The Pristine (Blades in the Dark)

[herodofcows]

Six Towers, Night

The rusted iron fences that surround Carrow House creak and snarl in the wind like a demonic symphony. The ever-growing moon looms over the horizon, half-obscured by clouds that darken even the luminescent night skies. Trash skitters about the street, blown about by the oncoming storm.

Nobody is out. The dilapidated manors of Ashmore Way are dark and unlit, free of occupants and squatters alike. The only unnatural light comes from a spectral echo in the windows of a nearby house, the loop flickering and strobing away.

Carrow House was Southsby's main place of business, before the man stuck his jowls into a business too hot for his liking. In the near-darkness, it is only just possible to see the makeshift stalls lining the faded alabaster portico, or to catch a glimpse of partially-looted shelves within the ground floor of the manor proper. The door hangs meekly off its hinges, ruptured by some worthy's kick. A few windows have been broken.

No, Southsby isn't here anymore. Sensing the consequences of his over-eager salesmanship, the fence has gone to ground with his precious merchandise.

Now . . . where oh where did he go?

Welcome to the IC!

I'm setting this scene vaguely. You guys can choose to investigate Carrow House proper, or decide to take the scene elsewhere as part of your Gather Information rolls.

[Zelphas]

Brace "Sphinx" Skora looks over the wreckage of Southsby's, his weather-beaten Severosi face grimly impassive. Overall, he gives an impression of a faded photograph of a person; slate-grey hair and sepia-tone eyes, skin weathered to pale grey leather by exposure and time. His lower face is covered by short, grey and white stubble, neatly trimmed into an eternal five-o'clock shadow. He wears thick, tough leathers, the clothing clean but worn into colorlessness by age and use. Two bulges, one on either hip, reveal the presence of weapons; by their size, they are likely pistols, though they are covered by enough worn leather that it is impossible to discern details.

On the ground before him, a fat tube of matted orange-brown fur looks up from the bit of garbage it had been nosing inquisitively, swiveling its pointed snout around to eye Brace with bright black eyes. Sensing its master's mood, the creature scampers over to the tall Severosi in a flash, clawing its way efficiently up and around one leg, over the torso, and ending up balanced around Brace's shoulders like a living scarf. The man hardly seems to notice, still surveying the wreckage; only his eyes move for a long moment.

Finally, Brace speaks. "That's it then; time to find a new score," he says finally, turning on his heel to leave the street.

[Ramsus]

Luna in her role as the Silk Flower and covered up in a dark brown fur coat, that is perhaps a bit nicer than those in the area would wear, with a veil covering her face under the cowl, looks over a Brace and scoffs. "Or we could at least take a look around and see what we see. What's the fun in coming all this way to just go home at the first sign of difficulty?"
She looks down at what she believes is a stoat and asks in that voice you talk to pets with, "Isn't that right Brownie?"

[Quellian-dyrae]

Arden appraised the scene quietly, his shoulders a bit slumped. Not from disappointment or despair. From weight, actually. The sparsely-built man was sagging a little under the burden of his neutral gray duster. Its many, many, many pockets were packed so full the thing almost looked more like some heavy quilted coat, or perhaps even padded armor. And that was before even getting into the bandoleer strapped across his chest.

This was Arden's first "score" as it was called. Well, sort of. He supposed he had helped with a few others. But this was the first time he was going out himself. Getting his hands dirty, as they say. Naturally, he had wanted to be prepared for anything. He had packed practically everything he could imagine being even remotely useful. And yet, he still felt entirely unprepared. Arden had never done anything like this before. Not really. Up until recently, he had been just another cog in the machine. One of the many common people of Doskvol who got through their lives as quietly as possible, keeping his head down and...well, his hands clean.

He'd have been hard-pressed to describe his own feelings, in that moment. Excited? Anxious? Nervous? Scared? They were somewhere on that continuum, certainly. Perhaps dancing back and forth among it as chaotically as the butterflies that were swirling around his stomach, and as quickly as his pounding heart.

So. What was intended as a simple theft had turned out to be anything but, as the target was gone and the location already looted. And the prize? Either taken by the owner, or in the hands of the (other) thieves who had robbed the place. A problem, certainly, but not an insurmountable one, he deemed. This entire situation would be a matter of thought and foresight, of cleverness and preparation, of logic and reason. There would be any number of challenges put in their path, but with the right strategy they could overcome all obstacles and come out with the money they needed to-

Aaaaaaand Brace called it off and turned to leave.

