Everything So Far

Grey

Grey

Dialectical Hermeticist
Olimak Lenore strides with grim purpose towards Kaiden's Spire, a hapless thief from another world named Nikros Belis following in her wake. At the Spire, two young Stormlords work floors apart, unaware that soon they will be thrust together - the enigmatic Moran Shadowdance and the energetic Heresh Morrikin. Meanwhile, the outcast Arcanotech Mechan Ferrus tinkers in his workshop aboard The Burning Moth, and the solitary Troll Meric King seeks a thrill to remind him how good it feels to be alive. Ywen the Eternal maintains her claim to the title by avoiding unspecified trouble by waiting here, at the Spire, and...
 
Last edited by a moderator:
Kaiden's Spire


It's a beautiful clear afternoon, the sun blazing brightly in the sky and reflecting glittering rays from the polished steel of Kaiden's Spire. A tiny cloud clings to the very tip, as if afraid to leave, sparking gently. The plains below are green and verdant, and a little town clusters around the base as if to take shelter, bustling with activity. For miles, the plains roll, and above the blue skies stretch into eternity.


Heresh - Spire, Outer peak


No. No! Why did anyone think this was a good idea? CABLE COUPLINGS DO NOT WORK THAT WAY! THIS IS HOW FIRES GET STARTED!


Hanging from a low lightning rod, you can clearly see that some idiot has not only hooked up the transmission cables wrong but has left them dangling from the outer casing of the rod.


You almost miss the crack of thunder in the dist- Wait, hang on, you can't sense any storms.


Oh. Airships fighting again, you suppose. Woo, somebody is dropping some heavy munitions - one ship, too small to make out, is holding at roughly spiretop height. The other is at docking level.


Streaking from one to the other is something like a shooting star, very fast and glowing with heat.


Lenore - 8,000 feet and dropping


This is living. The screaming of the winds around you as you plow through the air, the familiar glow of air-friction heat enveloping the IField, the sight of enemy on deck beginning to panic.


You just hope those idiots back on The Firebird know well enough to follow your descent.


Oh, good, the captain is right under you, firing ineffectually up with his pistol. This will be a satisfying collision.


Nikros - Hiding place, The Sally Long


It's oddly comfortable here in the dark of the cargo bay. You've got all the stolen rations you can eat, half a bottle of ale, and inside this padded crate no-one can find you. It's such a big crate for one little seed. Then again, you didn't see trees much at the Tower - maybe they're just as rare in the outside world? Hm. Sounds like the crew is shouting and moving around a lot now. Maybe they're going to dock? Or... maybe the Twilight Guard have caught up with you?


Roland - Spire Base


This is ridiculous. Typical Magi-bias. The guards won't even let you into the lower levels! Kaiden's Hamlet is a nice enough place, you suppose, if a bit chilly in the shade of the Spire, it smells of fresh made cherry tarts, farmers boots, and rings with the cries of small shopkeepers and playing children.


But you're not convinced there will be much work down here. Maybe there's someone who can get you into the Spire. Or failing that some ground caravans who will need help. You could always try Weylund's Inn.


Moran - Weylund's Inn


Nightmares again. She's coming for you.


You can't believe he'd send such a person after you - a Hulbradim, to haunt your dreams while she hunts your body. At least she doesn't know what you look like now, in disguise. Still, you might not be safe out here anymore - it feels like she's getting close. You could try getting into the Spire, find a ship, but getting past the guards means at the very least revealing your powers.


Meric and Urral - The Spiretop Lounge


Piano music plays while Magi and other notables relax and chatter in luxuriant couches. Waiters glide back and forth with trays of food and drinks. The smells of rich sauces, strong wines, and roast meat pervade the air in a mouthwatering haze. Outside the huge windows, the sky and earth spread forever in a beautiful mirror of one another.


For Meric: A waiter serves you a sizable tankard of fine wine and melts into the crowd with a bow. The view out there really is something special. Huh, but so is that woman reflected in the window. Lezekim, you don't doubt. Hey, maybe she's hiring!


