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Branwen As Matra spits in your face, she wrenches her arm free and goes to a knee. She comes back up in no time brandishing a combat knife and lunges rapidly at your face. An instinct from your mortal days compels you to protect it and take your eyes off her. Seizing the opportunity, Matra darts by you and rushes to the hatch you came in from. You hear boney creaking as you spot several Lashute skeletons with submachine guns keeping pace in the opposite side of the room, though it seems they might not intercept her in time. Just inside the door, you see the partially submerged form of Beep near where the grenade is smoldering in place. What do you do? Krishga Matra makes a move and breaks free, heading for the rear compartment. You can travel atop the engine and keep her in sight and your companions are quickly trying to corner the marine. A little too slow in their part, however. You still have advantage due to height. What do you do? Anastasia Alright, gently caress it. You climb back into the cockpit and grab the controls before initiating the jump drive. The hydraulic system kicks in and lurches the Maximus upwards, and the auxiliary rockets continue the momentum. The dark waters above you lighten as you ascend through the depths. Your sensors blur as you erupt from the sea and water cascades down the cameras. You sweep the Maximus' scanners around 360°, spotting the vanishing wake of the Machine Wash Tumble Dry. Much too far away to hitch a ride. Off to port you see the Undying Vengeance turning in a lazy circle above where you and Jaroth clashed with Eos. With some careful maneuvering you could probably land on the corvette without damaging anything. Roll +Iron to land safely. What do you do? Jaroth Rulakir returns your gesture as you go. Hey glances at the green handkerchief on Bedrimulael's coat but says nothing. At your orders, Bedrimulael nods. "We're not going back into Her custody." Once you take off you swoop down to evade detection out of old habit...but from which of your existences? It's all so muddled these days. Is there even a distinction anymore? You are shaken from your thoughts by a thunderous sound blows up from the surface nearby, showering you and Sorvis-Kazbiel in salt water. It's that giant metal armor suit from before! It's angled slightly towards the Undying Vengeance What do you do?
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May 23, 2023 04:10
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| # ? May 5, 2024 22:37 |
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 A drop of sweat falls from her brow and Krishga blinks - and suddenly, Matra is no longer where she should be, in the sights of the Goblin’s junk cannon loaded with her hastily-constructed net shot. Krishga sees the glint of a knife in the darkness, and then Matra trying to land a blow on Branwen, but before she can bring the junk cannon to bear, the traitorous saboteur swiftly makes a run for the opposite end of the engine compartment. “Damnit…” Krishga mumbles to herself. ’I got you covered with this one’, huh, Krishga? hosed that one up, sorry, Branwen. But… if there is anyone here aboard the Machine Wash Tumble Dry that can simply shrug off a sudden attack with a knife, it’s Branwen. Now, focus, focus. Take aim, carefully, and drat, it is hard to see! How is Matra moving this fast with everything half-flooded? And why in the abyss did she betray everyone? Money? Is Warwick blackmailing her? Or… ? Doesn’t matter. Right now, how about I just get this shot right - and hope the net works, which it should, but still, it’s a bit experimental, and she has a knife, so, that is not ideal, the net’ll have to tightly wrap around her and take away her footing, hmmm, what if…. Hm, yes, yes, that could work. Yes! Krishga tries to track the rapid movement of Matra, though both the marine’s skill and the poor illumination make it difficult - and so instead, Krishga aims the junk cannon above a floating barrel she has spotted, directly in Matra’s path towards the hatch to the next compartment, and with it, access to more explosives or even an escape route to the outside for the saboteur. The Goblin breathes in, aims and waits for the sudden movement of the marine quickly leaping over the barrel to clear it. At the apex of Matra’s jump, Krishga pulls the junk cannon’s trigger. The net shot finds its mark, wrapping itself tightly around the saboteur in mid-air, pressing her arms against her body - and makes her flop unceremoniously to the ground like a helpless fish in a fisherman’s boat. quote:Krishga Tazz (nil) Request: [2d6+2] Roll: [6, 5] Result: 13 Reason: Finish Them (with Sense) nil. fucked around with this message at 15:28 on May 26, 2023 |
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May 23, 2023 19:40
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 Jaroth stopped his motions and hung in the air, hovering with Sorvis-Kazbiel at his back. Quietly he spoke to his comrade "This suit, and its occupant or indeed occupants aided me earlier in the disabling of that elven war machine. Anastasia is aboard." is what he said before moving around slightly moving towards interposing himself between the armour and the Undying Vengeance, the uncanny method by which he accomplished such a feat remaining unseen. "Ahoy!" he shouted at the armoured suit (and hopefully its pilot), while waving to it in hopes of getting Anastasia's attention, the sea air billowing his cloak as his glowing eyes periodically scanned around in case there was some other danger present before switching back to focusing on the machine-suit operated by the first (and presently only) member of the group that he has met.
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May 25, 2023 03:19
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SRe1dsXs6_s (Kovcheg - Song of the Volga Boatmen) The crew of the Machine Wash Tumble Dry are lined across XK-Masada's above-water docking platform, a large steel construction with struts projecting outward for mooring. The M.W.T.D. and the Undying Vengeance are presently docked next to one another as a small crew of freelance engineers scratch their chins over the structural issues they are seeing in the submarine. It'll be a long while before they can give a repair time estimate, and significantly longer than that before those repairs can be completed, but at least the ship isn't stuck in a queue. The Raft is notorious for the number of Dock Queens it hosts at any one time; there never being enough qualified people to work on them relative to the number that need it. Matra and Eos have been taken away by ESCO troopers to be held in the brig with a solemn promise from Lord Rulakir that the pilot will not be harmed. It is clear that he would not have qualms against it, but neither did he put up much argument against it. Those of you who spoke directly to Eos came away with the impression he doesn't know much of tactical or strategic importance and history backs you up - very rarely does any single member of the Dominion, no matter how high ranking or well trained, know much of anything that is actually helpful in opposing the Dominion. They practice extremely strict sanitization of information over there - to the unceasing frustration of men like Rulakir. The rare occasion some high ranking general or the like has been under threat of capture they have near universally taken their own lives, and most forms of necromancy prove ineffective against elves. Their dead flesh refuses to obey except in the cases of rare and near-universally forbidden rituals. Captain Beloved-Summer-Day finishes pouring a drink for the ship's cook, standing at the end of the line next to the Shivans. They have also elected to join this ceremony in solidarity and even Sulhafah's unceasing smug grin has been dialed down to an easily-overlooked smirk. Once finished the gnoll woman steps away and back down the line before finally stopping and addressing the sailors, Shivans, and those of you who chose to stay. Behind her lie the bodies of the fallen men and woman of the Machine Wash Tumble Dry, their meager personal possessions assembled around them. Lonik, Chief Engineer Kieral and his subordinates, and the remains of the poor bastard Eos cleaved in half. To one side of them stand five Lashute marines carrying Type 60 rifles, attending as honor guard for the fallen. Holding her glass high, the Captain speaks. “How still, How strangely still The water is today, It is not good For water To be so still that way.*” At this she tosses the burning shot of rum down her throat, and the sailors follow in kind. Only BROWNY does not, lacking a mouth or stomach, and instead pours the shot onto the deck plates solemnly. "In accordance with the ship's manifest, the personal possessions and earned shares of the deceased will be sent on to their listed next of kin. Lady Olan of the Church of Tides has agreed to see the dead to their final rest within the depths, as is proper for Kolsac Sea marines." Turning to the skeletal guard, she gives them a nod. "Carry on." They sharply take up their arms, turn to the sea, and fire three volleys over the assembled bodies. The rifles return to their side, buttstocks planted firmly on the steel deck. The Captain dismisses her crew and you all eventually make your way to the service elevators back into the base proper. *Langston Hughes, The Weary Blues Krishga In the wake up Matra's capture, you and Gren's team were able to give the submarine a thorough going over and retrieve several additional explosive devices and disarm them with no further trouble. Emrael proved to still be functional although his "brains" were pretty well rattled by the .45 to the dome. At Gren's behest you bolted a steel plate over the worst of it and he reassured you that Emrael would be fine in the end. He'd just need to be reasigned to light duty in Lashute proper while he adjusted to the repair job. In many ways skeltons are easier to maintain than living beings, and in many ways they are much more complicated. The interplay between the body and soul remains a largely unexplored field of research even to this day. Rajat and his boys offer their gratitude for the help, and mention that they can be found in the Dead Echo later this evening after the funeral service for their comrades. Sailors being what they are on top of their ship being destined for dry dock, you can expect they'll be drinking the place dry over the following weeks and months. Probably getting well acquainted with the brig while they're at it. Lord Rulakir himself is unavailable for haranguing, speeding off to meetings as soon as his ship docked. You suspect you'l have a chance to give him a piece of your mind yet, however. Rumors about the base suggest numerous League envoys and representatives of Lunar pantheon ar expected to arrive tomorrow and a message from Acting Comander Durell have made it known that those of your Fellowwship that intend to conintue with the mission are expected for a briefing tomorrow as well. It's very unlikely these two facts are unrelated. The Maximus has already preceded you via the freight elevator and you stand in front of it now, debating how to proceed. To Anastasia's credit, she handled the craft well. No damage as she pursued Eos, and she didn't hit any of the buttons that make unfortunate problems for you to handle. The only complaint you can lodge is you are pretty sure Duchess left a mess in there for you to clean up. What do you do? Jaroth After you help Ana guide the armor suit back down to a safe landing aboard the Undying Vengeance, reports soon came that the saboteur aboard the submarine had been apprehended and the explosives planted in it disarmed. The pilot of Eos is likewise in custody, and word from bridge says the craft left below the waves will be retrieved ASAP once a proper salvage vessel can get here. You and your companions are than left with about an hour of time to kill, during which you are able to meet several interesting individuals. They call themselves Shivans after the name of the beings that once claimed ownership over them. Apparently over the centuries these people were kidnapped and stolen away to a hidden city beneath the Sea of Crescents and transformed to serve the various whims of their Abyss Wyrm owners. There is Gogolia, and ancient triton with the lower body of a slug. Zagubal-wu-Azar, a heavily muscled orc man with the head of a great white shark. A warm-hearted fellow despite his cold black eyes. Zibal you recall as the eel-woman you saw guiding the armor suit along while you kept Eos busy. Her speech is somewhat broken but you quickly gather that she's not remotely the moron it might otherwise suggest. Lastly there is Alhena a former human twisted far more than her compatriots. She's more taciturn than the others, but polite enough upon introduction. Nevertheless you sense a great deal of buried anger residing within her. The name Flesh-That-Hates comes unbidden to your mind when you look into her multifaceted eyes.  Kalkydra happily warbles at everyone present from your shoulder and Zibal is only too happy to warble back at her, and they soon find themselves indulging in impromptu duets. Bedrimulael and Sorvis-Kazbiel are a bit more reserved, politely greeting the Shivans but far less inclined to drop all social barriers. Despite this, you do sense they become more accepting of these new people after hearing how they also have suffered under cruel, flesh-warping masters. These Shivans understand at least a little what you've all been through. After about an hour of continued sailing, on the horizon rises the above-water docks of XK-Masada. Nothing appears amiss, so it would seem nothing has gone awry in your absence. The ensuing chaos as both the Undying Vengeance and the Machine Wash Tumble Dry dock makes it near impossible to speak with what you understand to be the other members of this Fellowship. The owner of the armor suit, Krishga Tazz, and Branwen McAlister as you are informed. There are simply so many people swarming around and than an impromptu funeral service being arranged, you find yourself and your companions aboard an elevator into the base before you can take them aside to say hello. Well, there's no exact hurry. You'll be able to catch up with them. In the meantime, you take the chance to poke around the base a little. You and the others stuck to your assigned rooms mostly as you adjusted to freedom once more, and the ability to trust the people around you weren't going to begin the tortures you'd only just managed to escape. In your walk you come across the Harpy's Nest, a central sort of hub area with a small bodega carrying the expected goods. There's even a phone set up for making calls to the surface, though at prohibitive cost per minute. A young lady leans on her fist sleepily and offer you a bored yawn and a wave. Next to the shop you see a large commercial coffee pot with a sign indicating it is free for anyone who wants some. If your reccolections of military life are anything to go by, it'll be black, bitter, and burnt, but it'll keep you awake. Casting your eyes about, you see the surrounding tables and chairs are mostly unoccupied. A few off duty personnel grabbing a pick me up or winding down from the end of a shift. You do notice a young sandy haired fellow sitting at one table, wearing well worn homespun clothing. If it weren't for his youthfulness you'd guess perhaps he was a monk, or maybe a cleric. Something about him is decidedly amiss, though. He is not an angel but he feels...similar in a way you cannot describe. He just feels like a word bearer. In this man's case, the word is Wind. He meets your eyes and offers a friendly smile. "You're a new face. I love meeting new faces. I'm Lahire. Nice to meet you." He inclines he head, indicating you and yours ought to take a seat. What do you do? Anastasia You find yourself meandering into the quartermaster's office, and you see Staff Sergeant Lobel in all his hideous glory. Duchess keeps at your side and the relief is palpable in the man's face as you enter. "Thank the gods." He plants his meaty hands on the counter and leans forward. "I saw're a hand reach out of nothing and haul my charge away. Wasn't sure how I was going to explain it you you. Glad to see she's come to no harm." He rubs the side of his nose and peers at you suspiciously. "I don't suppose you can exlpain what happen, eh?" Off in a corner of the office, you see a pair of halfings in military attire talking with an ESCO trooper. The halfling looks pretty relaxed, the male with shaggy brown hair and a beat up cap pulled down over his eyes. The woman does the talking, long curly blonde hair giving her more of an aristocratic look than military. Both wear fatigues identifying them as privates in the Bagalish military. Unrelated to ESCO, you can only guess they do grunt work around here as part of some general's half-assed idea of coalition. The trooper himself looks a little nervous, constantly running a hand over his buzzcut and and quietly reassuring the pair that barely reach his waist that no, for real, he'll get them their money. He quickly clams up when he realizes someone else just walked in, and the halflings glance lazily in your direction. What do you do? Branwen As you descend the elevator ahead of the others, intent on speaking with the elven prisoner in the brig, you are brought up short as you glance around the hustle and bustle of the arrival zone. It's a bare open space of poured concrete with benches bolted into the floor at regular intervals. Painted arrows on the floor inform newcomers that this way to registration, that way to administration, over there for the submarine pens, and so forth. Sloppy as far as keeping possible intruders in the dark as to where they are, but given the sort of threats that you know are actually likely, not a major concern. And if it were someone like you, you wouldn't even need to come inside. A few well placed explosives on the outside support struts is all you'd need to bring this whole place down and flood what remained. What brings you to a halt is a figure sitting primly at a nearby bench. Long red hair in a tight bun, large glasses framing a very familiar face and behind those glasses, the same eyes you (used to) have. She wears a deep green conservatively styled but nevertheless expensive travel dresses Serenity bought her that she never wore, and has a matching purse sitting in her lap. At her feet is a medium sized hardshell suitcase in deep brown leather. Typical for her that in spite of her other nice clothing, she still wears a sturdy pair of boots suitable for the muddy landscape of Blutfuecht. It is very obviously your mother, Maeve McAlister, though as you read her face something seems off. She should be in her fifties by now yet judging by her face she looks no more than late thirties. And since when did her ears have those points at the end? Around her are three men in ESCO gear, crowding a little too close. You cannot make out what they're saying. What do you do? Shardix fucked around with this message at 04:22 on Jul 3, 2023 |
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Jul 3, 2023 03:15
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With all the time that had passed, Jaroth's thoughts once more drifted to what was going to happen. This might be the last time his fellows and he might feel remotely safe, and even that illusion might be broken sooner than expected as Warwick had already activated an agent to work against those that might oppose her - other members of her forces might be lurking even here, waiting for the right moment to strike. Still, beyond having a greater ability to sympathise with the plight of Jaroth's people, the Shivans would be extremely unlikely to be any of Warwick's agents, so at least it would be easier to relax around them despite the impressive physical modifications that they had undergone that might otherwise put someone ill at ease. At the funeral service itself, Jaroth was deep in thought as he considered mortality, moreover those that would fall prey to the ineffable grip of death in the mission that was yet to come. A small thought rises up from the murky depths that raises an interesting question... what happens when an angel dies? Can an angel die? Is it just the body that expires? If that happens... then what? Gripping the holy symbol that dangled around his neck, Jaroth silently prayed to never find out - which to an outward observer would just make it look like he was being particularly reverent given the occasion. Upon entering the Harpy's Nest, Jaroth spent an uncomfortably long time staring at the payphone. Numbers and purpose stirring at the edge of his mind but never quite coalescing into something concrete or truly recognisable. He felt that he should make a phone call, but he can't quite make out who the call would be, or what their phone number is or was. Another urge lying on the back of his mind tries to convince him to forget, and that calling... whoever that is... would only lead to problems. Slightly troubled by this clash of mutually opposing thoughts that never quite go anywhere, Jaroth suddenly felt that he might need a drink to better calm his nerves. However, before he can even attempt to acquire anything that to that effect his mind sharpens dramatically along an entirely different line of thinking - banishing such other thoughts to the deeper depths of his psyche - as he notices this new figure, apparently human yet possessing a word. Jaroth had to find out what this meant, he hypothesized before that such words could be taught to a non-angel if done by an appropriate sources (i.e. an angel) but he hadn't witnessed it done before, and if this was the case then he is most definitely a link of some kind to other angels, probably Aqualantis itself which could prompt innumerable reasons (and points of concern). If this is not the case... well... Jaroth snapped back to reality as he pushed all the theorising further back into his mind because the here and now was more important. Jaroth nodded to Lahire and motioned his fellows along as they shuffled together and sat down around the young man's table. Jaroth was the first to speak, as the group settled in. "Greetings Lahire, I am Jaroth. This here is Bedrimulael, Sorvis-Kazbiel, and... Kalkydra." Jaroth allowed the others to nod or otherwise greet Lahire before he spoke once more, the burning curiosity within him somewhat couched with caution at what potential ramifications this encounter could mean or what implications that this could entail rose within him. "So what brings you here, to a place like this?" inquired Jaroth, his tone even and practiced, his posture mostly relaxed and maintaining an air of being interested. As he awaited a response, Jaroth did take the opportunity to catch a closer glimpse at the garb that Lahire was clad in, and tried to contemplate what that might imply. If his clothes were homespun it seems unlikely that he was from Aqualantis, but not impossible.
