Fantasy The Great Games of Nye

[Huntertabbysandshark3]

Ava Marco
Interaction: Jet Lost Echo ZackStop​

ava listened to what Anya said with a hum before realising something.. yeah she was right tho the answer as to why seemed simple enough. "maybe they can't travel THAT far back in time? probably not got enough power I mean control time sounds already super taxing imagine going months back in time... you'd probably break the universe.. or some shit you know? its like deciding that this hammer you've had for 20 years should have been a sword and then going and reheating it to smash it into one, your gonna come out with a mangled mess and not a sword" she'd explain in a really clunky allegory that made sense to her but, probably went over everyone else heads, and if anything didn't exactly apply well considering you can melt the hammer down.

it was only once she finished speaking her mind on the topic that she started eating.. despite her bulk and demeanour the girl didn't shovel food into her mouth like an outright savage she just happily munched away at the various foods in a matter befitting the spread giving a thumbs up of approval. "hmm thanks this is pretty good, don't mind losing an arm for this if that does happen" she'd say with a chuckle.

 

[Jet]

​

"Why should Yua worry? I only have a couple years before my brain turns to mush, might as well help while I can!" He leaned on his cane and smiled as snakes swarmed the warband. The men danced like fools spinning and leaping from the biting mirages, spears twirling and slashing through thin air. Isaac was quite amused despite his discomfort when the man was bitten, though his smile vanished when he spotted the corpse.

Isaac had seen enough death for ten lifetimes. He knew it was necessary when all reason failed, but dealing in death meant killing yourself too — a cancerous suicide of the soul. He understood why Felix resorted to killing these men, there was no argument it was undeserved, but he mourned the dead nonetheless. "Keep them alive if you can," he said to them both. "We can question them, and maybe even convince them of the truth!"

He approached them as another group came from the sides, four men with the same vicious determination as the others. Their mouths were twisted snarls and screams erupted from their lips, blinded by rage with eyes wild like fires. Isaac knew they were killers — warriors born and raised by wasteland laws. They knew about peace like fish knew about the mountains, a concept more distant than stars. He didn't want them dead but death was all that they knew, and was the only way to stop some of them.

"Come now," he pleaded with the warband. "Look at what has befallen your brothers! Leave before meeting the same fate! There is no need for—

He was interrupted by a spear whooshing past his face, a blast of water followed and slammed into his chest, sending him across the street into a wagon. He crumpled on the side as water dripped down his face, following paths well traveled by tears. He groaned and patted his chest as a cough escaped his lungs, gasping for breath as the warrior ran towards him.

"Wait," Isaac said. "This is pointless!"

"You've already lost!" He desperately screamed at the man — though man was a generous word. He was young and there was no place for him on the battlefield, yet like a wandering child he was there.

"Come to your senses!" He said before the man shot water from his hands, a pressure wave smashing the wagon to pieces. Isaac reached in his pockets and found a badge with a kraken in the center, and a shield sprung from the sides as he pressed it down. He raised it up as the man rushed forwards with reckless abandon, swinging his sword in a wide sweeping arc, driving it down like a blacksmith's hammer. The shield hummed with energy and as the sword clanged from its surface, the impact rebounded with a shockwave. The warrior stumbled back holding his arm and staring at his bent blade, unable to understand what happened.

Isaac pushed himself up and shook his sore arm. "It takes strength to challenge your ideas speaking with your enemies, weakness to silence them with steel. We can fix what has happened no matter how regrettable, but we can never restore the ones we lose."

The man stopped his advance and looked at his dueling comrades. His face was solemn as he spoke. "My comrades would fight and die without me by their sides, and you ask me to abandon them?"

"Then help me convince them."

"That would only bring me shame."

"Fool of a boy," Isaac snapped in anger. "What matters shame to dead men?"

