Fantasy The Great Games of Nye

[Goliath]

“Not bad firefly,” Goliath spoke, laying back on his portion of the tent once they were done. He pat around him for a moment before deciding to forgo finding his shirt which had been thrown off somewhere in the dark. Sure, Nyall could have lit up the tent with his powers easily enough. But he didn’t need it to sleep. Nor did he want to risk anyone who was still awake outside seeing the light through the fabric.

He knew there would be enough questions, or thoughts, from the rest of their team about their sleeping arrangements. Which was why Goliath wouldn’t be the one to confirm what they’d done tonight. Not because he was ashamed, but because it was none of their business. Nyall deserved as much privacy as he wanted, even if he didn't believe it. Regardless of whether he was used to living in the spotlight or not.

Goliath was lying on his side, with his arm folded under his head, facing away. His eyes shut. Compared to most of his hookups, Nyall had satisfied him. He remembered back to when he realized he was into men. Draven would hire all these pretty girls to come to the house and take care of them, like before a big fight. But Goliath never accepted. At first, it was the joke that he was a prude. But their leader was too smart for that. And then one day there were a few guys added to the mix as well. No questions asked.

But normally — they would be leaving his room with money in hand by now. It felt odd to have someone stay and sleep next to him. But that was what he’d agreed upon, so he needed to get used to it. In the silence, he was left alone with his thoughts. Was the cat boy a cuddler? Probably. He seemed like the type to want to be held after intimacy. But Goliath had no desire to do such unnecessary things. And the space between them made that pretty obvious.

He blinked slowly when he suddenly heard Nyall’s voice from beside him, half expecting the cat boy to have already fallen into a deep sleep. But no. And instead, he was rambling on about the repayment not being fair. It was almost funny. Goliath was quiet for a moment, knowing he could just act like he wasn’t awake, before deciding to speak.

“There is .. nothing you can give me that I want.” He sighed as he glanced over his shoulder at the dark silhouette beside him. “But so be it. Promise that when the fighting breaks out, you won’t do something stupid like run to the front lines. That you will protect your life above everything else.”

Maybe it was too much for him to ask, but Goliath didn’t care. His gaze lingered in the darkness, watching Nyall’s faint outline. The thought of him getting hurt because of some misplaced sense of duty. Nyall didn’t belong in the middle of a warzone. "Promise me," Goliath repeated, his voice low but firm, the weight of his words filling the tent. He didn’t look away this time, his eyes locked on the cat boy, waiting for the answer that he needed to hear.

Anne Boolean (Nyall)

 

[Anne Boolean]

A soft smile appeared on Nihal's face. It had been his job to satisfy. He was trained for it. The same could even be said for his musical career. Perhaps he was also trained to enjoy praise, as even after all these years, regardless of what it was for, it brought about a small sense of euphoria. Like Goliath, he also hadn't planned on kissing and telling. His reputation was of the utmost importance as a public figure, but right now, he could care less about that. Plus, he could have done much worse than the soldier. Right behind client satisfaction, confidentiality had always been top priority in his former line of work. Aside from a business standpoint, he understood it from a moral and ethical one as he grew older. Although, going back, if the rules had been a little more lax, he might have leaked word to the partners of committed men and women. It wasn't worth risking his life though, he told himself, and he tried his best to convince himself that their partnership was an open arrangement.

An almost involuntary chuckle left his lips when Goliath said he didn't have anything he wanted. That was certainly a first, and honestly, it was somewhat refreshing. So many people would have been so disappointed to find out that, despite what it seemed, he actually didn't have access to the means to grant their wishes. Or at least he hadn't in the past. How ironic that when he did did he find someone who wanted for nothing.

The actual request the other gave caused him to blink. "... I figured most people would be upset if someone fled their side on the battlefield," he said, unsure if it meant to be taken as a joke. He didn't think the other was stupid enough to assume he was all that capable of fighting. The best way for him to protect his life would be to desert. He swallowed, thinking back to Vixie. He wasn't so sure the others would take care of her if he left. He would have to take her along, or...

"Luckily, we have you to command us! Besides, you know how good at taking orders I am." He looked at the other's silhouette with a smirk on his face, but it soon faded after a moment of not being able to read the other's reaction. "... I promise," he finally said. He let his eyes linger on Goliath for a moment longer before turning over. Someone who wanted him alive yet wanted nothing from him... it was... certainly strange to think about.

Goliath

 

[ZackStop]

All she could think as these 'Atsalis' fled was how much of a bastard each and every one of them were, going to such lengths to terrorize this woman. As Isaac provided, it was all because of a centurion, Nye and their hatred for it. It was a horrible excuse for their misdeeds. Anything bad men need to justify evil she supposed, while looking to the girl Isaac referred to as Erina. Ilana had a good feeling in her heart, a rare feeling, but one that she had done some good in the world, something she hardly had a chance to do in her cesspool called home. She still had not found the strength to stand and walk to the girl, instead taking a seat in the dirt to balance her 'chi' as her master used to call it. Catching her breath is all it really was, and in a few minutes the young fighter was back on her feet.

Hours went by and Ilana sat quietly at the table center of the room in a rickety old chair, pushing around a small portion in the plate simply staring at it. She was quiet and standoffish as she had been since they left Nye, only now deep in thought. A simple idea conflicted in her head like a wary few moments before battle, as if what they had encountered before now was a peaceful stroll. to the others maybe that was the hardest they had fought in their lives, but what was within her was her real fight.

"whose side am I on?" She asked herself. It was already solidified in her mind how she felt about it, about Nye. She hated it. She hated how its very existence used others to stay afloat. Her and those like her suffer so the rich can thrive. Nye is the pedestal and the rest of them are the pillars.

The hand holding her fork trembled at the thought sprouting in the back of her mind. She stopped her sheepish picking as she tried to push away the thought. The Atsali raiders. Terrible people as she witnessed first hand, but their hatred aligned with hers. Her ultimate goal for being here could be a waste. Only a day in this land and everything was changing, leaving her with a sick feeling. There was nothing more to think about. Ilana dropped her fork suddenly, the metallic clatter as it landed on the table sounded. She made a brisk walk to the door and left for the dirt street, and once she was out of view from the others it became too much to bare. Stress, lack of sleep and physical exertion was killing her. Ilana fell to her knees and tried to hold back the retching as nausea overtook her.

Jet Goliath ManofManyRoles Emphoa

 

[Jet]

Johan found himself smiling at the embarrassed sputtering boy, a small respite from the crisis they faced, and a remedy for the precarious place they found themselves in. Trapped in a can under thousands of pounds of water, with nothing but rusty bolts and sheet metal to protect them. His power didn't mean much against the overwhelming strength of the sea, and every groan and creak made him wince. They'd be turned to paste if the rivets popped and the walls collapsed around them, and the mad captain didn't look like the maintenance type.

He kept on a brave face though. The moment he panicked was the moment fear was allowed. His position needed strength even inside a sardine can. He silently clenched his jaw as the submarine went deeper into the clutches of the sea, a mighty trench with ethereal glow coming from the bottom. It was visible through the wide cockpit window, like a giant emerald glittered far below them. The light revealed the canyon walls around them. The fish and sharks crossing their slow downwards path. But then the captain leaned forwards. His eyes narrowed and then widened like a deer in headlights.

