Inside 73: Holiday Rush

[Rebonack]

[Arkham Street - Red Hook Pier]

The rocket goes sailing off into the sky, given how high it was aimed, arcing off into the far distance and crashing into the wooded hills of Black Goat Park beyond the inhabited portion of Arkham Street. No doubt this will not be a problem in any way shape or form and won't have any negative effects in the future.

As for the putti?

Unlike the swordsman it has no ability to predict when it is being shot at and was busy looking down to reload its launch to allow it to fire again. Which, of course, means it doesn't notice the fireball streaking toward it.

It is a thankful thing that the putti don't appear to be supernaturally resilient. Perhaps comparable to a well warded or armored professional solider. Able to take some solid hits, surely, but a direct impact from a fireball isn't the sort of thing they're especially likely to survive.

At about this point the swordsman's apparent partner reaches the top of the tower, pauses for a moment, and then makes a wide tossing motion with several of its weird too-many jointed baby arms.

Nothing is actually thrown. Instead, a series of tiny square platforms flash into existence one after another, each about one quarter meter square and a scant centimeter thick. And there are MANY of them. Enough to fill the volume of a two meter cube, as it happens. Each is roughly two meters apart and reaches all the way from the top of their tower to the highest tower currently built.

"Come on we've got to hurry there's no cover!" the putti says before nimbly hopping from one platform to the next with a deftness that is downright shocking considering that the creature looks like an ambulatory end-table.

True to the creature's word, projectiles will soon be zipping through the air around them along with several putti yelling that whatever artifice the teammate just made is cheating.

"They aren't laws if you can break 'em, scrubs! Only suggestions!" the helpful (and apparently somewhat mouthy) putti yells back.

It's at about this point that the tower nearest to the Black Goat Park is splashed with an absolutely prodigious volume of wine which, for some inexplicable reason, causes it to revert back to stone and dirt. This, in turn, causes gravity to suddenly notice all this stuff cheekily floating in mid and and immediately demands that it begin accelerating toward the ground. The rocks, which are now a bit drunk it should be noted, follow this decree after a few seconds of awkward swaying and begin to plummet, taking all the putti that were on the tower with it.

Huh.

That's weird.

Wonder what that's about?

Ascent Status: 137Meters /500

[Arkham Street - Black Goat Woods]

The wildfae are throwing a party.

And by wildfae we're talking about wilderness sprites, mostly.

Satyrs and fauns. Dryads and naiads and oreads. And at least two different pixie swarms. The pixies in question are presently engaged in a vitally important argument over whether sake is really wine or beer and will enlist anyone unfortunate enough to try talking to them into the argument. There are a few non-sprites here as well. A pooka or two. A pair of baobhan sith trying to entice a few satyrs to dance with them, which the normally amorous fae are refusing in an uncharacteristic flash of wisdom. And one kumiho sitting atop a boulder etched with glyphs that glow a soft mossy green, her nine tails waving with the beat of the drums.

The music thrums, the fire crackles, hooves pound the earth, and freshly stomped out wine flows freely.

A festive mood permeates the grove, but if one felt inclined to ask about the occasion the details would be fuzzy at best. What's this celebration about? Pie day, maybe? The faeries really aren't clear but who cares.

When a iron and nickle projectile lands at the edge of the grave and explodes, mulching a shy dryad in the process, the mood sours a bit.

This is obviously the work of devils and several of the inebriated satyrs (along with one really hammered faun) decide that they had better go teach those terrible imps a lesson! Grabbing a few casks of wine the not particularly well thought out raid departs the party to go cause some ruckus. After that brief interruption, however, things are quickly back in full swing!


[Mysterious Crimson DracoProtector Obsidian]

The Beautiful and Terrible Obsidian?

Is...

Is that her full name? There's no way she's expecting her to call her that whole thing every time, right?

"...I'm Catherine. O-or if you want to use my cool Magical Girl Name, that's okay too! That's Nekohammer," she says, doing her best to put on an air of bravery to make it less obvious how much Obsidian is creeping her out.

Catherine is starting to suspect that maybe Obsidian isn't a Magical Girl. Or maybe a different sort of Magical Girl. Inside is a big place, right? She's heard of other types of Magical Girls based on planets or zodiac signs or things like that. Maybe Obsidian is one of those?

"A-any way, yeah let's go. Just keep in mind the Labyrinth is really weird."

Obsidian steps into the Labyrinth with Catherine close behind.

It's really weird.

Soot stretches as far as the eye can see,
like a black tapestry of grimy ash.

Silver threads traverse the gloom,
spun strands glitter in the starless sky.

Pictures frames jut from the ground,
wooden monoliths bearing smudged out faces.

To step here uninvited is to call down doom,
destruction awaits for those that trespass.

Countless legs carry countless servants,
the familiars come crawling.

There is only avarice and hatred here,
wickedness decrees only jealousy.

There can be only one object of love,
only one can be cherished.

All others must be cut down,
the servants will force all others into the ash.