Exalted 3e - Welcome to Thorns (IC)

[HalfTangible]

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.

Nord leaned away as the old orangutan leaned in. "I'll take that to mean Kimacha's going to be okay."

"Ook."

"..... Well said." He smiled at the unconscious Marukani. Despite all the others they'd lost, the knowledge they'd saved someone brought him some comfort.

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?"

"You do? You can?" Nord trusted the woman's skills and he didn't have reason to think she was going to harm them (if she was on the Mask's side she could've simply turned on them at any time and likely won with both the airship and the Islebreaker), but the fact that she also apparently had the exact sort of contacts needed to convince Lookshy to take this island was a little too convenient. You know what they say: if something is too good to be true, it probably-

His thoughts trailed off as he noticed the sound of plucking strings. His eyes narrowed a moment before he turned to look out across the sea for the source of the sound.

"...... It occurs to me," Nord said slowly, "that we didn't discover this place on our own, we were informed of it. Which means someone else out there had to know of it already, which further implies they know we're here. And if they were watching, they know we just made this area relatively safe." Nord stood up, readying his own blades. "So it's not impossible that we're about to meet friendlies, but maybe keep your blades ready just in case."

[pfm1995]

Marrow hits the shore bedraggled and soaking, fighting the current and the bobbing sea waves to keep his feet in the silt. It's slow, exhausting going, as as he gets closer he's so tired he almost runs face-first into a body. They're an older woman, probably one of the rescued slaves, and he takes her palled arm as he pushes the last few lengths up towards and onto dry land. He passes the corpse off to waiting hands and, his back and joints aching, stretches himself out before looking back at the water morosely. When the old man comes up to talk, it's... well, it's not exactly welcome but he lets him speak anyway. If it made him feel as if he was helping, so much the better, and he is grateful at the attempt at support. "It's a bittersweet victory, no two ways about it." Marrow says in response, squeezing the old man's shoulder. his voice still coarse. "Worse is that it isn't over. Unless one of these folks happen to have some kind of spirit-destroying magic at their fingertips, Lacroix will be back eventually. We hurt the bastard though, you can be sure of that." And that was all we did. Hurt a ghost, destroy a big pile of seafood that they can for sure rebuild... we can't even really be said to have saved anyone yet. Looking at the destruction bobbing gently in the waves, Marrow had to wonder if it had been worth it.

---

Whisper's sudden arrival and even more sudden message ignite a sudden bloom of hope in Marrow's heart, followed by the mad rush of a hundred questions trying to fight their way out of his mouth at once. Did this mean some of his men might still be alive? Was some spirit or fair folk playing tricks on them? Why wasn't Whisper down there right now, trying to find them? He forces himself to take a breath, consider the situation. They were all exhausted, and running off at some unknown was just as likely to make another one of them vanish beneath the waves. At the very least, Whisper should take Rivers with her, and Rivers looked worse-off than most of them. He's about to start shouting again when he hears the first stirrings of music over the sounds of the surf. Immediately Quiet is in his hands, the artifact unbothered by salt or sea. "Everyone not in fighting fit, get back in the tower now. We may not be out of this yet."

[Inspector Valin]

The music indeed grows louder - soon the entire party can make out the plucked stringers, clear and crisp from out of the mist. The group assembles around the wrecked pier, scanning the horizon for whatever could be coming towards the island. The old man and serpent withdraw just as the pink haired woman finally makes it to the doorway, ushering her back inside as the remaining forces begin their watch.

There's quiet for a while, no sound but the strings and the lap of the ocean. But finally, a cry. "There!" one of Whisper's ghost-friends calls out. Turning, the group can make out the prow of a bright red ship breaking through the fog. The figurehead is a bold snarling dragon, details outlined with white paint. The boat is of a curious design - a small flat-beaded craft, lacking in sails. A set of three large paddle wheels at the stern provides it swift momentum, but nothing appears to be actively pushing the boat onward. The wheels spin of their own accord, churning the blackened waters as they pass by Kraken's corpse.

At the bow of the ship stands its sole occupant - presumably the pilot, although the man is not attending the tiller. Instead he stands back with a large stringed instrument, strumming merrily along as his craft pushes its way towards the pier. A lanky man, with light blue hair that runs to his shoulders. He's wearing a black silk top hat, with a matching waistcoat and trousers. He looks like he's stepped out of a Shroudvant Opera House rather than sailed the Inland Ocean. There's a golden chain fastening his waistcoat closed, the eagle eyed can make out a topaz within a circular setting.

Marrow, Nord, Rivers: you three recognize him almost at once. He was wearing a more sedate outfit at the time, but this player is the man who found the three of you out, and whose story brought you here. It seemed insane at first, that some humble travelling bard would have such information, but his details were exact and verifiable, marking him presumably as just a messenger. He told you about the hidden island, the caged inhabitants and the ships that bring personnel between it and Thorns.

With a final note on the strings, the strange red boat pulls up to the splintered remains of the pier, the spinning wheels falling silent as the maestro sets his instrument down. The blue haired man alights to join the group with an energetic stride; one foot to the side of his craft, and he's up with the others in a split second. He takes a look around the assembled Exalted, meeting each one's gaze (and not batting an eye at the ape), before taking a deep breath. He looks immensely satisfied as he turns around, gazing at the still burning wreckage that still lay out amidst the bay as he begins to speak.

"The monster, dead. The pall around the isle, broken. The prisoners, freed and the guards disposed of."

And with that any trace of gravitas in the man's voice evaporates. He punches the air, calling out at the top of his voice with all the grace of a bull. "WHOOOO! Spec-tac-ular! Take that, you dead bastard! Oh, this couldn't have gone better, could it? You've left Mask's new toy smoldering, useless wreck. And we've some new faces to the drama at that! Five's names, a positive surprise?! How long has it been since..."

He coughs, realizing that he's begun to gush midway through the sentence. The Informant takes a second, taking a deep breath before continuing his address in a more dignified tone, the past grin fading into a humbler smile. "Heh. I'm sorry. Thank you all. It's gratifying to see a collection of Exalted willing to fight against the Mask. Gods willing, we may continue long after today." He chuckles, looking back to Rivers, Marrow and Nord. "Weavers, I wasn't sure the three of you would take me up on this mission. I know it must've looked like a trap: an unknown source, a remote location, minimal corroboration. Sorry I couldn't say more. But now the introduction's behind us, I trust the result speaks for itself?"

He gestures back to the Islebreaker, a proud twinkle in his eye.

[HalfTangible]

"....... Mela's breath, it was a friend?"

Nord had to admit that, despite himself, he liked the Informant. His exuberance and giddy joy at the Islebreaker's destruction was hard not to smile with. Even if Nord was fairly certain that the showy jerk had sent Marrow, Rivers and himself into a suicide mission. After all, judging from his comments, he had not known about the fire aspect or the two Lunars.

"It could've gone a lot better, in all honesty. The vault was flooded. We lost most of the prisoners." He pointed out to sea. "You might've seen the flotsam of their boat on the way in... speaking of flotsam, the airship they had here was wrecked, as well. And that thing-" He glared at the Islebreaker. "-was one surprise that was the exact opposite of 'welcome'. But back on the topic of pleasant surprises..." He looked back at the ship a moment. "How many people can that boat of yours carry, Mr......... I don't think we ever got a name?"

[Ascension]

"We didn't," Rivers says. They plant their oversized jade gauntlets at the shoreline, slip their hands out of them, and use one of the inflexible mitts as a prop to pull themselves up to standing. There's a worrisome sort of gurgle in their lungs as they pant from the effort, but they do their best to ignore it.

"Hhhhwhich means we're not exactly past the introduction, are we?"

They run a hand through their soaked hair, trying to push it back from their face, but they mostly just succeed in smearing more grime into it. They look a miserable sight, a far cry from the cavalier Scarlet Rivers who first met this 'Informant.'

"You've proven you can nearly kill us all, I'll give you that. But I think right now, my friend has the right of it. The most valuable thing you could offer us is neither your information nor your congratulations... it's that boat."

They fix the Informant with a glare, too exhausted, physically and emotionally, for proper negotiations.