The man ignored him and swung his sword with both hands, a low sweeping strike from his feet and hips. Isaac reflecting the attack with another shockwave from his shield, sending the sword clattering to the ground. The man stumbled back clutching his arm as Isaac lowered his stance, throwing the shield at him like a discus. It bounced from his skull with a low metallic ring, and with a thump he collapsed to the ground.

"There is no honor here," Isaac muttered to himself, content to watch the others fight among themselves. His help was unneeded and the taste of violence was bitter on his tongue, even if the warriors deserved it. He found himself leaning against a building counting the seconds until this was over, and crossing his fingers that no more would die.

ManofManyRoles ZackStop

 

[Jet]

"Yeah well," the man mumbled in response. "I wasn't born yesterday, you'll wear him down until he tells you the name."

He smiled imagining them around Kwame like buzzing flies. "Give us the name Kwame! The name! Give us the name Kwame!"

Despite her taunts he would avoid that mistake. "While you chase down leads we'll be holding this corner because of its—

"Strategic importance," he said with a sharply humorless laugh. "We're at a high traffic crossroads between hab sectors and industrials, so me and this lot are meant to hold the line. There's not a chance in hell we'll succeed, but I suspect that's the point — someone wants me dead because of my investigation."

"That might be the most important clue of all, but my words only travel so far... clearly."

He returned her terse smile. "Come to your own conclusions after looking into Irina, that's all I can ask of you."

Kwame nodded in agreement. "That is precisely what we will do. You strike me as honest but a mind reader I am not. Kilderkin could be right about your motivations."

"Aye," the man said. "I hope you come around to my way of thinking, but you have my thanks for looking into it. I'll die happy knowing there's a chance she sees justice."

"Tis the least we can do," Kwame said with a small bow. "I wish you luck in the wars to come, but I believe it's time we speak amongst ourselves."

"Of course," the man said. "I have my duties as well, and take whatever you need from the evidence I compiled, better in your hands then burning with the building."

With that he turned and walked deeper into the building, planning and encouraging his men for the coming battle. The three were left alone with the many files and pictures about Irina and her operation, along with a detailed map of the island.

"I would argue the merits of this lead," Kwame said to Kilderkin. "But what alternatives do we have? It's better to have a direction even if it's the wrong one, and maybe this Irina character has the answers we seek?"

"Though I have one more topic to broach," he said to them both. "My voice is one of three with the same importance as yours, so my final command is we vote from now on."

Emphoa Fred Colon

 

[Fred Colon]

Kilderkin rolled her eyes at the Knights statement. As if they were children and Kwame their father. But Kilderkin held her tongue. It was time to wrap up. The fool wanted to keep his secrets? Fine. They would manage without. It didn't sound like he expected to last long anyways.

Kilderkin kept her mouth shut until the knight left, and then turned to the others, speaking in a low voice.

"Oh, no. I agree, Kwame. I think this lead is quite interesting, actually. But I was hoping to get the name of his informant out of him. The fool, wanting to keep it secret from the people he's asking to investigate this very thing. It's as if he doesn't trust you Kwame, or at least thinks you so weak-willed that you would cave to someone asking you the same question over and over again. It makes me a little suspicious, though personally I think he's just stupid." She shook her head, but without malice. People were stupid sometimes. That was just the way of the world. "This Irina could very well be involved in the death, and it would at least allow us to cross her off the list if she wasn't. And at least he promised to tell the informant about us, though I wouldn't rely on that much."

At Kwame's suggestion they vote, Kilderkin nodded. "I appreciate the trust you're placing in us. It shall be so, then. I vote to pursue this lead. The question is, how? Do we continue to the site of the killing with this knowledge in our minds? Or do we pursue this Irina more directly. Or, perhaps, if this document holds this information, corner one of her associates."

While she waited for the other two to respond, Kilderkin glanced around the room, and just to be sure, extended her senses out, looking for trickles of free flowing blood that might indicate someone lurking nearby, or a knight listening in on them.

