Serious Plots 7: Why so srs?

[Murkus]

[FCFC - The Hold]

Astrana turns away with a frown. "Sell me? So you're a slaver then. Figures." She scoffs. "A slaver with a sense of grandeur apparently as I'm still having trouble telling if the show is over or not with all your dramatics. But let me bring this down to earth with a simple question then, will you pay me and will I be able to go home? If the answer is no on either of those, we don't have much to discuss. Threaten me with worse slavers or beatings might make me stay, but I won't do a good job. Slavery produces nothing but half-efforts." She tsks.

[FCFC - The Hold]

"Yes. To both. Why not," says the voice. "It isn't as though the Nexus is difficult to reach with a ship like ours, and the alternative is... much less pleasant for you."

"Do you know who has more coin to waste than slavers?" The stranger asks. "Black market doctors. Rich lunatics who pay those doctors. Very desperate men. Do you have any idea what the most despicable kind of scum will pay for a set of horns like yours?"

The voice scoffs as its owner turns and rifles around in the dark. "Slavery. Fool's market, that. Too much risk without a stable environment for the trade."

[Hattish Thing]

Expedition

A significant percentage of the crewmembers on deck begin to panic and flee at the sight of the summoned demon. Fortunately, however, the creature quickly makes itself useful, wrapping its gnarled and twisted limbs around the neck of one of the enormous winter roc at the side of the ship, temporarily paralyzing it.

Arbrim grimaces as Tyndael fires a shot towards the nearest creature. Due to its enormous size, the bullet connects with relative ease, although the oversized thing pays little heed to the wound. With a bulky shotgun in hand, the bounty-hunter reaches for the halfling's cloak, pulling her to the side. "Ship falls, won't matter how many birds we kill." Following the panicked dwarven engineer, Arbrim attempts to drag Tyndael along.

After several seconds, the engineer tears open the door leading into the primary control room, revealing a crumbling chamber whose back walls have fallen apart, exposing the insides of the room to the bitter winds outside. Clockwork gear-machines set against the walls bellow steam into the room, and a vast labyrinthine network of bronze pipes connects the smaller machines to a large central metal machine the size of several men. A control board of gears, levers, and curious buttons encircles the central machine.

The engineer groans before staring at the machine which begins to whir and bellow forth steam, before beginning to shake uncontrollably. He coughs before pointing at the machine.

"Something's gone wrong, it's not responding like it should. The steam-engine appears to be overheating - you need to re-route the path the heat is taking through the pipe system before something melts, or worse, implodes. Bit of shrapnel got me in the arm, don't have the strength to pull the backup lever. We don't have much time!"

"Mage... I got the big lever, you get the little one."

[Shadowcaller]

[FCFC - The Hold]

"I have some ideas what people could do for a set, yeah." Astrana admits, most tieflings knew about the horn trade. It wasn't like the humans had to keep it a secret for anyone but themselves. In fact, the only reason they would even consider banning it would be if the horns had adverse effects on those who snorted it, or whatever weird things they did with tiefling horns.
Point was, she knew very well what awful things that could be done to her.

"But, if your answers are 'yes', then why didn't you just ask me? Why bother with all the dramatics? Now I will have trouble trusting you, and you will certainly have trouble trusting me. I don't even know what you need me for." She couldn't say that she would have accepted, her job at MERC was safe and secure with good pay. Not sure she would have given that up for this wildcard.

[Earl of Purple]

Expedition

Tyndael looks on in shock at the crumpled machinery, as there's not much she can do to stop Arbrim dragging her here. She'll get to the smaller lever, but she really can't tell what here does what, and pulls it in the hope she hasn't just jettisoned the fuel. Hopefully somebody will tell her to stop before she pulls the lever if that's the lever she's holding.

[billtodamax]

Expedition

Marshall sees that Tyndael has taken his appointed lever. Works for him! More time for weird magic.

Manus, out please. The spirit once again emerges from his ring, flying directly into his head. Any enchantments or invisible creatures will be revealed to him as his eyes begin to glow with a faint light. He takes off his spear once more and draws a much quicker circle on the ground beneath him, before scattering a smaller circle of salt inside of it.

Wind spirits grant us favour. There has been blood spilled here today, I deny its power to this unnatural storm and these craven beasts - it is yours, wind. Just a short speech this time and the magic contained within both circles will be released. The wind spirits nearby will turn the wind against the birds and toward the ship in subtle ways - it might be just a bit harder for them to fly, the ship buffeted just a bit less by the pressure. Perhaps most importantly, the blood from the dead crew - and the power it represents - will be scattered across hundreds of spirits instead of being free to be channeled by whoever created this unnatural storm.