Arden blinked. He hesitated. He was new at this, and Brace was possibly the most experienced of all of them. He hardly felt it his place to question the Hound's assessment, but he also did not wish to give up so easily. There were people counting on this money...

Luna, fortunately, stepped up to counter. Tentatively, Arden voiced his support. "I...also think there seems little harm in investigating. If it's a dead end that is what it is, but this could be a fortuitous happenstance in the end. If Southsby still has the book, a man on the run is a more vulnerable target than one entrenched in his base, yes? Even if harder to find." He spoke each word slowly and carefully, as if examining each one for treachery before he gave it voice.

[CandyLaser]

Carissa "Heartless" Sevoy (https://image.ibb.co/hF5Pod/whisper_2.jpg) stood apart from the rest of her crew, surveying the wreckage of Carrow House with her cool, pitiless gaze. This is what happens to the weak, she thought as she examined the destruction. She wore a greatcoat the color of charcoal, and her gloved hands rested on her customary silver-headed black cane. Her eyes, so pale grey as to be almost colorless, swept across the empty windows and shattered doors, and as she examined the scene she listened to the crew as well. When the inevitable break in the conversation came, she spoke up. "Let's see if Southsby survived the destruction of his place of business. A fence is a thief's best friend, and I wouldn't mind having one in my pocket. If he's dead... well, that's no reason we can't still do business. Perhaps he, or his ghost, will know who wrecked the place and where we can find the book."

[n0ble]

Pearl angled her head to one side looked about the carcass of Southsby's abode. She blinked, scanned the windows and the door then righted her head. Pearl tugged at the collar of her jacket. She disliked dressing in black but it was the optimal shade for an operation of this order. A few tufts of chalk-white hair were poking out from under a thin black poor-boy cape. Pearl corrected an errant strand that had strayed dangerously close to her eye. Her gloves were also black and it made her a bit more peevish. She corrected her thinking. Black would not readily show ash or pollutants. Pearl had to concede that white, nice as it looked, had a lewd tendency to slide to grey in the outside.

She let out a small sigh and wished for a cigarette, but that'd glow and botch things up. Trance powder always elated her, but elation led to sloppiness and that was unacceptable. And her supply was short enough that she might need it for others. That rankled her. Pearl stuffed both gloved hands into her slacks and idly kicked a bit at the stone of Six Towers. The others might disapprove of others. It was important to establish working relationships. Pearl nodded along, favouring the idea of looting the place if nothing else. A fence had uses. A ghost came with a host of problems that Pearl did not care for, fence or no. She slid her eyes across the front of the house.

Some invisible sensation tugged the edges of her mouth into a thin smile. "The door is already open for us, but perhaps it is a bit obvious." Pearl shrugged her slender shoulders, "I am unsure about the <viability> of a second story infiltration." A fissure of irritation lodged itself in Pearl's smile. Such a method of infiltration reeked of drama and risk. Pearl sighed and looked down at a pointed pair of black shoes. Each had depictions of The Ecstasy crudely sewn into them with white stitch. One depicted the hollowing of Illodor the Arrogant. A most sacred event in the cantons. The other showed the Saint Orlane Tyrconnell. A military cult figure that the Church, the one true Church, had seen fit to consume. He was joined arm-in-arm with Lady Devera, the Weeping Lady. Pearl grimaced. "Is there a back entrance?"

[Zelphas]

Brace sighs. Unknown Ancestor, save me from youthful ambition. On his shoulder, the brown-furred creature arches its back, shrinking away from Luna. Its lips peel back from crooked yellow fangs as it lets out something in between a hiss and a growl. Brace's hand on the thing's back quiets it a moment later, but it still watches the Lurk with distrustful eyes.

"Bein' alive," he responds to Luna bluntly, his voice a low, hoarse growl flavored with the slightest hint of his Severosi homeland. "This ain't a 'sign of difficulty', it's proof that someone strong or reckless is after Southsby. Possibly his book, too. Goin' against strong is stupid if y'don't have to; reckless is easier, but reckless does stupid things, and y'can't always plan for it. If'n we're dead, the only one's havin' fun'll be our ghosts--" he shoots a look over at Carissa as he speaks. "--and the less ghosts we get involved with, the better."

