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Branwen "Sounds like I dun' get to be angry, even if I wanted. I'm just glad you're here with me now." At your own query, she shyly gestures towards an ear with a spare hand. "I don't actually know. Thirteen years? I think it was thirteen years ago. After the last time I saw you, and before Serenity got the wanderlust and went after her gran-daughter." "Noticed they were getting longer, just a little." Her earlobes have receded, and the tips grown out commensurately. They sit at a roughly halfway point between a normal human ears and elven - an admittedly common feature among half-elves. Maeve glances around, waiting until you're well clear of anyone else before speaking. She leans in conspiratorially. "I don't think I've aged hardly at all. You wouldn't lie to your mother - do I look fifty-four to you?" No, she certainly does not. Take all the tinctures, potions, and unguents you like. Time takes its toll on everyone. "Serenity was just as perplexed! Says I must have really meant it when I made my wedding vows." "Oh! Miss Cybil sends you her best. She's always asking after you and your sister." That's surprising. Miss Cybil was the meanest lady in the county and probably a witch. She never had anything kind to to say to anyone but plenty of spiteful remarks for the crime of existing in her vicinity. She'd often threaten to snatch up the local children and feed them to her pet necrodile, Yancy. Nobody can prove she ever did or even would...but there was that one summer that neighbor boy Jason went missing with no explanation. You have to wonder sometimes. The infuriating thing is the old bat was brilliant at pretending to be a sweet old woman in front of everyone's parents and wouldn't believe she could ever say a hateful word. She was already old when you were little, so it's a little surprising to hear she's still around. Spite, probably. "And speaking of your sister please tell me you know where she is! I'm well sick of losing my daughters."
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Sep 25, 2023 21:28
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| # ? May 6, 2024 04:05 |
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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 gives a small shrug. "Strange. S'pose Serenity's right." She says it such that she clearly doesn't think it's just a matter of wedding oaths, but doesn't actually know what it is. Bran forces a warm smile when her mom mentions Miss Cybil. Though with age she could look back on the things she, Ana, and the rest of kids of the village had done certainly could, at times, be described as hell-raising the way Cybil had taken to being outright spiteful and cruel when she could get away with it was beyond a reasonable response, and even now the question of how much any knew the saccharine sweet act of the probable witch was just an act. Maybe none, not even Cybil herself. "Oh that's so kind of her. I do miss her blackened 'dile pasta. Necrodile dishes in general, even. Nothing quite has the same taste as it outside of Blutfeucht..." "Oh, well, good news. Ana's on station. Think she was getting some of her gear looked at, or looking at some gear? It's been... Hectic, since we came back in. And during our outing. And before we left here..."
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Oct 8, 2023 08:24
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Eos Well. It's about time. Her command of Language is worse than a child's, but it's enough to...mostly understand her. I heave myself from the prison cot, leaning heavily on the walls, and walk slowly and carefully up to the bars of my cell. "That's very ⟨⟨flattering⟩⟩ of you, but I don't want ⟨⟨dinner and a show⟩⟩ right now," I reply a little crookedly, holding out a palm carefully through the slats of my cage. "I need you to ⟨⟨taste my breath⟩⟩ so we can make ⟨⟨wind sugar⟩⟩ together. Then you can ⟨⟨inflate me⟩⟩ with it before I ⟨⟨choke.⟩⟩" I pause, waiting for her to respond...examining the look on her face. On everyone's faces. It makes me blink for a second, all my eyes at once. "What? What did I say?" ...Maybe the words have changed a bit, after all these years gone by without me.
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Oct 8, 2023 23:54
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Branwen "Good, good. Is she...doing alright? She's like her mother, prone to overdoing it." Hilda lets out a barely audible huff behind you. You've been meandering in the vague direction of where you understand the brig to be, the residential hallway terminating ahead of you and opening into a more general purpose access corridor. Heading left will bring you to the base's central hub and the Harpy Nest. Right meanwhile takes you closer to the heart of the base and the more secure areas. "Been keeping busy, aye? You'll have to tell me about it." It's clear your mother is holding herself back from inundating you with a thousand questions about the who what why where and whens of the last ten plus years. For her part, she happily chatters on about her own life and the goings on of home. From the sound of things Blutfuecht is not much changed over the years - been a small surge in necrodile spottings and the mayor still hasn't failed to take first place in the barbecue cookoff. Maeve is telling you about a family that had recently moved into the area from Bagalish ("Fourteen children, can you imagine? That poor woman.") when ahead you spot a familiar figure. His back is to you but his clothing is very recognizable - Lahire. He seems to be having a very animated conversation with a pair of halflings in military fatigues. It's doesn't seem like it's strictly a private conversation, but this is a rather out of the way place to be shooting the breeze. What do you do?
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Oct 9, 2023 01:13
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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 [ ] --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Bran pauses and cocks her head. "She's. Well." Bran catches the stare from her mother before grimacing slightly. "She's physically well but... She's looking for something to do with herself, I think. Maybe she feels she has to live up to her family, a pressure I'm now contributing to." The two engage in small talk for a while, Bran sharing small bits from the various bits of downtime when she spots Lahire. The encounter with ESCO comes to mind, and Warwick attempt to bribe her off, and Matra. If Lahire wasn't on Warwick's payroll already, an offer would be soon in the works. Well, an ounce of prevention worth a pound of medicine. Branwen straightens up and tells her mom "Just need to take care of something, work related, just five seconds." Then Branwen waves Hilda close and whispers "I've a mind to do omen reading and need something live for it." Hilda gives a raised eyebrow and a short nod, replying "I'll find ya after yer talk with the Lumen Stallion." and saunters off back down the hall. Branwen then walks forward a touch louder than she normally would, clears her throat and asks Lahire and his cohorts "Am I interrupting something?"
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Oct 21, 2023 00:36
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Branwen You approach Lahire, your footsteps echoing on the steel deckplates. At your hail, he turns and smiles as he recognizes you. "Madam Branwen, excellent to see you again. Not at all, just finishing up some business." You see in a one hand is a thick wad of League bills, which he tucks inside of his shirt, making no effort to hide it from you. He turns back to the two halflings and offers a handshake to them each in turn. "Tell the Donna it's been a pleasure, and I hope your family and I can work together again sometime." They offer a goodbye to Lahire and a nod to you, then take their leave. "Apologies. You know how it is when you're self employed. You're always on the job in one regard or another." He glances past you towards Maeve briefly before returning his gaze to yours. "I can see the family resemblance. So. It sounds like your venture met with some interesting success. I'd be pretty interested to hear about it, and my rates are fair. What do you say-" He is interrupted by the sounds of raucous singing echoing down the corridor. "Get off my rear end, ya wee bitty gently caress If I pull out the cutlass, yer poo poo outta luck Who is that girl, that pretty young thing? After I gently caress her, she'll get up and sing! Aye, aye, aye Sharpen yer boot, and bludgeon yer eye Aye, aye, aye The black Kolsac Sea, is where we shall die! Down to the pub, for a two-shillin' ale The bread on the counter is goin' stale If I don't get some fresh bread soon Gonna punch you in your face, and bark at the moon! Aye, aye, aye Sharpen yer boot, and bludgeon yer eye Aye, aye, aye The black Kolsac Sea, is where we shall die!" A bawdy old sea shanty, sung poorly but enthusiastically by what is soon revealed to be Rajat and his men, staggeringly drunk and flanked by another trio of ESCO troopers, though not Bunyan or his boys this time. A couple sailors are sporting burgeoning shiners and Rajat himself has a thin trail of blood running down his forehead and his drunken grin is tinged scarlet. If you had to guess they've been doing what every sailor does at port - drink everything they can find and brawl. On of the troopers pauses to help pick a man up and back onto his feet. "Come on, Senyon. Let's get you somewhere to sleep it off." What do you do?
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Oct 22, 2023 01:57
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 Krishga pages through her phrase book, occasionally glances over at Jaroth, as if to ask him to help with the translation, then to Eos, as if to ask him to elaborate, but she seemingly decides against both. As she works her way through what the prisoner said, she alternates between furrowing her brow, chuckling in amusement, and nodding along. “Well!” She slams the phrase book closed and grins up at Jaroth. “While it would be easy to believe my charming smile and beautiful looks have won me another admirer, I think our new friend isn’t hitting on me and instead is trying to tell us something else.” She nods and continues, more seriously. “Sounds to me as if he’s running out of air. Which is pretty bad. Well, not the air all around us, obviously, some sort of special mixture, probably, maybe something mixed with nutrients? Or he needs an atmosphere that is closer to…” She stops herself, raises an eyebrow at Joanna, then shrugs. “...closer to the environment where he was born. Looks like that suit isn't just for when he’s piloting Elvish war machines, then.” The Goblin clears her throat. “Bear with me, Jaroth, buuuut… I’ll try my hand at talking with him directly some more. Feel free to jump in, or correct me if I say something completely horrible, but I think I’m getting the hang of this.” She waves the phrase book in the air. “Alright, alright, and I want to be involved, always annoyed some of my teachers when I didn’t want to just sit down and listen to theory. Watch my back so I don’t embarrass myself too much, huh?” She approaches the outheld palm, cocking her head this way and that, inspecting it as if it were an interesting specimen. She looks up at Eos - and then, ever so lightly, high-fives the Elven pilot, She chuckles, then clears her throat. “<Hello. You do not have enough… wind sugar. You do not need wind from everywhere. It is not wind sugar. Yes? You stop moving with no wind sugar.>” She leaves through the phrase book, letting out a delighted noise when she finds just what she was searching for. “<Can you tell me the time? For choking.>” She nods up at Eos, hoping to assure the person behind that suit. “<Your big metal horse makes wind sugar before? I can make wind sugar. But I… taste wind sugar first. And I need my metal…” This time, Krishga silently curses at the phrase book before closing it, somewhat frustrated. “...cutlery. Yes?” She whispers to Jaroth and the others. “They don’t have ‘tools’ in this godsdamned book, but they have ‘cutlery’. I can understand they don’t cover future and past, uh, tenses, but really…” “<Please be calm. I will help. Where is the… wind sugar mouth?>” She sticks the phrase book under her armpit, takes out her notepad in its stead and starts scribbling and sketching. “Joanna, I’m gonna need to bring some tools either in here or I’m gonna have to work outside and drag some device in here through all those drat doors. Would really prefer the first one, and we’re on a bit of a deadline, before the very important prisoner here suffocates and can’t answer the very important questions of the very important people arriving in the next few days.” She looks up at the gilded skeleton. “I’m not giving you poo poo, just telling you what to say if someone up the chain tries to give you poo poo and ‘protocol’ and ‘security concerns’ and bla bla. Can you find out if we can make that happen?” She continues sketching some sort of device involving at least one pump, mumbling to herself. “Oh. Jaroth, Alhena, something I was wondering… Hm.” She finishes a line. “Do elves have something about telling their own name to others? Do you know? I talked with his ‘Operator’ earlier - didn’t even want me to tell them my name - and now our new friend here didn’t introduce himself either.” She shrugs. “Could of course be because he’s locked up by his mortal enemy and running out of air. Despite what some people say, manners are not everything.” Jaroth thinks to himself about the issues with appropriate air. It could well be something to do with a lack of acclimation to this existence, although whether or not this was a purely physiological issue or some sort of more spiritual impairment he could not say. Unfortunately for the elven pilot, he was not particularly suited towards trying to jury rig some kind of contravence that would better aid with their respiration, at least directly - although perhaps luckily for the pilot in question Jaroth was under the belief that Krishga here might be better suited - however he does not immediately convey any of these inner thoughts to the assembled. "I suppose the guidebook was never intended to be used in situations like car repair?" responds Jaroth to Krishga, something that all in attendance know exactly what he said - cutting across all language barriers even for something so petty and trivial. Following this, Jaroth turns to their guest and speaks once more: "This might be tricky, but can you convey anything more... specific about the atmosphere you normally breathe that we might be able to replicate here? Or first, probably better.... do you have a name we can use? It might be better for us to call you by something rather than just 'hey you' or 'the pilot'." Although Jaroth was a little confused as to whether or not he just asked what Krishga was trying to ask. Turning back to Krishga, he speaks quietly. "My experience with elven culture is a little... limited. But I think it might be more of an dominion military thing rather than a greater elven issue. Maybe we just need to ask them more insistently? If my air supply was running out I'd probably be less into formalities too..." His voice was low this time, not necessarily trying to hide what he was saying, but this was an aside - and he doesn’t want to confuse the stranger even more with this kind of talk. Krishga snorts. "I don't think the people that wrote this book are even aware of what a car is." She scratches her head as she listens to what Jaroth says to the captive pilot. "Now if he can understand you just fine, that'd be really