[WFRP2e] The Power of One - Part 2 - "Transire Benefaciendo"

[MrAbdiel]

...But then loses the chance. Bella's arrow slams into the side of his head - now exposed because of your de-helmeting - and lodges in the skull. With a hiss, the skaven flops to the shingles infront of you... incredibly, still breathing, despite the arrow piercing its skull. Its chest heaves with uneven breath; sleeping as you stand over it with your blade. A peaceful respite before death - more than it deserves, by far.

Spoiler: OOC:

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the Skaven is knocked out for (1d10)[5] minutes.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


The rat struck out again, but it was clearly on the backfoot as the taller human kept baring down upon him, her light and beautiful sword stabbing and slashing as she used her size advantage to constantly advance and put him on the back foot.

A slash - Ting! barely glancing off its shield. A stab - the ratman only just hauled himself out of the way in time to catch an arrow that impacted against his head. Though not penetrating, the concussive force of the connection against his helmet sent a reverberation through the skavens brain, as the black-furred stormvermin looked about dumbly for a second before collapsing over onto its side, barely breathing.

Wasting no time, Taalia darted to its side, her own shield discarded as she grabbed the Skavens helmet with one hand, the chin-strap allowing her to control the position of the things disgusting head. Exposing that neck, she brought Daybreak up and over in a glittering arc as Squealch! a fountain of black-red blood geysered out of that stump, leaving the Shepardess standing there, her chest heaving up and down, her eyes transfixed on that corpse, severed ratman head still in its helmet gripped in her left hand, bloodied blade in the other.

And she just stood there, staring. Staring. A childhood taken, twisted and left behind, a glazed fire across her eyes, as if the flames were only visible through meters of glass. There, but distant.

[MrAbdiel]

The smell.

It’s the smell that drags it all back. That ratty smell; urine and musk and blood and filth. Burning magnesium will always take you back to the Flicker-Tide festival. Fine, perfect pastry will take you to hot bath in the Pigly. Troll sh*t will take you to the shrine of Verena Triumphant.

And this smell will always take you back to a cramped cage, crammed with human misery in the darkness in the forgotten bowels of the world.

“Taalia? Taalia, are you alright? Did it get you at all?”

Bella draws you out of the awful reverie. She checks your wounds; you check hers; you check Cestie together. Flesh wounds; some messier than others… but no one critical.

“What a mess.”

The speaker has snuck up on you; leaning against the chimney and watching as you and Bella pry the leather leggings off the backside of the brute hanging halfway out of the ceiling. Middle aged, black haired; finely tended moustache… weapon less, except for a small knife on one hip.

“I’ll guess it’s your lot that lit up that old smoke, not these swamp skimmers or the skaveni. Haven’t used those in years, since the other gangs got wise. What’s this, then?”

Maso, bandaged and wincing but still upright, eyes the arrival over. ”It was me. Want to speak to whoever runs things here - wanna straighten some things out that happened last night before it gets out of hand. I’m old bones; I got rights.”

The newcomer puts it together. His eyes widen at you.

“Oh, hell. Maso Cestie - and the Amazon of Montaglio street. Yeah, okay. Should have expected this. Do I have to worry about you?”

He asks you this, remarkably plainly - this plain, innocuous Weever scout. He seems to be asking if you plan to do violence to his gang - if this is a ruse. Oddly, despite the fact that only a fool would plan something like that and tell about it, he seems to fancy he can tell the truth either way from your answer.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


Taalia stared at an unusually long time at that corpse, her chest moving up and down in deep, drawn out breaths, those eyes focused and glazed over, the thousand yard stare signifying the girls mind was traveling back to places that no longer were. The smell, the stench, the vile, repugnant bilge this species brought into the world. One crazy outcast rat wasn't the end of the Skaven, but as just a token, some little piece of her life claimed back, it was enough. Drawing the head up and staring at it, an empty, borderline sociopathic look in the humans eyes as she considered that furred, disgusting face, Taalia didn't have any desire to toss it away. She'd seen these things mounted as markers along the waterways of the city - she knew that that was where this thing would go. A piece of her life reclaimed, and a warning to others: that was the ultimate purpose of this Skavens life.