Brace turns to look at Arden next. "Y'got it the wrong way round, Fizz. A cornered animal's more likely to kill than one safe in it's den, and judging by this--" he indicates the looted building with a jerk of his head-- "Southsby's gonna be expectin' someone to come after him."

The old Hound glances around the group once more, then shakes his head. "I'm in this crew as a favor to you, Fizz, for fixin' me up a bit ago. If'n you're all set on goin' forward, I won't gainsay any more than I have." He glances at Pearl, then begrudgingly adds: "A backdoor'd be a good startin' place."

[Ramsus]

Luna gives a pouty frown at "Brownie" and Brace as neither one had given her the reaction she'd expected from them or anything suitably enjoyable.
She sighs a bit at Brace's lack of a sense of adventure. It really won't do at all. How can she craft a performance or exciting tale from that?

Once Brace and Pearl have come the most informal of agreements on how to proceed that suits her, she says, "Backdoor? Sure, I'll go see about that then." And takes off to go find such a thing (or at least a suitable window or the like) and sneak into the building without waiting for so much as a nod in agreement.


Gather Info Prowl: [roll0]

[Quellian-dyrae]

Arden looked a bit uncertain when Brace put responsibility for the call on him. It wasn't just that he was new to all this - although that was absolutely a factor - but, well...he was a physicker. Keeping others healthy was his job. While everybody here was willing to take the risks necessary to earn the rewards, being in a position to choose for someone else whether a risk was worth taking...that was not a level of responsibility he had expected to be laid on his shoulders.

But then...he was a physicker. And at the end of the day, that was the sort of decision he had made before. When a patient was lying on his table, assessing what risks needed to be taken to make them better was just part of the job. Really, it wasn't much different here. That thought helped him keep his nerve.

"There seems no harm in looking around, at least," he said, with only slight hesitance.

If or when they got an entry point, Arden would head in. He wasn't really a trained investigator, but he did have a pretty good eye for detail...

Examining the scene with Study to Gather Information: [roll0]. I'll take it!

[CandyLaser]

Carissa remained still. The destruction didn't faze her, and neither did the squabbling among the crew. As long as they got the job done, she wasn't worried about these little disputes. Meanwhile, she studied the scene intensely.

I'll go with Study as well: [roll0]

[n0ble]

Pearl slowly balled the fingers of her left hand into a fist, then took the hand from it's pocket. The other one idly scratched at her while her eyes slid over the structure, trying look about the outside for any answers as to who might have broken into it. Her smile slowly receded into a tight line of concentration. Pearl's eyes narrowed and she unclenched-clenched-unclenched her left hand.



Study for info about who broke in!
Study: [roll0]

[Zelphas]

Brace grunts as he sees everyone go to work. "Guess I'll keep lookout, then." He begins to pace around the street, keeping watch for any Bluecoats or other suspicious persons moving towards the former location of Southsby's shop.

I'll Survey: [roll0]

[herodofcows]

It's a matter of moments before Luna finds an old servant's entrance around the side of Carrow House. It's a battered wooden door, plain white paint scarred along the edges and filthy along the bottom edge. A second's practiced work with lockpicks sees the door creeeeeeak inwards, and the Pristine make their way into the house proper.

Two dark servant's corridors, one detour through a long-vacant study, twelve paces along the edge of the dusty foyer, and the Pristine find themselves within the ransacked storefront that had been Southsby's pride and joy.

Brace positions himself up against the window, keeping an eye out on the street that the gang had just quitted. The clouds dance and swim in front of the moon, playing tricks with shadow even as the wind wails faintly against the shutters. The night appears quiet . . .

Arden's eyes rove across the scene, picking it apart with the keep precision of a surgeon. Sure enough, several splatters of blood catch his eye, all spread out among the shop's detritus. Signs of violence, perhaps? No . . . there's something oddly regular about the placement of the blood splashes . . .

Carissa's studies take her to the desk where Southsby had perched in better days. A thorough examination shows drawers tossed and turned with little rhyme or reason, bills of sale and receipt scrambled all out of order . . . and one drawer with a shallow bottom. Sure enough, parting the paper detritus reveals a small keyhole at the top of the bottom left drawer!