embarrassing for me, huh? I assumed he spoke Elvish and not our language, but..." She smiles broadly at Eos and waves. "If you can understand us like this, hello, I didn't mean to be rude." Eos considers. What is my name now? I can't be what I was. Not after what's happened to me. For all my eyes, I'm as blind as a newborn about life in this time. I can still see the Irontongue reaching to me with that terrible light in her eyes, spiraling, curious. He shivers, eyes blinking in a disordered ripple, and almost loses his footing. This gravity will crush me to the ground like a fly if I let it. "Eos Panopteris." Dawn-seen-by-all, in the old idiom. "Hello. There are mouths on these clothes for air and food and water. I do not know how to say my air in your tongue. Take some and learn about it. When can I leave this cage?" Krishga is delighted when the prisoner seems to respond to Jaroth, with her companion speaking - at least to her ears - not Elvish but a tongue the Goblin is familiar with. After a moment, she realizes that the pilot for some reason has replied in Elvish, even though he seemed to have understood Jaroth perfectly well. She shrugs and goes about the task of translating what has just been said for herself using the little phrase book. Once she is done, or rather, is relatively confident she probably knows what her counterpart has said, she looks up, enthused. “Eos. Eos Panopteris, huh? Hello, greetings. Hah, sorry about me mangling Elvish earlier, I didn’t know you understood us without it perfectly well. I assume you replying in Elvish is some sort of… culture… thing?” She waves a hand and continues talking, quickly. “Not the most important thing right now. So, now that I can actually talk, let’s just make sure I understood you correctly, because, well, sounds like it’s a matter of life and death. You are running out of air - some sort of ‘special’ air, the one all around us won’t do - and need us, well, me, to take a sample from your supply so we can produce some for you.” Krishga looks up at Eos. There is no response. Yet. “So you don’t die.” Still no response. “Again, do you know how much time you have before things get really bad for you? That’d really help.” Eos is still. It is difficult to tell, as the pilot is covered entirely in his suit, but to Krishga it seems as if he is staring, perplexed. “Uh. Anyway. Something else I’ll need is to take a look at one of your air supply ports - ‘sweet wind mouth’ - so I can gauge the size, what kind of nozzle I’ll need, all that. Very important the sample doesn’t get contaminated when I take it or I’ll make the wrong kind of mixture for you.” She frowns. Eos is silent. “About when you can get out of this cage, that is… a little bit more complicated. If it’s alright, I’d really like to make sure you don’t run out of air first.” A moment passes, then another, without any response. Krishga lays her hand against her cheek and mock-whispers to Jaroth. “Hey. Hey, Jaroth. I don’t think he actually understood any of that, or he’s not reacting in any way, which would normally be rude, but I don’t think it’s that kind of situation. Do you have any idea what’s going on? He seemed to understand you just fine earlier. Do elves pretend they don’t understand you when you’re being too chummy or something? No, that’s stupid. Well, if you know what I did wrong, help a girl out, huh? Translate what I just said if you have to, though I’d really like to know what the problem is.” She sighs and, with some hesitation, takes out the phrase book again. “<Do you understand?>” Jaroth blinks for a second, then turns to Krishga. "Oh, I should have explained earlier. This will also be helpful for our guest if they listen too. My... status has granted me the gift of tongues when I speak - all understand. Although the other way around isn't necessarily true. But it does mean that the both of you will understand what I am saying perfectly." This is what he says before going back and repeating what Krishga just said - which must be a somewhat baffling experience but at least Jaroth has explained things better now. For a few moments, Krishga does not say anything, and instead looks up at Jaroth, fists against her hips. “Huh!” She moves towards Alhena and mock-elbows her, though she stops short a few steps for her to actually touch what could be described as the woman’s flesh skirt. “We meet the most interesting people along our journey, right?” The Goblin crosses her arms. “That sounds… really useful, Jaroth. And like something else I will want to ask you a whole lot of questions about. Hm.” She lowers her head in thought, then jerks it back up. “Joanna, one other thing for getting us the tools we need to keep our friend here alive: I know they’ve got some serious scientific equipment right here on the XK Masada right now, and scientists to go along with it - working on other things than, well, this - but they should be able to share. Measurement equipment for atmosphere, trace elements or small elemental affinities, that sort of thing. If anyone denies it, you can tell them I rolled my eyes in advance and they shouldn’t screw around. Or be less obvious, but it’s too late for that.” Krishga nods and puts a hand onto her chin. “Jaroth. Should we talk with him…” She indicates Eos. “...about his whole ‘prisoner of war’ situation? Are we technically currently at war with the Dominion? Well, ‘we’ gets a bit fuzzy on the XK Masada.” She taps her chin with one finger. “Let me try something. I know, I know, you could say it better, but maybe me sounding a bit clumsy will make it sound… charming, in a way. Like an earnest tourist.” She clears her throat and addresses Eos. “<Hello. I am interested in…>” The pages of the phrase book move under Krishga’s fingers. “<What do you do for work?>” Eos laughs. He cannot help it. She was there, on my failed sortie to eliminate the Irontongue. Is she mocking me? If so, it's a good joke. "<Don't your fallen already know?>" He replies, head cocked lightly. After she has translated his statement as best as she can, Krishga cocks her head at Eos in turn, trying in vain to discern the tone it was said in - through the barrier posed by language and the full body suit worn by her counterpart. Finally, she raises an eyebrow. “Charming.” She raises a finger, indicating for Eos to wait, and turns towards Jaroth and Alhena. “Alright, I’ll admit that did not work. I wanted to ask him if he’d be willing to talk about his mission, about what he did for the Dominion, or Warwick, but maybe, just maybe, it needs a bit more finesse with the Elvish language than a blind woman driving a bulldozer through a crystal shop, huh?” She grins and pats the back of Jaroth’s knee. “Good thing I know just the man for the job.” Krishga rolls her shoulders. “Here’s what I want to tell him - and feel free to add anything you want to, you’re far too pre… far too clever too, I bet, to just be someone’s mouthpiece.” She starts counting on her fingers. “First, he really should tell us how much air he has left before he suffocates. Always good to be able to plan ahead. Second, if, and only if, he wants, he can tell us about what he was doing and what his mission was. We - well, I at least - will do what I can to make sure he gets his air no matter if he tells us anything or not. It’s not a threat, and it’s not an offer for a deal. I’m not letting him suffocate when I can do something.” She lowers her eyes. “I bet there’s more than enough people that’d think nothing of interrogating him ‘robustly’ - no need for us to add to that.” She waves a hand. “Don’t tell him that.” The Goblin clears her throat and continues. “If he knows anything about Warwick and wants to tell us, I am interested. Feel free to tell him that at least I suspect that she was the one that was really behind his mission.” She leans back, hands on the back of her head, balancing on her heels and looking up at Eos. “If he doesn’t want to tell us about any of that - understandable, military secrets, mortal enemies, bla bla, all that - maybe he can tell me about the controls of his war machine, and we can talk shop about that.” She smiles. “I have some experience in that area.” “Oh. And if he has some questions for us, I wanna hear them too. I figure this might be a bit of a lovely… uh, unfamiliar situation for him. Not like he got thrown into the brig for getting too rowdy or anything like that.” Krishga nods at Jaroth, to see if he got all that. A moment passes, and she breathes out heavily. “I’ll tell you two one thing: After this, I’m working on improving my Elvish. When I was studying, there weren’t any engineering papers only available in Elvish. Or cute Elven students. So, never really found the time or motivation…” She shrugs. quote:Krishga Tazz (nil) Request: [3d6k2+1] Roll: [4, 4, 1] Result: 9 Reason: Speak Softly with Eos (Help from Jaroth) Little by little, Eos, Jaroth and Krishga manage to talk with one another. Even though sometimes the small Goblin’s insistence of cutting in with her hodgepodge of Elven vocabulary hinders more than helps, what soon becomes clear is that Eos is keenly aware of his desperate position - both due to his dwindling supply of air and as a prisoner of foreign powers. Jaroth and Krishga learn of nothing that relates to [i]why[/u] Eos was called upon to destroy the Machine Wash Tumble Dry or how Warwick may be involved.
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Oct 26, 2023 16:59
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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 returns the nod to the halflings, before returning to Lahire saying "Yes, was there myself before joining the faith, though perhaps not the same kinds of odd jobs." She visible pauses for the right phrasing of words before coming to "A touch too early to speak on that, and I have some duties to still attend. But your fair rates are-" Then is when the procession of drunk sailors and exasperated peacekeepers awkwardly parade by, leaving Branwen at least struck silent by the sudden raucous display. Once it has passed and quieted, Bran clears her throat before turning back to Lahire. "Ahem, well. As I was saying, I had time to meditate on our... last meeting and felt I hadn't paid in full, despite answering as best I could. So, if you would like, I would offer an omen reading or, fortune telling in some circles. To ask the Matron of Detonation from her seat above what is yet to be on your behalf, if you would allow."
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Oct 29, 2023 14:21
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Branwen His expression becomes solemn as you make your offer of an omen reading. In a ritualistic tone he speaks, "I accept the gesture in the spirit with which is is given and your debt is clear." He raises his left hand and makes an arcane series of hand gestures, ending with a sharp, short chopping motion. His voice shifts back to a more casual tone as he continues. "Usually I've no desire to draw the gods attention. No disrespect to yours. All the same...things are in motion. I can feel it. My days is coming. So is yours, I think." He rubs his chin thoughtfully and offers a boyish grin. "Sure, why not!" A gust of wind rustles your synthetic hair and you recall a fond memory of childhood. Tell us about it.
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Oct 29, 2023 22:19
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Krishga, Jaroth, Eos You speak for a good while, slowly comingto learn a bit about one another. Joanna remains at her post, and does not display any open interest in your conversation. Still, it would be foolish to assume she isn't cataloguing everything that happens here. She reports directly to the Lord-general of Lashute after all. Alhena likewise holds her tongue, though the faint blue glow in her compound eyes betrays the presence of the war fractal - the same presence within that woman Anastasia. Meshaia watches, for now. In the distance a cacophony of drunken singing and the drum of numerous boots seizes your attention. "Aye, aye, aye Sharpen yer boot, and bludgeon yer eye Aye, aye, aye The black Kolsac Sea, is where we shall die!" The security gates clatter open and shut in succession and a group of extremely inebriated sailors (lead by Rajat, Krishga notices) are lead in by a trio of ESCO troops. The atmosphere is relaxed - it's obviously a a well rehearsed routine for the lot of them. Two of the troopers have one of the sailors draped between them; the man has clearly hit his limit and then some. He's babbling nonsense happily to himself before suddenly dropping his head forward and snoring loudly. "Brawling and destruction of property, nothing new with this bunch." the third trooper remarks offhandedly to Joanna. "They can sleep it off." The sailors get paired off in the nearest empty cells, with the sleeping man unceremoniously dumped on the floor of the cell with the still unconscious form of Matra, the traitorous marine. They slide the door shut and lock it up, nodding to you all as they shuffle back out of the cellblock. They show only passing interest in you all, with only Alhena drawing a second glance. From out in the corridor you hear the PA chime the hour. Nine in the evening by local time, and shift change is in half an hour. Branwen Overhead to hear the bells chime for shift change. Lahire glances up, tucking his hand in his pockets, "Tell you what, let me get a rain check on that fortune." He's already turned on his heels and walking away and he finishes the sentence. "Quite a character. Serenity would love him." Maeve offers as she walks up next to you. With nothing else standing in your way and your mother not especially concerned about being anywhere in particular, you make your way after the drunken revelry towards the brig. They are several minutes ahead of you and by the time you are signing in at the front desk, the trio of ESCO guards you saw escorting Rajat and his men are coming back out. They walk past you, chatting among themselves. Maeve takes a seat in the nearby waiting area and says to take your time, she has a good book that's she's been devouring. You are let inside the jail block after getting a bored recital of safety protocols. Nearby is a gold coated skeleton, solidly armed and casually keeping a watch over the cellblock. About halfway down this row you see Krishga, Alhena, and Jaroth gathered near a cell. Jaroth's two companions are closer, having a quiet conversation with Rajat who is sitting on a folding chair with a bottle of rum held casually in one hand. Aside from clear ruddiness in the cheeks, the steel-haired sailor does not appear especially drunk. His cellmate meanwhile is draped across the simple cot bolted into the wall, groaning with an arm craped over his face. What does everyone do?
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Nov 8, 2023 03:33
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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 [ ] --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Bran nods to Lahire "That's fine, I need to give proper warning to ESCO if the Matron has... Loud things in mind." ~~~ Branwen gives a frustrate click of her tongue when she sees the golden skeleton leaning against the wall and draws herself up to stand straight and proper before sharply walking down the cell block to Krishga and Alhena and... Someone she thinks she was introduced to but can't quite place the name of. What a day. "Well, sorry I'm late. I left to be here first but it seems I'm the last to arrive. Feel free to fill me in on what you've already discussed, but first..." Branwen turns to look at Eos through the bars, a practiced 'natural' Elvish leaving her lips. "<Was it to your satisfaction>?"
