Exalted 3e - Welcome to Thorns (IC)

[Sticks]

The Dancer looks in horror at the flames around her. While never the most devout woman, this perversion of Heiesh's element offends her on a fundamental, personal level. If she is an aspect of the perfection of flame made flesh, then what must have been done to create such a conflagration? Did some poor chosen of fire suffer to create this? Was his body somewhere inside that monstrosity, fueling this sickening flame? It doesn't matter. Right now she needs to push back. It's not her usual tactic, but the flames of Heiesh are with her. If she can just...A light, a tiny globe of rightious flame, connected to her but not a part of her anima. Pyrefly! "Little flame, if you can help me...I need you now! Aid me! Help me push back your former master's twisted fire!"

Pushing her own essence with all her might, no room for finesse here, the Dancer channels her anima against the Islebreaker, hoping that her new companion's own fiery essence may aid her...

Spoiler: OOC

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Dancer has no dots of resistance, so she's rolling Stamina+Stunt. If there's any way for Pyrefly to help her, she'll take it.

(4d10)[7][1][5][7](20) +1Wp for a success.

If she doesn't make it, here's the damage:
(5d10)[6][2][5][7][3](23)

[pfm1995]

The necrokraken raises its tentacles and sets the airship - well, just ship now - to rocking; Marrow stumbles, turns, and sees the first embers as the turrets start to whirl. "Get in the water!" He shouts, leaping off the ship and into the water as scorching flames envelop him.

Spoiler: Rolls

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Ain't got no excellency to give, but I do have WP. Using one.

(7d10)[3][5][7][7][8][1][6](37) + 1 success

[The_Snark]

Above the surface an inferno rages, screams of pain and alarm mingling with the roar of unearthly fires... but under the waves, it's almost peaceful for a moment. The Islebreaker's many arms no longer churn the waters, and violent eddies quickly steady themselves into smoother, more predictable currents. The debris littering the water - shattered wood, broken bodies, twisted steel plates and the foul black blood of the Islebreaker - can at last start to sink. The construct itself slowly begins to follow suit, its master so intent on smiting the foes above that he pays no thought to keeping himself afloat.

More importantly, though, the Islebreaker's belly now lies unguarded, the armor that once made it all but impervious now battered and torn. Whisper takes advantage of Lacroix's inattention to swim closer, nosing at a rift in the armor made by Rivers' gauntlets, wriggling inside to clamp her jaws down on muscle and bone deep inside.

And then she begins to tear, rolling her body this way and that to bring all her body's strength to bear on it.

Spoiler

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Decisive attack time! Spending 5m on Excellency, just because I'd feel really dumb if this missed.

Spoiler: Rolls

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Attack: (15d10)[10][8][8][8][2][8][8][2][9][2][9][2][8][9][10](103)

Damage: (18d10)[9][9][1][5][8][1][3][7][9][1][2][6][6][9][10][8][9][7](110)
Effective Strength is 5, which caps damage at 8 levels.

[HalfTangible]

The soulsteel plate kept the worst of the flames from him, but the heat remained unbearable. Perhaps it was foolish to compare such an unholy, abominable thing to the sun, but Nord couldn't help himself. If anything his continued exposure only made the metaphor feel more appropriate.

Burning in the sun's light...

---

"Once, long ago, this world was host to great heroes that shined like the sun and the moon. The Illuminated were men and women who had been in the presence of Sol Invictus himself, been burned by His perfect light and not died. Who had survived the most grueling, unyielding tests that Luna could throw at them. Their souls were purified and their bodies made perfect, the ultimate pinnacles of humanity. They had the skill and strength to forge truly divine wonders, the likes of which have never been replicated.

"But those demons of legend, the dread Anathema, lacked the virtue of the shining ones. They sought that power for their own satisfaction, and in their greed they slew the shining ones and took their power for themselves. But the righteousness of the Unconquered was too selfless, too righteous, and so they sought to be free of His influence. They made fel bargains with demons and others of hell, and in so doing lost any chance for redemption. Their bodies were twisted by their pacts, and their hearts with them.

"The Anathema stole the power and glory of the Shining Ones, and took the wonders they had forged for their own. The humility of the Shining Ones became a grave weakness; though they had built grand wonders, few commemorated their own deeds. In time, the people forgot that the Shining Ones had ever been there, and the Anathema came to rule over this First Age. Yet the evil of those who steal from the Incarnae couldn't remain hidden for long; the Dragons saw the truth in the stars, and rose against them. Now the Anathema are hunted to the ends of the earth, precisely as they deserve.

"The world has diminished since those days. It is beset on all sides by foes and damnations too many to count, from the dread courts of the Fae to the profane blasphemy that is the Underworld. Every year Creation shrinks, like a shoreline pounded by the waves. But the stars tells us that this diminishing, this loss, is only temporary.

"One day, the shining ones, those whose power was not stolen, but given, shall return. They will strike the Anathema down, and lead not only Lookshy but all the world into a new golden age. Creation will not merely survive, but expand. Our enemies will not simply be stalled, but forced back. The wonders of the First Age shall not only be regained, but surpassed."

"Shining heroes, that just happen to be mistaken for the Anathema?" Nord growled, an eyebrow raised. "This all sounds an awful lot like Anathema talk."

"Exactly, that's the point." Jade shook her head. "The Anathema wanted us to forget that anyone but they had wielded the sun and moon for their own. And they almost succeeded."

Nord frowned. Something about that didn't sound right. "Then why don't the dragons remember?"