Pearl's searches are of a more wide-ranging sort, searching among the wreckage itself for any clues as to the nature of the intruders. Roving through the overturned shelves and battered tchotchkes, her eyes dance around the scenery at a million miles an hour . . .

CRASH!

. . . until the barest accidental nudge of her foot disrupts some carefully-balanced wreckage that summarily collapses in spectacular fashion.

From his position of watch, Brace hears a sudden intake of breath nearby. Someone is right outside, hidden from the window just beyond his field of view!

As the crash dies down, two sets of footsteps suddenly pick up above the wind: outside, someone is beginning to make their way along the edge of Carrow House, away from the crash. Inside, meanwhile, several soft footsteps are approaching from the servant's corridors . . .

Ladies and gentlemen, you are now in a Risky position!!!

[CandyLaser]

"Arden!" Carissa barked. "Get up here! I've got a lock that needs tickling." Stealth was useless, after that loud crash. Now it was time to get what could be gotten and escape. Meanwhile, she moved to intercept the people approaching through the servant's corridors - mainly, just to see who was coming.

[n0ble]

Pearl idly toed at the junk that had come crashing down. It seemed wasteful to leave it all there. Her eyes snapped to the area all the voices were coming from, including Carissa's. The flat line that was Pearl's lips twisted itself up into a thoughtful expression. Convincing one person might be easier, but she did not want to run after anyone if it could be helped. Any potential sweat would not look good on her in this moonlight. Instead she moved to join the spider.

[Ramsus]

Luna, noticing the sound of someone escaping, decides to give chase. Rather than just rushing off, she makes some hand signals to let people know she heard someone running off outside and that she is going to give chase. Anyone who happens to know such hand signals might also notice they're a bit off, not incorrect so much as not the typical criminal style. In fact they seem rather bluecoat-esque.
Having done that, she attempts to slip off, hopefully without making any noise, and after the fleeing person. While she does so, a part of her thinks about how she'd much rather do a chase through the dark streets or rooftops than deal with what might be a brawl inside a trashed building, but how both might make for excellent scenes.


Risky Standard* Group action Prowl with Brace. Luna taking the lead.
[roll0]

*I assume.

[Zelphas]

Brace swears lightly under his breath as things start to devolve. He turns to head into the building and regroup, but catches Luna's signals before he takes a step. Alright, worth getting away from here, he thinks, sending the hand-signal for acknowledgement in criminal style. He notes Luna's odd "accent" on her hand signals, but decides not to comment for now.

Turning back towards the sound of departing feet, the old Hound sets off. "Keep your nose out, Gomi," he mutters to the creature on his shoulders, his lips hardly moving.

Risky Group Action Prowl with Luna: [roll0]

[Quellian-dyrae]

There was a part of Arden, the part that was completely new to this and had no idea what to really expect, that wanted to panic when he heard footsteps approaching after the crash.

Fortunately, the part of him that could calmly conduct a surgery when a patient was bleeding out and another was being pulled into his clinic by crying family members overrode it hard. His face went almost expressionless as he moved at Carissa's orders, slipping his lockpicks out of the voluminous sleeves of his duster, and quickly setting to work with a surgeon's dexterity and precision, trusting the others to watch his back.

Tinker this thing open. So here's a weird one, lockpicking is explicitly a Tinker action. However, lockpicks are explicitly included in burglary tools. This probably doesn't matter for most people, but it does for me, since Leeches have access to Fine Tinkering Tools, but not Fine Burglary Tools. That said "tools for detailed mechanist work" sounds like it certainly could include lockpicks.

So, if tinkering tools can include lockpicks, I'll activate my Fine Tinkering Tools for +1 Effect. If not, I'll activate some regular Burglary Tools.

Since...our Gather Information scene seems to have become the actual mission, I'll go ahead and specify now that Arden's at Load 6 (with an extra +2 for tools/gear from Thief's Rigging). This is mainly because he's inexperienced so his instinct was to bring along literally everything he could A) carry and B) imagine being useful.

Tinker: [roll0]. Success!

[herodofcows]

Outside (Luna and Brace)

In the span of microseconds, Brace and Luna have darted through the front door. They catch a quick glimpse of a burly tattooed figure in workman's suspenders . . . and then, the chase is on!

