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| − | [GM] Leaving the bridge behind, Iscal and Lynx make their way into the ventilation system once more. Lynx is something of an expert on the Sunlight's many winding passages, at least on this level, and the pair quickly retrace their steps, working back toward the main ventilation shaft.
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| − | [GM] Around them, in the cramped confines of the passages, they can hear the rapid skittering of the creatures, just out of sight.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal moves quietly as he can with his load of airbags. He watches Lynx feet ahead of him. Terrible, that all his hopes rested with a madman- though a madman who had somehow survived weeks among these horrors.
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| − | [Lynx] Lynx moves leads them quick as he can. He could feel the man's impatience behind, could feel him behind, and hear him more than he would like. But they had to stop frequently, or slow to ease past clumps of the things. They were everywhere on this lower level, and Lynx was unwilling to move so much as a finger while a Mother passed.
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| − | [GM] The things squeal and caper and rattle their way through the craft's walls, but it is without intent that the two men can discern. They are not detected. Eventually, Iscal finds himself crawling through a wet, tacky patch of blood, and puts his hand on something cool and sharp - his own knife.
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| − | [Iscal] He grimaces and wraps his hand around the hilt, wiping it off absently on his knee and slipping it back into its sheath. He would trade it for another when he got back to Icehome, but for now, he would not willingly unarm himself.
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| − | [Iscal] It's no trouble at all for him not to think about whose blood it is, or why the knife is there. He has half-forgotten the incident already.
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| − | [GM] Lynx moves on, past the broken ruins of his home. He stops the group once more as one of the Mothers stomps by outside, its heavy tread and tortured breathing audible even within the safety of the walls.
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| − | [GM] At length, the group finds itself back in the central shaft where the entire process began. The plug of flesh still quivers softly at its bottom. The faint scent of peppermint is still in the air. Ahead, across the expanse of flesh, is another platform, and another opening, on the opposite side of the shaft. Similar paired platforms stretch upwards into darkness, their glow panels providing brief spots of illumination.
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| − | [GM] It is, perhaps, slightly cooler here, but still hot enough to make one sweat in winter clothing. If SESIIS can be trusted, there is another, similar shaft located further aft than this one. It can theoretically be reached from any of the levels.
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| − | [Lynx] Lynx reaches the ledge first, and crawls to the edge. It felt more comfortable on his belly. He pokes his head over the edge, watching the flesh plug breathe in and out slowly. It is calming almost, a warm mass of flesh, something warm to nestle into. But it was a long ways down, and besides, the last time he'd layed too long on one of the plugs, it had been a close escape.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal waits for Lynx to jump first, to find the man looking at him. He straightens and stretches, a joint in his spine popping. He tosses his airbags first, then his satchel. They land with a faint thud. "No hurry," he mutters. "I'll go first." He backs up a step on the narrow platform, then hurtles himself forward at a run.
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| − | [Lynx] He looks up when he hears Iscal hit the opposite platform, and then slowly stands to follow. He didn't want Iscal to rush into the vent ahead of him - he didn't trust the other man to set the pace.
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| − | [Lynx] He darts, fast and low, leaping the gap rather more like his namesake than most of his movements. It had been a long time since he had stretched out his legs for exertion like this.
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| − | [Iscal] "Long way up," Iscal says unhappily, looking up. "At the least cutting across the nurseries should be safe enough." Amusing that the place where Pixie and Grim had died was now...safe enough.
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| − | [Lynx] He breathes for a moment, letting the silence stretch comfortably, the wheezing huffs coming from below syching with is own shallow breath. "Up here or out of the way for stairs." This would be harder, but safer if they could make it. He tried not to think of falling intot eh flesh plug beneath them. It wouldn't be as warm and soft as he thought. He would die. He knew it, but it would tempt him if he thought of it.
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| − | [Iscal] "Up here. We can make it if we work together." Intolerable to think of the man dying, having to brave the cold and dark wet himself. He squats down. "Get on my shoulders, I"ll heave you up."
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| − | [Lynx] He nods and climbs onto the man's shoulders, letting the man boost him up. It was a bit awkward, and took a lot of balance - he didn't want to let anything but his feet touch him. It felt too personal, and he didn't trust the man yet.
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| − | [GM] The ascent is a brutal one, robbing both mortals of breath and strength, but they haul themselves up to the highest level with one last exertion of effort. Iscal finds himself looking at the same set of gears he struck hours ago when he first fell into this damned place.
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| − | [GM] He has flopped atop the daiklave that was wedged in their works. Come to think of it, his striking that daiklave had knocked it free, and closed the door above them.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal frowns mildly at it. "If only the Third Scale had been more competent," he observes to the air in a general way. Sheer idiocy to survive all that and then get picked off by Ice Hags. "I know the way from here."
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| − | [Iscal] He strides through the doorway into what had been the icy garden.
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| − | [Lynx] He frowns under the hood. It had been so long, he could hardly remember them except dying. But he still didn't like hearing them insulted. "Yours were so much better," he interjects angrily, quietly, waving a hand to remind the man of all the other absences that he surely must feel.
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| − | [GM] The way has changed slightly. It takes only a moment for the pair to reach the Arboreum, but it no longer exists in its state of frozen preservation. The ice has melted from the grass, and with its departure the foliage has died and withered. Tree fronds hang limply - grass sags, pallid and dead. The giant caterpillar Iscal spotted frozen to the wall has fallen off. Already the corpse of the three-eyed ape is giving off the faintest stink.
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| − | [Lynx] Lynx follows behind, hunched and walking close to one wall rather than in the center of the hallway, not comfortable in so much space. He hadn't been up here for a long time.
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| − | [GM] Above, the transparent dome has darkened with the arrival of night. The garden is dimly lit, with only the occasional reddish nocturnal grow light providing scattered, and shadowed, illumination.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal leads confidently through the gardens and towards the corridors. He felt almost nostalgic. He draws his truncheon, because he exepcts to see his old comrades Grim and Pixie again.
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| − | [Lynx] His eyes dart to movement in the underbrush, unnoticeable behind the blank hood. The movement meant the things were there. They shouldn't attack, hopefully, because they smelled dead. He shifts to the toehr side of the walkway anyway, letting the man be closest.
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| − | [GM] As Iscal presses a hand against the panel, the door hisses open. It's only when the two men have already walked through that they notice the thing on the ceiling, busily molding another flesh hive. It wears the battered lamellar of the Once Dead and clings to the smooth ceiling with seemingly no effort. A pair of tentacles sprout from holes in its back, lashing softly at the air, occasionally darting forward to add in the shaping. It turns slightly to look at the two men, and they see that is it a woman with short, dark hair and a face that might have been attractive, once.
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| − | [GM] Now, a tentacle sprouts from each eye socket, probing faintly and sightlessly. A heavy, bloody bag is still cinched around the thing's torso.
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| − | [Lynx] He knew her, had known her. Now she was death crawling on a ceiling. He crouches lower, looking for the timing to dart silent under her -no, it- without touching the tentacles, without even wafting enough air to them to alert the thing.
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| − | [GM] The creature turns, slowly, and seems to notice the two men below her. She makes a strange, soft, warbling sound, and drops before them in a crouch before rising, swaying unsteadily. She shuffles forward, her tentacles waving softly, lazily, like underwater fronds. On the wall above her, the hive begins to breathe.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal slows his pace for a moment to stare at it calmly. He should be grateful. In another lifetime, he would have screamed, remembered his hands buried in her guts, calling her back to life. He pauses, taking his cue from Lynx.
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| − | [GM] She makes the sound again, almost inquisitive. Her mouth opens, and a wet snake of muscle emerges, curious, probing. The tongue slides up Iscal's cheek, tasting him, leaving a stinging saliva behind.
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| − | [Iscal] He begins to tremble now, shock leaving him frozen for a second longer.
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| − | [GM] The creature notes the motion, slight as it is, and moves closer. More tentacles ease from its strained flesh, playing over Iscal's belly, thighs, the other side of his face. Its call gets louder, more insistent.
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| − | [Lynx] He doesn't freeze - it knew they were there, staying still would only be odd to the thing. But he doesn't mvoe much, just breathe and slow natural shifts, pass, the spear behind his back. He wanted to whisper to the man to stay still, but the sound would be bad. His eyes dart back and forth - to the amn, to the thing, away, to his feet or the wall, down the passage. They could make it, if they were calm. The thing wouldn't notice a bit of sweat inside his clothes, it'd just wet the gore, make him smell more dead.
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| − | [Iscal] The wet tongue dips into his ear, and it is then it is with a cry of strangled disgus that he raises his truncheon and strikes at the creature. "Get the fuck away from me!" he shouts hoarsely.
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| − | [Lynx] Now he freezes, adrenalin dumping into his system. He could run - could run faster than the man, he was sure. But this was the chance. They were going to fix everything, to escape. And he couldn't do that alone, just go through all the pain of making another home in teh vents, and then slowly live until the food-paste ran out, and he had to starve or eat the dead things.
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| − | [GM] The thing staggers back as Iscal strikes her. His truncheon splits the skin on the left side of her head and cracks her skull with a crunch. The creature that had been Stitches reels away, screeching loudly. Answering cries echo from the Arboreum behind the two men.
