Fantasy TOTTDLMTH Episode 2

[Worthlessplebian]

Preston Saytzeff Pacer, Preston of Met Di Plurida
Mentions: Pilgrim59 Larry Doctor Nope

To Preston, their current predicament casts a shadow of grief. Yet another way represents normalcy. This felt right with him. The war left scars on him, dentations in his armour and psyche. But the rush of adrenaline fulfils his soul. Subconsciously, he chastised himself. This behaviour isn't healthy. Returning to the situation on hand. They were forced into the sewers as a method to avoid capture. Friedhelm and his goons will surely not dismiss this option. As they walk, there is no doubt that plans are already being made to flush out the proverbial rats. Privately, Preston withheld his opinions about this decision. The sewers posed an interesting escape avenue but one of the riskier ones in his eyes. That and they remind him of the claustrophobic park tunnels of Met Di Plurida, his birth home. The spiderlings played there. The poor children specifically. The high-born ones had their own sculpted playgrounds at home.

"Bah!" The arachnoid exclaimed, shaking his head. He found crawling upside down to alleviate bad memories. A brief pause in his walking as he bent his knees. Then he shot upwards, extending his clawed hands. His quadruple spears tucked themselves neatly around his torso. His feet swung up to touch the brick-lined ceiling. The sudden change in the arachnoid's verticality granted him an extended view of his surroundings. The smell still assaulted his nostrils.

Then an irritating thought had slithered its' way into Preston's head. A certain black eel. He hadn't disposed of the concoction! Botheration. . . To think that in all the commotion, Preston had forgotten the clue which could lead them to this despicable maestro.

A blunder on his part. Hopefully, Black Watch and their investigators can glean more information.

Then as if from out of nowhere, Doctor Eryn Cissnei had stumbled across his path. Sylvia immediately ordered Preston to give his colleague an examination. Leaping down from the ceiling, Preston gave him a cursory look over and found that his statements about his state adequate.

"There had been a prison break from Nova Heights, with severe damage. Sylvia had gone to investigate and came back with this peculiar compound. I was given the task of analyzing it but found it quite troublesome without preparation. In the end, I discovered that the compound can alter living tissue and replace erythrocytes with itself. Presumably, Black Watch now hunts us for perceived obstruction of their investigation."

Hopefully that satisfied Cissnei's curiosity on the matter. A thought had crossed Preston's mind, he isn't particularly suited to fight this foe if it were to appear. The Maestro of darkness.

 

[Zariel]

──────────────────────────────────────
Irelia Sonan
──────────────────────────────────────
— The Dawnbringer —​

She narrowed her eyes and raised her stooped head. A dejected sigh escaped her lips.

She could hear the sound of countless thundering footsteps slapping against the tarmac, just beyond the entrance. They were quick, but it was no surprise given the sheer number of them swarming the streets. Still, she hoped to have vanished before they arrived. Avoiding further confrontation was far more preferable.

But alas, it was as Irelia feared. There was no escaping it.

No sign of Sylvia or the others either. How unfortunate.

With very little option, Irelia had no choice but to turn around and face the unwanted company. The Swordmaiden took a single pronounced breath. In, and out. Carefully, she walked back outside, revealing herself to the mass of Watchers. Her eyes quickly surveyed the area, not that it was required. She already knew she was surrounded.

Swift yet subtly, Irelia's grip tightened around the hilt of her blade, and she readied herself. For the man who stood in the centre of the myriad of Watchers was none other than the Grandmaster himself—Friedhelm.

Irelia swallowed a lump. A cold chill meandered down her spine. She knew well enough not to underestimate such a dangerous man.

Upon locking eyes, Friedhelm made an irreverent remark. But Irelia maintained her composure and simply smiled. She wasn't one to succumb to pathetic insults so easily.

"Hmph, I'm touched that you see me that way, Friedhelm. I hate that we must meet like this, but please, let me reassure you that your former perception of me is the truth. For indeed, I am no villain, you and I both know that. It is impossible for the guiltless civilians to have been caught in the crossfire. The destruction of the chapel was only a byproduct of self-defence. Besides, your underlings had already secured the perimeter long before I even arrived here," Irelia responded, then adding with a smirk, "And I assume your forces have the competence to ensure the vicinity had been cleared. Or am I wrongly overestimating them?"

Then, Irelia sharpened her gaze at the Grandmaster. She knew not what Sylvia could have done to invoke his wrath, but right now, this man was her enemy.

"Though, you speak some truth. It is as the saying goes, every soul has two sides to their story..." Irelia said, her voice sounding more serious than before.

Painful memories recollected in Irelia's mind, flooding her thoughts. After the fall of Hirana at the hand of the Shadow Legionaries, Irelia had lost almost everything. The Demon Lord had inflicted much suffering unto the young acolyte, too much for her fragile heart at the time to bear. Evil voices spoke to her, hounding her for retribution. And soon enough, something sinister awoke in Irelia. She turned into a soulless weapon of vengeance. For many moons, she relentlessly hunted down Sertek's forces, slaying them by the thousands. Yet, the price she paid for countless slaughter was perpetual imprisonment by the chains of karma. It was only after Irelia crossed paths with Sylvia that the karmic binds were severed, and she was freed from everlasting agony. And so, it is for that very reason Irelia remains loyal to the Angel of Verdan. It is for that very reason, Irelia will not yield to Friedhelm, not while Sylvia is under threat. It is for that very reason, Irelia will fight against all those who stand in her way, if it means protecting the one person who offered her a chance at redemption.

Those memories. So dark.

Irelia slowly shifted her head from side to side with her eyes closed, as if in disapproval of something. Probably dismissing her feelings of regret. She then refocused onto Friedhelm, glancing briefly at the incongruously bubbly white-haired subordinate stationed at his side. Something about that woman stirred an odd feeling in Irelia.

I mustn't lower my guard.

"I will grant you and your minions a single opportunity to turn back. Spare the bloodshed." Irelia said. Her expression then softened, and she smiled in disappointment, "But of course, I already know your answer. You'll pay me no heed and continue this fallacious pursuit. Then so be it. At the very least, tell me this, Friedhelm, why are you after her?"

 

[Malphaestus]

???

DRAGONSREACH
'NEATHWOLD, DRAGONSREACH UNDERGROUND​

Ah, the spiteful sky had not been merciful this day. Why, of all times now, would people seek to make the sewers their home without even know of what dwelled beneath the streets of the world? With a scornful gaze she peered through the corner, her eyes long-since adjusted to the pitch blackness of the 'Neathwold. In the yonder-distance she could clearly grasp her gaze upon a party which deemed it fit for them to descend where light never shines, and in their unknowing, walked ever-onwards towards the now marked territory of the Stellar Court.

She had laid witness to the swift, but brutish murder that the Vulture had delivered upon one panicked dweller she was far too familiar with, familiar enough to feel a biting pain at the chest with his passing. A pain with which she gazed at the corpse-banner so valiantly stood at the crossroads which the party has yet to see, for they were not accomodated to the 'Neath like all who dwell were. They were in for a rude awakening, for should they pass here, they were within their domain, and were beholden to its laws which to no sane mind were comprehensible nor concievable. They would be like herself, rats beneath civilization, skulking. But unlike her, they didn't know how to be rats, neither how to skulk as per the iron law. It was evident in how pridefully they carried themselves, how blissfully ignorant their tempered steps were. How calculating they proceeded, and with the reserved swiftness they moved from one place to another. They were like conquerors, but this was not a place to conquer. None could do so, after the Vultures made it their home. That was the message which loomed in the darkness just beyond their sight. That was what the banner of death meant, but it was a banner which they could not yet see, and it was a banner which they would not understand, for they were noble people, and that was evident, for they spoke with justice in their hearts and righteous breaths birthed from the lungs.

She turned the corner, and clasped her back, and body, against the wall, as she eyed the maintenance room to her side. A quick giggle all she could form after the sight. How blissful it must be to not know where you tread, she thought, as she slowly stepped within the room's encompasing gut. It was a maintenance room, but neither was it maintained, and neither was it serviced by the above-peoples. Long since now, the silent rule of indifference had applied to all that which extended below. It was the Dwellers that took care of their own home, and it was the Surfacers who polluted it with their filth. They were in for a rude awakening, for whatever forced them here into the 'Neath was not worth enough to dwell where no one should venture. When they pass the Corpse-Banner they will understand, and when they intrude upon the home of the faithless and the vengeful, they will see.

Just like she had seen, when the Duelist was slain for no other purpose than to send a message, just like she had seen when she passed upon those lonesome tunnels where crimson was the tapestry that coloured the old cobble of remote and dangerous passages. She had retreated into the room, not because she was fearful of people, or of newcomers, but because she had seen the glimps of night-painted steel adamantly grasped onto that black iron pole before it had been submerged, with a forcefulness so precise and brief that it shook the tunnels themselves with its message. She knew that should she venture now, she would make herself a part of this game of death, and she, unlike many others who dwelled, was more ambitious than to allow her life to end here.

It was with another giggle that she silenced her thoughts, the absurdity with which her mind pondered a comedy upon itself. But the fear with which her hands shook as they nestled themselves against her knees spoke the truth that she was long-since forced to endure.

Pilgrim59 , Worthlessplebian , Doctor Nope , Larry .

SAINT KEED'S CHAPEL, DRAGONSREACH
​

It had been with weary steps that the soldier had gotten back on his feet after having been sent flying by whatever murderous concoction those treasonous Iris Company 'heroes' had sent him. It held within it enough force to make him, Sigismund of the Black Watch, question the validity with which he put on his boots in the morn' and patrolled through the streets through the days, as he was sent flying through an admittedly already brittle wall, and into whatever the Spider concocted within his laboratory. Was the Empire just in it's pursuits? These were no average hoodlums, nor were they the typical terrorist with which he'd produced exceptional, admittedly for his mere position as an infantryman, results in the fight for justice and continued imperial order.

He could barely remember what had just transpired. On the order of their ingenious grandmaster's hand, their drilled expertise was triggered as Sigismund lead his strike team up against the doors of Preston's clinic with a combination of varied hand-signatures and bodily language, and with another of Friedhelm's waves, he stepped to his side, and butted the door in with a heavy blow of his tactical ram, only to toss it aside, as his team ventured inside, and combat had ensued. Merely filing in the entirety of his team had taken so long, that the fight had proceeded, progressively, from chaotic order, into pure and undiluted, reasonless chaos all across the small battlefield. Outside the Sygis battled the law as she struck against the Watch, and whatever happened inside he would soon be privy too as he made ready for his own turn to crest the ridge of the door he now stood besides. After all, no matter what chaos erupted, he had received his task from Friedhelm, and that task was simple: to assault the building, and secure its content and its people. When at last it was his turn, he had readied his revolver, firmly grasped within the staunch grip of his purposeful gun-arm, a small saber affixed to his other as he turned the corner and emerged within the clinic.

Smoke was all he was met with as he heard every mixture of gunfire and clanging blades from within, a battle fought as good as during the night. Barely able to see past his own extended weapon, the Team Leader of Black Watch's 5th Breaching Troop knocked the butt of his saber against his lamellar plates, a coordinating signal internal solely to the Fifth as they entered into the most chaotic and gruesome of battles. In response, he heard the minute noise of the soldiery inside, and the situation became clearer as he produced within him the mental image required to burn out whatever rodents dwelled within. Heroes, that title had long since been forfeited as they took a stride and opposed the just powers given by the enlightened Empress upon their station.

As trained as Sigismund was, with the small hand claps, and wall knocks that his soldiers delivered, he was able to pin-point the exact locations of his team, and the assumed presence of the enemy combatants. He procured before him his revolver, and unleashed a swift barrage of two bullets deep into the smoke, to paralyze and panic the defenders, before he swiftly rushed, in conjunction with his team, the opposition. However, his coordination was shook as, within mere moments of his connection with a shallow silhouette by a horrendous explosion at his heels.

It rocked the man's senses and sent his body tumbling against the wall which his gunshots and landed, and ruptured the structural intengrity of, which blocked the chaos away from the Spider's laboratory. His entire team was put out of commission, tossed aside like rags under the forceful conctions of Preston's chemical ingenuity. His senses blurred and his ears ruptured, the blackness of unconsciousness finally set in as he collapsed into the wall, and rolled into the laboratory.

Long would it take before the man's senses would return, and once they did, the situation had already been resolved. He was woken by the familiar face of Isabel, one of the foremost medical practitioners within the Black Watch's premiere assault forces. His streak of two years without defeat put to an end at the hands of undeserving saviours long since vanished into the streets of the illustrious capital.

"Careful, Sigismund. You have a glass embedded in your lower arm from your injury," she responded as she noticed the man's glooming consciousness began to regain and grasp at reality. In his signature staunchness, speaking, perhaps, solely out of mental toughness, the man responded simply and with haste. "Nothing your healing cannot solve. Patch me up, and I'll return to the hunt just as new as when-"

"No!" She retorted, her medical pedigree silencing the man's offensive drive. Sigismund was mildly shook, her concerned face spoke of a danger which he had not considered. Sigismund began to worry, and that worry was alarmed as he looked around at the Black Watch's hurried examinations of securing of the laboratory he had tumbled inside. Isabel seemed to know something he did not, though he had an inkling within his mind. "Hazardous environment?" He asked, admittedly with a broken language caused by his momentary exhaustion. His assumption was confirmed as the woman simply nodded, as she began to edge her medical equipment towards the glass moderately inserted within his lower arm.

Sigismund raised his left, attempting to grab hold of her, though not having the strength to reach it fully. Though once he noticed that, he used his words instead to conjure his message to her. "Then hold, examine the glass and my arm before you extract it. That should tell if I'm done for." A barbarous prospect, though no doubt fitting of him. One would not rise to the rank of Team Leader within a breaching force without the toughness that he held within him. Isabel was clearly distraught, but she was silent in her opposition, knowing how much it meant for Sigismund to continue at the Grandmaster's side. As for Sigismund, his mental weakness had long since abated, and his fiery drive allowed him to endure the tedium of the examination. Though ultimately, he was cleared of the suspicions of death.

Isabel seemed unconvinced, though Sigismund began to show increasing signs of energy, egging her on to healing him with every increasing breath that his lungs could conjure. Never would he have fathomed the truth of Isabel's concern. Even so, he was patched up within the minutes deemed necessary to fully reorganize the assault force, a bandage around his lower arm all that would speak of his blunder within the clinic as he stepped out from the house, only to be met with none.

He had assumed, since he was still walking, that his team also would be. Only now was he met with the horrid truth, that his team had suffered grievous injuries, and that he was the only one who still retained consciousness, the others placed in a presently comatose state. He had always known the possibility, and he had endured the loss of many, but never had he known how painful it had felt to be the last, and the only, after a mission such as this. They were not dead, but to him, there was no difference. A nagging pain etched itself into his spine as he marched solemnly towards the Grandmaster.

His arm itched, the trauma no doubt carving itself into his psyche. He could feel his future psychiatric check returning unsatisfactory within every fibre of his being. It was a silent evil that rooted itself within him, one which granted him the strength to at least enact one last vengeful battle against the Iris which seemed to hold no regards for the Empire nor its peoples as the rocked the city with their destruction.

His steps hurried, trying to convince the Grandmaster to allow him to pursue those degenerate 'heroes,' to etch within them the pain he was now forced to deal with so swiftly, and without warning. Fury governed him, and his eyes reddened with anger, anger at everything. Anger, even, at the Grandmaster as he disappeared into the distance with a hurried sprint. Sigismund did not know for what reason he ran, but he would not allow the opportunity to exact revenge to vanish for something as simple as not keeping up with progressing of events. He reached within him, within those hidden resevoires of strength that only trauma and pain could fashion a path towards, and pursued them.

His run was one unlike any he had done before. He was embued with a blood-bound grudge, egged on by his own subconscious. He could feel himself meld with every fibre of his being as he kept up with both the Grandmaster and his champion, Hellriegel. She was an odd felow, and that sparked within Sigismund even more fuel to keep up with their ordinarily unequaled legs. Their sprint had been fast, and were it not for his rage-induced fury, never would he have managed to keep a steady pace.

He began to lose a sense of 'feeling' throughout his flesh, but neither did it matter. He did not need to know where his body was for him to utilize it as he had been for decades upon decades of fighting the Empire's most heinous villains. All he needed was will, and that will would eventually land him at the doorsteps of yet another calamatous discovery. Saint Keed's chapel. Whilst Sigismund was neither the staunchly religious, or the greatest zealot, he had visited the site numerous times. It had within its walls a legacy of charity and kind-spirited aid for the most unwell and unfortunate. He had no time for charity, nor to care for others more than the Empire. He knew that with Imperial Greatness, that would trickle down upon all peoples, and all territories, held within its expanse. Therefore he served one master, the Empire, and that master served all peoples. Even so, walking past that chapel on every journey from his home to the Black Watch barracks, filled his heart with a guilty spirit, and a less grim soul.

Merely walking upon its sight had ceased his great stride, within him was no longer the staunch calmness of the Grandmaster, nor the humoric morale of Hellriegel. He could not make sense of the destruction, nor could he make sense of the presence held within. Irelia, a hero amongst heroes. Amongst those who waged battle, she was amongst the top of all those venerable masters who wrote their mastery in battle. A personal idol from which much of his personal progress and aspirations had dwelled and been rooted. His entire face reddened, as the blood within his veins pumped with further frequency. He lowered the visor of his helmet, checked the tactical pockets of his vest, and uniform, and lost the sense of himself beneath all that looming fury. His consciousness and subconscious mixed, and became one, as he landed his feet at the side of Hellriegel, who herself stood beside the Grandmaster Friedhelm. He was readied for battle.