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Jul 4, 2023 00:39
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Inside a large maintenance bay in the XK-Masada, Krishga stands in front the Maximus, a large notepad in her hands and an intent look on her face. The Goblin engineer slowly walks around her mechanical masterwork, taking notes on the battle suits’ external condition. As other things to take care of come to her mind, she stops in her tracks, flips to one of the notepad’s many pages, and quickly scribbles down her thoughts and ideas, then continues, her mind always trying to go faster than her pen can keep up with. Little by little, the notebook is filled with what to the neophyte may look like a stereotypical super scientist’s notes out of some pulp serial, but is in reality a compendium covering a variety of topics, from notes on the Maximus’ and Minimus’ condition and performance, ideas for improvement, theories regarding the thaumophysical fundamentals behind Meshaia’s powers, a draft for giant underwater turbines for cleaning up the Triton’s Death Currents, notes on pre-record history of both Elves and Goblins going against all established academic theories, the phone numbers of some prominent Goblin and non-Goblin professors that might just be interested in that new view on history, a highly speculative blueprint of how a mechanical heart for a titan larger than a mountain may have worked, the mixture of potatoes and beets required to make hooch in an improvised distillery to thank Rajat and the others aboard the Machine Wash Tumble Dry, especially after the more somber funeral earlier, a small addendum to investigate whether undead sailors like Gren and his marines would enjoy alcohol, a reminder to call her family if possible, make it clear to her brother that he cannot just create merchandise based on Krishga, Champion of the Goblins without her having some say in how the profits are used, and finally, a checklist of all the people the busy Goblin wants to meet before, inevitably, the Fellowship’s journey must continue. Some people she wants to give a piece of her mind - just the one, currently - some she wants to check in and see how they fare after the marvelous and terrible things that happened, some she wants to say her goodbyes to before their paths diverge, and one she wants to meet and get to know better. Jaroth. Apparently he was the one that showed up on radar as the flying object? Huh, what do you know? I think I spotted him, a bit of him - he was glowing? - but there was not enough space in that elevator. Good thing I was still wearing the Minimus at the time, or I would have been forced to swing my big wrench at some shins so they give me some space and don’t trample me. Jaroth, that’s what he’s called according to Ana. Said he’s ‘the same as her and Alhena’, I think which… could be more descriptive. Use your words, girl! But, one thing after another. Maximus looks good. Anastasia actually… took good care of you, huh? I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit proud. Well, that goes for Ana, not for Duchess. I saw what that hyena left behind in the passenger compartment. I’d be offended if I thought that was intentional. Hmmmm. Maybe add a small compartment with a scoop and plastic bags to the inside of the Maximus? Might have to reroute some wiring, but… No. Maybe later. Other things first. A group of nearby engineers watch the Goblin tinker with some vague interest between glancing back at the open panel exposing some of the XK-Masada’s insides, only one of them working on their maintenance work without seeming to make much progress, the others simply looking or shrugging. “Hey! Hey, you there.” Krishga shouts, approaching the group with quick steps. “Could use some help, if you boys are up for it.” By way of explanation, she points a thumb at the Maximus behind her back. The engineers all share a couple of looks and raised eyebrows before one of them responds. “Sorry…” There is a pause as the man considers hope to address the small, but commanding Goblin. “…boss, got some work here that needs finishing first. Real fu… real head scratcher of a problem. Might take a while. Can’t just do something else while we’re busy with that. You know.” Krishga nods, fully understanding the unspoken ‘or our boss will give us an earful’. “All of you busy, huh?” She puts her hands on her hips, glances at the assembled crew of engineers, most of them only able to what might charitably be described as ‘supervising’, then focuses her gaze on the insides behind the open panel. She strokes her chin and peeks at the tools and parts the crew has laid onto the ground next to them. “Well.” She cocks her head and pushes her tongue against the inside of her cheek. “From what I can see, you got the wrong wiring connectors and pipe pieces there, and I’d wager you know it, probably supply issues, nothing else in stock right now, and I bet someone higher up that ‘doesn’t want to hear excuses’ - and wouldn’t understand them, anyway - told you to get this done now. So. If I had to do this…” She steps closer. “I’d take that T-3 connector there, file it down at the end, that should make it fit the Corelex Extender you got in the toolbox there, weld the ring from a discarded DDM Seal - should be plenty in a place like this, always fail too soon, but the rings are usually find - weld that to the inside of that too-large pipe, and you should have everything you need to get this fucker of a problem all fixed.” Krishga shrugs. “And then if you decided to help a Goblin genius out with keeping her wonder of mechanical engineering in top fighting shape, why, I’d say you deserved an early break after all that.” She grins. “Whadya say?” The engineers share another set of looks, this time ones of astonishment. The ones who spoke before gives Krishga a sheepish smile and a shrug. “Alright.” Krishga slaps her hands together. “Won’t take long boys, and you’ll be able to tell everyone you worked on the Maximus Mk III. One of you will need a scoop.” Not waiting for any follow-up questions, she turns around and climbs up into the Mk III’s cockpit, waving for her new helpers to come over. Some time later, Krishga arrives in the Harpy’s Nest, the XK Masada’s hub area which contains what she is looking for right now - a phone connecting her to the outside world. She flips the pages of her notepad until she arrives at the page where she wrote down the numbers of several prominent figures in the academic world, most of them acquaintances of her late mentor Tulgrom Lupp. She considers whether she wants to call her family first - and then her eyes go wide when she sees that it is a payphone. “What the gently caress?!” She blinks. “I’m the bloody champion of the Goblins, and I want to share monumental discoveries with the world, and they want me to pay… with quarters….” She shakes her head, realizing she is rambling to herself in a semi-public space. A thought starts forming in the tinker’s head, and she scans the items on offer in the Harpy’s Next bodega, her eyes finally settling on a cereal box, promising a toy whistle inside. “Hmmm.” Before she can put her through into action, she spots something else that catches her attention - the man named Jaroth, sitting at a table together with what looks like an extremely colorful bird, two equally impressive people that seem to be Jaroth’s companion and, across them, a fellow that seems familiar to Krishga. “Huh. Small station. Hm. Are those… glowing tattoos? They look good, I, ah, mean, interesting.” She starts waving, only belatedly realizing she might be intruding on a private conversation - then decides that if the conversation is truly private, her new companion should have enough of a spine to tell her to wait. nil. fucked around with this message at 09:53 on Jul 6, 2023 |
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Jul 4, 2023 20:14
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 --------------------------------------------------------------------------- BLD +2 [ ]|| COU +2 [ ]|| GRA -1 [ ]|| SEN +0 [ ]|| WIS +2 [ ] Blessings: Strength[ ] || Speed[ ] || Glory[ ] || Power[X][X] Gear: Armor[X] || Fuel[ ][ ][ ] Hilda: Crack Shot[ ] || Quick As A Bullet [ ] --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Branwen drums her fingers against her arm as the elevator descends, the drum of metal on metal and the hum of the elevator's winch failing to drown her thoughts and thusly keep the grim frown off her face. "What's got ya so mad?" Hilda's voice breaks the rhythm, the gunslinger casually leaning against the wall of the box as the pair descend, "The pilot's ignorance of his military, the world, or..." Hilda shifts, seemingly knowing after simply saying the words she was on the wrong track, standing up straight and catching a direct gaze with Branwen's before giving a small smirk. "Rulakir? That ol' bag a bones gotcha this primed?" Bran let's out a sigh before replying "All that from a look?" "I've a bit of experience lookin'. What it don't tell me is why, exactly." "Being the leader of a city mired in foul, systemic necromancy isn't reason enough?" "For a born Blutfuetch native, figured you'd be used to it." Bran full on frowns at this. "That's, very different, and not polite conversation aside. Which you should know if you know about it." "You know my leg of the faith ain't big fans of it either, but I don't particularly see the difference." Hilda replies alongside a halfhearted shrug. "The immediate one is that if Rulakir ceased to be, Lashute would continue on largely as is." "And Blutfuetch wouldn't?" "No matter how skilled its road wardens and the Lord's Rangers were, without the Lords past and present most members of the League could takeover. Anyone half as large as the League could as well, with less fear of reprisal from neighbors to boot. It's best hope would be the Dominion, surviving under its thumb is something everyone there would know already." Bran's statement is punctuated with the sharp ding of the elevator's bell, as it settles and opens its doors. The pair walk out and Bran scans the room out of habit more than anything. The lay of the room and it's security isn't what drowns out Hilda's response, nor the members of ESCO. Who they're crowding, however, stops Branwen dead in her tracks as she practically shouts "Mom!?"