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| − | [Lynx] He pants, the hood puffing farhter out each breath, sucking into his mouth to the point that those outsiude can almost distinguish his teeth and lips. He doesn't yell, but his lips pull back, the smooth inside of the hood sliding against his teeth, tasting slightly off against his tongue. He brings his spear down, batting aside a probing tentacle - telling the thing that he was there, but it would have found him anyway - and jabs quick at its body, before he backs up for room.
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| − | [Lynx] He handles the slightly short spear more like a staff, whirling it, using both ends defensively and only occasionally straightening it for quick thrusts.
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| − | [Lynx] He caught it once in a tentacle-pit, cutting deep into the throbbing open muscle there before he backs out, leaving the tentacle weak and slow.
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| − | [GM] Tainted blood bubbles from the thing's torn flesh. It moans softly, tentacle flopping like a beached fish as its head swivels to look at Iscal. Gore courses over its torn lips.
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| − | [Iscal] A tentacle lashes out at Iscal and he catches it with the truncheon. The tentacle wraps around the truncheon and for a moment, they struggle over it, tugging it back and forth between them like two chlidren fighting over a toy. Then, with hysterical strength, Iscal yanks it free and smashes at the thing's head. He has no fond memories of her, to make pulping her head anything but a joy and a struggle.
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| − | [Iscal] "Die, you freak!"
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| − | [Iscal] He can feel tears run down his cheeks under his mask as her head collapses beneath his blows like overriped fruit, spilling viscous fluids.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal doesn't waste any time once it topples over, splashing through the gore toward the back of the ship. "Run!" he hisses unnecessarily at Lynx.
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| − | [Iscal] He runs to the rooms, where they had played like fools with magical toys, where the first monster had reared up out of the vents. He remembers the sight of the torn-open vent vividly. He remembered Pixie screaming, though it was mixed up in his minds with her horrible hacking breaths as she fought the transformation.
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| − | [Iscal] He slows down as he reaches the room, stopping dead on the threshold to give it a wild glance, looking for monsters.
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| − | [GM] Lynx moves along behind Iscal, casting suspicious glances behind them.
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| − | [GM] Iscal's desperate examination is hurried, unfocused. Although Lynx can clearly see that there's nothing within the room with a glance, Iscal finds himself flailing for the room's lighting controls for a moment, forgetting that many of the glowpanels had broken out in the first battle there. Instead, his hand strikes another panel, and the nursery springs to life.
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| − | [GM] A lion roars, deafeningly loudly. Figures caper on the walls. A number of toys start and begin to sing. The racket is incredible.
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| − | [Lynx] The sight of her head squashing from the man's club repeated in his head. He didn't like it - she had been kind to him, it had been kind to him when it was a she. He couldn't have hit her face like that, somehow, only the tentacles, the body, flesh alien or undistinguished enough that he could see and stab it without feeling.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal smashes at the panel again to shut it up, then all but throws himself into the vent.
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| − | [GM] Lynx follows, and the next few moments are confusion, screaming in the dark, desperate attempts to move through shrieking darkness. After a hellish time, Lynx bursts out into an open space and nearly falls: the other shaft, plunging downward into darkness. Behind them, the things claw their way through the vents, howling wildly. It's impossible to tell if they're moving closer or not.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal fumbles in his pocket until he pulls out a glowing iron coin. He tosses it across the shaft. "Jump," he says grimly when he sees it land a survivable distance, and does himself, thinking of nothing but putting distance between him and the monsters.
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| − | [GM] Lynx hurls himself forward as well, arcing across the width of the shaft across and downwards. He lands solidly on the platform across and below with both feet. Beside him, Iscal strikes the ledge with his belly, legs pinwheeling over open space.
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| − | [GM] Above them, the sounds of pursuit grow louder. In only a few moments the things will burst out into the shaft after them.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal doesn't even bother to scramble up onto the platform; he wriggles back until he's clinging to the ledge by his fingertips, and drops down, rolling when he hits the lower ledge and then...freezing.
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| − | [Iscal] If I'm very still, maybe they won't notice me.
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| − | [Iscal] His heart beats so loudly he's sure they can hear it. Surely they can hear the trickle of sweat from his brow. Don't hurt me, don't hurt me....don't hurt me, please.
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| − | [GM] Hissing and shrieking, the creatures begin to emerge from the mouth of the ventilation shaft, sliding over each other smoothly in their haste like a school of eels. Their heads swivel back and forth widely, or else float aimlessly at the tips of muscled tentacles.
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| − | [Lynx] Lynx ducks into the vent ahead of him, patient, disciplined, or scared enough to not poke his head out to see if the thing knew where they were.
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| − | [GM] They are many - women, children, men. Iscal spots some he recognizes, insanely - the fat man that Summer attacked so recklessly among them. They must number nearly a score. With rapid, deliberate movements, they descend the interior of the shaft, tentacles allowing them to pick their way between the platforms with ease.
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| − | [Lynx] He stays well back in teh shaft, and then falls artlessly to the floor - a heap of refuse in the corner, as small a heap as he can make it. The spear lies flat along the corner between the sidewall and the floor, as concealed by his body as he can make it, the butt lying out behind him. But if they could see that, he would already have been discovered.
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| − | [GM] One stops near Lynx, a woman with half her head sheared away - before her infection, certainly, or it would have grown back. She reaches up a withered hand, pawing absently at his chest.
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| − | [Lynx] Damn it, damn it. He should have run, should have let the first one take the noisier prey, gone back to a quiet, hidden existance.
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| − | [GM] A pair of them straddle the motionless Iscal, crooning softly. They pluck at him gently, the bony tips of their tentacles trailing over his skin. One of them presses a hunk of rotting flesh to Iscal's thigh, kneading it against him as if trying to attach it.
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| − | [Lynx] He stills even his breath, as much as he can manage, and hopes that the layers of cloth and putrid sodden fur would mask his heart's hammering.
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| − | [GM] One of the barge's children, back swollen and split like some strange toad's, forces its way into the vent past Lynx with a wet plop.
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| − | [Iscal] For once, Iscal's instincts save him. He's moved beyond fear into some primitive state of being wholly at the mercy of forces beyond its comprehension. A deer, hunted long enough, will eventually...stop running, turn to face the wolves, and Iscal does. As he had before, as he would again, Iscal ...accepts the creatures' attentions almost with indifference.
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| − | [Lynx] The world was small around him - the tentacle sliding over him, his heart beating, the air in his lungs. It made him sensetive to everything, the slick sounds of the thing moving above him, the feel of them, and the feel of each part of his body. And so he noticed, loud against that backdrop, the earring he had looted however long ago cool against his ear, a feeling almost like something held its breathe in his head. Then it was gone, a figment of his imagination as likely as anything real.
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| − | [Iscal] As the creatures press dead flesh to his body, Iscal wonders idly what he would look like once had became one of them.Their touches and caresses feel almost gentle. Perhaps he would be toegether with Soldas then. Perhaps he would one day meet Red again. He smiles, but the movement is too slight for the monsters to notice.
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| − | [GM] Both men seem to drift away from themselves for a time. The creatures move around them, sluggish, intent on their own strange purposes. At length, Iscal realizes that they have moved from him, that he no longer hears their noises. The lump of flesh lies forgotten by his leg, twitching softly.
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| − | [GM] Lynx has to watch many of the things parade by him as they writhe out through the vent he has occupied. Men and women he knew, and liked, or loathed, or strangers he never met, all reduced to murderous, twisted shapes that glide past his face, more often than not brushing against it.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal rolls himself up. The corner of his mouth twitches. "Right. We've four more levels down to go."
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| − | [Lynx] He is glad again for the hood - its soft press against his face far better than the slimy contact of the things would be. He isn't sure if he could have borne it. He almost shudders at the thought them moving against him, cruel intelligence, ichor and muscle.
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| − | [Lynx] Lynx stays still and quiet until the man comes for him, comes to drag him back to their task. He doesn't want to go, or at least his mind is rebelling at the thought, but he has to.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal pats him on the shoulder almost kindly when Lynx lands beside him. He tosses another slightly glowing coin downward. "Lets go."
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| − | [GM] The climb downward is painstakingly slow - the slightest slip in this situation could be fatal. Several times, the two men have to stop at the sound of distant skittering, before they resume. After what seems an eternity, they reach the bottom of the shaft. There is no plug of flesh here. Only a flat, metallic grating of a floor and a waist-high passage into darkness. Iscal's coin glimmers nearby.
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| − | [GM] If SESIIS is to be believed, only a short way through this vent is a large, open room that houses the main body of the ship's starboard engine. Across this room and down a narrow hall should be the access door to the flooded section.
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| − | [Iscal] He picks up the coin. "Almost there, now." Iscal readjusts his face mask, gets on his hands and knees, and plunges into the darkness.
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| − | [GM] By now, crawling through the vents is old hat to Iscal, if not quite the rote activity that it is for Lynx. In a very short time, both men reach the end of this rather brief section of passage. The vent is wide enough for both of them to peer out into the room beyond.