He was readied for divine intervention, to mete out justice for all those who's lives had been tainted by the Iris Company's sudden and incomprehensibly haphazardous shift in alliegance. When Irelia and the Grandmaster quiped amongst eachother, his spine and thoughts melded, and the fury which burned bright submerged within the core of his chest opened its gates and allowed the flames to burn throughout the entirety of his being. A forge of hate was what his body had thus became, and that forge began to build a sword of resentment with which to deliver its maiden strike against Irelia's reckless abandon.

His entire face contorted beneath his mask under the anger that spread, and grew, within him. All he could do was eye the Grandmaster, waiting for the call for battle. All he could do was pray for him to champion the redemption force which had now assembled around the fallen swordmaster. He begged that he would be the first, and not Hellriegel, if only so that all the fire within him had somewhere to escape.

"Grandmaster..." he muttered, under clenched teeth, as he eyed their unnaturally calm leader. Then, his gaze affixed itself to those hateful robes and that horrific blade held within those uncaring hands, guided by that venomous mind that was Irelia. Her true colour now revealed, her attempts at deflection obviously pointless, she had every opportunity to apologize to the Empire for her evil now, and had every opportunity to submit before the investigation of the Watch, just like all other Companions that they so ingloriously consider themselves.

Ordinarily, he would have no chance against any of them, but now, he felt with hatred as his guide, he had an opportunity to be the guide of whoever God stood by the side of fairness and justice, to channel righteous punishment.

He could sense that his mind would snap at any moment, lest he had that chance.

Pilgrim59 , Zariel .

 

[Pilgrim59]

Sylvia
Sewers, Central District
Larry Worthlessplebian Doctor Nope Malphaestus ​

Before Sylvia could reply, Preston had already voiced their recent venture, as well as the corresponding share of burden.

"It is as Preston stated. We are a herd of criminal in the eyes of the Empire." Sylvia added, as she turned to Laure, of whom the latter was still unappeased by the hero's actions.

Sylvia knew what Laure wanted to say, even if she did not uttered those words. Perhaps the situation they found themselves in could have been avoided altogether, were it not for Sylvia's unrestraint actions. Friedhelm's regards have always rung true, no matter how much Sylvia justify it. As she rounded the corner of the tunnel, a ghastly image prompted the lancer to raise her weapon. The oozing remnants of an unrecognizable piece of tainted flesh stood before the Companions. A barbaric method, even for a dweller. So much so that even the rats dared not invoke the slumbering remains. Like the piking of men since the Mythic Age, this was no ordinary work of spite. The assailant had a purpose for such a display of sanguinary piece of art. It was there and then, the horrifying scene took Sylvia by surprise. The thoughts of Ra'el were exiled from her mind - in hopes of sparing his cherished face from being tainted by the disturbing handiwork before her.

"What in Saint Basra's name?!" Laure remarked.

"Basra's not with us anymore, it seems." Sylvia replied, before an audible sound caught her attention.

Footsteps, and perhaps expedited by their needs of concealment too, she contemplated. They could either be a passerby or the mastermind behind this bloody creation. One thing was for sure, the Companions were not alone. Sylvia followed her instincts, and drew Laure's attention to the room ahead. There was only one way to find out. Sylvia took up position opposite of the door, while Laure stacked up next to it. The two eyed one another briefly, as Sylvia's posture steadied with her Solomon's Edge ready to strike. She nodded quietly, as Laure's hammer hinged against the door, forcing it open with a gust of wind. An eerie silence followed, but nothing came of the dark room. A tone gave way finally, as Sylvia lit up the room with her luminous lance. There, they found a person in solitude. From the look in their eyes, they came a short, but petrifying waltz into this world of darkness. The stranger obviously did not expect the Companions, nor they her. Sylvia kept her spear beside her, raising her left unclenched hand to project her party's non-hostile intentions.

"I'm Sylvia. These are my colleagues. We're not here to hurt you. Compose yourself. Laure." Sylvia said softly, before turning to Laure.

Laure, without hesitation, gave the stranger her canteen of water. From the looks of it, Sylvia could only assume something terrible had befell this woman. Could it be related to the body they had stumbled upon earlier? Slowly, but assuredly, Sylvia realized that the Black Watch was not something they should be worried about in this place. There was something else. Something sinister. Perhaps the woman could enlighten them, or be the doomsayer of their inevitable demise in this murderous labyrinth. Without sufficient recon prior, they were at a disadvantage. A mysterious enemy, with the sewers as their homefield. Two choices beckoned Sylvia. To move on, or search for and neutralize the threat. She turned to her companions, contemplating on the unspoken decision she had already made in her mind.

Friedhelm
St. Keed's Chapel, Central District
Zariel ​

Cpt. Hellriegel
St. Keed's Chapel, Central District
Zariel ​

Friedhelm chuckled slightly at Irelia's statement. The irony in her self-proclaimed justification while standing upon the rubble of a sacred place was more than enough to speak for itself. He neither saw the need to stir his men nor to persuade the Companion into surrendering, for she had already crossed the line when she tore down the chapel. Even now, the squarebacks and vigiles urbani circled the scene, pulling civilians out of the debris, while others tended to those caught by the corresponding shrapnel. The scene reminded Friedhelm of the war. The damage caused by the hero and her kind went unchecked. Praised for their gallant efforts, but those that bore witness to the scene before them now were quick to be reminded of the Company's recklessness.

"...nothing, Swordmaiden. You will grant me nothing." Friedhelm interrupted when Irelia gave her ultimatum, stepping forward slightly.

"I am simply seeking answers, Irelia. The Company have had their chance of cooperating to prove their innocence. Your resistance is evident enough." Friedhelm concluded with a firm tone, cuing Hellriegel to step forward.

"Holy cow bells! The Swordmaiden in person! Boy, am I going on a streak of meeting famous Companions today! The name's Hellriegel. A pleasure to meet ya in person, miss Sonan!" Hellriegel exclaimed, waving her hands about.

"But, orders are orders. I implore you to reconsider your posture, miss Sonan." the captain said as she paced herself towards the Swordmaiden. Her arms were concealed by her long black cloak, while her nonchalant attitude hid her hostile intentions.

"Or don't, that's fine. I expected as much."

Hellriegel sighed slightly, as the companion would neither relinquish their stance nor their arms. A twirling zephyr followed the captain, as she leapt forward with haste. Hellriegel's cloak unfurled, unleashing a hailstorm of cyan daggers upon the woman, all the while charging forward. The other Black Watchers and squarebacks stared in awe, as colorful tracers were thrown in different directions. Friedhelm looked on, monitoring his subordinate's movements, while pondering upon Sylvia's whereabouts, as well as Irelia's true purpose. Every few minutes, a pair of wyverns would pass over his head. Despite achieving air superiority, barricades and manpower, there was a few pieces that did not match the puzzle. What worried Friedhelm the most was d'Orier. Did the man predicted this to happen? If so, what is the point of a prolonged lockdown if he has yet to show himself on the field? Friedhelm clenched his teeth, not at the duel taking place, but at himself for being unable to get anything out of the self-proclaimed Interior operators. He trusted his instincts first and foremost, wary of d'Orier and their ulterior motives.

The Grandmaster had made a name for himself, in hopes of ridding the state of the hierarchal secrecy that would one day rent the Empire asunder. But with each passing day, he had only realized the necessary evil of peace via order. Even now, he was worried about Sylvia and the rest of the companions should they fall into d'Orier's hands before his. While it seemed like the Grandmaster and the Imperial agent to have sought after a common path, Friedhelm have resolved to do things his way. Right now, he had to take into account the possibility of letting the hero leave the city. Not just for the sake of keeping Sylvia out of d'Orier's hand, but also to facilitate the case that he is pursuing. By letting go of the prized fish, perhaps there will be more room to navigate once it leaves the narrow river.

Friedhelm turned over his shoulder, eyeing his subordinates as they cheered for Hellriegel. Among them, however, was a peculiar Watcher that was filled with contempt in his eyes. Friedhelm cannot blame the man for clenching his fists at the undeniable fact that the Companions they had looked up to during the war, were now a destructive force to be reckoned with. How quickly a world without war can spiral out of control, thought Friedhelm. All it takes is a lie to sell the story. The Grandmaster willed himself into believing this lie, all for the sake of keeping the peace. What he truly got out of the war was that no one deserved the title of 'hero'. He understood this truth, and knew Sylvia to be of the same mind, despite their differences. Turning back towards Hellriegel in the distance, Friedhelm muttered to himself.

"It's better with the devil you know, than the ones you don't, Sylvia. You stubborn lot..."

Hershey
Isern Braede, Central District
Nessi Celestial Speck Huntertabbysandshark3 Soviet Panda ElenaIsCool ​

Hershey eyed the rest of the Harbingers as they brushed up to her with an array of concerns regarding Hershey's plans.

"Hershey is grateful for your renewed assistance, General." she said to Fealca with a slight bow.

"The authorities are on high alert for the hero at the moment. With resources and manpower of this magnitude deployed, there are little reasons for them to keep their eyes on us. Besides, they are on the lookout for those attempting to leave the city. Typical lockdown protocols. We will do the exact opposite and waltz into the Starline Magical Institution without opposition."

Hershey then turns over to Bisila.

"As for thy pickup, White Wolf... Schedule the meet on Forty-Fifth Street. The forum should be able to provide us concealment, and it is also en route towards Starline."

As the aries said, the optimal route would enable their ability to blend easier into the crowd - especially a busy locale. There was no time to waste, not when the city had their eyes all over Sylvia. This was the perfect window of opportunity that the Harbingers needed to carry out their mission. However, Hershey had her suspicions of the overall situation. While the confusion was advantageous towards them, it is also a double-edged sword. Should this turn out to be a trap to lure out the Harbingers, they would find themselves exposed. However, with the numbers of squarebacks and Black Watchers on the streets, it seems more than just a ruse. Of all times, they were quick to put the hero into their crosshairs, despite numerous opportunities to apprehend her after Saarema. From what Hershey understood, the Companions were not on the friendliest of terms with the Black Watch. This, however, was an entirely different scenario. They had to proceed with the utmost caution, for Hershey knew that this might be the works of their mysterious assailant from Nova Heights.

Hershey's attention homed in on the backdoor, as a woman interacted with Fealca. The Dreamweaver became a stone. Judging by her uniform, she was a Black Watch officer. What business could they have here? Could it be, that the Harbingers are compromised? Hershey's eyes widened, as her body tensed up. She was only able to breathe again when the Black Watch captain explained their presence, before swiftly diddled off. For a mere moment, Hershey was caught completely off-guard by the emergence of the Watch at Fealca's door. Had the Harbingers been compromised, they would enter the shoes of Sylvia and her flock. Alas, the swift encounter made Hershey realized that the Black Watch's priority were entirely directed at the Hero. This only further reinforces Hershey's heist plan. But first, they needed to arm themselves. Not only the White Wolf, but the other Harbingers needed the appropriate equipment.

"Firstly, however, we need proper disguises. With the squarebacks deployed, their posts will be undermanned. Groziums, munitions, rappels, perhaps even a sentinel suit for thee as well, Sir Galius. After Bisila gets her equipment in tow, we are breaking into the Squareback's Garrison here on Forty-Sixth. Once we procure what we need, we will go straight for the SMI."

"The garrison will most likely be city troopers with light to medium armor. Standard riflemen and enforcers, with little resistance. The Insitution, however, are filled with mages and specialists. Be prepared for casters and astartes specialists. Hassan and the General will be our vanguard. Galius and Bisila, thou art both entrusted with supporting our vanguards. Hershey will monitor our movements and call out targets. Master, please stay close to Hershey at all times. Come, let us make haste."

Hershey then followed the Harbingers out of Fealca's shop, as they took advantage of the soldier's drawn attention east. It was only the second day, and the Harbingers were already on their way for a second heist.

ACHIEVEMENTS UNLOCKED:

Iris Company - "Down the Rabbit Hole"
Irelia - "For Whom, Shall St. Keed's Bells Toll"
Harbingers - "Let Us Make Heist"
​

 

[Larry]

Ódhran von Starkenburg
Location: In the sewers beneath St. Keed's Chapel.
Mood: A tad trepidatious.
Interactions: Pilgrim59 | Worthlessplebian | Doctor Nope | Malphaestus .
Mentions: Midrick | Zariel .​

Ódhran wasn't sure if there was anything else that could add to the ferment of the day. A chance encounter with Sylvia had ended up spiralling into a chase throughout the Central District and the prompt encountering of even more Iris Companions, the latest being Eryn, who seemed a little worse for wear despite his own protestations otherwise. Another point of concern, aside from the pursuit of Friedhelm and his Black Watch, was the grisly remains of a man who was deliberately, in the islander's eyes, left as something of a warning for others who found themselves venturing in the sewers. Ghastly though it was, the man's experience in the war had numbed his reaction to such things, despite Ódhran's misgivings about normalising such sights. Sylvia turned to the rest of them, the deliberative look in her eyes despite her characteristic élan when it comes to decision-making. Still, Ódhran thought upon it some more: if they were to simply make their way through the rest of the sewers without making an effort to flush out who, or whatever did this, it would leave their formation somewhat vulnerable, not withstanding the fact that Eryn wasn't at his best. On the other hand, if they were to investigate and find themselves embroiled in a skirmish, this would waste any time they had gained on Friedhelm and his spry and allow the Black Watch to catch up to them.

Yet Ódhran realised that there was a need for promptitude and that there wasn't enough time to ponder too deeply on this. His instinct however, at least for the moment, turned towards the idea of a quick extrication from the scene. Though undoubtedly the more riskier of the options, Ódhran felt it to be the surest one, especially that the renascent company found themselves another straggler, whom Laure offered her a canteen of water. Given his orders to support Eryn and with Preston acting as rear security, the capacity for them to engage in diversionary tactics might be possible. If he could at all help it though, Ódhran would prefer not to have the group envelop themselves even more in the sewers, winding as they already are.

"I can well imagine your instinct in this situation Sylvia," Ódhran piped up, "But manpower and time are things we don't have a lot of in this situation. Unnerving though the sight of this man may be, we can't be complacent. If Eryn were a hundred percent and we had Markas and Irelia here, I would suggest maybe finding out who or whatever did this but Friedhelm will make the decision for us if we prevaricate. Also, if this women is to come with us, having a non-combatant enter the fray will also detract from everybody's ability to fight in an optimal manner."

Ódhran paused for a moment, looking back at the way they came before returning his gaze to Sylvia and Laure.

"As during the war, I'll defer to and support you in the best way I possibly can." Turning aside, Ódhran paced over to Eryn, considering that the last time they would have conversed was little more than stupor talk in Killashandra before the former departed back to the Outer Parallel.

"I know you may say otherwise but allow me to assist you from this point onwards," Ódhran remarked maybe a tad bit cheekily.

 

[Celestial Speck]

Nessi | Pilgrim59 | ElenaIsCool | Huntertabbysandshark3 | Soviet Panda

Hassan Nox I-Sen

Isern Braede, Central District

​

The feeling that washed over him as Ra'el shook his hand wasn't something as dramatic as saying it was unimaginable, it certainly was something capable of thought to one person. After all, despite his alliances, Hassan was still bound by things such as emotion, twisted they might have been due to the war and his upbringing. Pride, relief, stress, all of which simply had solidified over the long and painful year he had spent looking for anything that might have led to where he currently stood, or simply...Something else, to not allow the grief, the pain, and the loss to take over. And even though Ra'el didn't say anything back to him, he was fine with that. The simple silence and the gaze the two shared told him enough. Sometimes words weren't necessary. He liked to think this was one of those moments.

"Thank you, this means a lot to me, my friend." Was all he could but whisper to the other, closing his eyes for all but a moment-

Before suddenly opening them again, the sound of blasted conflict just outside their current location being audible to many if not all current inside Fealca's bitcher shop. The swordsman's eyes widened, quickly taking off to near the window alongside many of the other onlookers, the sight being something that he certainly didn't react kindly to if the sudden growing scowl on his face and the look of vehement hatred on his eyes told them anything. Before Hershey could even say anything, the sight of those projectiles and that spear standing tall and disgustingly above the crowd told him enough, and with venom on his voice like speaking a curse, Hassan knew who this battle belonged to.

"The Hero."

Memories still too fresh came to mind. Of Ra'el falling from that cursed mountain, of soldiers being killed and overwhelmed, of his defeat at the hands of a woman who had mercy on him, all of them came and boiled within him. Too many thoughts, too many words left unsaid, left unchecked- they all came all at once. The things he should have felt, the things he held back on feeling to this very moment, that rage, that hatred, it all cracked against him like a violent storm threatening him of destroying common sense. But it didn't, and instead, his hands closed themselves off into a white knuckle, and he could fear his nails digging deep into his skin as his hand shook itself. No blood came out as he allowed a deep breath to exit him, but even if it subsided, that gaze still remaining, even as Hershey pulled them away.

Yet, Hershey's words and observations caused him to blink that, a seed of confusion settling in that vengeful ground. She was right, she was fighting against her own people.