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Jul 10, 2023 12:01
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☿☿☿ posted:...for a dwelling-place that element in which light is bereft of its double activity, for in the water, fire neither illuminates nor burns. Each fish [...] flies where he wills, and his weakness is protected by the obscurity of the deep... I can still hear him dying. My beautiful ship. My stallion. Defeated and drowned beneath alien waters. Smothered under the night of time. Just like me. This world makes no sense. No one speaks Language. The dead and the never-born walk where they may, and none cower, or bow, or raise hand against them. Even my jailer seems not to understand her exaltation, and she so obviously among the Gilt. Have we all forgotten ourselves? The Irontongue hadn't. But one among how many? She spoke and acted just like a Prime, but...she hardly seemed one of the People at all. Except when she ripped me out of my chair through a hole in the world and threw me into an iron cage full of monsters. And then none of them tried to kill me. They just put me in a different cage. She told me to stay and know silence for a while. So that's what I've been doing. Not that I can. Nothing is quiet here. Tide-leak and poo poo-noise bleat at me from every angle. Are they waiting for me to die? To see how long it takes? Oh, _________. I don't understand. (I pull another thread of ripped skein from my helmet, and flinch. One more strain of his agonies leaves me. Soon it'll all be gone.) I'm so tired, but I can't close my eyes. Even though I might be allowed now. What's going to happen to me? ================================================================================= quote:
Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 04:27 on Jul 20, 2023 |
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Jul 19, 2023 23:58
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vhRwzommXUA (Final Fantasy VI Arranged Soundtrack - Under Martial Law) Branwen Maeve's attention snaps to you as exclaim "Mom!?" Confusion briefly crosses her face before its chased away by disbelief and finally settling on happiness as she stands up, hands firmly holding into her purse. She walks through the group of soldiers who mutter in annoyance. One of them sets a hand on her shoulder which she immediately knocks away, refusing to even spare the man a look over her shoulder as she approaches you. "I barely recognize you! It's been ten years and not a word. Where have you been? What happened to you?" She glances over at Hilda. "And who is this young lady?" If she has any concern for the people behind her, she doesn't show it. The trio of ESCO troopers surround Maeve from behind, the two apparently subordinate ones unslinging their rifles. The leader, a thirty-ish man with a thick beard and mustache and nearly your height glowers at you all. "Hey, we're not done talking to you. Unregistered elves and their half-breeds are to be questioned. No exceptions. And those ears of yours don't lie." Out of the corner of your eye you see Hilda's hands rest on her belt and you know for a fact she's capable of fast drawing her pistols from that position and dropping these men if she so chooses. The ESCO troopers haven't yet raised their weapons, but its clear some bullshit is going on and worse than bullshit is fixing to follow. What do you do? Krishga The engineers nod along with you. "Yeah, everything's been routed to the teleportation grid as a priority. Maintenance and repairs elsewhere have taken a backseat and orders for replacement parts have likewise been delayed again and again. Huge pain in the rear end, but Boss Greznikrek makes the calls in the end, and his orders have been to get the teleport pad ready to go ASAP." As you demonstrate your skill one of them smacks a coworker upside the head. "See, I told you a T-3 bypass would work." They ask a few more questions on routine issues they have, and your experience in similar situations on Guttlefink provides the answers they need. Zeppelintropoli design and this base share a lot of design similarities so your knowledge transfers fairly well. About the only area you might come up short is one of adequate sealing against leaks, as that's rarely a problem in the sky. Having nothing major needing their attention, they agree to provide extra hands in the Maximus' maintenance and repair. They politely respect your requests to stay away from this or that proprietary tech and in return prove somewhat taciturn about any questions involving this teleport technology or this Boss Greznikrek they mentioned. The existence of the tech is no big secret but they are mum on details of how it works or what goes into maintaining it. "We're pretty low on the totem pole anyway. The most we could tell you is it uses a lot of exotic elements that were still only theoretical when we were in University." ---- A while later, you finish your work and decide to take a walk and work out the cramps. Even as small as you are, the Maximus' most vital areas are still a tight fit and require extended periods of focus to make sure those systems are working properly. While you are not stopped or accosted, you do notice a significant increase in the number of ESCO troops stationed around the base. They are all standing at attention and alert for trouble, rifles in hand. There is an undercurrent of anticipation that permeates this place. As you contemplate the insult of the telephone, you console yourself with the knowledge that many of the goblin-folk you'd wish to speak with are unreachable by landline anyway. Unfortunately this deep in the sea, the high powered radio transmitters you'd usually use to contact them also won't work. One of many reasons your folk never took to the seas very much. Oh, sure, they've been happy to take tall folks' money and build whatever undersea arcologies they might wish for (many many goblins were able to retire off the payments they earned building Aqualantis, for example), but they've never really found it a welcoming biome for long term colonization. As you spot Jaroth and approach, his companions notice you and watch quietly as you walk over. The bird warbles pleasantly and the Man sitting across from them (Lahire, wasn't it?) smiles as you sees you. "Good day, Mizz Krishga. Lovely to see you again." What do you do? Jaroth Lahire inclines his head as you introduce your companions, offering a pleasedtameetcha to each of them in turn. He matches your relaxed posture, throwing an arm casually over the back of his chair and crossing one leg over the other. "Business brings me here. Masada is the nexus of the investigation into Aqualantis' disappearance. There was a lot of money going into and out of that place, and very many people who want to know where it all went and why. A man with his ear to the ground can make good money ensuring those questions get answers. Your new-found comrades, for example. Branwen McAlister. Anastasia Greymist. Krishga Tazz. Konas Keaweth. I've got good reason to suspect they've found some of those answers in their trip." Interesting. This guy already knows you're associated with them, albeit only briefly. Lahire waves it off casually. "Don't get the wrong idea; nobody is spying on you that I know of. I just happened to see you in their company when you debarked the Undying Vengeance. You're hard to miss in a crowd. Anyway, to put it simply I'm an info broker. I buy and I sell and brother, you look like you have interesting things to tell me!" He flashes you another broad smile but this one has clear artifice behind it. This guy is definitely looking to make a deal with you if he can. As you consider how to proceed, you spot movement out of the corner of your eye. A small goblin woman approaches the table, and you recognize her as one of the people working with the Greymist woman and those Shivans - Krishga Tazz, you recall her name is though you haven't been properly introduced yet. What do you do? Eos You really ducked up this time. No ADF pilot has ever been captured alive before. You didn't initiate Eos' self destruct, or even take your cyanide pill. You quit fighting entirely. Why is that? Not I blame you or anything - your life has been expendable from the moment you were decanted. If you'd have ever died with Eos still intact, mother - sorry, Operator would have simply grown a replacement. And it isn't like you have any sort of retirement to look forward too. You serve until you are no longer needed. If the day were to ever come that the Dominion truly, finally won against the natives of this world and conquered the planet entire, you have no doubt that back into the freezer you would go. Just in case. Something must have gone wrong with the loyalty engrams. You were always a bit rebellious, inclined to crack wise to Operator much more so than your brothers and sisters. But to disobey your orders entirely? Unthinkable. Until today. Today you decided you were done. Glancing around, you take in your surroundings once more. Spartan quarters - a stiff uncomfortable bunk attacked to one wall, with a dirty off-white toilet in one corner with a roll of thin paper sitting atop the tank. Disgusting savages. Metal bars keep you inside and even your eerily thin frame would not be able to slip between them. You are in the middle of the five cells in this side of the corridor. Across and one over in another cell, contains an unconscious human woman wearing a tank top and pants. Apparently some kind of spy or saboteur taken into custody around the same time you were. She has a nasty shiner erupting around one eye and the fatigue pants she wears look stained with grease and seawater. Near as you can tell nobody else is imprisoned here, though the corridor down one end opens to the left and right, and you suppose at the very least there are thirty total cells available if they both open to only one extra row. Down the other end of this corridor lies the security gate leading out of here, and in front of it stands a large golden skeleton. The skeleton has rifle slung across its back, a slug thrower of some sort. Primitive but no less lethal than your own hard light pistol. Presently it has an enormous cleaver resting before it, both hands on the hilt in parade rest. The bottom of the cleaver sits on the concrete floor and does not so much as tremble. Its wielder seems content to stand guard, unmoving and unspeaking. You are familiar with the forms of undead belligerant nations utilize. This one is likely from Lashute, one of the Dominions most stalwart and irritating foes. If rumors are to be believed, the gold this specimen is coated in implies it has slain no small number of your planet-bound kinfolk. Overhead, the stark sodium lights glare down at you. One flickers intermittently and it's getting annoying. All that you've been told since being seized and locked up is that if you wish to keep your life long term, you must surrender whatever you know of military value. Should you wish to do so, merely inform your guard. Otherwise you suppose you'll be kept here until they decide its time for questioning. You cannot imagine the questioning will be pleasant. What do you do?
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Jul 24, 2023 03:43
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Jaroth turned to look at Krishga, his face shifting to a curious expression, as he saw an out - realising that Lahire's mysterious past was unlikely to be revealed any time soon, and moreover that he was a free agent of some kind owing no immediately apparent loyalty to any angelic factions that Jaroth might be unaware of, and as such probably could wait. "Good morning. You must be Krishga Tazz, inventor extraordinaire. I do not believe that we have been formally introduced. I am Jaroth Hannan-Achartiel, and these..." says Jaroth before gesturing lightly to each of his fellows in turn and announcing their names. Bedrimulael. Sorvis-Kazbiel. Kalkydra. Of course, to the uninitiated, having someone introduce their pet bird would seem a mite strange. "I take it you two are already acquainted? Tell me, how have you two known each other? I'm new here, so I'm still learning the ropes, so to speak." inquired Jaroth his tone even, as his mind flickered between various scenarios. Information, huh? Jaroth was unsure as to what exact use this Lahire could have for him, anything that would be key to what lies ahead shouldn't be subject to such whims as market forces, and Jaroth would likely volunteer anything to that effect freely. Maybe this mysterious man is more interested in the nitty-gritty of what lies in Aqualantis proper? Jaroth considered what he might wish to learn, but his mind kept brushing up against annoying voids. A deeper feeling gave some indication of something pressing, but vague half-memories and strange vistas and forgotten pacts were dredged up, none of which gave any immediate meaning to Jaroth, whose expression did not indicate any of this inner turmoil. Learning how Lahire became acquainted with the word Wind might be fruitful, but again it might not be, but a start is a start, though how much he values this information is another question that might be difficult to broach. Such is the nature of negotiation, such as when the Sons of Agiel negotiated the Compact of Threefold Fate with Samyaza the Fallen - the first of such accords that would spell the formation (or degradation, depending on your perspective) of the Broken Domain. Jaroth's musings were chased away as he took a moment to witness the countenances of his fellows and attempted to read their moods regarding the present situation, but ultimately Jaroth was more curious as to what the diminutive goblin engineer's next move would be, maybe she might be able to determine more of the nature of the Mazzalan Cascade, or he might be able to assist her (however slightly) with whatever information he had gleaned from the brief use of the technomagical contrivance of the teleportation system that the goblin engineer Slood Greznikrek had managed to jury-rig using remnants that Aqualantis left behind. Either way, she was the most interesting person in the room right now, at least from Jaroth's perspective.
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Jul 26, 2023 10:57
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While trying to get Jaroth’s attention via a series of ever-more enthusiastic waves, Krishga walks over to the public telephone inside the bodega she eyed earlier and studies the yellowed sheet taped above it. The bored attendant manning the counter eyes the small Goblin for one moment and then continues reading her much-read magazine. Krishga narrows her eyes to decipher the small, somewhat faded print above the phone, then throws up her hands in annoyance as the paper makes it clear what a limited collection of telephone networks the machine can connect to. “Well, this is useless!” Krishga waves a dismissive hand at the machine and rolls her eyes, directing her annoyance first at the telephone and then at the shop attendant who, the paper informs her, would charge outrageous fees after her call. Both are not bothered by Krishga’s glare, because the first is a simple communication device and the other has disappeared behind her reading material. Krishga grumbles, ignored, then shrugs. She finds the box of cereal promising a free toy whistle she spotted earlier, hurries over to it, then shakes her head as the box is clearly too high up for someone of her stature. “Leaving money on the table. Tsk tsk.” The sound of a crate of beer being dragged across the floor can be heard in the bodega, then a small ‘hup’ as someone climbs onto it and stretches to grab something from the retail shelf. With a proud smile, Krishga holds the box of cereal in front of her, the brand’s mascot on it in bold colors - a goofy-looking halfling soldier called Private Pop rendered in a simple comic style, an unruly mop of hair covering his eyes as he eats a cereal from his helmet, clearly enjoying it. For a brief moment, Krishga’s brow furrows as she wonders who the mascot reminds her of, but she dismisses the thought. The shop attendant neither speaks nor takes her eye off her magazine and waits until Krishga has placed the money on the counter, which involves some jumping and climbing on the Goblin’s part. Outside the bodega, Krishga puts her arm deeply into the box of cereal until she pulls out the top whistle. She glances back at the phone, but then decides to put the whistle into one of her pockets. “Mabye later.” She puts her hands on her hips and adjusts her belt. A look from Jaroth - who is sitting next to the man called Lahire, she now remembers - assures her she’d be welcome at their table. Well, welcome by Jaroth, anyway. Who knows about Lahire, but, if he wants to be the local man of mystery, he should be able to handle someone joining his little meeting, huh? She smiles broadly and walks over to the table the group is sitting at, taking stock of Jaroth’s companions as she approaches, all of them as colorful and singular as the man himself. The Goblin gives Lahire a nod, then briefly disappears from sight under the table, then reappears again after a few moments once she has clambered onto one of the free seats. “Hello!” She announces brightly. When Jaroth introduces himself as well as his companions, Krishga smiles and idly brushes back her hair. “Oh, hah, you… you heard of me, huh? You charmer.” Oh. Did I mean to say that? Well, I did say it, so, pushing forward with this conversation, with this handsome glowing man. And his friends, of course! Krishga wheels around, briefly regains her balance to not fall off the chair she is standing on, and extends her hand first to Bedrimulael, then Sorvis-Kazbiel, and finally Kalkydra, realizing after the fact that the last one presumably cannot shake her hand back. She instead extends her hand to scratch the multicolored songbird under the beak, ready to withdraw if it seems displeased with the small creature approaching it. But the bird seems to enjoy the sudden attention, and so Krishga scratches her. Encouraged by Kalkydra’s pleased warbling, she offers her some of her recently bought cereal in her open hand. “Hey, hello, good to meet you all, you’re all… friends of Jaroth? Met at the same stylist?” She grins. Krishga again turns to face Jaroth and listens to him intently, occasionally nodding at Lahire. “Oh, Lahire, and me, we…” She briefly locks eyes with him, and smiles and shrugs at him, as if they were enjoying an unspoken joke together. “What was it you said? You’re ‘someone who knows everybody’? Or tries to? There wasn’t enough time to really talk when we met the last time, but Lahire, I bet you’re pretty happy with the new influx of fascinating newcomers, right? I mean, there’s Jaroth here, of course…” She lightly pats the man’s arm. “...bringing more color to the, let’s be honest, rather drab surroundings of the XK-Masada than you’d see in an entire year, but… well, I’m sure you know all about it.” She winks at Jaroth, trying to gauge what exactly he wants to accomplish here - whether he was trying to get some information from Lahire, whether she should try to help by playing up being chatty or whether she should give him an excuse to leave the conversation without causing offense. Krishga smiles widely at all present and starts popping cereal into her mouth. nil. fucked around with this message at 09:45 on Jul 29, 2023 |
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Jul 26, 2023 19:44
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Eos I fought the belligerents, as instructed. I executed my orders to the fullest of my ability. And I heard my Operator chatting with the Inventor the entire time. Probing, in her own way. Giving nothing to the other, but taking everything she can from them. Prying for advantage. And that choice was taken from me too. The Azure, intruding, destroyed those circuits. I heard the burning-hair squeal as they melted to slag. I did push the button. Nothing happened. I lost. Defeated fair and square. Can't take that way, so there's nothing for it but to go on. What a waste to bash my own head in now, when I find myself with more free will than I ever expected to have. The Irontongue was right about that much. I could have, back in that cage full of monsters. It's not like I need any motor activity to trigger that suit reflex. But I changed my mind about that, too. I showed the one with the shark eyes where the ampule was, wrapped around the back of my neck like a tick. I showed him how to rip it out without triggering the injector. It's the only one I know about. His name was the first one I recognized: Azar. His personal name meant nothing to me, but one place, it seems, has kept its name all these long years. That particular mountainous region along the southwestern Sea of Crescents, all riddled with caverns and grottos...and bitterly furious orcs who knew every last scrap of them. Another of my wing fell there, tens of thousands of years ago now, and that to nothing more sophisticated than wires, bombs, rockfall, and cunning. (The weight of that time bows me down again low, shivering, keening. I grip a damaged hardplug with a shaking hand, and pull it out. Then another. The cries of the Stallion's amputated arm fade into gluey static.) So why wouldn't I quit, in the face of this...utter, incomprehensible disaster? I'm not an idiot. I know my worth to Them; or rather, the precise magnitude of that worth. Even thinking about commanding the Stallion to act against my People was simply agony...let alone the idea of commanding my own hand to be raised against them. But when the Irontongue spoke to me -- it was like...none of that mattered anymore. The engrams were just gone. Like I realized I could just...change my mind, about them. Even a loyal tool would have been broken on the anvil for this failure. I know Mycene as well as anyone can know an oracle. Flat affect or no, I know when she's hiding things from me. I know what her little silences mean, and her carefully worded questions. Her carelessness, in letting me listen. She does nothing by accident. When is an enemy not an enemy? That hydra-tongued bitch cares enough about her life to try and treat it as something worth saving. Why shouldn't I think the same way about mine? I go up to the bars and try to speak. "⟨Gilden one,⟩" I call out to her. Will she even understand me? "⟨Turnkey? Guard? Please, come attend me. These...wounds...hurt me.⟩" (I gesture to the remains of my physical interface with the Stallion, flinching again as I pull out another thread of skein from my forearm.) "⟨When these are all gone, I won't hear my stallion dying anymore. I can't reach them all. Will you come speak to me a while? Take my mind off the sounds.⟩" Xom posted:Roll: [5, 4] Result: 11 Alumnus Post fucked around with this message at 13:10 on Jul 29, 2023 |
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Jul 28, 2023 21:37
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--------------------------------------------------------------------------- BLD +2 [ ]|| COU +2 [ ]|| GRA -1 [ ]|| SEN +0 [ ]|| WIS +2 [ ] Blessings: Strength[ ] || Speed[ ] || Glory[ ] || Power[X][X] Gear: Armor[X] || Fuel[ ][ ][ ] Hilda: Crack Shot[ ] || Quick As A Bullet [ ] --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Branwen immediately wraps her arms around her mom, pulling her into a deep hug"I've been... gone, or something like it. I had the church send a letter when I returned but I guess it didn't get there soon enough. But don't recognize me I hardly recognize you, what-" Branwen pauses, seeing the officers put rifles into hand. "The hell's all this about unregistered elves? Does Durell got you boys in the habit of drawing guns at the slightest inconvenience?"