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| − | [Lynx] This felt more comfortable - except for the man next to him at least, rasping breath quiet, but loud to his ears, used to isolation. And however dark and quiet the vents were, he knew how many had left past him. Some would be near. Still, the illusion was calming.
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| − | [GM] The room beyond is massive, a cathedral structure that dwarfs any other chamber the two men have yet seen on the ship.
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| − | [GM] The choking yellow mist is thick here, stifling, but even through its obscuring haze the two can spot a massive cylindrical structure that stretches overhead for hundreds of feet. It glows dully and redly amidst a lattice of orichalcum, casting a weak light through the dark chamber.
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| − | [GM] Here and there lie consoles, their red emergency lights shining with dusky halos in the thick atmosphere. Without breathing devices, it's likely that both men would be strangling to death right now.
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| − | [GM] If SESIIS is correct, directly ahead, across perhaps 200 feet of open floor, is the chamber that leads to the flooded starboard section.
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| − | [GM] At the far end of the chamber, a column of pulsating flesh stretches from floor to ceiling, curling loosely around the form of the engine. Nodules dot its surface, pulsating wetly as the entire structure quivers. Dozens of creatures gather around it or crawl over it, tending.
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| − | [GM] The column is more like a tree - it divides into dozens of branchlike growths that curl around the silent engine or weave slow, lazy patterns in the air of the huge chamber. Lumps of dangling flesh like overripe fruit hang from several of them.
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| − | [GM] As Iscal and Lynx watch, one of the huge lumps shudders and breaks free from the structure, striking the floor with a wet splat. A moment later it rises, a huge amalgamation of corpses the half the size of a yeddim, three huge tentacles waving in the air.
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| − | [GM] "[[GROOOooooooOOOOOOOO]]."
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| − | [Iscal] A sharp intake of breath is Iscal's only audible reaction, but his eyes are wide. He looks at Lynx wildly. Were they just supposed to...go around?
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| − | [Lynx] Lynx's hood covers his eyes, covers whatever emotion might have been there except for the now rapid breathing moving the fabric.
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| − | [Lynx] He curls in on himself slightly, wedging into his side of the vent.
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| − | [Iscal] No help there then. Iscal's eyes narrow in frustration, but there seems to be nothing else for him to do but walk into that space, rolling his shoulders and walking with a hitch in his step, as though he were mas much one of them as he smelled.
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| − | [Iscal] He shuffles past the "Mother" steadily, not daring to run.
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| − | [Lynx] He cowers in the vent as the otehr man leaves. He half shifts to follow, but he can't - can't move with the Mother right there. A moment and the man is farther, farther, getting far enough that he wouldn't be moving out in the same space, just adding to the risk. His ear freezes, more distinct this time, and he feels a sense almost of warmth flood the rest of him. I saw you braver than this earlier. You must go.
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| − | [Lynx] It is a command and at the same time force to move him, flooding his mind with the need to move, to show whatever it was that he was brave, to defeat the enemoes around him by making it through them.
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| − | [Lynx] He finds himself creeping out, and once moving that far, is comitted. He continues, as fast as he dares, trying to catch up to the other man. Once he is two body lengths from the vent the presence leaves him, and with it the warmth of coursage that it had forced upon him. Sweat springs out over him, in the mundane stifling heat of the room, but there is no choice left if there ever was.
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| − | [Lynx] After a short pause he is moving again.
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| − | [GM] At the far end of the chamber, the "mother" moves among the roots of the great corpse tree, shaking itself off, sloughing occasional bits of flesh as it rises, strengthening by the moment. A skittering child-thing darts past its flank and a tentacle flashes out, snaring the creature and pulling it into the mother's larger mass.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal keeps his shuffle steady, all-too-easily visualizing being speared and incorporated himself. His gaze is fixtated on the far corridor. Not too much farther. Not much farther...
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| − | [GM] Lynx and Iscal at last make their way across the floor of the chamber and through an open doorway into a small anteroom. A terminal perches on the wall here beneath a pulsating flesh hive, and a small door nestles nearby. According to the reports by SESIIS, the next room is meant to serve as an emergency airlock, allowing entrance to the flooded part of the ship.
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| − | [Lynx] Lynx finally catches up to the man, or as near as he wanted to be, so that he can slow down. Now that that was over, the worry of reaching their destination sets in. He is breathing rapidly, far more than the slow movement necessitated.
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| − | [GM] The floor here is not solid, as elsewhere, but a loose mesh grid. A warren of exposed conduits and tubes snake below.
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| − | [Lynx] He stops in the room, uncomprehending - after having moved through the door and stepped to the side to not be framed against it. He hadn't seen a room like this before, nor a door like that. The other room, it was grand, impossible, coated with death, too scary to be weird. This place though was familiar enough that the differences stopped him - how did they get that door open, where was the water?
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal indicates the airlock door with a jerk of his head. "If the water gets too cold," he says under his breath, passing Lynx the rigged energy charges. He moves himself to the terminal.
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| − | [Lynx] "W - where is the water? Through that?" It made no sense to him - the compartment had flooded hadn't it? Wasn't the water down or something? Why did it have its own door?
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| − | [Iscal] "Just get in!" Iscal hisses. "I'll open it."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He takes the equipment that the man gives him - all the air bags, and heating charges, and a glowing knife to hold and light his way. This was it, then. He would have to go alone through the water, have to find the controls that he had never seen, and work them right. Because he wouldn't have the air or the heat to make it two ways.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal's fingers glide over the console screen, and the door opens silently. "Luck," Iscal mouths to him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] But at least he was going into deserted water - no one to help, but none of the things. If he died alone in there, his corpse would freeze, and bloat, and rot, and then clean away over the years. But it would be dead. There was some comfort in that.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He squeezes his eyes shut, face fearful. But none of that shows in the hood. It is as blank as ever, showing nothing to anyone outside it's fabric.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He steps into the airlock. There were things that had to be done. And at least he would die alone.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] The door hisses open, revealing a tiny square anteroom that is shocking in its simplicity. A smaller door lies on the opposite side of the chamber. No sooner has Lynx stepped within than the door behind him closes tightly.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] It closes with a distinct snick, and then all the sound of the other room, of the immense chamber beyond, was cut off. The thin rasping of his breath was all there was for a moment, before the lock began to operate.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Lynx can hear nothing but the sound of his own breathing for a long, silent moment, and then there is the loud, discordant blare of an alarm siren. Water begins to pour into the chamber, rolling up against his calves, robbing him of his breath.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] It is cold. Cold enough that it provided its own distraction, replacing his other fears with the more immediate pain and fear of death.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] In no time at all, the water has rolled over Lynx's head, muting the sound of the alarm. It is cold enough to kill a man unprepared for it, and black spots dance before Lynx's eyes.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He panics as it rushes over him so quickly, using up precious air from the moment if covers the hood. The inside of the hood changes, begins to feel unpleasantly waxy, as the water rises over it. And suddenly he can feel his breath rebounding from it, warm and fetid.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He calms himself as quickly as he can, or at least his breathing. He needed the air.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Lynx finds himself in a murky, stifling world, his limbs feeling like nerveless sticks, his fingers clumsy where they wrap around the handle of his glowing knife. In its weak light, he can see that the door on the opposite side of the airlock has opened.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He isn't trapped now. The vic eases slightly from around his chest. Everything was too open - rooms wide and tall enough to stand in, halls the same, but at least it wasn't enclosed at the same time. He wished he could swim to the vents and move through them, but the tight confines would slow him, and he knew it.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He kicks away from the door that had closed behind him, and swims as fast as he can down the hall beyond. The pace would keep him warm, hopefully it would be enough.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Lynx kicks forward, swimming clumsily through the door. He finds himself at one end of a long, narrow, and tall hall. To his left, the wall runs straight and true. To his right is the outer hull. He can see, from the dim illumination of his knife, that there is a long, ragged gash twice as wide as a man in it, running ahead for dozens of feet.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] What could punch through a hull of Orichalcum like that?