[pfm1995]

The boat came into view, floating on water and music, and the hope that'd bloomed in Marrow's chest died with an ugly sound. He knew that face, knew that man, though when he'd last laid eyes on the man he hadn't been dressed half as gaily. Last time it'd been the mixed leathers and metals of a Scavenger Prince, worn by a rakish man with the signs of age around his eyes and a weighty silence. He'd arrived at the Petricorm offering lectures on history and caravan guarding and while history wasn't anything special in a school full of ghosts the promise of anti-raider tactics drew in more than a few students. Marrow had stayed behind to ask a question, which had turned into an offer of drinks, which had turned into a night spent swapping stories and rumors. Now the age and the weight were gone but the man was the same; looking back with clearer eyes Marrow could see how he'd been drawn in, led from point to point until he decided to launch this raid and all the while thinking it was his own idea.

When the man leaves his wondrous ship to join the bruised and bloody exalts on the pier, Marrow meets his gaze with a flat stare. His head is still pounding, his back throbs, his throat burns, and he has absolutely no patience for politeness. "Did you know?" Marrow asks, his voice, for all its raspiness, like an indictment. "Did you know what we'd find here? Because if you did, then you should not be cheering." Because, above all else, Marrow is a planner. Even before the dragon's blood had woken in his veins he'd had a gift for holding all the pieces of a situation in his head, of knowing which levers to pull and which pieces to sacrifice draw an opponent out, trap them, and win no matter his disadvantage. But to do that, he needed information. Knowledge. If this man had hidden that knowledge from him? Had deliberately stopped him from planning for a building sized kraken that could spit fire?

Then this man had made Marrow watch as his closest friends were broken and drowned on a ship he'd ordered them to board, and it would take all the weight of Mount Meru to even those scales.

[Inspector Valin]

The air of the conversation has grown somewhat uncomfortable. The Informant blinks, studying the trio with a raised eyebrow, seemingly surprised. After a second however, the blue haired man laughs, nodding emphatically and clapping at Rivers and Nord. "Of course! Did you think I came out here just to congratulate you, and then leave you to your own devices?"

With a final hearty chuckle, the strange man waves the assembled group towards his boat. "Climb aboard! Feel free, all of you! We'll be off soon. But first..."

He turns to Marrow at the Root. To his credit, the Informant's newly youthful eyes show some sobriety at this juncture. He bows to the young Dragon Blood, frowning. "Hold for just a second, Marrow. That's a hard question to answer. Walk with me?"

His request made, the Informant turns back and jumps down into his boat. He's begun to rummage through a small knapsack that's been hung around the tiller, talking loudly behind him as he goes. "What I knew, verifiably and beyond a doubt, was that the Mask's agents were shipping captives, technicians, guards and equipment to this facility. From that I inferred it was producing necromantic weaponry of some sort. The remote location meant that it was likely minimally defended - the Deathknights are few, and Mask doesn't deploy them casually when simple secrecy serves his needs much better. The Abyssals are watched carefully by Thorns' enemies - their presence can prove counterproductive for espionage needs."

It's the same lecture voice he used in the Petricorum. He can talk a mile a minute like this, engaged in his topic. At this though, the blue haired stranger turns back, looking towards Marrow with a teacher's quizzical eyes. "Do you see though? That's already inference. Already I'm having to guess, even if I'm doing it based on observation, facts and standing policy. And then you get to the question of just what the team here was building, what could it do, if could they use it against an attack? So many possibilities, that I couldn't truly answer for you before sending you in."

Finally, the stranger's search has born fruit. He produces a crumpled sheet of paper from his bag with an air of triumph, holding it aloft for a few seconds before remembering what he was in the middle of talking about. With a slightly rueful air, the Informant resumes his topic, "Now, I have... something of a talent for odds. So I took a look into what could be. Thought it through. Let it play out in my mind. And judged that, assuming your initial assault was successful, there were three ways this could've gone, with some minor variation, if the enemy had built something big and terrifying here."

Turning around, the strange man picks up the hefty looking faux-gehu he'd brought with him. It seems something of an effort for the man, as he starts to drag it towards the pier, but that doesn't stop him beginning his outline with aplomb. "Option one! You launch the escape ship before they got that thing up and running. Nice, clean and simple. No way it could've kept up with you. You'd be out of reach of cannons and a prototype behemoth like that? Can't have been as fast as the ship at ahead full."

With a sigh of relief, the Informant heaves his instrument up onto the dock. He takes a second to recover his breath, shaking his head at Marrow before continuing. "But it's never option one. Never. You should never count on that kind of luck. So... option two! They launch the thing while you're still on the island. Presumably you'd be searching the facility for further information, keeping the boat in dock until you were ready to depart. Regardless, your party would've remained the primary target. With the prisoners still on the isle, they could be recaptured if you were disposed of - that would've likely been the priority."

Now recuperated, the Informant starts to pull his musical accompaniment towards the end of the pier. (or as close to it as he can get amidst the debris) He sighs, his mind still on the conversation. "As such, unless I miss my guess this is, of course, option three. You launched the boat after some time had passed, either without having discovered the creature or trying to escape before it was activated. Hence it successfully destroying the transport."

Seemingly now having his gehu in the spot he wanted, the strange man looks back to Adorei. "Was this the worst potential way it could've gone?" He looks quizzical at his own question, going silent for a few seconds before sighing. "Frankly, yes, this was the most challenging chain of events I could conceive of. But it was always possible. Odds can't tell you everything, in part because you never truly know everything to take into account. The thing might've actually been too fast to escape, they might've had it ready to go at a moment's notice, there's a thousand and one ways to make things go wrong."

"You have to accept it. And plan accordingly."

With one final glance at his sheet, the Informant plucks a long musical bow from... nowhere, and begins to work the strings of his knock off gehu. The sound is ethereal, lilting and those present could swear a singer has joined the performance. A singer whose lilting soprano does not match the voice of their peculiar ally.

And as the stranger plays, the sea explodes with light and life as a dozen bodies rise above it in an explosion of kaleidoscopic light and foam.

As the tides clear, the Islebreaker is thoroughly eclipsed by half a dozen gigantic pink seahorses, each towering a good ten feet above the waves without fully breaking above the ocean's surface. Their fins shine with glorious rainbow light, beautifully glittering as they swim towards the isle, the colours changing with each graceful beat. The seahorses trill, their voices joining the Informant's music as his chorus. Behind them, Whisper can see a faint pink glow lingering in the water. The same glow she'd seen near the wreck.

Tidemares. Spirits of water.

Finally setting his instrument down, the strange man turns back to address the group of Chosen and Mortals gathered on the pier, beaming proudly. "May I present the Nimble Company of Bright Coral! Excellent friends of Heaven, who have played their roles to perfection. They were lingering in the ocean depths since sunrise this morning. Had you fallen in battle and descended beneath the sea, they would've caught you and delivered you safely from the island. As things stand however..."

"Boss?"

Marrow scarcely has time to turn before Stone Thrown tackles him with a hearty hug, the rest of the Cuerva following close behind. All of his friends are there; soaking wet, shivering, but very much alive and laughing at their leader being just as drenched as they. The Tidemare who'd delivered them to the pier meeps in joy, ruffling its fins appreciatively at the reunion. "YAY! We saved everyone!"

Another spirit pulls up, looking to correct the first. "Err, sorry. Not everyone, Azaloch, sir. We couldn't reach a couple in time. But we got most of them!" The Tidemare taps her belly with her fin. Now that she's close, the faint silhouettes of moving figures within her belly can be made out.

The newly named 'Azaloch' nods appreciatively, though without his prior enthusiasm. He's falling back into his more ceremonial manner as he raises his hands before the assembled Water spirits. "You all did well, Saya, I'm sure. We will pray for those who fell, and rejoice in those who remain. You have saved many lives, good friends, and brought honor to the company this day! Heaven will not forget this."

The Tidemares seem... a little dissatisfied with this. The pod grow silent, the one called Saya looking quizzically at the Informant. The blue haired man takes a second to realize the issue, before laughing quietly and bowing to the group. "And neither will The Divine One. I'll keep to our agreement, never fear. You'll all be welcome at her next hosting of the Court."