"Bad omen," he grumbled to himself. He stared at bodies floating up from the undersea station, dressed in hospital gowns and covered in grievous wounds, fissures on their skin like energy had burst from within them. There were men and women and even children among them, gently bumping against the submarine like pieces of limp driftwood. They bounced from the window before fading into the abyss.

"What now?" Johan leaned over the captain's shoulder. "There a pressurized dock?"

He'd stick to business instead of dwelling on the drifters. Nothing could be done for them now. To linger on them would be a waste of what little time they had, and would further stress out his crew.

"No boyo," the captain said. "Our mutual friend gave me the whereabouts of a moon pool beneath the station. We'll be surfacing there." He pushed the steering sticks down to their limits. The submarine tilted and Johan grabbed the wall to keep his balance. There was a shifting of supply boxes across the floor. The submarine dove past a station of unimaginable grandeur, three stories tall and four hundred meters across, with the shape of a perfectly round circle.

They dropped underneath and found pylons anchoring the station to the seabed, and through them was a path leading to a moon pool. The captain flicked a switches as they made their final approach, tilting the fins down to propell them upwards.

"Yee may be entering into a battleground, best have your wits about you." He pulled up and the submarine breached from the moon pool, finding its balance as she bobbed up and down. There was a loud crack as the hull decompressed from the weight of the ocean, followed by a clunk when the captain unlocked the hatch. He peered from the window at the wide open docks, enough space for half a dozen submarines. The room was dim with only dull yellow emergency lighting, and another submarine gently rocked in the water. There was no noise, no movement in the room. There was nothing at all — only an eerie silence.

"He didn't say this place was abandoned," the captain muttered. "Tis a ghost station, an even wose omen."

"Maybe," Johan said. "Or maybe that's wishful thinking. This could be a trap."

He looked back at the others. "We could be attacked the moment we leave this ship, so make sure you're ready."

He looked out the window once again. The silence disturbed him more than attacks would have. It seemed off for some reason. He just wished he knew what it was.

rozukitsune ZackStop Lost Echo Huntertabbysandshark3

 

[rozukitsune]

For the most part, the undersea adventure didn't really bother the young Zuànshín woman as she breathed into her knees slowly. The further they got under the sea the less her insides revolted. It seemed that the depths were not as stomach-churning as riding the rough and tumble waves of the open sea as would be normal to traverse on a sailing vessel. She kept her ears open, but not much of consequence seemed to be happening other than Johan teasing the young Ren. That much made her smile despite her discomfort. No matter what was going on he seemed to always be doing his best to put on a good face for the rest of the crew. She envied his strength and wondered at its source. After all, this was just who he was. Always cavalier - even in the thick of things. It made her heart flutter with warmth and affection.

Right about the time the sea captain was commenting on the bad omens afoot, Marjorie decided to comment on how "delightfully macabre" the scene was. Narzas - feeling well enough to hazard a glance, almost wished she hadn't looked.

Death wasn't a foreign subject to the assassin. She'd barely batted an eye at the slashed up bloodied victims of the poison building's occupants. But this was horror on a level that could touch even her own jaded heart. Drowning victims was not something she encountered often in the large and primarily landlocked area she was from. And the way they looked like they'd just sort of ruptured open like that... she felt bile burn her throat at the sight. Muttering under her breath in her home tongue she gave the floating dead an abbreviated approximation of what funerary sayings were common where she was from for those who died at sea and then lapsed into a respectful silence as the ship was at last brought to the place where all could disembark.

The silence reminded her of the previous location... empty. Foreboding. She glanced toward Johan as he commented that it could be a trap.

Marjorie just smiled. "Ah guess we will see, won't we darlin~?"

Jet EldridSmith Lost Echo ZackStop Huntertabbysandshark3

 

[Huntertabbysandshark3]

Ava Marco
Interaction: Jet Lost Echo ZackStop​

The trip was certainly well, something Ava wasn’t paying too much attention too it frankly lost in her own thoughts for the day just staring at a wall way too much introspection for her and it was frankly making her head hurt, aaand there was corpses always more corpses… why the fuck was there so many people dying frankly Ava was getting kinda sick of this physical and mentally less disturbed and more so kinda just kinda pissed it was getting kinda ridiculous, still.. least they where getting out of the tin can they where stuffed in well no it wasn’t tin it was iron but that was besides the point frankly. Ava wasn’t really expecting to see well, anyone alive once they got out considering the bodies in the water, and she was right again. “god damn if I hate being right… can we just have one problem that we can hit with a sword… getting sick of this cryptic shit today…” Ava blurted out her tone clearly indicating she was kinda pissed at the events transpiring. “But yeah I’m guessing this is an ambush or we got here too late or some shit.. well guess we will find out soon won’t we?”

 

[ZackStop]

Ren felt too embarrassed to cough even more. He used all his brain power to cease or at least hold it down, and it worked for the most part and eventually subsided. He was finally able to take a deep breath and push away the terrifying thought of certain rejection. It wasn't the time for that anyway, he had to prepare for what was to come and began rummage through his bag trough awkward silence.

The boy pulled out the rock from before, looking at it with a deep focus and examining the engravings carved into it. He wondered if he could trust Damian at all as it was made apparent by the others that he was not to be. Was he really that bad a judge of character? He asked himself this before holding the stone tight and getting to work. With the help of some tape he had lying around, Ren crudely wrapped it around his shield with his rune kept somewhere in the center just as Damian said. The sharp crisp sound of tape being ripped apart was the concluding sound of his little project, giving it a mixed look of satisfaction and distaste. It'll do but it wasn't pretty.

"Not bad eh?" He asked rhetorically looking to Phalanx for some form of encouragement, but that's when they heard a gentle thump against the hull. It immediately aroused curiosity being that they were leagues under the ocean. They weren't expecting any pizza deliveries down here, as wonderful as that would be. They hadn't eaten since this all began and this was the closest form of rest they've had all day. Though Ren's appetite was staved off once again, as if he hadn't witnessed enough death the boy now saw the troubling sight around the same time everyone else had. Floating bodies slowly drifting up to the surface, leaving from their destination.

He slowly stood in morbid awe, hunched over as he took steps closer to the cockpit, leaning his arm against the metal surface around him. He was practically right above the sailor steering the thing through this nautical graveyard. He had seen so much of it by now that seeing it here was almost expected, yet something gave in his young mind at the sight that left him almost in a trance. He was certainly a long ways from home, uncertain however if he could find his way back.

He managed to snap out of it by the time they made reached the moonpool, much larger than the young man was expecting. But upon arrival, things were not looking any more optimistic. Dark, abandoned, chilling. The room was a far cry from the under-sea lab, instead it was like if a corpse could be four walls.

"Phalanx." Ren called down to his companion, and without anything else the message was received. The pair were entuned with anything. They merged as Ren put on a brave face and climbed up. His cat eyes lent him greater sight in conditions like this, he stuck his head out to give the spacious room a clean sweep. The coast was clear so he hoisted himself out of the open hatch and knelt down on top while the others exited.