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He swims down the hall, occasionally peeking at the rent. But he knew where he needed to go, at least between the choice of the hall down the shipside and the water outside the ship. The thin glow that he had to light his surroundings made it no farther than the rent's opening, so that it loomed black against the dull grey of the walls, yawning threatening. He really hoped that he was alone. There were things that lived beneath the Haslanti ice, and any of them could kill him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Lynx moves forward through the gloom and the numbing cold. From time to time, an errant current from the rent in the wall brushes over him, though he's so numb by now he can barely feel it, notices it only because pieces of detritus swirl in front of him. He sees a swatch of red silk, a strange pendant with a curiously carved face, a small waxed bag. He moves forward through looming darkness, broken here or there by the faint glow of a cracked crystal panel.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] At last, Lynx reaches the head of the staircase he is supposed to descend, but stops short as he notices that the far wall is studded with hundreds of luminescent eggs the size of his fist. Black, wormlike things squirm within.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Looking closer, Lynx realizes he recognizes the tiny things squirming within. Any Haslanti child who had heard the stories would as well - each of the things is a tiny Iceberg-Eater. In their adulthood, they can grow to the size of an Iceholt Barge - and burrow right through one. The massive rent in the Sunlight's hull may have been made by its ovipositor.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He doesn't let himself hesitate. He didn't have the air to hesitate. Besides, they were eggs. Clear, writhy eggs of a force of nature, but he couldn't let an egg scare him into dying. He reached the turning point of the stairs and kicked off the far wall to propell him down the next flight, crushing two or three of the eggs with his feet. The water behind him clouded, the worm-things writhing as they died, the egg-nutrients spreading in the surrounding water.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Lynx kicks hard, descending the staircase with the help of the rails. His body feels completely numb by now. His breath is hot and stale in his lungs - how long has he been down here? Despite these handicaps, he still notices the shadow that plays across the murky stairwell in front of him for a moment. He turns, and finds a huge, ragged patch of the Iceberg-Eater eggs are no longer there,
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] as if they'd been scraped clean from the hull.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] A predator, something. Fear wells within him, and he cracks one of the heating charges. Maybe the sudden change would scare whatever it was away, maybe he would just die slightly warmer. He doesn't stop swimming, but he slows, and cocks his spear arm, ready to jab at whatever it was, to keep it away.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Lynx cracks the essence battery open and is rewarded with a sudden rush of warmth as it vents raw essence - and a bit of luminescence - into the water around him. The heat is not exactly pleasant - he can feel again, but what he mostly feels is pain, a stinging, stabbing sensation in his fingers and toes. He also lights up for a moment, and that lets the thing above spot him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] It's huge - he sees that immediately - and incredibly flexible. It swims towards the wall above for a moment, then bends almost double on itself, reorienting itself to face downward, to face him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He can't stop himself from letting out a panicked hiss into his hood, the air inside already growing hot and stuffy, stale with overuse. He stabs his spear up to intercept its mouth, hoping to drive it off.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] The creature must be at least thirty feet from nose to tail. Sharp, angular fins jut from its pale white flesh. Luminescent mold grows on its gill slits, and Lynx catches sight of two dead, black doll's eyes, a huge mouth, jaws full of triangular, razor-sharp teeth.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] With a single, fierce convulsion of its tail, the Snow Siaka propels itself downwards towards Lynx like a bullet.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] The instinct to run was overpowering - useless, suicidal, but there. Instead he had to float there, tensed to strike, and wait for the stretching seconds while the Siaka darted at him. It would be going for his throat except that its jaws were wider than his head. It was going for his upper half then.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] But he waits, he waits, until the moment is right, even with the water slowing his arm, for him to drive the spear home and divert its dive for him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] The spear goes straight into its mouth, but the point catches in its rows and rows of teeth, cutting up the gums but little more. However, the purchase they gave him allowed him to shove the Siaka's charge to the side, its force and his pushing them both widly in the water.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He catches the side wall with his feet, and springs off it further down the hall, the way he wanted to go, he was pretty sure. He hadn't been spun around so many times.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] The spear licks out again as he flows in the water, stabbing for an eye, to goad the thing away or blind it, either one.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] The Snow Siaka convulses as Lynx's spear sinks deep, entire body thrashing hard, disturbing a wall of water that pushes him back. It drives itself away from him and rebounds, mouth opening as it attempts to shear his head off.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] Its thrashing pushes the spear away, and he goes with that motion, letting the spear carry him slightly off its line of attack, and letting the his wrist turn with the spear before driving its butt into the side of the Siaka's head as it attacks.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] The Siaka rocks silently to the side and then turns toward Lynx again. It continues to bull forward, pressing Lynx before it, as relentless as it is dull. Lynx feels a dull ache in his lungs - this exertion is draining his supply of air.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He had to finish it fast, so that he could get at his air bags. He kept moving along the hallway, too slow to escape it, but achieving something at least. He didn't know preciselty where the panel he needed was. He hoped it wasn't right there - he didn't have the time or space to keep a proper eye out for it - but he hoped it was close. He didn't trust the air bags for much.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] At least now the Siaka was pushing him the way he wanted to go. If only the stupid thing would realize that he wasn't easy prey and just leave him to die of the cold. But it wouldn't, and its maw gaped wide, always closing on him, seeming wider and wider each time he saw it. He was hallucinating or it was getting closer and closer each time, neither option good.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He kept his breath even, as even as he could, and carefully made sure that it stayed behind him, that each time it drove at him, he recieved it at the right angle with the spear so that it would drive him farther down the hall, not into a wall, or floor or whatever. He'd forgotten which direction was which, and was too disoriented to get his bearings. But he knew which way he needed to go down the hall - that was simple with the Siaka to mark the wrong way.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] And in among all that, his spear darts out, licking at the Siaka around its eyes each time he fends off an attack, a near constant harassment. He had no time, but he needed to keep everything precise, or it would have drive him into a wall in a moment, killing itself on his spear and killing him by delay.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] The Siaka's blood streams through the frigid water, clouding the air, making visibility even more difficult. The creature bulls through the cloud of its own vitality, lashing its head sharply in an attempt to tear off Lynx's leg.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] This time he catches it more firmly with his spear, desperate to finish the fight, and pushes it as hard as he can to the side, trying to drive its head into the wall/side of the passage. He stabs the spear into its turned neck once, twice, before he kicks off the wall again.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Lynx's first stab sinks deeply into the creature's tough flesh. As he prepares to stab again, the Siaka lunges suddenly, slamming the bulk of the its weight against the haft of the spear. Cold-numbed fingers can't hold on - the spear spins away, lost in the murky darkness and the clouds of blood. The Siaka beats its way through the gore, maw opening wide.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] -and closing, as Lynx backpedals, upon the spear. The head of the spear sprouts between its eyes in a fountain of blood. It kicks its tail again, driving its huge body forward, but it is already a dumb, aimless dead thing.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He kicks away from it, desperate to be away, to find the panel. His spear sticks up behind him, fixed by the Siaka's body to thrust up into the middle of teh hallway. The blood in the water floats beautiffuly now that the fight had ended, lit from behind by the Siaka's glowing gills, and for a few moments by his glowing knife until he was too far away.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] His now free other hand grabs for the first of the air-bags tied to his waist, pulling it wholly over his hood, the hood opening up and sucking int eh cleaner air with a thick whumph, loud at least inside it surrounded by deadening water.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Lynx remembers the next part of the route well enough, at least in theory - a network of small rooms leading off the bottom of the staircase. Looking at them on a map and clawing his way through them in real life are two different things.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He tosses the bag behind him to clear his vision as soon as nothign seemed to be happening, feeling the hood go waxy again, and reorients himself, hastily checking around for the panel -hopefully.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] The air is growing stale again by the time Lynx's hand finds the panel he needs. A lever is set inside, and all he needs to do is pull it out and down, if what the machine-woman told him is right.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He hardly has a mind left to think. The cold is numbing everything. His ear doesn't even bite colder as the voice returned, exulting. Yes. You serve me well, mortal! He doesn't ahve the mind to notice anything beyond its presence, and not enough energy to protest if he had.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He braces himself against the floor, and pulls the lever down as hard as he can, instinctively assuming that it would be frozen shut, or stiff with rust. Something.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Remarkably, the lever moves out smoothly, turns even more easily. Lynx hears a deep grinding noise, from somewhere in the bowels of the ship, and then he is yanked off his feet by a violent surge of water.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] His hands tighten instinctively, as much as they can. All his muscles are numb from the freezing water. He doesn't have time to grab anything else, or brace his feet before he is pulled horizontal by the water, hanging only by his two hands from the lever.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] The onrushing tide of water seems to go on forever, battering away at flesh already numbed by the cold, flattening Lynx's hood against his face. At any moment, he'll surely be plucked loose, torn and tossed, smashed to pieces against the hull. But then, he finds himself sinking to his knees, hears the water trickling away, and the massive thud as an armored curtain seals over the vast rent in the hull.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] The tiny room's single glowpanel dims for a moment, then brightens. A voice begins to speak in a language he finds utterly incomprhensible.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He ignores it all, savoring the hood filling up with air, and the simple pain of the shivers wracking him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] The shivers that strike Lynx are painful indeed - his hands are shaking so hard they are almost blurs before his eyes. His lungs ache as if they have burst. He smells much less vile than he did only moments ago.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He staggers to hsi feet, and sets off at a shuffling run to the hallway. The Siaka would have been pulled away with the water, but surely the stairs and everything would ahve stopped it from being pulled from the ship. It would be warm, inside it, or its blood would have all been frozen and it dead in this water. He needed warmth, and it was the only source he could think of at the moment.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He finds it jammed into the stairs, coiled around the central railing, having hit its post and then wrapped from the current. His spear still juts from its heat, and he pulls hat along its side to cut as far down its length as he can, flaying it open as if it were a fish he wanted to clean and fry. He drops the spear as soon as he is farther down its length than his height, and shoves himself hinto its guts, laying full l