That gets a mighty cheer from the Tidemares, the great seahorses trilling merrily at the prospect of a celebration yet to come. The company dart across the waters, rainbow trails flaring bright in celebration. The Informant chuckles, looking on with a vaguely paternal air.

[Sticks]

This is too much for The Dancer. She'd stayed silent through this 'Azaloch's speech, but the sight of the tidemares, their absurd enthusiasm and the sudden delivery of so many people has strained her calm temperament to the breaking point. She laughs, elegant mouth open wide, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, her hands go to her silk-robed abdomen as she doubles over with mirth she's never felt before. It's all too absurd, never in her life did she think she'd have a morning like this. She laughs so hard that anyone not driven to such a state by their situation would surly begin laughing at her, or at least find the whole experience very uncomfortable. Finally, she chokes down to a mere chuckle, and looks at their 'informant'.

"Az-hehe-Azaloch, sir, I thank you fo-ho-or solving so m-many of our problems at once. However I, heh, I must ask, whom do you serve in all this? Are you a scion of the Realm or an ally of the Emissary? You cannot be a deposed lord of Thorns or I would know you from my performances, and, pardon my bluntness but the Omphalos of Creation would fall into the sea before Lookshy would allow one as eccentric as yourself to operate under their auspices."

[HalfTangible]

Now recuperated, the Informant starts to pull his musical accompaniment towards the end of the pier. (or as close to it as he can get amidst the debris) He sighs, his mind still on the conversation. "As such, unless I miss my guess this is, of course, option three. You launched the boat after some time had passed, either without having discovered the creature or trying to escape before it was activated. Hence it successfully destroying the transport."

Nord blinked twice. "It seemed like a good idea at the time." He mumbled.

"You have to accept it. And plan accordingly."

With one final glance at his sheet, the Informant plucks a long musical bow from... nowhere, and begins to work the strings of his knock off gehu. The sound is ethereal, lilting and those present could swear a singer has joined the performance. A singer whose lilting soprano does not match the voice of their peculiar ally.

And as the stranger plays, the sea explodes with light and life as a dozen bodies rise above it in an explosion of kaleidoscopic light and foam.

As the tides clear, the Islebreaker is thoroughly eclipsed by half a dozen gigantic pink seahorses, each towering a good ten feet above the waves without fully breaking above the ocean's surface. Their fins shine with glorious rainbow light, beautifully glittering as they swim towards the isle, the colours changing with each graceful beat. The seahorses trill, their voices joining the Informant's music as his chorus. Behind them, Whisper can see a faint pink glow lingering in the water. The same glow she'd seen near the wreck.

Tidemares. Spirits of water.

Finally setting his instrument down, the strange man turns back to address the group of Chosen and Mortals gathered on the pier, beaming proudly. "May I present the Nimble Company of Bright Coral! Excellent friends of Heaven, who have played their roles to perfection. They were lingering in the ocean depths since sunrise this morning. Had you fallen in battle and descended beneath the sea, they would've caught you and delivered you safely from the island. As things stand however..."

"Boss?"

Marrow scarcely has time to turn before Stone Thrown tackles him with a hearty hug, the rest of the Cuerva following close behind. All of his friends are there; soaking wet, shivering, but very much alive and laughing at their leader being just as drenched as they. The Tidemare who'd delivered them to the pier meeps in joy, ruffling its fins appreciatively at the reunion. "YAY! We saved everyone!"

Another spirit pulls up, looking to correct the first. "Err, sorry. Not everyone, Azaloch, sir. We couldn't reach a couple in time. But we got most of them!" The Tidemare taps her belly with her fin. Now that she's close, the faint silhouettes of moving figures within her belly can be made out.

The newly named 'Azaloch' nods appreciatively, though without his prior enthusiasm. He's falling back into his more ceremonial manner as he raises his hands before the assembled Water spirits. "You all did well, Saya, I'm sure. We will pray for those who fell, and rejoice in those who remain. You have saved many lives, good friends, and brought honor to the company this day! Heaven will not forget this."

The Tidemares seem... a little dissatisfied with this. The pod grow silent, the one called Saya looking quizzically at the Informant. The blue haired man takes a second to realize the issue, before laughing quietly and bowing to the group. "And neither will The Divine One. I'll keep to our agreement, never fear. You'll all be welcome at her next hosting of the Court."

That gets a mighty cheer from the Tidemares, the great seahorses trilling merrily at the prospect of a celebration yet to come. The company dart across the waters, rainbow trails flaring bright in celebration. The Informant chuckles, looking on with a vaguely paternal air.

The moment that Stone threw his arms around Marrow, the two both happy the other was alive, sparked a feeling in Nord's chest that he'd found elusive ever since he first became Anathema. As he looked over the other survivors the Tidemares had pulled out of the sea, that feeling only grew. It took him a moment to realize what he was feeling.

Accomplishment. Not mere survival. This wasn't a avoiding a patrol in the forest or perhaps getting a meal for the night. This wasn't like when neither Marrow nor Rivers had bought his story about being god-blooded (thinking back on it, that was actually pretty ****ing embarrassing.) This mission had been worth it. The resistance had gone in with him, the Cuerva, Marrow, and Rivers. They'd come out with an additional three Exalted (one of them apparently with connections to the court), saved dozens if not hundreds of prisoners, destroyed the Islebreaker and an upgraded elite airship.

Yes, they'd taken losses. But minutes ago he'd thought his mistake had cost the lives of hundreds. Not everyone had been saved, but many had. He was a soldier; he knew losses were inevitable. And knowing that their sacrifice was not in vain was all he could've ever asked for.

Not pyrrhic, you arrogant waste of a soul!! Just victory!!

Nord almost laughed, mostly from relief... and then he heard someone else laughing.

This is too much for The Dancer. She'd stayed silent through this 'Azaloch's speech, but the sight of the tidemares, their absurd enthusiasm and the sudden delivery of so many people has strained her calm temperament to the breaking point. She laughs, elegant mouth open wide, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, her hands go to her silk-robed abdomen as she doubles over with mirth she's never felt before. It's all too absurd, never in her life did she think she'd have a morning like this. She laughs so hard that anyone not driven to such a state by their situation would surly begin laughing at her, or at least find the whole experience very uncomfortable. Finally, she chokes down to a mere chuckle, and looks at their 'informant'.

"Az-hehe-Azaloch, sir, I thank you fo-ho-or solving so m-many of our problems at once. However I, heh, I must ask, whom do you serve in all this? Are you a scion of the Realm or an ally of the Emissary? You cannot be a deposed lord of Thorns or I would know you from my performances, and, pardon my bluntness but the Omphalos of Creation would fall into the sea before Lookshy would allow one as eccentric as yourself to operate under their auspices."

Nord snorted at that, shaking his head. She's never met Saki or Tempest, clearly... But she has a point.

He turned to Azaloch, eyebrow raised. "The Marukani say not to look a gift horse in the mouth... but the Legion teaches that when something is too good to be true, it usually is. Like, say, saving almost everyone that we lost through the power of a massive group of previously unknown water elementals." He glanced at Dancer. "Or a dragon-blooded who has a way to reliably get information to Lookshy's command just happening to hear about this little misadventure... and two Lunars. That kinda luck? We should've been in Nexus."

[Inspector Valin]

Dancer's mirth seems infectious. 'Azaloch' in turn has to resist the urge to giggle just through looking at her, nodding as Nord seconds her words. "Heh. No, no. You're not wrong. I am somewhat too... erratic for the tastes of Lookshy. There is indeed no government in all of Creation willing to employ me, as I found many, many times over the years."

The self deprecation brings a twinkle to the Informant's eye. The strange man brings a hand skyward, his tone taking on a faux pomposity. "And so, in the grand tradition of failing upwards, I now serve Heaven instead. I stand within the Celestial Bureaucracy of Yu Shan, executor of the will of the Most High. I have an office within the city, a faithful secretary, and all the wine I could ever hope to drink. What more could a mandarin ask for?"

He guffaws, snickering for a few seconds before righting himself and sharing a more serious look with Dancer. "A longer discussion is needed. But this is neither the place, nor time for it." He glances up at the crumbling tower, frowning at the tattered banner of the Mask still flying in red, before looking back to the group. "Saya and I need to co-ordinate the removal of the captives. It'll require a few minutes before we can cast off. Is there anything further you need before we depart?"