"I think this place is on emergency power." He pointed attention to the sparse flashing lights lining the walls. He made sure to speak quietly, not wanting to project his voice too much. Two doors were left open on the far sides of the room and Ren wondered which one they should take. He'd leave that decision to Johan. The only question he really had now was about the other sub that left unattended. Does it belong to the scientists? It had to. Who else would be down here except for them? "So, what next? Left or right."

rozukitsune Huntertabbysandshark3 Jet Lost Echo

 

[Goliath]

Leon’s gaze drifted over the group, his expression unreadable as he processed the scene. The world around him felt muffled, as though he were hearing it through thick water, with voices and movement seeming to filter through layers of distance. Only when Mischa stumbled forward, her face flushed, eyes wide with the dazed bewilderment of battle, did his focus sharpen.

Her movements were shaky, and unsteady, but he wasn’t entirely surprised to see her already on her feet. Mischa had always seemed like a force of nature — relentless and resilient. No matter how beaten down or broken, she always found a way to rise, to push forward.

He was… impressed everything had gone so smoothly with their coordinated attack if he was being honest. The plan had been simple, effective. But the execution? That had been flawless. His heart still pounded in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins, even now that the attacker was restrained and the immediate threat was over.

It was one thing to have a plan, another to pull it off. His shot, the water blade, had been a gamble. If he’d missed, it would have all been for nothing. That kind of pressure wasn’t something Leon was used to handling. And as a result, his hands trembled in his pockets. But the relief that Mischa was no longer in the man’s grip — no longer in danger with a weapon to her throat — was enough to calm the storm in his chest.

A sharp sting cut through his shoulder as Mischa’s hand wrapped gently around his elbow, pulling him back to the present. The wound beneath his bandages had definitely opened again, the ache and warmth of fresh blood seeping through. He bit back a grimace, not wanting to worry her — the pain was tolerable, a minor inconvenience compared to what could have happened.

But none of that mattered. Not now. Because Mischa… thought his attack was awesome? He felt the heat rise to his cheeks, the rush of embarrassment he couldn’t shake. Awesome? He wanted to brush it off, downplay it, but the words stuck in his chest, and he couldn’t stop the awkward warmth spreading across his face.

“Thanks,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked down at her. Even covered in dirt and sweat, Mischa had a wild sort of beauty to her. A small, lopsided smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “There was no modesty, though. He almost blocked it.”

His voice trailed off, and he stayed quiet for the rest of the exchange. Mischa’s gratitude was sincere. She thanked everyone individually for their help, even though there was no real need for it. He didn’t mind the compliments to Rat’s magitech, though. It was impressive to see it in action. Something like that wasn’t common where Leon came from.

As he glanced over at Mischa and Yua, he blinked in surprise at the sight of them hugging. The gesture was unexpected, and a subtle twinge of something unfamiliar, almost like jealousy, twisted in his chest. He looked over at Rat, hoping to find some reassurance or maybe just an explanation. Regardless, he couldn’t help the awkward feeling creeping up his throat. He should’ve hugged Mischa earlier, but he’d held back. A missed opportunity. Now, he felt like an idiot for not acting on it.

Leon’s head tilted as he observed Yua’s flustered rambling. She was explaining herself with almost frantic urgency, as if her words might unravel into something worse if she didn’t clarify them. “Check you out,” she’d said to Mischa — but Yua had meant medically, he knew that. Everyone knew that. But the over-explaining? That made it weird.

He turned to his friends after she ran off, wrapping an arm around Mischa and Rat. “Let’s go find a spot to rest?” He asked, unsure if it was really for himself or the others.

———

Leon chose a spot on the floor in front of the couch, leaning back to use it as a makeshift backrest. Close enough to be there if Mischa needed support but far enough away not to crowd her — that was where Leon preferred to stay. It was easy to tell she was struggling. Occasionally glancing back to check on her. She was bundled tightly in a blanket, her face half-hidden, and her eyes distant as she stared into space.

Leon himself had devoured enough food for three people, despite his skinny frame, and was already working through another plate. As he stood to pile on more food, his gaze drifted around the room, and he saw Ilana. If they made eye contact, he’d give her a small nod. He’d overheard bits of what had happened — Ilana’s skill had been a vital part of their success.

Maybe she would train him if he asked? The thought seemed unlikely from their brief conversation. But he definitely needed the help. Leon watched quietly as she dropped her fork. The loud metallic sound making him turn his head away and stop staring.

Settling back down, Leon blinked as a flurry of questions came from Yua’s direction, all aimed at Mischa. Now didn’t seem like the right time for an interrogation. “You’re as restless as a rooster in a rainstorm. I’m sure if she needs something, she’ll ask,” he said calmly, taking a bite of… well, he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d just picked up from the plate. It was some kind of roasted meat, savory and well-seasoned, and that was enough for him.

Turning his attention toward Rat, Leon decided to shift the focus of the conversation, hoping to ease the pressure on Mischa. He took a swig from the cup of wine he’d managed to grab and raised it slightly in Rat’s direction. “By the way, you’re going to have to show me how to use the Magitech stuff at some point!” he said, his eyes lighting up with a glimmer of excitement.

Leon’s gaze dropped for a second, his smile softening. Talking about the Magitech reminded him of his sister — she would have loved it, every gadget and device Rat had brought along. The thought of her tinkering, her face alight with curiosity, brought a bittersweet smile to his face. For a brief moment, he could almost hear her laughter, feel her presence. Strangely, talking to Rat about these things made him feel closer to her, a quiet echo of the past reminding him of how much he missed her.

Leon turned to Mischa. “Also, I think it was really cool that you kneed that asshole in the stomach once you were free. You guys are even now.” He smiled a warm reassuring smile.

Jet (Mischa) Emphoa (Rat) ManofManyRoles (Yua)
Mentioned: ZackStop (Ilana)

 

[Emphoa]

River, for the most part, was quiet while he listening to everyone moving about, the way they were trying to adjust after the events had taken place and recover. He was on and off quiet, here and there he would opt for a little bit of conversation. But he was thinking about the events that had taken place, what it all meant and what they were going to do now. His eyebrows furrowed a little bit now, sitting not too far from Mischa and Leon, his eyes slowly flitting up and over onto the red headed boy when he spoke directly to him. Blinking, soon enough, when he realized that Yua was there too, and it looked like Ilana had taken her leave as well. A small huff left him and he straightened up, focusing on the conversation around him rather than just allowing it to remain as background noise.

"Pft- how to use it?" He finally spoke up, and he looked between Mischa and Leon with a small smile playing at his lips. "Yeah, I could definitely show you a thing or two-" He reached forward, taking up the journal he had been scratching into and pulled it up with a hum. "Actually... I've been working on a few things- or well, trying to make some different magitech for..." He flushed a little bit, and he glanced between Leon and Mischa. With... everything, he especially wanted to be able to make magitech that would benefit those around him, in order to be able to defend them- to be able to enhance their current elements in any way he might have been able to. Because that was what he wanted to be able to do in the end, wasn't it? He wasn't one for the front lines- he wasn't sure any of them were, but...