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He drops the spear as soon as he is farther down its length than his height, and shoves himself hinto its guts, laying full length in its corpse and rollign to get the warm blood and offal on him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He luxuriates in the warmth and the safe feeling of the stench, and then suddenly his ear freezes near enough to fall off. You've saved the ship - I can hear the engine starting!) It was true, probably. He could feel the floor of the passageway vibrating under him, just, a slight feeling, but noticeable against the ship's earlier dormancy.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] (I saw more of this ship while I was riding Summer, its power is immense. Go, it is mine, ours, so claim it. With my guidance, you can pilot it, bring yourself glory and fortune by the sleigh!) The voice is shouting in his head, excited, cold.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] "Get out of my head!" he yells, at the ceiling of the hallway, and snaatches at the earring, pulling it from his ear and throwing it away sparking along the floor. He collapses back into the dead Siaka, spent.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] As Iscal activates the airlock, the terminal flashes, giving a scream of alarm.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] SESIIS appears, smiling thinly. "Caution," she says. "Airlock open. Additional flooding may occur. Caution."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] The alarm continues to blare. Beyond it, below it, Iscal can barely hear the mother's enraged howl
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal turns, putting his back to the squishy mass of flesh. His gaze sweeps the room. "For gods' sake, mute the alarm," he hisses at SEISS.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] The alarm shuts down with one more click. If the rapidly thudding footsteps that continue to approach are any indication, it may be too late
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal looks up, searching for vents or hiding places higher up along the wall.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Iscal sees to his horror that all the walls in this area of the ship are blank, featureless, armor plated. He takes a step back, and nearly stumbles when his heel strikes a trapdoor in the mesh floor.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He falls to his knees and his fingers scrabble at the edge of the trapdoor, pullling at it. "SEISS, open the access tunnel!" he hisses.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "I do not have that function." SESIIS chirps merrily. Her hologram sits on the edge of the console. Behind her, a massive tentacle probes around the fram of the door, scrabbling towards the terminal. "I am only a limited intelligence."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "[[GROOOooOOOOOOOO]]," the mother bellows, and Iscal can actually smell its rancid breath, hear the soft squelching as its steps break apart on the ground. As he yanks, frantically, the mesh cover comes loose in his hands.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Fuck you then," Iscal says, and then sighs in relief as the mesh cover pops up. He drops down into the trap door, pulling the mesh down back over him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Iscal finds himself in a warren of conduits and tubing. Maintenance tunnels turn this way and that, lit by the occasional glowing red emergency light. The mesh overhead does nothing to blot out sight, and so he is able to see every detail of the mother's underside as it steps onto the mesh. The surface creaks alarmingly, but holds - First Age construction, doubtless.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Iscal looks up past corpse-trunk legs onto a seething underbelly of bodies, limbs, faces, and torsos moving slowly and lazily around each other, swirling like a storm cloud. Blood and pus drips from the thing onto and through the grating.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal reflects that if the room floods, he will be the first to drown. Comforting thought. He crawls slowly away, hoping for Lynx's sake that there's another control panel on the other side of the door- and that Lynx knew how to use it.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] As Iscal worms his way through the nest of tunnels, the eyes that dot the underside of the mother like running lesions note the movement. The mother is not so dull a thing as its children, and its booming roar of alarm blasts through the grating like a physical thing, nearly knocking Iscal prone.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] There is a tremendous crash above him. He rolls, and finds the tip of the mother's largest tentacle twitching only inches from his face, bone talon unable to penetrate the mesh.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal can't stomp a whimper from escaping him. "...Negotiate?" he says in Old Realm.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] As if in response, he seems the mother's huge bulk shift. There is a massive crash from behind him, where the access panel he recently opened lies, as the mother slams a tentacle down into it hard enough to break it free.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "I do not understand your request," SESIIS says coolly. A drop of blood falls on Iscal's cheek.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Iscal hears a sound behind him, the now unmistakable sound of flesh slithering over metal at a rapid speed.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Location for alternative control of that airlock."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "Any master terminal should suffice." SESIIS says blithely from above, as the mother screams in anger.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal turns from the noise and crawls as fast as he can away- wondering all the while whether he was being herded into a corner or a trap. He was a rat in a maze, and if he could see them, then they could, as easily, see him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Iscal springs forward just in time. Something slithers behind him, and he moves his leg out of the way just as a huge tentacle stabs around the corner, impaling a conduit and releasing a vent of angry steam. Nodules pulse up and down its length.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Above, the mother lowers its massive, cyclopean head then smashes it violently into the mesh over Iscal's face. Gobbets of flesh splatter him. He sees all too much: human jawbones fused into row after row of fangs, dozens of multicolored, staring eyes, pulsating, tumorous flesh...
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal closes his eyes and mouth and runs like vermin. He opens his eyes when the spattering gory rain stops, looking for something he can break, something explosive...
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Suddenly, Iscal's desperate, lurching motion is brought up short. He is stopped with an abrupt jerk as the mother's tentacle extends, wrapping itself firmly around his calf.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] A second jerk, and he begins to be pulled backwards, slowly and inexhorably.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Bitch! Let me go! Let me go!" His fingers scrabble uselessly at the floor of his hole. It doesn't slow him down at all. He reaches into his satchel, his fingers made clumsy by panic, and finds the barrel of his plasma repeater. He grabs on to it, twists around, and fires at the tentacle holding his leg.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He screams as the bolt of hot fire slices, not through the tentacle, but through his foot. "Gods..gods.."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] The wound sizzles. As Iscal watches, the glossy surface of the tentacle contracts again, and he is yanked violently down his little tunnel between two conduits and around a corner. His side aches as it is slammed into unyielding metal.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] With his empty hand, he grabs his truncheon and begins stabbing it frantically into the pipes and valves as he is dragged along. His club wedges between two pipes. Grunting, he pulls his arm over it, hanging on to it as the tentacle slams him this way and that, like he was little more than a ragdoll.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He looks up and down the maintenace tube. This was a pressurized ship. Designed to be immersed. There must be pipes carrying air from one part of the ship to another. He remembered a story a nursery god had told him, once- of air so pure it would ignite. One glyph focuses his attention, a sign from alchemy- indicating a common compound, found in air, and water, easy to ignite- the Twins, they were called in the nursery rhyme.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He kicks at the pipe etched with the glyph, but it was useless. First Age construction was impermeable. Except when sealing away hideous monsters, apparently. Gritting his teeth, as the monster's limb flings him one way and the other, he kicks instead at a small wheel by the valve. "Come on- come on-" he growls. The wheel loosens, begins to turn. There's a little hiss of rapidly escaping gas, and he can see it- a white gaseous cloud rapidly escaping. He closes his eyes and fires the plasma repeater again, not even bothering to aim.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] The gas jet ignites, pouring fire on the tentacle holding his leg. Thankfully, he doesn't shoot himself this time.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] There is a whooshing noise, and Iscal feels the conduit at his back grow briefly warm before automated systems kick in to still the flames. The twisted flesh of the mother pops and sizzles in the jet from the vent, then turns black. Iscal jerks his leg and nearly breaks free, but then the tentacle pulls again, yanking him through the jet of fire and closer to the trapdoor. He can see it now, at the end of a tunnel about ten feet long, growing closer and closer.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "I won't let you take me!" Iscal hollers. He drops his bag of tools, he's been torn away from truncheon, but one last frantic grab at his tools unearth something else.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] The chainsaw.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He wedges the plasma repeater in his armpit and cranks the First Age device. The roar is welcome. He hacks recklessly at the thing clutching his foot. "Let! Me! Go!" he snarls, again and again.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He shudders with relief as putrid flesh parts between the whirring diamond-edged teeth of the blade. He switches it off, and hurries back the way he came, collecting his possessions as he went, like a crazed magpie.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] What he needed, he decides, is a SESIIS control down in the maintenace corridors. It would be at some major juncture. He stows everything he has that glows inside his bag, and lets the darkness rear up and cover him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Above, the mother gives a titanic scream, its flesh boiling angrily. It withdraws its severed tentacle with a rapid jerk, leaving a splatter of blood behind it.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] As Iscal continues to work his way through the tunnels below, the mother's belly ripples and twitches before falling open. A pair of tiny scuttling things fall from it: detached heads, curves of spinal cords, network of ribs and cartilage moving like the limbs of a spider.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He can hear...something in the corridors behind him. Maybe, he thinks, if he got out of this, and Soldas was rewarded, he could get a reward too. The Scaleleader's right-hand man. Never have to go on a mission again. A good life. A life worth fighting for.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He bites his lip to stifle his grunts, and curls his way around a corridor.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He finds the console at last as he skitters along on his hands on knees. It is embedded in the floor below him. "Set volume at twenty percent, light display at fifty percent," he orders it, arranging himself so that his back is to a solid wall. He glances nervously upwards.