It took an oddly long few moments for Bella to shake Taalia out of her trance-like state, but when she did, the Shepardess cleaned her sword off and tended first to Cestie, then to everything else. She saw to her own wounds, but they, thankfully were just purple bruises that would pass in a week or so. Bella, meanwhile, needed a bandage. But when the other voice emerged, Taalia whipped around in an instant, Schlink! her blade in hand.

It was one of the thieves.

Resisting her initial urge to just strike him down, Taalia stared with oddly cool eyes; surrounded by corpses as she was. Listening to Maso and him exchange words, Taalia just nodded, slowly drawing her sword back and sheathing it in her scabbard.

At his inquiry, Taalia just looked at him for a couple of seconds and then shook her head.

[MrAbdiel]

The thief looks you over a little longer. He gives Bella a cursory glance, but he has the measure of her quickly enough. It's you he dwells on for twenty of so seconds. You see his eyes dart to your sheathed sword, noting its superior quality; the decapitated skaven, the slain goons he calls 'swamp skimmers'. Finally back to your eyes, where he lofts his own eyebrows slightly. It's the kind of look you can read - it says something like 'I see that you're a killer. Just don't make a song and dance about it, and this will all go fine.'

When Cestié presses for his hame, he the man identifies himself, truly or falsely, as 'Tico'. That's the last question he asks as you follow Tico across a couple more rooftops. Maso's mind is on the interaction to come - meeting his grandson for the first time, trying to find a way to extricate him from this gang and smooth the insult of their attack on the Cestié business and the loss of life they endured in the effort. Bella is not so consumed. She has fought for her life, has a new scar for the trouble, and wouldn't mind some answers, if she can get them.

"Who were those men - that gang that attacked us? Not Weevers? I understood your people ran this whole district," the country seamstress probes.

"Well, you have heard an exaggeration. The Weevers exert considerable control over the subsidence here, but no one 'runs' it. It's not a conflict with territories that can be conventionally held like that. But we're strongest of the other options, here - the swamp skimmers only wish they could run us off."

"Why don't the town guards run you off?" Another valid question from Bella. Tico seems to be taking it as flattering that the young woman is so interested in asking.

"Because there's an understanding based on an undesirable job we do, signorina. We do out job, they give us a lot of slack."

"And what job is that?"

"We keep the swamp skimmers at bay. They're not native to the city - they have families and clans out in the surrounding swamp beyond where they can be taxed. They send raiding parties like this through tunnels and cracks to try their luck looking for good scav. Scavenge, I mean."

"Why doesn't the city run them off, then? Post guard towers and such, and then run you off?"

Tico offers a hollow smile. "The skimmers have their job, too."

Bella doesn't ask more, as she gives up at the ominous trailing off of information'; but it's clear to you, anyway. There is an ecosystem at play. The Eastern District, sunken as it is, is a defensive liability for Miagliano. The city tolerates the gang's sorties into the city proper to an extend because having them quartered in the Eastern District keeps out the less desirable swamp skimmers. And keeping the swamp skimmers outside keeps them mostly out in the swamp - a buffer between the city, and the innumerable skaven beyond. Better the hostile and insular swamp dwellers attract that portion of the rat's predations, leaving Miragliano to hunt a reduced remnant squeezing in despite all obstacles. The question Bella might have asked after, 'why not drive the skaven out of the swamp', barely requires consideration. It cannot be done - you imagine only briefly an armor of ten thousand proud Tilean mercenaries marching knee deep in diseased swamp water, hearing above the crickets and cicadas the spooling engines of some of the devices you were required to help create in Rashabang's workshop. It is hard to imagine human armies prevailing in such conditions against such hordes.

