out by a sharp chip from Pitt, "cut himself on a bit o' barbed wire. Didn't clean the fuckin' cut, didn't even give it the courtesy of pourin' a drink on it. Couple months later his hands gone green 'n purple, and he still ain't treated the damn thing. His wife eventually pinned 'em down with his buddy and lopped the damn thing off. Nye's startin' to remind me o' that daft bastards infected hand...and yer lookin' to lop it off. 'Cause no one had the sense to do anythin' 'bout it ages ago."

As Irena offered her the chance to strangle Vincents slimy neck herself, a grin was flashed on her lips and Charlie dug her hands into the brown-leather jackets pockets that she wore. "My my, promises promises. Ya really know how to tempt a gal, dont'cha? I gotta admit, first words I heard outta his mouth made me feel like he didn't deserve those sparkly white teeth of his, savvy? I'll think on the matter, 'n the rest of it." She glanced towards the empty spot offered for them to discuss things, and Charlie was already making her way there. "I ain't gonna get any younger, so may as well chat 'bout it." As she walked she looked back towards Renee, and with a jerk of her head made a "Come on" motion. "Oi, red. Feel like a chat, lass?"

​

EldridSmith rozukitsune Lost Echo Jet