He's no alley cat, this one, but he makes up for his lack of nimble reflexes with an impressive sprint. Charging alongside Carrow House, all attempts at stealth forgotten, he lunges his way up the side of the stone garden wall and over into the backyard of the next house over.

Thanks to practiced teamwork, Brace and Luna manage to clear the wall with fluid speed.

The burly fellow glances over his shoulder as he charges for the back door of the neighboring house. His oath is lost to the night wind, but it sounded foul and colorful.

Catch the Tattooed Man [x] [x] [ ] [ ]
Tattooed Man Gets Away [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]

Carrow House Main Entryway (Pearl and Carissa)

As Carissa and Pearl round the corner, they are met by the sight of four individuals in ratty blue coats and uniforms. The casual observer might mistake them for Bluecoats, but by their furtive bearing and their assortment of nasty edged weapons . . . well, it would've been obvious that these were Gray Cloaks even if the man at the head of the party wasn't-

"Oi, Hutch . . ." hisses one of the members to their leader, "Isn't they the ones that-"

"Aye, that they are."

Hutch, second in command of the Gray Cloaks and five feet eight inches of sinew and ferocity, lowers his notched saber . . . slightly.

"Now, what the hell's you lot doing here? This Southsby affair is Cloak business, so either you shoves off or you bleeds right here on this fancy wooden floor. Which is it?"

You guys decide on how you want to handle this and I'll set some clocks appropriately!

Southsby's Premises in Carrow House (Arden)

A jiggle, a slip, some pressure, a satisfying muted click . . . and in the span of a few glacial moments, Arden manages to jimmy open the false bottom of the drawer.

Within, there are sheaves of correspondence and receipts between Southsby and one S. Hutton. There's not enough time to read the entirety of the correspondence, but Arden knows that Hutton is the leader of a nasty gang of ex-sailors and dockworkers called the Grinders. A quick glance suggests that Southsby had arranged for protection from them in exchange for handling and selling off Strangford's book . . .

You have new info! It seems that Southsby is under the auspices of the Grinders. Might be he's somewhere with them . . .

[Zelphas]

Brace takes in the sight at the other side of the wall in a glance, before flashing a series of quick hand signals towards his chase companion. Bear and Wolf: You Wolf.

Looking over at Luna for only an instant longer to assure himself of her cooperation, Brace lowers his head slightly and pours more speed into his sprint. "Snarl," he spits out in a low voice as he moves, and the creature on his shoulders responds with a hair-raising eruption of clearly infuriated noise, its hair standing on end and making the already-oversized rodent look twice as large as before. Just before the doorway, Brace drops one shoulder slightly, aiming to slam through the entryway and keep on charging.

Prowl to keep moving and draw focus as the "Bear": [roll0]

[Ramsus]

Luna gives a nod at Brace, wishing their signs were complex enough for her to have given a witty comment about her not being the Bear.

Rather than jump down from the wall like Brace and their quarry, Luna leaps off the wall straight at the exterior wall of the building the other two are running into. She pivots and runs along the wall a few steps before taking hold of a windowsill and twisting while sort of throwing herself around the corner of the building and there grabbing hold of clothesline that seriously dips under her sudden weight, but doesn't break under her not particular significant weight. She then slides down in front of the door she assumes the pair will be exiting in mere moments, ready with a.... apparently a pair of suspenders with the belts and all still attached for some reason... to trip their prey with.


Group action Risky? Standard? Prowl with Brace, Brace Leading: [roll0]

[Quellian-dyrae]

Arden perused the documents quickly, a faint frown on his face. That was...not precisely ideal, but it was what they needed. Hearing voices around the corner, he stuffed the documents into one of the innumerable big pockets lining the inside of his duster, before stepping out to join Pearl and Carissa. "It's quite alright," he said in a mostly-calm voice with just a faint tremor, his hands raised non-threateningly. "We can leave. There is no need for threats." He was speaking to the Gray Cloaks, but he hoped his teammates picked up on the part of the message that was meant for them. We've got what we need.

If you guys want to do something else feel free, this just seems like the simplest route to me.

Not rolling anything because I assume no check is required to acquiesce to their demands! :smalltongue:

[CandyLaser]

Standing down was probably the wise choice. After all, the Pristine had intel that the Gray Cloaks lacked, and Carissa and company were outnumbered and outgunned. Backing down would let the crew avoid a bloody and unnecessary fight.