For Urral: Ugh. Look at at them. Take away the magic and what are they? At least the service is prompt and the food is good. A singularly dull lot, this. If one more dares attempt to seduce you... Is that a Troll? How unique! He or she seems to be enjoying the view.


Mechan - Workshop, aboard the Burning Moth


Yes, this might be it. If you mix in just a touch of the- Oh, dear, no. Stop burning! STOP!


Well, that could have gone better, as you wipe the soot of your face and gloves. Definitely getting close now.


"Can we go for a quiet pint, boss?" Tyris asks, in Tock, packing away a selection of size-organized screws.


"Yeah, seeing as how you don't need us at the minute..." Adds Hemtal, his mechanical hand whirring softly as he screws the lid onto a chemical jar.
 
Olimak Lenore:


A small smile plays across the Olimakim's lips, hidden behind her helmet. Her blazing eyes narrow as she braces for impact, shield braced directly in front of her, the enemy Captain in her sights.


For those scant few seconds before collision, she closes her eyes...


Bliss.


The shock of impact sounds like a thunderclap, eldritch energies shunting the force of her fall away from her. The maelstrom of concussive force crashes from Lenore, its fury washing across the deck as some cruel tide.


Embers in her chest flare up, filling her being with molten joy, and she brought her sword to bear.
 
Roland Macrus


Roland exhaled in frustration, as he weighed his options, most of them not good. Eventually, he decided to make way for the inn. Experience had apparently shown many a hiring sort seemed to be found at inns, or better yet, someone who could get him into the Spire, and more chance of work there.
 
Urral Leketh


A troll in the lounge. Quaint. Her mind flashes back to the anatomy lessons of her youth. Trolls were exceedingly rare to come across so each detail had to be memorized. The connective tissue between tusk and jaw could be loosened if struck precisely with the hilt of her halberd, the eyes more susceptible to blindness could be used to negate the size and strength. Intricate maneuvers to confuse the simple mind.





Urral's planning was interrupted when a mug of some thick human liquor was thrust at her. A youthful man was standing before her.


"Did it hurt?" Thrown off by his comment she raises a brow, sniffing the liqour and setting it down in disgust. "Did what hurt?" The humans face seemed to light up by the fact she responded. "When you fell from heave-" The disgusting mortal liquid found itself hurtled into the side of the mortals head. A satisfying crunch as the metal buckled on his thicker than average skull. He'd live and only due to her mercy.


An impossibly long leg clad in plates of metal pushes the body off to the side. The troll seemed to be looking at her now. Hopefully she'd have something on hand heavier than a mug when the inevitable come on happened. She laughed a little. Doubting that that was even possible for Trolls.
 
Meric King


Meric guffawed loudly when he saw how the Lezekim women dealt with the would be suitor. I'd have to cancel the Ifpent job... but if she is hiring, it might be worth it. He grabs his mug of wine and makes his way towards the Lezekim. He sits down, grins, and says a happy "Hello,"
 
A quick stab of panic flashed through Nikros' mind at the thought that his pursuers had caught up already, but it was quelled quickly enough. After all, they'd not even docked yet, to have caught up already... Well, he didn't think quite that highly of the Twilight Caste's abilities, impressive as they were. Which meant it might be time to get out of here. "...Could use a bit of fresh air anyway..."


The young thief slipped from the crate he'd been hiding in without a sound, making sure no trace of his presence was left behind when he closed it back up and slid over to the doorway out into the main body of the ship. Just a quick look around, stick to the shadows, don't make a peep. Simple enough, and far safer than just staying trapped in a box and hoping for the best. Worst case, he would be on his feet when danger hit.
 
Urral Leketh


The troll staring laughed and made it's way over. At least he sat down. If he had remained standing like the human she'd have had to get up to deal with this one. It spoke and grinned like an idiot.


"Hello,"


She was silent for a few moments then decided to reply. "Yes?"


What was it? Everyone bother the demon day today? She crosses her legs, the suit of armor not seeming to burden her in the least.
 