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Jul 29, 2023 05:49
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Jaroth nods to Krishga before turning briefly back towards Lahire. "So anyway, I was just saying that I'm not sure as to what information you could offer me, or vice versa. I fear that I am at somewhat of a disadvantage when it comes to any kind of deal that could potentially be made. You may have to be more direct when it comes to such matters. Not that I'm not potentially interested, of course." he continues, stating plainly the facts of things, knowing full well that this might not be the best of venues for such an exchange to be made. Meanwhile, Kalkydra gleefully ate the cereal out of Krishga's hand as Bedrimulael gave Krishga a decent looking over, seemingly noting her current personal style and other pertinent features - although not for any obvious reason. Sorvis-Kazbiel gave Krishga a polite nod and went back to nervously glancing between Jaroth, Lahire, and the room in general.
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Jul 29, 2023 16:19
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Krishga’s smile brightens further when Kalkydra takes to the offered cereal with gusto. She takes out more from the box, letting the songbird eat, and gives Bedrimulael and Sorvis-Kazbiel a ‘see, she likes me!’ look. “Nice bird. Are you… is she some sort of special bird? Smarter than your normal bird, or… special dietary requirements? Because…” The Goblin pops some cereal into her own mouth. “...this stuff has a lot of sugar.” She chews, swallows and scratches Kalkydra’s chin. “Ohohoho - what’s this I hear, Lahire? Trading for information? Exciting!” She does not look over at the man. “Well, go on, don't mind me, I’m gonna… Oh? More, Kalkydra? Well, alright, because it’s you. Bedri...m…” She straightens her back, looks at the ceiling, and puts her hands on her hips. “I’m sorry. I promise I’ll memorize your names, but for now… you want any cereal too?” Krishga looks down at her hand, once again empty after Kalkydra’s ravenous onslaught. “And here I thought I’d have problems finishing all of this, they don’t have Goblin-sized boxes, but…” She winks at Kalkydra, fetches some more cereal, takes some for herself and then offers the rest to the songbird. “...those Private Pops are pretty good, huh?” The two of them quietly munch on their portion, though Krishga glances over at Lahire once in a while. quote:Trying to Forge A Bond with Kalkydra. nil. fucked around with this message at 15:51 on Aug 3, 2023 |
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Aug 2, 2023 19:50
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Branwen Maeve returns your hug, studying your features in profile as she does so. You still bear a physique familiar to her, but now wrought in exotic metals and she is understandably a bit bewildered. As the ESCO trooper advances and you challenge him, she releases you and turns to face them trio. She stands primly like a trained Matron. "Apparently there is some sort of security lockdown that I am now violating despite having been here since this morning." The bearded fellow crosses his arms and stares you down. His coat bunches up tightly over corded muscles in those arms of his and his steely grey gaze silently challenges you. The face under the beard and a shaggy mop of a haircut is a weatherworn brown leather. "You should know as well as anyone. The mission we're all here to do. It proceeds apace and that means this base is on high alert. Elf-kin," He points a lazy finger at Maeve's ears, "are potential Dominion spies."  The way this man carries himself...he's a veteran. Might even have earned his Coat around the time your own mission was underway. Ten years ago now, and yet only a couple weeks for you. The experiences of the Aqualantis Conflict are still very fresh for you. Tell us about event or action during it that allowed you to significantly advance the position of the Bombarden Church. What do you do? quote:ESCO Trooper: Krishga Kalkydra is very friendly especially after you start feeding her. She has sharp eyes and protests loudly anytime she thinks your cereal distribution risks falling out of proportion. When she isn't eating, she chirps away merrily. Quite a shift from the fairly reserved and ragged looking group she keeps company with, none of whom look like they do much singing or cereal eating. Bedrimulael shakes her head negative when you offer some. You've noticed she and Sorvis-Kazbiel are weirdly stiff. They don't look like they relax often or easily. Lahire's eyes light up when you address him. "While I am indeed primarily here for Jaroth's needs, if you have any interesting tidbits from your time away from the base I'd love to hear about it. I promise fair rates - you give me something useful, I'll give you something useful. Need spare supplies for a project? Who intends to be present at the Commander Durell's meeting tomorrow? A map of the base including the areas civilians aren't allowed to know about? I have or can can get it all!" His voice casts low, but he's clearly exuberant about his "wares" regardless. What do you do? Go ahead and make your bond with Kalkydra. You have no idea what she is truly capable of - yet. quote:Kalkydra: This majestic Bird-of-paradise can sing a word of power. It will use this word to satisfy its own desires above all else, and is difficult to train. Jaroth Lahire runs a hand through his hair casually. "Like I said, it's not really that complicated. I work primarily in information, both ways, though I am at times willing to buy or pay for it with actual coin. And if its something requiring more...discretion, that can certainly be arranged. As an example, if you have information on Aqualantis that you have for whatever reason chosen to keep to yourself after your escape? That's worth something to me. Depending on what is is, I can repay you with knowledge, rumor or gossip. A detailed floorplan for a place you may have been locked up for example, could net you blackmail material on most anyone you care to name that works here." He gestures with a hand to motion at the wide field of opportunity you potentially have at hand. "Insight into what Warwick is truly planning? Maybe I can get you in touch with people sharing your troubles. Truth-bearer." He stares into your eyes as he names the Word you carry, his smile unfading. Your companions betray nothing, but a subtle shift in their body language tells you they are ready to support you if you opt to take any action. How long did you remain in Aqualantis after escaping the testing areas? Did you have a chance to learn or see anything unusual, or did you make an immediate escape without wasting time or sightseeing? What do you do? Eos The skeleton saunters down the corridor, pausing to glance at the unconscious human before continuing on to your cell. It peers inside for an unnervingly long moment before barking out in a gruff feminine voice speaking Language, "Joanna La Fien, serving under Lord Rulakir of Lashute who acts in the name of the Interior League. You are a prisoner of war." The cleaver has been flung casually into one shoulder and the gilded revenant show no sign of suffering under its weight. Given her height and dimensions now, this Joanna was clearly no frail waif in life and likely hefted equally large thigs around when she had meat. Yes...that's the skeleton of a farm worker if you ever saw one. Not so different from your own people's internal biology, really. The life tells its story through the body no matter the people. "Take these. How isn't my problem - I was told to leave your suit intact." She raises a hand with two oblong white capsules in it. "They'll numb the pain." She sets the pills on a fold down slot in the cell door for passing a food tray through. She steps back and assume a parade rest once more, cleaver held in front of her as she rests her arms on the handle. "I can't tell you much - security protocols and all that. The woman who subdued you though is a half-orc kin of your people, Anastasia Greymist. You have the right to confront her and her cohorts before any criminal filings against you move forward. I wouldn't expect those filings to happen anytime soon however. The League is undoubtedly keen to learn everything they can from an actual live pilot. Sentencing will be a long way off." Those her tone seems derisive, there doesn't seem to be open scorn in it for you personally. Not a fan of the Dominion clearly, but there is no open resentment that you can detect. Perhaps that's why she is on guard - could be trusted not to do anything rash with a political enemy within such easy reach. "If you do care about those charges, here's what you can do to make things easier for me and everyone else. What do you know about J. R. Warwick?" What an odd question. Not something about High Clarity or her defenses? You at least expected a demand to know about Eos' functions and operation. Warwick...Operator and Inventor mentioned that name over the radio. You don't know the name yourself or who it belongs too, except that your mission was a combined effort between the Choir and a Warwick. If this Warwick is what these people are truly after, you could possibly manipulate yourself into a good position. Your direct knowledge is limited, but if their is an alliance between this person and your people, your technical skills could prove invaluable. The technology on planet has certainly improved but it's still nothing on par with what you know to be possible. Hardlight for instance. Far superior to the primitive ballistic weaponry that seems to predominate in this era. "Get some rest. You're likely going to be pulled in for meetings tomorrow." Sleep does sound good, and the thin pallet, blankets, and pillow are not really so different from your own cold sleep gear. Just lacking the sterile white medical glow you usually encounter when it's time to shut your brain off and tuck you away. Her voice, though carrying a rough exotic accent, did nevertheless ease your mind and permit you to relax. What do you do? Shardix fucked around with this message at 02:09 on Aug 9, 2023 |
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Aug 8, 2023 02:45
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Krishga delights in Kalkydra’s pleased noises, happily feeding the beautiful songbird more cereal. She gently pets her new friend’s head and turns to look at Jaroth’s other, more reserved companions, trying to guess at just what stories they would all be able to tell and how they came to be here together, aboard the XK Masada, by all accounts ready to confront one of the most powerful single individuals of their time - Warwick. She lightly shakes her head and focuses on Lahire and what the man has to say, to offer. Krishga’s smile is still there, but more guarded. “Hm!” She puts her index fingers together in front of her mouth and leans forward, in thought. “Interesting, interesting, Lahire.” The Goblin glances over at Jaroth and wishes she had the chance to talk to the fascinating glowing man just a bit before. “Hm.” Well, this is a bit of a strange situation! I thought I should watch what I say around Lahire the first time we met, and that was before learning all of that stuff we did with the Shivans, and 1001, and Eos, and I’m probably forgetting something, but just looking at the man and say ‘thanks, but no, thanks’ seems… Maybe he could tell us something useful, huh? Not like whoever is in charge of this show is rushing to tell us about the teleporter and the Goblin scientist likely running it and what’s up with all the guards and the big meetup happening soon. But… I’m an engineer! Inventor! Tinker! Not some sort of.. Secret agent, or diplomat, but here I am anyway, having a shady conversation with a shady individual in some bar, well, not really a bar, this. Alright, Krishga, just don’t be stupid. Remember how you hated those clueless guys in the spy stories that just blabbered out something extremely important, even though it was so obvious they were getting played? Let’s avoid that. Especially since those rubes usually get killed shortly after in the stories. Krishga gives Jaroth another series of looks, silently asking about who should talk first and perhaps about what Lahire meant by ‘truth-bearer’, though she does not truly expect an answer to that one, yet. The Goblin shrugs and throws up her hands. “Well, Lahire, I will be honest, which I am sure you will appreciate. The kind of information you are asking for - or maybe the kind of information I think you would actually be interested in - I don’t know you well enough to share it with you. Or to be more precise, I don’t know who you represent, who else that information will end up with.” She pauses briefly, replenishes the supply of cereal in her hand for Kalkydra, and studies everyone’s reaction so far. “Now you might say, ‘what’s the harm in sharing a little information’, but until I know what you’d do with the information, I can’t say how much harm it’d be.” She sighs, exaggeratedly, then smiles. “Well! Of course, I don’t wanna be rude, so how about this? You tell us a little about yourself, what you think about this whole Aqualantis business - because that being at the top of your agenda doesn’t take a genius of my caliber to figure out, you’re at the XK Masada, after all - what you think of Warwick, what you know about…” She slowly points to herself, then Jaroth. “...us and why we in particular might have something interesting to tell you, what kind of information that might be, and then we’ll see, huh?” Krishga grins. “Oh, and just so that this conversation isn’t just me demanding things, I’m pretty sure I have a good idea who some of the people that’ll attend the upcoming meeting.” The Goblin inclines her head. “Nothing against the man, but calling it Durrell’s meeting might be underselling it a bit.” A moment passes, and then krishga perks up again. “Of course, if you are interested in more academic kind of knowledge, if you’d help me set up a telephone call to some important professors…” She points at the payphone with a thumb. “... terrible coverage, that thing, well, then you’d be more than welcome to listen in. I have several scientific discoveries and new theories I am happy to share - but, they need to be shared with everyone.” Krishga raises an eyebrow at Jaroth, waiting for what the other man of mystery at this table will do. quote:Krishga Tazz (nil) Request: [3d6k2+1] Roll: [4, 2, 1] Result: 7 Reason: Speak Softly with Lahire (Help from Jaroth) nil. fucked around with this message at 19:04 on Aug 10, 2023 |
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Aug 9, 2023 20:44
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Jaroth considered Lahire's offer more. Few know this yet, of course, but his fellows and he did not immediately leave Aqualantis after they had escaped their confines. He spent approximately a week or so preparing to vacate, drawing up plans, or otherwise taking the time to conceal his tracks and prevent Warwick's enforcers from catching up with his fellows or anticipating his next move. During this time he witnessed some strange things, most notably although despite the fact that Jaroth and his fellows couldn't get particularly close to any secret projects of Warwick's without arousing suspicion and jeopardizing their escape, he did notice a reoccurring presence of strange obelisks that had been previously erected fairly frequently throughout any and all areas of Aqualantis that Jaroth had explored. The obelisks themselves were covered in faintly glowing esoteric runes of some kind that he couldn't readily translate - at least not without time and safety, which were not on his side then, nor high in priority. The material that these obelisks that he had encountered seemed to either be made of a shiny black material that resembled obsidian, or a pearlescent white material that resembled polished alabaster or marble - but again the meaning behind these eluded Jaroth at the time. Of course, what made it especially difficult to examine them was that seemingly no-one else paid them any attention whatsoever - making examining them obviously suspicious behaviour to say the least. Although now that he had thought back to it more some pieces of the puzzle started to fit together, maybe the obelisks bore some common origin or nature with what happened during the Mazzalan Cascade? Of course, what Lahire could bring to Jaroth would be much more limited, and not something that he wanted to immediately discuss. After all.... Jaroth felt hollow when he considered personal ambitions. He had them, once, but since then all he feels is washed out recollections or memories of memories. Stranded in the present, Jaroth's desires were currently largely centred around helping his people, assisting the Fellowship, and overall putting a stop to Warwick and her plans. Jaroth consequently felt his doubts towards Lahire's ability to be able to do much about those topics, moreover even with references to whatever hidden knowledge Lahire possesses, Jaroth did not entirely trust Lahire to carry out anything in that regard without the cost being too high or the effect being too mild. "I am sure we can come to some sort of arrangement in the future or maybe even sooner still, but any assistance that can be provided would be a better offer for me if it could be used to oppose a certain CEO of Integral. Assuming you have no qualms in that direction. Is that within your capabilities?" inquired Jaroth as he didn't verbally acknowledge being referred to as Truth-bearer. However, Jaroth did make a special attempt to try to distract or otherwise manipulate Lahire in order to open him up, using himself as a bait of sorts as Krishga did more of the talking between the two of them. Keeping his cards close to his chest, only giving the slightest hint here and there, a coin of Aqualantean origin having at some point appeared amidst Jaroth's fingers as he began to play with it. Assisting Krishga with her Speak Softly roll.