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Nov 8, 2023 11:10
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At the sound of muffled singing becoming clearer and closer with each security gate being opened, Krishga’s ears perk up, but she focuses on her conversation with Eos, trying to keep pace with Jaroth’s question and the elven pilot’s answers. When the raucous singers finally step into view, the Goblin first frowns, but then chuckles when it becomes clear that Rajat and his boys are in high spirits despite being hauled into the brig by ESCO troops. “Oi, Rajat!” Krishga puts her thumbs through the loops of her belt and thrust her hips forward, grinning. “Checking into your room for the night?” Then she continues, a bit more seriously. “Need me to put in a good word for you and yours?” When the ESCO troopers put the unconscious sailor into the same cell as Matra, the Goblin once again frowns, and this time it is not replaced by a grin. “Hm. Joanna?” Krishga considers for a second for the impressive-looking skeletal guard to come over to her and bend down, but she thinks better of it, and instead quickly clambers up the prison bars next to the guard. She briefly wonders whether it is truly necessary to get close to where Joanna’s ears were in life to be able to have a whispered conversation, but then discards the thought and speaks to the guard in a low voice. “What little experience I have with the ‘locked up’ business is from the other side of these bars, but that-” She points to Matra and the single sailor from the Machine Wash Tumble Dry in one cell. “-is a bad idea. Matra tried to kill everyone on the Machine Wash Tumble Dry - did in fact kill some people there. Small sub, good chance one of the dead may have been buddies with Rajat’s sailors, better chance someone already drunk might get it into their head to get revenge. On the other hand, you have a desperate saboteur who has every reason to think whoever decides what to do about them won’t be too lenient. Why not make a desperate, last ditch attempt to get out, take a hostage, can’t make things any worse?” She shrugs with her one free shoulder - the other arm clinging to the prison bar so she can see eye to eye with Joanna - and then jumps back down onto the floor. Just when she has once again taken up position next to Jaroth as well as Alhena, and taken out her elven phrase book with a sigh, another familiar visitor joins them in the brig. Krishga raises her hands, delighted. “Hey, Branwen! Come, join us! You wouldn’t think it, but looks like right now, the XK Masada’s brig is where all the most important people are meeting up.” She indicates the collection of seamen behind bars and winks. “Oh, right, yes, that’s Jaroth, hello, and over there are Bedrimulael and Sorvis-Kazbiel, aaaaaand of course we can’t forget Kalkydra, who is a very good bird.” She nods and locks eyes with the songbird as if to confirm that Kalkydra is indeed a very good bird. “Jaroth, that’s Branwen. She’s… ah, best if you do the introductions yourself, huh? I’m not sure I could do everything justice. In any case, the one we’re really interested in learning about is him.” She turns on her heels to face Eos, behind the bars. Branwen joins the small gathering in front of Eos’ cell, and Krishga once again climbs up the bars to whisper into someone’s ear, this time to tell Branwen what they have learned so far. “Not a lot really earth-shattering so far, but we're just getting started. His name’s Eos Panopteris, supposedly has no idea who Warwick is, why he was ordered to attack us, or what the actual purpose of that plan is - he might actually be telling the truth there, difficult to tell through the suit - he may have been in stasis between missions, talked about being ‘woken up’, by ‘Mother’, seems that’s what he calls his operator / handler, bit creepy if you ask me. Oh, and he’s running out of some sort of special air mixture he needs to survive, but I’m working on it. And he asked us when he can get out.” She scratches her head with her free hand. “I’m not sure he fully understands the situation he’s in.” Krishga rubs her chin, trying to think of anything she has missed. “And Jaroth has some sort of - I assume magical - way to be understood across language barriers. Really helpful, because this-” She waves her phrase book in a vaguely accusatory manner. “-is just a bit limited. Oh, and Jaroth’s magic doesn’t allow him to understand everyone, just to be understood by everyone. It’s like a professor for propositional logic trying to trip up students gave him his powers. But I’m sure he can explain it better than me.” The Goblin continues to hang from the prison bars, steading herself with a leg on one of the lower bars. She flips through the phrase book with one hand to try to translate what Branwen says to Eos and, after a few moments, raises an eyebrow. “What did you - did you just say what I think you did?” nil. fucked around with this message at 19:04 on Nov 19, 2023 |
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Nov 9, 2023 21:37
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Branwen posted:"<Was it to your satisfaction>?" Eos <More than I dreamed!> I respond. <You must be Irontongue's kin. She spoke of you! The sun who stands against elvenkind. What marvels you raise against me, metal one. Nothing of your likeness ever walked the stars in my age. All my kin of the sword know this truth: it's only in struggle that we can see each other true. In you, I see one whose knowledge of that truth burned her up and leaked out of her ashes to raise her anew.> <You're angrier than your sister was. She was sad, when she talked to me, but her iron was on the inside. Yours is all over you. Does it keep the fire in? You of everyone here must know how little there is for me to go back to. And how little knowledge I have to answer you with.> The smile hurts, but it's a clean hurt, and a true one. I may fly again, even if only in some bastard way under alien skies; but what I thought myself to be when I woke in orbit will never be again. <Yes, they really are so arrogant. My people sent me to battle against you blind. How could they curse a pebble with knowledge? As if my mother would ever let such heresy pass her lips. I've slept for eleven thousand years. Such blessed innocence is not lightly sacrificed.> <They know what I now know. The Azure blooms again in the eyes of your kin. Her own terror would choke shut her lips if she dared tell me what I was expected to face. It mattered only that I obey. I was never meant to win against you.> Clinging grimly to the bars of my cell, I raise a finger to point at the prisoner across the hall. <She was. I overheard. Tried to kill you all? Rare is the day when the Lumen Stallion is not sure guaranty of victory, in the eyes of its commander. They must truly crave it to grasp so tightly.> * * * I've long since discarded the phrasebook. I only hope the Inventor can keep up with us, now that I've found my voice again. <You, shining things.> I drag my pointing finger along to the rest of the retinue at the door to my cell. <You can understand me; I can see it in your eyes. I've been asleep for so long and already, within hours of my waking, nothing I woke to is reliable. Bones to ashes, ashes to the winds....> The words are bittersweet, but not unhappy. It's been so long since I felt the breath of the wind. <A legend fell today. Your own words declaimed the truth. I cannot know what mockery of peace my people have made with your world, but every assumption on which it rests is about to be boiled alive.> <Do you think your leaders even have a plan for the chaos that's about to come down on you? Do you think my leaders do? I was ruled by fear, as they were. They know what I know: all their fears are coming to pass. The Azure blooms again, and now the Dominion entire is threatened. The very gods will tremble.> * * * The speech-fire goes out of me, all in a huff, and fatigue descends on my shoulders like a lead blanket. My knees sag, and I half-slump, half-lay myself against the bars of the cell, resting on the floor. <Please,> I repeat, <may I be let out of this cage soon? My clade was not meant to walk in this gravity.>
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Nov 11, 2023 22:46
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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 [ ] --------------------------------------------------------------------------- "If you're using a Halfhill's Travelers Almanac, I did thank him for laying with me, yes." Bran sniffs derisively. "Don't know who they prayed to be considered an 'authority' but it worked, unfortunately." Branwen casually replies to Krishga, not turning away from Eos, taking in his speech with a neutral expression. At the end she let's out an exhausted sigh "By Bombarda, he's right out of a traditional overwrought elvish play... Right, how to put this..." Branwen scratches her chin a moment before continuing in Elvish "<It's not that complicated. I'm no star. I serve the goddess> Bombarda <as her champion, and it is in her name you are a prisoner and not a corpse. And if I have my way about it, you'll stay alive and not tortured by the members of the> Interior League." Branwen pauses, rolling over how best to phrase things before continuing. "<I remain unconvinced of the threat of the azure star. If something that failed to move me and was simply rebuked by> Bombarda <strikes fear into your gods, then our victories over the Dominion have been cheapened. As for your cage, likely not now. Though I'm told you have issues with air. I intend to solve that and would likely require you to be elsewhere for my methods, so sooner rather than later, nothing I would swear an oath to however.>" Bran gives a half remembered wave of the hand Serenity had shown her, something akin to a shrug within the Dominion, and flatly says "<Bureaucracy.>" as explanation. ArkInBlack fucked around with this message at 13:43 on Nov 16, 2023 |
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Nov 16, 2023 13:41
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As Branwen mentions ‘Halfhill's Travelers Almanac’, Krishga checks her phrase book’s cover, only to find it blank and unlabelled. “Might be it, I don’t really remember where I picked this up, might have been that salvage and oddities wholesaler in-” She stops herself when Eos begins talking and desperately tries to keep up with the translation, but soon enough has to accept that she is able to grasp only half of what the elven prisoner is saying, if that. Branwen response is comparatively easier, though the Goblin is sure she missed at least some subtleties. What is clear to her is that Eos seems to have been either poetic or dramatic, Branwen had been direct. “Alright.” Krishga jumps back down onto the floor after hanging on the bars and slams her phrase book shut with a dramatic flair. “Help a poor Goblin engineering genius out here, Branwen, Jaroth, huh?” She raises an eyebrow and smiles. “Kalkydra?” Branwen quickly gives a summary of what has been said and Krishga nods along. “Hmmm! What do you have in mind, Branwen, for addressing his air problems? I was gonna bring in something to first find out what kind of air he needs, then mix something up, maybe adapt some diving equipment they’d have around here. Do you… already know what this is all about?” She crosses her arms. “And give him a break, maybe he talks strangely because he’s as old as the first tree.” Krishga shrugs. “There must be a reason he can’t breathe normal air. Might be because he’s engineered to better function in high altitude environments, but maybe not. And who knows how long his superiors keep him ‘sleeping’ between missions.” She turns and, for a few moments, thoughtfully regards Eos behind the bars. “Or maybe he is how his masters want him to be. Trained and fed stories to be made into what he is, maybe even bred for it. We’ve already fought one elven soldier made to obey without question - what does it matter that 1001 was made of steel, and he, of flesh?” She sighs. “Well, what I’m saying is this: Let’s give him a chance, huh? I bet he’s never been in a situation like this. He might need to figure some things out. And if he sticks to ‘Elven Supremacy’ and ‘Glory to the Dominion’, hey, he’s already behind bars, and our work’s done. But he should be given a chance. What do you think? Branwen? Jaroth?”
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Nov 17, 2023 19:27
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 Jaroth and his associates greet Branwen when introduced. Jaroth uses an appropriate amount of formality given the circumstances. Bedrimulael's gaze turns to Branwen in a look of fascination, and almost immediately starts to take notes in her notepad - however for the moment she doesn't say much - if only because this isn't the correct circumstances, but she has the energy about her full of inquiry, and her inquisitive nature will usher forth likely questions towards Branwen. Sorvis-Kazbiel gives a furtive nod towards Branwen after they assess their surroundings once more. Kalkydra's attention flits briefly towards Branwen but unless the newcomer is forthcoming with the treats a bird-of-paradise might desire, Kalkydra's attention will not hold and will be drawn by whatever else might be more interesting - probably Krishga, since she has been the most generous by far with food. Following Krishga's impassioned plea, Jaroth spent a moment in thought. "I can sympathise with one who has been fashioned as a weapon. However, this does bring up two points of note: First, we should get someone with greater medical or even elven physiological expertise to give Eos a proper diagnostic in order to ascertain the more concrete details of this condition - or if it's just some kind of psychological constraint imparted upon him by his masters even. Unless, of course - you feel up to memorising such information, assuming it's on hand. Second, if we wish to attempt to change the current legal status of Eos - we will likely have to talk with someone in power regarding this - even if it is only to try to convince them to second him to us, rather than grant him liberty - depending on what power they have and what their intentions are, of course. But, I am not against the notion, especially if he is willing to aid us in our... upcoming conflict. If and when we do, we should presumably find out who we would need to speak to, and come up with an argument in our favour." said Jaroth, his tone even as he thoroughly considered the various issues that had risen within his mind, his expression neutral as he tried to remain diplomatic - considering the circumstances.
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Nov 18, 2023 23:01
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Krishga Rajat shakes his head and waves you off. "Nah, nah. We're just visiting." He takes a swig from his bottle before continuing his discussion with Jaroth's comrades - they seem to be deeply interested in the differences between a cutter and a sloop and Rajat is only too happy to oblige. Joanna approaches at your call, and listens patiently. When you finish, she looks pointedly at where you're holding onto the cell bars. "Visitors will refrain from touching the cells. This isn't a circus.", she chides you. Nevertheless, she turns and looks into the adjacent cell for a long moment before uncrossing her arms and striding over. She eyes the pair of sleeping prisoners for a long moment before pulling the keyring from her hip and unlocking the cell, sliding it open with a loud bang. She returns the ring and steps inside, seizing hold of the sleeping sailor on one smooth motion and neatly turning about face to step back outside. The man is now actively flailing as he dangles by his collar from her golden fist. She pays him no mind as he batter uselessly against her, locking the cell back up and stepping to the next one down. It sits empty but only briefly, as the supposedly fall-down drunk sailor is fussily lobbed inside the way you's idly toss scraps to a dog. Rajat and the one remaining awake sailor watch silently from their cells, not saying anything. Alhena giggles childishly before catching herself. The light in her eyes dim and she offers a muffled "Excuse me" behind a hand-over-mouth.