"The Princes of the Earth are not infallible, my friend, you know that as well as I. Creation has been maintained under their guidance, and they are to be commended for that; yet that is all it is: maintenance. We can see the world is crumbling away, even with their power at its height. The Dragons are too many, and too human. They are chosen not for their deeds or their souls, but their bloodlines."

Nord looked away. He wanted to deny her, but... he couldn't think of a good response. It was true, wasn't it? He'd done everything he could to be a dragon, to be a great hero for Creation and for the Legion. But he had not been chosen. Meanwhile some complete butter bar imbecile like Tempest could drink and **** their way into command simply by virtue of Exaltation.

He wished Saki were here. She was the smart one, she'd have the perfect retort. But Jade had made him swear to tell no one of the Cult. One day, she promised, he would not need to hide anything anymore.

Nord wasn't sure that day would come fast enough. Saki already knew he was keeping something from her; she didn't say anything, but he could tell she was upset he wouldn't tell her. It wasn't a sustainable state of affairs, and he wasn't even sure why he kept coming. This was blasphemy, wasn't it? He was not the most devout Immaculate, but even knew to fear the Anathema. This 'Shining One' claptrap was nonsense, wasn't it?

"Then why do only the Anathema exist? Why hasn't the sun made more of these 'Shining Ones' before?"

"Good question, Nord. I don't know the answer." Jade said, her voice solemn. "Perhaps he was too anguished by his power being turned against its purpose. Perhaps the sun clashing with the sun would have done greater damage than we realize. Perhaps he tried, and those he chose were burned into nothing. It could be anything."

"It is not our place to question the sun, my friend. One day, he shall take new Chosen into his confidence. Those who will wield the light must endure burning, to be truly worthy of it."

"And you think this time is soon?"

"The shining stars do not lie to those who know how to read them. Soon, the shining ones shall return." Victorious Jade smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder then, "Perhaps you shall even be one of them, Karal Nord."

.........

---

That was all he wanted: to be Chosen.

Was it so wrong?

Nord was a proud son of the Seventh, and of Gens Karal. He had sought to prove himself to the dragons, and he had excelled. He'd been a prime candidate, with a strong bloodline and name. His skills were unmatched, his loyalty unquestionable, and his place in the legion assured. He was given every chance and every advantage a boy could ask to be chosen by the dragons, and he had not shirked a single one. Nord was sure of his goals: he would Exalt, and through his power and might, he would serve the Legion and win glory. He would be a hero they sung of for generations to come. Failing that, he would be the best damn soldier any Taimyo could ask for.

... but he had not Exalted.

For years, he had not understood why. Was he not loyal enough to the cause? Did the dragons think he was not pious enough? Was his place simply to father the next generation of Dragons and to die quickly enough for Saki to move on? Once, he'd believed so. And though it pained him to know she would outlive him by centuries, he was glad to have her for as long as he would. His place was to fight in battle, perhaps die gloriously, and perhaps his children would go on to do great things for the Legion. A decent concession.

Then he'd become Anathema, and the truth had become far too clear. The dragons had seen his deeds. They had judged his actions, his strength, his dedication. They had judged his blood, his purity, his dedication to the cause. All had been enough. But then they had looked at his spirit, and found it wanting. Nord knew that the Anathema's power corrupted over time, and he would fall eventually. He came to Thorns, hoping that he could at least do enough good to make up for his future deeds. And if he fell? Well. That would be good enough, wouldn't it? An enemy of Creation he would be, but one that made life difficult for its other enemies. A fine concession, as well.

Or at least, so it seemed to him.

Yet Nord had seen the mural within that tower. Those who had borne the Anathema's mark, fighting alongside the dragons as equals, as friends. And here he was, doing the same.

That vision, of the mad Lunar in Lookshy. He had taunted him, told him to stop being so hung up on never being a dragon. Yet Nord - the previous version of himself, at any rate - had served in the airships that Lookshy was famous for, in a great age long thought lost. A Solar serving as the captain of an airship was unthinkable, and yet he had done so.

Surely, that had to mean something.

Beneath his feet, Nord felt the flotsam shift and crack as the Islebreaker began to slow. Though no mechanic or necrotech engineer (and thank goodness for the latter) even Nord could tell the machine was on its last legs. He had seen animals and enemy soldiers dying, and the combination of the two in the Islebreaker were unmistakable. Lacroix might live if no one rose to strike him, but unfortunately for him, that wasn't an option.

A righteous fury, not simply one of vengeance and insults, came over him. This thing - this creature - was not simply an enemy to Nord and his compatriots, but a perversion of Creation itself.

Words that were his, and yet were not his, rose in Nord's mind. The anger, the shame, the self-loathing... it all seemed insignificant in the face of this overriding sense of right that came unbidden to his lips.

"Dorian Lacroix, fallen of the fields of Mishaka, servant of the Mask of Winters, enemy of Creation. The sun sees your deeds. He judges your crimes, your weakness, your deflections. Most of all, He judges your spirit."

"And He finds you... WANTING."

Nord charged. In his immediate wake, the water of the ocean leaped into the air, the light of his anima shining golden stars in the air behind him. He crashed into the monstrous machine with the force of a cannon, his anima pushing against the flames that surrounded him. The smell of rot and death gave way to burning meat, and for a brief moment the Dawn's Iconic anima was smothered by the sheer girth of the beast he'd entered. The port Nord had gone through stopped spewing flames.

The Islebreaker did nothing for a moment, before convulsing and twisting within the sea. Though Nord didn't realize it at the time, his attack coincided near-perfectly with Whisper's death roll. As she struck the massive creature from without, he struck from within.

