Flight From Ironheart IC

[OverWilliam]

~Tare

At Ulrich's somewhat-- ok, completely unexpected suggestion of a mercy killing, Tare reacted (somewhat sluggishly) with a startled blend of disbelief and confusion... though the nature of the confusion was more between whether or not it really was a good idea rather than anything else. Sleep deprivation works wonders horrors on the ethical gag reflex.

Melcara's urgent interjection snapped Tare to his senses, though, and he spent the rest of the short conversation between those around him half-zoned out, half trying to force his brain to come up with something. It was slow going, and losing steam fast. The crucial detail of Melcara picking up on a whispered suggestion that should have been well beyond a human's ability to detect was lost on him, but he was truly grateful for the angel's timely reorientation of his beleaguered senses. When the offer of sleep arose, Tare nodded. "I think... that's the best idea we're going to be able to come up with for now." He agreed. As they filed out of the room, Tare caught Ulrich behind the others for a short private word. "Melcara's right, Ulrich. I'm not going to give up on her. I can't really explain why, but I can't just write the two of them off as 'somebody else's problem...' Or give up on her life. I can't." He took a breath. "I know you said that magic can't cure it, but... could we make her as comfortable as possible? Please. I'll make all of this up to you somehow, I promise."

When the three of them appropriated their temporary sleeping quarters, Tare wanted to just fall down... but he did his part to get things sleepable before finally relenting to gravity's omnipresent pull. When Melcara stirred and then stationed herself by the door, Tare could feel several years worth of stress lifting from his shoulders. "...Thank you, Melcara." He said sincerely. "...It's... strange. New for me. I've known you for... a day? Almost 24 hours? I have never, in my entire life, known anyone who trusted me so much-- or... really, at all-- in so short a time." ...Or anyone who he had trusted so much either, went the unspoken corollary, which, while on a certain level was frightening, on a much deeper one was just as reassuring as having an unresting Guardian Angel to keep him safe during the night. "...I would like very much to learn more of your story, whatever parts you are comfortable with me knowing, when there is more time. ...I know this must hurt a little bit, but... whatever reason caused you to leave the afterlife... the Heavens were darkened when you took your Light with you. And my life is brighter with you in it." In the half-moments following that statement Tare realized how incredibly cheesy that had to sound, and though it was rather dark in the storage room for anyone to see it, he turned a little red having said it. A few quiet seconds passed before he cleared his throat, a little awkwardly, and tried not to sound nervous when he finished, "Good night... and to you too, Jim."

Finally, Tare settled down to sleep. His eyes were so heavy, even closed, that they hurt just a little bit, and for a little while all he did was yawn silently. Finally, finally, a true chance to rest, the first time since the Hag's cabin, and under much more pleasant circumstances (and surely more restful than literally passing out). Tare felt his mind beginning to sort through the events of the day in order to try and make some sane sense out of them... and realizing in several cases that doing so was impossible, but making a relatively organized jumble of the rest of it. One thing that Ulrich had said suddenly occurred to him, though, that he hadn't really thought about until then. "I'll talk to some of my contacts around town, see if they have any jobs being planned..." And again, Melcara's connected thought, "Well then, don’t you have any other people you know who do have the money? Maybe this Thieves Guild you were associated with? Don’t they help their members?" A lump formed in Tare's stomach as he thought about what this might mean. Why, oh why, can't I just rest in peace now that I have the chance to do so without dying first??

But it was not meant to be. The dots were connecting in his head, and he didn't like the picture that they were forming. Brock. Memories came trickling back, then rushing, then flooding. Memories that seemed a lifetime away, and yet, now that he was back in the Capitol, far too close for comfort.

But there was another memory, a memory of a smile, and of a laugh, and a pain of heartache stabbed through his chest at the thought of her name. Karami. What had happened to her in the months and almost year of his absence? Had Brock finally made his move now that Tare was no longer around to stop him? Or did he at least have the decency to wait until she was of age? Truly, there was no honor among thieves, but Brock had always been somewhat traditional, at least, so there was hope. Still... that wouldn't be much longer. The thought occurred to Tare that while he'd been away... Karami would have become a young woman by now. A far cry from the little girl who'd first broken his heart as she sat in chains to be sold off like so much meat after... what had happened. A new wave of guilt surged into Tare's emotionally raw mind and heart, an emotion he'd not struggled with for so long... but one that tangibly reminded Tare of his humanity. ...What should I do now? Should I go see her? ...Or would she be better off not knowing I was back until everything that I still have to do has been taken care of? It was a question with no right answer, and Tare brooded over it for several long minutes. Finally, though, he concluded that there could be no answering that question tonight. So much had changed, and so much had stayed the same, but until Tare had time to find out which was which he wouldn't be able to say much of anything for sure. Right now... the best he could do for Ayame', and Teareal, the best he could do for Melcara, the best he could do for himself and... for Karami... was to sleep.

As he drifted off at long last, the vivid memories of his little Karami smiling up at him with those eyelashes... not even the tingling sensation of almost-pain in his chest could keep him from getting to sleep. And a deep, unfathomably deep sleep it was...

[Lonna]

Pyrene of the Many Lives, Take 2

Pyria stared at the angel's longsword. The deadly blade seemed to grow, filling all her vision, then... changed. It shortened, aged, and abruptly retreated.

It was her husband's sword, a token of his days as a soldier. It was also the only thing Marie could see over her own heaving belly.

"One more time, now push!" urged the midwife in her ear. Without conscious thought, Marie's body obeyed, and she shrieked as she convulsed, feeling as if hot knives were forcing their way out of her womb.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped, the terrible pressure gone, her muscles limp with relief at having finally expelled their nine month burden. Marie panted, straining to hear the cries she knew were coming, as her child took it's first startled breath in the cold world.

Silence.

"My baby. Where is my baby?" she asked weakly. No one answered, but the midwife's apprentice looked at her with a sad kindness. Then Marie saw the bundle in the midwife's hands, the tiny face covered with a white cloth. Wailing, she barely noticed when her husband burst into the room, her eyes fixed on her stillborn child.

"Nooooo!" Dahlia sprinted to cut down a wounded demon aiming a javelin at her commander's back. Seeing that the room was finally clear (for the moment), Dahlia spit to clear her mouth of blood and grit, then blew the call to regroup. Glancing around, she could see some of the paladins under her command, but they were pitifully few in number. She prayed that the rest were simply separated, not dead. None of them deserved to be trapped in Hell for eternity, but that was the risk they all, herself included, had taken by joining the Church's Holy Crusade against Azguloth.

"Mammon's lackeys are more tenatious than most we've fought so far," she commented as she joined her superior in checking the next door for traps or alarms. "Don't you agree Sir Windrivver?"

The famed warrior merely nodded, conserving his energy. After fighting their way through the demon lord's fortress for gods only knew how many hours, Dahlia could understand why. But with each room they captured, they came a little closer to their goal, and made the mortal realm a little safer for humanity. And after each battle, Dahlia breathed a little sigh of relief that Ander - no, that Sir Windrivver - was still standing.

At last they were ready to move on, and Dahlia was jolted from her thoughts as she hurried to take her place in the formation. Bursting through the doorway, the paladins were greeted by the sight of a small army ready and waiting for them in a large inner courtyard. At the head of the army was the demon lord Mammon. Without hesitation, Sir Windrivver engaged the balrof, ignoring the lesser demons that swarmed behind him.

"Protect Sir Windrivver!" roared Dahlia, charging forward with the rest of the company. She and Sir Windrivver's other lieutenants had long ago agreed that the best thing they could do when Mammon was finally cornered would be to focus on the small fry and let their commander deal with the demon lord, interfering only if necessary, so that is exactly what she would do now.

Time blurred. Dahlia found herself without an opponent and looked around. A few pockets of filth still remained, but the surviving paladins would be more than sufficient to mop up the demonic scum. Sir Windrivver was still locked in combat with Mammon, both of them showing signs of weariness, but ignoring their subordinates' battle around them.

Suddenly, she saw an opening. Not stopping to think, Dahlia charged in, forgetting her agreement, putting all her power into a single swing as she hacked at Mammon's leg where the Achilles tendon would be in a human. With a roar that was more anger than pain, Mammon snatched her up in a crushing one-handed grip, knocking the sword from her hands, and glanced at her.

Die, insect, he snorted. Then Dahlia was flying through the air, the wall approaching far to fast, helpless to stop herself -

She was lying on the floor, her torso a mass of pain, and Ander - Sir Windrivver, that is - was kneeling next to her, gently calling her name. Dahlia opened her eyes and met his serious gaze.

"The, the bal- Dahlia started coughing, a deep rattling hack that expelled liquid onto the ground next to her head. A coppery tang in her mouth told her it was her own blood. "Mammon?" she finally gasped.

"Defeated," Sir Windrivver assured her. Anything else he may have said was lost as she coughed violently, spitting out more blood. Her ribs seemed to be broken in at least six places, and her the pain in her abdomen indicated that Mammon had probably bruised if not outright crushed several organs. She knew that without swift treatment, these wounds would probably kill her. She also knew, better than anyone save perhaps Sir Windrivver himself, that there was no way to properly tend to the injured down here.

"Sir - Ander," she gasped when she could breath again, "please, take me outside. I don't want to-" she broke off, fighting tears, but her commander understood.

"Of course." As gently as possible, he pulled Dahlia to her feet, slinging one arm over his neck for support as he carefully guided her out of the fortress. They walked in silence for a while, Dahlia trying to focus on breathing steadily, keeping her feet moving, Sir Windrivver lost in his own thoughts. Dahlia's strength was fading fast, however, and soon she was stumbling so much that Ander simply picked her up, one arm under her knees the other under her shoulders. Too weak and exhausted to protest as she knew she ought, Dahlia simply let herself enjoy being close to the man she had grown to respect and even love.

"Thank you," she said to his chest. A feeling of lethargy was overtaking her, and she knew death was approaching. Even her frequent, bloody coughs seemed less important.

"I'm sorry I won't be able to see the end of the war with you," she said breathily as her lungs started to fill with blood despite her body's best efforts to expell it.

"I always - " Dahlia coughed again, trying not to spit blood on Ander's uniform. "I cared for you, more than I should have. But I didn't come for love, even if you were free to give it. I wanted to win this war, to make the world safe for humanity. I won't be able to do that now, so you - " her words cut off in another violent fit of hacking. They weren't far from the portal home now - just two hills would see her safely in the mortal plane, where her soul would be free to return home to her beloved goddess.

"Ander, Sir Windrivver. Win this war. If you lead them, our people can take the ninth level. You can destroy the demons once and for all! You must!" Another coughing fit took most of Dahlia's remaining strength, and she knew she wouldn't make it to the portal. "It has been... an honor... to serve with you. If I... break... before you find me... don't think ill of me?"

Dahlia closed her eyes and prepared herself for the torment to come.

[Dorizzit]

Korram Alstan

Korram answers Katrina distractedly, not even looking at her as he tries to figure out some way to escape.

"Two and a sister. All dead. I'm pretty sure you don't have to worry about that."

Korram looks on with interest as Pyrene heals the griffon using the flames, then snorts angrily as Wulfric denies his interest in helping Korram or Katrina. His respect grows for Pyrene as she refuses to leave and save herself. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head as Wulfric knocks Pyrene out, but doesn't interfere. He ignores the subsequent exchange between Katrina and Wulfric. But when the communication crystal chimes in again, he smiles. Ignoring the baron, he looks over to Katrina and Wulfric.

"Wulfric, wait! I just got a message and I think I have a way to get everyone out. Follow me!"

He follows his wife's instructions, hopefully with Katrina and Wulfric in tow.

[Iethloc]

Sohssal

Sohssal laughed heartily at Roger's prank. Yes, priceless. But it looks like there's no time for pranks anymore. Judging from what I can sense, a bunch of magical entities - elementals, most likely - are summoning or creating more of their kind downstairs. We must go smash them immediately," he explained. He didn't have a whole lot of magical energy left, but if there was a huge source of it down there he could probably draw from it and proceed to annihilate whoever is using it.

Sohssal promptly started walking (or hovering, rather) towards the source of the disruption. Any hostile elementals or demons that try to get in his way would simply get blasted by a beam of force and have their magic reserves drained upon death. His ethereal hands already glowed a wispy blue in preparation.

[The_Snark]

Mar

The room was as bad as any she'd ever seen at Ironheart. The sounds from the back room made her shiver, and when the butcher—Mr. Burton—came out he was covered in blood. Mar watched him without moving, an old instinct—people didn't notice you as much if you held still.

Curiously, though, she was less afraid the longer she stood there. It wasn't that the butcher didn't notice her; he did. He just didn't look like he was going to do anything to her because of it. She could just stand there: he wouldn't mind, Caroline would do all the talking, and nothing bad would happen.

When they left, she was relieved... but she didn't think she would be very afraid if she had to go back.

The rest of the chores passed in much the same way. None of the others frightened her as much, of course, but they still made her nervous; she didn't know what any of them would do, or what to say. But Caroline did, and as Mar watched, she began to realize that none of these people wanted to hurt her. She would have thought that this was because they just didn't care about her—mostly they talked to Caroline, and didn't pay much attention to her—but they were nice when they did talk to her, even if that wasn't very much.

Mar did not know what to make of that. It reminded her of Joseph, a little. He was the first person she could remember who'd been nice for no real reason.

And then, on the way back—almost safe!—the boys came.

Mar leaned back from the tallest one instinctively; flinching was one habit of hers that Daddy had never managed to break. It was for the best here, anyway, because with the tallest boy so close she could barely see the rest of them. And she didn't want them to be out of sight, didn't want any of them behind her. There was something about them that made them scary.

Something missing, that ought to have been in their eyes and yet wasn't.

Mar held very still. But then it occurred to her then that this had never stopped Daddy or anybody else from doing anything to her before. The boys would just do whatever they wanted if she did that. Running worked. They couldn't do anything to her if they ran. She would have, only... Caroline. The little girl was on the ground, sniffling and trying to pick up the packages.

She could run anyway, of course. Leave Caroline like she'd left Julian. If Julian could get away from Daddy, Caroline could probably get away from these boys. Mar wanted to help, but she didn't know how. Running was all she knew; that was what she'd have to do.

She didn't run. Instead she took a step back, which put her in the puddle, and bent to pick up one of the packages. "Caroline," she said, voice quavering, "we have to go."

[Inspectre]

Dawn’s Hope - Monastery

Baerdog7

(I think we’ve already gone through this whole dance long enough. So, I’m fast forwarding things a bit! )

Karth’s wyvern had flown off injured, but eventually returned to the great consternation of the guard. The creature had landed near the body of Karth, apparently guarded the charred remains, either unable or unwilling to understand that its master had passed. It delivers a stern warning hiss as you approach, but otherwise stands its ground. (If you want to try and tame the beast as an “upgrade” to Sharpbeak, you may.)

Drakeson seems oddly . . . relieved as your news. He nods earnestly at your words, and it seems likely your concerns of continued hostility were unneeded.

“I will tell them, certainly! Good bye, Sir Ander!”

At your suggestion of selecting a new Grandmaster, the abbot frowns.

“We would have chosen a grandmaster long ago if there were any suitable candidates. Those few veterans who survived the fiasco either wouldn’t make capable leaders or have already refused the position. The others are all too green, none of them really tested in battle. Perhaps . . . . hmmm. Perhaps we should nominate you as our Grandmaster, Ander? It would add a measure of respectability to your claims before the other Orders. And you’re already going forth to represent us anyway.”

The abbot takes a pain-filled breath, and then continues.

“Speaking of which, Belroar is the only one who has openly admitted support for you, once I mentioned your name. That puts Miriam’s Shields on our side. Winril has also cautiously made advances - it seems likely the Guardians of the Eternal Mystery will join us once they’ve had a look at those angelic . . . freaks. The Wings of Righteousness and Knights of the Silver Spur are both on the fence as far as I can tell. The Paladins Errant and The Keepers of the Faith are both still strongly in support of the Council. I suspect Norven is simply wishing to avoid a civil war while there are still far more dangerous threats out there, but as you overheard, Oldak is still bullheadedly clinging to his faith that the Council is always right.”

Nodding, towards the eastern horizon, the abbot concludes.

“The place of the summit has already been decided – the neutral ground of Heaven’s Horizon. Everyone will be bringing a small entourage with them, but largely only the grandmasters of each order will be in attendance. Do your best to convince them, Ander – I’m not sure how many of the Grandmasters will be willing to support us if it means civil war. Certainly, if you would prefer to travel there quickly, you can use your griffon – we might be able to pull what few we have for your escorts.”

(Let’s just assume you collect David, your mount (Sharpbeak or wyvern), and set out at first light tomorrow. Nothing particularly happens on your way to the summit. )

You arrive at the town of Heaven’s Horizon several days later. The sleepy town had been the site of several historical summits previously, and so other than its vigilant meeting halls, the town had little else going for it. Landing on the outskirts of the city, you and your entourage (such as it was), were met by several people wearing the tabards of the Church.

“Greetings. I assume you are here for the recently called summit?” The blond-haired woman in the lead asks pleasantly.

Archpaladin Zousha

(I think we’ve already gone through this whole dance long enough. So, I’m fast forwarding things a bit! )

Properly equipped, you set out for the Blessed City the next morning. You still really had no idea how you were going to complete your assigned task. You were no spy, and the idea of lying and deceiving your way into the good graces of the clearly fallen Council made you ill. But, perhaps, just staying in the city and keeping an eye on troop movements would be enough. Given how keen on deception the Council seemed to be, any piece of information you would be able to uncover might be important.

Several days of travel later, you are a little over halfway to the Blessed City when the sound of intense fighting reaches your ears. Rounding a bend in the road, you find yourself entering a clearing in the forest you had entered several miles back. The clearing looked to have been the sight of a major battle, and the fighting was still ongoing apparently.