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Nov 19, 2023 04:05
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Krishga crosses her arms and considers how to respond to Joanna. “Not a circus, huh?” On the one hand, she’s a godsdamned prison guard quoting rules and regulations at me. On the other, seems like she and Jaroth worked together to keep the Machine Wash Tumble Dry from being blown up, so maybe she’s alright. “Well, let me just look around at all the Goblin-accessible ladders or lifts to help someone my size to get close enough to someone your size to have a normal face-to-face conversation. Hmm.” The Goblin looks around, feigning mild consternation at finding nothing of the sort. “Hmm. It would be especially handy if I wanted to have a talk without having to shout, you know, maybe because there’s some people around that would rather avoid loud noises…” She points one finger gun at some of the drunk sailors. “...or maybe because it’d be a good idea to have a whispered conversation, because there’s just one brig for captured enemies with critical information and… some rowdy sailors.” She turns and gives Rajat a wink and a big thumbs up, in case he is listening. She faces Joanna again and puts up her hands in mock surrender. “I always found tallfolk don’t appreciate us asking them to get on their hands and knees in front of us, so I was just trying to oblige…” Krishga lets the moment hang for a moment - and then she shrugs, winks and smiles at Jonna as well. When the skeletal woman drags the drunk sailor from Matra’s cell and into one of the others, she nods at her strength with some respect - and continues nodding when Jaroth shares his thoughts on how to approach the matter of the elven pilot in the cell in front of them. “Those are some very good points, Jaroth. Practical! Do we… have anyone with medical knowledge regarding elves? Branwen?” She raises an eyebrow, doubtful. “Any hidden talents in that area? Maybe Ana? Otherwise, we’ll have to ask around.” The Goblin tinker rubs her chin, staring at the ground in thought for a few moments. “What do you think, Branwen? We’re talking about getting him out of that cell, but do we want that? I got the feeling earlier that… whatever it means to him what happened, it might have shaken his loyalty for the Dominion.” She looks up at Jaroth to confirm whether he shares Krishga’s impression. “Doesn’t mean he’s on our side, though. He really responded to you - couldn’t keep up with all he was saying when he was talking to you - and then you said he talks, uh, old-fashioned, was it? Like from a play? So, if you have any insight to share, I’m all…” She brushes back one of her ears. “...those. The same goes for you, Jaroth, and Alhena.” There is a pause. “By the way, if you found that funny-” Krishga points to where Alhena watched the sailors being manhandled by Joanna. “-I got some good slapstick shows you might be interested in.” Krishga clears her throat, her tone more serious again.”I want to try something. Ask Eos something. Branwen, Jaroth, I need your help making sure he understands that no matter what he answers, we’ll make sure he doesn’t suffocate either way. Can you tell him that? I don’t trust this-” She holds up the phrase book which may or may not be the Halfhill's Travelers Almanac, but is without a doubt insufficient for both interrogating and, at the same time, reassuring a prisoner. “-with the necessary nuances.” The Goblin waits until Jaroth and Branwen have spoken to Eos, and then steps forward to face the elven pilot, hand on her hips. “Alright. It’s actually a pretty simple question.” Several seconds pass without Krishga saying anything. “Uh.” She scratches her head. She is about to grab one of the bars and once again climb upwards, but stops herself at the last second, and then exaggeratedly rolls her eyes, hoping Joana will see her. “Hey.” She mock-whispers at Jaroth and Branwen. “Hey. How do you do, what are they called… conditionals?” After some short instructions, Krishga once again looks Eos in the eyes - or where she suspects his eyes to be under the suit. “<If you are not in the cage anymore… what do you want to do?>”
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Nov 21, 2023 18:39
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Jaroth translated for Krishga - deciding not to make any embellishments or alterations to what Krishga asked (not that he could necessarily conceal that, anyway), while he and his fellows (except possibly Kalkydra who had by now flown off on her lonesome to a particularly shiny perspex sign, to preen herself in its reflection) considered all the additional factors as of present. While Jaroth and Bedrimulael thought deeply, Sorvis-Kazbiel eventually did volunteer something, "If Eos feels things anything like we do, then they may well feel... obliged, depending on what happens next. The fate of this kind of prisoner is very much up in the air, varying substantially based on where and when the imprisonment occurs, and why. Moreoever, although we generally lack the context to truly understand how a similar scenario might be handled in the Elven Dominion - I get the feeling that Eos here likely also lacks a similar context - being used as the interface for a weapon of war, and being presumably suspended between life and death when off the field of battle would not grant someone much insight into how life occurs, even at home. The anxieties and uncertainties that they must be feeling right now, coupled with the potential impending doom of running out of breathable air, if solves will likely make them more amenable to us. Not that we should be thinking purely in a transactional sense, of course, but we should think of how it might affect their demeanour." Sorvis-Kazbiel has not been particularly verbose up until now, for whatever reason this kind of environment or circumstances or similar seem to have made them participate more overtly. Their body language had shifted earlier to being more at-ease, but now they even seem to be open in general.
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Nov 28, 2023 01:26
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Everyone Joanna seems unimpressed by Krishga's argument. "It's not a matter of regulations. It's a matter of you putting yourself into arms reach of military prisoners - unconscious or frail as they might be. Don't make my job harder by becoming a hostage." Behind Joanna, the "drunken" sailor sullenly sits down on the cot, exchanging a look across the cells with Rajat, who says nothing before begrudgingly returning to his conversation with the angels. Nothing was said, but it is hard to think anything but that Krishga guessed right on the money that something fishy was going on. Nobody seems willing to out and out admit to it but it's increasing hard to imagine Matra would have lived through the night without this intervention. Alhena quickly chimes in, perhaps sensing Krishga and Joanna about to butt heads. "Meshaia informs me it would be able to modify the elf's mind to understand our language. Or modify yours to understand his, I suppose." She shrugs noncommittally. "It's a big ask either way. You'd be wholly opening your mind to an alien intelligence that would be free to tinker as it likes and there wouldn't be much Anastasia or I could do to stop it it." Alhena turns her head to look towards Eos, crossing her arms casually. "In theory we could rebuild the elf entirely, if we took him to An'Ehan. It would take weeks of preparation and I can't speak for what might be left of him afterwards, though. He wouldn't be an elf when it was over, I know that much. Might not be sane either. I've been told that isn't uncommon but the last instance was still before my time." Alhena glances around, gauging reactions. "Otherwise, Meshaia can also translate through me. It'd still be pretty awkward if you're seriously intending to bring this guy along but I think he'll pick up things like get the gently caress out of the way pretty quick." Kalkydra perks up at the mention of her name and comes flapping over for treats. She does not, unfortunately, have anything personally to offer regarding the language barrier. She chirps happily when Sorvis-Kazbiel speaks up and quickly abandons the treats to flap over to his shoulder. Bedrimulael side eyes before giving him a friendly punch in the arm. "What got into you?" she inquires in a soft, amused voice.
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Nov 29, 2023 05:19
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Krishga raises her finger, ready to continue arguing with Joanna - when moments before she was planning to simply let it go. But then the skeletal guard spoke and there was another flare of fire, of anger, in the Goblin’s belly. Not about regulations, uh huh, just watching out for me - though not really, notice how she didn’t phrase it as keeping me safe, but about me not inconveniencing everyone by getting captured as a hostage, like I’m a piece of cargo not properly stowed away. But not about regulations, obviously, which of course is why when she told me that there’s no running near the pool it was all ‘visitors will not touch the cell bars’ in a tone which, if you’d looked it up in the Big Book Of Bastards is exactly what you’d find under ‘quoting regulations’. Alright, alright, calm down, Krishga. There’ve been a few times recently where maybe I acted a bit rashly, got angry a bit too quickly - at people that had it coming, mind you - but maybe… maybe if I didn’t let Warwick provoke me into starting the battle back at the Shivan’s tower, maybe… maybe we would have had more time to prepare. It was going to happen, and not just eventually, but maybe one of the Shivans could have… I don’t know, taken cover, put on their armor properly. Maybe more of them would have lived. Maybe. I’m being too hard on myself, probably. I guess I just don’t like that I lost my head there. But that bastards taunting me about killing Tulgrom… he didn’t deserve any of this. Alright. Let’s take stock. Me and Joanna. Not actually sure why I can’t help but give her poo poo. Well, I know why I should - those that wield power should always be kept on their toes - but why can’t I keep my mouth shut? I wanted to! Probably just her tone of voice. And the circus thing, made it sound like I’m still a teenager being ‘unruly’ and ‘running wild’. Or a clown. And then Sorvis-Kazbiel speaks his mind - well-reasoned, and mirroring Krishga’s thoughts on what may be the plight of the captured elven pilot - and just after, Alhena speaks. A part of Krishga revulses at what she is proposing, the idea of giving over one’s flesh and mind to something unknowable to be reshaped into an other that may bear no resemblance to the person that came before. But Krishga also sees the intention, the impulse behind why Alhena chose to bring this up now - to calm things between the small Goblin and Joanna. Krishga smiles, and she takes a calm breath. Oh, Alhena. Not calculated. Not some manipulation. Just a… person trying to distract two others so they won’t shout at each other anymore. So normal. I won’t lie. Looking at Alhena, it’s still… hard to see there’s just a normal person under there. But there is. Krishga gives Alhena a smile and a wink. “Well! I hear my audience calling, so…” She turns towards Joanna and takes a fancy bow. “...that is it for my circus number. I have been Krishga Tazz, acrobat extraordinaire.” She bows deeply for a few more moments, then shoots up and clears her throat. “Alright. Thank… you for the, ah, option, Alhena. I hope you don’t take it the wrong way, but that is, hm, a rather extreme decision. With an uncertain outcome, as you said. But thank you.” Krishga looks into Alhena’s eyes, and nods, trying to say without words that she’s thanking her for more than that. “I mean it.” Trying to forge a Bond with Alhena. Krishga looks up at the others gathered around her - but before she addresses, she looks over at Rajat in the cell opposite, and gives him a shrug and a sigh signifying something between 'you tried, but it wasn't what I'd have done' and 'what can you do'. Then, she focuses on the task at hand and starts walking up and down in front of Eos' cell, finger held into the air. “Now, about Alhena's - and Meshaia's - offer. As Sorvis-Kazbiel here put it, our guest is in a rather difficult, confusing position and… if we were to suggest Alhena’s procedure to him right now, while he’s in a cell, with air running out, what else could he think but that it’s a threat? That we’ll let him die if he doesn’t do it? That we’ll ‘go easy on him’ if he complies?” Krishga takes a deep breath. “No. First we take care of the air supply problem…” She nods at Branwen. “...I may have some ideas for the language barrier too, and then we can look where we are. Eos here doesn’t need more things to scare him right now.” She now nods at Sorvis-Kazbiel, as if to see that they are indeed of like mind. Trying to forge a Bond with Sorvis-Kazbiel. Krishga whispers a quick ‘sorry’ at the mention of Alhena’s procedure and, by extension, her, being scary, then faces the pilot in the cell, hands on her hips. “And then there’s the question of what you think about all of this. By the way, if you can actually understand what I’m saying, that’s fine, it’d actually save me at least a whole lot of trouble.” nil. fucked around with this message at 19:38 on Dec 4, 2023 |
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Dec 2, 2023 17:35
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Krishga Joanna watches your discussion silently for a moment before before returning to her post. Much like Gren it is hard to get a read on her skeletal demeanor. Alhena merely shrugs at your words, her mandibles flexing in a viscerally unpleasant way that nevertheless gives the impression of someone mulling over a thought. Her tentacle "feet" undulate languidly as her tail twitches now and again. "Um. Sure." she finally says. She seems uncertain how to respond. "I doubt he can," You hear from the sailor that just got relocated. You look over, and he is lying on the bunk still but clearly listening in. "Senyon..." Rajat begins from his spot in the block before trailing off, shaking his head and then taking a long pull from his bottle. Senyon continues. "Elves don't stoop to learning the tongues of lesser folk." He raises his voice a bit to be clearly heard, and speaks tolerable elvish. While Alhena and Kazbiel are well disposed towards you, you'll need a little more one-on-one time with them to establish bonds.The former being rather reserved in her judgements and the latter just doesn't know you well enough yet. Eos "<Hey knife-ear! The squid lady is gonna brain gently caress you. Maybe twist you inside out? Can't wait.>" The Man in the other cell offers a sick sort of laugh but no further comment.
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Dec 5, 2023 05:36
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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 [ ] --------------------------------------------------------------------------- "I'd kiss Rulakir sa Riec's feet for even a week without fear of Warwick moving, weeks of preparation isn't happening. As to his fate being up in the air, I intend to claim him for ransom on behalf of the Church, and an ADF Pilot is a prize so rare he would need to remain in my custody until I could reach a... properly equipped abbey." Branwen pauses a moment pondering something, before speaking louder, enough that the gilded skeleton could hear even if they were trying to ignore the conversation. "Even consider relinquishing any stake of the ADF itself if it came to it." She then clears her throat before continuing at her previous volume. "His apparent air issue I think we should tackle at the source. Find a..." Branwen pauses a moment, her face contorting scrunching and twisting as she clearly wrestles mightily to find a better phrase before falling into a resigned defeat as she speaks the refined, learned ways of Bombardan clergy dealing with Elementals and their hierarchy "Large air elemental who can make common air not kill Eos when he breathes it, and bargain with it to do that. Probably see if Eos in particular did anything to earn the ire of air, then do some exhorting and bribing. Usual business in getting elemental aid without an elementalist. Maybe the station has one of staff to manage air intake and distribution, that'd be convenient..." Branwen suddenly shakes her head slightly. "I've digressed. Thank you Alhena for conveying Meshaia's thoughts and thank you Meshaia for offering, we'll consider it." Bran shoots a glance at the sailor as he leans back from speaking to Eos until he returns the look. "What the gently caress?" she says, spreading her arms out, inviting an explanation from the drunken sailor.