Guided by the light of his anima, Nord cut a path through the mighty beast's insides like a ballista through one of the Karal's Marukani thoroughbreds. He struck at everything that looked important: a tendon here, a jar of fluids there, circuitry he couldn't begin to guess the purpose of, a brown organ that Nord didn't recognize (a liver, maybe? seemed too small). From one end of the beast to the other, he kept swinging, his blades cutting the insides apart like a raging tornado of steel. Some yellow fluid splashed across his face as glass shattered; he ignored the horrid smell like every other in this accursed beast and continued his roaring rampage through it.

And with every strike the sound of roaring dragons grew louder and louder.

With an explosion of bile and gore, Nord burst out of the opposite end of the gargantuan beast, and the roar of his anima became a deafening cry of triumph. The creature exploded, its flesh erupting into flames the red-gold of the dawn. As metal screamed in protest and the new fire spread, a lone figure landed on the island behind the beast.

Nord was covered in rotten meat and oily fluids, but the bright mark on his forehead - that which marked him as the Sun's chosen warrior - shined all the brighter for it. As he pulled himself to his feet, he began to walk away from the Islebreaker.

"Creation's enemies deserve no mercy. No respite." Nord growled as the bile on him began to burn away. "And shall receive none."

The Illuminated had come to Thorns.

Spoiler

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If this doesn't kill the Islebreaker that ending bit is gonna be very awkward (probably not!) Let's do this boiz!

+5m for the round puts Nord at 10m. Spending all of them on a Decisive attack against the Islebreaker. Putting everything I got into this attack.

4 motes: Fire And Stones Strike
3 motes: Excellent Strike
3 motes: Melee Excellency

+3 dice, +1 autosux, reroll 1s until they fail to appear, on a Decisive Attack up to 4 dice in threshold sux are added to the raw damage of the attack.

Attack (Dex 3 + Melee 5 + Stunt 2 + Dual Wielding 1 + 3 Excellency):
(14d10)[1][8][7][2][2][4][9][10][6][6][9][1][2][5](72) + 1 autosux

Reroll 1s
(20d10)[9][7][10][5][10][7][2][1][1][5][9][4][8][10][10][4][4][1][1][10](118)

Damage (Strength 4, so Legendary Size caps it at 9 damage):
(17d10)[2][3][3][1][3][9][7][1][9][8][6][8][5][5][2][4][1](77)

Fire and Stone Strike: (4d10)[3][5][2][7](17)

[Inspector Valin]

The Islebreaker's flames wash across the scene in what feels like an all consuming torrent of destruction. Pyrefly clings to Dancer, the little sprite flaring as hot as it can in some small attempt to protect its mistress from the superweapon's unnatural flames. Even the ghosts scramble for cover behind the soulsteel, a couple huddling behind Nord's shorn up plate. Marrow dives for the sea, but not before a lick of flame runs over him - its touch painful and cold. Back within the tower, Granny's vines burn and wither before the storm, the old Lunar feeling their destruction as the heart of the tower is consumed. The pink haired girl cries out, hiding behind the Stormhammer, the great instrument finally going silent as the flames rattle and blacken the pipes that connect it to the ceiling. Lacroix laughs, the flames not stopping, the pyre cannons spitting out shot after shot to continually blanket the bay in that emerald inferno.

But the creature's joy doesn't last long.

Whisper the Crocodile is quick, and her teeth are sharp as can be as she slips through the crevices Rivers tore into the heart of the abominable machine, tearing and savaging the intricate biological circuitry of the necrotic abomination. From above, Karal Nord does much the same - the Solar's Golden Dragon Charge carrying him through one of the flame spewing tendrils and right to Whisper's side in the heart of the device. From below and above, the two strike true, cords faltering, the cannons on the hull sparking as key components shatter in the backlash. Nord is gone in seconds, his sheer momentum carrying him through the core and out the other side, but Whisper is still within the core as the ichor and viscous nethercurite pour and swirl around her.

And so falls the Islebreaker.

The damage is devestating, to the point that the Islebreaker can no longer even cry out in pain as the last flickers of unlife fade from its ghastly frame. A handful of lenses struggle to shift upwards, looking towards Karal Nord on the distant shore as they begin to dim. Within the device's bloodstained, ravaged core, Whisper can hear a faint voice murmuring "No... no..." before it too recedes into the ebb and crash of the tide. The final sparks of pyre flame begin to fade away as the Islebreaker dips down, its tremendous heft dragging it slowly yet inevitably towards the endless depths of Daana’d, alongside the nearby burning wreckage of the airship.

The tide still flows, the wind still whistles and pieces of wreckage continue to bob this way and that. But now the battle has come to a close. Across the bay, lit by sun and moon alike, all is finally, blissfully still.

Spoiler

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And that's the fight! All PCs regain 5m. We're now out of combat time.

So... what do you do now?

[HalfTangible]

The pounding pulse in his ears settled, and with it left the sense of righteous fury. The Islebreaker lay slain, but at what cost?

With the beast slain, Nord looked out over the water where the ship had originally gone down. He raked his eyes across the water, trying to see anyone treading water, perhaps someone clinging to some flotsam, anyone in need of rescue. Even in the early morning sun, his anima made the air as bright as noon.

He didn't expect to see anyone after the Islebreaker's initial strike plus that massive conflagration, but he had to check. They'd come here to save as many as they could, he couldn't abandon that now.