But it also meant looking weak.

As far as Carissa was concerned, that was completely unacceptable. Some murderous part of her envisioned the Gray Cloaks lying on the floor, bleeding out, and it took an act of will for Carissa not to go for a knife and make that gore-soaked vision a reality. In the end, though, the fact that she wasn't in control of the situation was what convinced her not to play for blood. She kept her hands concealed as she looked levelly at Hutch. While she wasn't going to start anything, her look said that she was more than happy to get rough if the Gray Cloaks decided to start fighting. "Off we go then, ladies and gents. Let's leave these upstanding citizens to scrabbling through the rubble."

[n0ble]

Pearl looked down at her shoes, then back up to Hutch. She gave a curt, efficient nod to Hutch and his sword. Then she shoved both hands into their pockets and followed after Heartless.

[herodofcows]

Carrow House Main Entryway

Hutch smirks as the Pristine move to leave without a struggle. He sheathes his saber with theatrical ease, leering slightly as he passes by Carissa.

"Lovely when rats know their places, innit it?" he sneers at nobody in particular, "Saves us big dogs such trouble, is all."

His other gang members seem mildly more cautious, even as they circle around and head into Southsby's old establishment. One or two keep casting glances back at Carissa, as though expecting her to spring at them at any moment.

Outside, the night wind continues to blow. As Carissa, Arden, and Pearl step out onto the veranda, they manage to make out the sounds of commotion coming from the house next door . . .

Within the Neighboring House

The tattooed man is panting like a bellows as he bursts into the back door and goes charging through the long-derelict servant's kitchen. He grabs a few items of cutlery and throws them randomly over his shoulder, not pausing to check whether any of them find their mark. All he needs to do is buy himself some time and distance, and he can . . .

"GrrrRRRRRRR . . ."

The man yelps, and puts on a burst of speed as he careens up a narrow flight of stairs. The noise behind him is oddly magnified by the narrow passages of the servant's quarters, and it doesn't seem to be getting any further away . . .

Into the old dining room! He dodges clumsily around the table, books past the library (heh), leaps over a bannister and half-slides, half-falls down the main entryway's balustrade . . . and still that infernal growling gets closer and closer . . .

There! The front door! All he has to do is get out of it and he'll be able to sprint free. No obstacles, no snarling hell-beasts, just his feet pounding cobbles to safety and-

WHACK

The ground gets very close to the tattooed man's head very quickly, and then there is nothing but blackness.

Brace catches up just in time to see Luna straightening up over their very unconscious quarry, his legs tangled in what appears to be dirty laundry of some kind?

Ya caught him!

[herodofcows]

Arden's Clinic, Later That Night . . .

The tattooed man awoke with a start. He'd been tied to a chair and taken to a room fitfully illuminated by a single candle. The Pristine were all present, scattered around the room and shrouded by the poor illumination. To the tattooed man, they seemed nothing more like shadows and spirits brought halfway into the waking world.

But there were some things plainly visible in the candle's flickering light: scalpels . . . syringes . . . a surgical saw . . .

The poor man (whose name, it would turn out, was Woll) barely paused for breath as he began spilling his guts.

The Next Day
A Nameless Coalridge Distillery, 5 P.M.

It is 5 o'clock, and Coalridge is showing signs of life. Workers are trudging home in a homogenous mass from their shifts, calls and earthy oaths melding into an indistinct patina of background noise. The streets are, if not lively, then at least alive.

The real life of the district goes on along the rails and the factories near the center, and the cranes perch there like looming carrion birds or elder steel gods. The heaped masses of Coalridge buildings seem to spill over each other into the water, quintuple-story buildings giving way to three-and-two stories as they get to the muddy banks and wooden shoring. Here and there, a dockyard warehouse interrupts the procession of haphazard block and wood apartment buildings, but Coalridge is no dockyard and the water goes largely unminded.

Along the water, nestled in one of those odd warehouses, there is a nameless gin 'still. Calling the swill they produce "gin" might be charitable, but it tastes like very little else and the folks in charge call it gin, so there you have it. It's got a small but devoted following among the semi-functional alcoholics of Coalridge and Crow's Foot, and it is the tailing of one of those that brings the Pristine here today.