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Dec 5, 2023 16:20
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Branwen "What the gently caress is I am not going to cry over the pain and suffering of someone who killed my shipmates. If you'd like my honest opinion, I'm pretty disgusted that the doyen decided to speak up." He flicks his eyes towards Krishga briefly. "The guards outside get to drink my paycheck and I don't get to strangle this bitch." He jerks his head towards the cell with the unconscious marine still snoring away. "Now I just wait and see if I get the noose or not. Probably not...but these are strange days. It'd be just my luck to get hanged for trying to kill a traitor." "You're fine, Senyon," interjects Rajat. "You're one of us. You'd be keelhauled, not hanged." Shardix fucked around with this message at 22:42 on Dec 7, 2023 |
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Dec 7, 2023 22:27
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Krishga realizes that right now she cannot tell what is going through either Alhena’s or Joanna’s head, both their forms rendering their body language strange and indecipherable. The Goblin shrugs, to herself, assuring herself that she surely did not misinterpret Alhena’s intent earlier. She then lends an ear to Branwen, whose metal skin and body seemingly crafted by an artisan rather than nature makes her at times only slightly more readable than the other two women. “Hm!” Krishga exclaims, crossing her arms. “If you think it can be done, Brawnen, then that sounds like a fine solution to me. Not my usual area of expertise, most of the time I design my devices so elementals don’t interfere, but, if your negotiations fail, I have some ideas for a technological-” In quick succession, words are exchanged between Brawnen and the sailor that had been dragged from Matra’s cell - with it becoming clear that he was planning to take revenge on the traitorous marine, and may well have, had Krishga not intervened and talked to Joanna. I… I thought they might try something in a drunken stupor, in anger! Not actually… planning to kill her. What the hell, Rajat, what are you letting your boys do? This is not great. I get that they’re angry, and I’m one to talk when it comes to staying smart when you’re angry, but this is… Well. I better say something. Maybe they’ll regret ever calling me doyen, but this is not something to stay quiet about. She sighs. “Branwen, Jaroth? No idea what he said to our elven pilot, but I got from the tone it wasn’t a compliment. Can you take care of it with Eos?” The goblin sighs again and then walks over to the cell with the sailor Senyon, and leans against the bars, clearly not entirely happy with the situation. “Listen, Senyon. You’re angry. I understand that. I was on the Machine Wash Tumble Dry only for a short while. You knew the people that died for a lot longer than I did. So you’d be the best to tell me - would they want you to do this? Throw your life away in a stupid plan that accomplishes nothing except revenge? Because Matra is already defeated, already in a cell. You’re not bringing her to justice or anything like that. She’s not some fat cat industrialist caught causing some workers’ death, not some cop that brutalized someone and now has his own department judging whether he should be ‘punished’ or not. She’s not getting away.” Krishga cocks her head to one side. “Come on, Senyon. Strangling someone to death when they’re unconscious, defeated? No longer a threat? Don’t throw it away for someone like that. You’re better than that.” She glances over at Rajat. “Right? You’re all a crew, and you all look out for each other. And sometimes that means keeping someone from doing something stupid.” For a few moments, Krishga is silent. “When you’re out, how about we drink to their memory. Don’t let Matra add more to her tally, huh?” Krishga closes her eyes for a few seconds, rolls her shoulders, and takes a deep breath. “Hey, Joanna! Do you think that there’s anything to report about Rajat and his boys being locked up here? I figure because of the potential for trouble, everyone was put into different cells, away from Matra, and that’s it. There may have been some drunken ramblings, raised voices - to be expected after they heroically kept the Machine Wash Tumble Dry floating while we were under attack from two sides - but nothing more. What do you say?” nil. fucked around with this message at 15:14 on Dec 10, 2023 |
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Dec 9, 2023 21:31
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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 [ ] --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Listening to Krishga talk Branwen measures Senyon up, watching his face as he's attempted to be shamed by the goblin. Finally Branwen makes a dismissive click with her tongue before speaking. "Fair enough, I suppose. Wish your blowing off steam didn't make my duties harder, I guess."
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Dec 17, 2023 06:42
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Krishga Senyon scoffs but doesn't say anything. Rajat runs a hand across his head as he looks through the bars at you. "By Jaira's word, he'd have been right to kill her. But that's neither here nor there. The only thing that happened is a drunk sailor got thrown into the wrong cell for a moment before the mistake was corrected," he takes a swig from his bottle of rum, "All this heartfelt bellyaching from both of you is wasted air." He looks over towards Joanna. "Aye, Skeleton Blaze -" He is cut off by Joanna almost immediately. "I don't care. She's not even my prisoner. She's Base Commander Durell's problem." She sounds impatient. "It's late and I want my own beauty sleep. I'm sure you'll all be able to chat at leisure tomorrow." Branwen, Krishga, Jaroth You find yourselves soon back outside the prison wing, the small sitting area containing only a thirty-something red haired woman and a trio of ESCO troops. They are chatting politely, and the woman stands up at your appearance. She approaches primly, boots ringing sharply against the steel flooring. "Further associates of yours?" She looks to Branwen before extending a hand to Jaroth and Krishga in greeting. "Maeve McAlister, Branwen's mother. Pleased to meet you." She speaks with an obvious Blutfeucht drawl and looks genuinely happy to meet you. She glances at the nearby guards. "Apparently quarters have been arranged, as well as supper?" The centermost trooper, a massive and muscled bearded fellow nods. His nametag reads M. Bunyan. "Yes ma'am. Courtesy of Commander Durell. It's within a secure section; you won't be bothered." He waits until everyone is sorted end begins leading the way. "My current understanding is you'll be summoned tomorrow at tenth bell, at the end of first shift. The elven prisoner will be there as well. League representatives want a briefing on...whatever it is you found on your mission." He stares openly at Alhena before catching himself with an apologetic shake of his head. He leads you through several corridors, with enough signage to ensure you can find your way around if needed. Many of the signs are handmade, wrought iron welding projects, with plenty of nixie tubes and neon directing folks to this sector or that. The base was hastily built and inhabited yet it's slowly coming to look lived in. The lower decks were likely even more given over to expression. A lot of bored technicians on standby to support a mission could come at a moments notice? You know they had to be up to some shenanigans. "I've made certain security is aware of everyone in your entourage, ma'am." He salutes Branwen as he comes to a halt in front of hatch. He spins the handle and hauls the hatch open for you all to enter. Within, you find a large barracks area with several bunkbeds set up loosely around the far walls. Military footlockers sit at the foot of each and curtains and tapestries have been hastily assembled into privacy screens. Nearer to you sits a large folding table with an enormous charcuterie board, laden with expertly selected meats and cheeses. Paper plates, sporks and napkins sit stacked neatly at the front of the table and everyone can easily find a folding chair to sink onto. In the midst of this stands Sulhafah, smirking. "Deras kök var patetiskt, men jag är ett geni." Nearby sit Gogolia and Zagubal, plates already laden with food. Alhena offers a translation. "Sulhafah says the base kitchen isn't very good, but he knows what he's doing." Eos Quiet at last. The light is irritating, and your bunk is uncomfortable. Yet at least now that your conquerers have gone, blissful quiet overcomes the cellblock. The human that got transferred and shouted his hopes that you get "brain hosed" does not seem inclined to continue harassing you. You lay back a while, waiting to see if sleep or death claims you. At one point you start from your reverie when the woman who'd been sleeping so soundly finally awoke. She made a racket and caused the other humans to join in with their primitive hooting, until at last several greatcoat wearing men hauled her off. Someone was about to be asked questions. But at least they were going to be asked in a room where you didn't have to listen to it. Small mercies. End of Session At the end of a Session (or the beginning of the next, if you forgot about it), the fellowship answers these three questions: -Did we save or protect a community in need? -Did we strike a blow against the Overlord and their minions? -Did we learn more about the world and its peoples? For each "yes" answer, the group chooses one of the following options. You may choose an option more than once. -Each player refreshes one piece of their Gear to its full value. -Each player chooses one stat to Heal. It does not have to be theirs. -The fellowship and the Overlord each choose one player to level up. You cannot be chosen to level up if you are the highest level player or you have already been chosen to level up. If at least two players are tied for highest level, anyone can level up. Nobody actually levels up until all choices on who levels up have been made. Shardix fucked around with this message at 00:20 on Dec 23, 2023 |
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Dec 20, 2023 03:51
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Chapter 5: Weird Science "I told you that story so I could tell you this one." Eos You wake, groggy and sore. When was the last time you had the luxury of natural sleep? Centuries ago, it seems like. You and your siblings were still in training, floating in orbit above a planet you would never set foot upon. The inhabitants were proving more difficult to subjugate than expected. Rumor was they had some strange new weapon and the Dominion's machine men were powerless against it. New strategies were being devised, and The King of Air And Darkness would put them into action. The air fleet was ready, your mounts fine tuned and deadly. You waited only for "a favorable wind", as your commander put it. Now, The King of Air And Darkness does not exist and never did - by decree of the Choir. The Choir...they and Operator must be furious right now. Your transmission may have been cut off, but Threshold would have been perfectly capable of watching everything that happened to you before the battle moved below the water, and it would have seen that you never emerged. And it would see the salvage operation that was no doubt happening even now to retrieve your mount. You glance around the block, noticing the crew that got hauled in last night are still snoring away in their respective cells. The apparent leader, a snowy-haired fellow with a face like granite is still seated in his folding chair, bottle clutched in hand. His other hand comes up and idly scratches at his face before falling limp again. The woman that got hauled in with you remains nowhere to be seen. As you sit up and stretch your aching limbs, you see the skeletal guard noisily clack her way to your cell. She bends down and sets a tray in front of it, and slides it under the cell door. "<Eggs, fried spam, and orange juice.>" She offers offhandedly before straightening up. "<It's processed pork. Comes in a tin from our good friends at KrebStar.>" You have no idea what a KrebStar is and you question the nutritional value of "processed pork in a tin", but at least the menu is all things you've heard of before. You haven't personally eaten them ever in your life, but you've heard of them. Apparently (according to Operator) the dehydrated orange drink you've experienced tastes nothing like the real thing. "<You need anything else? Otherwise I'll be back in an hour to escort you to the debriefing.>" The people who defeated you have stated they want to help you. How do you feel about this, and what are you expecting? Branwen, Jaroth, Krishga You awaken, refreshed after the previous day's hectic battle and return to Masada. Defeating a Dominion air fighter with no personal injuries to speak of? Not a bad bit of work. A shame about the crew of the MWTD but at least the deaths weren't in vain. As you stretch and go about your morning routine, you notice Hilda has vanished and Zagubal is still snoring away like a chainsaw. Maeve, Alhena and Sulhafah are already up, standing over a stainless steel rolling cooking cart from...somewhere. Essentially a portable gas oven, Sulhafah is demonstrating some sort of souffle while Maeve and Alhena chatting quietly among themselves and watch. "My wife and I could never get the trick right. They always collapsed." Maeve offers to her companion. Alhena translates back and forth for a moment. "He says you're baking it too long, at too low heat." All eyes turn to you. "Good morning. Breakfast will be up shortly, make your orders now." Alhena chatters pleasently. "Gogolia is with Konas and Olan. Hilda said she was going to find Anastasia and stock up on ammunition. Find out if there were any middle of the night arrivals. Got about two hours until this meeting. Some guy named Durell sent a message asking that you don't go wandering off too far." She shrugs, clearly not concerned about anyone's opinion about wandering off. Tell me about the dreams you had last night. Konas You've been given accommodations in the underwater sections of XK-Masada set aside for when tritons are in residence. Clearly decorated by a surfacer who doesn't know any better but thought sticking shells on everything made it 'homey'. Gogolia and Olan rise about the same time as you do, and the elder triton has an energy about him more suitable to a callow youth - it's obvious he cannot wait to be reintroduced to his people. "I wonder if any of my family still lives? I had many sibling, and children of my own. Surely my line has survived..." Over the course of the morning, he paces as much as a man with the body of a slug can. Olan, meanwhile, advises you that your superiors have received your notification and will have a representative get in touch shortly. You can only imagine the expression on their faces when you tell them of An'Ehon! She also reminds you that Commander Durell has arranged a debriefing for you and your companions in a couple hours time. The energy about this place is such that you suspect there isn't going to be a lot of deliberating - he wants to know what happened at LEM-7 but considering that Warwick has already made an overt move against you, there's no time or inclination to sit on your thumbs in a committee. A representative of the Pearl Clan will almost certainly be at the debriefing, both due to the Aqualantis issue but also the fact that an explosion ravaged a sizable chunk of the Sea of Crescents in yesterday's fight - in direct violation of the treaties your people and the Interior League signed nearly a decade ago. Tell us a little bit about that representative.
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Jan 8, 2024 00:59
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Jaroth awoke blearily from his bunk, but the dream he had the previous night was still vivid in his mind. He was pacing the greying halls of... a place that seemed very familiar to him, but he couldn't quite put a name to it. An ancient place, the paint cracking and flaking in places, the metalwork tarnished or verdigrised, what ornamentation remains is worn and faded. The windows filthy, letting little light in - the light from outside being pale and haunting, the light fixtures inside are dim and barely functioning. His footsteps fell heavy on the mostly bare floors, rickety floorboards creaking occasionally as his passage through this house remained undeterred but slow. A general malaise of decay permeated this place that showed signs of once having been inhabited, and well-used to boot. Markings from the past, etchings made upon things by accident or intent give what little evidence there is of this place once being lived in, by friends and families and all-such, but now no longer. Now it was empty, and worst of all silent. The master of this house, long dead, their servants dispersed, and now only silence reigned. Treasures and trinkets were still to be found in places, left scattered and abandoned. Untouched asides from the march of ages, for no looters, nor burglars, nor thieves could trespass upon here. Despite everything, its walls still held up, its locks and gates still stood strong. If anything, they were stronger than they ever were when this was a place of warmth and life. The broken shards of forsaken mirrors, or the ashen remains of fireplaces long abandoned, or solitary chandeliers clinging to the ceilings with the barest of integrity - yet irrepressibly so: These things all harkened back to the majesty of what once was, but also in their new place seemed different perhaps even more powerful in ways that are hard to articulate. This much Jaroth knew as he explored somewhere that was simultaneously completely alien and hauntingly personal, a world beyond reason forced to fit terms that you can comprehend. Still Jaroth moved ponderously through this ruin, finding what raiments seem better suited to this clime, and what tools he judged to be useful, portable light for the darker places, a pry bar for stuck or jammed doors, an ancient floor plan nestled within old architectural documents that date back to the place's construction, and last - an old cavalry sabre taken from the wall, once a treasured possession, now veiled in dust and cobwebs, still razor sharp. Jaroth proceeded deeper and deeper, or at least what he thought was deeper, given the way that windows to the outside were (dirty but not broken, granting light but no vision) not infrequent, it made navigating this place impossible. After hours of walking, finding ruined art or evidence of things that once were common here - but no longer, Jaroth turned a corner to find a hallway open out into some kind of grandiose theatre, and upon the stage there stood a single table, and upon that table stood a dish, standing upon which was a mummified hand (bedecked in jewellery of myriad hues) holding a chrysanthemum flower of a peculiar hue, and encased within a bell jar. Approaching, Jaroth removed the bell jar and took in the aroma of the flower. It smelled vividly of wet cardboard. It was after that, that Jaroth awoke, and decided to take in his surroundings, his mind still processing the strange dream. But then again, they all were strange nowadays, but none were exactly like that.