They had to adapt.

"I was working on some ideas for you and Mischa, since I've been able to see your techniques in action." He finally spoke up, then paused as he looked right back at Yua with an amused huff. "Careful, Mischa might eventually bite your head off if you're hovering too much." It was light hearted, of course, and he didn't really think that Mischa would speak out against the young woman after everything that had taken place. Before he laughed quietly at the mere mention of Mischa kneeing that guy. "Seriously... He deserved it- what matters is that... we got through it, right? We're just gonna have to..." He faltered, unsure of what he wanted to say, and he looked right back to his journal. "... I don't know."

Jet ManofManyRoles Goliath ZackStop Fred Colon

 

[Arcanist]

Faraji Aguta

Mentions: Jet Lost Echo

​

Faraji glanced to Vixie, and it took a moment to register what she had asked. Before he could go rummaging through his things to find something to quell Marigold’s bleeding, Adrian had already tossed everything he needed to the two in that satchel of his. Faraji lazily lay back on the ground, eyes moving off to some dark spot he could stare at in the cavern.

Maybe if he just closed his eyes, imagined he was under some warm sheets in the comfort of his home, perhaps he would fall asleep happy. He was too aware of such a place they were in to fall to such delusions however.

Then came the apologies from Marigold for inadvertently sealing their supposed fate. “All the more fool of us to follow you in here,” Faraji mumbled, then sighed. Too harsh on the man, perhaps. “But I would have made just as poor a guide, I suppose.” At least neither of them truly knew the way in here.

The bard called for them to regale them with stories and interesting tidbits, to pass the time before they eventually feel to dehydration, starvation, madness. Perhaps it would have done good to think of something else than being trapped.

Lapis flew back over to Faraji’s side, perched on a nearby satchel, his neck shrinking under his feathers as he tucked himself in, but eyes still wide and alert.

“I quite enjoyed Valencia when I travelled there,” Faraji started almost absentmindedly, still staring at some dark spot in the cavern. “It was rather early in my career when we were sent there to appraise contestants. Nye hadn’t thought to raise me to that status yet. I was just on-hand to organise the events meant to help you enter into the competition in the first place. Bring stuff here, shout about this and that so everyone could hear me. Hardly glamorous, but it was a good place to start.”

“Somehow, I managed to get access to a party at some high-brow’s fancy apartment. There was so much wine flowing, conversation on poetry and UEK’s next technological marvel. Most of the runners for the team found it boring, but I was positively in my element listening to the intelligence and the culture practically flowing around the room.”

“Well, if you thought we would sit the whole night sipping wine and slipping off into some room for, ahem, further debate, it wasn’t the case. Catch my surprise when we were all invited to the apartment rooftops, some people already falling over their own feet. I can’t remember exactly how it came to pass, but the entertainment must have been so dry that it was insisted a rooftop race would be held. Somehow – I don’t remember volunteering for it – I ended up as one of the many contenders to try and run and jump over rooves.”

Faraji was laughing then, the idea of such a race not entirely hilarious then, yet, gave him such a chuckle now when he thought back on the idea. “I admit to not being the greatest athlete or fighter, but by God, did I vault over each roof, clutching a bottle of some 50-year-old wine in my hands for courage. At one point, another contender tried knocking me into the river between two buildings, only to bloody well fall in himself!” His laughter rose at that, and he wiped some mirth from his eye at the very memory of it.

When he settled, and breathed most of it out, he felt the need to add, “He was fine, by the way. Washed up a mile down the river, and walked back into the apartment absolutely drenched.”

 

[Arcanist]

Brynwyr Protheroe

Mentions: Lost Echo ZackStop Jet

Brynwyr and Abaranne could at least come to one agreement; that they could free those imprisoned by the Yellow King and his subordinates. Perhaps even free them themselves, from the optimism in her words. She hoped that would be the case.

Of course, they would need their rest first as Esther suggested. Brynwyr would not deny her companions that, nor would she complain of earning some rest herself. Her body ached from the day’s treacherous survival, and she worried of Rhys’s strength following his near drowning.

She was grateful for the woman’s offering of shelter and supplies, and she showed as much with a gracious nod of her head.

Further questions were posed from Esther, many of which were answered by Abaranne in turn. Of the Seer, of how to pinpoint her sons. The serpent. Her words made sense, given how some of their crew was driven to madness, and of the magic that has long seemed to have a hold on the people of this land.

Spivey made a comment on the woman being high, and Brynwyr resisted the urge to roll her eyes, though, could not stop her words, “And you are not?” Their state of drunkenness was enough to constitute as such. Somehow, they still made coherent sense as they spoke, but Spivey’s state was still clear all the same.

As if their own ramblings hadn’t been enough, they insisted on more liquor for sleep, then, for a party. Brynwyr would have made a comment against such a thing, until she witnessed their fist collide with Huracan’s face. She did not hesitate to step in to try and grab their wrist and immediately came off scolding.

“What in the hells is wrong with you?! They offer us shelter and amenities after what has already been an excruciatingly difficult and long day, and you thank our hosts by punching them?” Brynwyr’s face had flared red, though, whether that was from her indignation alone, or the sheer heat that only seemed to irk her further, was up for debate. “Honestly, you are an enigma! Do you ever think before taking such actions?” She huffed.

Rhys shrivelled and couldn’t help but step away from his cousin. Best not to butt in and cross Brynwyr, even if Spivey’s actions weren’t appropriate in the slightest. He turned to their host and said victim. “Ap-apologies, Spivey is rather…” There was no reason to justify the situation. He tried to move on quickly. “We don’t want to seem ungrateful for what you’re providing for us. Are you hurt, Huracan?”

 

[Emphoa]

Evaline was quick to catch the ball of dust from Kwame, a glint in her eyes as she dipped her head to the man. Of course it could never be so easy. A small sigh escaped the woman and her eyes snapped forward, pausing only when she heard Kilderkin speak up and her eyes settled onto the woman. Hesitant, before she gave a dip of her head and she nodded her head. "I'll go high up in the air, I'll keep an eye out for her!" She insisted, shooting up within the air as she tried to keep out of the sight of the people from below. At least, as much as she might have been able to as her eyes scanned over the different faces in the crowd while she kept her sights over Kilderkin.

With the signal from Kilderkin, letting out a low breath as she shifted in the winds, peering at the crowd where she could see the people moving to and fro out of the way and her eyes scanned over for the source. She was glad for Kilderkin's experience and eyes on the ground, it made it a lot easier to navigate when she was up in the air like this. She lowered ever so slightly, making sure not to draw attention to herself as she got closer. Her eyes narrowed as her gaze settled right onto the woman with her teeth gritted together, hand moving up and she was grateful for the fact that she wore a metal necklace.

First mistake.

She pulled it back, using the necklace to tug back against the woman's neck to choke and temporarily stop her in her tracks. Rolling the ball within her fingers as Eva threw it down... Swooping just enough to be able to aim properly at her. Then, swerved right back up into the air and lifted up high enough to get away from the view of the public, eyes snapped right back onto Kilderkin.