"The so-called 'Angel' of this nation chooses to raise her spear to her own people? Truly much can change in a single year." He spat, shaking his head both to take those intrusive thoughts away from his mind and to take his eyes away from staring at the commotion outside. "...This might be used to our advantage however if we know what to do. Hershey, I hope you can be our brains once more, my friend."

And she was right- it was best to take off of this place if the sudden appearance of a Black Watch member told them anything. For a few seconds, Hassan was entirely prepared to strike his blade against the other, (yet something told him he wasn't despite it) before they could even have a chance to look inside and see them or his face. As powerful as Hassan was, as the First Harbinger and the Second Hand of Sertek, his face had some degree of fame, even if the citizens of this city long had forgotten the war despite it being by the doorsteps naught but a year ago. Harbingers despite their fame were still relatively weak generals to Sertek's will, so he didn't know how far that truly took him.

A sigh of relief however washed over him as the black-cladding warrior exited the premises. Good.

Fealca himself seemed to notice that maybe it was useless at this point to deny himself to join, quickly taking up arms. Hassan could only chuckle weakly at that, the previous tension quickly evaporating away. "It seems you can't escape us, hm, old man~?" Daring to let a bit more of his old and 'joyful' personality come out despite the severity of the situation, he gave the General the biggest shit-eating grin he'd knew. "Don't worry, I'm sure your job will gather up dust juuuust fine~ Besides, all these women asking for marriage won't be bothering you anymore!"

And it was true, given their next mission. A retrieval of Sertek's old armor, somehow holding part of his memories. Hassan had to blink at that- how in the heavens did Hershey know all of this? This was information even he doesn't know. Was she simply lucky to have found these before him, or did she simply try harder...?

"You...Really amaze me with this sort of information you hold, Hershey." Hassan mumbled, half amazed, half confused. But otherwise- he allowed himself to nod. This was a good plan as always. He was glad she was on their side, but he still allowed himself to ponder how long she's been preparing for this. "Very well. I shall be your swords alongside Fealca. It should do us some good to fight side by side after so long." The grin he gave off towards the General was a proud one, if not a little hard to read. Competitive? Hard to tell, but probably not. Hassan always knew when to take things seriously.

"But yes, we should go, just give me one moment, though."

Pulling Solaris from his side, Hassan pressed the blade behind his person, and with a single motion-

Swish! Hair strands fell to the ground in the slightest numbers as Hassan's overgrown and inconvenient hair was haphazardly cut away by his own blades. The job was sloppy and somewhat unprofessional, but with enough time on the road, it'd probably grow back to look decent. For now? This was simply a way to avoid having to use a ponytail or allow it to constantly fall in front of him. His immense skill and ability made so these were problems of the smallest magnitude, but it was still somewhat annoying. He didn't have time to clean himself, bathe, or perhaps shave though. And he had a feeling he wouldn't for a while.

"There." Holding the remains of his long hair, Hassan threw it into a trashcan, patting his head a tad to get rid of any leftover strands. "It was getting annoying. But let's get going, shall we?"

 

[Zariel]

──────────────────────────────────────
Irelia Sonan
──────────────────────────────────────
— The Dawnbringer —​

When Friedhelm rudely interposed with a hubristic remark of his own, a thought crossed Irelia's mind, almost making her smile. Was the Grandmaster underestimating her? Surely not. Friedhelm lacked idiocy, he was far wiser than to make such a foolish mistake. Still, the possibility had crossed the Swordmaiden's mind, and she couldn't help but find it mildly amusing.

Regardless, the modicum of joy she momentarily felt was quickly overridden, when she glanced over her shoulder.

Behind her, were the munted remains of the chapel, and injured bypassers struck by shrapnel and bits of rubble. Despite Irelia's former, snarky remark, it pained her that the Grandmaster's forces had indeed failed to clear the area. She was disappointed and expected more from the Imperial forces. But above that, she felt a loss of face, it was never her intention for harm to befall the innocent. She could see now how the current situation didn't favour her, and how she appeared in Friedhelm's eyes. Anger boiled inside her, slowly. Yet, her calm demeanour concealed her frustrations flawlessly.

Curses! Why must the commonfolk loiter at such a turbulent hour?! Irelia snarled behind sealed lips and looked back at Friedhelm.

The Grandmaster proceeded to beckon forth the Watcher at his side. Based on her words, the exuberant Watcher was enthralled to meet Irelia. She introduced herself as Hellriegel—not a name she was familiar with, but quite likely one she will come to remember. What was most intriguing, however, is how Hellriegel implied having met others of the Iris.

Irelia's heart skipped a beat.

How can this be?! Preposterous... who else do they dare capture?!

Her mind imbued with anger, Irelia paid no heed to what Hellriegel went on to say next. But when a salvo of cyan daggers darted in her direction, her body reacted on instinct. Hastily, Irelia stretched her arm out in front of her and opened her palm. Nigh instantly, a light-forged mirror appeared ahead of her hand and neutralised her opponent's projectiles. Irelia then fired back with the accumulated aetherium in her mirror, in the form of a fervid beam of light. The laser attack started a short distance from Hellriegel before travelling rapidly towards her. Though, it was purposefully aimed off-centre, and used more so as a deterrent.

In that brief moment, the Swordmaiden peeked up at the specks of white falling gently from the mass of grey. Given the weather conditions, Irelia wouldn't be able to let loose should the need to exert herself arise; she still didn't know what Hellriegel was capable of, explaining the need to remain wary. But it mattered not, Irelia had no desire to inflict lethal harm anyway. There was no need to further tarnish her decrepit reputation. Her objective was to merely stall, and that was all.

"Careful, Watcher, It is not my wish to harm you," Irelia calmly told Hellriegel. "That being said, I will continue to do as I have up until now... to act in my own protection. It is unfortunate that your comrades were so trigger happy earlier," Irelia said with an impassive visage. "But answer me this... state what lies have your masters have fed your malleable minds, that compels you to hunt me and my allies like a pack of voracious wolves? Excuse one's curiosity, but it seems bizarre to me... if the accusers truly believe us to be criminals, then they must see Watchers like you as nothing more than disposable tools. Those who send you must know perfectly well what they've foolishly decided to go up against, and what some of us are capable of. Yet, they only send a single Watcher of your calibre after the likes of me. A little odd, if I'm being honest. It's almost as if they know, we have no intent to turn on those we consider our own. That we are not the enemy they seek. So why then must they conduct this false, public facade to begin with?" Though her eyes locked with Hellriegel, her words were directed at the man pulling the strings.

 

[Malphaestus]

???

DRAGONSREACH
'NEATHWOLD, DRAGONSREACH UNDERGROUND​

The maintenance room, a common hide-out for stranded Dwellers who, through no power or decision of their own, had ended up in the sights of the Stellar Court. Whether written or unspoken, the Vultures abided by numerous sets of laws they, themselves, proclaimed and enforced. For whatever purpose no one could know, perhaps they viewed it as some kind of game, or practice, for whatever sinister future they themselves herald and gospel. Even so, how they acted was clear for anyone to see and understand. And one of these understandings was that within the 'Neathwold there were places free from their slaughter. Which these places were, and for what reason, was for anyone to contemplate. However, the ambitious Dweller had found refuge within this very room many-a-times and still holds onto her jagged dreams and aspirations. There is no trust like the trust in one's own habits, and as she waited out the storm within this room, she was sure of her own position. At least for as long as she remained here unopposed. Were those over-ambitious adventurers to simply pass her by, and die where she could not hear them, nothing would happen. She would wake up from a night's rest with a mild sweat and go about her life to return above-ground just like any other day.

That goal of hers, however, was short lived. Her haste in her retreat for safety had left her movements easily read for a party as well-versed in their military routine as the Companions. With haste like lightning, they had approached her and her safehouse, and with thunderous swiftness did they breach and force themselves into her world. She jolted in her seated posture, her head punched against the cobbled wall she rested her back against, and a mighty headache errupted within her as mixture of panic and anger welled from within her bosom and corrupted her mind with it's hostilities.

She clasped her hand against her temple as her gaze wandered against the molded cobble floor. The despicable adventurers paid her no mind, it would seem, as they walked all over the room, and landed their feet at the edge of her downward vision. To have the gall to tell her to compose herself when they didn't even know what they were dealing with, she was almost impressed. Even so, she couldn't help but emit an aggressive silence to their carefree barging, though once the opportunity to take advantage of kindness presented itself, she forced herself to Laure's canteen. Wolfing it down like tomorrow was centuries distant in characteristic dehydration. As they gawked and barked, she couldn't help but giggle scornfully from her elevated position. Nobles, clearly, from the surface wandered the depths, and now came to her pleading for information after the first sight of opposition. Considering their tone, that banner the Vultures had placed had worked it's magic, and now she would work her's. Having been here for several years, one snatches all manner of information from simply wandering the tunnels and meeting the intermittent boundary dweller who braved the distance where tunnels become haphazard and their structure begin to lose meaning.

"Give me somethin', I give you's somethin' else," she started, her voice disfigured and hoarse beyond comprehension thanks to the air which permeated the deep. It was words easily spoken, but easily spoken with difficulty for her throat. It made it seem like anything down here had to be done with calculable benefit lest it forsakes one's circumstances. At least, that was how she viewed her life down here, and it was how she dealt with anyone since the world had given up on her. "Water's worth a bit, I s'ppose."

Her mind ruminated as she considered what to expose for these prideful dolts, wandering and doing as they pleased as if they were something they weren't. Though she supposed she didn't really know what they were, or what they were doing down here. Whilst they had tempted the Dweller's ire, she remembered those first steps she'd taken when she realized that not even the alleyways were sanctuary to her kind of outcast. It had been with mournful spite that she had turned that manhole years back, and took the first steps into the depths, never to have returned yet. She was an opportunist, taking advantage and calculating human nature. She had traded her way to survival for many years, and unlike those who ventured above, had stayed beneath and merely ventured deeper in response to opposition.

Though she remained spiteful to their oblivious faces as they conversed amongst themselves, and awaited her kindness in response to their own, she felt inclined to go against her natural course and extend that hand for them to at least understand the dangers they brave.

"A'ight, lis'en 'ere. I'm only goin' to do this once," just like their stupid bravery had impressed her, she would impress herself with the kindness she was about to produce. As she spoke, she began to make contact with a part of her that for all intents and purposes had been forced to die until this very moment where information was the key between death or survival. And she held that key, and gave a copy to those buffoons she fought herself not to spit at. "First off, I ain't goin' nowhere. After this, you's just walk outta 'ere and pretend I di'n't exist. Good?"

A brief silence embraced the maintenace room as she paused, before adding "'cus it better be." Red all over her words, it was clear that the companions weren't a welcome addition to the sewer's ecosystem.

"That out there, that's the Vultures. Came 'ere some time ago, wrecked havoc, 'n took over the sewers. 'Ey call it the 'Neathwold in all fancy-speak, and it's stuck since," she continued, as she dropped her hand from her temple, her headache now having alleviated, now instead dedicating it to fiddling her thumbs as she went over the stories she'd heard and contemplating their validity and usefulness. Her gaze, as opposed from just prior, where she'd glared daggers into the skulls of everyone there, was now planted at the wall in thought. "They som' rough bastards, changed the atmosphere down 'ere, killin' people who do the 'bad' stuff, 'n takin' up space. No one does anythin' to 'em, can't really," she said, adding a sigh to her last remark to accentuate her frustration. It had been a long time since she had the time and capacity to contemplate her own situation, and when she realized what the 'Neath actually was, and made of people, a forlorn sense of comedy embraced every neuron within her hippocampus as they connected the dots between scenarios she'd never considered absurd until this very moment.

She wasn't quite sure what to tell them, there was so much, but it was all just stories, and she wanted them out of here as soon as reasonable whilst still giving that slight push she felt, for some reason, obligate to give these newcomers in their clueless campaign to venture the 'Neath. "Dunno what they eat, but must be somethin' else, 'cus they bigger and badder than any soldier I fought with back 'n my day." Having now spoken more than any other time in her year-long dwelling lifestyle, the fact was beginning to get obvious as she exhausted a cough from her throat, one dry and obviously draining, but she had not yet spoken her piece, and the most important part was only now reaching the party's ears.

"Don't care how, don't care why, don't care who y'all are, jus' leave 'n make due on ground. Down 'ere's not for people, 's for rats."

"I di'n't see much, but I know what you's saw. That dead guy. He's a comrade 'o mine, done business for long. Anyways, it's a sign. There's many 'o them down 'ere, that tell when you infringe on 'e Vultures. This right above me's another, dunno what's it say, but it's sayin' somethin'. I don't want to know what's it say either, for whoever's a smart-ass," she finalized as she pointed to the furthest wall from the door within the maintenace room. Etched deep into the stone, symbols and numerals which would go any normal individual amiss as to their context and meaning, though not the Companions. In an almost contrarian spirit, the woman ended, saying "this place's safer than your bedroom." Who were they to question her, she'd obviously been here a long time, considering the riches she'd spilled before them. Even so, should a learned man or woman place their gaze upon that carving, perhaps years old in texture, they would gawk upon Saath.

It read,

'All ye who wander and are lost, these hallowed sanctums be blessed by the Prophet, our King.

From Jianki to Saarema, they who flee prosecution are tied to a pact of death; kinship in the darkness.

Those who are lost here are free, protected by the stars that are not seen.

To they who read the forbidden word beware, for these words must not be known.'
​

Pilgrim59 , Larry , Worthlessplebian , Doctor Nope .

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Preston Saytzeff Pacer, Preston of Met Di Plurida
Mentions: Pilgrim59 Larry Doctor Nope Malphaestus

The compatriots had continued their descent into the treacherous tunnels of sewage. Preston had maintained his assigned role as rear-guard. He found it odd, considering his experience in claustrophobic tunnels. Then again, sewers of this type were foreign to him. Then they came into contact with a certain sanguine creation. Laure and Sylvia first reacted, causing Preston to rush to the forefront. A grizzly brutalisation if Preston had not been an accomplished Doctor, the sight would've shaken him deeply. Yet despite his hardened stomach, he still found it difficult to dismiss feelings of contempt, disgust. A shake of his multi-eyed head and the good Doctor quietly trickled his way to the back of the line. No question that sadistic circus-freak who had butchered the man into art intended to warn the Company or other trespassers not to poke their nose in other people's dwellings. Was a sign out of the question?

Then an audible sound had caught their attention again. Preston followed the others as they unveiled the one who hid behind the door. Perhaps the Company of veterans had breached the door too hastily as Preston glimpsed the girl knocking the occipital and parietal sections of her skull against the brick wall. Preston saw that happen once when he was younger; she'll feel a nasty headache about now.

He disapproved when Laure offered her canteen to this vagrant. Setting aside the possibility of disease, Preston hesitated to be outgoing with this girl.

Then Ódhran had voiced his stance on the matter, Preston had reached the same conclusion. "My sentiments align with Ódhran's, this girl is not defenceless, nor is she without wit." If someone, who does not know Preston well, were here then he would announce him an oath-breaker since he would deny aid to this homeless person as a Doctor.

Then the arachnoid's suspicions had been vindicated. The little ratling had begun to divulge but a fragment of this underworld's secrets. Of the vultures, of their apparent superiority over the 'Neathwold. Their namesake seems to be lost on them then again, Preston expected that these cretins do not know that vultures preferred carrion or maybe they did.

"Dunno what they eat, but must be somethin' else, 'cus they bigger and badder than any soldier I fought with back 'n my day."

This tidbit of information stuck out like a sore thumb. Soldiery? Not unheard of for veterans to be shunned away and or be incapable of functioning normally; to descend into the filth to survive, their training keeping them alive. Then she delivered the warning, vacate the premises, never return to these hallowed depths. Preston had thought them silly at first but upon further thought had silently coalescent with the information broker, this place had dangers that might not be apparent immediately.

The religious scripture that Preston had noticed back when she attempted to trade information also did not forbode well. The arachnoid withheld his thoughts on the matter, not wishing to anger whatever potential listener could be present. And also that this gave off the semblance of cultish elements, his piety is his alone. "Safe or not, I believe we should be departing soon." An off-hand comment as he continued to examine the writing on the wall.

 

[Midrick]

Nowak? Name sounded familiar to him, back during the invasion him and the boys in the 4th Assualt Company had been more or less the test subjects for many kinds of bleeding edge medical devices and treatments. The Nowak insignia was on most of the crates received. Soon enough he was presented with new, much nicer (and expensive) clothes they were off to the sky garden.

An uneventful police escort was followed by many onlookers, some not so keen on seeing him with his mystery woman. Markas looked to the sky as he saw the lavish and exclusive sky garden, and in the sky it was. He swallowed, trying to bring some moisture back to his drying throat. "We're going up there?" he said, his eyes not leaving the floating earth, his voice had taken on a higher and tighter tone, sounding uncharacteristically apprehensive. Body language also betrayed his quite strong dislike of heights, no doubt Sofia could feel the muscules in his arms begging to tense with the way both of them were entwined. From there he was the led past the sky guards towards a glowing circle, most likely of magic function. He began to panic internally when Sofia told him to hold on, he squeezed his eyes shut as light flashed before him.