...But then again, the largest battle you've witnessed was the one you participated in, against the pirates. You don't actually... know anything about skaven warfare on the surface; with the exception of the legend of the battle described in the shrine you restored, and the 'Spear of Verena' destroying an army of the rat men at that ancient time. Beyond such fanciful miracles, it defies the imagination. What would humans do? March blind into the tunnels where the rats live, going warren to warren fighting them in conditions that the rats were born to? The bleak reality that these rats are a kind of foe that cannot be meaningfully 'hurt' hangs over you. But the black furred head handing from your belt is a small balm - you can hurt them individually, at least. That, you can do.

A little more traversal later, and you stand in what might have previously been some petty noble's dining room. It reminds you of the Trantio house with its decrepit condition, except the floor is tilted at a fifteen degree angle and the back wall is a gutter of smashed furniture and refuse. Small chocks of wood are nailed into the slanted floor at intervals, giving your friends and these strangers places to stand that feel a little more secure than the slope itself. Tico has brought you here to meet with his superiors, and your trio stands before them in the tilted room. You, Cestié and Bella stand at the bottom of the slanted floor above the mess of broken furniture a few feet behind you. Twenty feet up the slope, ten of the Weevers gaze down at you. Three of them are older, like Tico; better armed, built with wiry muscle toned from climbing, swimming, running and fighting. The other seven are various flavours of young goon like those you clashed withoutside the shop. It all happened quite fast, but you don't recognize any of the faces here from that night - perhaps it is wise for them to have done so, if they are serious about hearing you out.

"Maso Cestié." The surprisingly deep voice from the elder thief in the middle of the assembly, lanky, and slightly taller than you - though rendered slightly shorter by a curve in his back from, you guess, a lot of hunkering and crawling - a fate you were avoided by spending so much of your growthspurt under Rashabang's high-ceilings. "Old bones, eh? Well. You left on good terms, so the notches say; and I've a man who's papa says he knew you. Said you were good work. Call me Ralphio."

"Grifone?" Maso guesses. The man nods. "S'right. That's the other old bones - good to have friends, innit? So have it your way - you've chevios in the bank enough to buy a meeting like this, as long as you can keep your girl from bugging out and shooting someone. Doubt we need to go into how that will end. Right now, here's what I want. You, signorina - time to speak up." He gestures loosely at you. "Give me your name; where you're from; business in Miragliano... and what happened, last night. The way I heard it, you made it known you would tolerate no trespass and the weavers turned to walk away - and you thought it fair sport to shoot a man in the back. So paint me a different picture. And it ought to be... Phenomenally Good."

Spoiler: OOC:

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Ralphio in this scenario is played by the sonorous Ralph Ineson.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia followed along with a cautious attitude. She did not trust the thieves as far as she could throw them, but if Cestie was vouching for their...'reliability', such as it was, then that was good enough for her. For now.

Besides, one didn't go to the trouble of hauling a severed head of a Stormvermin across the roof-tops without being a teeny little bit unhinged, Taalia mused to herself silently.

When they entered into the dilapidated throne room, a rusting and decaying ornament that was almost symbolic for the pretentions of the head thieves who took court there, Taalia made sure to not the exits and number of opponents in the room. That skaven head hanging from her left-handed grip wasn't the only call-back to times gone by, as the girls instincts were still very much active in the back of her mind: this was a place of danger, measure the threat and figure out means of escape. That she had a reputation for violence here would be both beneficial and useful, that much was certain. Few hurled themselves into 6:1 odds and prevailed.

This Raphio, character, was another one entirely. He was one of only four men she had so far met that was either her height or taller, but his potential had been humbled by the environment of his upbringing. But that same development that had stunted him in one way, had sharpened him in others, as he looked at her with an almost amused look in his eye as he played the king of the court of thieves, and demanded that she reveal, identify and explain herself. That he was using a phrase she herself used meant that he had already been consulted by what had been the leader of the group, so Taalia reckoned that he had already made up 90% of his mind already, and now their fates depending on either making an example or saving face.

Taalia did not immediately answer. Once again, instincts long buried from her slave days were coaching her, reminding her of what happened to those in the slave pits who showed weakness to either their fellow slaves, or the Skaven: they didn't last long.

Allowing a few moments to pass, speaking on her own time, Taalia finally spoke with her smoky, sonorous voice.