She was sure she would be able to handle the rest, with that. If not, Evaline was still up in the air and now they definitely had their sights on her.

Fred Colon Jet

 

[Jet]

​

The whale shook heaven and earth when he called out to the crew, a warbling groan with the depth of an ocean. He looked up at the man attached to his head, a small antlike creature he could barely feel on his rough skin, and an offering of snacks he certainly didn't like. Had it been krill it would've been another story, or perhaps nettle tea. Nettle tea was always good even when it was bad, the whale supposed.

He turned his gaze upon the ship and its puny crew, all very cute with tiny antlike arms. Though he wasn't sure what ants were. He'd never seen ants crawling on the ocean floor, but they likely resembled these small pathetic creatures, without much blubber to survive the sea. How they survived at all was a miracle to the whale. It didn't seem like they had any cups of Nettle tea.

"We mostly come in peace, large imposing sea monster!" Zak called out from a spot upon the railing, clutching a rope from the one remaining mast. He'd seen pictures of pirates and this was his best impersonation. "We're naught but skin and bones anyway mate, no meat at all."

"Would make for bad eating!" He pointed up at Ivan. "Cept for that one."

The whale called out in a softer tone. These creatures were small but not small enough to be krill, and only krill were food. He shook his head to show them his intentions were pure, but it had the unintended effect of launching Ivan into the sea. The man skipped across the water as Zak shouted a string of outback expletives.

"Tryin to kill our mate?" Zak had words for Elriel now. "How's that for being peaceful eh? Bloody thing is feral."

He reached out and gathered what remained of his sacred dirt stash, all three pounds of loosely collected soil. A mighty weapon. He compacted it and launched a salvo at the monstrous beast, daggerlike solids that sunk into the whale's skin. Yet there was no blood. The daggers faded leaving the smallest, most pathetic scratches one could imagine, as if he scratched the outer surface of the outer surface, and his face sunk at the disheartening sight.

"Well..."

"That's been known to uh..."

"Punch holes through a man."

"We 'ave any rafts?"

The whale released another all encompassing groan, and had he eyebrows to show his myriad emotions, he would've certainly been scowling. He slammed his tail down on the water and droplets rained upon the crew, pattering the deck as the ship creaked and groaned. The whale slowly opened his mouth and water quickly rushed inside — all were trapped by the ripping and roaring current. The crew could only watch as a mouth bigger than a building, over twenty meters tall and a sixty meters across, engulfed them all in darkness.

Ivan perhaps, given his heavy armor, would be thankful as the current pulled him inside, and soon the mouth shut with a mighty slam. The water drained out and the ship sank lower and lower until it rest upon solid ground — though in this case, the ground was dotted with tastebuds.

Then four words came from somewhere in that darkness, a chipper tone marred by the dryness of salted air, a hint of amusement in each gruff word.

"Care for Nettle tea?"

Goliath Emphoa EldridSmith ManofManyRoles

 

[Jet]

The world was upside down. Her aching head pounded like a drum, each heartbeat sent a wave of pressure through her head. Her lungs were winded, no matter how much she breathed the void wouldn't fill, like there wasn't enough oxygen to breathe. When she looked up there was a woman staring down at her; a rugged working lass with calloused hands. Yet healthy and well fed. Her stench was outlander. The kind of agitator who came here to stir pots, some kind of revolutionary trying to make a statement, using Xysma as an oversized megaphone.

"What right do you have?" Kaesa scowled a the woman.

"Get on with it tourist, what can I do for you?" She was sure they represented one of the revolutionary bands, all their rhetoric about freedom and justice — until she criticized them on air. That's when the mask slipped off. That's when freedom was selective instead of a basic human right, and always selected off loyalty. Kaesa hoped they just wanted favorable coverage, maybe a puff piece about their gang. But there was a hint of fear. That maybe they wanted to silence her for good.

"You want me to shut down the station? Or make you look real good for your cronies? Spit it—"

"Nicely done," Kwame said as he slipped through the swarming crowd, hundreds in a circle around the scene. The starving prisoners showed no aggression towards the group, for each was too feeble and starved, but hunger didn't effect their interest in drama. Indeed it was the perfect distraction for a downtrodden people, and popcorn was all that was missing. There were boys wearing newsboys looking down from the rooftops, women putting down their baskets and whispering to each other, and men making bets on what would happen. It was an every day reality show.

Even the dogs stopped chewing bones to watch the scene.

"Disperse fine people!" Kwame projected his voice across the market. "Please proceed with your commerce, allow the council's justice to be upheld!"

Even the crickets didn't chirp.

The crowd ignored him and grew even more interested, for who was this titan speaking like a square? Why did he know the mysteries of grammar?

He cleared his throat and repeated the command, but they ignored him with the same apathetic tenacity. There would be no moving them without force, and Kwame had no interest in fighting them either. Instead he nodded with a small shifty smile.

"Perhaps some privacy then?" He clapped and stone walls rose around them, encompassing Kilderkin, Evaline and Kaesa within a cube. In the darkness he took out a small oil lantern — a soldier could never leave home without one. He sparked a match and illuminated the darkness, blowing out the candle when he was done. He tucked away the match to avoid any littering; a crime by the council's justice. He always aimed to be a paragon.

"Now then," he looked both women. "I leave you to your work."

Emphoa Fred Colon

 

[Fred Colon]

Station? Make them look good? Some sort of reporter. Not exactly what Kilderkin had been hoping for, but potentially still useful. Being perfectly honest, this was probably one of the better outcomes of them chasing after some random suspicious person on the street.

"No. We've no need of you to shut down your station, or to inflate our egos." Kilderkin said, her face still twisted into a bulbous mask. "I think you've got us all wrong. We're looking for someone and trying not to get killed while we're doing it. You seem like you've got your finger on the pulse, here. A reporter, yes? With a radio station? We aren't with any of the groups here. We've got our own business, and are more than happy to let you continue your work. But we would be very appreciative if you could answer some questions for us."

Kilderkin didn't want this woman to know exactly what they were about, so she asked a variety of questions.

"Do you know what the local guard has been up to lately? Where they focus their forces, what they seem focused on doing?"

"Are you aware of the local gangs? Any interesting pointers we should know? Whose reasonable, who to avoid?"

"Do you know anything about an Irina Hydraline?"

"Have you heard of any strange outside groups of folk making a ruckus? Other than us, I suppose."

"Oh. And what's your name? We shouldn't forget the niceties. I'm Reggie. It is, despite how things look, nice to meet you."

Kilderkin smiled.

"I know you're under a bit of duress at the moment, but this would work out for everyone if you help us. To sweeten the deal, we could even direct you to where some big news is going to made. If you're interested in that sort of thing."

Kilderkin glanced at the others. Was there anything they wanted to add? Any course of action they wanted to take? She was fine taking the lead questioning this woman, but she didn't want to step on anyone's toes.