"I'm Meric King, nice to meet you. I'm looking for a job... And you look like the type who is looking for someone looking for a job," He grins and continues, "I prefer somthing on a Skyship, but i'll do most anything... Execpt assassination, I don't really like assassination, it's takes much too long to get done,"
 
Moran Shadowdance


L'ámnia Silverlight


L'ámnia shuddered awake, the remains of her nightmare made her cold and weak but. She sat upright in bed, shaking, the last vestiges of the nightmare slowly dying. She couldn't even tell what they were now but they've been following her, dodging her footsteps. She remained sitting on the bed, taking deep breaths. She had been given a cot in the men's quarters, which was really just a large room full of cots and pallets that single men could pay for for their stay. It didn't cost much and kept up the charade that she was a man. Well, boy really. Her voice was too high and soft to pass off as a man. She stood, finding the trousers her cousin had given her still uncomfortable. She knew some women revelled in the freedom of a pair of trews but she felt exposed, as if her legs were on display and she didn't find it seemly. She hated it in fact.


Someone snored as she grabbed her only possession, a single bag that held everything she might ever need in it. She placed it over her neck, making sure that the opening was pressed against her body. She descended the steps of the inn down towards the common room that seemed filled with people who were in various states of sobriety. She wrinkled her nose as she found a table that had only one sleeping man at it. She gingerly sat down even as a woman appeared. L'ámnia did not approve of such obvious displays of one's natural talent but she was hungry and thirsty. "Soup and hot cider please."


"Sure thing deary, anyting else?"


She shook her head. "No, thank you. Just the food and drink." The woman shrugged her shoulders and moved off. When the drink came she just wrapped her hands around the warm mug of cider. She still felt the effects of the nightmare. A hullbradim. She shivered. Uncle has sent a hullbradim after me. She remembered her cider and took a sip. It was foul, as were most things since she escaped her guards and ran away. She looked up, her eyes looking beyond the walls of the inn and seeing the Spire. Maybe if I got up there, I could get onto a ship. She rolled her eyes even as the soup and bread came. Of course, that would require getting past the guards and getting past the guards would require magic. She groaned, picked up her spoon and absently cleaned it. She did not want to attract that kind of attention onto herself. She sighed as she pondered the problem. Do I stay here and wait for the hullbradim to find me or do I take matters into my own hands, risk exposing myself and get onto a ship and hope no one notices who I really am. She toyed with her soup, not having a clue what she should do.
 
Mechan Ferrus


Mechan pulled the thick leather helm from his head and tossed it aside. It clattered amongst the collected detritus of his alchemical workbench. His henchmen had muttered something about...something. It was superfluous to his attention so he waved them away. He needed to concentrate, and their ineffectual bumbling was just getting underfoot. Perhaps the blend of nitre was too refined, too energetic. A coarser blend might produce.... He hauled out his notebook and leafed through until he found the tables. His precious tables that tabulated the, so far, one-hundred-and-eighty-seven experimental blends of gunpowder. He added the new formula to the table, carefully noting the proportions of nitre, brimstone and charcoal used, the final granular coarseness and the efficacy of the mixture. As he wrote in this final box, he changed from his black ink quill to a red one. Formulation was effected in the standard manner, however the resulting concoction burned with too great a vigour. Indications are that, used in a cartridge casing, the powder would be ineffective in propelling a projectile through rifling at anything approaching the prescribed muzzle velocity. Formulation FAILED.