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Jan 10, 2024 02:09
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Krishga leaves the XK-Masada’s cells with the feeling that things could both have gone far better or far worse, and unsure whether she should feel annoyed at Rajat or, more likely, Joanna. Once the fellowship has once again passed through the security gates, the Goblin still has not come to a decision, though a stifled yawn and a grumbling in her stomach tells her that perhaps she’ll see things differently after getting something to eat and then some sleep after all the things that have happened in the last few days. She pats her belly, then puts her hands behind her back and considers where to get some grub and rest in the XK-Masada. Her attention is soon drawn by the arrival of the red-haired women and the SCO Troopers accompanying, even more so when it turns out that she is Maeve McAlister, Branwen’s mother. Krishga takes Maeve’s offered hand and shakes it enthusiastically, though both parties have to stretch a little bit to reach the other. “Aaaand pleased to meet you as well!” The Goblin glances over at Branwen, tall, muscular and metallic, then back at Maeve, while different, looking like an older sister at best. “I bet there’s a story here, huh?” She grins. “I’m all ears.” Krishga listens to trooper Bunyan explain the upcoming meeting of bighats, which Krishga had already suspected, though in the moment, she is far more delighted to hear about the accommodations that have been prepared for the fellowship. She looks up at Maeve. “I’m all ears… while we walk. Checking into the XK-Masada Deluxe Suite sounds quite good right now. The past few days have been quite busy.” “Right?” She nods at her companions, already including Jaroth as well. “Oh, Branwen, about the air elemental thing, you’re heading that, right? Let me know what I can do, and we should get that done before the big meeting tomorrow. I’ve found people are easier to talk to when they’re not currently running out of air, though I’m sure some of the people on the bighat council wouldn’t mind that hanging over our new acquaintance’s head, huh?” “Right.” She puts her hands on her hips, then points down a corridor. “That way, right?” The Goblin nods once, then strides forth confidently. “I’m hungry! Come on, Alhena, let’s see if you’re going to get a terrible or a great first impression of today’s surface food. Although, nothing against the XK-Masada, I don’t think it has been created as a culinary hub and besides, I bet they don’t have some nice Goblin rice and fried cave lizard tail, so really…” She disappears behind a corner and the noise of the busy station slowly drowns out her voice. She is confident that her companions will easily be able to catch up with her. Once everyone has gathered around the barracks reserved for the fellowship and their entourage, Krishga is the last to take a seat at the table laden with food, as she first had to find a box of just the right size to put on her chair to be able to actually reach it without having to stand. The Goblin briefly inspects her paper plate, briefly considers making a joke about the XK-Masada pulling out all the stops, but decides against it as it may in fact be the case and because the sight of the large amount of fine meats and cheeses makes her mouth water in anticipation. “Oh, our Sulhafah, he knows what he is doing indeed.” She rubs her hands together. “Anything you can recommend first, Sulhafah? Oh, hey, Jaroth.” She lightly elbows the angel sitting next to her. “Might ask you to put something on my plate, can’t quiiiite reach, and, well, people sometimes look at me funny when I walk on the tables.” Krishga nods at everyone and raises a spork into the air. “Alright, everyone! Enjoy!” ___________ Krishga falls asleep almost as soon as she has fallen onto her cot, her belly fully and her thoughts mostly untroubled, except for the memories of those that fell in the defense of the Shivan’s towner, the Machine Wash Tumble Dry, and the trouble with Rajat and his men. Nevertheless, her mind has safely tucked away all the tasks she plans to take care of the coming day and she falls into a deep sleep. Her dreams are mundane in their fantastical straightforwardness. She is running in a dark place, either away from a chorus of voices, to escape them, or towards them, to save them. They suddenly fall silent, and Krishga knows that she could have done more, and then she hungrily bites down on a large worm, which then hisses at her, sprouts wings and flies away. It turns into a fire-spouting dragon with a horse's hoofs, and Krishga must battle it while wearing a traditional knight’s armor - bearing more than a striking resemblance to the one worn by Drakon Dragonslayer - with only the open sky surrounding them, no ground visible anywhere. The Goblin falls, now sees the suit of armor and the dragon from the outside, growing smaller. They close in on each other, and Krishga falls, trying to see, wanting to know what happens as the two battle without her, disconnected from her, and then they clash in a bright sudden burst and- Krishga wakes with a start, her eyes suddenly wide open. “Yes!” She exclaims, as she recognizes the urgent flood of thoughts and ideas in her mind. Inspiration. “Yes! The Maximus needs to be able to fly!” She jumps off her bed, almost getting caught in her bedding with her foot and falling onto the ground face first. The inventor clambers across the ground , desperately searching for the notebook that should be somewhere in her possessions there, searching for anything to write and sketch on, before the ideas disappear. “Maximus already sealed, if propulsion can be made to fit - two modes? - yes, could also operate underwater like a sub, perhaps even… No, no, suborbital flight and beyond, too ambitious, too many unknowns, not proven enough.” She stops for a moment, and both frowns and smiles at herself. “No need to go to space yet, after all, weird Meshaia visions notwithstanding…” The tinker places sheets of paper around herself with a mixture of manic urgency and practiced calm, even utilizing some of the now-dirtied paper plates remaining from the meal the past evening. “Weight and mass would be too great for flight normally, but, must compensate with mass-reduction from reactor, but, may be more sluggish under full load, but should still work. Propulsion, hm, yes, combination between prototype rocket engine for… classified Orbitopolis project … and more traditional underwater force-wave based…” She continues drawing on every piece of paper she can get her hand on, talking to herself, no doubt providing quite the sight for anyone woken up by her. She sketches the Maximus, adding a set of rocket engines to her back, then nods with satisfaction. “Yes, yes. Hm, and, while I am at it, maybe it’s time to put my ideas for a more autonomous way to control her into action, or, at the very least, remote control…” She taps the sketch of the Maximus with a knuckle of her index finger, affectionately. “Don’t want you to be lost somewhere I can’t get to like the Mark II, huh? And if it works, ah! The possibilities!” ___________ Some time later, Krishga arrives at the breakfast table with the others, a stack of papers filled with copious notes and technical diagrams under each arm, a grin on her face and a towel on her freshly-washed head. “Good morning! Breakfast is being prepared and I can make orders? Oh, what is a poor Goblin that grew up in the rough part of town to do when she’s thrown into decadent luxury like this?” She throws back her head and moves to put one hand onto her brow - but stops herself, realizing she would have to drop at least one stack of papers. She grins. “Thank you! Sounds great, Alhena. I think I’ll take some of everything. What’s that you’re making there, Maeve, Sulhafah? I’ll try it, doesn’t matter if it’s collapsed or not.” She listens to what Alhena has to say about where some of the others are, as well as the upcoming great meeting in two hours - and Commander Durell’s request to stay available. Krishga mirror’s the woman’s shrug. “Two hours, huh? Plenty of time to do some proper work and be back in time. I’ve got plans! I bet Zibal would love this. Maybe. But for now, let’s eat some breakfast while we can. I get the feeling things might get a bit more tense later in the day.” nil. fucked around with this message at 07:44 on Jan 11, 2024 |
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Jan 10, 2024 20:55
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 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ BLOOD: 2 || COURAGE: 1 || GRACE: 3 || SENSE: -1 || WISDOM: 0 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ “The Ocean’s still a big place. I have no doubt your home is still where you left it.” Glad to see Gogolia’s in a great mood; I think the representative might like him. Rasi’im is gonna send one of their own here, with as much trust from the higher ups as possible. I’d pick Makaias as the mer they’re sending, especially if the Pearl Clan wants all hands on deck for a rainy day. While the Church is doing their damndest to keep us all united, that Kahuna was the one who has been keeping these Clans talking; he even has contacts with the Barbs. Of course, he’s also a proud Dolphin who is as critical of leadership as the rest of the movement. But this ain’t a leadership matter; this is just altruism. Gogolia, Shelliak, Rastaban, everyone from that Tower is gonna be in good hands. If everything gets wrapped up, it’d be a trip to Alohilohi for a meet and greet. I don’t see things being wrapped up soon… But someone that close to the Rasi’im mana-pearls means they’re not defenseless; far from it. Makaias would have to know what he might be getting involved in. The lot of us shot the breeze for a while before convening with the others. We’ve… got stories to tell.
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Jan 13, 2024 06:12
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--------------------------------------------------------------------------- BLD +2 [ ]|| COU +2 [ ]|| GRA -1 [ ]|| SEN +0 [ ]|| WIS +2 [ ] Blessings: Strength[ ] || Speed[ ] || Glory[ ] Gear: Armor[X] || Fuel[ ][ ][ ] || Power[X][X] Hilda: Crack Shot[ ] || Quick As A Bullet [ ] --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Branwen mostly gives nods and short replies as the group leaves the cells, it's apparent even to Bunyan the cleric-turned-champion's mind is elsewhere, preparing to wrestle the hydra her schedule has become. But she's stopped dead in her tracks as she enters the barracks behind the rest of the Fellowship. She sees Sulhafah, proudly standing ready to cook and display what could only be his incredible prowess in the realm of cooking. As Alhena translates Branwen forces a smile and politely bows to the jovial(?) chef with "Thank you. Though I must excuse myself, I need to pray before the day is done and..." she can't quite find the words to say 'cannot eat', so she finishes with "If you'll excuse me." before walking back out of the room and catching up to Sergeant Bunyan. "Excuse me sergeant, would the base happen to have a shrine to the Sun?" "Of course ma'am, I'd be happy to show you to it." ~~~~ The shrine is fairly modest, a small hall housing a small collection of statues, the deck plating covered by well worn but well cared for rugs. A panoply of small nooks formed with wooden partitions housing statues honoring the assortment of lesser deities associated directly or indirectly with the League surround the hall, which at the end features a prominent shrine to the Sun Gods. Somewhat surprisingly to Branwen is Audo holding the honored central seat in this otherwise quite standard shrine. But as Branwen turns to Bombarda's idol she meets the gaze of a young woman with braided blonde hair and olive skin sitting on its pedestal. her loosely tied military boots loudly thwacking against the rug-covered deck plate within the hall. That and the too-large-for-her bomber jacket gave away that she was the daughter of one of the soldiers on the base as she meanders away from Bombarda's shrine room and into the shared hall. "I'm sorry if I disturbed your prayer," Branwen starts before she's interrupted with a dismissive wave and eye-roll. "Not sorry enough to not do it though." the young woman cuts in derisively "Whatever, just the one time I want to be alone someone actually comes in here. Quietest place here, you'd think that be sacrilege or something." The young woman stops in front of Branwen, squinting up at Branwen's metallic face. "So you're the 'holy champion' or whatever everyone won't stop talking about?" "Apparently." It's a flat reply from Branwen. She's felt this sort of anger when she was younger. Angry at something beyond her ability to speak to. "Apparently? What were you not even told? No marching orders or whatever?" Branwen holds back the smile as she's reminded of Ana and her misgivings. "I suppose the Matron trusts me to do as she wants without her supervision." "Guess it must be nice." The bitterness in her words was personally familiar to Branwen, something she remembered feeling similarly when thinking of her bastard of a father, and fortunately she remembered how others dealt with it spilled forth like this. "Being trusted?" "Doing what you want. No consequences. No being told what to do or how you have to act, unrestrained." "It'll get better. You probably feel like it won't, eventually whatever everyone's mad at you for will be the past. But I'll pray that it'll be sooner for you. Use some of that 'holy champion' privilege." Bran says with a small smile. It's a mixed expression as the first response, the slightly confused look that Bran hopes is one of introspection. The silence extends out awkwardly before finally the woman breaks it with a muttered "Thanks, I guess..." She rolls her head a bit before finally finishing the conversation with "Well, put something off long enough. Uh, good luck, I guess?" "Thanks." Bran says before moving to Bombarda's idol to begin prayer. ~~~~ In the morning Branwen is more present, but similarly to the previous night, sheepishly hovering away from the grill. "Well, kind of Hilda to go looking... Did she wake up before you? Always seems like she's the first awake, even when I try to beat her to it..." Branwen stretches out her shoulders and arms a bit, more out of habit than need. "Two hours should be enough time to give Lahire his fortune telling. I'd be more worried about finding Hilda and where she put the sacrifice but-" Bran gives a joking shrug "-she'll show up on time."
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Jan 16, 2024 16:32
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“Hey Branwen! Morning!” Having not yet filled her plate with food, Krishga has free hands to spare to wave at Branwen. “Guess Hilda’s doing her best to be the first not just on the draw, huh?” She winks and shoots a single finger gun at her companion. She wiggles slightly forward on the box she placed on her chair to be able to easily reach the table and rolls her shoulders. “Right. What’s this about Lahire? Is ‘fortune telling’ code for rumor-trading and other such cloak-and-dagger shenanigans?” Krishga shrugs and smiles. “Oh - are we doing this thing with the air elemental before the bighat meeting? I’d wager our new acquaintance would appreciate it, and it’d make us… well… me saying we want to help him out, with not suffocating at least, more believable.” The Goblin briefly addresses Maeve with a wide grin. “Branwen’s about to negotiate with an air elemental. Very interesting, to me, at least!” She turns back towards Branwen. “If the… uh…” The Tinker gesticulates vaguely, clearly not sure of what she is saying. “...elemental conditions? If they’re not good, I can always try to quickly fix up something mechanical. Should work for a little while, at least. Lemme know, huh?” “But first!” She slaps her hands together. “Breakfast!”