"My name is Taalia Giovanni, and I have no home. It was taken from me by Norscans and Ratmen...I am here accompanying Singore Cestie on our way to Altdorf."

"You'd like a different picture, Singore?" she asked.

"Six men come to your home in the dead of night, armed with knives and swords, carrying bags with which to carry off everything you own - your livelyhood. You're lucky to stop them at the door, who knows what they would do to you, your wife and your children, should they catch you all alseep. They, as you say, turn to walk away - but with mocking laughter. You know they'll be back. So..."

Taalia trailed off, staring at Ralphio.

"Do you know what a 'deterant' is? It is putting in the mind of your foe, the fear to attack."

Taalia then held up the decapitated Skaven head in her left handed grip, the black-and-blood-splattered fur around the base, those yellowed, bloodshot eyes wide open and its tongue hanging out of the side of its rotten-fanged muzzle, all in one disgusting package.

"The same reason we mount these ****ing things where the ratmen can see them."

[MrAbdiel]

"Deterrance?"

The lanky Ralphio repeats. If there was amusement in his tone before, it's all gone now.

"Do you think it worked? Are you here because you wanted to see how deterred I look? If you feared reprisal from those admittedly armed folks who showed up at the door on Montaglio street, you thought they weren't deterred enough when walking away trying to save face for their incompetently loud burglary, that shooting and stabbing at them was going to make them so afraid of you that I wouldn't have to spend the next twelve hours restraining the survivors from showing up and throwing fire bombs through the bloody windows? Rats get deterred because they're cowards, Taalia Giovanni; and even then not for long. Tileans don't get deterred; they get delayed. They retreat like they have to and come back with a knife in their teeth."

He exhales. A little of the humor crawls back into his demeanor, and he looks at Cestié with an exasperated lift of his eyebrows.

"These young ones. All piss and vinegar. Signorina Giovanni, if I had my men chase you out of here and in the process Maso or your young friend - what's your name, Signorina?"

"Bella-"

"If Bella got killed in that process, would you feel deterred? Or would you not instead steel yourself, gather all your pride and violence, and decide, like the corn says to the stomach... 'I will not be deterred'?"

He lets the rhetorical question hang in the air for a moment, before speaking up again.

"Not to say the whole thing wasn't a c*ck-up. It shouldn't have happened. No one should have even been there. Augusto's friends, trying to solve a problem a stupid way. Godsdamned swamp skimmers; and stupid kids making it worse."

However little he thinks of your rationale, Ralphio seems to appreciate your passion; and does not, in fact, seem particularly keen to issue reprisal executions for the killing of the thief. He paints you a picture that illuminates the corners of what went wrong that night.

Augusto Cestié was captured in a skirmish with swamp skimmers. The Weevers thought him dead until they received a barely legible ransom note demanding a truly stupefying amount of gold that proved the writers, even if literate, were not particularly numerate. At this point, two things happened. Firstly, Ralphio reached out with his contacts to find someone capable of leading a small group to recover Augusto - someone with, as he calls it, 'the night eyes'. And Augusto's callow young friends took it on themselves to try to make some big scores quickly to raise money - not to pay the ransom, but to hire some mercenaries from in the city to go out and get Augusto and bring him back, killing of the skimmers that got in their way. The young thieves' plan was to start by burglarizing Augusto's family store, since the key to it was still among his possessions they had in their stash. After that, a number of additional ambitious robberies would have happened - but you send them home after failing at the first hurdle, and with one less young fool to make their efforts.

"Damn children. The Tungusco clan of swamp skimmers base on the west side of river delta; right up against the deep swamp. You won't find mercenaries willing to risk it; the skimmers will more than likely outmaneuver them. Any rescue effort is happening tonight, under cover of dark so their scouts can't see it; by first light of morning, the ransom expires and it'll be too late. But none of the bloody rat catchers want to lead a party through the dark - too much chance of encountering the skaveni in their own domain, they say."