For the moment, however, there seemed to be a brief lull, allowing you a moment to examine both sides. The fight certainly seemed to be an unfair one, a lone battered woman standing against three other women and perhaps a dozen men. None of them were armed, although the men nervously carried a variety of restraints in their hands. The fact that the clearing was littered with the bodies of another two dozen men suggested a reason for that hesitation.

One of the three women, a slender girl with waist-length blond hair, steps forward to address the lone woman.

“Sister, give it up. You are returning with us to the Monastery, even if we have to drag you there in disgrace.”

The lone woman wipes at her face with the back of her hand and laughs.

“So the High Abbot wants a new Mistress of the Earth, does he? I’d rather be dead.”

Another of the three women, this one with wild red hair, grimaces as she waves the men forward.

“You don’t get to make that choice!”

Twirling a lasso over his head, one of the men advances, throwing the loop down around the woman’s arms. In a blur of motion, she reaches up and grabs the length of rope connecting her to the man, and pulls. Shockingly, the man is not just knocked off his feet, but goes sailing towards the woman. She catches him and snaps his neck, tossing the body aside with a disdainful snort.

With a sound of rushing wind, the blond-haired woman dashes forward, literally moving in a blur as she snatches up the abandoned end of the rope. She circles the lasso’d woman too fast to follow, wrapping the remaining length of rope around her and firmly trapping her arms down at her sides. Finally coming to a stop, she braces her feet against the earth and pulls the rope taut.

Meanwhile, the third woman who had been hanging back, a raven-haired girl with aqua blue eyes, conjured an orb of ice in her hands. Hurling it at the lone woman, she makes an arcane gesture as the orb nears the woman’s face. In response, the orb explodes, blinding her as a sheet of ice settles over her face.

Taking the efforts of her sisters as a sigh, the flame-maned woman rushes forward, trails of fire flowing after her fists. Just as she reaches her helpless opponent and pulls back a fist, the lone woman blindly kicks out with a leg, driving the wind out of her assailant’s lungs and sending her flying backwards into a tree.

Twisting and pulling with her whole body, the lone woman likewise manages to send the blond woman stumbling forward despite her best efforts to the contrary. As the lone woman lashes out with her foot again, however, the blond woman nimbly dances to the side, letting go of the rope to better defend herself against the flurry of kicks that follows. Finally, a solid hit sends her stumbling away as well, giving the lone woman a moment to start untangling herself from the rope and wipe at her face.

As her vision clears, the woman spots you, and a slight smile curls her lips.

“Hey, holy man!” She calls out loudly, before pointing at the assembled group of men and women, and had also turned to look at you.

“These guys want to drag me back to their monastery for a “therapeutic” session of rape. What do you think about that!?”

“This woman is a fugitive from justice!” The blond haired woman counters. “We are simply removing a murderer and rabid animal from the wild!”

Stonefall

The Surrounding Forest

The_Snark

The lead boy sneers as you instinctively lean back away from him. You had seen that same look from others back home as well – disgust, mingled with a growing hunger at the display of fear and perceived weakness. At a gesture from the boy, his lackeys spread out, beginning to circle you. Things were not looking good.

“Where are you going? We were just starting to have fun.” The boy says, crossing his arms with a confident smirk. The only good news at this point was it seemed that all attention was now focused on you, rather than Caroline. This gave her a chance to tearfully pick up the scattered and water soaked packages without further harassment.

Suddenly, the leader steps aggressively forward, snagging your cloak by the front clasp. Again he presses his face close to yours, breathing in your face. And, with him holding onto your cloak, it was a bit harder to lean back this time.

“Pretty girl like you, I betcha got something good hidden under this cloak. Dirty girls oughta be honest about who they are, instead of trying to hide it all the time. Why don’t we take a look, hmm?”

Just then, you hear one of the lackeys give a concerned call, and the leader boy immediately releases you and steps back. A moment later, a uniformed man steps out into the main street. And, seeing your cluster, immediately moves towards you all with purpose.

“Firkas. You are harassing these people?” The man asks quietly after coming to a stop a few feet away. Several of the younger members of the gang almost look ashamed under the guard’s steely gaze, although the leader holds his ground, starring right back.

“Why no, Constable Eastham. We were just showing the new girl here around – places to see . . . people to avoid.” Firkas looks pointedly down at Caroline as he says this. The young girl was still sniffling quietly, having gathered up the remaining packages by now. She presses close up against your legs for protection while the Constable places his hands on his hips.

“Were you now . . . hmph. I think I can see to the rest of the . . . tour, Firkas. Why don’t you take your friends and go skulk off somewhere else. The main street isn’t the place for . . . hmph, “children” to be loitering about.”

“Not the place for dirty girls, either.” One of the younger boys mutters darkly, only to quickly fall silent as the Constable’s gaze shifts over to him.

“Run along now, and try not to get into any more trouble today.” The constable growls, and the group of bullies slowly reassembles and backs away from you and Caroline. Finally, they leave, and you and Caroline are alone with him.

For a moment, as in the Butcher shop, you expected this uniformed man to turn nasty. After all, all the other uniformed guards back home did the same. Warning off prisoners from you one moment, and then delighting in your own torment the next. But instead, the man simply sighs and watches the bullies depart.

“I think the two of you should get back home now. And young Miss . . . I don’t believe I’ve seen you around here before, but a word of friendly advice – watch yourself. Firkas seems to have taken a liking to you.”

And with that, the Constable turns and leaves you both in the street.

“C-come on. We . . . have . . . to g-get h-home. Before they c-come back.” Caroline sniffs, leading you back home. When you got back, Jacob’s reaction was understandable. He immediately went to his daughter, taking the soaked packages and setting them aside so he could kneel down and examine his daughter.

“Caroline! You’re filthy and soaked! What happened?”

At the same time, he glances up at you – more out of confusion and a desperate need to understand exactly what happened more than blame. And yet, you felt a stab of guilt anyway. You had been made responsible for Caronline’s wellbeing, and you had left Jacob down.

The Island of Dr(?) Sohssal

Iethloc

Reaching the source of the elemental disturbance was not a particularly quick journey, the disturbance being located essentially near the very bottom of your caverns. For you, neither was it a particularly harrowing one – oh, various elementals and demons flung themselves at you along the way to be sure. But none of them were particularly dangerous strains. You blew them apart, and then absorbed what remained fairly easily.

Or Shanks shot them in the head with his crossbow – the man was a surprisingly good shot, nor did he seem shy to use his weapon of choice as a makeshift club when an enemy got in close. The victim of the following beat down often regretted that course of action, in the seconds preceding the end of their existence and summary absorption into your slowly recharging magical reserves.

Roger was his usual useless self, mostly hanging back and watching. He did manage to peg a fleeing devil in the back with a vial of holy water, so at least he managed that. Omega, surprisingly, didn’t even manage that much. She seemed to be conserving her strength, and although she didn’t seem to be leaking blood, she definitely appeared ill, if you remembered human facial expressions correctly. A concern for another time, to be sure, as you closed in on the bottom of your own lair.

What awaited you was both surprising and angering. It seemed that the water elementals you had collected had congregated down here, and somehow managed to breach the walls all the way out to the sea. As such, this level of your residence, along with your private lab just below it, were completely submerged in sea water. Unfortunately, this meant that you would either have to go onward alone, or expend most of what you had already managed to collect in energy allowing everyone else to breathe water.

You were close to the source of the magical disturbance, at least – you could sense it now, on the flooded level below. It was strong . . . very strong, and not surprisingly radiating elemental energy, although the source was not an elemental itself. Rather, it felt more like a . . . void, a hole in reality leading outwards.

A Nexus? Could it be!? You had attempted to create one yourself, in order to make it easier to drag elementals through the veil between your worlds, but had failed. Somehow, the water elementals had succeeded, and were wasting little time in trying to expand. It was therefore fortunate that you returned when you did – another couple months and they might have even managed to drag the entire island down beneath the sea. *That* would have been extremely annoying.

The Gastly Truth

Pwenet

“You came by the Medical Bay and told everyone that Mother wanted to see me. Why . . . what’s wrong?” Sara asks, looking up at you with concern.

Meanwhile, your queries to Fury are met with something unexpected – a complete lack of reply. Instead, all you get is a “404 Error”, whatever that means. Apparently, for the moment Fury was shut down, leaving communications in a complete mess. Still, by accessing individual communication channels, which you were still able to do manually, you note that the Ghastly Truth seems to be on high alert.

Apparently, several intruders had sneaked aboard, and were attempting a rescue mission of Katrina and some other woman named Pyrene. They had all been trapped in one of the forward cargo bays, and every available man and GHAST was being diverted to that location to solve the issue.

Slowly, a treasonous thought enters your mind. It was not forbidden under your current orders to leave the Ghastly Truth. There would surely be no place to hide Sara on-board the airship, none that would keep her safe for every long. Particularly once Fury was back, which made this a doubly unique opportunity.

Most of the Baron’s forces were focused on dealing with the intruders, leaving other access points to the ship undermanned. And with Fury down, communication was difficult and it was unlikely the Baron would be able to learn of your betrayal until it was too late to order you to stop. Right now, you could slip out one of the back hatches with Sara, and disappear!

The idea was not without its risks, however. There would still be guards present, not enough to be any trouble for you, but enough that there would be fighting, and with it the possibility that Sara could be injured by a stray blow. Furthermore, you would have to carry her outside, taking the grave risk that you dropped her if you had to take evasive action to escape the GHASTs patrolling outside.

Although . . . yes. There was a small emergency supply room a short distance from your current location. Inside would be at least one EEP, which Sara could don and use to maneuver herself in the air. Of course, that still didn’t mean she was safe, as flying by herself would make her another target for the GHASTs to shoot at. An unprotected, vulnerable target.

You doubted any of the GHASTs would deliberately harm her, as there were restrictions against harming any of the Baron’s family. But what if they didn’t recognize her until her body was already crisped by a wing beam beyond all recognition?

Dorizzit

At your announcement, both Katrina and Wulfric looks at you with interest. After thinking a moment, Wulfric dismounts Xera, picking up Pyrene and slinging her over his shoulder.

“I got an idea. Might buy us a few more minutes while they try to figure out where we really are.” Wulfric says, walking over to the controls for the bay doors and commanding them to open. As the door slides open and the rushing sound of air fills the room, Wulfric returns to Xera.

With a firm slap on the rear, Wulfric sends his griffon mount leaping out into the open air. The mount quickly dives, angrily screeching an announcement of its freedom. A moment later, several beams of light lash out at it, only just nearly missing as the griffon instinctually banks.

“Without us on her, she’s at least got a fighting chance!” Wulfric shouts out over the wind filling the cargo bay.

Fortunately, the sound of the wind also drown out the Baron’s obnoxious countdown. However, it also blocked out the already stealthy approach of a black clad figure that appeared – well, from somewhere. You really had no idea how he got in, but suddenly he was there in front of you, a glistening pair of knives in hand.

You just narrowly dodge his first lunge, sending him staggering by swiping a crate off of a nearby rack into him. Doubtless reinforcements would be coming, and the man was currently between you and the door leading to the rest of your escape plan.

Suddenly, Katrina shifted around you, holding her appropriated dirk loosely in front of her.

“I got him! Go!” She calls to you, sliding forward and forcing the cloaked man to respond by shifting back.

“A fellow knife fighter, huh? Let’s see how you really handle a blade!” She shouts, lunging forward and prompting a rapid exchange of feints and thrusts. As the two of them dance around the tight quarters of the cargo bay, you hurry up to the door and open it. Wulfric quickly joins you, leaving the two of you to watch as Katrina forces the man back towards the still-open cargo bay door. With a final kick to the chest, she sends him tumbling back over the edge. Twisting in the air like a cat, the man manages to catch the edge of the opening, dropping both of his daggers in the process.

“See ya!” Katrina calls as she turns and runs towards you, just as the main door to the cargo bay opens and heavily armed guards spill into the room. Several crossbow bolts ping off the metal bulkheads around you as the three of you, plus the comatose Pyrene, flee deeper into the bowels of the ship.

Fortunately, you encounter no further guards on the way to the supply room. Ducking inside the room, you find row upon row of supplies. Of particularly interest, however, are the strange metal backpacks hanging from several of the racks – presumably the so-called Emergency Evacuation Packs.

Attached to each pack is a sheaf of notes – evidently step-by-step instructions for properly wearing the EEP. Associated with most lines of instructions are simple stick-figure drawings to help explain. The ones showing the consequences of improperly following the directions would be particularly humorous if they weren’t so graphic – flaming stick figures plummeting to their death after their EEP explodes, and such. One thing that also becomes quickly clear upon reading the instructions, however – correctly piloting one requires both hands.

“Something tells me this isn’t going to be a pleasant experience.” Wulfric grouses, shrugging into an EEP of his own after he uses a length of rope to tie Pyrene to him.

“Just shut and read – you can read can’t you?” Katrina responds, turning her packet of instructions this way and that as she attempts to follow them step-by-step.

“It’s going to be a *short* experience if you screw up putting this thing on. Geez – how many pages are to this thing!!?”

Lonna

The fiery surroundings and noble face hanging above you fade, morphing into a different kind of Hell.

“I’m sorry, Ariadne.” The stone-face priest replies, shaking his head. “But I cannot cure you of this ailment. You have only a few more months to live, unless the Valkyrie wills it differently. Pray for Her Mercy, child, and perhaps She will listen.”

And with that, the priest leaves you alone with the crushing news. No words of comfort, no sympathy, nothing. Just the news that you’d be dead soon, and if you kept coming to his boring sermons you *might* be spared, unlikely though it may be.

You went to the tavern immediately, deciding the only proper course of action right now was to drown your sorrows. To your surprise, the barkeep informed you that your drinks were being paid for. A cloaked man limped over to your table a few moments later.

Swaddled heavily in cloth, none of the figure’s skin could be seen, but there was something . . . off, about him.

“I heard about your misssfortune.” The figured rasps. “I alsssso heard the priessst wasss of no help. Poor girl, condemned to die before sssshe hasss even sssseen her twentieth sssummer. What if I told you it doesssn’t have to end like thissss? I can help.”

The figure leans forward, and you catch just a glimpse of yellow eyes peering out at you hungrily.

“There isss a cossst, of courssse. But it’sss a trivial thing – you won’t even have to pay up front.”

The man raises one bandaged hand, signaling the barkeep to nervously bring another round of drinks over.

“Would you like to hear more, missss?”

The Perist Residence

Kasanip Theater!

The burning sensation in the eye didn't help Isera concentrate on Thesera's words, though to her pleasant surprise, Carlain picked up only a little shakily on the 'cover' they had started to play.
In fact, Isera would have been amused and pretty proud of the boy, but her discomfort and the confirmation of the devil threat left her still more than a bit uncomfortable.

She looked around, attempting to pass as slightly afraid, and hopefully show Carlain what that feeling was supposed to look like. Though, in this line of work it was likely he'd learn the meaning of 'fear' soon enough. Still, Isera watched as Carlain moved to help dump the body. No, he wasn't a bad kid at all. And he even managed to get some more useful information at the same time.

Isera rubbed her itching eye again as Theresa started off to continue her work. Catching Carlain's eye, Isera nodded and followed him towards the building. She couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling- was it just the overwhelming aura's pressure and pain? Was it just unsettled nerves from the ruined city? No...She could rule that one out. Was it paranoia, or a danger sense? She wasn't sure.

But Isera hadn't survived this long without knowing when to trust her gut. And even if her feelings were uncomfortable with this new development, they had little other choice. Though Isera didn't think her phantasmal descrying eye would be that helpful here, with the residual essence in the air, they did need to examine the bodies. Find some sort of information that could be clues.
"Nice work... Let's go." Isera whispered to Carlain. "But let's be careful. Right now I'm working under a bit of...distraction." She said, rubbing her eye for emphasis, but at the same time giving him a confident smile.
"After you then." She said lightly.
As they entered the remains of the magical shop, Isera looked around with her good, normal eye as best she could.
"Basement. Always the basement." She said, a little louder that they were well away from Theresa, though Isera did through a glance back to make sure the woman hadn't doubled back to follow them. Reassured, they two children would continue the investigation.

**************************

It is clear that this arcane curiosities shop is the center of the disturbance. A stifling weight seems to hang in the air inside the remains of the torched building, and your eye now feels as if some sadistic person is jabbing red hot needles into it.

Fortunately, the way down into the basement is clear, either through Theresa’s efforts or as a result of the demons surging outward from this spot. Claw marks and other, more profane sigils have been carved into what remains of the structure’s walls and floor. The stone steps leading down into the basement are strangely cracked, but otherwise intact as you and Carlain ventured into the very heart of this obscene ritual.

The basement floor is even more damaged than the steps, the stone floor cracked apart and scattered in heaps of shattered rock, allowing the earth beneath to be seen in several places. Indeed, it is in some ways a miracle that the basement is still intact, and not collapsed yet. The fact that it still very well could suggests caution.

Although the damage to the walls and floor of the basement prevent a complete picture from being seen, an incredibly intricate pattern of sigils had been painted on all available surfaces. You assume painted, as there are no indentations on the walls, but instead black scorch marks tracing out what had once been written.

Black-robed bodies litter the floor, arranged in a half-circle before a more ornately dressed body. There did not appear to be signs of any struggle, despite the pool of dried blood covering the entire half of the room where the bodies lie. Unlike most demonic rituals apparently, the human sacrifice in this case was the cultists themselves.

Whoever they had been, they must have undoubtedly been quite devoted to the cause to give their own lives so willingly. It is almost beyond your capacity to understand why, especially considering such devotion was to creatures that undoubtedly even now were laughing as they tore apart the souls of the cultists. Or perhaps not, since Theresa seemed to think that mostly devils were summoned, which were somewhat more reasonable than demons, even if they inevitably betrayed the mortals they tricked.

In any event, the pain in your eye is swelling the longer you remain down here. An involuntary scream almost escapes your lips as the agony crescendos, and then – disappears entirely?