Jet Emphoa

 

[Jet]

The docks pulsed with green light, silent warnings pinged from control panels, a rusty creak whispered through the room. Johan entered the control room and found a withered corpse; like the life had been sucked from within him, completely dried out and mummified. His muscles clung to the bones without any fat or moisture. His mouth was a void with the lips pulled back around the teeth, and once again he found himself in a graveyard, death seeped from the pores of this place. But it wasn't like the warehouse. There was something more to this place, a sense of evil hanging in the air. The charged atmosphere of deranged magic.

"We should find a map," he said to Ren. He preferred wandering with a location in mind; some kind of goal for their exploration. "Before that though—"

He found a clipboard near the corpse, some kind of report for supply deliveries. It showed dates and times. The last moments when the man was alive. He glanced over the numbers and narrowed his eyes, shaking his head with a muttered "no," under his breath. He mouthed a second word, "impossible," before looking at the others.

"This happened last week." His voice was higher pitched than usual, a spike of genuine surprise. He looked down at the mummified corpse. It would take months to reach that state, and only under certain conditions. Not a humid station beneath the sea. This was only seen with extreme temperatures in dry places — but here? It was truly impossible.

"Magic can't do this," he said with confidence. It was known that magic could never manipulate the inner workings of another. The wind couldn't be sucked from someone else's lungs. The blood couldn't be boiled. There was a hidden sanctity within magic, a field around each person projected by the soul — or at least that's what the church said. It stopped one person from invading the body of someone else, which is the only way this could happen. Whatever this was, it was beyond the limited scope of his imagination. He drew blanks when he tried conceiving the truth.

"An unfortunate way to die." He nodded at the corpse. "If anyone has suggestions, now's the time, because I haven't the faintest idea."

He approached the nearest passageway, a door opened halfway. It was made from thick steel covered in seeping rust, a fine layer where maintenance had fallen short. He quickly illuminated the area in front of him, a gentle orange to balance out the harsh yellow green. But then there was a clatter, a dash of footsteps in the distance, a muttered string of whispers on all sides. It vanished as soon as it came.

One thing was clear. They were not alone.

He subdued his nerves and focused on the present. They needed information not panic. He cleared his throat and checked a map of the station; a yellowed poster hanging from the wall. There was a large ring surrounding the inner docks, and the ring had three levels. They were on level one. The most accessible of the three. The others were marked with security clearance ratings. Near the docks were barracks where staff slept and ate. There was a medical bay and an armory for the guards, and an administrative sector for management. There was an area named the, "Clean Room," which threw Johan for a loop. The name seemed off to him. Then there was a record room for document storage.

The floor beneath them was filled with maintenence and control rooms. The transmitter station and command center. It was the beating heart of the station. Johan figured that would be important later on. The bottom level was subdivided into small rooms running the circumference of the station. The only exception was a large circular room jutting out from the northern tip. It rung another alarm bell in Johan's head. It definitely seemed strange to him.

"No telling what could be important, where to next?" He wanted to hear them out, and this certainly wasn't his expertise. He didn't even care if Marjorie gave suggestions. This was beyond their petty squabbles. If they worked together it would improve their chances of surviving, and that's what mattered most. Especially when he cared for his companions. He'd tolerate a thousand Marjories to keep Narzas alive and well, and a thousand more for Ren, Anya and Ava. Though another thousand would probably kill him first.

He gave them the floor to speak, but he swore the whispering came again. This time it was faint enough to be a hallucination, or perhaps the spirits of the dead. He never much believed in supernatural powers, but if ever there was a place where ghosts haunted the hallways, it would certainly be this place.

rozukitsune ZackStop Huntertabbysandshark3 Lost Echo

 

[rozukitsune]

Narzas followed, her eyes scanning the halls and walkways for anything whatsoever that might give a clue to the situation. But there was nothing and no one aside from the dingy lighting and the occasional dead body-

She blinked down at the mummified corpse as Johan examined it, but she couldn't spend a whole lot of time on its existence in her mind as shadows moved and whispers filtered from elsewhere. She slid a pair of knives from her belt and opted to keep watch for an ambush rather than take much more stock of the situation... this was too damned creepy to realistically have the mental space to react to Johan's comment on how unlikely it was that the corpse on the floor could have gotten that way via magic. They were here, ostensibly, to rescue Hannah... assuming the kid was alive to be rescued given the state of the floating bodies and this corpse. Narzas wanted to spend less time wondering how this place got into this state in the last week and more time getting the fuck out of it as fast as reasonably possible. "If it weren't for the fact we seem to always be on unfamiliar ground I'd suggest dividing and conquering." She grumbled in response to his question. "But we should probably stick together and go toward anything that looks like it might be where our target might be stashed - sorry... where the girl is; I mean." The stressful situation was making her default to action-mode but she gave herself a pass. "The last thing we need is to get surprised by the people who are still alive here and presumably have the capacity to do stuff like that." She gestured to the corpse on the floor.


Marjorie, for her part, was just the slightest bit unnerved - though she would never ever eeeeever admit that to Johan. She schooled her expression into one of disinterest as they made their way through the hallways arms crossed as though she was terribly bored with the whole affair. She did not like dingy places. Darkness was fine. Blood and death was fine. Dingy and dirty was gross and no one should ever have to put up with it. When they were done with this nonsense she was going to have a word with the people that had sent her on this mission. Well... she supposed maybe they hadn't really expected her to follow this group for as long as she had. Still, someone needed to hear her complain - so an earful they were going to get! She stood in the doorway of the new room as Johan examined the corpse on the floor, resolutely looking anywhere but at the icky thing. Whoever had done this was definitely a messy sort. Leaving people alive, jettisoning dead into the ocean to announce their evil deeds. Tacky. That's what it was. Death was supposed to be an art, not this. Whatever. Different strokes for different folks - she guessed.

Johan's words on the subject brought her inner musings up short and resentfully she glanced back at the body noticing the same things he had. "Any chance it's jus' a coincidence that'n has that there clipboard next 'ta him? Maybe whoever is responsible for all this lovely ambiance did ol' mummy man in months ago an' jus' left him there as a warnin' or somethin'." She suggested, even though the concern on her face revealed that even she wasn't buying the explanation. Grumpily, she trundled over to peer over Johan's shoulder at the map of the place after he asked for input from everyone. Her eyes traced the same lines his had and came up with similar conclusions as she pointed to the strange circular room that didn't seem to be part of the flow of the place. "Ah say we start there... and we should keep our eyes peeled on the way fer anythin' that looks interestin'." The whispers slipping down through the corridors had the hairs of her neck standing on end and she involuntarily shuddered. "And fer anyone or anythin' that tries ta get in our way." She did not believe in ghosts. Not even a little. Nope. Definitely not.



Jet ZackStop Lost Echo Huntertabbysandshark3

 

[Jet]

There was a long moment of silence after the punch. Huracan stood there without comprehending the attack. His grandmother blinked twice without saying a word. Their silence was absolute and absolutely confused, and slowly they exchanged a glance. Huracan clasped Spivey's shoulder and gave him a slow creeping smile. He knew what was coming next.

"On sometimes, when placed in cage, man eat by catching moon moths." He looked at his grandmother before stepping aside, watching as she channeled the tree's ancient spirit. The walls shifted as vines swarmed into the room, a thousand of them coming from all sides.