He sighed as he sprinkled pounce over the entry and blew it off again. Of all the previous experiments, only twenty had proved to be anything approaching the desired 'smokeless formulation' written of by the infamous alchemist Morgaile. Mechan slumped down on a stool and ran a hand across his scarred head. Why was this so bloody illusive?He stood up and wandered over to the porthole that was located in the outer wall, above his lens-making workstation. He cracked it open enough to allow a breeze to clear the thick blue-grey cloud of smoke that coiled lazily through the air. Perhaps they were right, his old masters. Perhaps the dream of smokeless powder was simply the dream of a addled-headed old alchemist who was dying of quicksilver poisoning. Perhaps he should be restricting himself to more attainable pursuits, like the many clockwork artifices of his contemporaries or the investigations into the true Alkahest or.... NO! No, no, no, no and forever, no! He had worked too hard, sacrificed too much, to give up this dream. His masters be damned, his contemporaries be damned, Morgaile be damned! He would reconstruct this nigh-mythical formula even if it was his life's work.


But, perhaps a short break away from the workshop would be of benefit. Refresh the body, reinvigorate the mind. He nodded. A short break. He got up and walked to the door. Then he stopped. He turned and went to the right side of his workshop, where his milling station and construction tools were and scooped up the 'Custom Model Mark IIXX' from the bench clamp he'd locked it into. He hefted the long-barrelled revolver up and sighted down it. Slightly canted to the right. He took a long narrow screwdriver from his toolbelt and carefully turned a screw on the right side of the gun's telescopic sight. The device moved almost imperceptibly to the left and he sighted up again. Perfect. He went to the door, slipping five shells into the weapon as we went. He stopped before he exited the room. The Longreach Mark XVI sat on the lens-making workstation, it's new sighting array freshly screwed into place. He went back and picked it up, hanging it's detachable bipod from his toolbelt and sighting up out through the porthole. The distant hovels of Spire Base sprang into view, visible through a haze of smoke and dust. With a smile, the Arcanotechnician strapped the weapon to his shoulder harness and finally wandered out the door. Had Tyris said something about something to drink?
 
Urral Leketh


She waits until he is finished bumbling over the word assassination before answering. "First of all" Her voice is melodic, an almost singing sound. "I was simply enjoying the glories of the setting sun, not hunting down...trolls...to lend coin to." The light from the sun hits her perfectly, giving her a glowing appearance. "But if you can indeed prove yourself. I could have a position for you." She stands up, removing several scrolls.


"Alright troll. If you need a job, I have people you need to bring to me. They have made themselves marked for location by the forces of House Lezek for differing reasons." She opens the first scroll and hands it to him. "Find this man. Nikros Belis. Nikros is a criminal of some sort. Find him and tell him House Lezek has words to give. Secondly is a young woman. L'ámnia Silverlight. We have words for her. The last one is a Roland something....His picture is on there. All of the them should be in the spire or near it and I wish to speak to them. You figure this out and I will find you a full job."


She tosses him the scrolls and heads out of the lounge. If he needs her, he'd find her.
 
Roland - Weylund's Inn


The inn is nice enough, if small and visibly cheap. Hell, who are you to complain about inexpensive lodgings?


It's not very crowded at present, the innkeepr - a kindly looking old lady - waving hello with a smile on her weathered face. Sat at the bar is a young boy, early teens perhaps, taking soup and something hot. Hm. Something about the boy seems out of place... he carries himself all wrong, sitting so straight on his stool. Still, if there's no one here hiring now or knowing a way in, there should be soon. Might as well have dinner.


Moran - Weylund's Inn


You hear the door clunk open and closed again; heavy footsteps. Armour! Turning to glance, you see only a dingy mercenary.


Nikros - The Sally Long


As you turn to close the door, something rocks the ship. The whole thing shudders impossibly and the impact sends you tumbling back into your hiding crate with the seed. Worse, the impact makes the lid fall shut. You're locked in. You can feel more cracking and hear the groaning of metal. The ship must be breaking apart around you! Suddenly, being stuck inside a padded, reinforced pod doesn't seem so bad...


Lenore - The Sally Long


Pitiful. The shock was too much for them. The captain had the good grace to die without getting blood on your attire, at least. Mostly because it vapourised. Now the ship is being to break apart under your assault, blows shattering the weakened superstructure almost as easily as they sunder foes. Not that you were aiming to break the ship, but there isn't much space here and damned if you're going to hold back. Time to tuck and roll again, and hope no one is foolish enough to be standing under you this time.