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] The mother is not in sight, though its anguished bellowing still washes over Iscal from time to time.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Show layout of maintenace corridor. Indicate points of interest."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "Indeed." SESIIS's voice says quietly. This terminal is too primitive for holographic display, apparently. Still, the screen derezzes and reveals a corridor of maintenance tunnels that wind the length of the first deck, although flashing red seals indicate that they have been sealed by emergency curtains near the flooded sections of the level.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Is it possible to...remotely open the emergency curtains?" If Lynx failed, perhaps he could at least drown that particularly hideous tree.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "With the ship on auxiliary power, I'm afraid overriding the safety protocols is not possible."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Do you see that huge..tree thing...running up this chamber? Does it have any weaknesses?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "I have detected anomalous material in the engine room." SESIIS says. "I do not know its capabilities. I am only a limited intelligence."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Do you have access to the experimental logs from the laboratory?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "They can only be accessed from the local terminals as a security measure."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] The terminal suddenly flickers, and the lights dim for a moment before brightening. From somewhere, from everywhere, SESIIS speaks.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Ah. Naturally."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "Hull breach sealed. Essence capacitor flushed. Initiating automatic startup sequence of starboard engine."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] A lurid red glow casts itself down on Iscal as the cylindrical engine above blazes to life. There is the sharp hiss of sizzling flesh as the branches curled around it wither.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] And behind him, in the tunnel, Iscal sees the first of the scuttling skull things round the corner.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal grins, electrically. "...SESIIS. Am I safe where I am...?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Answer enough. No. He was never safe. He gets out his battered, reliable truncheon.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] There's a game they play in Great Forks, that involved hitting balls with sticks. He thinks of this game as he swings his truncheon whistling at the first of the skull things, waiting, hoping for a nice solid crunch.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He'd never been very good at it. His truncheon swings clean over the thing- it doesn't even have to duck.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] His second strike fairs no better.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Crap."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] The stink of burning flesh fills the room as the flesh tree above keeps burning. Keening wails rise high. One of the drones scuttles forward, backbone arching unnaturally as it stabs at Iscal's face.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] In the close and crowded corridors, however, it seems to fair no better- he hits the thing with its elbow, sending it spinning away. He twists painfully around in the tight space, striking at it.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] The skittering thing crunches to pieces, smashed against the steel panelling like a bug swatted against a wall.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] The one behind shuffles forward over its ruins, lashing out at Iscal once more with its tiny stinger. Above, the mother is bellowing. The stench of burning, rotten flesh fills the air.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal grins. With mad eyes he chases the last one around the juncture. It jumps this way and that, and Iscal hunts it down as thought it were a cockroach in his kitchen.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Smash. CRASH. Ting. Slam.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal's truncheon flies from his sweaty fingers to land with a clang across the juncture. The skull creature chitters, hopping gleefully from one leg to the next, until Iscal's boot comes crashing down and, with a grunt, he ends it forever.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] His lip curls at the gore that sticks to his boot as he brings his foot away.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "SESIIS," he say. "Vent the poisonous gas."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Above Iscal, the mother stumbles forward, bellowing in pain as the massive, central flesh structure burns. It pauses over Iscal, shuddering, birthing, and a humanoid figure falls from its innards to strike the grating above him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Rashalla claws faintly at him through the mesh, moaning softly.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "Affirmative." SESIIS says quietly. "Activating emergency protocol orichalcum. Venting Krebs-lethal gas. Please move to a secure area."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal lays flat on his back, hardly daring to breath. "Where is secure area?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "I'll kill you again, Red," Iscal whispers to the corpse of the woman above him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "Safe zones include the hydroponics farm on level three. The bridge, the-" SESIIS' voice is swallowed by the grinding of internal turbines.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Machinery that has been stilled for millenia kicks into motion, as the poison that Vanna produced to kill her own creations is drawn from its remaining reservoirs and injected into the ventilation system.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Thick, greenish smoke spills from the vents, and wherever it goes, the creatures die. Flesh hives wither on the walls. Walking creatures fall, foaming, convulsing. Iscal watches Rashalla's face melt above him rapidly, the body twitching, mummifying.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal covers his face with the hood of his jacket and breathes harshly through his filter. He couldn't- wouldn't- die here. He wasn't done yet.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] At length, the popping, bubbling, grotesque howling stops, and there is only the sound of the engines humming through the ship. Iscal raises his face, and hesitantly takes off his filter, breathing in the clean, sweet air. It's the work of a few minutes to find a grate than can be loosened and removed, and then stand trembling and free beneath the engines.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] The creatures lay in rotting piles around Iscal - the counter-gas seems to accelerate their decay. As he watches, the mother twitches one last time and pitches forward, flesh running from it in liquid waves.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He laughs delightedly, spreading his arms. "We won! WE WON!" he yells, spinning madly, the gory froth from the mother's rapid decay rising up to his knees before draining into a hundred hidden compartments.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He squishes his way to another console, wiping away a rapidly liquidating hive. He opens the airlock, in case Lynx survived. It would have been ungrateful to leave him to rot.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] Billows of soupy green gas flow all around him, the new air warm against his skin. IT itches, and then burns, but he is beyond caring, staring up at the blank ceiling, watching through the swirling clouds of gas. The hood sucks in and out slowly as he savors having air, protecting him from real harm. The thing-blood and offal left after his thorough washing sizzles in teh gas, leaving holes in his layered, disgusting gar
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] The thing-blood and offal left after his thorough washing sizzles in teh gas, leaving holes in his layered, disgusting garments, burning away most of the fur that had been matted with it. The smoke from that just added to the pretty miasma around him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He was so used to the thing's gas that none of it bothered him. He would get up in a moment, go fidn out if the things were dead now. Of anyone else had survived. If he could survive. If they could escape. But not now.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] Some time passes. Nothing enters Lynx's view. Presumably the lock had never been opened. After some time - only god Snowshine knew how long, fuming alone, unwilling to exert enough power to manifest without the bridge of the earring - Lynx stands up and stretches. Cold, of course hungry, but together enough to decide that he needed to move.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He felt exposed, now that he felt, alone in the large hallway, leaving bloody tracks everywhere, since the blood had been too fresh to be properly viscous, and he'd gotten in on his boot-soles in his haste.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Lynx!" he hollers down the formerly-flooded compartment. "LYNX!" It is wonderfully liberating, to shout without worrry for noise.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] he hears the yell, and decides to go to it, unwilling to yell so himself. He hesitates, then picks up the earring and pockets it. There was something there, and he couldn't leave it. But he didn't want to deal with whatever it was just now. So.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He scuttles up the stairs, half supporting himself with the spear, glad the the occasional iron bands reinforcing it provided grib against the smooth wood. It was laquered, so that the water shouldn't have harmed it, but that would have made it impossible to grip in his current condition by itself.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He sees the tired tread of the man and races halfway down the stairs to grab him by the shoulders and his kiss both cheeks. "We did it! They're dead. They're all dead."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He looks at him, half uncomprehending. "All?" It seemed incomprehensible, that it was all over, that all the things were gone, all the things that had been his friends and old enemies, all the things that had killed his friends and old enemies. Everything. It was deflating, scary. A new world that he would ahve to survive in, rules that he would have to remember. He is shaking in Iscal's grasp, and not just from being shaken.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "All." He releases the man, dismissing him as of diminished importance, but the glow still shines in his eyes. "We'll have to report to Soldas, my commander."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Come along then," he says, pulling at Lynx's hand, absently coaxing. "You come too."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He trots behind him, numb, and so complying. The man, at least, was familiar.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] As the two men ascend, through corridors now brightly lit, if still littered with the melting remains of the creatures. Hives drip from the walls as the transmission system begins to play soft, soothing music.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal hums along with it, though his tune doesn't quite match, until at last they reach the door marked with a raven. He raps sharply on it with his knuckles. "We're back. We fixed it."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] Lynx shrinks back a bit. "Theres others?" He'd heard the woman he'd been with, briefly. He knew the man. His companions would surely be ravens, but more of their ilk, too. One was already so many people near him, knowing where he was. But the door opened too fast for him to do anything but stand there.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] A moment later, the door opens. Leaping Stag stands there, blond hair slicked to his face by sweat, bags nestling under his eyes. Behind him, the boy, Miro, crouches against the wall with his head in his hands. Soldas sits propped nearby, staring out into space.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "You're... you're back. More of you." He cranes his neck to have a look at Lynx and does not appear to recognize him. "Where's Rashalla?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "She didn't make it. I'm sorry." Sorry as he says he is, he sounds indifferent, peering around to drink in the sight of Soldas. It occurs to him he murdered her, after all, so he puts in a little more effort. "She died ...saving my life. Wouldn't have made it without her."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] All true, and enough to allay suspicions, hopefully.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "I, ah..." He looks away briefly. "She was not my favorite companion, you understand, but for a while she was my only one. It's... difficult to hear." He nods his head at Lynx. "And who is this one?