Huracan crossed his arms and stood next to Rhys. He looked solemn and serious. "I be okay — but your friend, maybe not okay."

He watched vines chase after Spivey, whipping at his feet to bind him in place. An errant monkey skittered through the room. It had been swinging on the vines just moments before, but now it stood beside Huracan. It too had its arms crossed as it watched the scene.

The older woman, Abarrane, scowled as she directed the vines. There was no simple apology after assaulting one of her tribe, and though she wanted to be impartial to each and every member, her family ties made it even worse. To come into her home after being welcomed like a friend. To parade like a bandit with liquor on his breath, and to punch her grandson like a barbarian. The man needed a lesson in manners, and the cage taught even the dumbest ones. He would spend tonight in a cage dangling from a tree, with a bucket of honey hanging beneath it. The honey would attract insects to prevent him from sleeping, and perhaps a few bees would sting him.

If he didn't learn after one night in the cage, there was always the next one after that, and the next one after that, and all without his booze. Abarrane wagered he wouldn't last a minute, let alone more than a single night.

But first she needed to catch him.

If he escaped it wouldn't be for lack of trying though. The door was barred by thick vines and branches. The room wasn't small but certainly wasn't big, and there was little to hide behind, only a table and a few chairs, and a brazier stood in the center. There weren't compartments or walled areas to hide himself within, although he did have a magic weapon. Abarrane hoped he showed restraint with it. If he used his cannon to harm her or her tribesmen, she would escalate from binding him to breaking him, and her people would do the same. It would only end with him beneath the ground.

"Take your punishment like a man," she said to him. "I'm going to fix what your parents failed at."

Arcanist ZackStop Lost Echo

 

[Goliath]

Elriel watched Ivan fly through the air, his irritation growing by the second. He wasn’t completely to blame for the situation—how could he control the physics of where the mast threw him? But that didn’t make it any less annoying.

And the trajectory was painfully obvious. Ivan would land on the whale. Elriel groaned inwardly. Why had he even tried to warn them?

If he had more of his powers, he could have stopped it. A simple flick of energy would’ve shot Ivan out of the way or he could have created a ramp to slide him back to the ship, depending on how generous he felt. But Elriel was spent. If he pushed himself any further, Adamaris would have his head. So, he did what he rarely ever had to do: stand by and watch.

Ivan thudded against the whale’s back, the sound of armor on rough blubber making Elriel cringe. The whale groaned again, its massive, rumbling voice vibrating the very air. One wrong move, and they’d all be devoured. This wasn’t a joke.

And then Zak stepped forward.

“Oh, no. No, no, no,” Elriel muttered under his breath. Zak looked like a drowned possum than a daring pirate. Water dripping from his clothes, hair plastered to his face in uneven clumps. Yet he moved with the bravado of someone who thought he could talk down a creature the size of a cathedral.

Zak’s words, to Elriel’s surprise, weren’t completely idiotic. At least not until he gestured toward Ivan and casually suggested he might be good eating.

Elriel tilted his head sharply in Zak’s direction, disbelief painted across his face. And, as if to punish the sheer absurdity of it, the whale shook its head again, sending Ivan skidding off across the water.

“Wait. Feral?! Ivan was on its head!” Elriel exclaimed, his frustration boiling over. He pointed at Zak, his voice rising. “And you just told it he was good enough to eat!”

Before Elriel could stop him, Zak acted on impulse—as Zak always did. He grabbed what looked like his last bit of dirt and hurled it at the whale with all the force he could muster. And… did absolutely nothing.

Not a scratch. Not even a dent.

Elriel’s lips curled into a sneer as he folded his arms, still keeping one around Adamaris. “Good one. Really stellar effort. Hope that was worth it,” he scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The whale’s tail slammed down on the water with a deafening roar, and Elriel flinched as enormous droplets rained down on the ship, each one larger than any storm he’d ever endured. The ship groaned under the weight of the water, its already fragile state teetering toward collapse.

And then the whale’s mouth opened.

Elriel didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t even bother to look at Darius. It wasn’t worth asking. Two masts were gone, and with them, any chance of generating wind to sail away. Plus — they were already being pulled forward by the inevitable current.

The massive maw of the whale loomed over them, its cavernous darkness swallowing what little light remained. The ship creaked and groaned as it was pulled inside, the roar of rushing water deafening.

Elriel stood motionless, his hand tightening slightly on Adamaris’s shoulder as the mouth closed behind them with a resounding slam. Darkness enveloped them, oppressive and heavy.

He could feel the ship sinking lower, the water draining around them, until finally, with a soft shudder, it came to a stop. And then with that his head snapped over the sudden sound voice. “Nettle tea??” He repeated. Was he going crazy? Had he heard that?

“Who are you?? — And does anyone have any light source on this ship that wasn’t ruined in the storm??” Elriel asked.

Interacted with: Jet (Zak) Emphoa (Adamaris)
Group: ManofManyRoles (Mavior)

 

[ZackStop]

​

Spivey let out a joyous laugh after the fist collided across Huracan's face, a satisfying sting felt across their knuckles. Hopefully his face was that 12 times over. The drunkard would never be fond of the native no matter how kind or generous he could be, the very sight of Huracan was grating and Spivey was still unsatisfied with their meeting on the beach. One thing really does lead to another.

"Ahh, I've been wanting to do that all afternoon! What a rush." Another crackly laugh escaped through the mask as the angry and bewildered stomps of metal footsteps approached. Bryn began shouting, making Spivey's head whip to watch her reddened face. "Sorry, sorry, I got excited is all! Besides if I wanted to punch our host I would go for the grandma. Hurricane is just a side ornament." Their words did not go unchallenged, they knew that already by her face and what little was known about the stranger.

She was the fiery one of this ragtag group most assuredly but also spoke to the little deviant inside the Merc. Somehow reasonable but still unreasonable enough that Spivey could get behind her way. Again, she was a stranger however and little was known about her. Same could be said about Spivey to the others. They knew nothing beyond the surface of unruly behavior and alcoholism, but one with little regard for life as was made clear when the sun hung higher. One that will happily burn down a dozen men unprovoked. Perhaps soon they will be reminded of that, that Averill Spivey didn't become a contract killer for nothing.

Being called an "enigma" had a good ring Spivey thought, but Brynwyr's question sat with them for a moment before they decided to answer in the otherwise silence in the room. "Of course I think things through. I've been thinking about it since we ran into this pretty boy! I'd do it again if I wanted to- what the fuck?" They were completely thrown off by his sudden choice to lay a hand on Spivey after what happened. Less to do with what was said, which admittedly made no sense, but the actual touching part. They promptly slapped the man's hand away which sparked the urge to take another swing, however with the blonde standing right next to them, Spivey decided against it.

Didn't take much longer for them to notice the plant life growing into the room, a sense that the drunk had made a miscalculation somewhere in their simple plan to punch a dude in the mouth. "Hold on now, when I said party I didn't mean that kind of party! Is this how you weirdos celebrate? With whatever- this is?"