Instead, your descrying eye now shows you a wind-scourged plain, an empty expanse of wasteland. Apparently an inhabited wasteland, for a figure steps into your view a moment later. A devil, its distended jaw full of fangs twisting up into a leering smile as it looks directly at you. Somehow, it sees you as clearly as you were seeing it.

Reaching up a claw, it scratches words into your field of vision. The bloody letters hang there, until the full message is delivered.

“You will die screaming. And no one will hear you.”

Then, your descrying eye suddenly blinks off, essentially rendering you half-blind. The shock of this all was temporarily too much for your body to process, and you numbly feel yourself falling backward. You land heavily, half-in and half-out of one of the pits that had been smashed into the floor, the jarring impact sending a life-affirming pulse of pain out from your back. A moment later, and Carlain appears in your now limited field of vision.

“Isera, what happened!? I was over there looking at those cultists when you just fell over!”

The Capital

Tackyhillbillu

At your baffled question, Martin bows his head in shame.

“I was the captain of your father’s guard. It was my responsibility to protect him, and his family. In this, I failed utterly. That terrible night, I fell in battle, thinking that I would not live to see the consequences of my failure. I was wrong. I awoke in terrible pain, and to the stench of smoke. After ensuring there were no witnesses to his deed, the Baron ordered his men to torch the palace, to ensure there was no evidence.”

After accepting the Baron’s offer, you and your sister had been bound, with sacks tied over your heads, and then carried off. You therefore never knew what had happened afterwards. But, of course, it made sense for the Baron to ensure there would be nothing to connect his involvement to the slaughter.

“Somehow, I managed to drag myself over to a window, and then throw myself out before the fire claimed me. Again, I should not have survived the fall – I broke a leg and several ribs from the impact after all – but it seems the Fates decreed that I should live. A servant away to visit his family returned that night to find the palace in flames. Somehow, he in turn found me.”

Martin raised a hand to gesture at his ruined face.

“Eventually, I recovered from my injuries – those that could be healed. When I was finally healthy enough to walk, I traveled out into a nightmare. The assassination of your father had been declared to be a terrible fire, cause unknown. The only survivor was you – or rather, an imposter.”

Martin shook his head.

“Where your imposter had been found, I do not know – it could even have been some sort of foul magic. But everyone believed – everyone *wanted* to believe – that your imposter was real. I could do nothing, and . . . I was afraid. It would be all too easy for them to do away with me. So I hid, and watched.”

Martin sighs, and nods back at the barrel.

“I didn’t know who was responsible at first, but eventually I heard stories. Rumors. I learned it was the Baron of Gast who was responsible, but that he did it at the request of someone else. Whoever it was holding his leash. Now it seems there’s no one holding him back, and there’s no telling what he will do.”

Martin glances at you, and then hangs his head.

“If I had known you were alive – if I had heard a single rumor – I would have come for you lad. Another failure of mine, I suppose, to allow you to suffer all these years in the Baron’s grip.”

Martin’s lips finally curl up into a slight smile.

“But it seems my aid was not needed. I was overjoyed when I heard a young man who matched your description was serving as a bard in a Slums tavern. I didn’t know how to approach you however. I imagine the Baron never told you who you were, either.”

Martin takes a deep breath, and then presses forward.

“You are Argan Tallon IV, son of King Tallon III. Do you understand, lad? It should be you sitting on the throne now, instead of a dead imposter!”

WhiteKnight777

After a number of days spent traveling across the landscape, you finally see the sprawling mass that is the capital of the kingdom of Narle. Predictably, the city itself was also unimaginatively named Narle, although you knew most humans simply referred to it as “the capital”.

Like most cities after the sun set, the gates were barred against travelers from outside getting in, although with a flying mount that was not a problem. With Mellita’s help, you manage to pick out a discrete landing spot in a back alley on the border of the city slums. The inner gates would still be open, even at night, and so you would be able to pass through to other areas of the city without much trouble.

You dimly remember the inn that you saw Fianna approaching in your scrying attempt. It was an upscale residence located in the upper Merchant district. It seems even emotionless, Fianna still preferred to live in style. Unless, of course, she had already moved on – it had been several days, and she was doubtless aware you would be coming after her.

Still, that was one of the few places you had as a lead for now. Additionally, it would be dawn in a few hours, and yet again you would need to find shelter for Mellita, if not yourself. Yet another damnable flaw of mortality – the need to sleep. Although, at least, you had the arguable pleasure of dreams again now with that need.

(You can go directly to the inn where you saw Fianna with minimal distraction from city guards and the like – unless, of course, you attract attention by riding around on your abomination steed. Alternatively, you can go hunting for another place to stay for the night, or do something else entirely. The night is young – sort of. )

OverWilliam

“Why Tare, I . . . I don’t know what to say. Um . . . what do humans usually say to such unexpected words?” Melcara replied. It could have just been a trick of the dim light, but you could have sworn her own face had just turned several shades redder. Then she sighed, and the moment seemed to be broken.

“My story is a long, tragic one Tare. I will tell you all of it if you wish to hear it, but . . . oh, this is going to sound so selfish – I want you to promise me that after you’ve heard it all, you won’t hate me. You’re right that I trust you – you saved me.”

Melcara’s voice grows quieter, and takes on a curious tone – part revulsion, part shame, and part self-hatred.

“You’re the first person who has expressed concern for me in – well, a very long time. There was Ander as well, but I think he pitied me – just another misled soul for him to correct – and in the end, he shoved a sword through my chest. So that makes you important to me.”

Slowly, Melcara slides down the wall, until she is sitting back against the wall. For a moment, with her arms wrapped around her, she almost looks as she did when you found her.

“I couldn’t lose you too because of who I am. I want to stand on my own, and walk along the path I choose like you asked me to do, but . . . I have always followed someone else’s wishes. (Oh, there’s a piece of irony for you, Mr. Cheerleader. ) I’m not strong enough to stand on my own . . . yet.”

Melcara glances back up at you with a forced smile.

“So, please tell me now if there will come a day when you come to regret your decision to convince me that there is hope . . . of a sort, even for me.”

(Angst time over! Now I kick you in the balls! )

You sleep the sleep of the dead, dreamless and completley unaware of your surroundings. This peaceful oblivion stretches on and on . . . until its finally shattered by some ******* shaking you awake.

“Hey. Hey Tare! Wake up! It’s nearly noon already, and I can’t wait much longer!”

Ah, the comforting voice of Jim. As soon as you regained consciousness fully enough to do so, you were going to kick his ass. Although really, you were asleep for a long time, even if it didn’t feel like long enough. The serious expression on Jim’s face when you finally regained the ability to interpret what your eyes were telling you was enough to delay his ass kicking – for now.

“Listen, umm . . . I’m out.” Jim finally blurts out after a long pause. “I don’t really have the skills for dealing with assassins, or legendary poisons - or even escaping from the Hells really, thanks again for that – so I’m backing out now. I don’t want to go back There anytime soon, so I’m going to go out into the country and live out a quiet life. Maybe even dig up my old stash of gold, if its still even where I buried it . . .”

Jim looked thoughtful for a moment, and then downright nervous.

“Listen though, uhhh . . . I need to talk with you about something.”

Jim shoots a nervous glance over his shoulder at Melcara, who was still standing in almost the exact same spot she had been last night. She watches the two of you, cautious more than curious, but apparently that was not enough for Jim. Eventually, he manages to rouse you enough to lead you outside into the hallway, where no one else was present. Jim looks around for a moment, and then leans in close to whisper.

“I want to be honest with you. With at least someone, about why I was down there.”

If he was usually skittish, Jim looked downright paranoid right now.

“In my . . . old life – before I was down in the Hells – I was . . . not a very good person. I, uh . . . well . . . I tortured kids. Bought them off the slave market, kidnapped them – didn’t matter to me. Down into the basement they’d go, and down there they’d stay until I grew bored of them. Then they’d go under the floorboards – rather permanently too. Moloch, I used to call myself. Then this one bitch, crazier than any of them, she got loose and well, killed me. And then I found myself in the Hells.”

A look of perhaps regret, but mostly fear, passed over Moloch/Jim’s face.

“It was terrible down there – you got the abridged tour. The devils knew who I was, and they were only too happy to welcome me amongst them. Not as one of their own, of course, oh no, I’d have to earn that pleasure over millennia of pain and humiliation. I was made to suffer all the things I put those children though, and worse . . . and I didn’t like it.”

Moloch/Jim gives a hopeless laugh.

“I didn’t even know why I did it back when I was alive. It just seemed like something to do, y’know? But now . . . no, no I don’t think it’ll happen again. Moloch’s dead, I’m just Jim now.”

Moloch/Jim reaches out and gives you a hearty slap on the back.

“I just needed to get that off my chest to someone. I feel much better now. Thanks Tare. Best of luck with everything!”

He then turns and starts towards the door leading to the front part of the chapel.

(Tare is alone in the hallway with Moloch/Jim. If he wants to let a self-confessed and supposedly “better now” child molester get away to start a new life, he can. Or, he can enact some Ironheart-style prison justice and send his hanger-on buddy back down where he belongs. The choice, as always . . . is yours. P.S. Knowing you, there’s some CRRRAAAAZZZZYYYY third option in there I haven’t thought of. )

A Meaningless Speck of a Town Soon to be Even Less

Gorgondantess

At your command, the man blinks in surprise.

“Right now? You aren’t going to try to conscript any of these other villagers, who have already seen your power firsthand!?”

After a moment, the man shrugs. “I suppose that makes sense. A prophet is never accepted in his own home anyway, and this is the dawn of a new world order. Umm . . . however, I was wondering if I could go back and pick up some traveling supplies from my shop? The next village is two days walk from here and I, of course, am but a meager human, and thus need food and tools to ensure my own survival, m . . . what should I call you, anyway? God? Master? . . . Mistress?”

[Tackyhillbillu]

Argan listened to Martin's tale. Up till the end, Argan nodded. It made sense. It all fit with what he knew. Burning Argan's home was in keeping with the Baron's personality. As for the imposter... well, it wasn't impossible. Argan didn't know why the Baron would have bothered. But then, he didn't know why the Baron had bothered to kill his father either. But then Martin reached the end. Argan tightened up.

...King. Wait. Does... and... what?

Argan's thoughts were not in good shape. He began to finger the handle of one of his few remaining knives, not in a threatening method. The Knife was a connection he understood. Argan consisted of lives layered, one on top of the other. But at the center, he was supposed to buy that there was a prince? No, a King.

"...no, I'm not. Martin, whoever I was, that died with my father."

Argan spoke hesitantly. Coming to terms with ones identity was difficult.

"Martin, you don't know what I have done. I..."

Argan shook his head. Cataloging his sins would take far to long, and serve little point.

"...it doesn't matter. It wasn't just me who survived, Martin. The Baron took my sister as well. He still has her. She..."

Argan's voice was losing its focused quality. Memories, past selves. He'd thought he'd put them behind himself. But the Hand had shown he was still there tonight, certainly. And now...

"...that's all I can care about anymore. She hates me, and rightfully so. I failed her, and I continue to do so. After all, I'm too afraid to try anything. The Baron always wins."

[Dorizzit]

Korram Alstan

Korram mentally wishes Xera well as the griffon flies from the ship. If its reflexes were good enough, it should be able to dodge the GHASTs long enough for the b******* to lose interest in her. He smiles humorlessly as the Baron's countdown is drowned by the open doors. Time to get to business. His honed instincts are the only thing that save him from untimely death as the cloaked figure attempts to stab him, but he manages to duck out of the way and retaliate. He prepares to face off with the figure, but let's Katrina take over when she interrupts.

When Katrina finishes, everyone flees the arriving guards, thankfully managing to avoid any more enemies. He takes the rear again, ready to protect the others if the guards catch up. When the group reaches the supply room, Korram slams the door and grabs one of the EEPs, fumbling with it for a few seconds before placing it on the ground, crouching, and removing the packet. With some difficulty he begins reading it...

Oh, hell no. No. Nononononono. NO!

Korram grits his teeth and keeps his mounting panic off his face. Leaving the EEP on the ground, he stands and looks around at Wulfric and Katrina.

"Figure those things out quickly. I'll cover your escape; I can't fly one of these things. I can distract the guards and see if there's any other way off this thing."

Korram will do his best to see Katrina, Wulfric, and Pyrene off the ship, then look for another means of egress.

[Archpaladin Zousha]

Archpaladin Zousha

Spoiler

Show

(I think we’ve already gone through this whole dance long enough. So, I’m fast forwarding things a bit! )

Properly equipped, you set out for the Blessed City the next morning. You still really had no idea how you were going to complete your assigned task. You were no spy, and the idea of lying and deceiving your way into the good graces of the clearly fallen Council made you ill. But, perhaps, just staying in the city and keeping an eye on troop movements would be enough. Given how keen on deception the Council seemed to be, any piece of information you would be able to uncover might be important.

Several days of travel later, you are a little over halfway to the Blessed City when the sound of intense fighting reaches your ears. Rounding a bend in the road, you find yourself entering a clearing in the forest you had entered several miles back. The clearing looked to have been the sight of a major battle, and the fighting was still ongoing apparently.

For the moment, however, there seemed to be a brief lull, allowing you a moment to examine both sides. The fight certainly seemed to be an unfair one, a lone battered woman standing against three other women and perhaps a dozen men. None of them were armed, although the men nervously carried a variety of restraints in their hands. The fact that the clearing was littered with the bodies of another two dozen men suggested a reason for that hesitation.

One of the three women, a slender girl with waist-length blond hair, steps forward to address the lone woman.

“Sister, give it up. You are returning with us to the Monastery, even if we have to drag you there in disgrace.”

The lone woman wipes at her face with the back of her hand and laughs.

“So the High Abbot wants a new Mistress of the Earth, does he? I’d rather be dead.”

Another of the three women, this one with wild red hair, grimaces as she waves the men forward.

“You don’t get to make that choice!”

Twirling a lasso over his head, one of the men advances, throwing the loop down around the woman’s arms. In a blur of motion, she reaches up and grabs the length of rope connecting her to the man, and pulls. Shockingly, the man is not just knocked off his feet, but goes sailing towards the woman. She catches him and snaps his neck, tossing the body aside with a disdainful snort.

With a sound of rushing wind, the blond-haired woman dashes forward, literally moving in a blur as she snatches up the abandoned end of the rope. She circles the lasso’d woman too fast to follow, wrapping the remaining length of rope around her and firmly trapping her arms down at her sides. Finally coming to a stop, she braces her feet against the earth and pulls the rope taut.

Meanwhile, the third woman who had been hanging back, a raven-haired girl with aqua blue eyes, conjured an orb of ice in her hands. Hurling it at the lone woman, she makes an arcane gesture as the orb nears the woman’s face. In response, the orb explodes, blinding her as a sheet of ice settles over her face.

Taking the efforts of her sisters as a sigh, the flame-maned woman rushes forward, trails of fire flowing after her fists. Just as she reaches her helpless opponent and pulls back a fist, the lone woman blindly kicks out with a leg, driving the wind out of her assailant’s lungs and sending her flying backwards into a tree.

Twisting and pulling with her whole body, the lone woman likewise manages to send the blond woman stumbling forward despite her best efforts to the contrary. As the lone woman lashes out with her foot again, however, the blond woman nimbly dances to the side, letting go of the rope to better defend herself against the flurry of kicks that follows. Finally, a solid hit sends her stumbling away as well, giving the lone woman a moment to start untangling herself from the rope and wipe at her face.

As her vision clears, the woman spots you, and a slight smile curls her lips.

“Hey, holy man!” She calls out loudly, before pointing at the assembled group of men and women, and had also turned to look at you.

“These guys want to drag me back to their monastery for a “therapeutic” session of rape. What do you think about that!?”

“This woman is a fugitive from justice!” The blond haired woman counters. “We are simply removing a murderer and rabid animal from the wild!”

Hondshioh

Hondshioh approaches the assembled group.

"Stand down, both of you."

When they stop fighting, he places himself between the two groups.

"Who are you all, of what monastery do you speak, and what are the crimes of which this woman stands accused? You claim she is a murderer and a fugitive, but what I heard as I approached seems to suggest that is not the true crime that she flees from."

[Kasanip]

Isera Harvent
Cultist Basement

The heavy atmosphere leading down to the basement was sign enough that something terribly evil had happened here. And yet, as they got down to the dead cultists, Isera suppressed the desire to shiver. Instead, she rubbed her eye again. What is wrong? She hadn't ever been in an area with such an overwhelming aura, and one so evil that it was burning her eye out of her head. She was enduring it as best she could, though and tried to focus on the sigils and the dead bodies.

Cultists. Foolishly sacrificed themselves for some cause or belief that assuredly was beyond them now. Isera would never understand why someone would willingly trust such a creature, though her own deal with the Fae reminded her that sometimes these things did happen.
No. It wasn't impossible to believe why they had done it, only that the consequences of the action was being left to people like her to clean up. At least in her mistakes she had only hurt herself...

Isera frowned. No, that wasn't true either. She had hurt Cerise, and her father as well. But that...

She shook her head as another violent stab of pain in her eye removed her distractions again. It was growing, swelling, burning. Hotter and hotter until she didn't think she could stand it anymore. She wanted to scream, but at that moment the pain disappeared.

And she was suddenly looking at a devil. Looking at a devil alone was a difficult task for most people. The horror and terror of seeing such an abomination could break someone's will. But Isera couldn't help but stare- her vision was fixed, like a prophecy or a scrying from far away. It wasn't this room, her brain continued to analyze even as the devil began to write the words into her vision.
And the devil smiled with his distended jaw as it finished it's message. A horrible shudder, and then her eye was blind. A feeling of being forcibly put out, that was reminiscent of the burning anguish she had suffered when she had first completed the ritual in which she gained it originally. But the intensity of the pain from before, the sudden absence, the overwhelmingly evil monster she had seen, and losing the eye after the bloody threat; it was too much.