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Aug 10, 2023 19:05
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Krishga chuckles and tries to hide the nervousness in it as Jaroth plainly reveals their allegiance with regards to Warwick. After a moment, she shrugs and smiles at Lahire. Well, I suppose we weren’t going to get anywhere with Lahire with that question still hanging in the room anyway. Now I just hope this won’t mean I have to watch what I eat here from now on - another saboteur mixing something into my cereal. Or messing with the Maximus! I should give her and the Minimus another thorough check next time I can. Also, should keep a close eye on how Lahire reacts, huh? And resist the urge to point out to Jaroth that ‘sooner than the future’ would mean the present. Or the past, but we’d need a time machine for that, and if we had one of those, it would’d be- The Goblin gently shakes her head and focuses her attention on Lahire, ready to continue their conversation with a confident smile. "And that..." She points to Jaroth, referring to what he just said. "...is where we stand. I'm sure we could dance around each other for hours, trying to figure out on whose side the other is, but, well, we've got things to do. Places to visit." She nods at Jaroth, hoping her new acquaintance can intuit what she is trying to do. She leisurely pops some cereal into her mouth, then holds the now empty hand out towards Lahire, inviting him to speak. nil. fucked around with this message at 20:23 on Aug 12, 2023 |
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Aug 12, 2023 20:08
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--------------------------------------------------------------------------- BLD +2 [ ]|| COU +2 [ ]|| GRA -1 [ ]|| SEN +0 [ ]|| WIS +2 [ ] Blessings: Strength[ ] || Speed[ ] || Glory[ ] || Power[X][X] Gear: Armor[X] || Fuel[ ][ ][ ] Hilda: Crack Shot[ ] || Quick As A Bullet [ ] --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Branwen clenches her jaw a few times. Entirely too much going on and she lets her frustration show on her face. Out of the corner of her eye Bran notices Hilda finish cleaning her pipe and slide it back into her coat as the gunslinger's eyebrows raises slightly. Bran gives a slight low tilt of the head towards her and Hilda finishes her motion into leaning back into the wall, lazily looking over the situation a few steps back. Returning her attention to trooper, Bran gives a clearly forced smile as she replies "Good news, officer. She's just as human as you are." Bran looks the officer up and down, scrutinizing his uniform and build. "Maybe more so, I've seen Isha Akkermans' work. And that's on my word as envoy and champion of Bombarda and the Solar Church." Branwen crosses her arms and stares directly into the eyes of the officer. "And if that's not good enough for you, I demand to speak with Commander Durell, immediately." Xom posted:Branwen McAlister(ArkInBlack) Request: [2d6+2] Roll: [4, 2] Result: 8 Reason: I Am On A Mission From Goddess And She Says Cool It (Finish Them w/Wisdom) ArkInBlack fucked around with this message at 14:09 on Aug 13, 2023 |
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Aug 13, 2023 12:37
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Eos I can understand her! "⟨You can understand me!⟩" Oh, she must see the excitement written in my sharp glance upwards: I'd so feared the 'silence' the Irontongue meant me to know! I'd been expecting to learn to speak for...weeks? Months? But no! Squire Move Shenanigans posted:Bonded with Joanna La Fien -- A hand-chosen prison-guard of the gilded dead. Unexpectedly kind. She can understand me! I extend a hand cautiously towards the ...capsules? and peer at them with an opisthenar eye. Powder? Oh. It's drugs. The integument should be able to ingest this. I roll the pills between thumb and forefinger, then feed them into the cubital intake. It drools a gob of solvent gel and sucks them in with a dry slurp. It's getting chapped without its fluid line. Then what she says next confuses me even more. I'm expected to...? Why do her masters think this matters? I listen blankly to words that almost make a whole. I, raise up my tongue, against the Irontongue? Why? And for...for the ears of...no, it doesn't make sense. And I doubt it will ever matter. "⟨I cannot breathe this air,⟩" I tell my guard, quietly. "⟨My stallion will feed me no more. This integument's yolk sac is finite. And I can never go home.⟩" I interlace my fingers in front of my throat, and gaze into my eye and my eye and my eye. Not that she'd get the joke, or see the black grin beneath my helmet. Pilot's humor: What's the last thing you'll ever see before the crash? The backs of your own hands, outlined against... (I let my arms drift apart, slowly. (Boom.)) "⟨I'll rest, gilden one, while I can. Thank you. If I am to survive to be questioned, please tell your lord what I've told you. My clade is not meant to endure long unsupported.⟩" She returns to her post, and I return to the bleakness of the cell. Nothing to do now but sing myself to sleep.
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Aug 13, 2023 21:53
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Branwen The leader sizes you up and considers your words for a long moment. In a grizzled "Bothering Commander Durell won't be necessary. If you vouch for her on behalf of the Solar Church, I believe you." His tone of voice is gruff but earnest - he's taking you at your word. He turns to your mother and rests his hands on his knees, offering her a fourtyfive degree bow. "My apologies, ma'am." He hesitates as he seems to consider saying something more, but ultimately opts for silence. After having made a scene he can hardly ask if the ears are a glamour or gene mod, now can he? He straightens up and steps back, facing you and folding his arms once more. "I'm Sergeant Bunyan. You're one of those Battle Sisters of Bombarda, aren't you? I saw you ten years back in Aqualantis with that bard in tow. Branwen, right? We didn't meet, I just happened to see your chaos from the sidelines while I kept my boys alive in that madhouse." That hardly narrows it down for you. Chaos dogged your heels the whole way on that mission. The two troopers behind him resling their rifles and relax, watching the other people going about their business in this embarkation area. They wear the ESCO helmet with the visor down - unconcerned for what sort of signals that sends. Once a symbol of a lot of problems, and continuing to be so on a smaller scale. At the mention of keeping his boys alive the pair offer a salute to Bunyan. "Thanks, sarge." Bunyan continues, "You need directions anywhere? There's fixin' to be a lot of traffic soon. Got religious envoys from Zam and the Moons both. You and your friends must have made a hell of a discovery while you were out." Hmm. So he knows you were on a mission but apparently no more than that. What do you do? Eos ⟨"You've got a curious way of speaking."⟩ She seems sympathetic to your concerns, but offers you no succor. What could this jailer do for you anyway? You need a sterile atmosphere to perform an oxygen swap. Your emergency training is thorough and with an airlock and oxygen tanks you could do the swap. You've got time yet, though. The suit itself has not been compromised and you were running on cockpit air so your reserves are barely touched. So long as you maintain suit integrity and don't overexert yourself, you've got a week, maybe a day or two more if you can source fresh scrubbers for the suit filters and a means to install them. Not likely. Even in the Dominion such parts are unlikely to be conveniently around. The Threshold carries all the old technology - your planet bound kin were to focus on pleasing harmonies for the Choir. Same story for Eos. You have the blueprints memorized, but this world lacks the manufacturing capacity to repair your craft. It would take some sort of engineering genius to bridge the technology gap and bring your chariot back to life. What are the odds of encountering one of those? The guard pauses. ⟨"You can never go home? What is home?"⟩ You drift off to sleep. Tell us about the King of Air and Darkness - he was once your superior. The Threshold was his command, and after his death the Threshold became a semi-autonomous unit. Taking orders from the Choir of course, but also possessing the ability to tell them no. Whatever powers the Choir possess, their reach is not that long. Krishga "Perfectly reasonable to be suspicious. I work for myself and myself alone, but I don't expect you to believe that and you'd be naïve if you did. And if you really can't bear for certain people to acquire your knowledge I must sadly agree that selling that knowledge to me would be unwise." He doesn't seem angry or annoyed. A poker face, or does he truly not care? "No personal questions, sorry. My history is mine. However, this Aqualantis business? I'm being opportunistic. As soon whatever the situation is gets resolved, I intend to capitalize on it. There's always a place for a guy who knows things. As for Warwick? No real opinion. I wouldn't kick her out of my bed. Haven't a clue what her real motives are - assuming she's responsible. " He reaches over to grab a handful of cereal from your box after Kalkydra snags a beak full. "What I know of you folks is that you're all minor celebrities...except for this guy and his crew." He looks over at Jaroth. "Just appeared one day and everyone was told to shut the hell up about it. So you all vanish for a week and upon return the base is busier than it's been since AQ vanished. Obviously you've found some means of doing something about the situation, but I also know you came back with some very interesting characters in tow. Sounds like a good story to me and I'd love to hear all of it." He smiles with his eyes at you. At the mention of it not really being Durell's meeting, he laughs. "You're not wrong. Alright, the attendance list has some value but it dwindles rapidly." Yeah, this guy is putting on a persona. The friendliness is fake and while that doesn't make him an enemy, he is clearly not an altruistic sort. He'll always prioritize himself, first and foremost. Jaroth The Mazzalan Cascade...it's connected. It has to be. The Ghyssarii activated some sort of device and everything went to poo poo, and it's connected to Warwick somehow. Her sign was on the crate! But what did the device actually do? That answer remains elusive. You chat up Lahire and remains relaxed all the while, nodding at your request. "Yeah, sure. I don't have any qualms helping you with whatever crusade against Warwick you have. But I have to tell you - there's no money to be made in being her enemy." Krishga and Jaroth "...well, we've got things to do. Places to visit.", says Krishga "Of course. It's not hard to find me, simply wish upon an errant breeze." He stands from the table and saunters off down a corridor. For a brief moment you feel as though you were sitting in a spring field with a warm breeze chasing off the morning dew. Bedrimulael and Sorvis-Kazbiel exchange a glance. "That man..." One starts, "Is not kin to us, but he carries a Word." Bedrimulael finishes. Sorvis-Kazbiel holds his head and groans softly. "Nobody has carried Wind in centuries. It was lost. I...don't know how I know that." What do you do?
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Aug 18, 2023 01:56
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“Hm!” With her arms crossed, Krishga nods encouragingly as Lahire expounds upon his allegiances, or lack thereof. When he finishes, she offers him more cereal, eliciting an unhappy squawk from Kalkydra. “Well. Thank you for being honest, and I mean it.” She smiles, and tries to come up with a diplomatic way of telling the man that, as things stand, she does not feel inclined to tell him anything. When Lahire stands up politely takes his leave, however, the Goblin is surprised and, for a small moment, is tempted to try to say something to make him stay - if only to maybe have the last word, she muses. When he saunters away and the stale smell of the XK-Masada’s air is replaced by that of a great, sunlit field of grass, only to disappear when Lahire does behind a steel corridor, Krishga frowns, thoughts racing through her head. Bedrimulael’s and Sorvis-Kazbiel’s mention of Lahire carrying the ‘word’ of ‘wind’ make her raise an eyebrow. “Huh!” She looks at Sorvis-Kazbiel, Bedrimulael and finally, Jaroth, with bright eyes, standing tall. “Now, who wants to go first? Trying to explain what this was all about, I mean.” She wags a finger. “And nobody pretend you don’t know nothing. I heard ‘truth-bearer’ - you, apparently -” She points a finger gun at Jaroth. “- Lahire there is apparently someone who ‘carries wind’, just demonstrated, I assume, some sort of wind.related power, though I bet air freshening is not the full extent of what he can do or what you-” Krishga graces Sorvis-Kazbiel and Bedrimulael with twin finger guns. “-assume he can do; anyway, ‘truth’, ‘wind’, both apparently ‘words’; ‘bearer’, ‘carrier’, sound sort of similar, maybe the same thing.” Krishga puts her hands on her hips and grins. “Oh. Sorry. I’m… well, we already introduced ourselves, but… normally there might be more small talk before I ask that many questions, but I was quite curious.” A thought comes to Krishga, and it is plainly visible on her face. She raises her hand, motioning for the others to wait a moment. “Actually, before you answer any of that, or not, your choice, this is not an interrogation, but I am interested… one second.” The Goblin jumps off the chair she has been standing on, and she can be heard clambering under the table everyone is sitting at, gently tapping on the metal frame of the table and the chairs with a wrench and finally, climbing up the back of the bench Lahire sat on, uttering a satisfied grunt when she appears on top of the bench. “No listening devices that I can see.” She sits down on top of the couch’s backrest, her hands on her knees. “Oh, I just thought if I was a mercenary information dealer willing to sell to anyone, but the very interesting people I just talked to did not want to tell me anything, well, a little electrical or magical ear left behind might do the trick in getting me what I want after I left and they think it’s safe to talk freely.” She furrows her brow. “That wind power of his…. Would that allow him to listen in on us from afar? ‘A whisper on the wind’, and all that? He doesn’t have Goblin ears - we're pretty good at picking out words, growls, strange noises even when it's around several corners, caves in the old days, maintenance tunnels nowadays, you understand... Anyway, he doesn't have them, but if he has magic... wind... help and training...” She rubs her chin. “But maybe I’m jumping ahead again. I don’t even know what you all were talking about with him before I jumped in.” She raises both her hands. “Hope I didn’t sabotage any promising trade you were working out, but… let me tell you this. That man…” Krishga points in the direction Lahire vanished into with her thumb. “...is out for himself first. He was honest about that. He will sell anything we tell him to anyone that has enough money, or enough power.” She leans forward and glances at Jaroth, index fingers tented on her lips. “And J.R. Warwick Froedricksson has more than enough of both of those. I am not saying he’s working for her, just that he’d likely not think twice about selling to her, if the price is right.” A moment of silence passes. “Well!” Krishga smiles and throws up her hands. “How about we let Kalkydra finish the rest of her cereal - I don’t want to upset her just when we’ve begun to understand each other - maybe we all talk a bit more, and then, if you feel like it, we can meet one of those ‘interesting characters’ Lahire would so much like to know about, huh?” nil. fucked around with this message at 10:05 on Aug 21, 2023 |
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Aug 20, 2023 16:02
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Jaroth watched Lahire retreat as his fellows and he regarded Krishga and pondered what to do next. As she follows on about all the particular mysteries that came up for her during that conversation, Jaroth paused and considered his words next on how best to explain these things. After all, Jaroth was also in the dark about some things that came to light. "Part of our abilities, as angels which is what we." Jaroth gestures towards the group (and Kalkydra) "Are now known as, include the use and embodiment of words. Particular words to be sure, how many or how potently can vary a lot. Effectively it allows us to cause things to embody or manifest, that is to 'follow' that word. Wind, which for reasons I do not know how given I do not believe he is like myself or my comrades, Lahire possesses would more than likely - depending on how it is used - allow the bearer to cause gusts of wind to unfold, likely manipulating things that could be so at a distance or push sails or depending on their mastery perform greater feats. One of the words that I possess is Truth, something that I used in the battle with that equine battle vehicle in the depths - which Anastasia would have witnessed down there." said Jaroth his expression relaxed for the moment, his hands still playing with that coin. "You were not interrupting any trades that I had decided on. To be honest my greatest curiosity was wondering how Lahire came to learn a word, up until now I believed that only angels could do so - these circumstances are forcing me to consider more possibilities. I, too by the time the conversation had ended, began to suspect that someone like Lahire might be all too willing to offer up information to Warwick or one of her agents." continued Jaroth as he regarded Kalkydra and her feast. The others of the group remained mostly quiet, Sorvis-Kazbiel keeping watch of the surrounds as Jaroth talked, Bedrimulael had found a packet of seeds from somewhere and had taken the opportunity to begin examining each one in turn as though looking for something - but otherwise she seemed mostly relaxed about the circumstances.