The story is about the most distressing one that could have been offered, for Maso. His grandson is out in the west swamps at the mercy of strangers... strangers accustomed to living next to an impenetrable deep swamp full of skaven.

"Then I'll go after him. Tell me where the Tungusco clan is." He offers with little hestiation.

Ralphio is reticent. "Like hell you will, old bones. I'll bet if I pull down your collar I'll see a fishbone tattoo. If you get caught, there's no denying who sent you. And at your age, I doubt you have the night eyes to navigate a swamp in the dark night without breaking your neck."

Spoiler: OOC:

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There you go. Set you up for a nice dramatic pronouncement, if you want it. Alley-oop!

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

When Ralphio began his rebuttle, Taalia narrowed her heterochromia eyes. Glaring as she was, she went to speak, her mouth just opening before Cestie's elder hand gently moved over and lay prohibitively on her shoulder, a sign from him to her that he really, really wanted her to be quiet right now and not let that decisive, but impulsive temper of hers get them into further trouble. At this silent request, Taalia swivelled her eyes to view him, closed her lips and stepped back.

She then remained quiet, a coldness entering her eyes as she peered at the thieves leader.

He didn't think deterants worked? Well how about she moved up there and stabbed him through his che -

"Then I'll go after him. Tell me where the Tungusco clan is."

Taalia blinked as Maso spoke, turning her head to look at him. Her borderline sociopathic dead-stare vanished in an instant, replaced only with her more usual warmth and concerned affection as she shook her head once and put her hand around the elder Cestie's shoulders. She leaned in closely, all her cold fury and defiance gone as she looked and acted exactly like girls her age when faced with potential calamity.

"Cestie, no!" she implored, whispering gently.

"Without you, this gang will forever pester your relatives, and Bella will be trapped here at their mercy. I know you love your grandson, but too many others rely on you!" she beckoned, her voice strained, face alive with worry as she was half-way to hugging the elder that had guided her for years.

"I will do it. You and Bella stay here. She needs you, your family needs you: you're the only thing keeping this gang of crooks from them!" she continued, now fully hugging the elder tightly, her demeanor having completely shifted in the space of half a minute.

"You need someone with night eyes? I'll go," Taalia stated, turning away from Cestie and facing the king of thieves, that cold visage back across her face, her blue-and-green eyes drained of their usual warmth.

Could this just be a charade to lure Taalia out with a group of Weavers, on her own, for them to exact some type of revenge? Possibly. But Taalia didn't see any other way out.

[MrAbdiel]

Cestie is appalled at the notion you would lead an expedition to find and free Augusto in his stead.

He is also an old man, cut up from the fight with a fair bit of blood loss.

He hugs you back. The strong old digits of his hands dig almost bruising it into your back with the tightness of the embrace.

“Only if you’re going to come back. Only if you come back. We’re going to Nuln…”

He sounds as old as you have ever heard him, in that moment. Ralphio gives you a moment, then remarks, impressed:

“If you think you’ve got the night eyes for it, signorina; if you’re sure. I can’t send any experienced men with you - they’re all marked Weevers and I don’t want to start an enduring clan war if this goes sideways. But I’ll send four with you - young punks who haven’t earned their marks yet who have a misdeed to atone for. They’ll do what they’re told - and they know how to get to the right place to start looking. Get Bella and Maso here back to safety and meet up outside the South Gate half past midnight. I expect Augusto’s papa can tell you how to recognise the boy.”

Ralphio’s men start clearing out at that point, climbing up through a hole in the roof. As a parting word, he points at Cestie.

”Change those bandages when you get back to dry ground, old bones. This swamp takes the unwary.”

Spoiler

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The die is cast. Anything Taalia wants to do or get to prepare for her nocturnal mission?

[MrAbdiel]

So that is that. The return trip is quieter. Bella watches over Cestié, who is practically vibrating with stress - the grandson he has never met in danger, the granddaughter he miraculously found himself acquiring toward the end of his life by the strangest means heading into that danger also.