She felt nauseated, and lightheaded, and suddenly a sharp pain from her back brought her back from looming unconsciousness.
Carlain's voice came, sounding a little worried- stressed. He was concerned about something. Her? What had happened? Isera tried to suppress a groan, and winced. She tried to fight the urge to curl up, and only then vaguely was aware her own breathing was shallow. The air was still heavy down here. But Carlain's words brought her back again to the present and she forced herself to gain composure. She couldn't lose it here. She'd lost her hand before, she could handle this, but she had to concentrate.
She sat up with a wince, gently probing her back and finding it only sore from the fall. But her eye. She couldn't see out of that eye. It was blind. Dark like a void. She was half blind now.
Isera raised her human hand up shakily, passing it in front of her face. Nothing from her right eye. Her normal left eye was still good- one respite of relief. And Carlain came into view there as she slowly gained control of her breathing.
"Devil." She said, her voice sounding hoarse and dry. She swallowed and gave Carlain what she hoped was a confident, if shaky smile.
"I saw a devil and he gave me a message. But...my eye. I can't see out of my right eye." She explained.
"It's still in my head though, right?" She asked Carlain, taking his offered hand and pulling herself to her feet, though swaying a little off balance, her knees still feeling a little weak. She shook her head to clear the light-headedness. She was trying to detach herself from the experience now. The words were creepy...but it was a threat. A threat that seemed to have some measure of power, if it had stolen her vision away. But maybe it was just too powerful of an aura here. Maybe her sight would return if they got away from here. She didn't know for sure. But...they still had a job to do. Investigate this cult. Now she had proof it was a devil involved, but there was still no sign of the warlocks, unless they were the ones here who were dead. An open-close case? Isera didn't believe that. And there was the issue of the devil. Where had it been? Was it a vision of some other place? Was it hiding in the room laughing silently as it stalked it's prey? She didn't know. But it wasn't a bad guess she thought.
Seeing Carlain's concern, she continued to talk, finding words beginning to come a little easier.
"I'll be fine, I think. It was like a vision of somewhere far away. Maybe it was even a look into hell. The border here between realms is still thin because of the cultists ritual." She waved her hand in front of her face again and very gently touched her eye. Yes, it was still there. Just not working.
She turned to look up at Carlain again.
"We shouldn't stay here long... Did you find anything on the cultists? Any clue as to the ritual? If you help me, we'll examine one of the bodies quickly, and then get out of here. Back to the surface."

She remembered well the horrible pain when her left hand had been ripped off. In many ways that was far worse than the vision she had just lost. But it was still chilling, especially with the message left by the devil. A stray thought clicked. That Theresa traveler had come down here alone. Had she felt the same thing? Had she warded herself against it? What else did she know? Isera had some more questions to ask that woman, assuming they saw her again. And... considering the circumstances it might be wise to get her help, if this devil was still about. Surely she'd help two children, even if they revealed that they had magic ability.

Turning carefully and still trying to adjust to being half-blind, Isera made her way over to the ornately dressed body, looking for revealing marks or information that would help identify him, or the cult.
"Are you okay Carlain?" She thought to ask. At the very least, the half-blind, sixteen year old Isera was going to make sure Carlain was holding up okay.

[Iethloc]

Sohssal

Sohssal was impressed and surprised that Shanks had lasted this long. Fortunately for him, Sohssal wasn't annoyed at the prospect of having to find some piece of treasure that wasn't damaged by all the sea water.

Wait, sea water? he realized. His lab...flooded. Sohssal gave a frustrated growl - he'd probably have to build the whole thing again from scratch! And he'd have to root all of them out alone. Omega was too tired, Roger was too useless and he doubted Shanks was properly equipped to deal with a full-fledged elemental invasion. "It'd take too much energy to bring everyone with me to this next part. And from the looks of it, there's an elemental Nexus down there, so you guys probably wouldn't have much to contribute there anyway. Hold the fort until I get back," he explained to them. Then he walked forward and sunk into the water.

He didn't want to listen to anything the elementals had to say. He just moved towards the Nexus, gathering as much energy as he could, for the most powerful binding spells he could muster in his current state. If there was going to be any Nexus in his lab, it was going to be one under his control. And if worst came to worst, it could still make it easier to close the Nexus. Slush formed around his hands as he moved, ready to freeze any water elemental that tried to interfere.

[Lonna]

Mood music!

Pyrene's Dreamland

Ariadne closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Julia exhaled slowly, then opened her eyes and allowed the page to escort her down the sweeping staircase, fixing a smile on her face as all the men her stepfather had invited looked up. She was supposed to be celebrating her sixteenth birthday after all: her grand debut in society. She was supposed to be too innocent to realize that tonight men of wealth and influence would be weighing and measuring her - too naive to realize that her stepfather was auctioning her off to the highest bidder. So she smiled with practiced blandness, nodding here and there to some of the younger, kinder-looking gentlemen, and trying not to feel.

As soon as she could, Julia escaped to the balcony for a breath of fresh air. It was a temporary refuge at best, but at least she'd have a clear view of anyone who sought her out. The summer air was warm, and none of her father's intended suitors pursued her, so Julia began to relax slightly. Suddenly she realized that someone was in fact following her out. Tensing again, she watched him come, trying to place him in the sea of people to whom she had been introduced in the last hour. He was younger than most of her stepfather's candidates - no more than eighteen, by the looks of him - and despite his immaculate finery seemed slightly ill at ease, unaccountably 'different' than the rest of the guests.

Finally emerging from the crowd, her uninvited visitor paused in the doorway, giving her a look she would more likely have expected from someone approaching a strange dog of uncertain temper.

"Lady Julia, I presume?" His question, voiced in a soft but pleasant tenor, was nearly lost to the noise of the party as he sketched a hesitant bow. "My name is Ian," he added as he straightened, his expression now remeniscient of a puppy that suspects it is in trouble. The juxtaposition was too much - Julia giggled.

"Please, come closer, I don't bite," she assured him. "Forgive me, but I cannot seem to recall your family name, Master Ian."

"Please, just Ian. In truth, my family is not overly wealthy - at least not enough to warrent an invitation to your party - but I had hoped that you might appreciate a bit of conversation with someone less than twice your age."

There was an edge to Ian's voice as he said this that she could not immediately identify. Perhaps he was worried that she might have him thrown out - which she quite legitimately could have done since he had admitted he had no invitation. And yet...

"I could at that. But in that case you must call me Julia." Smiling genuinely for the first time all day, Julia stuck out her hand, which Ian promptly shook.

"Deal. Let me get us both something to drink and I'll be right back." Ian disappeared, oblivious to the sudden chill that swept over Julia despite the warm summer night.

Just for an instant, when their hands met, Julia thought she had seen blood - Ian's blood - running over both their hands.

[Gorgondantess]

She nods at him. "Bring along some like minded individuals, if you will."

At his second question, she clenches a fist, and grins wildly. "Demon."
Has a nice ring to it, that word, and it would work just fine... besides, her old name was no good, and she is no "master", or "god". Just a girl with a vendetta.
Not that this guy needed to know, anyways.

[Baerdog7]

Grandmaster Ander Windrivver

Ander was grateful for the long trip to Heaven's Horizon. It'd given him time to reflect on what had occurred at Dawn's Hope. It also gave him time to continue with David's training. Much to Ander's pleasure, the young man was becoming quite good with a sword and shield and had even begun learning some simple spells.

Now that Ander was riding Karth's old wyvern, David was flying Sharpbeak. The two of them drew more than a few strange looks from the townsfolk as they landed in the square in front of the church.

“Greetings. I assume you are here for the recently called summit?” The blond-haired woman in the lead asks pleasantly.

Yes, I am Ander Windrivver here to represent the Order of Dawn's Hope and this is my squire. We'll require quarters and our beasts need to be fed and watered. Is there an aviary nearby?

[OverWilliam]

~Tare

Tare was quiet for a long time after Melcara spoke, but it was not a heavy silence, and it did not feel like he was judging her. From the way he kept taking breaths as though he was about to speak and then aborting the effort, it was more likely that he was having trouble putting the right words together in his head-- and then the real trick, spitting them out without smashing them to pieces against the back of his teeth. "...Everyone has things in their past that... tie them down... to a person that they don't want to be anymore." He admitted to the quiet.

"...I promise."

*************

Tare listened to Jim's confession and explanation silently, obviously not pleased by the story he was hearing, but in the end not surprised that a some black mark stained his past-- after all, he had found the man in Hell. Tare did not move to stop him when he turned to walk away, but just before turned out of sight Tare made a final remark. "Jim. If what you're telling me is the truth, and I see no reason why you wouldn't be honest with me, then you deserved to be where I found you... and I let you out. You're getting a second chance on my watch. Whatever choices you make from here on out... I don't know what effect they'll have on your soul. Who knows, maybe you can atone for what you've done. Maybe you can use this time to make sure you never go back. But whatever you do, it happens because of me. I hope you have a quiet, peaceful life. I hope you will even find some way to clear your conscience. ...But if you don't..." Tare's eyes grew dark... and sad. "...I'm to blame for setting you loose. It would be a lot safer to have simply stabbed you in the back as you walked away without telling you any of this at all." Tare let that thought settle for a few moments, knowing that Jim wasn't as sharp as some people and might need a second to digest the information. "...But you've done nothing to deserve that from me. If you fall back into your old ways, you'd better make sure word never makes it back to me about it... because I'll send you back myself before I let you hurt anyone else." Tare walked after Jim until he was close enough to clap his hands on the man's shoulders. "Please, for the sake of your own soul if nothing else... Don't waste this Trust. Do something with your life."

"And..." Tare took a breath. "...Thank you for telling me the truth. I know how hard it can be to admit something from your past that... you're not proud of. I know because..." Tare smiled ruefully. "...I'm not strong enough to return the favor. ...Not yet."

"...Anyway," He said, breaking the silence that followed before it had time to become awkward. "Give it a few months, we'll see which of us was the smart one. If I had half a brain I'd be running too." Tare laughed. "...Don't look back." He said, giving Jim a last pat on the shoulder before turning back to the hall and letting Jim leave in peace.

[Pwenet]

Incom Morgan

Racing thoughts flash through his mind as he tries to decide on a course of action. Blanking memories seem to be something that would cause concern yet it was just a strangely refreshing feeling. It was almost as if something had been instantly right yet in that moment terribly wrong.

Still it was no time to dawdle for even with the emergency that was going on in the other section of the Ghastly Truth it would only be a matter of time until they found Sara missing, again by his hand. That would be more than enough to arouse suspicion.

Yet now was the time for another decision. Fighting in close-confines would be dangerous for Sara, especially with all the guards on edge. He could not risk her being hurt in the least. Yet there was always the EEP’s which would provide her a personal method of flight yet the same risks.

Yet there was possibilities.

Gesturing towards Sara Incom guides her down a short corridor. By their very nature the Emergency Supply Room with the EEP’s were located on the outer hull of the Ghastly Truth, and even had their own emergency hatches. Plus there was something, that thanks to his memory would help out a lot. Finally such chambers, since the airship was not being attacked, should be lightly patrolled, if there was anyone even there. Before he knew it he was at the door.

”In here Sara, I got a plan.”

Opening up the hatch Incom got Sara and himself in before shutting the hatch. Looking around he sees the EEP’s mounted on their racks, five in all. Picking up Sara he starts placing her into one, straping her into the device securely and making sure that she could reach the controls. Seeing the instruction manual he hands it over to her.

”I need to work on something before we go. Read this quickly.”

Running to the next EEP he leans in close and check’s the controls. Like expect they were purely manual, no automatic systems built in. Yet even manual controls can be tweaked, and after making a few adjustments he moves on to the next one, and the following, until he makes the modifications to them all. Looking over to see that Sara is done with the instruction manual he nods in satisfaction.

”Okay Sara, I’m going to open the hatch. But do not turn on your EEP. Please trust me on this, I have a plan.”

Eyes dimming as he retracts from the outside work, Incom stretches his mind out.

Oh this is going to hurt…..

Seeing the individual communications channels, each one looking like a loose thread he reaches out. Stretching out and lightly brushing against each one. Lightly caressing them he slowly ties into them, becoming at first just another stop. Heading lowering he mentally takes in a deep breath, and yanks!

Communications across the airspace of the Ghastly Truth comes to a screeching halt. Static ripples through the communications crystals.

Yanking the threads in he brings them in closer and closer, until they are near his metaphysical mouth, which then opens.

”BARON OF GAST! I INCOM MORGAN DEFY YOU! I TAKE YOUR PRECIOUS DAUGHTER! YOU WIFE IS DEAD! YOU WILL NOT BE NEXT, BUT LAST AS I TEAR APART ALL YOU BUILT! I WILL MAKE YOU BLEED AND WATCH AS THE SHARKS CIRCLE THE WATER! SAY GOODBYE TO YOUR DAUGHTER!”

Echoes of his voice, not the emotionless voice of a GHAST, but one of a raging man with nothing left to live for yet all the power in the world rips through the communications crystals with deafening force. Grabbing the threads he tears them apart, severing the communication lines completely, rippling back through them towards the crystals, disabling them even as his own, overloaded from the sheer effort of breaking all the channels sparks within him. Stumbling to the ground there is pain in his chest and tiny puffs of smoke emerge. Yet among the smoke is blissful silence, like one who just had his eardrums punctured. Nothing at all.

Looking over at Sara he nods at her. Staggering up he reaches the hatch and grabs the first EEP. Pulling at the controls the hatch blows open, revealing the sky as wind slams into him. His arm moves, the thumb striking the control to ignite the EEP as he throws it out the hatch. The switch, modified to stay open with the throttle on full engages the EEP and it shoots off randomly. Another EEP follows it, followed by yet another. Three down, one pending and one that Sara is in. Walking over to her he verifies one last time as quickly as possible that she is secured in it before grabbing her and the EEP.

”Hang on tight.”

Reaching the hatch he looks at the ground, looking so far away being so high up. Reaching over towards the last EEP he brushes the controls and then wraps his arms around Sara and her EEP.

The last EEP, still secured was modified differently. The activation module was tied directly into the fuel supply, an easy trick. Of course because of the nature of the EEP it used something that would explode given the right circumstances. Circumstances that the ignition module reproduced exactly, especially when activated at full power.

The explosion washes over his back as the force of it blasts him and Sara out of the Ghastly Truth. Flames tickle his back before the burning debris flies off of him as he streaks towards the ground, watching it coming close and closer, hoping beyond hope that their freefall would look just like another piece of flaming debris to observes, until they were low enough where he could risk flight.

[Inspectre]

Dawn’s Hope - Monastery

Baerdog7

Apparently the woman either didn’t recognize your name, didn’t care, or was very good at her job. Without batting an eye, she said, “Welcome Sir Windrivver. I am Willifred Duramont. We do have an aviary present, however we would prefer to stable your wyvern elsewhere - griffons and wyverns are natural enemies.”

Despite this truth, Sharpbeak and Karth’s wyvern (you hadn’t decided on a name for it yet) seemed to get along fairly well. At least, they did after an initial amount of skittishness from Sharpbeak and an incident where you had to physically impose yourself between Sharpbeak and the wyvern after it attempted to eat him. It stopped doing that after you rapped it on the snout with your sword and lectured it.

“If you will follow me, I will show you to your quarters. These gentlemen will escort your mounts to the aviary. We might be able to convert a nearby supply shed into a temporary shelter for your wyvern. Of course, if you would prefer to see to your mounts personally, we could stop by there first.”

Breaking with her usual professional air, Willifred makes a face.

“The delegation from the Wings of Righteousness was most insistent on seeing to their mounts every need.”

Leading you onward, Willifred continues to talk.

“Most of the delegations have already arrived. We are still waiting for the delegation from the Guardians of the Faith and the Church Council’s delegation. Likely the summit will begin tomorrow at noon. Morning Prayer is at daybreak, breakfast will be served shortly thereafter.”

From behind you, a brief fanfare of trumpets catches your ear. Turning, you see a small number of griffons in Church heraldry landing, escorting an air carriage.

“Ah, that must be the Council delegation now. If you will excuse me, Sir Windrivver, I must go greet them. Sir Duncan will see to the rest of your needs.”

Turning, you watch as Willifred goes to meet the air carriage. And who should step out of the carriage but Brother Adamus Crane. Or perhaps Exarch Adamus Crane, you should say, given the robes of office he was now wearing.

Archpaladin Zousha

Neither side seemed particularly interested in calling off the fight, however temporarily, but eventually the blond-haired woman managed to convince the others to back off. The lone woman for her part, sneered at them and stood her ground, pausing to suck on a wound in the palm of her hand.

At your words, the red head sneers.

“We don’t need to answer to his lot – let’s just get this over with!”

The raven haired woman steps forward, lying a hand on the fiery woman’s shoulder, causing her to wince as frost spreads across her shoulder.

“Peace, sister. There is no harm in educating others in our ways.”

Stepping out from around her (apparently) sister, the raven-haired woman comes to stand beside the blond woman. She greets you with a low bow.

“Forgive my sister’s fiery temper and sharp tongue. The rage of battle tends to go to her head. To answer your questions, we all come from the Monastery of Five Pillars. It is a very . . . isolated community, so I am not surprised if you have not heard of us. I am Yukiko, Mistress of Water. These are my sisters, Sorako, Mistress of Air – “

Yukiko nods to the blond-haired woman beside her, and then turns to gesture to the fiery redhead.

“- and Natsuko, Mistress of Fire. The men are monks from our monastery, sent to help us bring our renegade sister, Katashiko, Mistress of Earth back to us.”

The tall brown-haired woman identified as Katashiko snorts.

“You could have come back for me at any time, dear sisters. I was right where you left me, bound and helpless, and completely, totally bored.”