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] His breathing quickens for a moment, sucking at the hood, and then he starts speaking so quickly that words stumble over eachotehr, slightly less quiet than always: "Stag, Leaping Stag, I know you. You know me! I'm Sunning Lynx, the new one. You're alive! You're alive?" He suddenly pauses to check that he isn't a thing.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "Lynx? Is that really--" He stops, recognizing the voice. "A few of us have been holed up here for some time. But we thought - I mean- we had fire here, protection. How the hell did you stay alive out there?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Behind him, Soldas stares ahead, lips moving soundlessly. He hasn't responded to the newcomers in any way.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal pats Stag on the arm and shoulders past him, leaving them to it. He kneels in front of Soldas, taking both his hands. "My lord?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He slows down now, recovering himself and his habits. "I . . ah, in the vents. Made a home, blocked off. They couldn't smell me. I wish I'd explored more . . " he trails off. The thought made his flesh crawl, even now, but he still meant it.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] "Who else?" he asks, eager.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Soldas blinks slowly. He smiles, but its thin. He's clearly not all there, and hasn't been for a while, but his eyes focus on Iscal's face. "I'm no lord, Iscal. What is it? Have the Fourth Scale arrived?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Leaping Stag looks alarmed by this revelation. He says nothing. "There are no others that I know. A handful of us were here. Martha took a group to try and escape. Rashalla and I remained behind. She died."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "No. We killed them all, killed all the creatures. We can leave now- through the front door, like kings."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "We..." Soldas shakes his head. "You killed them all?" His smile widens slightly. "Guess that makes you the hero."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal winces at the idea. "No heroes in the Once Dead, sir. The Scale, sir."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He can hear the otehr conversation, his senses still sharp, honed by their need for survival. But he doesn't bother to correct them.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "The scale wasn't here," Soldas points out. Then, he smiles anew. "This is quite the find, isn't it? I imagine our entire scale will be well-rewarded."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] There wasn't much to say to that, nothing that he could think of, until a vague thought filtered into his mind. "I'm . . sorry."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Yes, sir," Iscal agrees gladly. He wondered if now was the time to put in the official request to be made an assistant. When they were next alone, perhaps.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Leaping Stag shrugs. There's not much energy in the gesture. "Nothing we could do. No reason we should beat ourselves up for being lucky. Maybe they'll let us retire."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "So..." Soldas says quietly, not quite believing it. "We can go now?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "We can go."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He kisses Soldas's hand delicately, with all the polish of a courtier, and then stands, pulling the Scalelord to his feet with him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He nods, solemn. He hadn't thought about what happened next, still wasn't really. He felt uncomfortable, so many eyes that he could see - so so many eyes that could and did see him. But they were his people, a Third Scaler even, all that was left of the Scale apparently, except maybe for support personel.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Leaping Stag walks away from Lynx, reaching down to take Miro by the hand and pull him up. "Come on kid, let's go."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He remembered - vaguely as if through a fog of years instead of less than four months - the day he had been placed in the Third, the excitement and pride, knowing that he had accomplished something, that his new life would provide even more excitement for as many years as he lived it. No boredom for the Once Dead, Haslanti was never that calm. He shuddered at the memory, and the man that had produced it. He didn't want t
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He shuddered at the memory, and the man that had produced it. He didn't want to go back. But the raven was still there over the brand on his palm, visible now through a hole in his gloves. And they wouldn't let him go until he died.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Lets go. One level up...and we're out." Iscal smiles at Miro, absently. He keeps hold of Soldas's hands a few seconds longer than he really should, stroking his knuckes with his thumb before releasing him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He leads them upward, having long since memorized the map now.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] If Soldas notices this sign of affection, he makes no sign. Miro buries his face in Leaping Stag's thigh as the group moves almost casually through halls filled with the dead and dying creatures and their constructions. The air now is pleasantly cool against the skin. The dischordant, spirited music continues to pipe out from intact and broken noise projectors alike.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] The door to the outside is now clear aside from a tarry slurry on the floor, and the merest press of a hand on its panel sends it hissing open and unleashes a blast of cold air.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Vulgar Oda and Laughing Jek sit on a pair of barrels, bundled up tight, torches burning around them. They're playing a game of cards.
| |
| − | [Lynx] Lynx shrinks back at the new people, and sees the boy doing the same. There is a recognition between them, that both of them want to avoid. He doubts he will ever speak to the boy, if he can avoid it.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Some use you are." Iscal bites out, before he restrains himself, lowering his eyes. He had forgotten, in the depths of that hell where he was always shivering in corners, how to hide himself.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] The two men look up, horrified and shocked. Vulgar Oda opens his mouth and closes it. Jek stares at them for a moment, and finally reacts the way he always does - by laughing.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "You're early, Soldas," he says. "If you'd given me another day, I could've whipped this scale into something worthwhile."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal's eyes blaze, but he controls it, channels. "We have taken control of the airship, we have killed the thousands of monsters that slaughtered the Third Scale, and claimed the greatest discovery in the history of the north for the Haslanti league. Get us food, and make sure tents are ready."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Black rage simmers below the surface, but he tamps it down. He stomps through the snow until he stands by Jek. He cranes his headaround to check the man's hand. "You forgot your salute," he adds with deceptive amiability.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Jek shrugs, then looks at something in Iscal's eyes and clearly doesn't like it. "Come on, Oda," he says. "Let's go feed these madmen." He even throws Soldas a halfhearted salute as he goes.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Soldas stares after him blankly, blinking.
| |
| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] A little over a week later, barely time to get back to Icehome and spread the news to the proper authorities, finds Leaping Stag, Sunning Lynx, Iscal, and Soldas gathered in the office of Athela Ironheart. They have each been summoned seperately for reasons that are not entirely clear, and as of yet Ironheart has not appeared.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Leaping Stag looks down at his lap, not wishing to make eye contact with the others, as if to bring the event up is to make it real again.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] Lynx has chosen one of the chairs closest to a wall, and is leaning slightly away from everyone in it. He still wears the hood always, but at least now he is as clean as any of the others. It ahd taken him a few days to go over the fear of smelling clean and alive.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Soldas sits silently, drumming hands on his thighs. He looks better today than he has in days - or weeks, really. He's wearing the officer's uniform of the Once Dead, and every insignia looks perfectly put in place. The circles under his eyes are far less dark than usual. He pointedly does not look at the hooded man, as he still thinks of him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] There are not enough chairs, so Iscal stands behind Soldas, and to his left. He had endeavored to spend as much time as was reasonable with him; there had been an uneasy joke or two about Trembleshanks and his dog.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Voices rise and fall in the hallway, indistinct, and then the door opens and a pair of figures stride briskly in. The first is Athela Ironheart, Talonlord. Her usually humorless face is set in hard lines today, and her entire body, from heeled boots to graying hair, gives an impression of angularity and roughness. She nods at the others only perfunctorily before taking a seat behind her desk.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] An informal and practical one to the end.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] The other figure is taller than [[IronHeart]], darker, with an obscuring cloak and hood pulled tightly around its body and face. The figure does not sit, but stands slightly behind and to the left of Ironheart, just as Iscal does for Soldas.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] The hood doesn't turn, doesn't react. But Lynx's eyes follow her from behind its veil.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "This is a debriefing," Ironheart begins. "Specifically of those of you who have been inside the craft, Sunlight, and seen what lies within."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "The events of this conversation and the contents of the ship are sealed to the dead," the second figure says, leaning forward slightly. Onlookers catch a glimpse of gray eyes, a sharp nose. The voice is definitely feminine.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "Is that understood?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal nods.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "If I am to understand this correctly," Ironheart says. "Two of you, Stag and Lynx, were members of the Third Scale, trapped upon the craft during the failed expedition. Scalelord Soldas led a small team from Fourth Scale into the wreckage to investigate. All were lost but Soldas and Iscal."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] Lynx shifts his head slightly, enough for it to be called a nod.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "That is correct."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "Together, you managed to cleanse the ship of infection." She rifles through her notes. "Iscal has particularly noted Soldas's role as leader. What have you to say, Soldas?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Her eyes narrow suspiciously.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "Er..." Soldas coughs. His hands fidget on his lap. "I have no choice but to agree with Iscal's assessment."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "And Iscal? You maintain this?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Scalelord Soldas's leadership was crucial to the success of the mission, sir." They would have cut and run like Martha's doomed team if he hadn't wanted to grab some glory for him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "Then congratulations are in order," Ironheart says, with a solemn nod. "I had not believed you had it in you, Soldas. You may yet stand in the annals of the Once Dead." Her eyes move across the faces of everyone in the room, fixing them one by one. Even within his hood, Lynx feels strangely pinioned. "And all of you should know that your country is thankful. You should cling to that."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] The woman behind her shoulder speaks, her voice tinged with impatience. "Indeed. The craft you have uncovered is an astonishing example of technology from the lost age. Our savants will study it for years, and the secrets we unlock may very well change the League forever. It is a remarkable find."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "I quite agree," Soldas says, smiling. Inside, doubt gnaws at him. Had it really been like Iscal said? Well, he hadn't given up, and he had lived, and he had wounded one of the Ice Hags...