You don't fail to swing by the stormvermin's fragrant retreat, on your way back. You go in cautious, blunderbuss loaded and held high above the water, but aside from an eminently offensive smell, the awful hollow that was once someone's bedroom is safe for you to enter. There is a nest of rags backed into one corner; a scattering of broken glass just as it rises out of the water designed for a blinder intruder to cut feet or atleast make a sound entering; and past that, a heap of refuse, broken wooden slats, and yes, a few items worth your time.

Spoiler: OOC: An Assortment Of Loot

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You find:

• A two-handed military hammer engraved with a motif of hammers and anvils. It has an oilskin sling-strap.

• A wooden staff around which has been tied a string of wolf's teeth.

• A pair of embroidered leather shoes with a small tag bearing the seal of the town of Pfeildorf, home of the best tailors in the Empire. They are dirty, but still in good condition.

• A rain-stained sheet of parchment inscribed with the name and address of a tavern, Signore Pepito's, in the town of Rialto Mio.

• A grimy human skull with the name 'Magnus' inscribed into the forehead.

• A waxed rawhide case of butcher's knives and sharpening files.

• A tiny ivory statue of Shallya.

• A pewter ring etched with an oath of allegiance to the Empire.

• A leather case containing a musket-cleaning kit with muzzle rods, wire brushes, oils, chamois, fuses, flints and spare parts.

• An iron hand-torch with a fistful of charcoal in the cage.

• 23 shillings stuck to the bottom of a filthy rawhide pouch. (Imperial shillings specifically, printed with a wreathed skull on one side a a scythe clutching skeletal rendition of what must be Morr on the other, beside the letters "A L T D O R F".)

• A few sheets of water-warped parchment.

• A deer-hide pouch branded with the image of Sigmar.

• A leather flask of whale oil.

• A Best Quality Fishing Net. It has neatly smoothed lead weights on a large well constructed net and a stained but strong line that cinches in the drawstring. There is a small carved wooden handle at the end of the casting line engraved with the words "Timely Blessings Come From Strange Places. Thank you."

You may take or leave as much of that as you prefer.

[MrAbdiel]

* * * * *

"Naphty raphs, 'teal me net!"

Olio is excited as he says it this time, pointing with his good arm at the rat head hanging in the coif on your belt. He shuffles closer a couple of steps and jabs out with a fingertip like he's going to poke it vengefully; but he shies back at the last moment.

"Naphty raphs..."

You change his bandages for him now that the bleeding has stopped, and return the net. He is so pleased to have it back he spends a long minute running his hands over it and smiling the odd smile his facial deformity permits.

"Got me net..."

He shows it to the cats, who seem generally uninterested; but they will likely be interested in the fish it will produce later. As a reward, he brings you back the only treasure he has to share - a sleepy, white furred kitten with orange ears and tail. It makes one combative little pawing at the air infront of you before sagging slothfully in the mutant's gentle grip.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia felt a warm glow within her as she presented the fishing net to the mutant, his oddly innocent and gentle nature endearing her to his person. Normally...she didn't like mutants, as odd as that may sound. The fear that they would spread their "condition" to those who came within contact or proximity to them was a terrifying ward that would keep many, including Taalia, away from them. Yet Olio had an oddly sweet and simple nature, his oddly benign nature setting her at ease and softening her demeanor to him.

When he looked as excited as he could be at having his net returned, Taalia couldn't help but smile. She'd done a selfless deed for one of the downtrodden in the world, and it felt nice. But when she was...'rewarded', her heterochromia eyes were open as she was gifted the Meow!ing kitten, as another pet was granted into her care. The towering girl held the kitten up in one hand, inspecting and peering at the cute little thing with a mix of fascination and curiosity, before her smile indicated to Olio that she would do the best she could to give it as best a life a feline could hope for in this world.

"Milo!" she announced the kitty's name.

oOo

At the designated point, Taalia waited, eyes cold yet alert, armored and armed to the teeth as she was. She leaned back against the wall with her right foot flat against it, her mind wandering to the task ahead.