Mechan Ferrus - The Spiretop Lounge


Tinkling piano music leads you to the crowded Spiretop Lounge, smelling of good food and good wine, and also home to a widening circle of empty seats around a woman in ornate armour and a cheerful looking Troll. Oh dear. It is so unsettling when they grin like that, what with the tusks. A waiter approaches.


"Monsieur, I'm afraid we do not allow weapons in the Lounge. May I store them for you until you have finished your repast?"


He casts a sidelong glance at the Troll and what you presume to be a Noble of the Houses. Maybe he's afraid of a fight breaking out.


Ywen the Eternal - The Spiretop Lounge


You just came for the view and the music, but now it looks like something far more interesting is happening as you step through the doors. A Troll, a Lezekim, and what appears to be an Engineer walk into a bar...
 
Heresh


Right. You bastards.


Heresh quickly checks her belay line, and then swings up to the rod casing. Fumbling through the belt at her waist, she pulls out a set of snips, and severs the offending links to the casing, before unlinking the damned thing, checking its connections and redoing it properly.


Clambering down from the rod casing herself, she makes sure the line is properly tucked away this time.


Now...


Heresh grins. Swiftly undoing some of her belays, she tags her way to the nearest maintenance hatch like a squirrel in a toolbelt.


Let's take a wander down to the observation deck, see if anyone knows what's going on.


Besides, she also needs to log that repair towards her hours this month.
 
Meric King


He smiles and downs his wine. "Finding people, always fun. I'll get right on that," He catches the scrolls and steps out of the lounge, collecting his Screamcaster on the way out. Maybe I ought to ask some ghosts where they are, need to get to a nice clear place for that, don't want to be disturbed.
 
Well, so much for that plan. Locked in, no obvious way to open this thing from the outside, ship clearly under attack by some force or another... It wasn't often that being trapped in a small box seemed like the safest option, but given the current alternatives the young thief hardly had much choice. Good lord, what had he gotten himself into? Out of the frying pan and into the fire as they say, then out of that and into an unprotected freefall... What was next, a pit of magma waiting below maybe? Nothing to do now but ride it out, Nikros thought as he braced himself against the sides of the crate. On the bright side, even the worst case scenario now would be over a hell of a lot quicker than getting caught would! "Well, today is just getting better and better isn't it... Don't panic, don't panic, panicking won't help anything. Just hold on and hope for the best... Godsdamnit, who attacks a ship transporting plants?!"
 
Heresh


As you go to get a look, you almost bump into a cheerful-looking Troll in the corridor.


Meric


Whoops! In all that musing you nearly stepped on a little Humie girl! She looks at home here, maybe she can give you directions.
 
Meric King


Oh. A human... They're so small. He grins at her, not realizing that it might be a bit frightening to be loomed over by a grinning Troll. "Hello! I'm Meric. I'm looking for some friends of mine.. Maybe you have seen them?" He shows her the pictures of the people he is looking for. Hopefuly she'll know where they are.
 
Heresh


Oh. Wow. Is it really necessary for them to be that tall?


"Well, I'll take a look. I'm heading over to the observation deck, so you might try taking a look there anyway, even if I don't recognise them."


She shuffles over and pores over the pictures for a moment. So many people pass through here, though, hang on, let me see, is that...? No, could it be...? No, wait, those guys died when their ship failed on uncoupling from the Spire last summer. It probably isn't them. Shoddy maintenance, yo. It'll fuck ya.
 
Olimak Lenore


Lenore surveys the ship's sorry condition, carefully sheathing her sword.


If the ship is this far gone, better be thorough, she thought, tromping through the wreckage to the controls room. She peered at the conglomeration of dials and levers, tilting the wheel down. Hopefully, this would ensure the ship would transcend its "ship" status, and evolve to a "burning missile of death, screaming to an imminent and fiery doom".


Then she makes her way back to the deck. These kind of things needed a good view, and preferably a seat that was easy to drop and roll from.
 