“Actually, we were already on our way. Imagine our surprise when we learned we were three days too late.” Natsuko growled back in response, causing Yukiko to raise her hand for silence.

“To answer your last question, stranger, our sister violated our laws by leaving the monastery without permission. This was after she committed the graver crime of murdering our sister, Tomoko, Mistress of the Void. Since then she’s gone on to murder a number of other people. Including these unfortunate monks you see here lying dead before you.”

“You call it murder, I call it self-defense.” Katashiko retorts.

“I don’t care what you call it. You’re going to be brought to justice this time!” Natsuko hisses, prompting Katashiko to laugh and beckon her forward. The hot-tempered woman takes a single step forward before being stopped by Sorako, who shakes her head. Meanwhile, Yukiko continues to explain.

“Please understand, crime is rare in our monastery, and this was the first recorded incident of this magnitude. We did not have the facilities to contain her, and so we sent her to Ironheart for temporary confinement. We have since decided on a course of action that will ensure she is no longer a threat to anyone else.”

“The aforementioned rape!” Katashiko crows, shooting you a glance but keeping one eye always on her sisters. “Listen holy man, the whole monastery revolves around us Mistresses of the Elements. But even if we are important to them, they keep us in gilded cages to “protect” us. I got sick of their stuffy, mysticism bull****, and all of my sisters swallowing it with a smile, so I left. Now it seems they’ve decided they’d rather start over than try to break me to fit their mold.”

Katashiko waves her hand with an irritated sigh.

“As a Mistress of the Elements, each of us gets special powers. The boon is passed down from mother to daughter, so they need me to have a daughter. Once I’ve popped out my replacement, however long that takes, they’ll have no further use for me, and will probably snap my neck.”

“No worse than you deserve after what you’ve done.” Natsuko mutters darkly. Sorako, on the other hand, lightly laughs.

“Clever, sister. But you left out the part where you murdered Tomoko in cold blood before fleeing.”

Katashiko smiles.

“Oh yeah, I forgot that part. Man, I hated that little goody two-shoes bitch. Killing her was supposed to be the exclamation point to what I thought about the monks’ whole system. Would you like me to go into detail about her death, then? Every little sigh, her squeals for mercy?”

Katashiko’s smile grew wider as her commentary seemed to push Natsuko past the breaking point. She storms forward, shoving past both of her sisters to stand directly in front of you.

“Enough! Stand aside, stranger, or I will see you dead before I end this!”

The Island of Dr(?) Sohssal

Iethloc

Roger and Omega nodded at your request. Shanks, meanwhile, looked around for a moment, before finding a nearby table that he was able to drag over to the stairs and flip over. He then hunkered down behind the makeshift barricade, readying his crossbow against any elemental that would come up from the dark water. With an unenchanted crossbow, you wished him luck – although he had already performed surprisingly effective feats on the way down here – staying alive among them.

And then, you flowed beneath the surface of the water, and entered the very depths of your residence ready for a fight. You sparred no words with any elemental you encountered on the way to the Nexus – nor did any of them. A few seemed to recognize you, echoing warnings to their more clueless brethren through the water. The warnings did little good – you destroyed all that stood in your way, and then absorbed their essences.

A few managed to get away to alert the others deeper in, but that also did them little good. There was precious little that most of the elementals were able to do to you, being in incorporeal form and immune to drowning. Still, they foolishly tried, throwing themselves at you in ever greater numbers until finally, you arrived at the source of the Nexus. Waiting for you was another host of elementals, and something else – a massive water elemental that constantly shifted between humanoid and a squid-like form. An elemental lord, greatest of the elementals, and perhaps a worthy opponent even for you.

“I am Nepton, Lord of the Chilling Depths! For your crimes against my people, Sohssal, I have claimed your home as part of my domain! Leave now, or my followers will submerge your pathetic island so that it may become your watery grave!”

The Gastly Truth

Pwenet

Throwing out the EEPs one by one, you watch as they zoom away from the Ghastly Truth. Hopefully those would only add to the chaos you’ve created. Then you leap out, carrying Sara in your arms as an explosion washes across your back. Thankfully, the explosion is not so large that you are consumed by it. Still, pieces of the hatch you had left open rain down across your back. Sara also gasps in pain as a thumb-sized piece of flaming shrapnel slices across the back of her left leg.

Yet there was no time for worrying about her injuries just now, as gravity takes over and you plummet. The Ghastly Truth recedes quickly behind you as the ground rushes upward. As far as you can tell, no one has noticed you, and they likely won’t get a chance.

Balancing the need to reach the ground quickly with decelerating safely was a difficult calculation. You did the best you could, and shortly before reaching the tops of the trees you activating your thrusters. The sudden reversal caused Sara to fly out of your grip, because maintaining it would likely have injured her. Thankfully, with the EEP on her back she is able to slow her own descent, and float down into the forest alongside you.

Immediately upon landing, however, she stumbles as she attempts to put weight on her wounded leg. Sitting on the ground, she winces as she clutches at her wounded shin, which was oozing blood.

“We need to stop the bleeding!” She gasps at you, as she begins to unbuckle the EEP with her free hand. “We need something to bind the wound. Maybe . . . we could use these canvas straps?”

Dorizzit

“What!? WHY!!?” Katrina shouts, her face contorting in anger.

Wulfric thinks for a moment, and then shrugs.

“Kill a couple of the bastards for me, will you?”

Stumbling from the unexpected weight of the EEP on her back, Katrina steps in your path, blocking the way to the door. She’s a few inches shorter than you are, but her green eyes burn with a familiar intensity as she glares up to meet your gaze, her face only a few inches away from yours.

“You are not sacrificing yourself here. Or are you so tired of fighting, old man, that you’d jump at any chance to die? We’re all getting off this ship, or none of us are. Now, I’m not convinced one of these things can carry two people yet, but Wulfric seems game to try. I am too, so if it comes to that I’ll hit you over your thick-head and carry you out. Or, we can figure out how to get one of these things to work for you.”

Briefly turning her attention away from you, Katrina nods at the EEP you had discarded.

“Now, what seems to be the problem?”

It takes several minutes, but eventually you are able to cut off one of the straps from another of the EEPs, and use it to tie the stump of your arm to the control stick on that side. It wasn’t a perfect, as you could feel the stick only sluggishly responding to the movements of your arm, but it was better than nothing. And maybe, just maybe, it would allow you to pilot the thing in a flashy, death-defying escape of the Ghastly Truth. Or, send you into a wild spiral directly into the side of the airship, smashing your head apart just like all those stick figures in the instruction manual. Only one way to find out.

Crossing over to the hatch, Wulfric fumbles with the latches for a moment, having to be careful not to squish Pyrene between him and the door. At one point, you hear him mutter to myself, “I’m really glad when I knock people out, they stay out. Otherwise this would be getting awkward quick.”

Before opening the last latch, he pauses and turns back.

“Alright, I think we’re getting close to the capital. I saw the city on the horizon just before we boarded, and this thing moves pretty fast for a ship this big. We could try to make a break for the city, but I don’t know if these things are faster than those angel-freaks.”

“GHASTs.” Katrina corrects. “And not normally, though. Although these things seem to have an “overload” mode – guess it’s for if the ship starts to go up, you can get away quick. It’ll burn out the jetpacks and we better be flying straight when we activate them, but it’ll give us a chance to leap away if they get too close.”

At Wulfric’s look of confusion, Katrina snorts.

“Didn’t you read the manual, or were the words too big? Anyway, you just pop off the top of the control stick like this, and then hit that button.”

Thankfully, said concealed button was *not* on your bad side, and so you would be able to activate it just like a non-hands-challenged person.

“Or, we could try to duck down into the woods. Get into some cover, get these packs off of us, and hide.” Wulfric continues, ignoring Katrina’s insult beyond a quick glare.

Lonna

The blood on your hands – a dire prediction of your future with Ian – suddenly shifts and changes. Now, the blood is your own, the beginnings of a stream flowing out of your chest and down onto your hands. The sound of a dagger clattering to the floor at your feet dimly reaches your ears. You stagger back against a nearby wall for support, and a moment later a heavy weight slams into you, pressing you against the wall. A hand closes around your throat, while a dagger comes to waver only an inch from your eye.

“Enough games, Madeline. Tell me where Cassandra went, and I’ll make it quick!” The hot voice growls. Hard to believe that the bloodshot-eyed berserker holding you against the wall at knife-point was Donallo.

Donallo, the mild mannered boy you had grown up with. Donallo, the man you had gone into “business” with, teaching him all the tricks you knew involving the displacement of goods and gold from someone else’s pocket into your own. Donallo, the man you had even considered sleeping with on a few occasions, but eventually decided to continue a professional relationship with. Donallo, the man who now was apparently going to kill you.

It was all that bitch Cassandra’s fault. She had come to you with stories about the Vainglory Cache, supposedly the largest depository of treasure never found. The vault was a legend, a myth told by one thief to another. Dozens of treasure hunters had tried to find it over the centuries, and all of them had failed. Well, except for Marcus “Vainglory” Price, whom the vault was named for. Of course, he had just discovered the vault, not actually built it. And predictably, he was killed in a senseless bar fight before he could spend more than a tiny sliver of the vault’s worth. It was said that only a descendant of Price’s would be able to find and re-open the vault.

Cassandra claimed to be a descendant of Price, a laughable claim until she produced what she called a clue to the vault’s location. You had found the whole thing a laughable attempt at a con, but Donallo was always more gullible. For once, however, apparently his naïve sense was right – the clue checked out, and pointed to another location. And so the search continued for six months, you hopping from one clue to the next, always just “one last step away from the Vainglory cache”! Pfft, the whole thing probably really was some sort of elaborate centuries-old hoax.

But, the search dragged on, and more and more people got involved as different specialists were needed to plumb the depths of each clue’s death-trapped riddled vault. And as more unsavory types were added, things got more and more difficult to maintain. Eventually, you were only able to keep command of the unwieldy band by virtue of your closeness to Cassandra – somehow, during your travels the two of you had become close friends.

Of course, being close friends didn’t stop one from stabbing said friend in the back, as first Cassandra and now Donallo proved. One day, you woke up to find Cassandra and a select group of the crew were gone, having moved on to the next clue apparently without you. And of course, the ones left behind blamed you, thinking you also knew where she went and were just here to provide cleanup. Nothing was more dangerous than a thief believing he was about to get screwed, and things had turned ugly fast. At first, Donallo had supported you, but after the others were all dead he revealed he had just wanted to get rid of the competition. And now it had come to this – you or him.

“I’m not going to ask you again! WHERE IS SHE!!?” Donallo pressed, too angry to notice that while he had been choking the life out of you, you had slipped your hand around to his back, where he always kept a crossbow. Getting a firm grip on the weapon, you told him to go screw, and then pulled the trigger. The bolt tore through his chest into yours, prompting you both to give a joint scream. But due to the angle of the shot, the bolt hit a vital organ in Donallo, and just tore up your skin a little.

Shuddering, Donallo fell back onto the floor, and you collapsed on top of him. With the last of your strength, you reached up and snapped his neck, and then rolled off of him. Eventually, went you caught your breath again, you painfully crawled back up onto your feet, wincing as the numerous wounds on your torso made themselves felt once more.

You hadn’t invested everything in this hunt, thankfully – perhaps it was a nagging concern in the back of your head that had prevented that. But you also didn’t have much money left, and most of your little trusted circle of fellow thieves were now lying dead on the floor. You had no idea what to do next, after treating your injuries. One thing was at the top of the list, however – finding Cassandra, and making the bitch pay.

Dark Falls

Kasanip

“Y-yeah, it’s still there.” Carlain asked. You watched as he raised a hand to wave in front of your face. As with your own hand, you only saw the movement from your still-functional human eye. For the moment at least, your Phantasmal Descrying Eye was completely dead. A chilling problem, given the possibility of a devil being loose in the room, stalking you invisibly.

After helping you up, Carlain looks you up and down with concern while you theorize on the diabolic vision’s origins. At your questions, he pauses nervously for a moment, and then firmly shakes his head.

“No, I didn’t find anything. I searched a couple of them, they just had robes and these.”

From his belt, Carlain pulls a bloodstained kris, the wavy ritual blade completely coated in dried blood. His face turns a few shades of red as he adds, “And uh . . . they’re naked under their robes.”

Carlain nods at the ornately dressed figure lying face down in a dried pool of his own blood.

“I didn’t check him yet. Maybe he will have something more informative on him?”

Disappointingly, this turned out to not be the case. Presumably, knowing that their lives would be forfeit as part of the ritual, the cultists had left any notes behind at another location – or destroyed them all prior to beginning the ritual. Like the others, the ornately dressed figure had slit his own wrists with a kris.

Having examined the room thoroughly and come up with nothing, you turn to leave to notice Carlain staring intently at a small section of scorched floor that was clear of blood. He visibly pales, and starts when you ask him if he’s alright. He fakes a weak smile, walking back over to join you.

“Uh – y-yeah, fine. That section just looked like something I’d seen somewhere before. Maybe in one of my textbooks or something.”

Carlain looked around at the destroyed room and sighs.

“It’s a lot different in person than just described by word or on a page. Are . . . are all warlocks crazy like this? Killing themselves in some dark hole? Why?”

Carlain still seems shaken, but remains silent during your journey back up through the shop and back into the sunlight. Even the bright light of day doesn’t seem to help lighten the oppressive and threatening atmosphere now lingering over the entire town.

Returning to where you had last seen Theresea, you find her still cleaning up bodies. Long before you get close, she apparently hears you coming and turns to watch your approach, a suspicious look in her eyes.

“So, where did the two of you run off to? I was starting to wonder if I would find two more bodies to burn.”

The Capital

Tackyhillbillu

Martin looks surprised and horrified for a moment, and then he simply lowers his head.

“I am sorry lad. I didn’t know he had her too.”

After a moment, Martin looks back up, renewed determination in his eyes.

“Listen lad, you may be right that the Baron always wins. But I’m still alive, and you’re still alive.”

Martin nods back at the mysterious barrel.

“And we snatched something that belonged to him right out between his Hands’ fingers!”

Martin sighs.

“I know why you feel the way you do. But the Baron is going to continue to win until somebody stops him. Someday someone is going to have to say “Enough.”.”

Martin slowly gets up, carefully climbing into the back of the cart.

“You may not have faith in yourself lad, but your father’s blood flows in your veins. I knew him for many years, and I know now that part of him is in you, no matter how far buried beneath lies it is. I know you will do the right thing in the end – this kingdom needs a Tallon on the throne, not some puppet imposter.”

Martin grins as he kneels down beside the barrel and pulls out a wide, flat-bladed knife.

“But for right now, why don’t we see what the Baron was so eager to reclaim?”

Working the blade underneath the lid, Martin breaks the seal, and after a bit more effort manages to pry the lid off. Setting the lid aside, he peers inside, and his brows furrows in confusion.

“What . . . what is this?” He asks out loud, dipping the blade of the knife into the barrel, and then removing it. The tip is now coated in a dark substance – blood, certainly, although your nose detects a few other trace smells – something’s been mixed in. Preservatives, perhaps, seeing as how normal blood should be a concealed, dried-out mess by now, and not still easily flowing liquid. Whatever it is, it smelled most foul.

OverWilliam

At your words, Jim nods. “Thank you Tare. I . . . I’ll do my best. Anything to avoid going back down there.”

Then, he walks out the door into the front part of the chapel, and is gone. Behind you, you hear the door to the supply closet creak open. Melcara looks at you sheepishly.

“Sorry, I was listening in. That was . . . very kind of you Tare. I had seen the stain on Jim’s soul, but I knew the truth would come out eventually. To be honest, I wanted to see what you would do. Thank you for justifying my faith in you.”

Melcara’s smile was beaming. It did not, however, last long as a minute later Ulrich stumbled into the hallway from a back door. His face was strained, and his eyes bloodshot.

“Oh, Tare. You’re awake. Good.” He murmurs, blinking sleepily at you.

“I’ve spent most of the nights looking up all my old contacts. Unfortunately, there’s not a lot of freelance work right now. There’s a couple of small-time jobs available, but nothing with a payoff anywhere near what we’ll need. I think you’re going to need to go have a talk with Brock, Tare. He’ll have the money if you can only convince him to give it to you. Oh wait, there was one standing offer on the Black Market – five thousand gold for an angel.”

Ulrich snorts.

“Right. Even if I knew how to summon an angel, and had the ritual components on hand, I somehow doubt we’d be able to convince her that selling her into slavery, or worse, is for the best.”

Melcara shoots a glance at you.

“Actually . . . I might know how we could get our hands on an angel, if it comes to that.”

A Meaningless Speck of a Town Soon to be Even Less

Gorgondantess

The man nods at your decision to allow him to collect additional followers from the village.

“Alright, I know a few like-minded people. I’ll see if any of them want to come along before I close up shop – for the last time. I’ll meet you back here – unless you want to come along, although I will admit I would probably have better chance in convincing them if you’re not standing there over my shoulder.”

At your mention of what you’d like to be called, the man arches an eyebrow.

“Alright. Um, I would like to point out that name has a lot of associations with most people, comparing them to lowly servants of Azguloth, archenemy of Athelion. Surely you are so much more than that. And before you ask, no, I have no idea how to get into contact with them. Assuming the stories of demons and devils from the Hells are true, none of them would make trustworthy allies anyway. Of course, you are the boss . . . Demon.”

Turning away from you, the man departs. After some time, he returns on a cart being pulled by a donkey. With him are two nervous looking men, who don’t quite yet seem to share your minion’s conviction in what they are doing.

“If you are ready to depart, Demon, we are ready. How would you like to approach the next town? A display of your magnificence might convince the people there of your power, but it would attract attention to us. My friends and I could instead sneak into the town and feel out the townspeople, try to convert them more discretely. And certainly, while fear is an effective motivator, I would assume you would prefer willing servants rather than those intimidated into it, who will shirk their duties at the first opportunity.”