Markas opened one eye before relaxing, standing before him was a rather luxurious Reception hall surrounded by glass walls, although the view was nice, the height made Markas's stomach turn. "Oh the view is definitely... something." the tinge of unease returning as he turned from the window to apparent friend of Sofia's. And a native of Albion no less. Before he could introduce himself he was blitzed with questions of business acquisition's and competition between rivals. It was most likely clear from Markas's blank stare that he had utterly no clue what was being discussed, Markas simply nodded his head made comments of agreement whenever he was asked a direct question.

Markas nudged Sofia with his elbow after Red had become preoccupied with another likely businessman. "So don't take this the wrong way, but I've come to realize I don't know anything about you. I only ask because I feel the need to compensate you for a very the generous gift I am currently wearing." He said as he noticed a throng of attendees flock around a large, veiled object on a wall, Markas arched an eyebrow as a few of the staff members pulled the cover down.

A large oil painting depicting the scene of a battle between a monster and a man, narrowing his Markas got closer, he recognized this scene as a particularly fierce battle that raged during the invasion of Saarema. He remembered this fight against one of Sertek's monstrosities, a multiheaded serpent that spit poisonous acid. It was a harrowing battle and one he almost lost at that, he still carried the scars on his arms and back. He saw himself in the painting with arms outstretched at his sides in a challenge to beast, dark violet hair being whipped behind him, he hadn't remembered it being windy on that day. The only thing he had remembered with clarity was his famous 'Never fade away' speech, if you could even call it That.

While he was reflecting on a past battle Markas hadn't noticed some of the gathered elites begin stealing glances at him, and a murmur began to ripple through the crowd, before a drunkard slurred out to the crowd "It'ssss the dragon slayerrrr." Markas sighed and prepared to answer the onslaught of questions and requests for war stories. He could already feel the start of a migraine.​

 

[Pilgrim59]

Sylvia
Sewers, Central District
Larry Worthlessplebian Doctor Nope Malphaestus ​

The hero nodded at Odhran's remarks, smiling slightly at the man's conviction. All the more reason for her to push ahead. When the stranger that they had stumbled upon spoke, the lancer lent her ears closely, as she turned towards her companions. Sylvia took into account of Odhran and Preston's opinions on the matter, as she eyed the writing on the wall at the behest of the woman's warning. Sylvia's eyes widened. She did not believe it, but wanted to turn a blind eye to what she had witnessed. But the truth was standing right before her.

"Impossible..." Sylvia stood, shaken by the Saath writing.

While it seemed like nonsensical scribbles to others, Sylvia knew exactly the origins of the writings. Saath, a bygone language that only one community could have used - the Shadow Legions. While the language was rare to see on Saarema, it was even more disturbing to see it in the heart of Grozny's mainland. Of all places, it had to be Dragonsreach, the so-called Haven. Sylvia had only been acquainted with Saath when the latter had surfaced in the latter phase of the war, when the Shadow Legionnaires began using it as codes. Similar to the Venelian runes used by the Imperial Drakensreiters. What disturbed Sylvia even more was the aged writing on the wall before her.

"I recognize that style..." Laure remarked.

"It's Saath. Used during the war by the Shadow Legionnaires to throw our code-breakers off-course..." Sylvia replied.

"What does it say?" inquired Laure.

"...Nothing good. For once, I must adhere to our current circumstance. It is not safe here. Irelia and Markas are probably waiting for us. We must get a move on before the Vulture decides to cage us in. Time is something we cannot spare. Between the Vulture, and my Companions, I will not let Onyx happen again." Sylvia said, clenching her fists. Despite her wish to rid the sewers of the Vulture, the other companions are probably fighting for their lives. Without one another, the Company is doomed to annihilation.

The presence of Saath here in the sewers kept Sylvia on her feet. While she was more than inclined to rid the sewers of the Vulture, the situation they found themselves in was already disadvantageous. It would not be long until Friedhelm caught on to their current location. The hero made her choice, taking heed of the woman's words, and the advices of her comrades. Sylvia contemplated the writing on the wall, as she motioned her companions to follow suit.

"Godspeed." Sylvia said, giving the dweller one last look, as the Companions depart.

The weathered Saath indicated the presence of the Shadow Legions and the Harbingers right here in Dragonsreach, for as long as who knows when. It dawned on Sylvia, that the Watch could be compromised, and perhaps those in powers as well. It made little sense to Sylvia, as to why the hardships now, when they could have struck earlier when the Empire was on its feet during the early days of the war. However, what she saw was the inconceivable, but nevertheless inevitable truth. Could Friedhelm be a part of this conspiracy that now placed the Iris Company within the sights of every Imperials? These thoughts kept Sylvia busy, as she led her companions down the tunnel ahead of them. Another thought crossed her mind - could the Vulture be kind enough to simply let them through?

"Double time! The manhole to St. Keed's is just up ahead!" Sylvia commanded, expediting her breath as she did her thoughts.

Friedhelm
St. Keed's Chapel, Central District
Zariel ​

Cpt. Hellriegel
St. Keed's Chapel, Central District
Zariel ​

Thankfully, the damage has yet to escalate, as the immediate passerbys were taken care of by the squarebacks. Without appropriate statements, it is highly unlikely that a curfew will be enacted. It gnawed at Friedhelm, for he knew better than to let the civilians of the city be caught up in the skirmish. By exacting blame on the Companions, the city dwellers will demand an answer, furthering chaos in the city. The last thing Friedhelm wanted was to make the Company an enemy of the people. Some may give in to the notion, while others will take advantage of this to further their ambitions. In addition to this predicament, Friedhelm deemed it best to let d'Orier reveal their true intentions. For better or worse, this was a small price to pay for ripping the tendrils of the unknown and uprooting it. For now, he will have to play by the book, belaying any decisive actions against the Iris Company until he can affirm that he was not just a puppet for d'Orier.

Hellriegel's default projectile were rendered useless by Irelia's deflections. In return, a surge of energy was kindly returned to the sender. The Captain unfurled her cloak and twirled in a calm manner. The beam shot true and through at Hellriegel. But a distinctive ricochet sound rung shortly afterwards, echoing loudly as it faded off into the snowy sky above them. In the aftermath, Hellriegel could be seen in a crouched posture, with her Solingen strings finally unveiled before her. Irelia's mitigated refraction of Hellriegel's accumulated cyan daggers was plausible, but not anticipated. A hole in her cloak was more than enough to make Hellriegel exhaled loudly. Hellriegel's revealed weapon, in the form of stringed wires interlaced before her, was enough to let Friedhelm raised his brow. It was rare for Hellriegel to reveal her Solingen gear unless she was in quite a pickle. The deflected projectile from earlier could have been avoided by Hellriegel, should she stepped to the side. But with this many troopers around them, it seemed that Hellriegel chose to reveal her talents for the sake of sending the projectile into the sky, rather than letting it shot pass her and wound those behind her. Despite her nonchalant gestures, Friedhelm had chosen her to be his champion for a reason. This was more than enough to prove her worthiness - neither by strength nor intellect, but the willingness to protect others. A trait that Friedhelm was not fond of, but needed it the most in his retinue. A reminder that they were not well-armed oppressors, but the Empire's inspiring leaders and sentinels.

"Likewise, miss Sonan. My orders are to simply apprehend the Company without harm. We merely wish to get your side of the story, strictly by due process and not violence. Your continued resistance will only worsen your disposition. Well, to be honest, I have no idea why the Grandmaster picked me. I suppose it could be related to a certain incident that may have gotten out of hand just a tad. Or a lot... Atonement, redemption, yadi yadi yada. Anyways! That's a tale for another time, miss Sonan! Hmm..." Hellriegel replied, putting out the embers in her cloak.

"... You and I are the same, no? You are simply abiding by your obligations to Mrs. Sylvia as I am to the Watch. Besides, what we have done up until now pales in comparison with what the Company committed during the War. All in the name of peace, we are all Groznyans, no matter what insignia we bear upon our shoulders. Please, miss Sonan, desist and stand down." Hellriegel continued, trying to appeal to Irelia's humanity.

Having said that, the grounds around Irelia began to glow with a bluish hue. During their initial encounters, Hellriegel's deflected projectiles were stemmed into the grounds, where they laid dormant while the captain distracted the Companion with conversations. As the ground glowed, the runes locked down around Irelia, but have yet to activate.

It was there, Friedhelm contemplated on Irelia's actions. For someone who had been in the thick and thin of the war, her counter-attack proved tame, as if voided of the principle of center mass. She did not aim to kill, he concluded. No, Irelia was here, by herself. There has to be more than the need to engage your opponents without a clear goal of annihilation. This has to be a distraction, Friedhelm realized. If that was the case, where are the other Companions? If they were moving on the ground, the Watch would have caught them by now. Could it be that the Companions were still at the clinic while Friedhelm and Hellriegel was thrown off-course by Irelia? Friedhelm retraced his thoughts, before a Watcher passed him a piece of paper. His eyes widened, as he eyed Hellriegel. He decided not to follow the intel, and stood. He gave his subordinate two platoons, and sent them off towards the Aurelian District. Moments after his orders, a couple of Drakensreiter landed behind him, ferrying Black Watchers off into the sky - bound for the Sky Garden. It seems that not all of the Company has rallied, and that Irelia was simply buying time for her comrades to catch up.

"No more playing around, Hell. You have my permission for Containment Protocol." Friedhelm commanded.

Hellriegel eyed her commander, then back at Irelia.

"You heard him, miss Sonan. I've gotta get serious now." Hellriegel said as she removed her gloves, unveiling a pair of glowing seals within her palms.

"Shinos." these words made her wires glowed brightly, as she unleashed it upon Irelia.

She circled Irelia, throwing more aetherial blades at the woman, before going up close and personal. Hellriegel's wires were then fashioned into a malleable blade, swinging forth like a cyan wave. Hellriegel's postures kept a minimal, but hardy series of strikes. While her right hand manipulated the wires to shape her armaments, her left continued to bombard the Swordmaiden with hails of aetherial daggers. When the latter counter-struck, Hellriegel relinquished her wires with a slight press of her thumb against her index finger. The wires then slung forward, deflecting the strike as they crack consecutively - like miniature firecrackers going off between the two. Hellriegel turned her palm upwards, unleashing another hail of daggers. This time, the blades transformed into several hexagonal plates when thrown. The captain rotated her feet, and dashed to her side. With speed, Hellriegel was able to hurl some ninety transparent plates at the Swordmaiden in a mere minute. In addition of the runes placed on the ground by Hellriegel earlier, Hellriegel managed to cage the Companion in a cyan dome. The sinews of Solingen wires surrounded the dome like an aetherial cocoon. Hellriegel sped off, tagging the dome with several parchment of enchanted seals, as she circled the aetherial cage. Before long, Irelia was trapped in Hellriegel's cyan dome. Despite this, the captain had to hold onto her wires, as she took a breather.

"Think this will hold her? This is the Swordmaiden we're talking about." Friedhelm glared at Hellriegel.

"Don't worry, Commander. It'll hold. Of course, unless someone intervenes and somehow manage to break my perfected Blessed Karelian Ice, then we might have a problem. But I doubt anyone possess such an agent here. Haha!" Hellriegel stated with a confident chuckle, as she patted her dusty cloak.

The Grandmaster however, was far from convinced. He gave Hellriegel a long stare that eventually eroded the big smile on her face to that of a nervous expression. Friedhelm then turned towards Irelia, wondering how she would break out of this one. Friedhelm waved his troops over, primed on taking Irelia into custody. This was an opportunity in his eyes, to use Irelia as bait to draw the other Companions into the fray. If there was one thing he learnt about Sylvia, was that she is not the type to give up on her Companions easily. A truth he learnt all too well at Onyx Valley.

Hershey
45th Street, Central District
Nessi Celestial Speck Huntertabbysandshark3 Soviet Panda ElenaIsCool ​

Hershey eyed Hassan briefly, as her hand felt her own chins. For a brief moment, she pondered what it would like to have facial hair. The swordsman's facial renovation was like that of a temple rid of overgrown vines. She then nodded at Hassan's final remarks, before leading them out of the building.

The Harbingers brushed up the street, encroaching towards Forty-Fifth in pairs while keeping a relatively safe distance from one another. They were met by a few patrols, but were able to make it pass by the shuffling steps of the troopers eastward, of which had beckoned most of the garrison to follow suit. The Harbingers then blended into the crowd of the small market just opposite of the precinct office. Despite their skillsets, the Harbingers were an ensemble of common folks in the eyes of the day-lazed city troopers. There, Hershey brushed up her grimoire, priming a few spells in advance, then turning towards Bisila.

"Thou have five minutes to secure thy weapons. No more, no less." Hershey said, before eyeing the garrison office across the street.

"It appears that the squarebacks are redeployed elsewhere. Now is the time. General, Hassan, if thou would be so kind as to open the party. Galius, shadow them and head straight to the armory. Master, remain here with Hershey. They will need our eyes on peripheral watch." Hershey gave her words.

Sofia IV Nowak
Sky Garden, Aurelian District
Midrick ​

"But I know so much about you. At least, what the Grozette wrote of you many moons past. Mr. Vik, you are my honored guest for today. Please, no more of this talk about compensations. The eyes of our acquaintances are upon you, Mr. Vik. Why not indulge yourself in the glory that you have rightfully earned?" Nowak countered, with a bright smile.

"You need not trouble yourself with the false pleasantries of these capitalist. They are as wolves beneath sheep's wools. A taste of home, I dare presume?" she continued, offering Markas a glass of Albish whiskey with a snappy high-class tone and a flair of elegance to go about it.

"As for your curiosity, Mr. Vik. I am simply a humble businesswoman. Numbers are my specialty. Sometimes, the numbers are against you or with you. But the numbers can be misleading at times. Salistas, basic medical equipment, contracts, you name it. The War made the rich even richer. But as I like to believe, there are things even the most provided for cannot fathom." Sofia remarked, turning back towards Markas with an enthusiastic pair of eyes.

The party went on, as Nowak passed the other men and women of the seminar. With Markas in tow, a mix of honeyed remarks and false smiles were concocted to complement his drinks. Yet the lady in red was well-equipped with witty quips to counteract their poisonous glances. Before Sofia could truly be given the chance to induct her already well-known guest at the seminar to the already stunned crowd, a firefly circled her, twirling about before whispering its details by her ear. Across the hall, was a multitude of knights in black, donning certain emblems that are no other than the renowned Black Watch. Sofia could already tell what the intruding Watchers wanted. Thanks to her aide's firefly, it did not take long for the woman to react appropriately, albeit in an unorthodox norm.

"It seems that you have done some naughty things to displease the Watch, Mr. Vik..." Sofia leaned into Markas's shoulder, as she guided him in the opposite direction from whence the Drakensreiter and Watcher were inducted.

Sofia pushed Markas into a cramped room, far from the eyes of the mass. Their drinks spilled across the ivory-white carpet, as the woman's delicate fingers fell upon Markas's lips - hushing the man nonverbally. Footsteps passed them by, with a fancy wall as their veiled sanctuary. Sofia's eyes monitored the crevice of the door, where the lights were banished from the shrouded darkness that the two found themselves in. Within the cramped room, there were little space to maneuver. Sofia tiptoed, pressing her body against Markas, as she eyed the remaining shadow that lingered by the door. Despite the snowing halation that surrounded the flying fortress, it seemed as if the room was that of a furnace. The sensation of suffocation intertwined with that of a euphoric thrill. An exhilarating rush of adrenaline that Sofia have yet to experience until now. As the luminous shine returned to its former glory beneath the door, Sofia finally exhaled.

"To aid a forsaken hero, whilst the world spiral into chaos. I can see why you have swept many girls off their feet, Mr. Vik. It seems that my investment in you is merely the introduction of a profitable venture in the foreseeable future." Sofia giggled softly, reeling back as she removed one of her her earrings and whispered into it. The jewelry was a firefly in disguise, masked the brilliance of its utility, and in this case, a rather symbolic one.

"Your friends are probably on the run now. It will be difficult to rally with them under the current circumstances. Our transports will be arriving shortly, and I will make sure you find them in due time. But until then, won't you... let me pamper you for a while?" Sofia stated, tilting her head slightly with an alluring smile as she turned the doorknob.

ACHIEVEMENTS UNLOCKED:
Odhran & Preston - "Buggin' Out"
Markas - "A Higher Calling"
​

 

[Celestial Speck]

Nessi | Soviet Panda | Pilgrim59 | Huntertabbysandshark3 | ElenaIsCool

Hassan Nox I-Sen

???

​

Hassan grinned.

Hershel didn't even speak twice to the Endless Swordsman as he stood in front of their objective alongside Fealca. The small glint on his eyes to be able to spread some manner of terror was good enough to him. Granted- he wouldn't kill anyone, at least not purposefully. After all, Se- Ra'el still likely followed the law, even if they needed to break it, temporarily. Instead, the last 'samuhrai' as he was mockingly known in hushed whispers in the past simply held both blades he owned in his hands, a small whisper coming from them as they were freed from their sheathes- their Grozium activation capabilities not yet on, and they were simply turned into their blunt side.

"Understood, Hershey. Stay safe." He answered, taking a few steps forward, but his eyes still landing on Fealca, his grin still on his face. "Yo, General. Watch my back and I'll watch yours. I hope you've not been slacking off!"