[Ascension]

"I need a stiff drink and a full night's rest," Rivers grumbles. "But the choosy will end up beggars, and I don't feel like walking back to Thorns. We won't dally."

They look to Marrow and the waterlogged Cuerva.

"Can you make sure everyone's gathered together? That girl with the pink hair, and... everyone. After all this... we can't leave any survivors behind."

[Sticks]

"Indeed. Heaven. Well if you're not going to be straight with about your employers, at least you've invested enough in your ship to make the journey away from here entertaining." Dancer scoffs. Sure, there were tales of those who had been to the city of the gods, but she half-guessed that even the gods who had claimed to visit its ivory streets and palaces of coral, ebony and starmetal were inventing tales to impress gullible mortals. Walking down the beach, she retrieves the soulsteel sword and boards the ship. If this absurd man could indeed get her in regular contact with Lookshy, it would be worth whatever eccentricities he exposed to her. In the meantime, she had to commit a report to memory that included the destruction of a necrotech abomination and the successful liberation of over 100 dissidents without mentioning the handful of heretical monsters she'd have to work with.

[pfm1995]

Though bitterness fed by grief was growing in Marrow he stood and listened, even lowered the gun. This man, their informant, was being... logical. Almost pedagogical. For Marrow, it was equal parts fascinating and infuriated. He so badly wanted to be angry at this man, to lay all the blame for his loss on their informant's thin shoulders, but the calm, patient part of him resisted because the man was making sense. Marrow listened to what he said and found little fault with his logic. If anything, the man had planned for worse case scenarios than Marrow had and, though Marrow resented the man for not telling him everything up front, he could appreciate that the man had little more information than Marrow did. It wasn't absolution - Marrow would spend countless sleepless nights in the nights to come reliving this night, trying to find his mistakes - but it was close.

And then Marrow made a logical leap, and his eyes went wide. If the man had planned for these, then surely he'd have contingencies, yes? Was that... was that what Whisper had...

It's at that moment that the music swells and the sea explodes in a riot of colors. Marrow reels in shock; he half-raises his gun before dropping it slack when he sees what's arrived. The Tidemares are beautiful in every way and Marrow has a heartbeat to stare at them in open admiration before he's tackled to the ground. And then there's nothing but wild, desperate joy. He's hugging them, kissing them, first Stone's Throw and then the others, and all the while an ocean of grief and fear drains out as joyous tears. It's a long while before he's standing up and longer still until he's even remotely composed. When he does turn to talk to the informant again, he still has streaks running down his cheeks.

"I... I owe you an apology. Th-thank you, for planning farther ahead than I did. You-" he swallowed. "You saved the best part of me, here." Hands together, Marrow bowed deeply. He meant every word; hadn't he only just tried to crash an airship, with no thought to his own survival? In saving his cuerva, this man may have saved Marrow as well. It had been a dark place he'd visited and already he could feel his heart lifting. While he was giving thanks, he turned to the Tidemares as well. "Though I'm not the one that called you here, I owe you as well." He said, making another bow. "My deepest thanks to you all."

The strangers talk of working for the Heavens didn't go unremarked, but Marrow was feeling grateful enough he didn't question it, at least for now. Instead, he nodded at Rivers. They were right, it was past time to leave and there was still work to be done. "Alright, if you all are done with your little swim," he said, smiling broadly at his cuerva, "there's still work to do. The lower levels are past flooded by now, but lets make sure we're not leaving anyone hiding in the corners. Stay in pares and stay close." He clapped Stone's Throw on the shoulder and as a group they moved off to see to the survivors.

[Inspector Valin]

"You're most welcome, lad. No thanks or apology needed. We're all in this together."

'Azaloch' watches Marrow and the Cureva head into the tower with a warm smile on his face. At Dancer's words however, he laughs, affection shifting rapidly to mirth. "I pull a spirit court out of my hat, and you still think I'm lying? You are not a trusting one, are you Dancer?"

The Informant, still fighting to suppress a snicker, turns away from his friend briefly to better appreciate the Dragon Blood. He actually moves to join her as she boards the ship, falling in behind as Saya swims up alongside the prow to join them. "Well, I suppose 'do as you would be done by' makes sense. It's hard to blame you for assuming I'm being deceitful. But really, where's the motive in a lie like that? I could simply claim to be a humble sorcerer, a Scavenger Lord with a few relics and favors owed. Would you not have believed that?" He meets Dancer's gaze, eyes twinkling golden as he looks for an answer. "It's not the truth, but as lies go it seems believable to me. What motive would I have for falsely claiming Heaven's backing? What does that get me with any of you?"

Meanwhile, a familiar figure gently elbows Rivers in the side. "I've been here since before he showed up. You just didn't notice me, Dragon. Do you need a musical score to pay attention" Pink grins up at Rivers, before nodding somewhat more solemnly. "Thanks again. For... you know." She turns rather than elaborate, making to join Dancer and the Informant on the boat. But before they can, a voice from behind them coughs. "Urr... hey! Wait a second."

The old man with the shaggy white beard slowly steps towards them. He glances between the pair, and then over to Nord and Whisper off to the side, "You're all going back to Thorns?" The question is more rhetorical than practical. It seems the former prisoner had a feel for the truth. He chuckles. "You gotta be. You jumped on Mr. Blue's offer without a hint about where he's taking you. And he set this up. He ain't done fighting the Mask yet."

After just a second of awkwardness, the old man's eyes flare and he scowls at the pair of you, waving back into the hall and yelling at the top of his lungs. "Golden piss of the Emissary, why? We're out now. You did his job - you don't owe him squat! You lot could go anywhere, do anything! You've got loot enough back in the tower to ransom a pox drenched Hierarch, thanks to the boy, and spirits and a ship! Dragon's bloody derriere, why the hell would you want to go back under the shadow? What's wrong with you idiots?"

Silence. Only the waves mark the moment.

The pink haired woman finally sighs, turning without so much as a word to the old coot and clambering aboard the boat. She didn't need to think for one second about that choice. The grey furred wolfman however looks more quizzically between the white beard and the rest of the group, before glancing down at the wounded and half conscious survivors of the lower levels still with them. He seems unsure. The ghosts upon the pier exchange looks, while the golden serpent seems... to still be processing the current timeline and its various implications. It's hard to tell how this group will break, but all eyes are on the Chosen now.

The old man's anger is fading a little, though he's still staring at Rivers. He looks more... confused. He truly does not understand this line of logic. His question was not politely delivered, but it was sincere.

[Sticks]

The Dancer is standing at the stern of the ship, still holding the daiklave's hilt in her right hand as its blade rests along her shoulder. Her left hand was resting on the pommel of the short-sword, but she raises it to the cool morning light and allows Pyrefly to dance around it, balancing the little spirit on each finger then flipping her hand over to let him fall, then glide up again. She continues to indulge her new friend as she speaks.

"Why? My dear Informant, because when you're in the business of information, lies are currency. You tell small lies all the time, that you prefer shellfish to tuna, that you have an allergy to southern lilacs, that her dress doesn't show too much skin, because those little lies can be exchanged for the little truths. Eat the tuna, be grateful for the lilacs while averting your face, keep your expression neutral while she dances and those who believe the lies to be truth will give up information they never knew to value. They trust the person they believe you to be, knowing your priorities to align with their worldview, and all the while you learn what they value without giving up your own. You've bought truth with lies, and nobody is any the wiser."

Dancer leans back and stretches, rotating her right shoulder as though it was tired by carrying the soulsteel blade. She looks at the shimmering metal surface and meets her own gaze, and behind it Azaloch's confident reflection. She continues.

"But big lies, lies about things nobody would claim like having the backing of heaven, those are more than currency. They're an investment, a gamble. Tell a lie like that and you invite suspicion, ridicule and contempt. Back it up with unrelated but convincing evidence, and the first rubes begin to believe your story. Turn the suspicious into a public doubter, and you've divided your audience, but that's okay. You never intended to win over everyone with a big lie, you just needed a few specific ones to bite, and now they have. The doubters are shunned, their opposition to buying the con convinces those who have bought it of their own rightness. Soon you have everyone you wanted on your side, believing your lie, because not buying it means the doubters were right."