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Jan 17, 2024 19:37
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Jaroth You don't dream often, but the dreams of an Abstract are always portentous. Even as you wake and begin dressing, the vision remains firmly fixed in your mind. Such a curious yellow flower... Your companions silently arrive not long after, exchanging meaningful looks with you. "We dreamt the truth last night, didn't we?", Sorvis-Kazbiel asks in a flat tone of voice. Bedrimulael hugs herself within the greatcoat silently. Kalkydra is hopping from bed to bed, making a nuisance of herself like normal. She pauses briefly to regard you all with a cocked head before ruffling her feathers, which shift to a purple tinge and shimmer faintly in the light. "Would it ease the thoughts of the others to tell them?" Bedrimulael shakes her head no. "What they may have dreamt is for them to care about or act upon...or not." She turns towards the low conversation from the other half of the room that's been made into a makeshift kitchen and sitting area. This catfish-man they call Sulhafah seems remarkably adept at acquiring the amenities for a meal on short notice, spare folding tables and chairs included. Eos As promised, an hour later your jailer returns. <You aren't being marched to your death. Cooperate and I won't do you the indignity of putting shackles on you.> She stares at you, a shining skeletal visage regarding you with lifeless indifference. The strangely accented but nevertheless living Voice coming from it stands in stark contrast. Once she's confident you aren't going to make a scene, she unlocks the cell door and slams it open. She stands aside, cleaver resting on the ground with a hand casually resting atop it. She yells a few short utterances in their animal tongue and you are soon ushered out of the jail and into cold steel corridors. It almost reminds you of Threshold - same cramped seeming corridors, though this facility is sized for a larger average height than you are accustomed too. Same low background hum of generators and life support systems and flickering lights. Elven technology can do many things, but some realities of life in space are unavoidable. You don't have to walk far, and the only other person you encounter is some sort of technician at work. A squat fellow in greasy coveralls with a strange silhouette about him. His proportions seem all wrong. He turns as you walk by and you suddenly understand why. A warty puck-faced visage regards you with indifferent bulging gold and black eyes, and you note a smoldering stub of a cigar jammed in a corner of his mouth. Ah, right. The frog-people. It was easy to forget the specifics indigenous species. They all died the same to your weapons, so what did it matter if you fought humans or goblins or gnolls or amphibian-men? The tech turns away disinterestedly and returns to tinkering with an electrical panel. <Here.> Joanna stops in front of an open hatch and motions for you to enter. There's a sloppily hand printed sign hanging near it, and you make out the League sigils on it. Base Commander something. <I'll met you here after you're finished.> Stepping through the hatch, you see a large empty prefab room of some sort. Maybe intended for storage originally, it has now been repurposed as an uncomfortably large open office. A metal desk sits at an odd angle and rows of filing cabinets sit obediently nearby. The desk itself is mostly cleared off except for a mug and a lamp. The mug is black, with a blue line and pyramid adorning it. An errant memory comes to you - Integral. The name of a legal construct on the planet intended to make money. You understand the concept but it means nothing to you. It's one of the supposed reasons you fight: people outside the Dominion have to work long hard and dangerous hours and hand it all over to monarchs or popes or warlords or capitalists or maybe all of them at once, and after all that sometimes they just starve to death anyway. It is the Dominion's responsibility, its duty, to bring these wayward children to heel. You have to wonder if any of your planet-bound kin actually believe that. Seated at the desk is a solidly built Human with close cropped black hair. His face is lined and his eyes are shadowed, but he appears alert and focused as you step inside. He idly taps a pen on the desk as you look around, sizing you up as much as you're sizing him up. To the side of the desk stands a tall, thin human. Stone faced and rugged, he vaguely resembles the fellow tossing back drinks in a nearby cell last night. From the same lands, perhaps. The stone faced fellow coughs into a hands to clear his throat before speaking in an even baritone. His elven is stilted and he loses his tenses sometimes. Clearly a man who learned in a classroom. <My name is Adelbert Telsen, servant of Jaira. This man," he gestures to the seated brick and you notice he's missing his ring finger on the right hand. <is Base Commander Gabriel Durell. He does not speak elven so I will translate. If you have religious requirements I will do my utmost to fulfill them, unqualified in the Choir's realm as I may be.> A strictly polite man, you can't quite get a read on him. Telsen looks over his shoulder at Durell, who waves for him to continue. <I'll get to the point. The Choir and by extension the Elven Dominion are working together with an industrialist and tycoon by the name of J. R. Warwick. A situation is currently underway that the Interior League as well as certain religious institutions view as extremely critical. We want your help.> He exchanges another look with Durell, who nods. <We...know that A.D.F. pilots are different from terrestrial elves. You're kept in some sort of stasis, being woken only rarely. You've been around for millennia. We think this fact could be vital to figuring out what Warwick and the Dominion are up too and stopping them if necessary.> Durell taps a pen lazily on the desk. He says something in his infelicitous monkey tongue. Telsen translates. <If you agree, the League and it's allies will set you free with a full pardon for any past crimes you may have committed in service to the Dominion. You'll also be given a pension suitable to someone of your equivalent military rank, once we know what that is. If you do not agree to cooperate,> Telsen clasps his hands behind his back. <Trial and a firing squad. While you think over your answer, I will answer what questions I am able. Some answers I can't give for security reasons, some answers I simply don't have.> That's a hell of a choice. What do you think?  Branwen, Jaroth, Krishga Breakfast proceeds apace, those morning people among you chatting quietly while the rest more slowly ease into the day. Maeve listens a while before catching Brawnwen's eye. "Fortune telling and summoning? Finally put that diligence I taught you to work." She glances around while adjusting her silver-framed spectacles. "Her and her sister hated taking their lessons as children." "Throwing firecrackers at baelfrogs was more fun!" You hear from the corridor hatch. Anastasia saunters in, Duchess stepping heavily behind her. She sniffs the air and eyes everyone warily before her gaze alights on Maeve, at which point her muscles immediately tense. At the same time Anastasia commands the dire hyena to stay, Maeve gives a steely eyes stare at the beast while she sips at a cup of coffee, unruffled. She sets down the cup on a nearby table. "Now come. Nicely." She says. Duchess stands from her cowed position and slowly picks her way forward, making certain not to knock anything or anyone over. "You are a lady. You must never forget to act like one." Anastasia coughs awkwardly, and sweeps her braids out of her face. "She's happy to see you. So am I. And before you have to yell at me, I'm sticking around. I promise." At Maeve's quizzical look, she continues. "Things got...complicated. I'll explain it later." Alhena cuts in soon after. "Right, so." Obviously not interested in family drama. "I know the theory on elemental summoning. We'll need dedicated space for a ritual like that with specific supplies. From what I've seen you all travel light." She cocks her head, deep in thought with her arms crossed. "You'll still need to work out some sort of agreement with that Rulakir bigwig. I still remember him from the newsreels. Do they still have those? He was giving his annual Dawn Day speech" Dawn Day is a widely recognized and celebrated holiday, marking the day the Suns revealed themselves. Bombarda, Günnar, Kaliber, and Audo shone forth from the sun and gave the people the edge they needed to throw back the Elven hordes in the last great war. A story every child learns as a toddler. Even among the elves, though they no doubt tell it differently. "I remember seeing Deirdre Hightower in Thyridinite Dreams. She was so handsome - nobody wore a suit like she did." She hesitates and her multitudinous eyes all shift to a pale green for a moment. "Where was I? Oh, right. You'll need ritual space and materials. A facility like this should have the things you need. I doubt things have changed that much since my time." Sounds like you'll need to talk to Durell to get this handled. You'll be meeting with him soon enough and in any case, a rushed summoning is a dangerous thing.A spirit capable of what you wish to ask of it? Completing such a conjuration in a mere two hours would be a respectable feat even if you were ready to do so immediately. "Hey, while I'm thinking about it. Is Drakon Dragonslayer still on the radio? I hated that show but there was nothing else to listen to in the evening." Alhena mimics the self-serious announcer that nobody from the League or it's neighbors would fail to recognize, even decades after its final episode. People who take it all much too seriously argue that the narrator for the New Adventures lacks the grim gravitas of the original. What do you do? If you're going to make a mecha suit fly, that will eat up all your time. You saw those wrecked goblin interceptors in that repair bay nearby the Maximus...nobody will miss those engines! Konas You, Olan, Gogolia, and Zibal go about your morning routine. Zibal accompanied you to his area of the base, being much more comfortable submerged in water. It also affords access directly to the outside ocean which she took advantage of the night previously to explore and acclimate to these new waters. While nominally a security flaw, the ocean access is monitored through magical means, and XK-Masada has active and routine patrols. Triton treaties have made it clear that if drylanders wish to exist beneath the sea within Triton lands, they will follow Triton customs. You catch Olan's dusky voice through the waters near the entrance to your quarters. "Konas. We have a visitor. Makaias, looks like. They're taking us seriously." From outside you hear a powerful voice. "Hail, Konas Keaweth! Whispers have it you're shaking pillars again. Come, let's speak!" That's Makaias alright. You see him into the 'lounge' of this domocile. Makaias glances about, unimpressed by whathe sees of the place. At last he rests his eyes on Olan and nods respectfully to her. He nods to you in respect as well. "The Pearl have heard your call, though I myself am unclear on details. Only that you bear word of great import." Makaias is relaxed, but even so he is a sharp and precise mer. Olan nods. "This is a fish that swam into our hands." She looks to you expectantly. "Tell him of what we've seen." Makaias cuts her off, glancing over your shoulder at Gogolia and Zibal. "This is clan business. I wish to hear what you have to say but outsiders must go." Makais wants a basic explanation of what you've learned and why you think the clan needs to know about it. What do you do? Branwen You slip out not long after Ana gets back, explaining you have a fortune to give. You mosey through the halls, knowing a guy like Lahire will find you if he wants too. Sure enough you turn a corner and see him leaning against a wall, watching a group of robed figures solemnly head deeper into the base. "Hail, Morning Glory." Lahire raises a hand in greeting. "You just missed the Zamite procession. Guess the King is also being represented at this shingdig." He shakes his head ruefully. "Those priestesses look good in those robes." He watches a moment longer before focusing back on you. "How about it?" Tell us a fortune Shardix fucked around with this message at 02:51 on Jan 29, 2024 |
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Jan 29, 2024 02:19
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--------------------------------------------------------------------------- BLD +2 [ ]|| COU +2 [ ]|| GRA -1 [ ]|| SEN +0 [ ]|| WIS +2 [ ] Blessings: Strength[ ] || Speed[ ] || Glory[ ] Gear: Armor[X] || Fuel[ ][ ][ ] || Power[X][X] Hilda: Crack Shot[ ] || Quick As A Bullet [ ] --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Bran gives a small nod and a smile to Krishga "Mornin'. Yeah, seems she's always the first to a lot of things. But no, no cloak and daggers. Just, didn't feel quite right with what little I could tell him when we last spoke and decided to see if Bombarda had any... Wisdoms, to impart. What kind of business partners to avoid and the like. Routine priestly duties." When her mom joins the conversation Branwen bashfully rubs the back of her head. "Didn't exactly expect to be in the line of work for that stuff-" and as Ana's entrance interrupts Bran lets it play out before concluding "-though maybe there were some signs where I'd end up even then." Branwen pipes up as Alhena pauses "I'll be looking to perform the summon in the base's air filtration room. Should be more successful there than anywhere else in the base. I have some basic chimes for more... battlefield condition summoning, though if a more enticing arrangement could be found-" Bran casts a glance at Ana "-then it'll just be a matter of convincing Durell to let a member of Bombarda's faithful, a prisoner, and a small entourage conduct a summon in a key part of the base before trying to talk an elemental to prevent an elf from choking on air." Bran flashes a smile "Easy." --- In front of Lahire Bran holds up a sizable jar, the water sloshing inside makes evident something is moving with, and gives an easy smile. "Fortunes indeed, with the time I had I've gotten a proper haruspicy ready." Pulling off to a side room, Branwen purposefully walks to the center of the room, slowly walking through various prayers to Bombarda and the Sun above, dedicating to them a sacrifice of flesh. At the center of the room she takes a deep breath, her face returning to a neutral expression as she states "Now, let me tell your fortune." before reaching into the container and extracting a sizable panicked fish as she calmly brings it up to eye level, lingering a moment as she looks to Lahire a few feet away. She crushes the fish in her fist with such speed, force, and control that only the barest bit of blood drips out between her metallic fist, the loud crunch of bone reverberating off the walls of the room. With a quick flick of the wrist Bran splashes the wad of fish viscera onto the floor, pausing both to let it settle and have two drops of gore drip slowly and audibly to the floor. She squats down, crouching low with arms resting on each knee, balanced on her toes. Her head moves slowly over the mess, fiery eyes scanning across the floor before she sharply inhales and begins to speak. "Ah. Change is coming to your life. You or someone near you will have a chance to rise in status, BUT, they may not find it worth the cost. You will be late for an appointment with a loved one, have an apology ready. The next storm will appear suddenly with little warning, be mindful to not stray too far from shelter." she looks up from the mess, her business-like monotone monologue stopping long enough to be punctuated by another drop of blood loudly splashing onto the floor and she finishes, with her gazed locked with Lahire's, "Your lucky number is three."