Then... then he could find the Marukani girl. Kimacha, she'd called herself. He wasn't too familiar with the Marukani's background, but he could give her a warrior's rites, at least. She'd more than earned that much.

Spoiler

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Looking for survivors in the ocean:
Perception (2) + Awareness (3) + Stunt (2)
(7d10)[2][8][10][3][4][2][6](35)

If/when he finds Kimacha's corpse he'll try to administer last rites for her; Nord was a mercenary of Lookshy so he probably had at least a passing idea of their battleground burial rituals, the stuff meant for when you didn't have time to bring the bodies home. Which I will introduce a fact to do and stunt, when it comes up.

[Sticks]

The Dancer stands astride the sinking airship, the naked black-handled short-sword thrust into the sash of her spotless red robes, the bare blade of the Soulsteel Daiklave balanced across her shoulders with some effort. Pyrefly whizzes around her head in an elliptical orbit.

She saw the Islebreaker's end, witnessed the might of the Anathema unleashed. It's hard to not feel overawed as the morning sun shines down on this dark island for the first time in years. Her own orange flames, powerful though they are, pale in comparison to the intensity of that man's golden anima...and yet that is the problem. There's no subtlety here, no way to hide that kind of might. Impressive though this man, a Lookshyan with the ancient might of the old world, may be...he was not the equal of the Mask's contraption, not by himself. It had taken the combined efforts of many chosen, the loss of an airship and dragons only know how many resources expended to destroy this single abomination...the pinnacle of a single one of the Mask's outposts. To retake the city would take immense might, or the right kind of pressure exerted at just the right time and place...yes, she'd be able to use this man, and all these other dissidents ready to take action. With them, the Mask's regime could be broken...and then it was a matter of dealing with the most powerful being known to walk creation. Well one step at a time.

The Dancer balances the huge weapon on its point, holding on to the hilt, while her other hand rests on the pommel of her short-sword, and addresses the other Chosen in a Thorns dialect of Riverspeak. "Well, I am glad we won't have to listen to that damnable ghost any more. Does anyone have any ideas for leaving the island? I'd rather thought I would hitch a ride with the underground resistance once this fracas was over. What's the plan?"

Spoiler: OOC

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The Dancer is making an Instill attempt to make everyone present trust her. This isn't just 'trust me to not backstab you' but also 'trust me to be able to contribute meaningfully.' Her posture is set to accentuate that she's unharmed and barely even smudged, but clearly was in the thick of the action. For this she is using CHA+Presence augmented by Glowing Coal Radiance. She is penalized -3 for multi-target instill, but she will gain bonus dice for how high her Appearance (5) is vs. the average resolve of the group.

Spoiler: Rolls

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Presence Roll: (8d10)[10][7][2][6][10][3][8][4](50) +3Autosuccess
Bonus rolls for each 10 (4d10)[3][3][1][6](13)

[HalfTangible]

Nord was still looking out over the ocean when Dancer spoke. He turned to glance at her, anima burning more of the Islebreaker's bile off of his skin and armor. "For now, we take a moment to breathe. Take stock of what we have and who's alive, if anyone survived the shipwreck we get them out of the sea. Then we can come up with a plan that makes use of our resources. We all need time for our anima to come down in any case." He pointed to the tower. "I'm gonna head to the tower. Check on Kimacha and the old woman, see if anyone needs medical aid. Speaking of which..."

He glanced down towards the flotsam and whistled. "Rivers! You got any energy left?" They probably weren't dead........ right?

Spoiler

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Nord's resolve isn't strong enough to beat 9sux. Even if he cited a defining intimacy and spent all of his motes, his loyalty/subservience to DB would hit that back down. Nord gains a minor intimacy of trust for Dancer.

[Ascension]

Spoiler: OOC

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While I don't want to cause party friction, I don't think it's likely that Rivers intelligibly witnessed Dancer's attempt to appear super trustworthy from underwater? First impressions are important, but if you make them too early, your audience might not be there yet.

Stiffly, slowly, Rivers hauls themselves up onto the surface of the water. They don't even drag themselves to a piece of flotsam or back to the shore of the island manse, they simply lie there atop the sea, exhausted, kept afloat by the pressure of their anima and by their natural buoyancy. While most of the blood on them is the Islebreaker's, they're visibly battered, and their eyes are unfocused, staring up into nothing.

"No, no I do not," they say, in answer to Nord's question. "Give me... hhhnnhh... a few hours to sleep, ask me again then."

[Eurus]

In her crumbling tower perch, still tangled with vines of silver-blue essence, Granny concludes her song. The leviathan is dead; she should probably go out and speak with the others. But first, she has to check on the woman who helped her. Granny looks quickly around the small room, patting her pockets to see if she still has any bandages.

"Hey, you. Where'd you go? Still alive?"

Spoiler: OOC

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16/16 Personal
10/38 Peripheral
2/5 Willpower

[Inspector Valin]

Nord can't find see many bodies. There's a handful washed ashore across the rocky shoreline, clad in rags, soaked to the bone and with a look of terror on their faces. The Lookshyan can see a couple more in the distance, tangled in the flotsom, but his visual count is barely half a dozen dead. A fair number have likely sunk beneath the waves, but given the turbulence of the battle against the Islebreaker and how many folk were aboard the ship, he'd have expected perhaps twice as many corpses brought aground. This seems... odd.

Spoiler

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Giving you a chance to react to that before moving on to Kimicha.