(If you have a particular idea in mind as to how to approach the next town for conversion into your worshippers, essentially, you are welcome to include that in your next post. Heh, you could even take over as your new “high priest” if you decide to do a more subtle approach than kicking down the town church. )

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Umber led the mount down the city streets, feeling the cobblestones beneath his boots. Once more, the construct-beast was masked as an ordinary if well-built steed. He breathed deep of the cool night air, a quiet smile on his face. The unfamiliar stirrings of mortality gnawed at him - hunger and fatigue. It was strange, having to re-learn the ryhtms of one's own body. It was like walking into your own house and finding everything had been rearranged in the night - old habits and rythms usurped by new ones as he adjusted to living once more. The only pause in their stroll was a brief struggle with an unshaven pickpocket who had tried for his last mark - Umber slammed the man into a wall when he tried to to mug him, knocking him unconcious for Mellita to feed. After drawing a blade across his throat to cover the puncture wounds and leaving him in an alley - after relieving him of his meager supply of coins - they continued on to the inn.

Once there, Umber rented a room for them, and then he set to work. Tired though he was, he worked through a few simply divinations, searching for any trace of Mellita, and working a more complicated spell that would call up an image of what she had come here for - assuming he could pierce any wardings she might have put up, and assuming she'd been here at all.

[Tackyhillbillu]

Argan could argue with Martin, if he wanted to. He could tell Martin of all that he had done, why exactly he shouldn't be allowed to sit on the throne. But there was little enough point in that. Instead, he focused on the Barrel Martin had salvaged.

"It is blood. With something mixed in."

Argan thought for a moment, trying to get past the obvious here.

"...whatever this is, this isn't the Baron's only shipment of it. The Thieves Guild has more. And I'm pretty sure whatever he wants this stuff is for, it is nothing good."

That was certainly true. Either the Baron's involvement, or the presence of... whatever this was would easily convince Argan of that. Together... they spelled nothing good.

There's something more to this...

"...close that Barrel, Martin. That smell of that stuff is going to have me emptying my stomach."

Argan wasn't happy. They had a poker chip, but they had no idea what game they were playing, what were the stakes, and who were the other players. If they wanted to win, they had to learn all that. More then that, they were probably going to learn to cheat. But Argan was good at cheating.

"Martin, do you know anyone who might have any idea what the hell that is? Because, if you don't, I think we are going to have to pay a Visit to the Church. Whatever the Baron is up to, this seems like something they might be concerned about."

[Baerdog7]

Grandmaster Ander Windrivver

Ander's face turns sour and his hand strays to the dagger at his waist when he lays eyes on the worm Crane.

I will help see to my steed, he says flatly.

Not wanting to create a stir with Crane just yet, he allows Sir Duncan to lead him to his wyvern's makeshift stable. Once the wyvern is taken care of, Ander picks up his belongings (including a large wrapped bundle that he slings over his shoulder) and turns to Sir Duncan.

Alright, can you show me to my quarters?

He follows the knight to his quarters, where he meditates until called for the summit the next day.

[Archpaladin Zousha]

Archpaladin Zousha

Spoiler

Show

Neither side seemed particularly interested in calling off the fight, however temporarily, but eventually the blond-haired woman managed to convince the others to back off. The lone woman for her part, sneered at them and stood her ground, pausing to suck on a wound in the palm of her hand.

At your words, the red head sneers.

“We don’t need to answer to his lot – let’s just get this over with!”

The raven haired woman steps forward, lying a hand on the fiery woman’s shoulder, causing her to wince as frost spreads across her shoulder.

“Peace, sister. There is no harm in educating others in our ways.”

Stepping out from around her (apparently) sister, the raven-haired woman comes to stand beside the blond woman. She greets you with a low bow.

“Forgive my sister’s fiery temper and sharp tongue. The rage of battle tends to go to her head. To answer your questions, we all come from the Monastery of Five Pillars. It is a very . . . isolated community, so I am not surprised if you have not heard of us. I am Yukiko, Mistress of Water. These are my sisters, Sorako, Mistress of Air – “

Yukiko nods to the blond-haired woman beside her, and then turns to gesture to the fiery redhead.

“- and Natsuko, Mistress of Fire. The men are monks from our monastery, sent to help us bring our renegade sister, Katashiko, Mistress of Earth back to us.”

The tall brown-haired woman identified as Katashiko snorts.

“You could have come back for me at any time, dear sisters. I was right where you left me, bound and helpless, and completely, totally bored.”

“Actually, we were already on our way. Imagine our surprise when we learned we were three days too late.” Natsuko growled back in response, causing Yukiko to raise her hand for silence.

“To answer your last question, stranger, our sister violated our laws by leaving the monastery without permission. This was after she committed the graver crime of murdering our sister, Tomoko, Mistress of the Void. Since then she’s gone on to murder a number of other people. Including these unfortunate monks you see here lying dead before you.”

“You call it murder, I call it self-defense.” Katashiko retorts.

“I don’t care what you call it. You’re going to be brought to justice this time!” Natsuko hisses, prompting Katashiko to laugh and beckon her forward. The hot-tempered woman takes a single step forward before being stopped by Sorako, who shakes her head. Meanwhile, Yukiko continues to explain.

“Please understand, crime is rare in our monastery, and this was the first recorded incident of this magnitude. We did not have the facilities to contain her, and so we sent her to Ironheart for temporary confinement. We have since decided on a course of action that will ensure she is no longer a threat to anyone else.”

“The aforementioned rape!” Katashiko crows, shooting you a glance but keeping one eye always on her sisters. “Listen holy man, the whole monastery revolves around us Mistresses of the Elements. But even if we are important to them, they keep us in gilded cages to “protect” us. I got sick of their stuffy, mysticism bull****, and all of my sisters swallowing it with a smile, so I left. Now it seems they’ve decided they’d rather start over than try to break me to fit their mold.”

Katashiko waves her hand with an irritated sigh.

“As a Mistress of the Elements, each of us gets special powers. The boon is passed down from mother to daughter, so they need me to have a daughter. Once I’ve popped out my replacement, however long that takes, they’ll have no further use for me, and will probably snap my neck.”

“No worse than you deserve after what you’ve done.” Natsuko mutters darkly. Sorako, on the other hand, lightly laughs.

“Clever, sister. But you left out the part where you murdered Tomoko in cold blood before fleeing.”

Katashiko smiles.

“Oh yeah, I forgot that part. Man, I hated that little goody two-shoes bitch. Killing her was supposed to be the exclamation point to what I thought about the monks’ whole system. Would you like me to go into detail about her death, then? Every little sigh, her squeals for mercy?”

Katashiko’s smile grew wider as her commentary seemed to push Natsuko past the breaking point. She storms forward, shoving past both of her sisters to stand directly in front of you.

“Enough! Stand aside, stranger, or I will see you dead before I end this!”

Hondshioh

Hondshioh is visibly disgusted by the conversation, especially when Katashiko begins trying to goad her sisters into battle, but he turns to face Natsuko.

"You are right that you do not have to answer to my lot. But at the same time I need not answer to yours. Is there truth to your sister's words? There is no justice in allowing you to have her raped. Besides, you're just playing into her hands. Look at her sneering at you, deliberately mentioning your deceased sister. She is goading you. She wants to rouse your anger so that you will kill her. She is a dead woman already. You would kill her for her crimes, but you're trying to spare her because you want the child she may bear. She's hoping that you'll become angry enough to simply kill her here and now, denying yourselves what you came for. And if you would attack me to get to her before hearing me out, know that you stand against one who not only bears the light of the Heavens in his soul, but the unyeilding stone withing his flesh and blood."

Hondshioh's skin hardens and takes on the appearance of granite once again.

[Lonna]

Pyrene in Dreamland

Satisfying visions of revenge dancing through her head, she stumbled over to the nearby spring to begin the painful process of cleaning herself up.

Cecilia put down the wash rag and sighed. It was much too cold for a proper bath, and even the water in the basin made her arthritic bones ache unpleasantly. Still, she persisted in washing her face, neck, and arms every evening with all the solemnity more pious folks put into their prayers. Jeremiah, her late husband, had always grumbled about this.

"'Yer enough of a cold fish without bein' wet in the bargain,'" she quoted to herself bitterly, hobbling toward the hearthfire. "Damn the man. . . three years in the grave and he still devils me!"

Taking up her knitting and settling into her familiar chair by the hearth, Cecilia realized she had begun evaluating herself. Physically she was quite well for a woman of her advanced age. Her bones ached now and then, and she wasn't so spry as she used to be, but she still had most of her teeth and only the slightest dowager's hump.

So much for the good news. Cecilia didn't put much faith in what the priest said about the gods and salvation through the Church, but she thought she lived a decent life. Now anyway. Perhaps not so much when she was a much younger woman. After all, that was how she had gotten stuck with Jeremiah - once it was determined that she was with child both of their families had insisted on marriage as the only possible way to salvage any remaining shreds of respectability.

She'd done her best to be a decent wife and a good mother, but as a girl Cecilia had never wanted to be a housewife. Many times she had envisioned herself on grand adventures far outside the village. Bedding Jeremiah had certainly seemed like a grand adventure to her fifteen-year-old self, but the consequences had been far heavier than she expected. The ties of house and hearth, husband and child had bound her long past the age where she could go adventuring.

I've nothing to bind me at all, she realized suddenly. My children are well grown, and I'm kept fed and clothed as much by their charity as by what little work I do. I haven't really even got a reason to keep on living, except to avoid Jeremiah. Oddly, this thought was not distressing, but instead gave her a sense of profound relief.

"My work is done," she murmured, staring at the dying fire, motionless in her comfortable seat.

Some hours later, the last ember flickered out. No one moved to relight it.

[Iethloc]

Sohssal

Upon seeing the Elemental Lord, Sohssal re-purposed the energy he would have used for binding - it'd probably be nearly impossible to bind a nexus tended by such a being. "Hmm, the infestation is worse than I thought," he commented. Then he unleashed a beam of pure force from his hands, sweeping it across the scores of lesser elementals before focusing it on Nepton.

Since that particular spell took a lot of energy, he stopped the beam after a few seconds and, instead of beginning another spell, took a moment to absorb the energy of all the elementals that attack destroyed. Can't afford to run low now... he thought.

[Kasanip]

Isera Harvent
Dark Falls
Isera was still worried about the eye...but for now she had to put that thought aside. She could still see normally, or least out of half of her vision...and there was Carlain still. Together they would be fine. If the devil was in the room, then it was not actively assaulting them yet, and so Isera cautiously presumed then that this was in fact, not the case.
Her test for it was the proclaimed demonhunter above- if she had been missing, or attacked them when they returned, likely they were fine...for the moment. Surely she also had a large array of protective abilities herself, or methods for detecting evil.
But first, they had to examine the bodies. Carlain's negative response was easily confirmed. They were cultists really, more than warlocks at least in how she would describe them.
Isera looked at the spot on the floor that Carlain had stared at intently, hoping to discern for herself exactly what it was that had shaken the boy.
To his question though, she forced a small laugh, that seemed even smaller in the room.
"Of course they are. If they weren't crazy, they would probably be your average member of the magic society, instead of being a warlock. It kind of goes with the definition. But you know how the saying goes." She said, reaching up to give his shoulder a gentle and reassuring squeeze. Even if her eye wasn't going to be useful, they had plenty of resources still.
But first, they retreated from the shop to the surface and soon found themselves facing Theresea.
This time Isera spoke.
"We were going to look at the damage...but it's horrible. We didn't say anything before ma'am, but we do have some ability in magic...and it's obvious there's something very evil here. A devil is still around, somewhere. We saw the basement. . .
Is there anything else you could tell us about what happened? "

[OverWilliam]

~Tare

Tare stammered a bit, trying to come up with a response to Melcara's words, but found that her smile was quite speech-inhibiting. Fortunately, he was rescued at exactly the right moment by the re-entry of Ulrich.

Tare pulled an old, creaky-hinged wooden folding chair from its forgotten perch against a wall and muscled it open for Ulrich to have a seat. Truly, the man had looked better.

Through the older man's explanation, Tare merely nodded. He'd had a feeling that this was what it would come to. He still hadn't figured out how he would pull this one off-- with Brock, it was a game of Status Quo. He'd have to find some kind of Leverage before approaching the crafty Guild leader, otherwise it would only be wasting the element of surprise. Tare's thoughts were sharply and harshly interrupted by the mentions of 'Angel' and 'Slavery' in the same sentence. The good night's sleep had his ethical knee-jerk reaction back to full functionality, and how.

"NO." Tare squashed the suggestion flat, his voice taking on a weight and force so sudden that it may have even been subconsciously augmented by his supernatural talents. "That is not an option. I will not stoop to slavery, especially-- ...No. We'll think of something else." Tare broke away from the other two to make a few nervous circles, running his fingers through his hair and trying to think. As he did so, the metal bands, the only remnants of the heavy leather gloves that had enclosed his hands while he'd been imprisoned in Ironheart, bumped against his forehead, and he was reminded for the first time in days of their existence. This, in turn, reminded him of the rest of his wardrobe-- if a pair of burlap shorts, bare feet, and a bruised and bare torso could even be called such-- which in turn reminded him of Melcara's similar state.

Tare walked back to Ulrich and Melcara, somewhat calmer. "Thank you, Ulrich. You look like you've been out all night, and if things are the same as when I was last on the streets, even just getting together as much as you have probably cost you a few favors. I appreciate the risk that you're going to stirring up old flames when the last thing you need is anyone from the Guild remembering that you're still alive. Please, you should get some rest. I need to get reacquainted with some old haunts, I think. We'll be able to figure something out." Tare sighed, realizing how hollow the assurance sounded, but having to believe it with all of his might. "It would help immensely if you could set us up with a change of clothes or two." Tare added, indicating himself and Melcara.

[Gorgondantess]

(OOC: I was considering doing just that... but it definitely wouldn't be in character with her current state of mind. Overwhelming show of power is more her style.)
She waves a hand, vexed at his words. "Ugh. Just call me what you will. Names are trivial: know me by the power I wield, not the words you call me."
As he returns with the others, she pays the others little mind. "Lead the way, then."
At the town, assuming a service is not in session, she turns to the men. "Spread the word: the next service will be... something these people will not want to miss. " With that, she transforms into the 13-year old girl, Maria, and uses some of the excess mass to form several lumps of silver, handing it to the men. "Buy yourself a... room... or whatever. Do what I told you. I'll be around," and she heads off into the crowd.
Watching these people, humanity, is relaxing: it helps her get down from her adrenaline-esque energy she's been on the past few days. Waiting, observing, complacent, helps her order her thoughts, and think. She makes sure to keep an eye on the men, but devotes most of her time to learning more about this race she'll be forced to consort with. Of course, at the same time, she keeps an eye on the church: when people are heading in, when they're all inside, then it's show time.
She heads to the outskirts of the town, and gathering a bunch of rocks to her, reassumes her stronger form.
The doors of the church are dealt with with one good punch, and she waits on the threshold, looking over the mass, waiting for all eyes to be on her. Then, pinpointing the man in charge- the priest- she leaps across the church with one quick, superhuman motion, and lunging forwards, grabs him by the face, lifting him into the air with her massive, rocky arm, his screams muffled by her palm.
Regarding the mass, she takes on a magnanimous air, and speaks.
"Athelion, the Lifebringer, the Lightbringer- this petty, vindictive god of yours- is powerless." She crushes the man's face into a bloody chunk of meat, and tosses his body aside for emphasis. "I slaughter his servants, and he does nothing. Nothing at all- I could obliterate every last one of you, all his faithful worshipers, and suffer no repercussions. And I could go to the next town, and do the same, and maybe I'd attract the attention of some lawmaker, but would Athelion directly intervene? Would his hand be shown? I think not."
She puts her hands together, and channeling the rock beneath her feet, spreads them apart and drops things humans covet onto the floor- gold, jewels, fish- for the pleasure of the mass.
"Abandon your absent deity for one you can see with your eyes. Follow a real god. Follow me."

Spoiler

Show

Huh. I could ruin the world economy with that trick. Cool.

[Dorizzit]

Korram Alstan

As Katrina grows enraged and starts arguing with him about his decision to stay behind, Korram begins to argue with her but finds his weak protests swept away by her unrelenting refusal to allow it. Eventually, he gives in and meekly helps her jury rig a control system allowing him to use his arm. He shakes his head gently when she isn't looking at him.

Just like her mother.

When Katrina and Wulfric discuss their options for escape, Korram remains silent, allowing all of the possibilities to be laid out. He thinks for a few seconds before speaking.

"Let's err towards caution. The last thing we want is unwanted attention, and flying into the city with these...things is probably not a good way to avoid notice. We should try to reach the forest, but if the GHASTs spot us we can hit the overload to shake'em."

[The_Snark]

Mar

Caroline's tears unsettled Mar more than she could explain. She'd never seen the younger girl like this before—even when William fell she hadn't cried. She'd panicked and shouted and gasped for breath, but she'd known what to do. But the boys had reduced her to confused sobbing in moments, and without Caroline's leading hand Mar had been completely lost. Mar was used to that; the boys rather reminded her of prisoners back home. There was nothing she could do about them except try to stay away and hope that Daddy or the guards could keep her safe. It was unpleasant, but it was too familiar to be a shock.

But there was something very wrong about seeing Caroline like that. She was supposed to be happy. And now, looking at Jacob's face, she felt even worse. Guilt pulled at her like an anchor, rooting her where she stood and urging her to confess. It would be over quicker that way.

She tried to reassure herself that Jacob, at least, would not punish her. Somehow, it didn't help. She wished she could melt into the floor rather than have to answer. What would he think when she told him how she'd stood by and watched while they had reduced Caroline to tears?

"Um," she said, since she couldn't melt. "There were... some boys... we were just coming back. They pushed her down and took the coins, and... they kept..." She looked away, flushed with shame. "They were saying things. And kicking. I didn't—I didn't know what to do. So I didn't—I couldn't—I didn't do anything."