A canal barge has just finished docking along the wooden quay that lines the warehouse, a tie rope and gangplank doing a meager job of securing the vessel to land. Two hands have just come off the barge and gone into the warehouse, both tattooed like dock hands or Leviathan hunters. Another stands on lackadaisical guard near the stern of the boat, leaning against the rail and looking out at the opposite shore (where Ironhook Prison looms, gray and foreboding).

It's gonna be a little tight . . . but doable. Certainly doable.

[n0ble]

Pearl had always avoided Coalridge precisely because of the ash. That it required passing past Ironhook or Charterhall to get too made it all the worse to her mind. The former was taking up the view now, as good a ziggurat as any. She idly wondered how far down below the waterline the prison went. Not far enough. She'd once had the privilege, as Phrynkna, of reading about some of the inmates down below. Not suitable tavern stories. Certainly not for Klyra.

She scratched her left leg with her right foot. Her street wear had been replaced with a practical looking outfit. Her shoes had been replaced by trending black boots. Pearl exhaled and her eyes flitted to the man on the boat. At least the view wasn't all bad. Pearl's eyes narrowed as she took in the tattoos.

At the same time one of her hands extended out so it was distal. She had her thumb and two fingers extended out. She slowly curled them down into the rest of her fist, so that the others could have time to get ready and keep up. "Now, please." Then she took off at a dead silent sprint, timing to coincide with the man turning his back to the gangplank.

Pearl's hair was short so it didn't blow in the wind.



Just gonna keep a running spoiler of things like load, harm and stress to be added to my character after (or in the case of load, kept track of during the score)

3/9 stress (2 from pushing, one from a failure during group prowl roll)
1 prowess xp from desperate prowl roll
Load: 0/5

[Quellian-dyrae]

Arden had already been...a little wondering if weighing himself down with as much gear as he could carry had been particularly wise, given that they were going to be aboard a boat. He had been watching to try to determine a pattern, figuring they'd examine the movements of the Grinders and approach at the moment of most available time.

But Pearl saw an opening and went for it. Arden was a bit startled, but drawing his duster close around him so it didn't make much noise, he took off after her at speed.

By the time they reached the boat, though, he could admit that his reservations about bringing along that much gear had increased.

[herodofcows]

With clockwork precision, Pearl scampers across the gangplank and onto the ship itself. The rest of the Pristine follow suit, moving with practiced ease (or, in Arden's case, cinched up and moving with slow jerking caution to muffle the clanking bottles and equipment within his duster).

There is a brief moment of peril where Carissa hits the gangplank in JUST the wrong way and nearly sends the whole thing clattering off the deck, but Pearl manages to throw herself upon the opposite side and keep it weighted down while the "Tycherosi" finishes crossing.

By the end of this scamper, the Pristine are upon the barge proper, near the center. Barrels and crates litter the peripheries of the barge, all marked with faded stamps attributing the cargo to one Leviathan hunting ship or another. There is a large shed at the center of the vessel, typical of most cargo barges that rove the canal. One of the entrances faces the gangplank proper, but there would be another entrance on the other side as well. It's also possible to see an entrance into the hold down below at the stem of the boat, partially obscured by a tarp and a few boards.

The Pristine are all huddled against the side of the shed, or else hidden among the crates and barrels. The two sailors are only just now entering the distillery, and the one sentry continues to stare off into the middle distance. If the two sailors had just turned around, or if the sentry had come out of his reverie . . . well, that would have been it.

As it stands, the crew has made a bold move into the enemy territory. The sailors will be coming back sooner than later, laden with gin and ready to cast off again. Now, the Pristine must go deeper into the bowels of the ship . . .

In which it takes herod nearly two weeks to write a quarter a page. Oy.

Pearl, take 1 stress.

Sentry's reverie: [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]

Sailor's return (countdown): [x] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]

[Zelphas]

Brace moves through the falling ash as though born from it, his grey hair and worn leathers blending almost perfectly with the detritus blanketing the air. Now that the crew is deep in enemy territory, the Hound is all business, his movements quick, quiet, and precise. Gomi has vanished at some point between the gangplank and the boat, the strange rodent making its own way through the ship.