[HalfTangible]

Nord was going to suggest that the group could use the flotsam as a makeshift raft, and Rivers could manipulate the waters to give them some speed... but the smuggler was clearly exhausted and needed a moment to breathe. They had taken the worse of the crashing ship (at least as far as Nord could tell). He ran his eyes over the ocean, counting the living and the bodies...

...

That... that couldn't be right. There were dozens of people on the ship that he sent to its doom. Nord scanned the ocean again, only seeing a few bodies. Did they all sink? No, it wasn't that deep, and corpses floated (he was pretty sure). How could this be... Sharks, maybe? He shook his head; sharks were not stupid enough to go near a kraken, even an undead one.

... Did...

Did the Islebreaker use them for fuel?

He shook himself. Not worth considering. Gods above, this was a disaster.

Nord then turned on his heel and went towards the tower where the Marukani girl had been thrown. He had a warrior's burial to see to. Then, those washed onto the shore, if he could. It wouldn't be much, but he had to try.

[Inspector Valin]

In her crumbling tower perch, still tangled with vines of silver-blue essence, Granny concludes her song. The leviathan is dead; she should probably go out and speak with the others. But first, she has to check on the woman who helped her. Granny looks quickly around the small room, patting her pockets to see if she still has any bandages.

"Hey, you. Where'd you go? Still alive?"

"Just about."

The pink haired woman is seated behind the Stormhammer, her back against the organ. She doesn't seem to have taken any burns from the fire, but now she has the time to look closer Granny can see that she is not in good physical shape. Beneath the guard coat she's thrown over herself her skin is caked in blood, and it looks like some gashes have barely begun to close. Pink takes a labored breath before fixing Granny with a surprisingly firm smile. "One of your friends saved me, got me out of the lower levels before they flooded. Figured I should at least try and help."

She places a hand to her head, chuckling to try and disguise a wince of pain. "If I was feeling better, I might have managed to join in properly. As is... all I could do was play second fiddle. Hope it helped."

[Eurus]

Granny snorts, then nods to the woman. "You certainly did. Now pull that coat off for a minute."

She shifts into healer mode, not really allowing for any argument. She doesn't have anything good to disinfect Pink's injuries, but she conjures a trickle of water from one hand to rinse out any obvious contaminants. Then she bandages them tightly, augmenting her meager store with a few strips torn off her own dress or Pink's coat. Any broken bones, she does her best to immobilize and support so that they won't get any worse in the next few hours.

"Won't do to have you survive all this, then bleed out on the trip back to mainland..."

Spoiler: OOC

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Intelligence 5 + Medicine 3 + Stunt 2

[pfm1995]

Marrow's head breaks the water in a desperate, floundering rush; treading water wildly, he alternately gasps down great lungfuls of air and hacks up heaving, smokey coughs. Taking a breath as he dove, surrounded by fire, had turned out to be a horrible idea and now his whole throat was singed. He more thrashes than swims over to one of the floating pieces of the airship and hauls himself up onto it, taking a few more painful breaths before finally rising to look around. The necrokraken is... not moving? Dead? Re-dead, that is? Broken? He couldn't help but break into a broad grin. They really should think up a word for that at some point, seems like something that'd be useful in the future.

His grin vanishes, though, once he does get that look around. The necrokraken has been destroyed, sure, but at what cost? The flotsam of two ships bob gently in the waves, their only reliable ways off this rock now shattered into hundreds of pieces. And the people... Marrow's companions, his friends, had been on the ship the necrokraken had broken in two. From here he can see stragglers dragging themselves onto the beach, but there were too few of them. Far too few. All of his men could swim, of course, but being in the middle of a fight like this wasn't what they'd trained for. Marrow himself had barely survived, and they didn't have the dragon's blood. They hadn't had him, either; he'd been so busy looting this place he'd left them without him. Rationally, he knew that was stupid to think, that no-one could plan for a necrokraken.

Marrow isn't feeling very rational.

"Hey!" He shouts up at the fire aspect standing up on the crashed remnants of the airship. She seemed to acquit herself well, but he still didn't know her and he'd missed the first half of her speech when he was busy trying not to inhale water. Who was she, what was she doing here? Questions to ask later. "Quit looking all dramatic and get down here! We have people in the water!" How they'd get out of here was a good question, but not the most important thing in front of them right now. He doesn't waste time either; as soon as he's done shouting he re-situates Quiet across his back and dives into the water. He's a strong swimmer, he strikes out for the shore and starts looking for ways to help people out of the water.

Spoiler: Rolls

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Marrow's inspiring, but his resolve is utter garbage. I'll take the instill from Dancer

[The_Snark]

As she wriggles her way back out of the Islebreaker's bulk, Whisper finds herself immensely thankful that crocodiles aren't much given to nausea. The fluids coating her scales and seeping out into the water are foul enough even without her stomach rebelling. Free at last, she propels herself away from the monstrous corpse-machine with a flick of her tail, reveling in the freedom to move. And the clean water washing away the ichor and blood-stuff. And victory! They did it - she did it, even. Killed a giant monster. Just like something out of a storybook!

Granted, most storybook heroes don't turn into crocodiles, but it's not Whisper's fault that storybook writers lack good taste. And now she has a bunch of new friends. And okay, she doesn't know any of their names yet, but you've got to be friends after you kill a horrifying monster together, right? She's pretty sure that's how things work.

Whisper breaches the surface, doing a little flip and a roll to convey hello, new friends! One of them is shouting about looking for people in the water. Living people, that is. That makes sense, although she's not optimistic about it - anyone who survived the initial attack probably either swam away already, or died in the subsequent chaos. Still. If anyone's going to find them, she's probably the best bet. Only one of her new friends can swim properly, and they look pretty beat.