[Gullara]

[The Void]

Not hard at all. He passes into a square tunnel with corners made from stripes of shimmering emerald energy, down this passage, and through a door of swirling mist.

He finds the... pilot, such as it is. This creature has had its wings severed, vestigial though they seemed to begin with, and it is partially fused with the floor of this strange rectangular chamber. Unearthly light plays along channels in the wall, and various stone objects apparently from the ship itself float slowly around the creature.

It turns from examining one of them. "You. Not crew," buzzes a voice in Val's mind.

[The Void]

Val stops and stares at the strange being for a moment, but his focus returns quickly. "It doesn't matter. You need to fly closer to the circus." He says bluntly. Subtlety doesn't feel like a priority when he's so close. "You don't need to stop, just move closer." While he offers no explanation, his words carry his high strung urgency.

[Earl of Purple]

The Tomb of Removed Hope

It's cold, this far north. There's ice and snow around, and it's decidedly chilly. There's a little-used path here, leading towards a black, snow-less pyramid in the near distance. A glacier looks as though it has... Flowed around the pyramid, to keep away from it. The path is marked by four two-metre steel spikes stuck into the ground; skulls have been pushed onto the spikes. Three of the spikes are 'full', as it were, with skulls from top to bottom. The fourth is about halfway there.

As the adventurers approach, something flies towards them from the distant pyramid. An angel, female, with white skin giving off a bright, harsh light. Her hair and feathers are both white, fading through grey to a very dark and glossy black. Her eyes are red, and her halo is a ring of foul glyphs and symbols, appearing as black holes in the air rather than glowing signs of purity. She's wearing a white loincloth, long and hanging to her ankles but leaving legs bare, and a white cloth wrap around her breasts. Her face is stern and unyielding, and she carries a halberd with a head of silver and a haft of white wood. The halberd's axe-blade resembles a face in profile, with gaping mouth and sharp teeth and a hole punched for the eye, with the counterbalancing hook resembling a horn. "Turn back, mortals, or your heads shall grace our warning."

[Gnrlshrimp]

[The Blue City - Sealed Prison]

"Death existed long before there were those with the minds to appreciate it, Professor."
Libitina finally speaks, though quietly.

She approaches the edge of the prison nearest Feia, right around when the witch begins withdrawing her probing energy and looking generally less tense.

"She is secure."
That tension shifts into something akin to relaxed triumph.
"Though I'm beginning to see your point more and more...that was an excellent opportunity for an escape attempt."

[The Blue City - Sealed Prison]

"But did death given form exist prior to there being minds capable of forming such thoughts? How far back do your memories go, Libitina?" Affy asks, the squat box quietly whirring away as it observes. "Do your memories stretch as far back as the beginning of your reality? You know that can't really be the case, don't you? Even if you think they go that far back." There's a slight judder from the machine at that.

Not having a hologram to mess about with is really stifling.

"Feia, I- ah, do you have any spare material lying around? Not having a hologram is surprisingly frustrating. Anyway, Feia, how does this sound? Perhaps what sustains an individual such as Libitina in a world where they are formed from the beginning is the belief of the creator of said world? Peel back the curtain and perhaps you'll find an artist at work in all such cases. Hard, nigh-impossible to prove, but it seems reasonable to me."

[bc56]

Tomb of Removed Hope

Erasmus looks the spikes up and down, checking for any notable skulls upon them, like eldritch horrors, giants, dragons, etc. He pulls a bottle off the leather equipment harness he wears and takes a swig before replacing it. "Funny. I'd swear your warning spikes are already full." As he says this, he subtly casts an illusion to make the remaining spike appear covered in skulls in the same manner as the other three.

[Reinholdt]

[Underground Laboratory]

Sophie pulls out her gun and approaches the bear-sound-door. She'll look for any way to peer inside. This place seems abandoned, and by the looks of it, has been for a while. But the man who left Sasha with GLoG only did it yesterday...

[Underground Laboratory]

There isn't any options in terms of peeking inside through a window and the gaps in the door are too small to get information from, but it's a simple flap door that cannot be looked and may be pushed open for a better look. Anything within could theoretically look back at Sophie if she does, but they'd have to be facing the right way.