Brace doesn't stop moving once they reach the deck, moving softly and surely to the entrance to below the ship. He signals the rest of the crew to follow after him, every motion smooth and continuous--almost lazy, in an odd way. Vision follows movement: sharp movements are seen, smooth movements aren't. the old Hound repeats the mantra to himself almost unconsciously, ushering the crew below deck quickly and carefully just in case the poor excuse for a "sentry" decides to actually start doing his job.

[n0ble]

Pearl saw Heartless almost dam the whole mission to the water. She rolled her eyes, then banked left. A pause. For a moment it looked like the whole dam thing would spiral out of control. Pearl got ready to screech out a curse. Then her weight asserted itself not the gangplank and everything was almost fine as a mug at the Eel. There was, after all, still the matter of Coalridge's ash. Pearl resumed a sprint she was behind a crate. Her heart was beating a bit faster but she stilled it.

It was nice to catch a view of the sentry in profile. Especially with how she could ignore Ironhook if she wanted to. Pearl smiled, then collapsed the smile into a tight line as she followed on after Brace. She pattered along silently, ducking and loping behind a barrel hear, a crate there. Standard intelligence tactics really. All the while she made sure to keep to at least one other Crewmember's shadow. It was perhaps the most important bit of fieldwork she'd learned for joint operations. Not only did someone's shadow provide a modicum more of cover, but it meant that someone was only a shadow's length away if they or Pearl needed help. Pearl stuck to Brace's shadow.


Prowl roll as part of group action: [roll0]
Edit: Looks like 1 stress for Brace!

3 Stress (2 from pushing, 1 from failed roll in desperate action)
1 prowess xp from desperate prowl roll
@herod: Is the 1 stress you mentioned from Carissa's failed prowl roll? I included that previously if so :smallsmile:

[CandyLaser]

Carissa shadowed the rest of the crew. She wasn't a natural lurk, though she'd had practice, so she mimicked the motions of her crew, moving in their footsteps and ducking from shadow to shadow, relying on their skills to see her through.

[herodofcows]

With quick and quiet movements, the Pristine make their way into the interior of the ship . . . and still the sentry idles away, staring at Ironhook Prison like a whaler's lover stares across the sea.

Beneath the deck, the holds are dimly lit and cramped. Corridors are lined with even more crates and barrels, fitfully lit by scattered candles or the dim light issuing from scattered portholes. The ship creaks occasionally, but the scrapes and groans of wood against wood are few and far between and do not provide much in the way of aural cover.

Our rogues ("heroes" is so loaded a term) gently creep their way down the wooden stairway. About ten feet past the landing, they see two heavily tattooed sailors idly playing cards by the light of a candle. Two corridors form from the barrels and crates that pack the hold, one heading port and to the stern of the ship, the other due starboard.

"<Raise three>," rumbles one in Skovic, tossing three silver scales onto the barrel that serves as their makeshift table.

". . . Agh, yiur a RIGHT bastid," groans the second, folding her hand with needless drama.

The Skovlander chuckles as he sweeps the humble pot off to his side of the barrel and begins dealing again.

"<By the time we're done with this, you'll owe me all your share of the profits>," he spits out, a tone of raillery hidden somewhere deep in the catacombs of his accent.

"Feh, fer what Scarborough'll pay fer his little book o' leavings? Not e'en on yiur best day, Harma."

As they speak, a third sailor paces out from the starboard corridor. He is a squat fellow with a face that only a particularly caring mother could love. A quick glance towards his fellows seems enough for him, and he returns the way he came . . .

[Quellian-dyrae]

Arden considered briefly. The thugs didn't seem to be paying any particular attention, so slipping by them shouldn't be a problem. Two possible routes. They could split up to cover more ground. Time was a factor here, but frankly twice as many groups meant twice as many chances for something to go wrong and half as many people on hand to fix it. In a situation like this, he did not estimate halving the time to be worth quadrupling the risk.

So he signalled the group and gestured towards the hallway that the other crewmember hadn't come from. No sense being right on the heels of someone, he figured. They could check the other hall if they didn't find what they were looking for here.

Assuming the rest of the crew was good with that plan, he'd start that way, moving slowly and carefully and keeping a wary eye on the card players to make sure their attention stayed focused on their game.

Per Discord discussion, heading for the hallway that the guy didn't come from/return to.