Lenore


You brace yourself against the mast - more of a decorative thing than really necessary - and enjoy the ride, shield held in front of you. The ship plummets with almost surreal slowness, splitting in half as it goes. Secondary explosions boom as enchantments sunder and raw magic lashes the air.


Soon you're standing in a neat little impact crater ten feet from the nearest piece of ship, in time to see a reinforced case tumble out of the wrecked, crack, and deposit a battered looking young man on the scorched grass.


Nikros


Ow. Ow. Ow. Fuck. Ow. Whyyyy....


The descent is a sickening blur and confusing sensation of falling without falling, until finally there's a nasty bump and you roll a short distance inside the crate, finally deposited in a heap on the burnt grass.
 
Olimak Lenore


Hm. That's odd. The mission statement didn't say there were this many crew.


She stalks over to the new arrival and looks down, unsheathing Mountaincleaver and leaning it on her shoulder.


"Don't run."
 
Moran Shadowdancer


L'ámnia Silverlight


L'ámnia mentally shook herself and began to eat her soup. You have to remember that you're a boy now, she reproved herself mentally. You have to think of yourself as Moran. The soup was horrible and the cider didn't have much to redeem itself either. She already missed home but if she was really lucky she'd be able to find one of her brothers. He'd escaped their uncle by staging his own death. This was something she didn't learn until her mother told her. At least, she hoped his death wasn't real. They found a body but it had been so badly burned only the seal of House Silverlight found on the left middle finger gave any evidence of who the body belonged to. She thought about doing the same thing, but if she did it would have to be fairly impressive, what with a bounty hunter after her.


The door opened and she turned slightly to see who it was. She first saw armor and her heart began to pound wildly in her chest. She's here! She's found me! What can I do?! She glanced again and saw that it was but a dingy mercenary in shoddy armor who seemed about as interested in her as he was the floor. She placed a hand to her heart to settle her racing nerves. For the love of all that's holy! How is she supposed to know you for a boy L'á-no, start calling yourself Moran, even in your own head. Moran, Moran, Moran, Moran. She expects to find a woman, not a young man. You're supposed to be in a formal gown, not these rags. She sighed and continued to eat her soup, though she wasn't really all that hungry anymore.
 
Mechan Ferrus


Store! MY weapons! HIM! A lowly food vendor? How could he understand the complex mysteries and delicate intricacies of these pieces of...of art? Mechan's left eye twitched at the though of this unsophisticated menial handling his precious firearms, his lumpen and unlovely hands knocking the precision sights out of alignment, his clumsy arms allowing them to bump and scrape against every obstacle in his path, his filthy-greasy palms smearing the polished surfaces of the steel and brass. It...it was blasphemous. Mechan looked past the man, seeing a Troll. A TROLL? This pompous little oaf was admonishing me about not allowing the carrying of weapons in this grotty little eatery and yet he allowed something as dangerous as a TROLL to roam around unaccompanied? Mechan sighed and unsheathed the 'Custom Model Mark XVIII' and pulled on the cylinder extractor. The cylinder popped out the right side of the weapon and with a quick movement, Mechan removed the whole cylinder from the assembly. He placed it on the counter in front of him and returned the pistol to it's holster. He repeated the process with the 'Longreach Mark XVI'.


"Without those cylinders, these weapons are harmless. Is that sufficient to satisfy your 'establishment's' requirements?", he replied, fixing the irritating little prig with a look of simmering distaste, "Though perhaps you should monitor your other patrons. Did you perhaps ask the Troll there to hand over his tusks? Or the various Magi to surrender their magics? You Spire-dwellers and your ridiculous prejudices."
 
Roland Macrus


Roland gave the lad a once-over, simply because he did give that niggling feeling that a mercenary learned to listen to - intuition that enabled survival. But then he settled down at the bar, and caught the innkeeper's eye. "Meat pie and ale if you have it, please."
 
You must log in or register to reply here.

Users who are viewing this thread

Total: 2 (members: 0, guests: 2)
Back
Top