She turns her head to looks directly at Azaloch, almost managing to disguise a wince as her muscles tense at the extension. Her eyes flash with inner fire and her hair and robes seem to shift as though in a warm summer's breeze. She gives the rougish smile of a confidant sharing in a secret and leans in seductively. "So tell me, Mister Informant, now that I've thrown in my lot as your 'doubter', what do I get in return?"

Spoiler: OOC & Rolls

Show

The Dancer is making an unsubtle seduction attempt (instill) and she knows it, but she's sure Azaloch knows it too. She figures he's a player of dangerous games, and as such enjoys being played, especially when he thinks he'll come out on top anyway. Going with Appearance + Presence for this one. Dancer knows she looks good and she's gonna use it. That's Appearance+Presence+Specialty, and I'm adding a full excellency (3 Autosuccesses) and Warm Faced Seduction Style. She rolls a non-charm die for every 10, and that's just enough motes to put her in fire aura (not bonfire, so no damage), so if she gets any bonus-dice from her appearance, up to 2 of them are converted to non-charm autosuccesses. Whatever the reality of his intentions, if she beats his resolve he gains a minor tie of lust or desire towards her automatically, unless he spends a point of WP to resist, this is in addition to any other effects of her roll.

Spoiler: Rolls

Show

Appearance+Presence+Specialty+Stunt+3-5 Autosuccesses.
(13d10)[4][5][10][10][10][1][7][2][1][10][1][2][9](72)
Additional non-charm dice from 10's or appearance: (5d10)[3][4][9][1][8](25)

[HalfTangible]

"You're most welcome, lad. No thanks or apology needed. We're all in this together."

'Azaloch' watches Marrow and the Cureva head into the tower with a warm smile on his face. At Dancer's words however, he laughs, affection shifting rapidly to mirth. "I pull a spirit court out of my hat, and you still think I'm lying? You are not a trusting one, are you Dancer?"

The Informant, still fighting to suppress a snicker, turns away from his friend briefly to better appreciate the Dragon Blood. He actually moves to join her as she boards the ship, falling in behind as Saya swims up alongside the prow to join them. "Well, I suppose 'do as you would be done by' makes sense. It's hard to blame you for assuming I'm being deceitful. But really, where's the motive in a lie like that? I could simply claim to be a humble sorcerer, a Scavenger Lord with a few relics and favors owed. Would you not have believed that?" He meets Dancer's gaze, eyes twinkling golden as he looks for an answer. "It's not the truth, but as lies go it seems believable to me. What motive would I have for falsely claiming Heaven's backing? What does that get me with any of you?"

Meanwhile, a familiar figure gently elbows Rivers in the side. "I've been here since before he showed up. You just didn't notice me, Dragon. Do you need a musical score to pay attention" Pink grins up at Rivers, before nodding somewhat more solemnly. "Thanks again. For... you know." She turns rather than elaborate, making to join Dancer and the Informant on the boat. But before they can, a voice from behind them coughs. "Urr... hey! Wait a second."

The old man with the shaggy white beard slowly steps towards them. He glances between the pair, and then over to Nord and Whisper off to the side, "You're all going back to Thorns?" The question is more rhetorical than practical. It seems the former prisoner had a feel for the truth. He chuckles. "You gotta be. You jumped on Mr. Blue's offer without a hint about where he's taking you. And he set this up. He ain't done fighting the Mask yet."

After just a second of awkwardness, the old man's eyes flare and he scowls at the pair of you, waving back into the hall and yelling at the top of his lungs. "Golden piss of the Emissary, why? We're out now. You did his job - you don't owe him squat! You lot could go anywhere, do anything! You've got loot enough back in the tower to ransom a pox drenched Hierarch, thanks to the boy, and spirits and a ship! Dragon's bloody derriere, why the hell would you want to go back under the shadow? What's wrong with you idiots?"

Silence. Only the waves mark the moment.

The pink haired woman finally sighs, turning without so much as a word to the old coot and clambering aboard the boat. She didn't need to think for one second about that choice. The grey furred wolfman however looks more quizzically between the white beard and the rest of the group, before glancing down at the wounded and half conscious survivors of the lower levels still with them. He seems unsure. The ghosts upon the pier exchange looks, while the golden serpent seems... to still be processing the current timeline and its various implications. It's hard to tell how this group will break, but all eyes are on the Chosen now.

The old man's anger is fading a little, though he's still staring at Rivers. He looks more... confused. He truly does not understand this line of logic. His question was not politely delivered, but it was sincere.

Nord stood up, and slowly stalked his way over to the old man's position. In that brief moment, his rage was on full display. He breathed deeply for a few moments, trying to calm himself. The mercenary had no problem with civilians who didn't want to fight; not everyone could, if Creation was to keep. But the old man's vitriol for those who chose to fight, to try and save Thorns even if all hope was lost... It made Nord's blood boil.

"... Elder, tell me. Do you think that shadow will stay over Thorns forever?" He finally asked, his tone calm and respectful, "Or more to the point, that it will not spread?"

"There was a time when no one believed the Underworld would dare attack the world of the living, let alone the Realm in its very heartland. That naievete is why Thorns now lays under cover of night, why that thing-" He pointed at the remains of the Islebreaker. "-was fueled by souls. The airship Marrow crashed was something new, faster than the standard Haslanti models. Necrotech abominations were created here, and they knew I was Karal. Why would they need to know that, save that they plan to take on my Gens?"

"Understand? The Mask is not going to be content with his current territory. And unlike a normal tyrant, we cannot simply hold the line and wait for him to grind his forces down, or for him to simply die." He couldn't keep a slight laugh out of his voice there. "Even if he were he cannot be allowed to do as he pleases. He needs to be put down, or he will rise again to threaten Creation no matter how long it takes. But before that can even begin, someone has to take that first bloody step."

His little half-smirk returned, if only for a moment. "Someone has to be the vanguard."

"But there is no shame in running home. If you wish to go back into the light - to seek shelter with Lookshy, the Realm, or anywhere else that can hold out, then I will do what I can to ensure you make it out of Thorns. But understand: the longer you run, the stronger the Mask will get." His eyes narrowed as his Caste mark shined bright, his Anathema nature on full display for all. "And not everyone gets the choice to go home."

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Nord wants to instill a principle in all present: "Fighting the Mask is worthwhile." He's not trying to convince them to stay and fight, but to help how they can wherever they end up. Spending 4 motes on a Presence excellency. (not 5 so my anima doesn't flare again)

Spoiler: Roll

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Appearance 4 + Presence 2 + Oratory 1 + Stunt 2 + 4 Excellency - 3 group influence.
(10d10)[8][7][2][2][7][3][2][3][6][4](44)

[Ascension]

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Rivers won't attempt to contest that influence. They already believe it anyway.

Rivers winces at the renewed glare of sunlight from Nord's caste mark. They wave the hot-blooded Solar back from the old man.

"Put your glow away, kid," they ask, sounding every bit as tired as they feel. "You're not wrong... but the truest thing you said is that there's no shame in running away."

They look over the shaken and waterlogged survivors of the battle and shake their head.

"I'm not going to make a speech," they say, with a wet cough to emphasize just how ill-suited they are to oratory at the moment, "but I'll just say that it does the Resistance no good to push anyone into this fight. If a body doesn't have the will to survive, against all odds, then they're just reinforcements..."

They jerk a thumb in the direction of the slowly sinking corpse-mass that was the Islebreaker.

"...for the enemy."

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Not rolling anything, because unless I could convince someone that this was Manipulation + Socialize, I wouldn't have a dice pool.

[Eurus]

The orangutan's mouth widens in a fat-cheeked grin, and an instant later, an old woman with unnaturally bright orange hair is crouched there on the ground in its place. Her smile looks eerily similar to the ape's.

"If I had any sense, I'd have run years ago. But I'm old, so it's not like I'm wasting much at this point. You kids could still go off and do something else, I'm sure. Save lives somewhere else. Find a wife and pop out a few babies, if you want to strike a blow for the living. Thorns is no place for heroes."