Despite these words being spoken, there wasn't a hint of hostility to them. It was an almost playful tone, one that bordered on nostalgia and easiness of heart, even if things were very different from the war than they are now. Even if they have grown apart as companions, Hassan liked to think that when it came to battle, their hearts were still connected. Even if this was a petty job to do for people of their caliber, it still made things feel so...Peaceful. So good. So nostalgic.

With a rush, Hassan crashed through the window of the location they were pointed out with nothing short of superhuman speed. Subtle.

Glass shards flew alongside him as he held his swords in an 'X' position, for a moment, his eyes shining a deep red to any who may have seen it- but it was simply a reflection of the sun in that split second it took for Hassan to stay in the air, and then land down. For a few seconds, the Thousand Armed Zhou Wìn Sen descendant stood there, before grinning, and speaking calmly, a single order:

"Down."

 

[Soviet Panda]

Fealca Isern
Huntertabbysandshark3 Pilgrim59 Celestial Speck Nessi ElenaIsCool
Central District.
​

Fealca did not like this, not one bit. First it was a Black Watch woman that had landed in his dumpster, but then felt compelled to tell him about it. Her peering into his shop had nearly caused him to have a panic attack, yet his calm, steely expression managed to hold out long enough for her to go away. Letting out a breath he did not know he was holding, he turns around to once more discuss what it was they were doing with the other Harbingers. Shortly after that, Hassan decided to treat his butcher shop, where food was handled, as a barber shop and cut his own hair, at least disposing of it in a trashcan instead of letting it lie around. Between that and the joking remarks that were made, he had half a mind to punch the man through the door and hand him over to the authorities. But before he had time to act on this, they were out the door and heading to the nearby garrison of troops.

Each patrol they passed caused him to become more and more uneasy, he hadn't felt this uneasy since he had first opened up shop in Dragonsreach, when he was certain the next face through the door would recognize him. But just as before, they did not. A relief, to be sure, but once their little side job was finished, he would have to disappear for a while. Unless... He needed something to cover his face, at the very least. So he did just that, stopping momentarily, he grabbed a filthy piece of cloth to cover his mouth and nose with, when the time was appropriate of course. He had worn much worse during the war, freshly dug trenches quickly flooding and turning to mud before eventually being reinforced.

That time was not far off, for soon they had reached the garrison and were given the go ahead by Hershey, and Hassan all to eager to jump through the window. Giving an exhausted sigh, Fealca gingerly climbs through the window, avoiding the broken glass before standing next to Hassan. "Do as he says," Fealca said behind the dirty mask. "Those that do not comply willingly will be forced." As he spoke, the smothering Aura of Command spread out from him affecting the squarebacks in the garrison, daring them to go against this order. Fealca was ready to swiftly use Bastion should a few disregard their command and fire upon the two.

 

[Huntertabbysandshark3]

Galious
interaction: Pilgrim59 Celestial Speck Soviet Panda Nessi ElenaIsCool​

Galious had little to say on the matter of Hershey plan only that they actually had one instead of rushing headlong into the unknown. considering the circumstances It was probably for the best. The parties first port of call was to raid a squareback armoury for supply’s and just hopefully a sentient suit. Despite Galious’s massive ego that far surpassed his height, the lack of any of his equipment had resulted in him being more or less a liability and a loud one at that. However, on another note, it seemed Hassan was In a far better mood now, actually making Some more light-hearted comments instead of the dry seriousness much of this situation had warranted.

with Hassan cutting his overgrown hair away, the harbinger where once again off into the city streets and much to Galious’s surprise Hershey was right. it seemed that the Hero had distracted practically The whole city. Letting the Harbingers unaccosted by any of the troops and they had a more important thing to deal with than them.

“Very well then I’ll let you both do the honours,” Galious remarked towards both Hassan and Fealca whom were to break into the precinct building. And like a bolt of lighting Hassan had thrown himself through the building window. galious letting out a long if high pitch sigh. How SUBTLE... oh well whatever Galious though. To himself rolling his eyes. Instead of climbing through the smashed window, Galious entered through. The doorway heading straight towards the armoury.

The diminutive gecko man wasted little time once he’d arrived in the armoury for the door had been left open, many of the weapons had been removed likely due to the garrison requiring the equipment for there pursuit of the so-called hero. Scurrying over to were the sentinel suits where kept, the golemancer finally got to put his skills to use. With a few flickered words a blue glow emitted from Galious hands tapping each of the sentinels it seemed that three out of the four had had their talismans taken with them by their operators, while it was easy enough for Galious to override such trivial security delinking and linking it back to another talisman required time he didn’t have with the list of modifications He’d need. The one left was a loader model.. just great Galious though but he could work with it. Climbing Atop the metallic suit he’d proceed to pull the helmet off with some effort and essentially dive into it and start his work, only taking a few minutes to turn the autonomous sentential into essentially a suit of grozium powered amour. Thusly he’d climb out pulling the power packs form the other sentinels for later usage. Muttering the same words form before his hands lit up again giving the Golamancer an idea of where his prize was, in a lockbox stored beside the sentinel. Things had been going too well for him so far so of course now was when things started falling apart, a lock of all things, it seemed he’d have to take the long way around, jumping back upon the sentinel Galious tapped various points on the armour body caused the machine to begin shine with red and yellow light signifying a little spell he put together to scrub the talisman link of such a golem, it would take a minute or so but I’m the meantime he’d need to find a suitable replacement for the talisman. Digging through the stock of the armoury yielded the perfect substitute, some square backs badge, that was soon hastily installed within the modified sentinel and linked to its system. Now finally Galious had full control over it. Loading up the extra batteries along with more Grozium laying around something he’d assume the others would be appreciative of, Galious made his way out of the armoury no longer a small relatively harmless gecko, but a taller imposing and somewhat harmful gecko man. “Ok where done here” he’d yell to the others his voice somewhat distorted by the helmet sounding more reminiscent of the voice the harbingers would have remembered Galious for.

 

[Malphaestus]

???

DRAGONSREACH
SAINT KEED'S CHAPEL, DRAGONSREACH​

Hellriegel's flamboyant acrobatics had gotten her somewhere, though admittedly only because one half of the duel had never considered the murdering blow. Due to this, her eccentricity had garnered her an ordinarily deciding action: her supposedly 'blessed' aetherial cage. It was a magic which demanded a great many things from its wielder and coordinator, something far from what most combat-experienced mages could possibly fashion under the duress of any form of battle. Whilst this could barely be considered as such, the mere fact that the Black Watch's champion had been able to construct such an elaborate magical formation whilst dueling one of the Company's most reputable combat masters was something worthy of ordinary praise. Even so, it would matter little.

The sound of gunpowder igniting against the hammer of an expertly fashioned Revolver interrupted Hellriegel's staunch and confident remarks as the munition flew straight past her cheek. Upon it, as it split through the air and hurled through the crowd of blackly-clad 'elites,' were enchantments of a whole other calibre, so powerful, in fact, that they drew the aetherium in the aether around them, and howled as they flew in an almost wolfish growl, a nigh-transparent trail shadowing this aetheric bullet as it speared through. It would collide, confidently against the cage, and silence would befall the street as bewilderment and confusion set amongst the Watcher corps.

"Not an agent, though a patriot definitely," rang a confident voice from behind the Grandmaster, the origin none other than Sigismund, the 5th Breaching Troop's veteran leader and now, apparent 'patriot' and insubordinate. No doubt many were stunned, and Friedhelm being as he was, was no doubt absorbed in his own thoughts. Plenty of maneuvering room for Sigismund to maneuver towards Hellriegel and her barrier with swift, and confident steps. After all, his movements were cloaked by the ear-piercing shriek of his own magic beginning to work, for whilst the round had impacted with no response, it had worked it's magic in silence.

Transparent tendrils reached out from the impact-site, bending the light around them, as they 'ate' the aetherial construct which was Hellriegel's barrier. At first the tendrils had been few, but as the time passed, the sinister magic grew until it crumbled the, quite frankly visually impressive aetherial prison. As they moved, the malevolent aetherium irradiated a vicious sound accompanied and equaled only by the twisted 'aura' it produced as it contorted the magic and disintegrated it.

The strange spectacle was over abruptly, as abruptly as it had begun. Within mere moments, not only was Irelia imprisoned, though she could most likely escape on her own, she was ultimately freed at the hand of Sigismund, utilizing a power none could ever fashion him holding.

With his surprise as leverage, he had now motioned himself to Irelia's side, his imposing frame covered in the battle-gear of combat ready Black Watch soldiery, within his hand the revolver, it's form contorted, it's barrel twisted upon itself under the force of the magic it had unleashed. Even so, a Solingen sabre was more than enough to aggravate his 'treasonous' action and place him upon the rung of potential dangers upon this miniature battlefield that Dragonsreach had become. Before any further analysis could possibly be made, he fashioned from his lips a few words to greet the situation he had now found himself in. He turned these words first to Irelia, to declare his alliegance, and disagreement with the 'unpatriotic' actions of the Watch.

"Irelia, forgive the Watch once this farce is far distant. Allow my blade to prove that not all puppets lack reason," his words heartfelt, or at least they carried the properties of it, and accompanied by his actions, no doubt was there moral disagreements with the actions carried out by the Black Watch. Though, why? And how? Before such questions could be answered, Sigismund faced his fellow uniforms, and his Grandmaster, with his own sharp tongue. "Your authority is wounded, my lord! Whatever it be, you complicate the simple, and simplify the complex. You rung the bells of destruction in Dragonsreach, and rendered enemies of allies without warning!"

Sigismund, with his feet planted inbetween the horde of his own ilk and the Swordmaiden herself, perfectly illustrating his willingness to assist Irelia in her task. Even though her artistry may be legendary, the man was not willing to stand idly by and remain silent to the injustice which rooted itself within the Watch. He dropped his revolver, the residual magic continuing to twist, spin, and elongate the metal even long after it's work had been finished. With few other options, he took a firm grasp of his sabre, and raising right in anticipation.

What the reactions would be were for anyone to guess, no doubt were the Black Watch more than confused, and aggitated, by this rapid change in cohesion and development. Friedhelm, now presented with more than enough fuel to occupy his thoughts, was more than guaranteed to react as only he could. None could truly know why, and how, this had happened, for as they gazed upon SIgismund, only the bloodshot eyes of a furious warrior were visible behind his lowered helmet's visor. The blankness by which his body moved, the stillness with which his heart beat. The deadness that he presently was. The flesh which had been taken from him. All of it, invisible to the eyes of all but the indistinguishable string that lurked within the aether shadow.

When the Grandmaster had sent Hellriegel to champion the Black Watch against the 'renegade' hero, Sigismund's sanity had vanished, and his rage would consume him. But in that rage, and in that very moment, he would vanish, and that which egged on his psyche towards chaos would present its invisible hand within his mind, staunchly grasping around the neck of his self; strangling it, enslaving it, and puppeteering his flesh and bone and muscle. Sigismund could never know, none could have possibly known, least of all Isabel, that the glass which had punctured its skin was one which had been touched, by the smallest of cellular excesses, from Preston's daring, though at the time, controlled experiment.

The containment compromised by the conflict which blared amidst the walls and interior of his clinic, the result invisible to all but an aetherial manipulator who loomed amidst the aetheric plane with a presence so large it was invisible. An identity too great to be limited by one mortal coil. A puppeteer who performed his theatre where all could see, but none could know. A ventriloquist of the soul, and self, of mortal men and women.

Zariel , Pilgrim59 .

'NEATHWOLD, DRAGONSREACH UNDERGROUND
​

The companions, having bolted towards the closest possible exit, lead by a reasonably disturbed Hero of Verdan, carried their feet away from the maintenance room and onwards towards the surface. The speed with which they carried themselves rapid, and supported by the uneasiness with which they carried the truth that would come to loom upon their shoulders heavily. Beneath the capital, haven of the Empire and its peoples, as far removed from the pain and savagery of everything that was evil and unjust, everything that was the enemy, was also the place which held their foe. The ancient letters of Saarema were etched upon the old cobble of an ancient system of drainage, and amidst the shadows beneath their feet skulked the fabled horrors of which the denizenry of the 'Neath speak, 'Vultures.'

With the party gone, the dweller which they left behind was sufficiently satisfied with the progression of events, pleased with herself for her moral performance, and liquidated by the kindness of no doubt hopeless vigilantes. So pleased was she with herself that her heart began beating, and the warmth within her chest made the grueling chill that slight bit more endurable. Amidst the darkness of the 'Neath, she could barely tell who those surfacers had been, for even whilst she had adjusted her gaze to the darkness, that does not mean she could see that which is unseeable, only that she could tell the vagueness that edge more clearly.

She rubbed her hands against eachother, the friction sufficient to alleviate the biting cold that had cloaked her fingers, her mind occupied with all manner of thoughts. About the future, about the companions, and about the Duelist. She was a cerebral personality, and that fact would no doubt pain her all the more should she be aware of what was taking place around her. Though even if she had been aware, it was hopeless. Her time was at an end, her cooperation noted, and her punishment was blood.

The door opened, as a soundless step entered the maintenance room, occupied by the sinister hand of an experienced impaler. The method of death would be different, for the blackness of its performer merged with the blackness of the ambient environment. The familiar shriek of a death quickly struck echoed the tunnels as the vocal cords of a hoarse female dweller no doubt reached the eardrums of the heroes who sifted through the land of social carrion amidst the mirky depths on their way to the manhole which would send them out of this hellish labyrinth.

However, within close order, moments after the last of the tonal panic had been delivered, and death was all but certain. From their front, at the site of where the exit to St. Keed's chapel no doubt were, a pair of heavy metal steps emerged from silence, occupying the space between the party and their destination. The sound disembodied, the distance too great to properly measure amidst the dank and dark. The sound of rumbling steel as it was frictioned against the surface soon carried itself to the party, as they were surrounded by the shuffling sound of a great presence ensnaring them.

Whether they would wish it, or not, they had stepped onto the lair of a sleeping dragon.

Pilgrim59 , Larry , Worthlessplebian , Doctor Nope .

 

[Zariel]

──────────────────────────────────────
Irelia Sonan
──────────────────────────────────────
— The Dawnbringer —​

Hellriegel exchanged words that were spoken in a genuine tone. The sincerity in her voice was enough to convince even Irelia that what she said is nought but the truth. It was a sad fact, that this talented captain was but a mere game piece void of free will. Such liberty was a luxury that common troop seldom get to cherish, and thus, Irelia was thankful for the freedom bestowed to the Company by Sylvia.

Before the Swordmaiden could offer her response, the solid ground beneath her feet illuminated, glowing a brilliant hue of blue. Irelia's eye's widened and her body tensed. She tried to move, but to no avail, her entire being was bound in situ.

So her sugary tongue was nothing but a ploy?! A mere distraction?! Irelia gathered in her mind. It was clear now, that it was wishful thinking to place even an iota of faith into Black Watch.

"Release me at once. Do not force my hand any further?" Irelia demanded, but her ultimatum seemingly went right over the captain's head.

Something incited Friedhelm, and at his beck and call, Hellriegel rushed the Swordmaiden once more. With an impressive repertoire of magic, Hellriegel attempted to bombard Irelia with a combination of close-quarter combat and artillery to supplement her assault, which was nothing short of a marvellous display.

Yet again, Irelia was forced to deploy her Mercurial Mirror to ease the pressure exerted by the hexagonal discs raining from above, while she herself exchanged blows with the captain. This time, learning from her previous blunder, Irelia made sure that her mirror absorbed the projectiles, rather than deflecting them. Given the sheer number of aetherial discs fired at her, it would seem that Hellriegel had not gauged the workings of her mirror's defence.

Still, the Black Watch captain had devised an ulterior motive.

It happened so quickly, in moments, Irelia was trapped within a cyan cage.

This woman has plenty of tricks up her sleeve. It doesn't surprise me in the least that Black Watch would resort to such underhanded tactics, Irelia thought, as she observed the blue shell encircling her.

"Hmph! Do they truly believe that this is enough to hold me? How insulting." she muttered disappointedly.

Irelia attuned her senses to the aetherium that had forged the prison in which she found herself, hoping to distinguish any possible defects or weakness within its walls. None. No matter. She'll just have to make one.

Thankfully, that boisterous Captain was foolish enough to charge my mirror, now I need only to concentrate a beam of sun fire at a single point, then I may shatter this icy dome with a single, precise strike from my blade. Her plan was set.

Just then, before Irelia could take matters into her own hands, something changed. Something oddly disturbing. The aetherium exuding from Hellriegel's cage was diminishing. It was being devoured... from the outside.

"What is this?!" Irelia watched in awe as colourless tendrils wreathed and the magic dome disintegrated, and soon enough, she was freed.

Were Sylvia and the others already here? No, it can't be. She wasn't aware of anyone if the Company who possed powers such as the one she just witnessed.

Fortunately, the benefactor didn't take long to distinguish himself from the crowd of Friedhelm's minions. But admittedly, it only made the situation more perplexing. Though what the man did next compelled Irelia to blink thrice in disbelief—he argued in Irelia's defence and spoke openly in defiance of his masters.

While Irelia remained cautious, for she wasn't sure if this was but another deceptive plan of the watch, it didn't explain why this brave Watcher took it upon himself to free Irelia from the shackles of his superiors. In the worst case, it would've been wiser to let Irelia break free herself, but this man's actions had spared a part of Irelia's strength.

Why?