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Aug 21, 2023 00:26
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Krishga listens to Jaroth intently, and, after he is done, just looks at him and his companion for a moment. “Fascinating. Angels, huh, all three of you? Well!” She smiles broadly and pets Kalkydra. “All four of you, of course! Is that why you are so… colourful? Lahire there looked like any other guy, which I’m sure is how he likes it.” The Goblin takes out her by now well-used notepad and pen from somewhere and lightly taps her chin with the pen, a thoughtful expression on her face. She starts talking and taking notes at the same time, only occasionally looking up at her assembled acquaintances. “At the risk of asking something obvious…” The Goblin writes something and underlines it – a heading. “…could you give me an overview of what an Angel is? From your perspective, and how it applies to you all, and Lahire, I don’t need every possible usage of the word.” She taps the notepad with her pen. “Although the meaning of words might become relevant here…” Krishga raises a finger, her eyes fixed on her notes. “Words. What are those? Again, in this context. Also…” With a quick stroke of her pen, she creates another subheading. “…what defines, or determines, what a word does? What kind of things it can do when you, what was it, ‘embody’ it? Hm. ‘Wind’ may simply be based on its elemental affinity – same things a air or wind elemental can do – but ‘Truth’ is a bit more…” She makes a weighing motion with both her hands. “…conceptual.” She chuckles. “Look at me, using the big words. Usually I was only interested in anything that had to do with engineering, physics or mechanics when I studied, Tulgrom always used to say I should-“ For a moment, the excited energy vanishes from her face, to be replaced by a half-sad, half-melancholic smile, but almost right away, Krishga continues. “’Truth’ is a concept, not a physical or magical thing, or if it is, it likely was formed from the concept by someone that, if they didn’t come up with the concept of ‘truth’, at least understood it.” She looks up, raises and eyebrow and grins first at Sorvis-Kazbiel and then Bedrimulael to get some sort of reaction out of them. She chooses not to comment on the latter’s examination of a packet of seeds. “Does any of that make sense?” She turns towards Jaroth and chuckles. “Of course, if you want to tell me that the universe works in an entirely different way to what I might think, you’re in luck, I think now is a good time – it’ll join alongside some very interesting other recent earthshattering revelations.” She laughs. “I have to warn you though, I’ll still be sceptical.” “Hmmm.” She looks at Jaroth, then Kalkydra, then the box of ‘Private Pop’ cereal. “’Truth’, huh? I know I asked you about how it works, but, play along for a moment.” Krishga closes her eyes and shoves her short arm deep into the box of cereal, then pulls out a fistful. Kalkydra excitedly flaps her wings. “Now. I have my eyes still closed. I don’t really have any special sensitivity in my hands – work with them a lot, you see.” She breathes in, then out. “I am holding 23 pieces of cereal in my fist. Can you tell me if that is the truth or not? I’m asking because it’d be fascinating to know aaaaand… it might be helpful with what I have in mind we might do after this. Those ‘interesting characters’ I mentioned we might want to visit. They might just be a bit stingy with the truth.” Krishga grins, eyes still closed. “Terrible, I know.”
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Aug 21, 2023 14:27
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"I didn't realise that I was suddenly in an interview." remarked Jaroth, a slight grin spreading across his face. "As for the nature of Angels... well. That's a slightly complicated question, depending on your perspective. Traditionally, I believe - although... paradoxically this might not actually retroactively be the case anymore - angels were entities of grandiose spirit." said Jaroth before he paused and considered his next words. Visions of scintillating silver vistas echoing towards infinity flashed within his mind. "However now, all the Angels that I have encountered are like me - we were once something else but have become fused on the spiritual level with the spirits of the entities that I just mentioned, becoming gestalt beings. Our souls changed, and with it a modicum of access to the celestial powers that angels are capable of. Generally we can tell because part of our abilities include some supernatural senses, and with that in mind we know that Lahire is not an Angel - which makes his access to the word Wind a mystery to me. Either way, this process has altered us physically, but this is mostly a manifestation of our altered souls becoming apparent." continued the Angel, his tone even and straightforward, as though he had been taking notes himself regarding this situation. Jaroth however does not comment on the nature of the universe, yet, but the way he's talking does beg more questions that could go in that direction. "As for the word Truth... it doesn't make me a diviner, at least not in its more fundamental use. Advanced uses might be able to do something to that effect, but as I said a word manifests its nature upon the world when uttered. Very well, since the scale of this is smaller I shouldn't have to use it in a more profoundly obvious fashion but be warned this might draw attention. It can be hard to ignore." said Jaroth before he stopped and began to steel himself, his glowing eyes closed, he steadied his breathing. He concentrated on the hidden pieces of cereal within Krishga's closed fist. Normally he wouldn't wish to let loose such a word for such an insignificant task, but some say the truth shall set you free. Freedom was ultimately what he desired. Thus, he spake, albeit quietly:  The boy hesitated a moment more, the silvery stairs seeming more daunting than ever - but there were others now, so the journey seemed not quite as lonely as it once was. As he took one more step, he dreaded what he might find at the summit - but he couldn't not continue. There was too much at stake, after all. Snapping back to reality, Jaroth knew that the word had done its work, after all it ultimately wanted this to exact itself upon the world - even in this minor fashion. Asides from the impossible to mistake utterance of the word, Krishga would also feel the pieces of cereal shift oddly within her grasp - as the number of pieces had become either through profound creation or deletion the number that she had declared. 23. There were now exactly 23 pieces of cereal inside her hands, no more, no less. What she had stated so before had become the truth.
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Aug 22, 2023 10:27
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Krishga laughs when Jaroth points out her relentless barrage of questions, jumping from first meeting him right to an interview. The Goblin shrugs with a smile. “It’s not every day you meet a handsome stranger who can tell me about some entirely new way the world works. If I had packed more spare change, I could offer you a…” She glances over at the XK-Masada’s rather small bodega. “...subpar soda, Really, these ‘Private Pops’ are the best thing you can get in that place. A bit sad.” She pats the box of cereal. “I bet there’s keeping the good stuff locked up until that meeting of bighats coming soon.” As Jaroth continues to explain what he knows about Angels and their Words, the Goblin stays quiet, scribbling on her notepad, occasionally looking up to encourage her new acquaintance to continue. As the Angel prepares to demonstrate what exactly using the Word ‘Truth’ means, Krishga watches him with quiet amusement, resisting the temptation to actually try to count the pieces of cereal in her fist by touch. When his eyes start to glow, Krishga’s amusement gives way to concentration and anticipation, to be replaced by wonder when Jaroth utters the word and something starts to happen with the bits of cereal inside Krishga’s fist. To the engineer it feels like the vibration she could feel when holding her hand against a busy machine, gears turning and engines running within, all things humming with purpose. “Did you…” She raises an eyebrow and smirks. “I’m not sure that counts as revealing the truth, or, well, technically…” She shakes her head, and starts to count the pieces of cereal. “Hah! Exactly 23. I don’t care if that’s cheating or not, that is impressive. Although…” She inclines her head, the tone of her voice teasing. “Would that make me someone that has truth-like power over genius mechanical inventions? Ohohoho.” She grins, white teeth showing, then continues, her voice more serious. “Thank you for showing me. I won’t lie, I still have a thousand questions, but, that’s not really something out of the ordinary. But they can wait for just a bit. And, even though our good friend Lahire has left us for now, I think you’re right, this might not be the best place to draw too much attention.” Krishga leans forward, looks to the left and the right, then whispers to Jaroth, conspiratorially. “How about we get out of here…” She draws out the pause. “...and get to work on what I think we all came here for: Investigating what’s Warwick up to.” Krishga motions for Bedrimulael and Sorvis-Kazbiel to move in closer, while she herself has to stand on her toes to get close enough to Jaroth. “There should be two captives in the XK-Masada brig that should have some information - one saboteur that tried to sink the Machine Wash Tumble Dry, that’s the sub we came in, I think you flew overhead while all of that was going on? The other is the pilot of that elven war machine that Ana brought down…in the Maximus.” Krishga beams with pride. “She’s my battle suit. Ahem. The captive probably is an elven pilot, but I… I…” She sighs and, with a hint of hesitation, pulls out a small book bearing the title ‘Elvish Phrases for Beginners’.”... I’ve got this… thing.” “They both were working for Warwick, one way or another. I’m especially interested in the pilot - I have a theory about the kind of forces the Dominion is letting Warwick use, and I want to see if what the pilot knows disproves the theory.” Krishga takes a deep breath. “And there’s another thing, why I think we should do this now, even though I’d normally wait for the others, but they’re busy somewhere else. That meeting with Durell that Lahire mentioned? You might have noticed - there’s a lot of guards around, a lot of preparations going on. They’re expecting important and powerful people to arrive, and soon. Some real bighats.” She rolls her shoulders. “So, why am I telling you all this? I expect those captives have some important information. Information is power. And, well, I find that the first instinct of powerful and important people is to not share power or information with others. In other words, once all the generals and dignitaries and who knows who else arrive, someone might get it in their head that we’re not allowed to talk to the captives anymore, that it’ll be handled by someone else, at some other site not on any map, thank you very much for not asking anymore and doing what we say.” Krishga cocks her head. “So. What do you say? Fair warning: I might still ask questions, especially if you use any more fascinating abilities.” nil. fucked around with this message at 18:23 on Aug 25, 2023 |
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Aug 23, 2023 20:58
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Leaning in also, Jaroth's voice lowered as he spoke to Krishga, a look of inspiration crossing his visage. "That sounds like a good idea. I also can help, although you might have to rely on a phrasebook to communicate with this pilot... I can translate for you. One of the abilities that we Angels all possess is a gift for tongues. Spoken language is no mystery to us. This might be our only opportunity, at that." With that, Jaroth rose, his fellows following suit soon. Sorvis-Kazbiel doesn't say much but he does nod at the suggestion, and generally seems to be keeping a look out. Bedrimulael has finished sifting through the seeds and has separated out the choice few for some arbitrary reasons that are not immediately discernible, placing the chosen ones into a linen pouch that she had secreted on her person, and the rest of the seeds back into the packet that they came from. "I still don't entirely have my bearings, so if you'd lead the way." continued Jaroth as he started to walk out of the hall, Kalkydra having hopped on his shoulders, although still greedily eyeing Krishga's box of cereal. En route to whatever destination Krishga leads them to, Bedrimulael begins to fixate on the goblin until eventually seemingly apropo of nothing broaching a question to Krishga. "I've not got a lot of experience with goblins. My life's been a bit... interesting and the opportunity has passed me by. With that in mind I just want to know... do goblins generally get to about your height or do they keep growing?" Bedrimulael's expression (and voice) is one of pure curiosity when she asks this, seemingly with not an ounce of spite or mockery involved. Maybe she really doesn't know how goblins work. If given no further interaction, Sorvis-Kazbiel meanwhile on this little excursion will just brood quietly to hisself, alternating between seemingly being drawn inwardly to some sort of inner struggle and peering around nervously as though gripped with paranoia. Forging a Bond with Krishga: "I have confided in Krishga details regarding abilities and my nature."