Spoiler

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Perception+Awareness, searching the water for bodies that show signs of life:
(11d10)[1][4][6][2][5][9][2][10][6][7][1](53)

[Inspector Valin]

Pink makes no effort to fight Granny, letting her arms fall to the side with a tired sigh and letting the old Lunar take charge. It doesn't take Granny much time to deduce what happened. Every cut across the body made with care, but long; designed to best enable a surgical examination. Typical from Mask's butchers, searching for parts, working organs and patches of bone to claim for their big Kraken thing before discarding the rest of the body to use as yet another zombie.

Thankfully they hadn't gotten too far with Pink here - Granny can't find any internal injuries beyond some grime. Must've been in the middle of operating on her when things went south for the Mask, still working on their 'appraisal'. Water to clean the incisions, a suture to keep them shut and a bandage over that. Nice, simple and clean. Pink winces here and there, but tries as best she can to keep her composure. It takes her a few seconds to find her voice, the stranger looking at Granny as though she's not quiet sure what to say in this situation, before finally turning her eyes away and settling on a simple. "Thanks." The word sounds strange on her tongue; alien, unpracticed, but sincere. She's just... unused to this situation.



A cheer goes up behind Dancer; wordless but jubilant as the ghosts behind her raise their voices in celebration. Their cheer redoubles, twice as loud at the sign of the all too familiar crocodile jumping above the waves, with the familiar mark upon its brow. "Silver Lady!" one shouts, and a man with a crisp mustache tips the transformed Lunar a salute before turning to the Fire Aspect. "Orders, ma'am?"

Back on land at the base of the tower, a white maned old face peeks hesitantly out from around the door. Behind him stands the grey wolfman and an equally confused looking giant golden serpent. They had seen the ending of the battle, but they're as unsure as anyone else about what to say or do now, given such a situation. The monster might be gone, but with no means of escaping the isle...

Marrow's cry brings both parties together. The wolf, rogue and serpent charge towards the dock while the ghosts follow Marrow out, floating above the waves. It doesn't take the group long to get those remaining bodies from the ocean to the shore, where the waiting trio take up the burden and carry their remains to firmer ground. There's a sense of urgency to the activity, bodies born up to be checked. But once that is done, living and dead alike look grim. They've seven bodies by the shore now, young and old, male and female, but all cold and clammy. The white haired man gives Marrow a sheepish look.

"It happens, lad. Ain't your fault. Did everything you could. Y'all did the impossible here." He beckons back towards the corpse of the Islebreaker, "You'n the others got the bastard that did this. Nothing's changing that."



Nord meanwhile, has retraced his path from earlier, back to the cargo elevator. Kimicha's body has fallen against the far side of the resting grate, her blade impaled in the stone beside her. The young Marukani lies there, bruised arms culed around her head, trying to shield herself from the impact. There's no sign of movement from her as Nord draws closer, but placing a hand down to her face, there's still warmth to her skin. She's unconscious, and may well have broken both her arms through her reckless stunt. But she is alive.



Whisper finds the remains of the cargo ship easily enough - the metal of the hull dragging it swiftly to the ocean's floor. It's a grim display, the hull splintered, shards of metal littering the rough sea bed. The wreck now is in two portions, with wider holes torn on the rocks below. All the same, it was a hefty vessel not too long ago. Whisper takes her time going through the bowls of the vessel, checking each corridor, each portion of the hold, every room she can reach. She finds victims - a mother holding a child close as the pair breathed their last, a man with copper red hair pinned beneath a bar of fallen steel, a woman who'd been stuck in a passenger cabin, frozen wrestling with the door trying to escape. All of their final moments, preserved amidst the water.

But strangely, there are far too few. There'd been over a hundred aboard that ship. Between the few bodies she'd seen uptop and the results of her moon-lit examination, there's perhaps a dozen fallen accounted for. There's no sign of sharks or any other oceanic predators, which makes a degree of sense - until recently the underworld essence of this place would've served to scare most of them away. And yet it leaves the mystery unsolved - what could have happened here?

"Hehehe!"

It's faint, but Whisper hears it in the distance, muffled by the water, but unmistakable. Giggling. The crocodile catches just a flesh of bright light from somewhere distant, a vivid rose pink of the type she hasn't seen for a long time, before in an instant it's gone. It's tempting to think that she'd imagined it. The kelp around the rocky atoll bending backwards against a sudden current is telltale however: something has been nearby, and has hastily withdrawn.

[HalfTangible]

Nord meanwhile, has retraced his path from earlier, back to the cargo elevator. Kimicha's body has fallen against the far side of the resting grate, her blade impaled in the stone beside her. The young Marukani lies there, bruised arms culed around her head, trying to shield herself from the impact.

Nord felt guilt and shame well in him. He'd given the order for the boat to set sail, and like every order he gave, it ended in disaster. He moved to the blade and ripped it out of the stone (it had likely fallen there, so it wasn't difficult) before kneeling next to the body. He took the blade and made to place it in the girl's hand.

There's no sign of movement from her as Nord draws closer, but placing a hand down to her face, there's still warmth to her skin. She's unconscious, and may well have broken both her arms through her reckless stunt. But she is alive.

Nord blinked.

Then he blinked again.

He quickly put two fingers against her neck, searching the young woman for a pulse. To his jaw-dropping surprise, he found one.