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "The gratitude of the League is with you always," the hooded woman continues. "I am afraid that must sustain you. We told you to keep silent upon your return for a reason. That craft went undiscovered by all for centuries. We would not gladly hand it over to our enemies. Gethamane, the Fellai, or the Bull. You must understand this."
| |
| − | [Lynx] He hunches down slightly more. This wasn't for him. Not yet at least. He wondered why they had wanted him here. He hardly spoke to anyone, let alone about the ship.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "Secrecy is paramount. Were we a less caring organization, if we valued heroism a little less, or had we forgotten the old ways..." the woman stops, voice slowing, as if she regrets that all thse things are true. "We would kill you now to drive the knowledge you have from Creation. No one must know of this."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "I'm sorry, Soldas," Ironheart says. "If what the others say is true, I am truly sorry."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Soldas looks from her to the hooded woman in confusion.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He stiffens, and tries to hide it. He can feel their eyes on him, he can feel the threat hidden, barely, in their words.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] "The residents of the Iceholt barge were killed by an outbreak of Green Rage," the woman says. "They contracted it from raiding an insignificant First Age Tomb. The Third Scale also succumbed to this infection. When Fourth Scale arrived, the disease had run its course. After an encounter with Ice Hags, Scalelord Soldas deserted his post to investigate the tomb, and found nothing." Thefigure's head turns to take in all those in the room. "Is this understood?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "''Deserted his post', sir?" That sounded almost like a violation of some military code.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [GM] Leaping Stag says nothing. An unfair cut, of course, but all he saw Soldas do was sleep, and he's heard the rumors. He's not about to stand up for his sake.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Lynx] He nods, barely, under the pressure of her gaze. OTherwise he doesn't move except for the sucking of his breath, and the clenching around his closed eyes. He could feel their gaze anyway, especially when he took quick peeks out.
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| − | | |
| − | [GM] "It's simple," the hooded woman says. "Scalelord Soldas's official record is pathetic." She says this fact as if he were not in the room to listen. "Misdeed after misdeed, dissatisfaction upon dissatisfaction. Were he to earn a favorable report for this mission, someone might notice, might investigate. It would not be consistent. I assure you the charge will be, in recognition for Soldas's contributions, logged as only a minor offense on his permanent record."
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| − | [GM] "A bitter pill, Scalelord," she continues. "But for the good of the League, I hope that you understand."
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal's eyes flash with anger, quickly suppressed. "Purely a matter of record-keeping, then?" He says it in a fair assumption of indifference. It was unfair, most unfair- but those in power would know the truth. Galling, still, that Soldas would not recieve the public acclaim he so deserved, that Iscal had fought so hard for.
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| − | [GM] "Of course." The woman's voice is flippant. Her gazes focuses on Soldas. "Surely a member of the Once Dead understands."
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| − | [GM] "Of course." Soldas repeats stiffly, staring determinedly at the floor between his boots. "I understand."
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| − | [Iscal] "Soldas has told us of the necessity for discretion, sir." Well, construing his words very generously. "I wonder if I might make a small personnel request."
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| − | [GM] It's Ironheart who answers this question. "I... suppose you may request it."
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| − | [Iscal] "Soldas and I worked well together as a team down in that...hell." He lets the word hang a moment before plunging on. "I request a permanent assignment as his assistant."
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| − | [GM] Ironheart seems a bit taken aback. "Well..." she says. "I suppose that should be at the scalelord's discretion."
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| − | [GM] Soldas looks over his shoulder at the other man, a bit curiously. "I... suppose I could appoint you to that position, Iscal. I cannot exempt you from other service, however."
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| − | [Iscal] "Of course, sir." Iscal says, smoothly enough, covering up his secret exultation. "I would not seek to evade the slightest duty.
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| − | [GM] "Remember what you have been told," the hooded woman says. "The ears of the north will be listening."
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| − | [Lynx] He knew. He made it a point to avoid being heard, because everything was listening. All the same he shrank a little at the direct warning. He could see the annoyance warring with bitter pity in their eyes.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal nods. "Yes sir."
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| − | [GM] "Is there anything further?" Ironheart asks. "Soldas?"
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| − | [GM] "Nothing," he mumbles, staring at the floor. He has gone even more pale than usual.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal glances at him, a suspicion passing through his pale green eyes. No matter soon. Soon mended.
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| − | [Iscal] Early the next day, Iscal moves briskly through the streets, maneuvering the heavy red-and-white skirts of a Haslanti widow. He keeps an eye out for the Ears of the North, but he didn't expect to see them, even if they were there. And he was well disguised, in wig, women's clothes, and make-up, carrying the case of an apothecary. He had heard at a tavern there was to be an important ball of some kind tonight- it
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| − | [Iscal] didn't matter why, only that all the upper ranks of Haslanti nobility would be there.
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| − | [Iscal] And they would all want to be looking their best. He's in the part of town the truly stiff lived, where those rich in honor as well as coin dwelled. He stops by a particular lodging, knocking on the door.
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| − | [Iscal] "I am the apothecary. I have an appointment with Lady Amaya," Iscal says, in the voice of a woman climbing to old age.
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| − | [Iscal] He is allowed in, and taken to the room where the family meet with tradespeople, there to kick his heels.
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| − | [GM] Iscal waits for some time before Lady Amaya arrives. He hears a soft, hurried argument between her and a servant, and she emerges slowly and more than a little stiffly. She is short, and slimmer than the Haslanti properly prefer their women. Her hair is a tangle of flyaway brown, her eyes a deep amber color. She is attractive, but clumsily, carelessly so. She could not, through any artifice, make herself look much better or worse. Iscal notices that the front of her dress, doubtless imported from the Realm, is buttoned crookedly.
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| − | [GM] "You're here to see me?" She looks over the newcomer curiously. "I'm afraid I don't recall where we met." She adds, stumbling over the words.
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| − | [Iscal] "Perhaps you don't recall," Iscal simpers. "I was recommended to you. We weren't able to fix on date- I came today because, well, all of Icehome was buzzing about your formal betrothal this evening."
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal makes the short Haslanti bow. "I thought you might wish for a little special attention." He jingles his box of potions. "Forgive me if I presumed too much on so slight an acquaintence."
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| − | [GM] "Ah, my betrothal. I... " She smiles slightly, giving a chuckle. Her cheeks redden. "I hope not all of Icehome is abuzz. I'd hate to think the Ice Fishermen had nothing more... lively to discuss."
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| − | [GM] Her blush deepens at the sight of the potions. "Well... it would be impolite to refuse a gift, madam, but I do not even recall your name."
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| − | [Iscal] "It's winter, child," Iscal smiles. "There is little else to fill the empty hours with, than empty chatter. My name is Callia. Callia the Wise?" He raises his voice slightly at that, as if hoping that by adding this appellation he would jog her memory.
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| − | [GM] "Ah, yes. Callia. Of course," The burning in Amaya's cheeks has not gone away. "In any case, you honor me with your affection." She returns the bow. The fusion of tradition and outsider fashion is an odd and perhaps unpleasant one.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal moves fingers trembling from the effects of a temporary withering potion. He opens up his box. "I hope you will remember me, gracious lady, to your friends, should you be pleased with my gift." An unpleasant mercantilizing of an old Haslanti custom- another new fashion.
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| − | [GM] "Of course." She looks into the box. Another of her imperfectly fastened buttons shifts and opens. He notices that another is missing, and the dress there is hurriedly held in place with a pin.
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| − | [GM] "What is this gift you speak of? A love tincture?" She smiles to show she is only joking. There's an odd gleam in her eye.
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| − | [Iscal] "Why, I would not think to choose for you. Choose your gift from any of my wares. Love tinctures, yes, and perfumes...make-up that smoothes the complexion into clarity...luck potions to bless the fertility of a new union..." Iscal points to each in turn, his sharp eyes noting her state of dress.
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| − | [GM] "What is this one?" She asks, voice light with amusement. Her finger points to a small glass bottle of a violently green liquid.
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| − | [Iscal] "Oh, dear- how that got in here...You wouldn't want that one, lady. It's, er, for elderly men. When they have trouble with their parts on special occassions." Iscal coughs delicately.
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| − | [GM] "Clearly you have not heard enough about my betrothed," Amaya says, and then immediately reddens. "My apologies. That was unjust of me. This one?" She points to a vial of ground white powder.
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| − | [Iscal] "Powdered pearls. For the complexion."
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| − | [GM] "As good as any, I suppose," She says, taking the vial delicately between thumb and forefinger. "You honor me with your gift. Tell me, how should I use it?"
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| − | [Iscal] "Mix it with water to make a paste, and smear it on your face. An amount of water equal to the powder, I think." Iscal bobs his head.
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| − | [GM] "Thank you again, Wise Callia. Your generousity has enriched my day." She bows again, ritually, but with genuine affection.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal bobs another courtesy. "Think well of me, my lady, and I wish you well in your marriage."
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| − | [GM] Iscal notes that the house itself is impeccably clean, and the furniture well-maintained. None of it looks particularly new, however. It has the look of a place lovingly - almost desperately - maintained for appearance's sake. Perhaps the family has fallen on hard times. Or, it could simply be that the Lady Amaya is absent-minded.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal leaves the girl smiling, and as the door closes behind his back, his face turns cold.
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| − | [Iscal] The potion would kill her over the course of hours once she put it on. She would die punished for her wickedness in entrapping Soldas for his land, and Soldas would protected form an impulse to confide in her about his adventures aboard the Sunlight.
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| − | [GM] Lady Amaya bids her servants goodnight, settling in behind the cracked mirror in her personal apartments. She smiles at herself, setting the powdered vial before her. "Complexion..." She says absently. "Like that old goat cares about my complexion." She smiles at herself for a bit longer, and begins to laugh, and then to cry, her head pillowed on her arms.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal walks through the harsh morning satisfied in work well done, and already thinking of how he would comfort Soldas.
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| − | [Iscal] Once he had done away with the costume, of course.
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