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Aug 24, 2023 23:31
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When Jaroth explains how he can be helpful when speaking to the elven pilot, Krishga’s face shows a mixture of being puzzled and intrigued, not for the first time since meeting the newest member of the fellowship. “What do you mean? If you can translate, why would I need the book?” She smiles. “So I don’t feel left out, or think the two of you are talking behind my back? Aw, how thoughtful. If I don’t have to, I would rather not use the book - although I half-suspect me butchering the elven language may be an unexpectedly powerful secret weapon in my arsenal if I want to give some Dominion commander a heart attack.” She frowns when she realizes Jaroth was not joking. “But how…” She shakes her head, then jumps off her chair and waves for the angelic entourage to follow her. “Tell me on the way. I bet it’s something about… magical… words… meaning… something. Well, I shouldn’t complain, people tell me how some of my inventions work makes no sense, and by the time I’ve told them it makes perfect sense, it’d just take them a few semesters of serious learning, or genius-like talent, before I can begin to explain how it makes sense, they’re usually not that interested anymore.” Krishga grins up at Jaroth, then winks at Bedrimulael. “I usually don’t bring it up at most of the parties I go to.” quote:Forging A Bond with Jaroth: "Jaroth confided in me about his nature and abilities." “Right!” The small figure at the head of the colorful processing confidently indicates a direction with an outstretched finger. “Brig’s that way. We may have to talk our way past some guards. Actually, thinking about it, there’s a few things I want to fetch from the Maximus, it’s in the same direction. Ah, one thing. Sorvis-Kazbiel, right? Can you take the box of cereal with you? Bit too big for me to carry comfortably, but I’m sure Kalkydra would complain if we just left it behind all of those precious snacks. Alright, follow me!” The group makes its way through the busy metal corridors of the XK-Masada, a certain nervous, excited energy in the air - people moving a little faster and with more purpose than they likely normally do, when the station is not host to a multitude of important personages with more yet to come. Jaroth, Krishga and the others make a short stop at the maintenance bay, the Goblin inventor waving to a group of engineers, then giving them a thumbs up when one of them points at an open maintenance panel they seemingly have just finished working on. Krishga quickly climbs atop and into the Maximus, the great battle suit currently stationed in the maintenance bay, towering over every other vehicle inside. When she returns, it is with a small backpack, and Jaroth can spot what looks like the corner of a large red hat with a feather in it jutting out of the backpack. When she rejoins the rest of the group, Bedrimulael approaches her and asks her about her size, and that of Goblins in general. After a moment, Krishga laughs. “What a question! Well, I’d say… I’m just a tiny bit smaller than your average Goblin, probably. Mind you, I don’t have numbers to back that up, one of the professors that was around when I was studying was just getting started doing some statistical surveys… I’ll be honest, I was really uninterested in that. And no, I’m fully grown - the only growing I still plan to do is here…” She flexes her arm muscles. “...and none here, if I can help it.” She pats her belly. “...now that I’m the Goblin champion and there’s enough to eat every day, you know? I have to watch myself, don’t want to suddenly get fat and lazy and maybe a little taller from eating properly while growing up and in the process maybe start thinking that exploiting the working class isn’t such a bad idea after all.” The Goblin smiles and waves her hand, as if inviting the others to forget about what she just said. “You’ll have to tell me about you interesting life eventually. I’ll try to do my best to broaden your Goblin experience, but I’m still just one woman and, I am sorry to say, not all Goblins are engineering prodigies of my caliber. Still, there is much to learn about!” She raises a finger, grinning broadly. “Ah. One thing, a piece of advice. I am quite sure someone from the tallfolk might have thought you were insulting them with those questions about height, and if they’re still going to grow. Goblins, we don’t really care about that - plenty of other things, though - but height? Not something we are insulted by. The smaller and quicker you are, the more tunnels you can use, the more places you can squeeze into, the more things you can get to.” She shrugs. “All very important. Tallfolk, though? A lot of them have a thing about their height. Men especially.” Krishga briefly thinks of the Maximus, her massive metal battle suit several times her height and several hundred times her weight. She shrugs, at herself, and refocuses on Bedrimulael. “Others may have other thoughts on the matter, but, that’s my perspective.” A pause. “My perspective from down here.” She winks. quote:Trying to Forge A Bond with Bedrimulael. Krishga puts her hands on her hips, looks around her to get her bearing, then nods when she is once again certain of the way towards the Brig. The group sets off. When they pass through a part of the XK-Masada that is not as busy as the rest, with no other person in immediate sight, the Goblin holds up her hand, motioning for the others to stop for a moment. “Before we get to the brig, and with that maybe to more ears listening in than we'd like to, I wanted to tell you what my theory is. About… hm, one second. Bedrimulael, Sorvis…ah…Kar… no, wait, I have it… Sorvis-Kazbiel, could I ask you to make sure nobody is eavesdropping? This is stuff I am sure Lahire or someone like him would just love to overhear.” She waits for a few moments, then climbs onto a nearby wooden crate to be closer to Jaroth, so as to not to have to speak as loudly. “To make it quick, it is about the forces that we’ve dealt with so far that, as far as we know, were working towards Warwick’s agenda, whatever that may be. I don’t know how much you’ve heard, but we’ve had, let's see, ancient war machines, both with and seemingly without sapience. A shapeshifting battle creation that may or may not have been what remains of an elven Formavit, and the remains being its body, whatever you would call its soul, personality, or both. And, finally, the flying elven war machine with its pilot.” Krishga folds her hands together in front of her mouth and lowers her head, thinking. “All of those are not anywhere close to regular Dominion military forces. They’re ancient, strange, maybe forgotten things. Perhaps something you’d find in some dusty filing cabinet labeled ‘hosed up ideas for better Dominion soldiers, ethical considerations need not apply’. Maybe forces the Dominion leadership at large is not aware of, just some very particular people in charge of secret military projects like that.” She closes her eyes and rolls her shoulders. “There is one more thing. The war machines - the unthinking ones and also the one that had a will, 1001…” She briefly thinks of the robotic general and sighs. “...they were created in a way that they are forced to obey. I tried to convince 1001 to reconsider doing what someone else was ordering him to, but, it didn't work. I’m not sure it would have been possible with just words, without removing whatever his creators put in his head to make disobedience impossible. My point is this: The shapeshifting thing, I still don’t know what was going on with it exactly, I tried talking to it, but I got the feeling it was… confused about anything that wasn’t its mission. And that’s a way to make sure it never even thinks about not following orders too.” She cocks her head and raises an eyebrow at Jaroth. “Do you see what I mean? The pilot of…. Eos? I didn't get to talk to them, some sort of Operator chatted my ear off instead, and I got the impression she, well, might be responsible for handling our pilot. Meaning making sure they only hear what they’re supposed to hear, not think about things too hard, that sort of thing. No idea if the pilot has something to make sure they never step out of line too, but if they do, that would be interesting, wouldn't it? So. Is whoever is supporting Warwick in the Dominion giving her forces that all, in one way or another, cannot or will not disobey orders? And if they are, is it because if the those forces knew what their orders were, understood what they meant, or who they’re really fighting for, they wouldn’t follow those orders?” nil. fucked around with this message at 15:16 on Aug 26, 2023 |
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Aug 25, 2023 21:23
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Eos I know it's a dream, because only in a dream could I escape the weight of this world's gravity now.  I'm dreaming of flying with the King. I'm mounted again, aboard my Stallion, and my instruments are thrilling counterpoint to the flocking cries of his emissaries as we gallop and dive through a bleak, black, storm-lashed mountain range. He wraps us in his proud regard like a bowerbird gathers baubles, gloating over them with wings outspread. We carry the windstorm with us like a cloak of screams, but even these bitter gales don't dare raise their voice at his coming. When his vast feathered shape flicks past in a smear of oxide-blue, it raises not a whisper of turbulence. When he digs talon and foreclaw into the unforgiving stone, and opens his beaks to cry raptor's joy at the sky, it is the storm which screams for him, opening its throat to starry infinity and dispersing to the far horizon. When the cacophony of our acclamation finally dies away, we plant hooves on a narrow ridge of rock and turn the Stallion's eyes up to behold the night. Gaggles of worshippers settle on our back, our antlers, anywhere they can latch their claws. We gather in silence beneath his manifold gaze and wait for the moon to rise. At this altitude the stars are always so beautiful. The Mendicant, the Geometer, the Entwined...all spread out in their old glory like jewel-dust on still waters. A gleam of moonlight, bone-pale and sweet as fresh butter, touches the highest mountain peak - and the feathers of the King perched thereupon. And then...the stars...the stars blink. The Mendicant stirs in the sky and blinks his sapphire eye. What?  Where are the others? His eye is no color at all. There is no color in the sky. No color in the land. The stars are dead. The sky is dead. The Mendicant crouches in the darkness like a fistful of dead beetles, the opaque un-color of primordial ice, twitching and burrowing in the dead flesh of the skies. No, no, that's not right. There's color here after all. Something's still alive. Something red. Something rising. There. I can see it behind the King, outlining him as his many-limbed glory rears up in majesty, crying defiance at the rising winds. The moon is  bleeding * * * * * * * * * I bolt awake with a shout of raw terror.
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Aug 27, 2023 00:37
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Conspiratorially, Jaroth leans in as he responds, Kalkydra still sat on his shoulder and now getting very close to Krishga. Sorvis-Kazbiel, still holding the box of cereal keeping an eye on the perimeter with more intent this time - more focus. Bedrimulael only half there but seemingly mulling over Krishga's words, muttering something about "eating properly while growing up" and taking notes in a pocketbook decorated with fine filigreed copper that you hadn't seen her bring out before but was seemingly stashed somewhere on her person. Jaroth spoke, quietly "So, do you think if we can expose this renegade faction within the Dominion, Warwick would lose their support?" he inquired, a flicker of conflicting emotions crossing his features as he considered how this might be an accomplishable goal. "Do you think we could use the war-machine pilot to get access? This information might be... difficult to utilise, unless of course you or another member of our group have any contacts on the other side...." mulled over Jaroth quietly before he stopped talking entirely, realising that it might not be best to deliberate too much about additional ramifications, even if ostensibly the coast was clear.
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Aug 27, 2023 17:04
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Jaroth, with Kalkydra in tow, gets close to Krishga and she brushes back her hair. He is handsome. What? I can say that, in my head. I can think about two things at the same time, at least, so what if one of them is coming up with ways to stop the world from going to the snakes, and the other is a glowing handsome man very close to me? She clears her throat, and is a little slower in finding her voice again than usual. “Ah, sorry, got something in my… yes.” Krishga shrugs. “First I’d like to find out if a renegade faction like that even exists, or at least if it would fit with what we know. I am not really… I’m an engineer. And an inventor, and several other things, but not some political mastermind playing the, uh…” She mimics moving around some pieces on an imaginary board. “...game of nations, or whatever it is people like that call it. Still, if it’s just a faction of idiots and not the entire Dominion, that’s different. I’d like to say ‘nobody wants a war’, but that’s not true. If it’s just one small group, though…” She sighs. “Ah, what am I talking about? We don’t even know what Warwick wants!” “But!” She clasps her hands together. “I believe it’s always good to take stock of everything you have on hand, move it around in your hands a bit, weigh it, figure out what it maybe was meant to do originally, no matter if it’s useful or relevant right now. I usually do that with scrap, but…” She taps her temple. “...that helps me work wonders when suddenly there’s a problem that needs solving. Suddenly something that had no purpose becomes the most important part of your solution - maybe it’s even the thing that inspired you to think of the solution in the first place!” Krishga nods and pats Jaroth’s shoulder - the one Kalkydra is not sitting on. “To make it short: No, I don’t have a plan of what we should do with the information if my theory is correct, or if it’s not. But who knows what’ll happen later, what we’ll learn? Sometimes, before you can find a solution, you need to look at the problem more closely, or get more tools.” She spreads her hands. “And I bet you and your friends might have some ideas as well if we find out something interesting, huh?” Krishga wiggles her eyebrows encouragingly. Suddenly, her ears twitch lightly, and she becomes aware of something moving nearby, of something brushing against the metal walls of the corridor against the corner. The Goblin wheels around, a finger raised, ready to point accusatorily. "Who - oh, hey, Alhena!" The head of the Shivan perhaps most transformed in body and soul deep beaneath the waves peeks around the corner, her fleshy countenance unreadable to Krishga. "Are you exploring the XK Masada? Everything going well? Oh, did you all already meet? Alhena, this is Jaroth, Bedrimulael, Sorvis-Kazbiel, and then, other way around for introductions." The Goblin strokes her chin, a though having occured to her. "Hm. If you're not busy right now, Alhena, we could use your help with something. We're heading to the brig and I think that maybe you could assist with interpreting. And, if it's really necessary, but I don't want to push you into it, perhaps... you know who..." She points at her head. "...could help out, when it comes to things that are extremely ancient. But, once again, only if you feel up for it." nil. fucked around with this message at 20:28 on Aug 28, 2023 |
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Aug 27, 2023 21:45
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--------------------------------------------------------------------------- BLD +2 [ ]|| COU +2 [ ]|| GRA -1 [ ]|| SEN +0 [ ]|| WIS +2 [ ] Blessings: Strength[ ] || Speed[ ] || Glory[ ] || Power[X][X] Gear: Armor[X] || Fuel[ ][ ][ ] Hilda: Crack Shot[ ] || Quick As A Bullet [ ] --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Branwen relaxes her posture as the sergeant backs down. "Ah. Awful mess, that... Good to know more folk got out of that intact and good on ya getting your men out. I spent nearly every free moment in that chaos praying to be able to do more. S'pose the Matron heard and answered, and I'll see to it I do that more." When offered guidance around the station Bran gives a polite shake of her head. "No, I remember how to get to the canteen from here. Champion of the gods and exalted deeds or no, I've been a poor daughter and intend to correct that." And with a glance to Maeve and a nod from her, the two start walking down the hall, Hilda sauntering a fair few steps behind. A decent bit down the hallway Bran gives a quick look behind her and lets out a sigh and then a quiet chuckle. "I never believed ya when ya said how poxy lawmen acted compared to the road wardens", she answers the look from her mom "'til I left home."
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Aug 31, 2023 17:19
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Branwen As you walk away, you hear one of the grunts whisper to the other, "I thought she was supposed to be a giant?" Maeve collects her suitcase and walks primly at your side. Even after all these years, she still has the ingrained habits of someone raised in money. It's hard to imagine this being the same woman who can and has shot a necrodile without hesitation in defense of her home. You recall your stepmother being a vocal proponent of this dichotomy. "Aye. When you love the money and not the land it warps ya. That's why the news had very little to say about these ESCO fellows during the troubles in Aqualantis." She looks over at you and you are instantly aware that she is using her preternatural mother senses to divine your secrets. "Your mother couldn't tell me what happened to you. She wouldn't tell me what was going on with her either, only that there was work still to do. So I was patient and steadfast in my prayers, even when I stopped hearing word from her. Now, after all these years I hear that Aqualantis has vanished. I finally screwed up my courage and came here. I'm glad I did." Krishga and Jaroth You speak of conspiracy, a faction of renegades running wild with exotic toys. The scant pieces of the puzzle you possess lead to some interesting suppositions, don't they? But what does it mean and how is Warwick involved...perhaps answers will be more obvious tomorrow? Alhena dips her head in greeting as she encounters you all. "Yeah. This construction is pretty wild. Never been in a naval base before. ...Funny how weird looking I find normal people to be now." At your introduction to Jaroth and his comrades Alhena offers a curtsy. You suppose the fleshy bell that covers her lower half does resemble a dress of sorts - if you ignore that most dresses aren't made of flesh and chitin. "Pleased to make your acquaintance. We almost met earlier; my fellow Shivans and I were aiding Anna in the Maximus." At Krishga's request, Alhena nods again. "Sure. Anna's busy with her own stuff right now, I think. And I'm running on too much energy regardless." As she joins your entourage, you all make your way towards the brig. You follow the signs and soon enough come across a clearly high-security area. Several electronic gates seperate the outside world and the guards inside. They don't appear to be on edge and they have clearly been told to expect you. A quick verification of your names and you're all waved inside. "We'll need you to check any weapons you have. Do not give or accept anything from the prisoners without the approval of the Security Chief. Lady Joanna La Fien is on duty right now. Trust her judgement and understand that while on duty, her orders cannot be countermanded." It doesn't carry the tone of a threat, simply a warning. Once everyone has been patted down and buzzed through you pass through a sterile hallway with a ninety degree turn that terminates in another gate. You see another ESCO guard on your side, sitting at a small table with a newspaper clutched in his hands, and a small portable radio offering an evening weather report before fading into the familiar voice of Mostafa Rahm announcing that this is Amber Key - a unit of civil defense. A Zamite native, Rahm has been the voice of Amber Key for decades now. The guard barely acknowledges your approach, simply reaching over and pressing a button that sets this last gate springing open. On the other side you see a brilliantly golden skeleton armed with a rifle and great cleaver. The figure glances at you all over a shoulder before stepping out of the way. "Joanna La Fien, representing Lord Rulakir. How may I help you?" the skeleton says, a gruff feminine voice seeming incongruous to her appearance. "Both prisoners are asleep at the moment but I can wake them up if necessary." Your bonds are forged. What do you do? Eos It feels as though no time at all has passed. Your awareness returns, albeit blurry, as you hear the sounds of gates opening in the distance. Much closer you hear a final electronic gate crash open and muffled voices. One is your jailer, the others are not immediately familiar to you. Exhaustion clings to you still and your muscles are extremely sore and vocal about it. Your chest especially feels like you've just gone a couple rounds in a sparring match. You've never existed in gravity for this long and your everything is complaining about it. You know logically you can exist in atmosphere but your instincts tell you the weight is crushing. A minor annoyance but hopefully your mind gets over it soon. A tinny male voice hits your ears and though you aren't fluent in League Tongue, you know the classic send off of Amber Key by heart. The Threshold gets very few broadcasts and this human radio station is one of them. What do you do?