[Deathkeeper]

The Vault

Jim nods.
”Yeah I don’t know jack about armor and it doesn’t have legs that bend right anyway. And like hell am I putting my hand in the torture glove.” So he begins shifting through the scrolls. Scrolls are much safer.

[Hattish Thing]

Expedition

The instant the small lever is pulled, Arbrim reaches for the larger one, taking care to pull each lever simultaneously, as per the engineer's orders. The enormous machine built into the back of the vessel begins to whir and groan, screeching as pipes begin to belch forth superheated air from within the bowels of the great machine. Unfortunately, the attempt to re-route the flow of exhaust and cool down the volatile machine appears to simply make things worse, for the damaged mechanism begins to shake and rock.

Boards begin to be torn free of the vessel, showering the small gathering in nails and shrapnel as the back of the deck continues to fall apart. At the last second, the engineer realizes the reason why the attempt to cool the machine failed, his gray eyes flashing towards one of the large bronze pipes built into the machine, grimacing as he notices that the pipe appears to be leaking highly explosive fuel.

This frightening realization causes the engineer to panic, shouting out in fear. His shriek is just enough of a warning for Arbrim, who reaches to stuff Girard and Tyndael into the confines of his hexagonal-patterned cloak. The bounty-hunter turns away from the machine, shoulders high, the protective material completely enveloping the others.

The explosion that occurs seconds later causes half of the ship to instantly disintegrate, melting any crewmembers caught in the blast radius while likely maiming others.

--

What comes next for the small gathering is a long, dreadful fall, followed by a sickening squelching noise. Tyndael and Girard will find it easy to untangle themselves from within the depths of Arbrim's black cloak, especially seeing as his grip his gone quite limp. All around them, burning debris and rubble piles atop the snow, while the front of the airship can be seen ahead, rising out of the snow like some great ruin, a skeletal shape of splintered wood and battered metal.

Arbrim appears to have taken the brunt of the impact, having landed upon what appears to be a large, iron spike, once part of the vessel. The spike has pierced through his cloak, as well as through his chest, the force having driven his body down to the bottom of the iron spear.

His fingers twitch, clearly stunned.

"Gurh..."

[Recaiden]

Alice has dressed warmly for the trip, hat and scarf and blanket and jacket and so on, but as the angel approaches, she adjusts the blanket and takes her hands with their poorly-tailored palmless gloves from her pockets. This could easily come to a fight, and anything more covering would get in the way.

She takes one step back. It might be possible to talk their way past this. That counts as turning back, right?
"I believe we are here to help."
Alice sounds calm, but her eyes betray that she's quite disturbed by the bleak angel.

[The Third Circle]

Anima pads into the bookstore, looking around idly. She's not as interested in books as she was back when she was more human, when she imagined that they had answers in them. But she still likes stories, and there are times to consult books for certain specific information...
She glances around to see who's working the shop, and probably heads for the sections on religion and metaphysics.

[Deathkeeper]

The Third Circle

The store is warm and old, and filled high with books of all subjects. The desk at the front is manned by a small goat-like being with horns and wings and a canine tail. He waves nervously to Anima.
Shortly after she enters a similar being flaps up to her, this one with a canine face, spectacles, a spades tail, and clutching a book of his own.
”How may we help you, Miss?” he asks quietly.

[Recaiden]

Anima waves back at the...cashier? Hmm. Would he be as good to eat as an actual goat? Probably not.

She glances at the book the other salesimp is holding. Is it anything in particular? "Could you direct me to books about imps, angels, devils, that sort of thing? Particularly anything too rare or new to be in a library. Thanks."

[Deathkeeper]

The Third Circle

The book is unlabelled, and manages to look both new and ancient at the same time.
”Ah, working on summoning, are you? Or more application of theory?” asks the imp, gesturing her over to the magic half of the store.

[Recaiden]

Genuine Imitation Ancient Tome, probably. Not having a title is so selfish of a book.

Anima follows over into the magic section, bending to look at the shelves.
"Other applications. I have some souls that aren't quite fitting in the way they are, and thought it might have some relevance."

[Deathkeeper]

The Third Circle

The imps blink.
”Miss, you are very young to be collecting souls. Define ‘fitting in.’ Soul Magic’s are not something to be trifled with. There can be serious repercussions to tampering with them.” he warns her, adjusting his glasses.