"Someone else came and got them to go away," she concluded. After a moment of silence, she dared a peek at Jacob's face to see how bad it was.

[Inspectre]

Meanwhile . . .

From the bridge of the Ghastly Truth, the Baron followed the events transpiring on his airship with growing displeasure. Fury had decided to rebel, despite the assurances of his mages’ that such was impossible. The Alstan family continued to draw breath despite the assurances of his guards that Korram would not escape his meeting with an executioner’s axe. Must he see to every last detail personally? Even his sons seemed to be failing him lately.

And then the communication channel chirped open, and Incom Morgan’s roaring voice filled the Bridge. At that, the Baron actually managed a tight-lipped smile. Finally, something going according to plan.

That was a bold bluff, Incom. I bet you are quite pleased with yourself right about now. The Baron thought to himself, shifting his eyes over to the screen that still displayed an image of his wife’s personal quarters, albeit frozen now that the entire communications network seemed to be down. Nonetheless, he had seen her conversation and subsequent knockout, not her murder. Which of course suggested his daughter was still alive as well, explosion notwithstanding. A pity for you, then, that I leave nothing to the fickleness of fortune.

Unfortunately, with his communication network out of commission, his next moves would be slower than desired.

“You!” The Baron said, pointing to a nearby junior officer. The man snapped to attention immediately, his eyes always on his master, like a good lapdog. “I need messages delivered elsewhere. Gather up a team of runners!”

“Yes, Lord! What messages?”

“Tell my GHASTs to pursue Korram and the fleeing intruders and terminate with extreme prejudice. Also, have a squadron break off to conduct a search for Incom – he may be in the forest below, or even still aboard. They are not to engage however – just make it look good.”

“Lord?”

“You heard me. Oh –“ The Baron added as the officer bowed and turned to find someone else lower than himself to foist the duty upon. “Have someone round up my sons as well. Especially Angelo – he should be here on the Bridge right now . . . I want to know the reason why he is not.”

“Yes, Lord!”

The Baron allowed a sigh to escape past his lips as he looked out the Bridge’s viewport, and to the rapidly growing city on the horizon. Everything was still within acceptable limits, although the escape of Korram from his fate yet again was rankling. He would need to take steps to ensure such irritations didn’t continue to sully his plans.

***************

After spending a considerable amount of time mulling over the new prisoner’s words in his quarters, and then wandering the ship’s corridors looking for answers, Nephilium finally decided on a course of action. He would go back to Ysora’s cell and explain himself fully. And then, if she chose to reject him, she would do so from a full understanding, as was her right.

As soon as he entered the Brig, Nephilium knew something was wrong. Not that anyone capable of hearing would be unable to reach the exact same conclusion. Even through the shut adamantite door of her cell, Ysora’s shrill screams and keening moans filled the Brig. Standing in front of the cell door, even the warden seemed to be growing ill. As Nephilium strode closer, he seemed to rouse himself somewhat, holding out one hand to stop him.

“Sir Nephilium, I’m afraid Sir Cheran is currently interrogating the prisoner and –“

Without breaking stride, Nephilium grabbed the warden by the wrist, twisting his arm around and using his other hand to grab the man’s uniform and slam him back against the door.

“Open. Now.”

Seeing something dark and worse – focused – in Nephilium’s eyes, the warden simply nodded and produced the keys. A moment later, the door swung open on a horror.

Cheran had freed Ysora from her chains, but as before the archangel had not fought. Not that it would have done her much good in this situation, as Cheran was in rare form. Apparently finished with battering her, Cheran now had her pinned to the floor, one foot on her back, as he twisted and pulled with all his might on her right wing. Her left wing was already lying in a mangled heap several feet away, and the archangel’s blood covered the floor. Looking up from his work, Cheran greeted his brother with a mad smile.

“Hey there Neph. Hope you don’t mind me horning in on your territory, but you weren’t really doing much with her anyway.”

The bloody mess that half of Cheran’s face had become was revealed as he fully turned to face the door, twisting Ysora’s wing in his hands. Again, the delicate bones snapped, and Ysora gasped as she fought back a scream. She looked up, her eyes pleading. Nephilium clenched his hands into fists.

“Let her go. Right now.”

Cheran looked down in disgust, and then back up at his younger brother with a manic grin. He then twisted Ysora’s wing back the other way, this time eliciting a scream.

“Isn’t this the part where you have some meaningless saying to offer? Something like, “Warnings can’t be heard over screams for mercy?””

With their roles reversed, this time it was Nephilium who leapt into battle with a wordless howl of fury. Grinning, Cheran released Ysora and took to the air to meet him halfway, and battle was joined in a tangle of furious limbs. A moment later, and Nephilium flew back outward into the Brig’s Lobby, slamming into the warden’s desk.

Rolling back up onto his feet with a grimace of fury, Nephilium sidestepped Cheran’s flying kick, which sent the warden’s desk splintering into the wall instead of Nephilium. Nephilium countered by grabbing his brother’s outstretched leg, pulling him down to the floor. And then he brought his own leg up in a rising kick into Cheran’s groin – the bastard had more than earned it with his disgusting behavior over the years. The blow only seemed to escalate the fight, and Nephilium threw up both of his arms to deflect the flurry of punches Cheran threw.

“Get a team of healers down here immediately!” Nephilium shouted, delivering a two-fisted blow to Cheran’s chest to knock him back. Stopping his inertia with a reflexive beat of his wings, Cheran did use the attack to gain enough distance to bring his foot up in a snap kick to Nephilium’s chin. Nephilium broke his impact against the wall, and then spun to one side as Cheran delivering another missed flying kick, this time into the wall.

Nephilium retreated out into the hallway, and Cheran eagerly followed. Having lured his brother away from Ysora, Nephilium turned his attention fully to the fight, and again the battle escalated. Down the hallway the two fought, holding nothing back and delivering punishing blows that would have crippled lesser men. As it was, they both inflicted terrible injuries on the other, but their regeneration was enough that the fight didn’t end upon such injury. Indeed, instead it was an opportunity to deliver several more unsportsmanlike blows.

Nephilium was stronger and faster than his brother, although not enough to have more than a slight edge after Cheran’s experience in hand-to-hand combat was factored in. In previous sparring matches, many as unfriendly although not as intense as this one, Cheran had always emerged the victor. As Ysora had noted, Nephilium was an unfocused combatant, his tactics shifting from moment to moment, directionless.

But this time was different. Now Nephilium had something to focus on – punishing Nephilium. All the petty torments he had inflicted on his younger brother over the years. All the wanton cruelty he inflicted on everyone beneath his station. All his insulting behavior around women. It was all going to end. Right here, right now by Nephilium’s own hand.

The sense that this fight was more serious than their previous conflicts finally began to sink in through Cheran’s thick skull and his own blind fury. In response, he stopped a nearby GHAST, just long enough to tear its arm off.

“Thanks for the hand!” He called, activating the retractable blade and brandishing the arm like a sword. Nephilium produced a pair of daggers hidden in the folds of his clothing, and the fight continued on an ever more dangerous level. With blades, their already strained regeneration could not keep up, and the injuries began to add up.

Stumbling back almost too late as the borrowed GHAST arm raked across his chest, Nephilium realized he needed a new strategy. At the same time, he finally noticed that Cheran now had a blind spot where his missing eye once covered. Steeling himself, Nephilium leapt forward, leaving himself wide open as he did so. With a laugh, Cheran took the bait, thrusting the arm forward and impaling his brother on it. A moment later, and the closed fist around Nephilium’s right dagger slammed into Cheran’s temple.

The impact threw the Baron’s son into the wall, and he slid down into a disorganized heap, momentarily stunned. Grunting back a scream, Nephilium dropped his right dagger, and then extracted the GHAST claw from his stomach. Wobbling on his feet, Nephilium approached Cheran and forcibly threw himself down on top of his brother. The sharp exhale of breath confirmed that Nephilium’s knees had found Cheran’s solar plexus, and Nephilium moved quickly to ensure his brother did not get replacement air.

Free hand wrapped around his brother’s throat, Nephilium held his other dagger up so Cheran could see it with his remaining good eye, and then pulled his hand up and back for the final blow. But at the apex of his reach, Nephilium hesitated. The murder of one of his sons was sure to drive Father into vengeful rage. There was no telling what he would do when he learned the murderer was another one of his children.

Almost certainly, he would not punish Nephilium directly – Nephilium was too valuable undamaged, and Father rarely approached such an issue directly. No, he would go after someone else important to Nephilium. With his wife and child dead, that left . . . Ysora? She had already suffered enough because of Cheran, could he really expect her to endure still more? Would she even understand the necessity of Cheran’s death?

“What . . .are you . . . waiting for?” Cheran rasped, beginning to stir and gazing up at his brother through his remaining eye with contempt.

“Finish it . . . weakling. Or . . . I’ll finish . . . what I started . . . on your little . . . friend.”

That settled it. Whatever the consequences, Cheran had to die. Nephilium felt a cold sense of peace descend over him as he clenched his dagger tightly.

“Goodbye, brother.” He said simply, and then stabbed his dagger downward with all his might. The tip of the blade stopped suddenly, however, and still perhaps an inch or two above the surface of Cheran’s remaining eye. Something had caught Nephilium’s arm, holding it back at the last moment.

Looking, he saw both Angelo and Seraphan holding onto his arm, the strain from having stopped their much stronger brother in mid-blow evident on their faces.

“What are you doing!?” Angelo barked, releasing his hold only long enough to grab his brother around the waist to pull him up and away from Cheran. His moment of opportunity past, Nephilium allowed himself to be pulled away. In his current condition, he certainly could not fight off both of his other brothers long enough to deliver the deathblow. Rubbing his throat, Cheran eased himself back up onto his own feet.

“I was interrogating our guest when he showed up and went ballistic.” Cheran rasped, smirking at his brother. “I guess our brother has some misplaced sympathies for our enemy. Or perhaps he’s simply been bewitched somehow.”

At this, Nephilium glowered at Cheran, and made a move as if to lunge free of his brothers to resume the fight. As if sensing his intention, Seraphan leaned in close.

“Later.” He whispered, shooting a glare of his own at Cheran. Peace momentarily restored amongst the family, the four brothers began to make their way up to the Bridge, Seraphan supporting Nephilium, and Angelo supporting Cheran. Their Father was waiting for them.

***************************

Refraining from launching a caustic greeting as the doors to the Bridge slid open, the Baron watched as four of his sons stumbled in. Nephilium and Cheran were both battered and torn – no doubt the result of yet another of their fights, this time taken to extremes. Angelo’s uniform was slightly askew – possibly the result of breaking up the fight between his brothers, but the Baron already knew there was a different reason. Only Seraphan seemed to be following his Father’s instructions, but the Baron knew better than to trust his loyalty after such previous disobedience. That left Celestan as the only truly reliable son he had, which was laughable considering his actual heritage.

As the four brothers lined up before their Father, Celestan stepped in from the side, taking his place to Angelo’s left. From eldest to youngest they lined up, and after the Baron silently examined them for a full minute, he went down the line.

“I am very displeased. You are my sons – my greatest warriors and an example for the rest of my servants. And yet what have I gotten from you all lately? In-fighting, failure, and treachery. This [b]will not continue.[/i] I will not allow it. So as your father, it falls upon me to ensure past mistakes are corrected, and that they are not repeated again.”

The Baron turned his gaze upon the metal body of Celestan.

“Celestan, my eldest son. You have served me faithfully for many years. If only the rest of your brothers would follow your example. I have no complaints against you.”

As would be expected, no emotion was seen on Celestan’s expressionless face at this praise. The Baron’s eyes narrowed as he swept his gaze over to Angelo, formerly his other truly reliable son.

“Angelo. I have placed great trust in you. You are the general of my forces and the nominal leader of your brothers. You have also served me faithfully for years. And yet, you have one fatal flaw . . . you can’t keep your fly zipped!”

Angelo did his best to hide his surprise, but the Baron still saw the slight gaping of the jaw, and reveled in it.

“Oh yes, I know all about your little secret rendezvous with one of my Hands. Did you really think your occasional “inspection of the cargo holds” with her would go unnoticed by me? Although truth be told, I first learned about it after she told me. Unlike you, her first loyalty is to me.”

Angelo’s eyes narrowed as his face flushed from the sting of his father’s words.

“I have never asked you for anything, Father. I have made fulfilling my duties as commander of your forces the sole focus in my life. This relationship does not affect those duties and –“

“But it does.” The Baron countered, silencing him. “You were not here on the Bridge while intruders broke in and stole away two of our special guests! Furthermore, it is unseemingly for someone of your station to associate yourself with one of my personal tools! And it does affect your decisions – will you be so willing to throw her into certain death now, or will you hesitate?”

“My personal affairs are none of your business, Father. You allow them to fraternize with whoever they wish! Nephilium was even allowed to marry a merchant’s daughter! And you get concerned when I have a discrete, meaningless relationship with a servant!?”

“Yes. Because *they* are not my most trusted son! If you want to associate freely with the sows, then I can arrange for you to be demoted to a pig farmer! If you want to remain in command, then your sole focus will be on ending the Valkyrie’s reign! But I wouldn’t recommend continuing your relationship either way with my Hand. As your punishment, I have already instructed her that the next time you proposition her, she is to remove whatever is left of your manhood!”

Silently fuming, Angelo is barely able to choke out a “Yes, Father.” Cheran begins to snicker even more loudly, but falls silent as the Baron shoots him an icy glance. And then the Baron turns his full attention onto Seraphan, next in line to learn of his father’s disappointment.

“Seraphan. We’ve already held a discussion on the consequences of further disobedience from you.”

“And I have remained a loyal servant since that discussion. Or have I somehow failed to follow your every instruction?” Seraph replied, glaring back at his father with barely contained hate. The Baron shook his head in mock sadness.

“I’m afraid it’s more you have failed them completely.”

At a gesture from the Baron, Alya stepped out of the shadows in one corner of the Bridge. The tattooed woman came to stand by the Baron, producing a globe of magical energy from thin air.

“As you instructed, lord, I assigned several spirits to watch the prison while Korram Alstan was detained. This is what they saw.”

The events down in the basement between Seraph, Korram, and Katrina played themselves out. Only this time, as he left, Seraph paused momentarily to slide a key into the lock of Korram’s cell, leaving it just slightly ajar.

“YOU LYING BITCH!” Seraph snarled, moving to leap forward and tear said bitch to pieces. Only the efforts of his brothers kept his in line, able only to glare at his accuser.

“I think the evidence is pretty damning, son.”

“IT’S A LIE! I NEVER HELPED KORRAM ESCAPE!”

The Baron blinked in mock surprise at this news.

“Really? How else would Korram escape from his cell, sneak aboard this airship, and abscond with his daughter? Both of whom should be dead by now!”

A note of desperation crept into Seraph’s voice as he realized his father’s mind was already made up.

“Father . . . I swear to you, I did not betray you. Someone else must have let Korram out. Perhaps the one responsible for maintaining this surveillance?”

Seraph glared at Alya, but the strange woman remained impassive. The Baron let out a slight sigh as he shook his head.

“I trust Alya’s loyalty far more than yours, Seraphan. She does not have a past record of disobedience, unlike you, nor does she have a past relationship with Korram. Do you have any evidence to refute her claims?”

Slowly, Seraph lowered his head. “No.”

“Well, I seem to recall telling you what would happen the next time you disobeyed me. Clearly, the thought of your wife spending an evening in Cheran’s care was not enough to dissuade you from this path.”

“Yes!” Cheran hissed, his ruined face twisted into a grimace of glee. A look that was spoiled a moment later as the Baron skewered him with another glare.

“Fortunately for you, it would seem Cheran has proven incompetent as well. And I would hate to reward his complete and utter failure with such a prize. So . . . that will not be your punishment this time. Instead, we will do a compromise. Since Cheran lost an eye in Katrina’s escape, and her escape was only successful thanks to the arrival of Korram, I think the loss of an eye is appropriate. Poetic, even. You will cut out Rose’s right eye.”

“What!? No, Father, please!” Seraph cried out, embarrassing himself by falling to his knees. “I can’t do this. Surely there can be another punishment – cut out both of my own eyes instead! I will pay any other price, but . . . not this.”

“You can and you will, son. Or Cheran will do it instead . . . during his upcoming evening with her.”

“Yes . . . father.” Seraph whispered, slumping.

And then the Baron turned his eyes onto Cheran, glowering at his son’s inappropriate joy at his brother’s misfortune.

“Cheran. You have always been my most unreliable son, but I have forgiven it thus far because you have occasionally proven useful. But no more. You allowed a pathetic slip of a girl to beat you. She was chained to a wall! And yet, somehow, she escaped, nearly killed you, and partially blinded you. WITH A SPOON! How else am I supposed to interpret this failure other than as proof that you are completely incompetent!?”

“Hmph. I beat her handily enough in a fair fight. And – “

“And you lost in an “unfair” one!? Do you think everyone will blindly throw themselves at you the same way you do? You are overconfident, and your arrogance was nearly your undoing this time! You need to learn humility and caution. And so . . . I think you need a reminder of the price of failure. Your punishment shall be the loss of your blinded eye until such time as I decide you worthy of it again.”

“Uh, what!? It’s going to grow back in like two days! I’ll be fine, what’s the problem here!?”

“Yes, it will grow back. And it’ll be immediately plucked out again. I suggest you find yourself a good eye patch to wear. I’d hate for your ego to be harmed by gazing at your own hideous reflection. But perhaps it would be good for your pride – it could stand shrinking a bit.”

“Yes Father.” Cheran grumbled, biting back a string of curses that would undoubtedly only earn him further punishment.

The Baron’s gaze swept down to the end of the line. For anyone that did not know him, his eyes almost seemed to be pitying his failed son.