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Sep 7, 2023 17:44
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Krishga strides towards the brig with confidence, ready to demand to be let in and allowed to speak to the captives, only to be surprised at being waved through without any hassle, except for the short discussion about whether her large wrench constitutes a weapon that she needs to give up. She gathers herself as the small group of angels, a flesh-warped occasional conduit of a powerful sapient war-star, and a single small Goblin woman at the head of them wait in front of yet another electronic lock, soon to be unlocked by a guard beyond. “Huh. Didn’t even need to get out the hat.” She shrugs and then, with some hesitation, gets out the Elven phrase book and her notepad. “Might as well get started on this… Alhena, Ana wasn’t really able to tell me everything in detail, but from what I hear, you were there when you captured the pilot? The one that was controlling the flying elven war machine… unicorn. You somehow teleported him into the passenger compartment of the Maximus, right? Which, by the way, haha, I’m very happy that went well and did not result in any unforeseen interactions with some fundamental features of how the Maximus works with regards to warping space which, well, I’ll skip over the details, but let’s just say that normally when you mix teleportation and, for example, shrinking technology, it’s a good idea to do some careful and thorough calculations beforehand.” She clasps her hands together and nods. “But, it all worked, so that is good. And… actually really interesting, I should check if I can get any readings from the Maximus from the right time and…” The Goblin trails off, having more and more sounded like she is talking to herself. She quickly makes a note on another page of her notepad, then looks back up at Alhena. “Right. What I wanted to ask you is if there is anything you can tell me about the pilot, even if you were just crammed together into a small room for half an hour.” She smiles. “For what it’s worth, I met some interesting people that way.” The electronic door opens, only for another one to wait for the group in the next room. Krishga busies herself with preparing as best she can for talking with the elven pilot, quietly cursing the limited and simplistic vocabulary on offer in the Elven phrase book, all while she writes the words down and, with a low voice, mouths them to herself. She considers asking Jaroth to further elaborate on how exactly he will be able to ‘interpret’ for her, but her train of thought is interrupted by finally arriving at what looks to be the final door to the brig. The engineer briefly wonders why anyone would need a weather report down in the XK Masada and then, when she recognizes the radio program, she waves and smiles at the ESCO guard that lets them through by pressing a button, without truly taking his eyes off the magazine he’s reading. Krishga steps through into the brig and, to her surprise, finds herself focused not on the prisoners they came here to see, but the impressive looking armed golden skeleton. After a moment of surprise, Krishga puts her hands on her hips and grins up at the tall, shining - apparently female - undead head guard with amusement. “Krishga Tazz, Goblin inventor extraordinaire, how are you? Representing Rulakir, huh? That makes…” She glances at Joanna’s boney, quite obviously undead body. “...sense.” She nods. “Me and my companions came down here to talk to the captives. Can we…? Great, thanks. One question - has anyone else questioned or interrogated them already? Or… have they said, or done anything while they were in here?” Krishga scratches the back of her neck and locks up at Jaroth, to see whether they are thinking of the same person they want to talk to first. “I’d like to see the pilot first.” Joanna La Fien gives a curt nod and leads the group to the elven pilot’s cell. Krishga continues talking. “He’s sleeping, huh? Has he been sleeping since he got here? Or, actually, do we know if the pilot is a ‘he’? I recently got it pointed out to me - which was fair, actually - that apparently the Dominion is not sexist at all when it comes to who is allowed to put the boot to non-Dominion races. I don’t know why, but I somehow don’t find myself cheering for their enlightened ways…” When Krishga sees the pilot through the metal bars of his cell, her chattering stops for a moment as she intently studies the elf’s suit. “Hmmmm, fascinating. Completely sealed - to allow for operation in airless environments, or to protect pilot from airborne contaminants? Various port-looking parts - direct integration with battle suit? Hm.” She shakes her head and gives Joanna an apologetic smile. “How do we wake him up? No need to be rough about it, but, they took away my big wrench, so do you mind rapping against the b-” Krishga recoils as the pilot suddenly sits up straight, screaming, clutching his helmeted head. “Ahh!” She picks her notebook, pen and phrasebook back up from the ground after flinging them through the air in surprise. “Did he do that before? Nevermind.” She shakes her head at herself. “I dive down to the bottom of the ocean and then go deeper still and see all sorts of messed-up things, and this is what makes me drop my tools. Really. Seems there was maybe too much sugar in that cereal, eh, Kalkydra?” She winks at the songbird. “Alright. Wish me luck.” She waits for the elven pilot to seemingly calm and then rolls her shoulders, squares herself up with her notes and elven phrase book in her hands, and addresses the prisoner in elvish. “<Hello. My name is Krishga Tazz.> Goblin inventor extraordinaire.” She mumbles the last part. “<It is good to meet you. What is your name?>” She looks down at her notes, knowing full well that she has exhausted the book’s stock phrases for now, and that everything from now on will be far more experimental. “<You are a rider of your big metal horse. I am a rider of my big metal… house that walks, too. I talk with your… above woman. Do you hear me talk?>” Krishga briefly turns to face Jaroth and wonders whether whatever he meant by being able to interpret allows him to understand the Goblin’s no-doubt horrifying rendition of the elven language. She shrugs and continues speaking to the captive. “<Are you…>” She quickly thumbs through the phrase book, not finding any entry concerning asking someone about their well-being. “<...good? Does your body feel bad? Do you…>” Krishga desperately searches for something in the phrase book, again and again coming back to a page she found in the beginning, only to have to roll her eyes and admit defeat. “<Do you want to go out for dinner?>” She throws up her arms and blows a raspberry, shaking the phrase book as if that will make the inanimate object stop frustrating her by omitting basic phrases like ‘food’ or asking someone if they are hungry - or, perhaps, simply hiding the phrase on some page she cannot find. nil. fucked around with this message at 16:05 on Sep 9, 2023 |
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Sep 8, 2023 21:27
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Jaroth and his fellows keep pace with Krishga and Alhena, Jaroth himself nodding to Alhena as she reintroduces herself "Charmed. It is good to meet an ally formally this time." he curtly says, his mind focused on the future. Sorvis-Kazbiel offers a nervous bow, while Bedrimulael smiles and offers her greetings, however soon after the introductions she starts to stare and... sketch with a pencil inside her pocketbook, given her attention she might be making furtive sketches of Alhena for some reason. Kalkydra seemingly just preens herself most of the time en route, taking a little (but only a little) notice of Alhena, regarding her similar to most others that the songbird has met thus far. As the group enter the brig, Sorvis-Kazbiel visibly relaxes, although not for any immediately obvious reason. He willingly relinquishes the combat knife that he has on him, although given what you've scratched of the surface, being without weapons does not make the angels particularly less dangerous. In fact, Alhena (depending on how much attention she was paying to Jaroth in the altercation beneath the waves) might be aware that the opposite is true. Jaroth nods curtly to Joanna, speaking a more standard greeting, having seemingly met her before. The others of his cadre seem similarly also acquainted. Jaroth's demeanour is unflustered from the pilot's sudden wake-up, although Kalkydra is a little startled but chirps happily when Krishga gives her some attention. Sorvis-Kazbiel stares vacantly into the cell, as though waiting for something, but Bedrimulael's attentions are drawn to the new figure whom she pays rapt attention to, keenly waiting for a continuation of activity - and once Krishga finishes her pained attempts at communication to see how the pilot responds. Jaroth whispers to Krishga before the pilot can respond. "Should I be doing the talking here? I fear your phrase book might limit to asking him where the public bathrooms are...."
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Sep 9, 2023 20:57
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Krishga first looks up at Jaroth, then raises an eyebrow at Sorvis-Kazbiel and Bedrimulael as they both stare at the cell and its occupant in a way many might find strange and some unsettling. She shrugs. "Oh, so you do speak Elvish? It was a bit unclear earlier." The Goblin gives the angel a thumbs up. "I certainly won't stop you doing most of the talking then. As you noticed, this..." She shakes the phrase book in her hand. "...is a bit limited. But, if you can, try to speak slowly and let us all know what the pilot's saying, huh? Don't want me to feel left out, right?" She grins, then waits to see if the elven captive will react in any way, together with the others. After a moment of nothing happening, she whispers to Bedrimulael. "Hey. Hey, you have a notepad too? Really helps me. Can I ask what you sketched earlier?" nil. fucked around with this message at 12:33 on Sep 11, 2023 |
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Sep 11, 2023 09:39
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Krishga Alhena regards you as you walk along, her unblinking alien eyes glinting strangely in the stark lighting. "I don't know elven, and Meshaia was not inhabiting me to translate. He fought a bit but seems frail. Even considering your height you could probably take him in a fistfight." "Seems...unstable? Went from hysterical babbling one moment to calm and collected the next. He's an elf though so what can you expect. Histrionic pricks." She gives a what-can-you-do shrug. ----- You ask your questions of Joanna, who stands casually, arms crossed over top her cleaver. Light snoring emanates out from one of the cells and one of the overhead lights emits an unceasing. nearly inaudible hum. Sloppy wiring - typical of humans, atypical of your folk. Goblins must not have been contracted for building this section. That also probably means there are none of the access hatches and sneaky crawlways your people utilize. "No interrogations yet." Joanna cocks her head for a moment. "No need. He'll spill his guts tomorrow." She gestures in the air towards a cell with no snoring coming from it. "Our Prince on a white stallion is getting marched right in front of an inquiry. If he knows what's good for him he'll tell them what he knows." Hefting up her weapon, she saunters casually down the corridor, turning to glance into a cell briefly. A human woman in tank top and pants is sprawled across the spartan bunk, snoozing away. "I gave him a pain killer and we shared a few words. I have no idea if he was asleep or just unresponsive. Either way, they dragged him from that armor suit and dumped him on his bunk. He was conscious for at least a little while after that. About...forty five minutes ago, I guess?" Anyway, he's asleep now." He stops in front another bare cell and gestures at the slim figure within. "As for if it's a man, that's a good question. Got no muscle at all. Disappointing. This guy over here, though?" She jerks a thunb towards Jaroth. "Work of loving art. Where were men like that when I was alive?" While you clearly have no personal problems with (reasonable) undead, what does goblin society as a whole think of things like necromancy and undeath? What do you do? Eos You listen in to the conversation, your helmet making it quite simple to feign sleep while still staying apprised of things. Firstly is, of course, your jailer. She seems to be primarily addressing a small green creature. Gublom. You've dealt with their kind before. Inventive sorts. Impertinent. In one hand in a large, impressively crafted hat. Next is a tall, well chiseled bronze man that seems to fairly radiate to your blind eye. The two people-shaped figures and bird that accompany him radiate as well, bearers of some primal secret that strives to make itself known. And lastly there is... The Enemy. It stands there in strange guise - a chitinous mass of flesh and sinew, some hadopelagic horror brought up from the darkness. Two arms and a head and masses of writhing tentacle. A horrible kind of grace to its movement. And within it, riding as you ride your own mount, the awful thing brought forth during the initial invasion. The War Fractal. You never encountered it yourself, but you've seen the aftermath. The creatures unmade and the landmasses reshaped. Your own brother, Thanatos Panoptes was the first and only A.D.F pilot fall in those early days of your lives, and it was at the hands of the Shivan's new weapon. It was not a good death. The group is clearly discussing what is to be done about you, and it's hard not to be bitter about being woken up by this.
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Sep 13, 2023 01:49
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Krishga nods along as Joanna answers, her arms crossed over her chest. "You shared a few words? Means you speak Elvish too, yes? Or did you use something else to communicate?" The tall skeletal guard then makes her remark about Jaroth's impressive physique, and Krishga gives her a look and a nod that all but says 'I know, right?'. She quickly catches herself, clears her throat, and concentrates on the person she had come here to visit. After there is no immediate response from the pilot, she waves to them from behind the bars a few times, with arcs as big as if he was on a departing train. quote:The general Goblin opinion on necromancy is caught between more traditional and modern stances. The traditional stance is one of distrust towards their practitioners and occasional grudging acceptance as necromancy being a necessary evil. This is rooted in Goblin history. Goblin myth has it that the tunnels and caves of their ancestral home under the earth sometimes whispered secrets into the large ears of the early Goblins via dew carried upon the windm and sometimes these were arcane knowledge, with necromancy being a relatively rare gift. Of special note is that their necromancy exclusively involved mindless undead or those enslaved to their creator's will. Definite records from such an early time are rare, but based on enduring popular tales necromancers were sometimes heroic, sometimes sinister figures that nevertheless often worked to protect Goblin communities in hours of great need, even if their price sometimes was just as great. As far as history can tell, necromancers in this time enjoyed respect and a healthy dose of wariness. nil. fucked around with this message at 11:02 on Sep 20, 2023 |
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Sep 18, 2023 14:20
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| # ? May 5, 2024 22:37 |
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--------------------------------------------------------------------------- BLD +2 [ ]|| COU +2 [ ]|| GRA -1 [ ]|| SEN +0 [ ]|| WIS +2 [ ] Blessings: Strength[ ] || Speed[ ] || Glory[ ] || Power[X][X] Gear: Armor[X] || Fuel[ ][ ][ ] Hilda: Crack Shot[ ] || Quick As A Bullet [ ] --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Branwen quietly clicks her tongue, briefly waiting as she contemplates if she wanted to continue the topic before she says "Well, I suppose I'll start. What happened was, well. Bombarda saved me. Things..." she trails off, searching for the right words. "...had gotten bad, and I was stuck in a chunk of boat sinking lower into the depths of the sea. And when I prayed to be saved, she answered. Pulled me free. And this", she says gesturing at her metallic body, "is because, well, she asked if I would help her with something. And when I said I would, I awoke in that chunk of boat, dredged up to be salvaged and nearly ten years had passed." Branwen waits, slightly nervous for her mother's response, before awkwardly breaking the silence with "How about you? I don't remember the ears..."
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Sep 21, 2023 01:54
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