The Swordmaiden could only wonder. This entire ball game was beginning to annoy her. But it was an interesting development nonetheless.

"Enough!" a gust of wind was sent forth, as Irelia emphatically unfurled her majestic, regal, insectoid wings that shared the burning colour of the sun that hangs in the sky.

Standing proudly, with her monarch wings on ostentatious display, the Swordmaiden first directed her attention to the stranger who stood between her and Friedhelmn's minions.

"I sincerely appreciate the succour that you have blessed me with, Stranger. I know not your intentions, but I sense that you speak from the heart. And the heart does speak lies. Even now, you stand in defiance and point your sword at your misconceived masters," Irelia said before stepping towards Sigismund.

"If you truly wish to prove yourself, then I will not deprive you of this desire. However, I will not stand idle, for I must return the favour... but first, tell me your name, str- no, brave soldier. I ask, simply because I wish to remember those I fight alongside." Irelia smiled and then turned to face Friedhelm. "Quite the unexpected turn of events, wouldn't you say, Grandmaster? It's sad that even your own can clearly see the errors that for some reason you cannot." she paused.

"You know, the Oeki have a saying. 'Humans lie, swords... speak truth'" the Swordmaiden sighed. "I'd hate to do this, Friedhelm, but you leave me no choice. If you won't explain yourself... then we shall unveil the truth through battle." Irelia's impassive visage returned, and she raised her sword in challenge at the Grandmaster.

 

[Pilgrim59]

Sylvia
Sewers, Central District
Larry Worthlessplebian Doctor Nope Malphaestus
​

Sylvia's eyes widened at the sound of the anguished fate that was foretold by their recent encounter with the doomsayer denizen of the sewers. Sylvia stood dead in her tracks upon the wide room witha lone manhole and ladder that was their only means of escaping this dark place. The eerie silence befell them, as a pair of distinct footsteps, heavier than the chains of Daemonshard that bound the howling beasts of Saarema, echoed from all around them. The crossroad that was the spacious room would either be their grave or the landmark of their heroic stand. Sylvia contemplated their means of escape, but only to be left with the only option that she sworn herself to long before they departed the maintenance room. The rusted ladder was cut in half by the sheer steps of their unknown threat at hand. Their hostile intentions unspoken, but vividly declared.

"The ladder is gone. What should we do, Sylvia? Shall we make for a different exit?" Laure asked, just as the other tunnels collapsed in, leaving only their recently ventured hallway the only path back.

The malevolent footsteps drew closer, this time, it was clear where they were coming from. The Companions had no choice but to fight their way out. Before she realized it, Sylvia had already lost the game to their mysterious assailant. The monster paced itself, assured of its victory over the Companions. But the Angel of Verdan had much to protest.

"This is it. COMPANIONS! PREPARE FOR BATTLE!" Sylvia shouted over the obnoxious rumbling, as her Solomon's Edge materialized in her hands.

While she did not voice her intentions, the fact that she chose this location to be their battleground was obvious to most. Should they pushed through the sewer's narrow tunnels, they would surely be put at a disadvantage. With little rooms to maneuver and utilize their distance, the companions are prone to being wiped. Unit mass did not suit their combat abilities. If they must fight, then it must be within this room.

Sylvia's eyes burned with determination, as she placed her left foot forward. Her lance pointed towards the void of the tunnel before them.

Friedhelm
St. Keed's Chapel, Central District
Zariel ​

Cpt. Hellriegel
St. Keed's Chapel, Central District
Zariel
​

The eyes of the Watch and their squarebacks counterpart lit up at the sight of their own brethren in opposition. Friedhelm's eyes narrowed, his surprised sentiments were brief but memorable. Malicious tentacles of the void, for all the world to witness yet could not see. Hellriegel felt her strength wane, as the sinews that bound the glowing dome before her receded in an instant. Arrays of aetherial plates shattered, as did the captain's false confidence. Hellriegel, taken aback by the shift in power, braced herself against the aftermath's zephyr.

"Treachery!" Hellriegel shouted, leaping back towards the Grandmaster. She positioned herself in front of her commander without hesitation, despite Friedhelm's eerily calm demeanor.

Friedhelm had not accounted for such a development. For a Grandmaster, whose keen senses had anticipated the unexpected, he had failed to foresee such a betrayal. Where Hellriegel was caught in a trance of disbelief, Friedhelm kept his cool. Panic did not suit him, even when the cards are unfavorable. Despite his vast manpower and resources, decisiveness and stout dispositions must be maintained. He shifted his glare across the line of imperial troopers, prompting them to stem their shields against the ground. All around the four actors upon the grand stage, was a peripheral wall of uniformity. Friedhelm studied his former subordinate's shrouded eyes, trying to make sense of their recent actions. He studied their uniform, taking to heart all the derelict details of their Axian-woven cloak. A veteran member of the Black Watch, he concluded, based on the lack of silvery facings upon their cloak. An older set of garments. Hellriegel had the same idea, albeit with a voiced concern.

"Sigismund! Ya limp noodle! What in Aerilia's name are you doing?" Hellriegel inquired.

The name rung a bell in Friedhelm's head. A name upon the roster that he cleared for the operation. A distinguished officer of the Fifth Breachers. Of all times, it had to coincide with their apprehension of the Swordmaiden. Something was off about Sigismund, particularly his odd choice of words, and even more so with his consequential defiance. If this was an attempt at rebellion, it was a poorly-executed one. The Grandmaster knew better. For if Sigismund had planned on casting his frustrations, he would have done so by inflicting damage when the Watch was on standby or gun straight for Friedhelm himself. This was something else entirely. While Friedhelm has yet to decipher Sigismund's intentions, the Grandmaster knew that he must keep his tranquility to contain the situation. Friedhelm brushed his lock of hair behind his ear, and kept a nonchalant contrapposto stance with his left hand situated within his pocket.

"Sigismund of the 5th Breaching Troops? The one whose vigilance on watch during the holidays gave their brethren their respite with familial gatherings? Brethren to the right of them. Brethren to the left of them. A responsible officer and a brotherly figure to all of the Watch. Yet here you are, turning your backs upon your duties. I did not expect you to be a far more fanatical admirer of the Company than Hellriegel." Friedhelm said to Sigismund.

"That was mean, Grandmaster." Hellriegel looked over her shoulders with a pouty expression.

"Negligence of duty is just as bad as rogue justice. Choose your next course of actions wisely, Sigismund." Friedhelm issued his ultimatum. His gray eyes glowing brightly.

"As for you, Swordmaiden... I would hate to disappoint a warrior with just words. However, unlike you, I have responsibilities to my men and the state. Captain Hellriegel here will be my envoy of armed diplomacy." Friedhelm tapped Hellriegel's shoulder

"I'm always thrown into the fray... A ticket to a sunny beach in the Outer Parallels sounds good right about now..." Hellriegel sighed with a long face.

"What was that, Captain?" Friedhelm's grips tightened.

"N-Nothing, Grandmaster! Eheheh. Glory to the Empress! Havena Aterna! Victory salute! Hehe..." Hellriegel shot her clenched fists out from her chest with renewed vigor and a nervous laughter to follow.

"Do your job." Friedhelm fixed Hellriegel's czapka promptly, as he shoved her forward gently.

"Sigismund, just because I shared my smoked turkey with you during Primrose, doesn't mean I won't beat the pulps out of you! Prepare yourself! Oh and Miss Sonan, I'm really really sorry, but Grandmaster's orders ya know? A girl's gotta earn her pension. Love your hair by the way!"

Hellriegel drew a sharp breath, before leaping forward with her Solingen wires morphed into a malleable whip. Her cyan trail of aetherial sparks followed her.

"Out of the way, Sigismund! My weekend pass to the Olysean Sea shall not be revoked! Piña Coladaaaaaaa!" Hellriegel yelled with vigor as she unleashed herself upon Sigismund and Irelia with a thunderous trail of projectiles converging all around them. Hellriegel's eyes lit up, as her confident smile bent into a twisted grin.

Her momentum masked the presence of a sinister quake beneath their steps. Reticent vibrations, but nonetheless a curious sensation to Friedhelm's keen perceptions.

Hershey
Squareback's Garrison, Central District
Nessi Celestial Speck Huntertabbysandshark3 Soviet Panda ElenaIsCool ​

Hershey took joy in seeing the Harbingers in action once again, albeit less grand as she would expect. In her head, the Harbingers were deadly enforcers of the Daemon Lord's will. Their strength unrivaled, and their will absolute. Via sheer force and schemed chaos. Yet, the matter of reality slowly deteriorated as she witnessed Hassan made his entrance by crashing through the window, with Fealca and Galius in tow. It seemed less grandiose from the Dreamweaver's perspective. Like three thiefs in daylight. The art of subtlety, but so much so disappointing to witness. Hershey sighed, wondering what they did wrong during the war that warranted their loss of a grand entrance. The lack of fiery explosions, anguished screeches of the damned, and the scarlet dye that watered the streets.

The silence prolonged, prompting Hershey to tug at Ra'els sleeves.

"Time to move." she said, holding onto Ra'el as they crossed the streets like father and child on a grocery errand.

Hershey pushed the door in, wondering why the three musketeers did not tread the simpler path. There, she bore witness of Hassan and Fealca's work. Most of the squarebacks were knocked out cold. The front desk sergeant awakened from his chair, casting gaze upon Ra'el and Hershey.

"Uh... can I help you?" he inquired, before turning towards the hallway where his comrades were already neutralized.

"We lost to these imbeciles?" Hershey asked herself, as she climbed over the desk and flicked the sergeant's forehead. A piercing shriek echoed the room, vibrating their ears vividly. The sergeant fell into a slumber shortly after. His snores beckoned the attention of the other Harbingers, to which Hershey nonchalantly waltzed past them towards the armory.

"Use the door next time." she remarked, while looting grozium off the unconscious troopers, as well as spare munitions that she could carry for the White Wolf's needs.

She took into sight Galius's new looks, giving the sentinel that he had acquired a light tap.

"Not exactly daemonshard worthy, but that'll do. Welcome back, Sir Galius." Hershey said, as she turned the pages of her grimoire and covered the sentinel in an array of her runed inscriptions.

A few incantations were made, marking the sentinel with red markings like a series of glowing tattooes.

"Hershey hath augmented thine sentinel with bolt-resistance runes and two quick-cast smokescreen cantrips. Use them wisely." she remarked, turning back at Hassan and Fealca.

"The Institution awaits us. Harbingers. Let us away." Hershey said, guiding the lot out of the building.

ACHIEVEMENTS UNLOCKED:

Iris Companions "Calendula Requiem"
Harbingers - "Walk-In Appointment"
Irelia - "Uncaged"
​

 

[Zariel]

──────────────────────────────────────
Irelia Sonan
──────────────────────────────────────
— The Dawnbringer —​

"I see," the Dawnbringer responded. Her expression visibly drooped.

Irelia was dissatisfied, but not surprised, by Freidhelm's plan of action to offer Hellriegel to fight in his place. Unfortunate indeed. The Grandmaster surely lived up to his reputation, as cunning as he was, his diligence was admirable.

Even as Hellriegel was sent back into the fray and charged, the Swordmaiden was left raising an eyebrow. Her mouth opened, but she spoke nothing.

"Err..." was the only sound to leave her parted lips.

Irelia continued to be left dumbfounded by the Captain's childish antics. She couldn't make heads nor tails of the other woman's demeanour. It was impressive to think that such a person existed amongst the ranks of the Watch.

How could one be so puerile, especially at a time like this? Irelia mused.

Needless to say, Hellriegel didn't lack talent. Based on what she'd demonstrated herself to be capable of, it'd be pure folly not to take her at least slightly seriously.

With a single, mighty flap of her wings, Irelia lifted into the air the instant her opponent's projectiles materialised. Coating her blade in brilliant flames, she twirled forward in the air, creating a wave of sun-blessed fire that spiralled with her and obliterated most of Hellriegel's ranged barrage.

Through the corner of her eye, she looked down and back at Sigismund, the rogue Watcher. Irelia's reactive intervention should've also guarded her unlikely ally, though she couldn't be sure, as not all of Hellriegel's projectiles were destroyed.

While maintaining her defensive, aerial stance - eyes fixed on Hellriegel - Irelia uttered something to her abettor. "Sigismund, was it? Are you alright...? If you're still willing to fight, perhaps now would be a good time to show us all what you're capable of."

 

[Larry]

Ódhran von Starkenburg
Location: In the sewers beneath St. Keed's Chapel.
Mood: Running on adrenaline.
Interactions: Pilgrim59 | Worthlessplebian | Doctor Nope | Malphaestus
Mentions: Zariel | Midrick ​

A soldier's life it seems, is never finished, Ódhran thought as he placed himself to the left of Sylvia's position, covering the still-injured, though saying otherwise, Eryn. Still, the islander was nervous: indeed, he hadn't been as nervous since the invasion of Saarema. Though the possibility of him dying was a contingency that could have occured during any operation over the course of the war, that spectre seemed to hover to a much greater extent in these rancid sewers. Their only means of escape, was literally and metaphorically severed by this, if the reverberations of its footsteps is anything to countenance, monstrous being trudging its way towards them. The enclosed space however, seemed to add to Ódhran's growing sense of unease and a burgeoning sense of guilt started to creep up upon the young man, as a quick escape from the sewers was something that he had encouraged. In Ódhran's haste to try and extricate the Companions, his advice had lead them into the very battle he hoped to avoid. If we manage to escape from this encounter unscathed, relatively enough, I'll be sure to keep my shout from now, the islander sardonically thought to himself as he prepared himself for the fight.

Given the fact that he possessed no firearms on his person, Ódhran's functionality in the battle was going to be diminished, though even in such circumstances, the young man felt that Sylvia would make use of this disposition. If Eryn was to be a part of his orders, it would make some sense to try and shuffle Eryn around the battlefield, as something close to an irritant, whilst Sylvia, Laure and Preston go about confronting this behemoth head on. Feeling this to be appropriate, Ódhran's clones emerged from his body, totalling eight altogether. At times like this, and even during the war, the islander bemoaned the fact that his clones weren't capable of interacting with the physical world, despite their inherent usefulness for communication. But it wasn't as if he'd turn into a Sylvia or Irelia or Markus by having that capacity: he wasn't given the nickname 'Cadaver' for no reason after all.

With his battle-plan in mind, Ódhran turned to Eryn, who was standing right behind.

"I know I've been charged with protecting you Eryn," he said, a calmness to his voice as the battle edged ever closer, "But I think that between the two of us, using my clones as diversions once I've intermixed myself between them, and in your capacity as a deadeye, we might be able to draw this thing's attention away from the rest of the Companions, even for a brief moment, and allow them to deal some damage unmolested."

The islander turned away, commanding the clones to converge on him, only for them to emerge in the same pattern they did before but, as Ódhran spoke, it looked as though each clone did so too but the sound emanated from each form as though that particular one were speaking, yet there was no increase in the level of volume amongst the group.

"I didn't expect that on the day that I'd return to Haven, that I'd end up in a battle beneath its sewers: there's never a dull day with the Companions," Ódhran uttered wryly.

 

[Doctor Nope]

⚠ CAUTION: ENTERING COMBAT ⚠

Eryn Leasath Cissnei
Location: The Sewers
Mentions: Larry Pilgrim59 Worthlessplebian Malphaestus
​

Everything was moving...really fast. Both metaphorically and in his literal perception. Headaches were plagueing him ever since he'd used the ICU Visor during his solo walk in the sewers. Everytime he used it in the past, he was left lamenting the reckless nature of this form of magitech. It'd frequently caused him to suffer sensory overloads back in its early uses, and he'd only become able to use it effectively in combat through repeated use, and simply becoming accustomed to the discomfort. His previously indefinite hiatus from combat had stripped him of that luxury, and now he had to deal with repurcussions. He hadn't packed any antipsychotics with him either, which put a wrench in any plans he may have had for using it for extended periods of time.

He hadn't been able to replace the groznium batteries before this whole thing started either, so they weren't at full capacity, limiting his usage of magitech in general. Fortunately for him, though maybe not so in the eyes of the other companions, the tunnels had just collapsed. With only one direction to go in, he didn't actually need to use the visor in this situation. Ironically the greatest cause of his currently groggy state was because of his prior usage of the visor, and not his wound. Which he'd yet to administer any painkillers for.

All of that fell away, however, when he heard it. Those magical few words from the commander.

COMPANIONS! PREPARE FOR BATTLE!

His headaches cleared as quickly as the words had arrived. Adrenaline rising, he felt a nostalgic sense of giddyness swelling within him. Turning his right side to the darkness of the tunnel, he raised the gun at seemingly empty space. He suppressed his otherwise sadistic smile with everything he had.

"Understood, Ódhran. I'll follow your lead."

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Preston Saytzeff Pacer, Preston of Met Di Plurida
Mentions: Pilgrim59 Larry Doctor Nope

Thus as if being punished by fate for their haste, the company had drawn the ire of this dire beast. Heavy, its footsteps as rusted ladders shatters in its wake. The spider recoils from the noise as his companions ready their souls for battle. An exchange of breaths to calm his blue-tainted heart. What little tufts of needle-thin hairs stand up as if the monster sniffed beneath the spider's neck. He ponders whether this confrontation had needed to happen. Perhaps if we did not seek refuge in the sewage, we would not be in this mess! His experience, both as a Doctor and Soldier, tells him that regrets are meaningless now. They, who regret now, will grieve more later.