Jet Emphoa

 

[rozukitsune]

Narzas, as predicted, shuffled away from the table full of food and moved to stand near a wall rather than allow herself to be tempted by it. Let the others eat if they wanted... they were mostly barely more than children. They had yet to learn the harsh lessons of not allowing potential enemies to feed you. You never could be sure they wouldn't poison such offerings or else expect grandiose payment at a later time for its generous existence. Narzas had meant what she had said about not giving this bastard anything if it wasn't deemed in their best interest, and she wasn't going to allow some morsel of food or kindness given to be used as a chink in emotional armor later to try and gaslight them into working against their own ends.

She had her travel-capable rations and she could always pick up more of those the next time they were in a town if necessary. She didn't eat that much anyway. A proper assassin kept their figure sharp and their wits sharper.

For now, she merely watched and allowed her attention to be somewhat tugged away by the procession of time outside of the windows that seemed both ages-old, and yet current. How was it possible? Was it a trick? She didn't and couldn't know, but if nothing else... it was curious.

Jet ZackStop Huntertabbysandshark3 Lost Echo

 

[ZackStop]

​

Spivey had calmed down at last, nearly at the drop of the hat simply by giving them a potential punching bag, and a wonderful punching bag that was. Huracan, despite being a native with a relative understanding of English and one providing them with shelter, couldn't seem to get on their good side. Something about the man rubbed them the wrong way. It wasn't as obvious to the others what he was doing. Clearly he thought himself as silver tongued, some ladies man trying to cozy up to every hot blonde within a mile radius, which just so happened to be 50% of the party before this cowardice mud man arrived. Spivey was the womanizer here, not this guy!

That's at least what Spivey was picking up on his scent, figuratively speaking. That man literally smelled like the native soil. Truly the audience is anticipating when he will clean that off. Perhaps the Merc was just paranoid, or maybe Huracan truly was trying to win over some sort of affection from a pretty face.

Despite the mild irritation he was causing, the group was ready to saddle up and take on the trek through an unpredictable wilderness of predators and prey. Spivey ended their merge with their shelled fellow and reached out a hand towards it.

"I am a merc of my word." Turning to Esther. "I will carry you through the jungle... on the back of this wonderful creature." On cue, the air underneath the turtle began to lift him off the ground and hovered just a couple of feet, awaiting their passenger. "Welcome aboard, hot stuff. Watch your step."

---

Finally, through noon until sundown, and after many encounters with the jungle's less than welcoming wildlife, Huracan had successfully lead them to his home. Looked straight out of fantasy, an entire community living above ground in the tall jungle trees. Above all the creatures who want to eat them alive. No doubt this was how they have survived.

By this point, Spivey had been letting out raspy breaths, far too layered up for this climate, but with great use of their magic was able to cool off. Their coat flowed as air passed underneath it, giving the appearance that a hard breeze was blowing through them before the fabric settled once more. A big sigh left their lips before warriors began to drop from above, and in response they reached down instinctively. Fortunately nothing came of it, but it had been a long walk and they were all about as irritable as the sobered up drunk was.

Huracan had his uses after all, and soon they were hoisted up into the network of huts and ropes that made up this village in the branches. They were to see 'her' whoever it was he was referring to. Spivey hoped they would at least be hot but as expected, they were not. Just old and hag-like, and seemed to enjoy giving the mud man a hard time. That alone made up for the Merc's wishes to meet fine women. She spoke English, so they could clearly communicate with this one which certainly would put pep in the scientist's step.

They waited until the woman was finished speaking, listening to what she had to say first, the irony of returning Huracan unharmed even nearly got a laugh, but as soon as she stopped, all Spivey had to say to her was more or less a line of nihilism.

"Alright lady, you had a dream about is getting out of this hell hole? We're not here on vacation we're here on business." There was absolutely no plan to stick around for a mercenary. It was get in, do the job and get out, and this detour was not in the contract. "I'm sure you can understand, with whatever insight you have and all." They said waving their hand a bit.

Jet Lost Echo Arcanist