[Recaiden]

"I can hardly wait to get older when there's so much that needs to be done now." Anima explains. "And I'm afraid you're years too late to warn me against collecting them. I do hope that establishes that this is no trifle."
She smiles slightly.
"I hesitate to say that they're 'damaged', since who can say how a soul is meant to twist and turn, but quarrelsome, despondent, unable to enjoy happiness - any or all of these, and something must be done about them. Eventually, if not now."

[Deathkeeper]

The Third Circle

The imp stares at her.
”Right. And where did you get them, exactly?” he asks her pointedly.

[Recaiden]

Anima notices this and stares back at the imp instead of at the books.
"Various places. Do you routinely interrogate customers about the provenance of their...things?"

Is it any business of yours, imp?

[Deathkeeper]

The Third Circle

”Only when the subject matter is so important and also my area of expertise.
You see, if you stole the souls fresh from their bodies they might be fundamentally broken due to being denied their afterlives and forced to remain in their state. Otherwise, souls from certain parts of Hell might simply be suffering from masochism and don’t like that they’ve been taken out of their eternal torment, believe it or not. Others might be merely upset in general that hey haven’t been used as souls are supposed to. Have they made any demands of you?” the imp explains, standing upon his book as if it were a platform.

[Recaiden]

"Would they really be so shortsighted as to put the masochists in regular hell?" Anima muses, completely skipping over most of what the imp said. Even if she could contest that line about stealing souls.
"Ugh, they probably would. Most gods seem to be a little...well, you know. Unbalanced, shall we say?"

"Wait, 'supposed to be used'? And how is that?"

[Deathkeeper]

The Third Circle

”Souls arent meant to hang around the mortal coil. That’s why Ghosts usually pass on once their business is finished or their remains are buried properly. And there’s nothing worse than being bottled up in some jewel for centuries. Souls naturally desire to get to their final destination, even if nothing good awaits them. Usually parts of the soul itself are used to add to the realm itself or broken down, forged into new demons or angels, even if the mind itself can stay in that realm for centuries to be called up when descendants need advice or such. From what I understand it’s more common for angels to be born with a past life’s identity but it’s not a given for anyone, no matter what stories you hear.” the demon insists, crossing his arms.

[Recaiden]

"You don't remember your mortal life, and it bothers you." Anima surmises.

"Don't worry, they aren't kept in the mortal realm, I mean obviously when you're planning for the long-term you can't."
"Now, add to the realm itself, you say? Are the realms sort of alive, then, or is the soul basically destroyed in the process?"

Awful business, destroying peoples' souls.

[Ashen Lilies]

[The Tomb of Removed Hope]

Ugh. Of course it would have to be up here, wouldn't it? MERC is already bad enough, but being this far north is basically torture.

Cass is wearing a heavy cloak over a padded jacket and thick boots, and she still has to weave a minor charm around herself to keep the breeze out. At least the cloak is relatively concealing as well, though a crease at her hip suggests some form of scabbard, for a short sword or something similar. In one hand she's got a plain staff of carved wood, to complete a more wizardly appearance.

She doesn't speak to the angel, but keeps watch - words have already been said, more will probably get in the way.

[Morty]

[Underground Laboratory]

Sophie does carefully push the door slightly ajar and peers inside. Maybe it'll tell her something about what happened here...

[Earl of Purple]

The Tomb of Hope Removed

Most of the skulls are humanoid in various sizes; the smallest probably came from a child. The largest came from an ogre. The angel glances at the pole, and turns back. "You have done that. Each skull I placed there myself, whilst it screamed. We need no help here, mortal. This place is not for the likes of you. Turn back, or your heads shall grace our warning. I will not repeat myself further." The angel takes up a guard position, with halberd held lightly but ready to snap into action at a moment's notice.

Expedition

Tyndael gets up shakily after the explosion which has deposited her on the ground. She checks to ensure she still has her pistol- yep- and looks around, hoping to spot surviving crew, who might know what happened. Her eyes widen when she sees what has happened to Arbrim. "Arbrim? Are you... Can you be repaired or healed or something? Can you get off the spike or do you need help?" She nearly asked if he was 'alright', before realising just how pointless that question is. She's willing to help, but she's a little small and not the strongest individual.

[bc56]

Tomb of Removed Hope

"Sorry to bother you, then." Erasmus turns back towards the group and silently sends a message. :What do we do now?:

[Deathkeeper]

The Third Circle

The imp grins a knowing smile. ”Not quite, Miss.”
”More that they are...subsumed. The nature of Heaven and Hell are a subject of much debate among mortals. I cannot tell you exactly. Trade secrets.” the imp says with a wink.