Although Preston's kind did not have retractable claws —like the feline Astrians— the urge to flex his clawed fingers proved irresistible. It is, truthfully, the rush of adrenaline that overwhelms the parasympathetic nervous system, the fear of the Reaper's spectre is suppressed by biology while training hones his thoughts. Although it would seem beneficial to unfurl the spider's mighty spear limbs and partake in their destined purpose, he proposes that: It would be better to keep them tucked and reveal them at the opportune moment, beast or man would not suspect an immediate retaliation from an awkward angle unless prepared.

Ódhran and Eryn spoke, seems that the islander would be acting as the diversion along with aiding the steady deadeye. Good, that should boost their survivability.

The arachnid lowered himself with his knees, reducing his profile as he prepared himself to engage or disengage with the monster. Preston's six minor eyes, born and bred for movement detection, began to hyperfocus into the shadow of the treaded hallway. Preston urged himself on, the moment it shows itself, he'll rip it apart.

 

[Malphaestus]

???

DRAGONSREACH
SAINT KEED'S CHAPEL, DRAGONSREACH​

Hellriegel, his mind mused. As bombastic as they whisper of her amidst the hallowed sanctums of state and order. A powerful figure, undone by her own recklessness, though only partially, as something keeps her mind sharp enough to accomplish surprise attacks. Her deployment of the magical barrier was proof of her brawn and brain, though it's undoing was proof of Sigismund's perceived prowess and unknown fighting potential. Ironic, for someone so experienced and well-known to present such a hidden factor. Doubly ironic, and perhaps a symbol of Friedhelm's character, for him to not know of whom Sigismund was before he made himself known. It was a guarantee that countless soldiers amongst the encirclement had witnessed Sigismund fighting, the strength of body and will of mind being his defining traits, and from nowhere, he displays an ability for magic so obscure as to be unknown. All of this in accumulation played to the puppet's marionetteer, as the adrenaline gates were unlocked, and the blood was made to flow with a strength mighty enough to rupture needless vessels.

It was easily explainable as pure, and undiluted rage of the highest caliber. That was why this substance of his was so potent, and covert. After all, in this twisted world, there was much to be angered by, and some people were angrier than most. Friedhelm, for his absolute wit, was the perfect recipient of anger. Even he must know this, as absorbed in his own thoughts as he admittedly was. It was pure chance, and coincidence that Sigismund had been the subject for this hidden presence's motives, and it was to their fortune. Even so, it did not make the manipulator disregard the obvious. Someone was tinkering with knowledge they had no right to know. Punishments were in order, so long as he found the perpetrator.

Maneuvering here was of utmost importance, he had outplayed Friedhelm before, but it had been no easy feat. He was blessed with a prowess not unlike his own, at least what was possible for regular mortal kin. Whether it was tempered from guile, practice, or loss, it did not matter. Sigismund's place was not to provoke an unnecessary response from Friedhelm, but to lead him. This was why, when Friedhelm and Hellriegel went on their unified tirade, Sigismund did not respond. All he did in retort, was glare at their egotistic display.

Irelia spoke, but he did not 'hear.' He was too 'absorbed' in the predicament he had gotten himself into. Maybe Sigismund was contemplating the wisdom of his actions, he had a reputation of fiery fervour and reckless behaviour beyond the field of action. The Puppeteer knew this, because his mind was no longer his own, it was his. In the split seconds inbetween the eerie silence of confusion, and the soon-coming reinitiation at Hellriegel's overconfident hands, the manipulator sifted through Sigismund's mind and memorized its contents, a feat impossible were it not for his ascended being.

When Hellriegel rushed against himself and Irelia, arcane forces molded themselves in her wake, the familiar daggers of her iconic fighting style growing greater in number with every passing moment. Once they shot out from behind her at breakneck speeds, Irelia countered with a marvelous display of overwhelming power, flames spat out from her blade with infernal might as a single, overpowering wave coated the arena made for them by the overbearing discipline of Black Watch riot-guard. To the normal soldier, the speed with which this developed would've made them numb, and incapable of action. To Sigismund, it might have, but not anymore.

Whilst Irelia's prowess had been destructively potent, it did not affect all of the ever-increasing hail of arcane daggers which shot at him like bolts from a hundred crossbowmen. Sigismund's bicep tensed as he brought his Solingen sabre to bare, a single upwards cut enough to deflect the first dagger javelined against him. Simultaneously, he rooted his feet, and ran towards Hellriegel with devious speed, his Solingen sabre molding into an imposing Zweihänder as he sent it descending with pure brawn, his muscles so over-tolled that his tightly-tied lamellar flexed around his upper arm.

With this cut, he overpowered the next barrage of Hellriegel's most iconic battle technique. All it took was ten swift paces, and before anyone could fathom, he found himself settled confidently before Hellriegel. His sword, planted into the pulverized cobble of an ordinarily well-trafficked road. However, as some might've thought his position compromised, in that same breath, his left hand found itself jettisoned towards Hellriegel's face, it's delivery nothing but a fist with enough force at its back to break most helmets in twain. This display of his was likely enough to answer Irelia's sentiments, Sigismund was no ordinary Watcher, he was a leader of men, and a warrior. His men wounded from his battle at Preston's lab, all that was left of him was rage and a sense of justice. At least, that was what those beyond the know would reckon.

"I am a pure-bred patriot, if that makes me a traitor, then the Watch is long-since rotted. To turn the state against the Companions for your own agenda speaks plenty for why your sister lies in the dirt of Onyx Valley and even more innocents lie beneath rubble here at Saint Keed's chapel. All you can do is fail, Grandmaster, and failure does not suit your rank." He spoke as he finally decided to say his piece, perhaps it was befitting of his name and office that he'd only retort once the going went hot, and blood was to be spilled. It was poignant words he spilled, and it was with not only a heavy heart he delivered his piece, but also with a stalwart tongue and a deep tone heralding from his physical excersion. He was a veteran unlike many, his service as long as some Watcher's entire lives, the grizzled experience seething from his very being, an icon for others to aspire towards just like he had once aspired towards the strength of the old masters and even Irelia herself, and now, a symbol of opposition for Watchers to contemplate. "Friedhelm was never the Grandmaster I supported, Freya was. She wouldn't have lead this idiotic crusade under hidden motives like our leader, Hellriegel."

His fist grew speedier with every passing moment, the raw force behind it only growing in proportion as it sought out its impact square upon Hellriegel's visage, it's only objective being to send Hellriegel out and away from the battle. Perhaps it was with a twisted sense of responsibility that he did not go for a more traditional murdering stroke of his Zweihänder. Even so, whilst it might not be a fatal blow, it was certainly enough to incapacitate, and anyone who saw it's brilliance in that split moment knew it. "Your innocence is too big of a crime for this world, Hellriegel. Friedhelm uses you like he uses all of us, anything you feel for him is a facade he built with his own hands."

The warrior was certainly Sigismund of the Fifth Breaching troop, of that there could be no doubt. He waged battle like himself, though even so, a sinister power grew within his body. It echoed the nature of the magic he had used just prior to demolish Hellriegel's impervious arcane seal. It was malleable to the tongue of any practiced arcanist, potent enough to make one delirious should you not keep your wits about you. He was Sigismund, undoubtedly. But even so, there was something within him he had, apparently, never revealed before. Not until now, where besides him was only one, if admittedly exalted warrior, and in opposition, the most well-functioning military organization across the Empire.

Irelia would have to excuse his poor presentation in this present instance, perhaps she was too practiced herself to know, but most soldiers were incapable of dealing with what Sigismund had thrown himself into out of no other reason than his own beliefs and sense of justice. He made it impossibly clear that his focus, in this passing moment, was absolute. Because if he presented no other opposition to Hellriegel and Friedhelm's endless horde of squarebacks, he'd not only fail to block Hellriegel's potent attack, but he'd fall prey to whatever devious scheme Friedhelm was contemplating. This was, at least, what it appeared. At least his tact was not lacking so much as to not even present himself before the recipient of his good will during his introduction just prior before the horde of the Black Watch.

Zariel , Pilgrim59 .

'NEATHWOLD, DRAGONSREACH UNDERGROUND​

As the structural integrity of the 'Neath became compromised, and one tunnel after the other began to collapse, it seemed perhaps ironic that the one place which was left to trod was backwards. Towards that hoarse shriek of a familiar dweller who had, just prior, proved sympathetic to the Companions' cause, and was now, undoubtedly, dead. A devious shadow grew amidst the darkness as those who were capable of glimpsing deep into the chasms finally saw their foe. Preston's impressive oculi were greeted with the behemothic figure of an almost elongated, yet brawny humanoid, cloaked in what can only be discerned to be the night from head to toe, as the darkness made it difficult to distinguish one thing across it's body from the next, since the texture of this suit of night seemed so black that barely the smallest percentile of light, here beneath the sewers, reflected itself back into his irises.

"I speaketh the Gospel of the Stellar Lord; thine presence is an affront to the Prophet. Ye Intrude upon hallowed tombs of they who had known truth, and stand stalwart against him," it growled as it prodded towards the party. Born from within it's chest, a seething malevolence rooted itself as the aether around it was tainted, signified by a distant whirring sound which bored itself like a drill within one's throat. With immediacy, and abruptness, this seething arcane malignance reached towards it's host's palm, crawling from within it's flesh. As quickly as Preston's eyes had readjusted and met themselves with their lone assailant, the posture of their foe changed, as it took a deep step forwards, it's body recoiling as, within an instance, it unleashed a devious bolt of arcane energies in their direction not unlike the throwing of a javeline. As it barreled towards them like lightning, it became very clear that this was no ordinary force, ripping flesh and night-cloaked steel from the arm of its caster, and anything around it as it flew in the company's direction. "The judgement of all evil is death," it finished, it's lifeless voice hung amidst the air with the presence of a forlorn evil finally unleashed, like the howl of a ferocious wolf unmatched amidst the predators of remote forests.

Anything from the ambient magic of the sewers, to the already unrigid stones which encapsulate the tunnels, were sent into a torrent as it all swirled into the bolt like being thrown into a chasm, never to be seen again. With every particulate it consumed, the devouring spear shrieked an infernal echo which might even seem to wound the soul as the objects were torn asunder by the hole in the fabrics of normal reality. So absolute in its destruction that it had not only ripped apart parts of the tunnel to such an extent that collapse was all but an inevitability, but not even it's caster was exempt. Their left arm torn to pieces, naught but gore and damaged muscle left as it fell limp against their foe's side, it's skeleton poking through it's torn flesh.

It was, however, no apparent inconvenience to them, as the ambient sound of rumbling resumed, evil itself, perhaps, taking form within it's chest to be unleashed upon these righteous heroes. Black fog emanated from the Vulture's wound as it began sprinting towards them, it's advance covered by the spear of damnation it had unleashed. The fog, to Preston's trained eyes, was a most familiar substance no doubt, and the liquid which flowed from the Vulture's veins even more familiar, as it began to roll down it's debilitated arm, slowly placing itself amidst the injured flesh, and rejuvenating it, before evaporating into the already dim air of the sewers.

The danger was no doubt immediately known to all virtuous Companions, their wit of battle enough to know what was happening even though their eyes might not be as trustworthy as Preston's own. It was a looming evil which prowled towards them with speed and weight enough to rumble the pebbles strewn across the tunnel floor, one they might be more familiar with during the apex of the Saareman campaign than any recent time. One more similar to the Harbingers than anything they had been faced with during their now foregone days of peace. The absurdity of the Vulture's form was enough to make one doubt the validity that it had ever once been any form of living being to begin with.

Pilgrim59 , Larry , Doctor Nope , Worthlessplebian .

 

[Pilgrim59]

Sylvia
Sewers, Central District
Larry Worthlessplebian Doctor Nope Malphaestus ​

Sylvia's hand moved on its own, as she hurled her Solomon's Edge at the beast. Her foot angled, as she sprint herself forward after her own weapon. The spear detonated midair, meeting the beast's arcane bolt with her own might of magic. The strobe of light met that of the dark energy, inducing a heavy distorted sound as the two symbolic force clashed, rupturing the space between them. The beast's deafening howl disrupted Sylvia's thoughts, unveiling its sinister movements as it shrouded her concept of the opposing entity. Neither a mindless monster nor a corrupted Groznyan. An abomination by the works of Sertek himself.

Realizing the Vulture's follow-up on its spell with the charge of a rhinoceros but a cunning perception of an ambushing tiger. Sylvia quickly materialized her lance before her, in an attempt to wound the beast, but was interrupted by the substantial shrapnel that came her way. The enemy's weapon had turned to a destructive being that was bent on wiping the Company with little care for its surroundings. The collapse of the tunnel was inevitable. While the sewer's demise was a favorable event to let the Company escape, it would spell disaster for the i habitants of those above ground. Sylvia steeled her resolve - the fight must be contained here and now. Taken aback, and losing her momentum, the Hero rounded her spear backwards, with its tip facing the ground. The creature before them was reminiscent of the Eye of the Void, a monstrous entity created by Sertek to consume the land. An intelligent monster. The only difference was the peculiarly oozing flesh similar to what Preston was deciphering at his clinic, and its humanoid shape. Even now, Sylvia felt a sting upon her sentiments, as if the beast had some traces of its humanity. Could one truly be corrupted to the point of advanced mutations? Or was the Vulture mimicking a human's presence to throw Sylvia's off-course? These thoughts ran Sylvia by, but she kept her spear close.

As the fog sets in, Sylvia steadied her Solomon, combating the sinister rumbling that surrounded them. The enemy had achieved visibility concealment. Sylvia contemplated the possibility of a defeat should she fail to decipher the beast's intention. With itself concealed, it would likely pick the Companions apart. If she was the Vulture, she would go for the eyes of the entire group, and then the reactive limbs. It was then, she came to a realization. The innate predatory tactic.

"It's going for you Preston! Keep your eyes peeled!" Sylvia shouted over the obnoxious rumbling, as her Solomon's Edge materialized in her hands.

"Eryn! Odhran! Locate and engage! Maskirovka* actions!"

"Laure! Give Preston some cover!"

"I'm on it!" Laure replied from across the room.

Laure navigated her way through the fog, with the help of her wings. She finally caught up to Preston, with her Able and Baker conjured.

"Just like old times, eh, Preston?" Laure remarked with a confident expression.

The Dovean then hammered the ground with both her hammers, unleashing a gust of wind that cleared the foggy space just ten paces ahead of them. Her stance unfurled in a lax fashion, ready to smash anything that came their way.

Having relayed her orders, Sylvia closed her eyes. She studied the rumbling around them with her ears. When visibility is lost, they had to react with an appropriate measure and display of force. Stemming her spear into the ground, Sylvia woved her hands across the air, conjuring forth an array of projectiles that shot in all directions. The trails of light strung across the room and anchored in place, rather than explode on impact. Emulating Preston's spider webs, the sinews of dark blue light acted as her tripwires. With her eyes closed, she imagined the layout of the room in her head, lending her ears to the reverbing effect of her conjured strings. Before long, she felt a forceful tug upon her glimmering wires. She did not stir. Even when the lines began to break across the room with speed. As the final string finally broke, Sylvia's eyes widened, as she leapt into the fog with her spear in tow. Emblazoned upon her arm was a powerful surge of energy that expedited her movements.

"Creature of darkness, Sertek's spawn. By the decree of the Sacred Grove, begone!" she remarked, landing a brutal slash upon the Vulture's back. Despite the burning effects upon the beast's flesh, Sylvia was unable to deal a killing blow. Her high cut was unable to penetrate the Vulture's fortified flesh, but nevertheless achieved her hopes of studying her target's fortitude.

"Consolidate your positions! Target's on the move!" yelled Sylvia, as she chased the Vulture's silhouettes into the fog.

*[Maskirovka] = Karelian-coined term for a deception tactic. Well-known during the Second Battle of Svolensk, when the Imperial Army constructed hundreds of wooden emplacements to deceive the Shadow Legionnaire's aerial recon, while they counter-attacked at Pavlov's Bay.

Friedhelm
St. Keed's Chapel, Central District
Zariel Malphaestus ​

Cpt. Hellriegel
St. Keed's Chapel, Central District
Zariel Malphaestus
​

The Grandmaster's eyes disappeared beneath his czapka cap when Sigismund brought up Onyx Valley. The very thing he had sworn to his own kin, yet here he was, was utterly broken. He blamed himself more than he did Sylvia. However, as time went on, his strict belief in the codes of law and his duties to his men culminated in his fortified principle to keep the Iris Company in check. Sigismund's word had its effect, but he had neglected the chaotic nature of the Company's unorthodox approach. These so-called heroes had blood on their hands as much as their reputation is worth. All those years, his anger to himself inadvertently shifted to the disdains he held hostage within his own mind for Sylvia. Perhaps Sigismund is right, perhaps this was a mindless crusade Friedhelm had conjured up for himself to justify his own selfish reasons.

Friedhelm finally made sense of it all, as Sigismund voiced his thoughts. Even now, Friedhelm often wondered why Freya had picked him of all people. A long time ago, in a certain Naval Hospital in Batavia, Friedhelm met his match. A woman whose ideals are the very thing that inspired him to keep going. Friedhelm was no stranger to the hardships of a commoner. He had plowed his way to where he was now, but not without the wise words of his predecessor. A virtuous and fair lady.