The Lookshyan mercenary had been ready to find her corpse. The Marukani had a close relationship with Lookshy, especially Gens Karal, and so he had an idea of how to give her as proper a burial as could be managed in a battlefield scenario. He'd assure her that she'd done well to do what she did, say a prayer to her god, and move on.

But this? He had no plan for this. Well, not a good plan anyway. He wasn't a doctor, nor did he have any real ability to field dress. Nord couldn't move her, he was pretty sure about that. Even if the only obvious damage was the broken arms and some light burns from the Pyreflame, there could be issues with her spine... at least, he was pretty sure that could be the case. Best to be cautious, especially with mortals like Kimacha. And there were doubtless others to see to in the tower but he couldn't leave her alone, either.

"OI! WE GOT A LIVE ONE HERE!!" He yelled. "MEDIC?!"

Only the people in the tower would be close enough to hear him yell, and they might be unconscious or worse too, but it was the best shot the Marukani had.

[Eurus]

The shout from outside the tower, faint but still audible, interrupts Granny with whatever she'd been about to say. She frowns, looking out the window, then looks back at Pink.

"Damn. I'm going to be busy for a little while, I think. Everyone with a brain is going to be getting together so we can figure out how to get out of here, hopefully that includes you."

She gives a brief, somewhat mournful look to the pipe organ.

"...If you can figure out a way to disable that before we leave, it might be smart. Don't hurt yourself trying, though."

Then, in a blur of moonlight, Granny is gone and a squat ape with orange fur is in her place. She scrambles down the side of the tower, carefully but far quicker than any mere human could. Her lumpy, long-armed body covers the ground surprisingly fast, even though it's hard to imagine a less aerodynamic shape. One long shaggy arm nudges Nord to move, and then the orangutan is fluttering its rubbery lips and leaning over the Marukani woman. Apparently checking her pulse and breathing.

Spoiler: OOC

Show

4 motes spent on shapeshifting

Int 5 + Medicine 3 + Stunt 2
(10d10)[7][6][9][3][9][3][8][4][3][8](60)

[Sticks]

As people emerge from the wreckage and the task at hand switches from battle to salvage and rescue, The Dancer figures it's best to chip in. She's not especially strong, but she can at least help those survivors who can move a little under their own power. Leaving the daiklave on the shore, she goes to support an injured woman struggling in the shallows and helps her limp to shore. Normally she wouldn't worry overmuch about such people, but her potential allies seem most concerned about maximizing the number of lives they save today, so might as well help with their priorities. That doesn't mean she'll forget what's really important.

After situating the woman further up the beach, she turns to Nord and the old woman...ape...yes they're the same being, she's pretty sure. "Well, erm...now we're certain the hostiles are all taken care of and rescues are underway, I suggest we find a way to capitalize on our victory. Does the underground have any way to contact Lookshy? They'd be best-positioned to secure this outpost, and their involvement might help conceal our actions today."

[HalfTangible]

As people emerge from the wreckage and the task at hand switches from battle to salvage and rescue, The Dancer figures it's best to chip in. She's not especially strong, but she can at least help those survivors who can move a little under their own power. Leaving the daiklave on the shore, she goes to support an injured woman struggling in the shallows and helps her limp to shore. Normally she wouldn't worry overmuch about such people, but her potential allies seem most concerned about maximizing the number of lives they save today, so might as well help with their priorities. That doesn't mean she'll forget what's really important.

After situating the woman further up the beach, she turns to Nord and the old woman...ape...yes they're the same being, she's pretty sure. "Well, erm...now we're certain the hostiles are all taken care of and rescues are underway, I suggest we find a way to capitalize on our victory. Does the underground have any way to contact Lookshy? They'd be best-positioned to secure this outpost, and their involvement might help conceal our actions today."

Gods above I hope this ape has more skill in medicine than I do... not that it'd be hard.

Nord glanced at the dancer as the ape got to work on Kimacha. "Not here on the island, as far as I'm aware. The resistance doesn't have much to work with, we were all that could be spared. We could try to send word through Rivers' contacts to Scion (he deals with this part of the south, last I checked) or perhaps to someone in Nexus, but by the time Lookshy arrives it'll be too late. Our auras can be seen for miles. If the Mask doesn't know about what we've done here, he will soon."

His mouth twitched into a smirk as he stood and turned to face the dancer directly. "I don't suppose you happen to be a sorcerer, stranger? That'd be very convenient right about now." He glanced at the ape. "Or maybe you are?" He rubbed his chin. He'd meant it as a joke, but... "Actually... come to think of it, someone here cast a spell in that first fight... and we found quite a few souls in the underground... I take it back, we have a lot of possibilities to work with here. Just need to take account of everyone and everything we have to work with..."

He brought his eyes back to Dancer. "We'd need to tell them about the ship, too; I doubt it was unique. No Haslanti model with a full complement of weaponry would be that fast. And the Stormhammer... if they're willing to commit this much force to defend some remote outpost they'll have far more in the city to deal with. Lookshy will need to know."

[Ascension]

"Commerce," Rivers says, propelling themselves towards the conversation with a lazy backstroke, "Commerce is the key. Not to get us off this rock, mind you... the odds of a merchant ship passing just now are slim... but to send word to Lookshy?"

With a pained groan, they haul themselves up onto the shore and flop to the ground beside the corpses. Unlike them, however, Rivers keeps talking.

"Trade is the one vulnerability the Deathlord can't eliminate. He needs trade to keep the city running, but merchants are loyal to coin, not loyal to him. They can be bought."

They shrug.