She cackles, and shakes her shaggy-tressed head in amusement or disappointment at Nord. If her memories are paining her right now - if she remembers other young men and women dying, alone, and then worse than dying - if some part of her aches at the thought of seeing another bright spark gutter out in the shadows of Thorns, she masks it well with irreverence and mockery. Can't afford to get sappy in a place like this.

[HalfTangible]

The orangutan's mouth widens in a fat-cheeked grin, and an instant later, an old woman with unnaturally bright orange hair is crouched there on the ground in its place. Her smile looks eerily similar to the ape's.

"If I had any sense, I'd have run years ago. But I'm old, so it's not like I'm wasting much at this point. You kids could still go off and do something else, I'm sure. Save lives somewhere else. Find a wife and pop out a few babies, if you want to strike a blow for the living. Thorns is no place for heroes."

She cackles, and shakes her shaggy-tressed head in amusement or disappointment at Nord. If her memories are paining her right now - if she remembers other young men and women dying, alone, and then worse than dying - if some part of her aches at the thought of seeing another bright spark gutter out in the shadows of Thorns, she masks it well with irreverence and mockery. Can't afford to get sappy in a place like this.

Nord's eyes narrowed at the amusement on her face. The thought of going back to Saki's arms, the children they would've had together (he wanted a daughter to spoil rotten)... the old man had sent his blood to boil, but Granny had left him cold.

"Didn't you hear me?" He growled. "Not all of us can go home."

[Eurus]

Granny's laughter stops, but she still grins at Nord, eyes glittering almost manically. "Ah, I could say all sorts of things. About second chances, and living well as it's own revenge... Not sure I believe any of 'em, but I could say 'em well enough! But you're not here to take lip from an old woman, I'm sure. No sense warning off those that's already dead. I'll cheer you on, then. Stitch you up if you need it and bury you when you're done, if there's enough left for burying. That's about all I can do, these days."

[Inspector Valin]

The Dancer is standing at the stern of the ship, still holding the daiklave's hilt in her right hand as its blade rests along her shoulder. Her left hand was resting on the pommel of the short-sword, but she raises it to the cool morning light and allows Pyrefly to dance around it, balancing the little spirit on each finger then flipping her hand over to let him fall, then glide up again. She continues to indulge her new friend as she speaks.

"Why? My dear Informant, because when you're in the business of information, lies are currency. You tell small lies all the time, that you prefer shellfish to tuna, that you have an allergy to southern lilacs, that her dress doesn't show too much skin, because those little lies can be exchanged for the little truths. Eat the tuna, be grateful for the lilacs while averting your face, keep your expression neutral while she dances and those who believe the lies to be truth will give up information they never knew to value. They trust the person they believe you to be, knowing your priorities to align with their worldview, and all the while you learn what they value without giving up your own. You've bought truth with lies, and nobody is any the wiser."

Dancer leans back and stretches, rotating her right shoulder as though it was tired by carrying the soulsteel blade. She looks at the shimmering metal surface and meets her own gaze, and behind it Azaloch's confident reflection. She continues.

"But big lies, lies about things nobody would claim like having the backing of heaven, those are more than currency. They're an investment, a gamble. Tell a lie like that and you invite suspicion, ridicule and contempt. Back it up with unrelated but convincing evidence, and the first rubes begin to believe your story. Turn the suspicious into a public doubter, and you've divided your audience, but that's okay. You never intended to win over everyone with a big lie, you just needed a few specific ones to bite, and now they have. The doubters are shunned, their opposition to buying the con convinces those who have bought it of their own rightness. Soon you have everyone you wanted on your side, believing your lie, because not buying it means the doubters were right."

She turns her head to looks directly at Azaloch, almost managing to disguise a wince as her muscles tense at the extension. Her eyes flash with inner fire and her hair and robes seem to shift as though in a warm summer's breeze. She gives the rougish smile of a confidant sharing in a secret and leans in seductively. "So tell me, Mister Informant, now that I've thrown in my lot as your 'doubter', what do I get in return?"

Spoiler: OOC & Rolls

Show

The Dancer is making an unsubtle seduction attempt (instill) and she knows it, but she's sure Azaloch knows it too. She figures he's a player of dangerous games, and as such enjoys being played, especially when he thinks he'll come out on top anyway. Going with Appearance + Presence for this one. Dancer knows she looks good and she's gonna use it. That's Appearance+Presence+Specialty, and I'm adding a full excellency (3 Autosuccesses) and Warm Faced Seduction Style. She rolls a non-charm die for every 10, and that's just enough motes to put her in fire aura (not bonfire, so no damage), so if she gets any bonus-dice from her appearance, up to 2 of them are converted to non-charm autosuccesses. Whatever the reality of his intentions, if she beats his resolve he gains a minor tie of lust or desire towards her automatically, unless he spends a point of WP to resist, this is in addition to any other effects of her roll.

Spoiler: Rolls

Show

Appearance+Presence+Specialty+Stunt+3-5 Autosuccesses.
[roll0]
Additional non-charm dice from 10's or appearance: [roll1]

There's a quiet moment between the two, close, warm and silent save the lapping of waves. (And perhaps a quiet giggle from Saya) The Informant meets Dancer's gaze unflinchingly, studying her. Finally, he smiles, ever so slight but telling. "A true daughter of Kejak."

The phrase is spoken almost unthinkingly, a quiet observation in a personal moment. Whatever it means, she got some kind of honest opinion from the man. The Informant lets the closeness linger for just a second longer before stepping back. "Not a good way to deal with Exalted, I think."

That... is a turn of phrase that could have multiple meanings, at least one of which is extremely unflattering. Before Dancer can quite be sure of her ground, the Informant waves a hand, merrily proceeding to explain. "Plenty of folk disagree with me! Blatant but charming lies of the type you describe were the basis of perhaps ninety per cent of Immaculate doctrine. That worked out just fine for the Old Masters, uniting the Dragon Blooded against the most devastating threats to their control, building a world surmounting empire, everything played out just as they wanted for a while."

"But look at the Realm now, tearing itself apart. The Immaculates aren't able to hold them together through those old beliefs, and neither are those who backed the Order at its inception, because all their talk of Dragon Blooded virtue is undercut by the Great Houses: their infighting, their crimes and their self-focus. The islanders might not openly question the faith, but if you walk with them, you can doubt beginning to grow across the ranks. Among the commoners and even among the Dynasts themselves."

He glances over towards the pier, eyes lingering on Rivers. It takes the Informant a few seconds to continue, and now his voice is somber and slow. "I feel the subtle hand, the partial truth, lasts only so long as you can afford to be subtle. When times call for blatancy, those charming lies get in the way of the common purpose you need to rally people to. There's always a weak spot, always a contradiction. Sooner or later, the Obstructive Naysayer always wins." Turning back to Dancer, the strange man's eyes sparkle once again. He chuckles, stepping back towards Dancer with a curious look. "Is that why that was the position you preferred? I... suppose ending up on top has its appeal to some people."

Granny's laughter stops, but she still grins at Nord, eyes glittering almost manically. "Ah, I could say all sorts of things. About second chances, and living well as it's own revenge... Not sure I believe any of 'em, but I could say 'em well enough! But you're not here to take lip from an old woman, I'm sure. No sense warning off those that's already dead. I'll cheer you on, then. Stitch you up if you need it and bury you when you're done, if there's enough left for burying. That's about all I can do, these days."

"I... am starting to understand that feeling." The golden serpent clanks over to Granny, bowing its head with a colorful jangle of metal plumage. "This world has changed a great deal since I was mad. But my duty is to serve the chosen, such as yourself. So... I hope you will permit me to accompany you further. It is preferable to an eternity of nothingness, I assure you"

Meanwhile, the grey wolf approaches Nord. He waves up at the now half-burned crimson banner above them. "I am unfamiliar with Thorns. But you fight the ones who trapped us. Who killed us." He looks towards the half conscious folk, left lying in the doorway. Nord can see him tense, before turning back to the Solar and nodding. "I'll join you. I might not be the equal of this company, but whatever fight I have is yours." Declaration made, he starts back towards the remaining evacuees, intent on loading them aboard by himself if need be.

"Idiots." The old man shakes his head, before sighing and walking past Rivers towards the boat. "Guess I'll stick with you. City's doomed, but I ain't chancing a ride in a spirit's gut. I'll find my own way out once we get back."