“Nephilium. You have always held the greatest potential of all my sons. Perhaps it is the angelic power in your veins, but you have developed a dangerous sympathy for our enemies. Specifically, the one currently being held down in the Brig. I don’t care why this dangerous relationship has developed, I only care that it ends. Now.”

“It’s true I have been visiting . . . the prisoner.” Nephilium replied, choosing his words carefully. “But I was only doing it to try to gather information from her.”

At this, Cheran openly laughed, and the Baron quirked an eyebrow.

“I see. So attempting to kill your brother was also part of this clever plan to ingratiate yourself with her? Would you then be able to actually garner some useful information from her?”

“Umm . . .”

“These visits of yours are over. You will have no further contact with the prisoner. Save for one last visit. As your punishment, you are going to ensure whatever positive inroads you’ve made with her are eliminated. Once she has recovered from her current injuries sufficiently.”

Here the Baron paused to deliver another withering glare at Cheran.

“You are going to go torture her. I want to hear her screams even up here on the Bridge. Refuse to do this, and well . . .”

The Baron shrugged.

“I suppose I will have to find another method to ensure this relationship ends.”

“Yes . . . Father.”

The Father looked back up the line at his disciplined and displeased sons.

“Good. We are nearing the end of all our decades of hard work. Things will be getting far more difficult before we reach the final goal. Success is the only allowable alternative. If you continue to be liabilities, I will eliminate you and find someone else who can do as I ask. Now all of you, get out of my sight before I deem further action is necessary.”

Silently, the Baron’s sons filed out of the Bridge. Wondering just how long it would be before further corrective actions were necessary, the Baron turned his attention back to the chase.

**************

Returning to his Spartan quarters, Celestan continued his internal struggle. He had been praised by his father just now, a rare thing indeed. And yet it brought him precious little comfort. Should a blade by praised for its sharpness, or a shield for its sturdiness? No. And Celestan was just a tool now, a weapon to be wielding by his father just like the Hand, the other GHASTs, and all his other servants.

Having no need to eat or sleep, Celestan’s room was devoid a bed or any other furniture. There was one object of interest in the room, however. A painting, carefully hung and covered by a thick cloth, rested on one wall of the room.

Going over to the painting, Celestan delicately gathered up the cloth, rolling it up and off what it was covering. Revealed beneath was a painting of a tall dark-haired man smiling as he clutched an equally smiling woman to his side.

This painting of a man and his wife was the only memento of his former life that Celestan had kept. As always when he looked on the painting, he had to resist the irrational urge to destroy it – claw out the paper, smash the frame, and rip the memory of the man he once was apart for good.

But as he always did, he overcame that initial urge. Instead, he tried to remember the man in that painting. It had been so long . . . was there anything left of that man? Perhaps more importantly, was there anything left for that man besides duty, obedience, and sacrifice? Celestan didn’t know anymore.

**************

Storming off the Bridge, Angelo quickly outdistanced his brothers. Instead of heading back to his quarters to sulk like the others, however, he was on the hunt. As it turned out, he didn’t have to go far. Leaning up against the wall only a few turns away from the Bridge was the source of his current woes.

“You!” Angelo snarled, lunging forward to slam a fist into the bulkhead with resounding force only a few inches away from the woman’s head. Despite the fact that if the blow had struck flesh, her head would likely now be crushed like a melon, the woman didn’t flinch. Hands were usually made of sterner stuff, but this woman was completely fearless – no doubt a side effect of having nothing but the Baron’s whims to live for. It was part of what made her so mysteriously attractive to Angelo.

“You told Father about our secret relationship! WHY!?”

The woman simply looked at him with her dead green eyes, as the corner of her lips turned up into a smirk. Snarling, Angelo decided to put her resolve to the test. Wrapping a hand around her throat, he lifted her up, leaving her feet hanging several inches above the deck.

“Apparently I’m not allowed to develop attachments with your ilk, but no one would care if I snapped your neck here and now. Give me one good reason I shouldn’t do so now, you traitorous wench!”

“Please do.” The woman rasped quietly, although the source of her gravely voice was not Angelo’s hand. “But it won’t change the fact I serve your father, not you. Or that you never asked me to keep it from your father.”

Sighing, Angelo releasing the woman to allow her to drop nimbly back onto her feet. Self consciously, the woman adjusted the black scarf wrapped around her neck that Angelo’s grip had disturbed. For just a moment, Angelo got a glimpse of the unsightly mass of scar tissue that ran across the woman’s throat, following the curve of her chin. She never took the scarf off, not even then – in a perverse way, it only added to her mystique.

“Did you really think your father didn’t know already?” The woman pressed, and again Angelo sighed, involuntary taking a step back under the woman’s fierce gaze.

“I suppose not. I assume you’ve already got your new orders, then?”

“Yes.” Came the simple hissed reply, causing Angelo to snort and throw up his hands.

“I suppose you didn’t protest them either.”

“No one opposes the Baron and lives.”

“Tell that to Korram.” Angelo commented darkly, running a hand through his hair. “Well . . . I guess this is good-bye then. See ya!”

Turning, Angelo stormed off, this time in the direction of the practice rooms in the hopes of getting some relief from his frustration by tearing practice dummies to shreds with his bare hands. So focused on his anger was he that he nearly didn’t hear the whisper behind him.

“Wait.”

Detaching from the wall like a shadow, the primary source of Angelo’s ongoing infatuation and frustration sauntered up to him. Reaching up, she ran one gloved hand down the side of his face.

“My orders never included me propositioning you. And as I understand it, you are due for some counterassassination practice. Sometimes these “practices” get out of hand . . . and no one will question a few extra bruises. Watch for me – I will strike one night in the near future while you are sleeping. If you aren’t careful, you might be . . . cut.”

Standing up on tip-toe, the woman hissed the last word in Angelo’s ear. Despite sounding as if coming from the lips of an ogre, it still had a sensual quality. Brushing past Angelo, the woman stalked off down the hallway, leaving Angelo to stare after her. Damn the wench, she was still the most fascinating woman Angelo had ever met!

**************

“So . . . that’s it? You’re just going to do whatever your father tells you to do again?”

Seraph couldn’t raise his eyes to meet his wife’s steely gaze. Her tone was crushing enough, and he knew if he saw her disappointment as well he wouldn’t be able to go through with this. Consequences of failure or not. As usual of late, Rose was determined not to make this easy for him.

“I don’t understand you Seraph. One minute you’re the Baron’s lapdog, the next you’re opposing his wishes however you can. I know I once told you that I couldn’t love you if you kept willfully doing all the terrible things the Baron asked you to do . . . but I will hate you if you can’t make up your mind! You already released his worst enemy – yet you’re unwilling to tell him to go to the Hells when he tells you to cut out your wife’s right eye!?”

“I didn’t release Korram. Someone else did. I really was going to do everything my father tells me to do. I still am, no matter how terrible.”

“WHY!? By the gods, Seraph, the man sent me and our son to die as sacrifice! You used to follow him out of willful ignorance, but after I showed you that deep inside you there was still a decent man you sought a new path. Are you just going to throw that all away now? That’s it – just give up now that our son’s dead?”

Finally, Seraph’s temper flared. He seized it, fanned it, hoping to be overcome by a rage intense enough to make his living conscience shut up. To hold her down, make her scream, and repay her for verbally cutting out his heart by cutting out her eye. Seraph reared up, brandishing the knife with a grimace of fury – and promptly found his anger wasn’t enough.

Rose flinched back, but her resolute eyes remained wide open and locked onto Seraph. Which was how she always was. She would recoil from the horror around her, but she wouldn’t close her eyes. She wouldn’t look away.

Somehow, she always found the strength to stand her ground, and refuse to surrender her principles. It was that strength that had first attracted Seraph to her, and that strength that had led him falteringly out of his father’s shadow. Ironically enough, it was also this strength that would now drag him back into darkness. Yet even Rose’s strength had its limits, as the scars down her wrists showed.

Not angry enough to complete his task but still furious, Seraph threw the slender knife into Rose’s lap.

“You don’t get to accuse me of giving up.” Seraph growled, as Rose flinched again, this time more out of shame than fear.

“Go ahead, pick it up and finish it. You should have died with our son. *That’s* what my father wanted. So go ahead, help him get what he wants more than I ever could!”

Rose recoiled this time as if physically slapped, but she was quick to recover, fire blazing in her eyes. Seraph cut her off before she could get in a word.

“You think you die and I’ll be set free? You think the Baron will have no hold over me once I have nothing left to lose? Maybe if I was the strong, good man you claim to see inside me.”

Seraph took a shuddering breath, his anger starting to sour into sorrow and regret.

“But I’m not. Rose, I . . . I’m just a man. A man whose soul was tainted and crushed long before I ever met you. You, our son . . . you were both the only guiding light I’ve ever had. Without you I’m hopelessly lost. Father knew that when he handed you over, and he knows it now. If he can’t destroy you, then he will use you to set the course I follow.”

Seraph buried his face in his hands, struggling to keep his voice even.

“I can’t lose you Rose. I couldn’t take it, I’d go insane. If that means I have to sell what’s left of my soul, I’ll do it gladly. Father’s already threatened giving you to Cheran, and I . . .”

From beside him, Seraph could hear the rustle of the bed sheets as Rose shifted positions. A moment later, to Seraph’s surprise she wrapped her arms around him and laid her head down on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” Rose whispered quietly. “I’ve been . . . selfish lately. I’ve always wanted you to make your own decisions, and listen to your conscience instead of blindly obeying your Father. But after . . . what happened, I was so angry. I wanted the Baron to pay, and since I couldn’t do it, I tried to use you. I’ve put you in a very difficult position, and I’m sorry. Hey look at me.”

Cupping one hand under his chin, Rose lifted Seraph’s head and turned it so he was once again looking directly into her eyes.

“I will always love you. I may become disappointed or angry when you make a poor decision, but that will never change how I feel about you. Nor will it ever change the fact that deep inside you somewhere is a great man. I just hope one day you will see him the way I do, and do something about it.”

Rose leaned in, planting a kiss on his lips. Then pulling back, she returned the hand she had been keeping under his chin to her lap. She favored him with a smile as she took a deep shuddering breath.

“Somehow, we will find a way through this, no matter how unpleasant. Together. And so, since your Father has made a demand, let me help you.”

Even with his enhanced reflexes, Seraph was still caught completely off-guard as Rose’s hand flashed up to her face. Hot blood splattered across his face as the knife clenched in that fist found flesh. He was still in shock a moment later when the screaming started.

************

Muttering curses to himself, Cheran stepped into his room to find it much the way he had left it in his maddened chase. Although not quite – there was supposed to be an unconscious half-trussed up bitch lying on his floor. Instead, there was a pile of cut rope and blood splatters, indicating his guest had found one of the other shards of the glass vase scattered about on the floor.

Reacting more on instinct than anything else, Cheran spun around to face his blind side. He turned just in time to catch sight of his betrothed with his good eye, leaping towards him with a glass shard gingerly clutched in one hand. He caught her hand in his easily, thwarting the attempted stabbing by a good foot.

“I’m tired of people stabbing me today!” Cheran growled, squeezing the Countess’s hand with his. He was rewarded by the crisp sound of crumbling glass, and the loud squeal the noble sow made as her weapon fell apart out of her hand, but not before shredding it. Despite this, the woman still had enough fight left in her to bring her other bloody palm up (evidently the source of the original blood splatters staining his carpet) in a slap to his face. Cheran also caught this blow before it landed, barking a laugh for a moment as they struggled hand to hand in the doorway of his quarters. Then, he threw her to the floor, falling down after her to land on top of her.

“You really ought to save some of this for our honeymoon.” Cheran said before leaning in to kiss her full on the lips. She responded by biting his lower lip and then trying to bring a knee up into a by-now tenderized area when he pulled away. He just barely stopped himself from delivering another bruising slap to that perfect face. Instead, he dug his thumbs into the palms of the sow’s torn hands, earning another squeal.

“You will learn respect before you die!” Cheran snarled, releasing her entirely so that he could step back to deliver a hard kick to her side, knocking the wind out of her (blows below the neck didn’t matter as much).

“Funny. I was just thinking Korram would do the same with you.” She wheezed. For a moment, Cheran felt a rising urge to continue hitting the stubborn wench. So, he indulged it by delivering another kick, this time making sure she was too out of breath to retort further. Then, a new thought occurred to him, and he leered down as his betrothed.

“I’m afraid to tell you this, but Korram’s dead. He was executed this morning back at the estate. It’s not looking particularly good for his daughter or your little slut friend either – I tried to go easy but humans are so fragile.”

“You’re . . . lying!” She eventually managed to cough out, at which Cheran’s grin only grew wider.

“Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not. It doesn’t really matter either way. They’ve all abandoned you. No one cares what happens to you, my lovely bride. Now that you’ve given your consent, we’ll be married within the week. And then . . . if you think you’ve experienced the worst imaginable so far, you’ll find yourself sorely mistaken.”

Moving away from his betrothed, Cheran searches about the wreckage of the quarters until he finds what he was looking for. Another glass vial, thankfully still stoppered and full of the black viscous liquid he had poured down the whore’s throat. That one had made the perfect test subject, although admittedly the formula could still use some work. Grinning, he moves back over to the Countess, grabbing a handful of her long mane of blond hair and hauling her up onto her feet by it. He then drags her over to where his other two guests had been chained before their damnable escape, and snaps the manacles around her wrists.

“Now, here’s a little something to keep you entertained while I clean up. Be a good girl and I might even give you a healing potion for those hands of yours after . . . or another dose.”

“Go to the Hells.” She snapped, recoiling at the sight of the vial of drugs, but chained to the wall there was very little she could do.

“You first.” Cheran retorted happily, enjoying the brief renewed struggle before he managed to get the potion down her throat. Then, he left her to her own imaginary demons as he set up cleaning up the mess. It didn’t take long before she was a screaming, sobbing mess. Music to Cheran’s ears.

*************

Although he hadn’t really intended to arrive here, Nephilium’s aimless wandering had eventually led him down to where this whole mess had begun. The Warden was still there, and definitely still looking a bit queasy. Given the long streak of blood now painting the floor between the exit and the door leading to Ysora’s cell, it wasn’t hard to understand why.

“They took her up to Medical, rather than try to work on her down here. She’s uh, lost a lot of blood.”

“She’ll recover. Probably within a few days.” Nephilium answered, no longer sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Given what Father was doing with the souls of every angel he summoned and summarily executed, Ysora’s survival was likely a marginally good thing. Even if it meant continued suffering . . . at his hands no less.

“I’ll check up there.” Nephilium answered, wandering out in much the same way as he had came in. He already knew Ysora was up in Medical – it was the only logical place. But he likewise knew that he tempted disaster from Father if he just happened to wander in up there.

So, all that was left was to aimlessly wander the hallways, deep in thought. He didn’t like where his thoughts were going right now. He felt as helpless now as the day his wife died. He couldn’t disobey Father, and yet how could he possibly bring himself to torture one of the few beings he considered a friend? Especially a friend who so strongly resembled his former wife.

Hoping to distract himself for a bit with some random odd or end he had collected, Nephilium dug through the folds of his cloak. His hands came out with the white queen from the chess set he had been using to play with Ysora. He must have forgotten to remove the piece last time when he returned the set to the safety of his quarters.

That didn’t help at all, and Nephilium found himself clutching the piece so tightly that its sharp edges had cut into his palm, smearing blood all over it and staining it red.

[Pwenet]

Incom Morgan

”Let me see the wound Sara.”

Leaning in close Incom allowed the GHAST senses to wash over Sara. Surprisingly detailed analysis appeared in his minds-eye, which made sense for a killing machine to be able to tell where an opponent was wounded to aid in eliminating them. The cut was nasty and ragged having almost cut through muscle, but the pulsing veins were intact around the wound. The bleeding itself was already fairly under control all things considered. Reaching towards the now useless EEP Incom tears off the canvas straps. Debt artificial hands tied them into a basic bandage which he gently but firmly wraps around the wound, keeping it closed and should prevent it from ripping open further as Sara moved.

”We will need to clean this and get a proper bandage before it gets infected but you should be good to move. We don’t have much time, the Baron would not have bought the bluff, and even if he intended for us to escape he would make at least a show of trying to catch us.”

Looking around the landing site Incom sees the forest. His enhanced senses allow him to instantly analyze and threat assess every form of wildlife in the vicinity, thankfully there was nothing larger than a few squirrels and birds. The sound of running water nearby gives him an idea and he quickly returns to the EEP and starts poking around with it.

”We are not the most inconspicuous pair of fugitives Sara, so we will have to be smart. I don’t know where we should go but we need to get away from here, find out where exactly we are, find those that might help us while avoiding your father and his minions.”

Looking down at his handiwork he nods and reaches down to Sara and gently picks her up, holding her easily in the crock of his left arm. Looking at the bandaged wound he is pleased to see htat no further blood is oozing from beneath the bandages.

”I spoke to your mother. You real mother, the nice woman beneath the twisted horrors that were forced upon her. She came through, begging me to save you, to take you away from the Baron, to keep you safe. That one bright spark within her loves you and wants to see you safe.”

Probably not the best time to have told Sara that, but it needed to be said. Part of him was still in shock over the entire incident, yet there was an underlying sense of peace now within him. The peace that allowed him to tap into hope, to “hack” for lack of a better term the communications network on the Baron’s airship to steal Sara from him. Hope that would save them, and hopefully save the world.

”We should go Sara. Hold on tight.”

Firing the thrusters in his wings with as little power as possible Incom floated a few inches over the ground while keeping the flames from burning the forest floor. Gliding along they come to the large stream that he heard earlier. Landing carefully it came up to his waist but low enough to keep Sara from getting wet. Fording his way through the river the EEP, left behind completes’ its last job and explodes several minutes later. Continuing to walk away Incom hopes to find some kind of inspiration as to where to go, what to do, and how to do whatever it was to keep Sara safe.