Instinctively pushing Brynwyr aside as a vine swiped at Spivey's feet, and as more began pursuing, the jet boots came out in response. Gliding a foot above the ground from one end of the room to the other, but couldn't help but let out a scoffed laugh at the hag's comment. "Ha! With how the punchable face turned out? You sure did a good job. I'd love to see you fix me you old pothead!" The taunts came harsh as they avoided the snares, but it was quickly looking like there was no way out of this. Certainly Spivey could just try to burn this place to the ground, but then what? The whole place did look awfully flammable, sure, the merc however refrained from destroying what lifeline they had in this hell hole.

"So damn dramatic." They mumbled then looked right at the woman. As if trying to prove his point to Bryn, Spivey showed control over their use of the signature weapon carried around in the excursion. And as an entire minute of this went by, Spivey made a gentle landing. Conceding to these bizarre customs of vines and punishment, for what could easily be settled with a good old fist fight. "Alright then, Do your worst."

Arcanist Jet Lost Echo

 

[Jet]

​

The discussion eventually turned sour. The idea of killing Vincent was audacious as it was foolish, with only a slim chance of escaping capture. It was suicide and even if the mission succeeded, questions lingered about what would happen next, who would take the throne and would it be the council? Wouldn't that be a step backwards? Wouldn't civil war kill more than Vincent ever could? It was no surprise that the answer ended up being "no," but what happened next was far from expected.

Irina had played diplomat and pretended they were free to choose. She promised them safe passage even if they disagreed with her, because she was better than nobles. She didn't believe in bending others' will. Her words had a certain egalitarianism. The kind of beliefs that made her so convincing, but in the end it was an act. The atmosphere changed when the group declined. The liveliness was replaced by coldness. Every smile became a smirk.

The base erupted into violence. Magic flashed through the cramped room. Men rushed with clubs and ropes to bind them as prisoners. Irina displayed a mastery of magic approaching a centurion, though perhaps one step beneath them. The group fought valiantly and held the line for some time. They may have killed some of the rebels, and certainly defeated many during the battle, but it was a losing war of attrition. There were too many soldiers, too many spells. Too much dust and smoke filling the base. It became impossible to see what was happening. Just flashing movement through the haze. The crack of magic flying past your head. The thud of a club hitting your skull. That was the fate of the group, one by one, taken down by sheer force of numbers, clubbed unconscious or grappled by half a dozen men.

One by one they were bound and brought to a dungeon in the base.

Yet one escaped.

Perhaps she was lucky or perhaps she used her magic to escape, or maybe she haymakered everyone she came across, but somehow she navigated the dusty room, ducking under spells and darting around men, and climbing over piles of defeated rebels. In the end she found herself back at the hatch and climbed up to the warehouse, and though she was free, she was alone.

Kilderkin, Evaline and Kwame were within walking distance, or perhaps she could signal them somehow?

rozukitsune

Mentions the group of Lost Echo ManofManyRoles EldridSmith

 

[rozukitsune]

The fact that the rebels chose to fight the small group rather than let them go as promised was not really much of a surprise. Somewhere amidst all of her discomfort, Renee understood that if Irina was willing to be as violent toward Vincent as that man who had chopped off the head off of someone then there was no way she was just going to let them go if they declined.

They should have chosen to lie to her instead of just be honest about their misgivings but it was too late to do anything about it now.

Renee, being chiefly a non-combantant, went down almost immediately in spite of the other's best efforts to protect her from the onslaught. She didn't have any real fighting skill! It was laughable that she might survive an attack by an entire army of highly trained enemies!

Well... aside from the unusual nature of her power - of course. She lie on the ground slowly healing while the battle raged around her and at some point during the chaos regained consciousness and recognizing the opportunity for what it was slipped away while the enemies closed in to deliver their final blows on the others. She didn't like leaving them behind... but Charlie was a tough girl. She'd find a way once things had settled down again. Renee, however; was just a fragile thing. Soft and small. She had no constitution for any of this nonsense and so she ran despite the promises that had been made regarding her safety. Those promises had already been broken... Charlie couldn't save her.

Shivering as she resurfaced back in the alley covered in bruises and at least one bleeding gash, she did her best to stumble in a direction that seemed like it might lead her to some kind of safety. Feeling helpless, she wondered if there was anyone in this godforsaken place who could help - when she remembered Kwame and the others they'd all been separated from. Maybe... maybe they'd survived? She lifted a finger and sent up a burst of fire. The sliver of flame shot upward and then silently detonated as a flare might, showering gentle sparks down upon her and her location. Hopefully... they'd find her before Irina and the others realized her absence and came looking.

Lost Echo ManofManyRoles EldridSmith Jet Fred Colon Emphoa

 

[ZackStop]

Ren hopped onto the platform after the adults who lead the way through this eerie laboratory, though it was begging to more closely resemble a tomb. What signs of humanity they found were long past living, shriveled up and almost mummified in appearance. It was far more intense than all the atrocities the boy had seen in the past few days in stark contrast to the life he was living before. He wished more than anything to go back to that happy, humble life he knew so well. All that was laid out before them would have detoured Ren, but it had great purpose. He was going to do all he could for his new friend, Anya, and help find Hannah out of this mess." Always seems like death beats us to the punch everywhere we go." Ren spoke uncharacteristically for a moment, but prayed no one heard it upon realizing he said it out loud. "Uh, so about that map." He crossed through the somewhat narrow space left in the doorway and followed the leader up to said map. Promptly, Ren took this time to pull out his arm though a shining blue shield before the next.

Opening and closing his hand to feel the leather interior before strapping everything in. He was set if anything jumped out at them, but something sent chills down Ren's spine that he feared weapons would do nothing against. Something unseen, lurking in the shadows, taunting them with whispers. His fight or flight started going off like sirens. He looked to the others with the shining cat eyes that looked like they had seen a ghost, or ears that heard one in this case, as he was hoping he wasn't the only one picking up these utterances. The skittering, the voices. Although faint to others, his enhanced hearing could perceive it clearly, and he couldn't justify it just being 'the wind' or some kind of industrial reverb. He heard what he heard. He began to stare into the darkness trying to stay calm but the nerves were quickly getting to him.

"Helloooo!!!" He called out with a sort of nervous upbeat-ness as a way to cope with the looming sense of dread coming from the deep. He then turned to look back at the others to immediately apologize. "My bad- I mean, there's probably nothing there."

And just then as if it was waiting for the moment to strike, a metal panel, one used to let out some ventilation, came crashing down next to him. It clattered to the floor and instinctively Ren kicked it across the floor, skittering into the shadows. He did so with no remanence of grace or composure. No way to sugar coat it the thing spooked him to the core. His companions most certainly had better nerves than him it seemed, but at the very least, he didn't run away. He chose the fight in the fight or flight, even if it was an unorthodox method of attack. A very flimsy kick better suited for a sport like soccer, not so good for the likes of Karate.

"Gah!- Ha- huff. Whew-" The young man tried to catch his breath, falling to a crouch as he began to formulate a sentence. "I uh, Clean room sounds... clean. I say we start there?" He got back up and walked back to the warmth of Johan's trusty light magic. "No more wondering off for me." He said under his breath.

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