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Jan 29, 2024 15:46
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Jaroth took in breakfast thankfully, but ultimate he and his companions were somewhat reserved as they spent the time largely trying to make sense of the dream that they each had - obviously portentious in some fashion, but the specifics eluded them. Unmistakably this was some kind of attempt to rationalise the Broken Domain in the mortal mind, which seemed arbitrary or unnecessary because he had at times received glimpses of such a strange place - so why was it now so heavily steeped in metaphor and the trappings of the mundane world? Maybe that in of itself was part of the puzzle, rather than just an arbitrary framing. Maybe this would require further meditation - or study - Jaroth admits that he has done little (nor has he had much opportunity to do so) research on such matters outside what flashes of insight his elevated status has burdened him with, and as such has little reference points within this reality to which to compare. The tools were more than likely approximate to the Words he had nestled deep in his soul, fragments of primordial reality that he can enforce upon the world - and if given sufficient understanding utilise them via other means. After all, as he learned more Words they became more tools upon his belt, more ways to operate in this reality. However the final part of the dream - a mummified hand, holding an odd flower, and all the trappings around it, that would require further analysis. It was the only bodily remains found there, in fact the aesthetic of the hand itself seemed off, as though distinct somehow. Perhaps the hand is.... unwelcome, alien even. Jaroth couldn't speak for the flower but perhaps the hand was something from this reality that had become cast or lost in the Broken Domain. Maybe the 'filter' of dream didn't apply to it of all the things that he witnessed. Maybe there really was someone's hand lost up there. Perhaps that was where it all began. Jaroth came out of his musings with his comrades staring at him. "We may have to see if we can research anything on this. I'm not sure where is best to look, but given our current trajectory we're unlikely to find anywhere in this station, nor are we going to end up going anywhere that has anything with potential... except our chief target. Surely our collective malefactor and their minions have archives or libraries of sorts where it currently is found, we should make an active attempt to look into this while we're there. It might be our only chance." he said quietly to his fellow angels as he toyed with his food. "Other than that we might have to use whatever peace we manage to keep to try to meditate on this with our... less terrestrial aspects. That seems the most direct but probably less comprehensible path. But anything is better than nothing." Other than quietly musing about the dream, Jaroth thinks back to the past once more. He does remember Drakon Dragonslayer despite everything, part of his past that hadn't been turned to ashes or carved up and carted off when the alien presence that fused itself with his soul, however such thoughts do not put him in a particular sanguine mood, as the comparison to things he presumably did lose do not keep him in high spirits. It does however further (however slightly) deepen his resolve to do what must be done, so that this does not happen to others. Furthermore, he does think more about his notions regarding his status as a messenger, and how he has theories regarding what happens when a message his delivered. His might be overly complex and difficult to achieve, but others likely have an easier time. If his theories are correct, he can restore some semblance of normality to others, reforge their broken lives - give them back what was snatched away from them. One more thing to keep him moving forward. He doesn't vocalise any of this, mind you, it was his burden to bear - others would either not understand or would feel worse off for understanding this.
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Jan 30, 2024 16:27
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When Alhena mentions Drakon Dragonslayer, Krishga all but jumps out of her seat and stands up, hands on the table, eyes bright and excited as if someone just asked her to extol the virtues of the Maximus - until Alhena mentions hating the classic pulp radio programme, at which point her face falls. “Oh.” Alhena mimics the well-known announcer, and Krishga cannot help but chuckle and nod in approval. “Now!” She raises a finger into the air. “I can understand maybe not liking everything about the classic Drakon, I mean, yeah, they were ‘of their time’ and maybe a bit flawed but honestly, they had heart and adventure and excitement, right? Right? A real classic for a reason.” The Goblin looks around the table as if expecting everyone to immediately agree wholeheartedly. She continues. “But ‘The New Adventures Of Drakon Dragonslayer’ is also really good - he gets a magi-mechanical armor suit which is pretty awesome - and maybe you’d like that one more? Some people say to skip the first few episodes because they haven’t found their new voice yet, but I think that’s crazy, you’d miss all the worldbuilding and, I mean, why Drakon now is in the far future. You’d lose so much of the story! Right?” Again she looks at the others, only for a second waiting for confirmation that skipping any episodes is tantamount to madness before continuing. “And it’s not like the classic and the new stuff is not connected in any way, Drakon still has hair-raising adventures, and in episode 27 they start the first story arc with his old nemesis N…. Hm. That’d be a spoiler. Nevermind, Forget I said anything.” Once more she looks at those around her at the table, though maybe now she actually looks. Krishga clears her throat. “Well. I think Drakon is pretty good, both the old stuff and the new. Maybe you’d like the newer series.” She shrugs, though it is clear she very much cares about this. “If not there’s… lots of other stuff, I suppose.” Krishga smiles. “Say what you will about the world you’ve returned to, but we live in a new age of media and entertainment. You can get things from all corners of the world, and stuff’s made for people all over - makes it easier to find an audience for niche stuff, you know? Still.” She stands up straight, crosses her arms over her chest, and nods. “The classics are the classics for a reason. That’s what I think, anyway.” —- The fellowship - sans Konas - finishes their breakfast and each member prepares for what awaits during the day ahead. Krishga discusses how she may be able to help during the upcoming negotiation with the air elemental with Branwen, deferring to the woman’s greater experience in such matters. She hopes they will be able to ensure that Eos will no longer slowly suffocate, and all before the meeting in about two hours between the powerful and important, and those that think themselves as such. Branwen excuses herself to attend to business with Lahire. As far as she understood it, it is some fortune reading that Krishga thinks may either actually be something Branwen can do thanks to her divine ‘blessings’ or an elaborate scheme to fool the mysterious information broker. The Goblin shrugs to herself, deciding that she is fine with it either way. Krishga keeps her distance so as to not disrupt proceedings with either enthusiastic note-taking or a smart remark and waits in a storage room not too far away from Branwen’s meeting. WIth a sigh and a smile she decides that this is the best time to take care of something she meant to do for a bit, while there is a chance. “Tick? Flea? Can you come over here?” She calls out to the two drones who seem to at least feel a little lost since Ana has been occupied otherwise. Or maybe that’s just my imagination. Maybe I’m just projecting my own feelings on some… simple drones. But this is what this is all about, at least in part. I hope I do this right. Might not be a bad idea to have someone like Jaroth here too, get a different perspective, if he’s got the time and nerve. “Hey, you two.” Krishga sits down on a wooden crate, and gently pats Tick who is floating next to her. “I wanted to talk to you. It’s about what’s next for you two. Well.” She smiles and cocks her head. “What you want to do next. Alright. I’ll try to explain what I mean, huh? I know you haven’t been in this world for a long time, but you know me and Ana created you, right? Now, some people might say that if someone creates something that isn’t made of flesh and blood, it’s a tool and their property, but that’s bullshit. DOn’t believe anyone who says something like that - and feel free to knock them on the head from me if you get the chance - but that’s not what this is about.” “You, Tick…” She points with one finger gun. “..and you, Flea…” The other finger gun follows. “...I think you’re your own people, and that means nobody owns you and you get to make your own decisions. Don’t misunderstand me, I don’t want to send you away or anything. I’d be happy if you stuck around. But, I do want to tell you that wherever we go next, it’s likely going to be as dangerous as it’s been so far. You’ve seen it yourself - the attack on the Machine Wash Tumble Dry and all - but, well, I guess that’s the only thing you’ve seen. Let me tell you, that’s not really normal - most of the rest of the world is a lot less dangerous. What I’m saying is… it’ll stay dangerous, and any of us could get hurt, and… maybe even die.” She takes a deep breath. “And I don’t want to drag you along because you feel some sort of, hm, obligation because I helped create you or because that’s the only thing you know, just like I wouldn’t drag some guy off the street with me to go to war. If you decide you want to do something else - and at the risk of repeating myself, it’s going to be dangerous - I could let you meet some people I know, a couple of professors that were researching artificial life.” She chuckles. “Though it has been a lot more theoretical until now for them. It’d be quite a surprise seeing you, huh? Well. Bit of a debate of ‘how do we define sapience’, ‘when is a machine as smart as a person’, all of that, bit fuzzy really.” Krishga nods at Tick and Flea. “What I’m thinking is this: If you understood at least just a bit of what I’m telling you, I believe you deserve to be free to choose what to do. So, what do you say, you two?” nil. fucked around with this message at 14:42 on Jan 31, 2024 |
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Jan 30, 2024 22:15
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Jaroth came with Krishga, still musing on what insights he may or may not have acquired the night before, and if they had any bearing on the current situation - feeling that concentrating on them here and now was not going to be productive. He mostly kept quiet, watching Krishga interact with the novel artificial life that she had forged, but not truly treating them as children. Perhaps the artificiality of their existence gave her the better perspective to treat them as entirely independent entities rather than her own children, which is what he would have assumed. However, bringing this point up now would likely be interfering with what she thought she knew best - after all, he was ultimately an outsider to this situation and the circumstances from which Flea and Tick were created might not have other hallmarks that would establish them as children per se. But yet, Jaroth did indeed speak - his tone even and unwavering as he pondered the ramifications of this situation while still speaking - but giving little insight into his own thoughts. "It might be a bit much to expect someone to regard their creator, or even their mother, if they were to see it that way to treat you as an entirely neutral entity in these circumstances. Depending on how they think it might be impossible for them to treat this affair entirely coolly... maybe you should try to emancipate them based on a tact akin to how one would treat a child who has just reached adulthood or has graduated or similar? I think despite everything, there is an established relationship that ultimately cannot be ignored, so it might be best to view this through that lens."
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Feb 1, 2024 18:23
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Krishga looks up at Jaroth, looking for an encouraging remark from her newest companion or at least a silent acknowledgement that she is not utterly botching her talk with Flea and Tick. I never meant to create actual sapient machines! It was a bit of an… accident. Some drinking was involved. Ah, if only my engineering genius was as affected as my memory of what exactly happened. There was Ana, some salvage from highly advanced war machines I still don’t understand, a giant blue star hanging at the top of the great cave we were in… Well. Flea and Tick are here now, and I’m gonna take responsibility, but, like I said, this was never the plan. I always hated those idiots that just try to build artificial life and then act all surprised if someone dares to say ‘Hey, that’s slavery!’, if they make them to be tools, in any case. It keeps happening! Even if they’re not made to be tools and servants, you can’t just make new people - and that’s what they are - without being ready to take care of them. That’s just irresponsible! Right, Jaroth? Glad he came along, I get the feeling he’d have some wise insight and - wait, what? What did he just say? “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Krishga waves her hand around, clearly flustered. “I am not their mother… I am not anyone’s mother! I’m way too young to, uh - I’m much too busy with, with, uh, with my work! I don’t have time, I mean, I still have things I want to actually accomplish in life and… uh…” A few moments pass. Krishga freezes, blinks, then clears her throat. “Ahem.” She gently pats first Flea, then Tick. “Sorry. I am your creator - one of them - but I’m not your mother, alright? But that doesn’t matter, I still care about you all the same. Not the same as a mother, I mean, because that’s different and…” Krishga takes a deep breath. “I care about you, and what you want, and that’s what’s important, huh?” She nods at the two drones. Then, the Goblin turns to face Jaroth, mouths the word ‘mother’ while shaking her head and making a cutting motion with her palm, her eyes just the smallest bit pleading. “But!” She raises up a finger, trying to put an extra bit of energy into her words in the hope of moving past what just happened quickly. “Jaroth is right, of course. You might not feel entirely ‘neutral’ about this, and that’s fine, us folk made of flesh and bones tussle with that sort of thing all the time, so it’s nothing bad, if you’re feeling that way.” She coughs. “Or if you feel at all.” Krishga sits on her crate, letting her legs dangle, waiting for either Flea, Tick or Jaroth to say anything - or for another thought to strike her, something that feels smarter, calmer, more mature than what she has said so far. She thinks, and then chuckles to herself, shrugs and jumps down from the crate. “Flea, Tick?” With Krishga now back on the ground, the two drones are slightly above her, the Goblin having to look up at them. “I don’t know what you want. Only you can tell me that, and I admit, I’m pretty interested. But I can tell you two this: If I helped create someone who is free and able to choose what they want to do, that’s more than enough for me. You’re free, and always have been. If you want to explore the world, hey, I always liked that. Something else, I’d be more than happy to hear all about it once I’m done with this whole…” She waves one hand around. “...Aqualantis business. If you want to stay at my, at our side, I’d be glad to have you. How about it?” She looks over at Jaroth, both to look if he has something to add and whether her little speech passes muster in the man’s eyes. nil. fucked around with this message at 09:34 on Feb 2, 2024 |
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Feb 1, 2024 21:06
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Branwen Branwen McAlister(ArkInBlack) Request: [2d6+2] Roll: [2, 1] Result: 5 Reason: Haruspex Lahire stands at a polite distance as you work, hands clasped behind him as he watches curiously. A grimace of disgust crosses his face briefly as you crush the life from the fish but he says nothing. He deftly steps aside to avoid the spatter of guts and joins you in a squat of his own and mimicking your stance while you read out your pronouncement. "Huh." He rubs his chin in thought. "Those are good omens." As you look into his eyes you see storms brewing in them - the augury has inspired him and you can only wait and see if that is a good thing or not. It's obvious has has some sort of scheme in motion and its hard not to think you and your comrades aren't a factor somehow. Lahire stands and offers you a hand up. He gives you a lopsided grin. "Good to know the apology won't be a waste of time." Krishga It's hard to tell if the drones really understand you. The technology behind them is alien and their assembly half lost in a haze of alcohol, so while they are intelligent it seems to be a monofocused sort of intelligence. FLEA's display is showing a simple flicker black question mark. TICK chirps, an insect like stridulation, and rolls three sixty degrees. They remain hovering next to the Minimus. It seems they're staying with the suit. Jaroth Your companions agree though the idea of meditating leaves Sorvis-Kazbiel with a sour look on his face. He's never liked having visions or interpreting them. As you finish breakfast and prepare to assist Krishga they pull you aside briefly. "Kalkydra wants some fresh air, gonna take her topside. We'll catch you at the meeting"
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Feb 7, 2024 04:30
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