"Now, it's not easy to outbid him. But it can be done. You want to get a message to Lookshy, it can be done. But if you want to make Lookshy care? You want to make Lookshy do something beyond a token gesture of support?"

With a deep breath and a "Hup!" of effort, they push themselves up to a sitting position. They cough and spit, flecking the sea foam at their feet with dots of pink.

"There ain't enough jade in the whole city to accomplish that."

[The_Snark]

Pink? Pink, and a hint of laughter. It's not a color entirely foreign to the Underworld - Whisper remembers walking through fields of pale, scarlet-tinted lupine and asphodel - but it's not one she can easily imagine the Mask's creatures wearing. Something else, then. A spirit? Some playful (or predatory) sea-nymph? Maybe, although she would've thought the taint of the Underworld would be almost as good at keeping them away as oceanic scavengers.

Whatever it is, the bodies (survivors?) are gone now. Whisper flips about and makes for the island, surfacing not too far from marrow. Scales recede, falling away and hanging translucent in the light of her anima for a moment before vanishing and leaving the girl in her natural form, now thoroughly drenched.

"Something took them," she informs Marrow without preamble, having apparently identified him as the leader. "There's a few bodies down there, but not as many as there ought to be. I dunno where they went or what happened, but I think I heard something laughing at me."

[HalfTangible]

Nord glared at Rivers. He wanted to object, yell that Lookshy was more dutiful than the Nexus or the Realm could ever hope to be, that the true Shogunate still stands... but he bit that urge down. It was impossible to deny that Lookshy would view any path into Thorns as high-risk low-reward at absolute best. He couldn't really deny it, either; they were lucky they hadn't lost anyone.

"... The Legion remembers Mishaka. Even those who don't aren't going to care about retaking Thorns for the Realm." Nord agreed, folding his arms. "And the vast majority aren't interested in such a costly expansion. But they are worried about the Mask's potential expansion. We tell Gens Amilar there's military gains to be made against him at little risk, give them information on the foes we faced here, they'll at least consider it... Maybe if Dazan's been ousted, but even then they would probably just go for easier gains in the provinces..."

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Oh who am I kidding... even if we get the message there they're not gonna listen to us. Far as they know we're spies for the Mask. "

[Ascension]

Rivers smiles grimly.

"There we go. I knew we'd make a cynic out of you sooner or later, Nord."

[HalfTangible]

Rivers smiles grimly.

"There we go. I knew we'd make a cynic out of you sooner or later, Nord."

"Eh. I'm a realist." He smirked through his hand. "I only seem like an optimist when you're around."

[Inspector Valin]

Whatever her form, Granny is Granny. Bruises, cracked bones - she'll need rest but the girl will mend. It takes her just a moment to fashion a sling for her arm, a roll of fabric from the nearby storehouse serving admirably well for the purpose. Soon enough the great ape is able to step back, her work complete.

Whisper's return above the waves is greeted by cheers from her new ghost friends, and a salute from the Nexan. She can feel the group looking at her expectantly, but keeping a respectful distance for now. Marrow may be having some difficulty processing the Lunar's newly delivered information - across the bay, he could swear he hears the plucking of strings coming out of the distant ocean fog. The old man looks across the waves, his own face puzzled. "What..."

Meanwhile, a new player enters the conversation between Rivers and Nord. "Excuse me. This 'Lookshy'. Are they aligned with the Deliberative?" Turning towards the melodic voice, the two may be slightly surprised to see the giant golden snake that'd accompanied Marrow and the prisoners from the vault. The construct raises upwards to better address the pair, the bright plumage on its back glistening in the many coloured anima light. "I am sorry. I have been... away for some time, the politics of this era are thus new to me. Given your familiarity, are you not their Prince, or at least ruler of a neighboring area?" The great snake inclines its head towards Nord's brow, seemingly gesturing towards his golden caste mark.

[HalfTangible]

Nord's confusion was palpable on his face. "I have the dragon's blood, yes, but I'm no prince. I'm just a soldier of Lookshy. Not even that high ranked of one, frankly, I was a mercenary." He jabbed his thumb at Rivers. "Dunno what they did before they came here, but Rivers isn't a prince (princess?) either (no offense meant)."

"And... I'm sorry, what's a Deliberative? Do you mean the Shogunate? Or... Wait..." His eyes widened with sudden understanding as he brought his hand up to his caste mark. If this thing thought he was a prince because of the mark, then... "... Gods above, you have been gone a long time. The Solar Anathema's empire fell millennia ago! And it lasted for millennia before that!"

[Eurus]

Still in the form of a large shaggy ape, Granny nods to herself in satisfaction at the completed task, then starts paying attention to everything else around her. After a moment, she decides to remain in this form for now despite the inconvenience of communicating - for one thing, it's cold and wet out here and she likes the extra insulation. The ape-woman walks on all fours to stand with the others and studies the golden serpent, scratching her belly. Then she peers at Nord's caste mark, leaning in uncomfortably close, before sitting back down and shrugging.

"Ook."

[Sticks]

The Dancer makes sure her wounded charge is situated, then moves to join the others. She can't help but tap her toe at the source-less strumming coming from the sea. She's long-since extinguished her anima, but Pyrefly is still radiating soothing heat. She holds out a hand for the little sprite to hover over, and extends it toward the anathema girl who was so recently a giant reptile. She can't trust these people, but she can at least make them see her as useful. "If we can get word to Lookshy, I may be able to use some of my connections to ensure they take it seriously. I know people from the old court, they have friends and credibility, I just need to get the message out. Now, does anyone know what that music is?"