"Mi'lady?" Whisper can ever so faintly feel one of the ghosts tugging on her sleeve. Turning, she can see the farmgirl looking at her plaintively. "We... shouldn't really go with them, should we? The Mask's a necromancer. He hammers ghosts who disobey him into soulsteel, or twists them into monsters! It's not safe for us either!" A few of Whisper's companions are nodding, or making sympathetic noises at this. The Nexan spirit however looks wide eyed, reluctant to believe what he's hearing. He steps closer, shaking his head as he pleads at the farmgirl. "But the silver lady saved us! We have to help her somehow. If it wasn't for her and the others, we'd have ended up as soulsteel too! We owe her everything!"

A few of the more battle hardened ghosts nod at this too. The dead seem as divided as the living.

Back in the tower, the Cureva's search is briefly stymied by the discovery of the giant pile of plunder-crates still resident in the main chamber. The band can't help but pause a moment to appreciate the haul, Stone Thrown whistling as he and Marrow draw up to it. "Hey boss! You found frecking treasure down here?! How..."

He chuckles, shaking his head. There'll be time enough for that story later. Instead, Stone thumbs back towards the door. "We should load this up, right? Blue hair said we've got some time." He glances back towards the devastated catwalk and upper level, while the rest of the group start to disperse. "Wonder if there's anything else that got missed."

"Hey! Over here!" One of the Cureva calls before Stone can finish his thought. He and Marrow race forward, past the remnants of the earlier battle, towards the area the zombies had emerged from. Lilac Crescent and Rowling Thunder have found survivors in a chamber just past it, behind a now melted down barred door. Specifically they've found a band of red robed necrotechs, huddled in the corner of what was likely supposed to be a saferoom, between an open larder and leather furnishings. None of the technicians are armed. All are standing as still as can be - a collection of crimson statues, their faces frozen in fear. Thunder has the group covered with his firewand, though his grip on it is shaky and Marrow can see a bead of sweat forming on his brow.

Lilac turns to Marrow, trying her best to hold her shield in place for Thunder, just like they'd practiced. She gestures towards the red robes, looking about as nervous as they do. "What... do we do with them?"

[Sticks]

The Dancer laughs and drops her affected pose. She settles inelegantly on the gunwale and swings the daiklave to rest point-down on the deck between her dangling legs.

"Forgive me, sir, I had you all wrong. It's been years since I was able to speak candidly and I am rather out of practice. Between the adventures of this night and the shock of your entrance...it's all been rather much. I see now you're no intelligence agent, though you've learned to think like one. You're an idealist! I'd thought them extinct, or at least so rare as to be mythical. Either that or you're playing a game that is frankly beyond my abilities to discern. I can work with idealism, it's easy to understand and easier to manipulate. No! No I don't plan on twisting your agenda to my own ends. The undermining of the Mask is a goal that supersedes any other concerns. It feels good to have a goal and a purpose to dedicate myself to once more, and once this ragtag group finds its feet..."

She waves in the direction of the Exalts, Anathema, civilians, ghosts and monsters with a small smile. "...I'll have more to work with than I'd ever dreamed. I'm in."

[HalfTangible]

"I... am starting to understand that feeling." The golden serpent clanks over to Granny, bowing its head with a colorful jangle of metal plumage. "This world has changed a great deal since I was mad. But my duty is to serve the chosen, such as yourself. So... I hope you will permit me to accompany you further. It is preferable to an eternity of nothingness, I assure you"

Meanwhile, the grey wolf approaches Nord. He waves up at the now half-burned crimson banner above them. "I am unfamiliar with Thorns. But you fight the ones who trapped us. Who killed us." He looks towards the half conscious folk, left lying in the doorway. Nord can see him tense, before turning back to the Solar and nodding. "I'll join you. I might not be the equal of this company, but whatever fight I have is yours." Declaration made, he starts back towards the remaining evacuees, intent on loading them aboard by himself if need be.

"Idiots." The old man shakes his head, before sighing and walking past Rivers towards the boat. "Guess I'll stick with you. City's doomed, but I ain't chancing a ride in a spirit's gut. I'll find my own way out once we get back."

Nord glanced to the old man. "Very well. I said I'd get you out of the city and I meant it."

The fact that the beastman didn't know what Thorns was was a little confusing, but Nord had heard tell of their ferocity and strength in battle. Someone loyal and with as powerful a grudge against Thorns as one of their torture victims would be a great asset no matter what. Nord followed the wolf-man to the other evacuees, intending to help load everyone and everything that they could. Again. Hopefully this time would go better.

No. No, not hope. This would go better.

[pfm1995]

"Also," Marrow chips in after Nord's big speech, still grinning like a loon, "it'd actually be better to let the Mask come to you. From a strategic perspective, I mean - can't exactly siege a city that can be supplied from the Underworld." Carefully, he disentangles himself from his cuerva and rejoins the others on the island. The feeling of solid ground under his feet, the sun shining above, the whole of Creation for a moment is radiant. "As for why I'm heading back..." Marrow pauses, eyeing the old man and savoring his next sentence, "I have exams in two weeks! What kind of rebel would I be, if I failed out of school?" He clapped the old man on the back before walking back towards the tower.

I wonder, he thought as he stepped into the tower's shade, staring up at the scarred and patched edifice, "will whoever takes this over tear it down? Or will they keep patching, sand the edges down but leave the foundations in place." Though he'd thought it a hideous structure on their approach, emblematic of everything wrong with the Masks' occupation, now... now he almost hoped they'd keep it. A great thing had been done here, and in the light of the sun it didn't look so ugly. Their haul of treasure didn't look so ugly either - Marrow was no mage, but he'd wager there had to be hundreds of talents worth of artifacts here and that was assuming they sold it all. "Yeah, we found some kind of storage room. Looked like the Mask had been using it to store junk - there's more still down there, but it's all flooded. Grab a few folks, lets start hauling it out. Gently, please! They may have gotten a bit banged up, what with all the running and fire, and I'd hate to do any more damage."

Any further planning was interrupted by the cry from the other member of the cuerva. Marrow rushed over to see what they had found, only for his face to settle into a frown when he saw the red-robed technicians. His mind raced, weighing risk and potential. Potential: some may know useful information. Some may have been coerced, and be willing to join the cause. Some may be able to reproduce their designs. Risk: some could have chosen this work. Some could be mages, able to bring the Mask down on them. It was entirely possible, he realized, that behind the mask he might recognize one or two faces - the Petricorm had a nechrotech program now, though it is small and ill-attended. It was equally possible that they might recognize him.

Was there any option here, but to kill them?

"Bind them, blindfold and gag them. No fewer than four watching them at all times." At the very least, he'd question them before deciding.

[The_Snark]

"Mi'lady?" Whisper can ever so faintly feel one of the ghosts tugging on her sleeve. Turning, she can see the farmgirl looking at her plaintively. "We... shouldn't really go with them, should we? The Mask's a necromancer. He hammers ghosts who disobey him into soulsteel, or twists them into monsters! It's not safe for us either!" A few of Whisper's companions are nodding, or making sympathetic noises at this. The Nexan spirit however looks wide eyed, reluctant to believe what he's hearing. He steps closer, shaking his head as he pleads at the farmgirl. "But the silver lady saved us! We have to help her somehow. If it wasn't for her and the others, we'd have ended up as soulsteel too! We owe her everything!"

A few of the more battle hardened ghosts nod at this too. The dead seem as divided as the living.

Whisper shakes her head quickly, her still-wet hair whipping about to hit her in the face. "No, no, you don't owe me that. You don't owe anybody that. She's right, it's not safe in Thorns at all, even for ghosts. Maybe especially for ghosts. Though I guess you probably oughta come with us as far as the mainland - now that you're dead you could swim back, or even just walk along the bottom of the ocean, but it'd be a long way, and it's real easy to get lost underwater..."