Even now, Freya's hand left a great impression since the snowy halation of that fateful day. His hand brushed his cheek slightly. Sigismund had reminded him of something since that day. A sentiment that he knew but had forgotten. He realized now that he must follow through with his principles. Neither Sigismund nor Irelia will stop him from his oath, Friedhelm resolved. This time, it is not about his disdains for Sylvia and the Company, but his sworn duty.

Hellriegel felt Sigismund's physical display of resistance with great impression. A feat that caught her spiraling back from whence she came. She slid back across the paved road, standing back up as Sigismund said his piece. She fired a bloody spit onto the ground, as she wiped her face.

"That's where you're wrong, Sigismund. You know nothing of me, nor I you. So don't even try that load of balony on me with your finite wisdom." Hellriegel remarked with an expressionless visage this time.

"I see, so that's what you've been bearing beneath your subservient facade this entire time. I do not expect you to make sense of a reality long past. Very well. I shall make my principles to you loud and clear, here and now. If you were truly the Sigismund I knew, then you would have made peace with Freya's decision a long time ago." Friedhelm remarked, as he stood before Hellriegel.

"By bringing my sister's demise up, it is clear that you are already compromised. For the Sigismund I knew would know the difference between duty and personal sentiments. Your sudden shift of alliance disturbs me greatly, Sigismund. You should know by now that I am simply abiding by my oathsworn details, neither attachments to the agrieved past nor my needs for vengeance. Such trivial things will not hinder my ability to carry out my orders." Friedhelm concluded, as his frigid eyes unveiled itself from beneath his visor.

"Grandmaster-..." Hellriegel got up, reaching out her hands.

"You've done your part, Captain. 'Tis time I do mine." Friedhelm interrupted Hellriegel.

Hellriegel stood frozen, surprised by Friedhelm's sudden change of tone, as opposed to his usually easily-annoyed demeanor towards her. This time, the man before her was someone else entirely. Hellriegel gulped nervously, as she took a few steps back, acknowledging Friedhelm's subtle command. Meanwhile, the Grandmaster was contemplating Sigismund's sudden changes. The way he completely ignores Irelia's words, in addition to his abrupt decision to bring up Friedhelm's losses as if in hopes to discredit the latter. It made little sense for the man to do so, especially when his visage carried a certain weight when he said those things. If not justification, then was he truly operating on sentiments alone? No, Sigismund is, or rather, was a duty-bound member of the Watch. He knew better than to go rogue without the backings of his fellow members. Friedhelm could not make sense of it all, but knew one thing was for certain - Sigismund made himself an immediate threat to everyone. This has to end here and now.

Friedhelm withdrew a cigar from his cigar case and clasped his hands together, sandwhiching the silvery case between his hands. The unlit cigar tucked between his lips.

"Just so you know, you and Guanxing were the ones I proposed to Freya as the next successors. But I see now that Freya was right..." Friedhelm said with a heavy face, as he bit into his cigar, unleashing a purple smoke that emanated henceforth. The cigar lit up with purpose, burning at a rapid pace.

A black surge of energy surrounded Friedhelm, echoing across the immediate area. The surge of energy stopped within the radius from which the riot-shielders were containing. The reverbing sound shattered most of the lighting panels that was ran by grozium or aetherial energy. Irelia's wings were dyed with a purple glow, as a sudden surge of inconceivable torpidity engulfed the Swordmaiden, Sigismund and Hellriegel. They felt their energy drained and struggling to combat the sluggishness. The Grandmaster's power ovewhelmed the trio, effevtively grounding the angelic Swordmaiden. Yet despite this, Sigismund persisted. Whether by his own indomitable will or the works of a driving agent, it was clear that Sigismund was able to combat Friedhelm's ability. Friedhelm paced himself towards Sigismund, expecting the latter to strike at him, but nevertheless kept his constant pacing.

"Honor Freya by your actions to change the system from within! Do not desecrate her name with your sentimental state!" Friedhelm reasoned with Sigismund, with his Solingen yet to be unsheathed.

Hershey
Starline Magecraft Institution, Aurelian District
Nessi Celestial Speck Huntertabbysandshark3 Soviet Panda ElenaIsCool ​

Having secured their needed supply for the job, the Harbingees took off towards the Starline Mage Institution. Hershey kept a close watch on Ra'el with Fealca and Hassan as their vanguards. Galius and Bisila tailed them. In pairs of twos, their well-spaced posture made their ventures more aware.

Upon entry of the SMI, tall pillars with spiraling burning grozium greeted them. Banners of royal blue and golden cresf stretched out before the Harbingers, as flocks of attendees in blue and white made their way towards the main building. The Institution was divided into three separate wings, co-joined by the main administrative hall in the middle. Above them were aetherial spires that served as aerial training sites in addition to the ones on the ground. The Harbinger's objective was the main building, where a piece of Sertek's armor was put on display. Despite its simple containment within a transparent set of glass, the stand itself was blessed with anti-theft measures and complex runes to deter assailants. The armored statues that surrounded it were more than just a uniformity of aesthetic display. Hershey studied them closely, as the Harbingers entered the hall. She took note of the odd engravings on their armor. These ornate "statues" were deceptively tranquil to mask their vicious designs as Arcane Sentinels. Unlucky for them, the Starline Mages were up against a force to be reckoned with, not a band of common thieves.

"Pardon. We are here on a ... security inspection detail." Hershey brokered words with the clerk at the reception desk.

"One moment..." the receptionist replied.

Hershey knew little of their security measures, and had taken the initiative to prod their reaction. With the groziums she collected at the Garrison, the Dreamweaver could easily start a war here should she wished to. When the clerk looked up in surprise, Hershey rounded up what she could make of the building's layout and coughed slightly. When the faces began to fade, Hershey counted the remaining figures present and their chances of a decisive movement.

"We do not have any security checkup scheduled for today... who did you say you were with, again?"

" 'Tis well then." Hershey muttered, climbing over the counter and flicking the clerk's forehead, where they fell into slumber. She wove her hand over the grozite device, and deactivated them.

"Master! Take cover behind the counter! Bisila! Galius! Crowd control now!" she called out to Ra'el to take cover behind the reception desk, while letting the Bisila and Galius unto the Starline mages present within the lobby.

"Fealca! Hassan! Deal with those Star Sentinels, now!" Hershey pointed towards the lines of Sentinels that were lined up when the grozite anpracs were deactivated.

Hershey raised her grimoire and began tearing off several pages from it. She pinned the torn pages around the glass display and conjured forth a series of wheeling runes. There, the Dreamweaver began her work to break the seals, while her allies kept the mages busy.

Before long, the mages raised their hands, shifting an array of offensive spells to neutralize their assailants, while the Starline Sentinels glowed with purpose. The metallic automaton made haste towards the pair of Harbinger vanguards closest to them, in an attempt to box them in.

ACHIEVEMENTS UNLOCKED:

Memory Unlocked: Re/Cognition

Spoiler: Re:Cognition

"Grandmaster. You have sent for me?" a young man's voice echoed across the garden, beckoning the attention of a lady in black.

"Please, Friedhelm, have a seat. A drink perhaps?" she replied.

"I appreciate it, but I'm on duty, Grandmaster." Friedhelm replied with an expressionless visage.

The lady conjured a drink for both of them anyways. Friedhelm took his seat and veered his eyes towards his superior. The latter finally gave in and coughed slightly into her handkerchief. Friedhelm eyed her, as she tried to cover up the scarlet dye that was embroidered upon the once-immaculate handkerchief.

"Are you alright, Grandmaster?!" he got up.

"Please, sit. This ailment has kept me from my duties. But it is nothing to fret over. You're the only one who knows of this."

"Why? Why didn't you disclose your illness any sooner?! I'm sure the Nowaks will prescribe you something..."

"A shame, that I can only attend to my duties for a short run. Death comes to us all, Friedhelm. Some sooner than others. Humanity can't cheat Death and Fate. But this isn't why I summoned you here this day."

"Then why did you, Grandmaster?" Friedhelm inquired, with his eyes widened. A concerned countenance of a faithful subordinate.

"I merely wish to see a friend." she replied softly with a bright smile on her face.

The two ventured the garden, teeming with butterflies and vibrant flowers foreign to Friedhelm's eyes. He guided her slowly, matching their paces as they conversed. Gradually, Friedhelm gave in to a smile at her remarks. She giggled softly, with her delicate hands upon her tender lips.

"For the longest time, I missed that smile. The smile of an optimist and stubborn young boy that I found in the streets of Brecourt. How fine a man you are now, Friedhelm. Perhaps it was Aerilia's grace that brought you to me on that fateful day. A street urchin redeemed." she said.

"Grandmaster... I..." he muttered, before being shushed gently by her fingers upon his lips.

"You may not know it, Friedhelm my dear, but you possess the heart to bear the burdens of the Watch."

"Does that mean... no... No! I can't! I'm sure Sigismund or Guanxing are..." he took off his czapka and replied, but was interrupted by his superior.

"Sigismund is a warrior, he thinks with his heart, but is not malleable enough to weather the politics that comes with the job. Guanxing is a capable bureaucrat, but he does not possess the heart to make sacrifices. In our line of work, one must be able to maintain a balance. To be stubborn enough to carry our brethren forward. To be able to bend to a passing breeze and not shed one's leaves." she replied.

"I'm not the one for the job, Grandmaster. I... "

Friedhelm clenched his teeth, turning away slightly, before a pair of warm hands held his cheeks. The Grandmaster's delicate contact touched his heart.

"That in itself is what makes you worthy." she smiled.

The warm garden faded to gray, as the tumbler glasses upon the table remained. Friedhelm found himself surrounded by a multitude of Watchers. The Grandmaster by his side, grasping tightly onto his arm. Her visage worn out greatly since their walk just eight seasons ago. The garden, now cold and stale, had its colorful flowers replaced by red roses and white snow. The lifeless scene painted by calligraphy of the bleak Creator. Friedhelm' eyes remained hidden beneath his czapka, as he stood before his Grandmaster. He got on his knees, as the faceless men and women of the Watch cast their gazes. The Empress of Grozny watched from afar, beneath a vine-ridden gazebo, accompanied by her Four Paragons companions.

"Another torch to be rekindled. What do you make of this Friedhelm, my Paragons?" the Empress asked.

"An interesting development to say the least. But I know Grandmaster Freya has her reasons, Your Majesty." Wisdom answered.

"Your Majesty, I believe Friedhelm to be an ardent patriot as any of us. His talents are rough but spoken from the heart. An eloquent warrior as he is a silver-tongued politician." Courage said.

"Far from a true law-abiding citizen, given his past. His redemption has yet to come, Your Majesty." Justice chimed in.

"Never a day squandered in bawdyhouses or records of defiance. A bonafide concealment of a thoughtful man. This Friedhelm may prove to be a double-edged sword. However, I believe he can be of use to the Imperial cause, Your Majesty." Prudence concluded, turning the heads of the other Paragons.

An intrigued smile upon the crowned lady, as her scarlet eyes shot across the frozen stream with anticipation.

Meanwhile, Freya eyed Friedhelm briefly, before leaning in to dress him with a new crest upon his cloak. Her lips met his forehead, acknowledging his stance.

"I... Freya Salient of Brunswick, the Tenth Grandmaster of Her Imperial Majesty's Order of the Black Watch, Defender of the Peace and Order, Daughter of the Vigilant Eyes, now appoint you, Friedhelm of Brecourt, to be my successor." Freya announced.

"You will uphold your duties and diligence to your Black Watch brethren and serve the people of Grozny with all your heart and minds. You will not falter in the face of great adversity. You will answer to Her Imperial Majesty and bear the responsibility of an Imperial guardian. You will see your mission through to your very last breath. Do you swear by these principles on your life and soul?" Freya chanted, as Friedhelm took to heart her words.

"I do." Friedhelm replied, as a red rune emanated from Freya's hand. The rune etched itself onto Friedhelm's hand, before dissipating.

"Rise, Friedhelm of Brecourt, Eleventh Grandmaster of the Watch." Freya said, prompting Friedhelm to follow suit.

As he did, Freya removed her gloves and wrenched it with purpose. Her right hand woved to her left, before swinging right with force. The impact of her backhand strike caused Friedhelm's cheek to blemish with a reddish glow.

"And that is for you to remember." Freya said with a bright smile.

Friedhelm's eyes widened, as he felt Freya's backhanded smack upon his cheek.

Iris Companions "Vulture Actual, Going Dark"
Harbingers - "A' Musing Museum"
​

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Preston Saytzeff Pacer, Preston of Met Di Plurida
Mentions: Pilgrim59 Larry Doctor Nope Malphaestus

And thus the monstrosity spoke, In the name of his prophet, his God: shall he smite the companions for their blasphemous intrusion in the most sacred of homes. The grotesque man wrenched a spear of his own night-cloaked flesh. The arachnid's jaws clenched. His miniature eyes, simple in function, kept rapidly readjusting to 'hunt' for his prey. Once enough of the creature has been ascertained, Preston yowled internally. It did not even take a second for him to realize what this carcass was made of.

Sylvia's voice broke his fear as the arachnid stared right into the pointed apex of this hungry bolt. Horrid in its' form yet it seemed to crawl towards Preston with a wrathful inclination. Such power! — Preston thought as the spear whirled the stones and ethereal ambience of the sewers in its' wake. Preston's muscular legs pained and strained themselves to avoid the oncoming doom. In but an instant did the arachnid avoid the spear. If he hesitated or delayed by milliseconds. The doctor's life would have ended although whether it would by death or puppeteering is unknown. The spider crashed into the wall, sinking his clawed hands into the concrete and rock. "By The Matriarch" Preston quivered quietly. Alas, the arachnid chose poorly for his area of retreat as the cracked wall struggled to support him before giving entirely. Again, at the last second, he jumped off then tucked into a roll on the ground before stopping. Sylvia had barked her orders, one of which was for Laure to assist Preston.


The Dovean caught up to him.

"Just like old times, eh, Preston?"

The kneeling spider looked to the ground. "No... Nothing like those times." Begrudgingly he speaks. "EVERYONE!" Preston bellowed. "Do NOT let him grasp you! One-touch and you're parasitized!" Preston hopes that fate is kind to them now. He does not want to execute his compatriots... Nor does he wish that task on them.

The right spear limb extends, allowing Preston to grasp it. Tightening his grip on the limb. He began to pull! Agonizingly, the sound of crunching chitin and tearing muscle and sinew emanated around the battlefield. He growled as it finally came free. The stiffened limb lost life as the neural impulses ceased. Azure fluid seeped out of the stumps, Preston reached over with his left hand, producing a thick coat of webbing over it. Then out of his torn limb, the spider fashioned a spear by attaching structural supports out of webs at key points.

It must be this way or else.

 

[Zariel]

──────────────────────────────────────
Irelia Sonan
──────────────────────────────────────
— The Dawnbringer —​

Much to Irelia's surprise, Friedhelm had a sudden change of heart. It was only a short while ago that he rejected her challenge, but Sigismund spoke of something, and it would appear to have stricken Friedhelm's nerves.

Onyx Valley. Friedhelm's fallen sister. Irelia softly exhaled.

The Grandmaster and his, former, subordinate exchanged sallies. Irelia remained silent throughout, for she sensed that the matter about which they quarrelled did not concern her. Albeit, she couldn't help but feel that something was amiss.

Friedhelm bit on his cigar, inducing the spread of purple smoke which preceded a field of enervating dark energy. The aetherium saturating the area turned Irelia's gorgeous, golden wings a brilliant purple.

"Gah!" Irelia cried, her body reeled, and she dropped to her knees, though deftly, she pinned her sword into the ground to obviate her entire body from collapsing.

The Swordmaiden experienced ephemeral vertigo. Her surroundings spun, and she struggled to focus her vision while her strength waned. It was as if someone had ripped out the thew from inside of her. The Grandmaster's reputation precedes him; this was the first time Irelia experienced Friedhelm's power firsthand, and clearly, it was nothing to scoff at.

"So... you decided to raise your hand after all," she muttered, smirking, despite grappling with the fatigue.

Oddly enough, though Friedhelm had successfully subdued Irelia and Hellriegel, Sigismund was seemingly unphased. Both the renegade's feet were planted unwaveringly on the ground. How, when even the Swordmaiden and the Captain of the Watch were being quelled? It made little sense that Friedhelm lacked the means to keep one of his own in check. Could it be, to his credit, that Sigismund possesses such indomitable will and brawn, or was something else at play here?

Irelia recollected a past memory of someone important once telling her that willpower was a force unlike any other, capable of moving mountains, its limits being defined only by the individual. Perhaps, there was some truth to that.

She dwelled hardly a moment longer, her thoughts racing. While she did not doubt Sigismund to be a capable soldier, whether or not he'd be able to triumph against Friedhelm was a different matter. But in her current state, she would unlikely be able to provide much succour.

If she wanted to help, she would need to act quickly.

"Grant me strength in this moment of need," she whispered, searching deep for remaining reserves of energy to conjure what would start as a mere speck of golden light above her palm. For now, she could only pray that Sigismund would be able to hold off the Grandmaster for long enough.

To defeat those who rallied against her, she would need to draw power from the light, in spite of the snow ridden skies. Though the means to win would come at great cost, it was a price Irelia was willing to pay.