She trails off in thought for a few moments, the silence stretching out enough to be awkward before her attention snaps back to her audience. "Anyways. You're dead now, and that means you're free. Everything that used to tie you down, everything you used to be afraid of? It only matters as much as you let it. You don't gotta worry about starving, or getting sick, or getting old. Hardly anyone can really hurt you, because what're they gonna do, kill you again? There's only a few people, like the Mask, who you need to be scared of. You can go find your home in the Underworld, there's probably a dozen generations of your ancestors living there - well, not living, but you know what I mean - and ready to take you in. Or you could go someplace new. See the world. You can even stay in the living world, if you really want to, though I never heard of any ghost doing that for long - it gets lonely, not talking to anyone except exorcists, and the light of the Sun won't touch you anymore."

"Or you can stay in Thorns, if it's where you want to be. Maybe it's your home. Maybe you just wanna help - I bet the folks here will be happy to have more hands. But don't feel like you gotta just because I saved you, okay? Thorns ent the worst place in the Underworld you could be, but it's pretty close." After a moment, she adds, "You don't have to pick now, we've got a few hours on a boat til we can get anywhere. And you don't all have to choose the same."

[Inspector Valin]

Whisper's approach brings both sides of the ghostly debate to silence, though a few still exchange hurt looks as they file past her into the ship, descending into the lower deck. The restless dead are largely viewed as heartless by the natives of Creation: all too used to seeing implacable distant ancestors, quiet grey shades or snarling pitiless monsters of the night, but Whisper knows them as creatures of passion in their way. Some are unsure, hesitant, still trying to decide. Some are all too sure, and set on trying to bring the others with them to safety or glory respectively. This argument has been delayed, not settled just yet.

A few of the Cureva members file back soon enough, carrying the crates of loot that'd been taken from the vault and loading them up aboard the boat's hold. Peaking down, any curious observers can see that the seemingly slight ship is quite spacious below. The Informant meanwhile is chuckling along with the Dancer, taking no evident offense to her words. He pauses a second, looking up to the sky before returning his attention back to Dancer. "Would you not say that you're an idealist?" The question is light, something born of curiosity rather than need. All the same, the Informant's eyes have that curious gleam to them. "Resistance to the Mask at this point must seem futile. It's been years since the city fell. And tonight, you put yourself in harm's way for a goal you could not have been sure of. That doesn't seem like the action of a cynic to me."

---------------------------------------------------

"Tie them up. Right. Tie them up." Lilac repeats the phrase a few more times under her breath, as she steps over to work on the necrotechs, Thunder covering her as ably as ever. It takes the nervous student insurgent a few seconds to take in the room and find some suitable material for restraints. Fortunately a wall-banner displaying the Mask's visage gives Lilac a goodly amount of material to work with. The techs wince as she cuts it down, but after some judicious work with her knife, she'll have enough tough cloth to match Marrow's request.

Stone steps away to summon additional Cureva members to secure the room (and perhaps find some manacles) leaving Marrow and Thunder to keep the little group covered for the moment. The room is silent for a while as the figures are restrained, one by one. "It's a waste of time, kid." One of the techs doffs his hood, though he doesn't bother to remove his mask. There's a scruffy mane of dark green hair falling around his shoulders in a second as the tech leans back, raising his hands with a sigh. "It's over."

Spoiler

Show

Feel free to skip ahead PFM if you've got questions to ask. The necrotechs ain't gonna try anything.

[pfm1995]

Perhaps it was a waste of time, but the risks of leaving them to roam free were too great. Marrow gestured for Lilac to continue and stayed to supervise. Only when they were fully trussed did Marrow step forward again. "Take the others, find a place to keep them until we can decide what's to be done. Meanwhile, I've got some questions for this one." He nodded at the green-haired leader.

-----

Marrow leaned against the old stone wall across from where the necrotech's apparent leader was bound, visibly uncomfortable with the situation. His leg was bouncing, and his lips were moving gently as he ran through conversations in his head. Finally, he spoke.

"I have questions." The words came out rushed, Marrow compensating for the ugly subject matter by hoping momentum would carry him through without flinching. "You're going to answer them. Tell... tell me about the Exalts. The ones who designed this place."

All in all, the Deathknights seemed the safest place to start this - at the very least, he could confirm some things he already knew, and it would give him a chance to learn about the man he was questioning. As for what he'd do if the nechrotech didn't answer... he didn't have it in him to pity the man, he'd seen the cages and the destruction this man's hands had wrought. But could he go further? Compel answers in the ugliest ways?

He honestly didn't know.

[Eurus]

Granny follows along with the group doing the interrogating, and chuckles at the fleeing techs. The laughter doesn't quite reach her eyes, though. "Over? Boy, you work for a necromancer. It's never over. Whether we kill you or let you go, you'll be working for him again in a week. That means we've got to drag you with us, if we want to keep the bastard from finding out what happened here for at least a little while. So behave."

She leans back against the wall, watching Marrow work.

[Inspector Valin]

The unconsious are soon enough stowed aboard the ship, as are the contents of the treasure vault swiftly. But as the motley group are starting to feel the press of the tides, a voice rises from the shore "Hey!" One of the Cureva members has just emerged from the tower at a sprint. She calls out towards the ship. "We found some prisoners. Boss is gonna ask 'em questions, if you wanna join in."

The Informant glances across the group with a smile, "I told you I have to talk with Saya before we leave. If you want to help young Marrow, go. We're safe for a while yet."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You mean the Deathknights? What, you wanna write them an apology?"

The tech laughs heartily at that. He leans his head back against the wall, just enough to knock his mask off. The man looking back at Marrow is young-ish, a few years old than him but not many. There's dark bags under his eyes, deep enough to show many a sleepless night. He yawns, stretching as best he can while bound, but starts to speak again fairly promptly. "Two involved with this project. Rising Nova, and the Seven Degreed Physician. Neither ever bothered to come out here in person; we wrote them reports, they sent us instructions back. Usually they contradicted each other, and we had to try and make all their demands fit together. Couldn't coordinate a night of drinks in a godsdamned brewery those two."

There's no tension in the tech's voice; all this comes easy to him. He closes his eyes with a relaxed sigh, his speech going more slowly. "Dunno much about Nova. They're the one responsible for the canons and flechette launchers, plus some of the fancier weapon systems we hadn't implemented yet. Scuttlebutt says half the Mask's fancy equipment that doesn't rot comes from their workshop, and they're kept away from any danger 'cos of that. They've got a flair for design, but ask me, couple of screws loose too. Great ideas but we couldn't get half of their stuff working right. I'm surprised that organ didn't blow the tower up."

The green haired tech chuckles quietly at that. He looks like he might fall asleep, lying there contentedly. Still, for the moment he keeps talking, a bleaker look starting to rise across his face. "Seven's a bit more open, if you mix with the right circles. He's one of the Mask's best Necromancers. The best, if you ask him." The technician can't resist scoffing at that, even with the qualifier. Finally opening his eyes, he meets Marrow's gaze, face thin, trying to explain. "He's a... presence, for those in this line of work. He writes to amateur Nadirians all over the Scavenger Lands, asking about their projects, offering advice. Those he thinks have promise get offered a salary and passage to Thorns so we can train with him directly. Man knows his stuff, but he's as demanding as they come, and doesn't like being told no or asked to explain himself. More'n one student of his ended up as research materials for asking the wrong questions."

A silence falls, eventually broken by the tired man's chuckle. "He hated having to work with Nova. Reading his orders, you could practically hear his teeth grind. Old buzzard can't take not being in charge. Bet the other Deathknights hate him too." The green haired tech hums to himself, thinking back briefly before shaking his head. "That said, Nova didn't seem to care about his orders messing up their stuff. But every time they threw in a new weapons system or a reworking of the plating, Seven'd flip his lid because it mucked with muscle fiber distribution, weight estimates, calcification an' all that. Couldn't tell if it was deliberate or if the cheery rabbit bint just didn't get how much they were driving him mad."

[Sticks]

Dancer is quick to rise and dart over to the tower. If there's an interrogation going on she needs to be present. She arrives just in time to hear the majority of the Necrotech's frankly absurd wealth of information. Already she's thinking how to play this 'Nova' and The Physician against each other, how eliminating either one would severely limit the Mask's capabilities, but something distracts her.

"You're telling us all this freely, so you assume we'll never be able to make use of this information. Why? Our victory here has been complete and we're hours away from the Mask's forces being in a position to retaliate, by which time we'll be long-gone. So why are you so sure you're not compromising yourself completely by cooperating with us?"