Venturing out into hostile territory and surrounded by 'companions' of questionable loyalty...it wasn't exactly her idea of a sound plan, nor a wise course of actions. But how else would it go? Cestie believed them in the insistence that his grand-son is being held by those bandit thugs, and it's not like anyone else in their group could be relied upon to try and get him back.

Taalia exhaled as she chewed softly on a toothpick and waited.

Time would tell.

[MrAbdiel]

As you might have suspected, the evening's events require you to have an appreciation for irony.

Bella is surly at being left behind to mind Cestié and Milo, but she knows you don't back down and doesn't strongly challenge your demand. You leave them at Grifone's house north east of town - getting the guards to let you out of the gate at night time is a losing proposition.

Later, when you meet the young Weevers who haven't been marked with their gang sign, they are indeed the same you encountered the night before. Four of them - minus the one you killed, and the one you stabbed who must have ironically gained the night off to recover.

They are all younger than you - teenagers all.

Cesare is their nominal leader - or atleast, the one who speaks to you most. Like all of them, he is skinning and long limbed, though an aquiline nose gives him an air of physiognomic authority that he tries to live into. The other two boys, who look like twins but tell you they are not, are Gianni and Rafaello. The girl is Elda; and she hates you. She hates you, based on her eyes, almost as much as you hate skaven.

"Here. Put this on." Cesare hands you a tabard; dark grey linen with a sewn on patch in the shape of a rat skull. "Old mercenary outfit; the Ratspikers. Gone now. But if we get in a fight with the skimmers and run, or they find one of us, they won't think much past it. Not that we plan to get caught. We've a long walk. We have to circle around to our hidden barge and cross the oak waters. So if you have any choice words - about how we shouldn't have messed with you, or you plan to kill us after we've saved Augusto, you might as well. We've got the time for it."

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


Taalia couldn't fully give Bella the attention she not only deserved, but needed right now. In honesty, the raven-curly-haired Tilean girl was the closest Taalia had to anyone in the world. Gaulfredo and Arianna were her adoptive parents with whom she had shared many personal issues and situations, but Bella was the one into which Taalia had trust the most private thoughts. Thus, the shepardess knew her very well; she knew how she thought, what she thought and could predict both of such when confronted by new stimuli to a relatively certain degree. And in that estimation was what Taalia thought taking a life would have on the girl. It was in self-defence, heat of the moment and had been completely justifiable...but even still, Taalia knew such a thing did not easily depart the mind of decent people, and Bella was more than such. The shepardess very much wanted to just cook some gnocci with her, sing some of their favourite songs and enjoy a bottle of wine while she coaxed out of her bestie her inner-most thoughts to help sooth them, so that she did not...become a little funny.

However, when the gang arrived, Taalia pursed an eyebrow. Normally it was she who felt like the kid among a group, as she wasn't even out of her teenage years. Yet here was this canting cotorie, each 3 or so years younger than she was, thus making Taalia "the adult". Even when she was back on her own farm, the girl had never felt like 'the adult' in a situation, despite ordering about her trouble maker boys. But this was different. These were the kids the gang was entrusting the safe return of Cestie's grandson? It spoke to their belief in the likelihood of their chances.

"Here. Put this on. Old mercenary outfit; the Ratspikers. Gone now. But if we get in a fight with the skimmers and run, or they find one of us, they won't think much past it. Not that we plan to get caught. We've a long walk. We have to circle around to our hidden barge and cross the oak waters. So if you have any choice words - about how we shouldn't have messed with you, or you plan to kill us after we've saved Augusto, you might as well. We've got the time for it."

Taalia received the tabard and considered it. The image was...it wasn't her style, really. Though given the purpose of the unit - ratcatchers apparently - it was suitable. Still, Taalia visibly pondered it before drawing it up to sleek down over her head and shoulders.

Meanwhile, the boys seemed iffy on her presence, while the girl, Elda as she was called, carried utter hatred in her eyes - and made no attempt to hide it. To this visible contempt, Taalia returned the stare, only hers was more apathetic and cold.

"Nothing will unring that bell," Taalia stated quietly, her words almost specifically for Elda as much as they were the group at large.

"We retrieve Augusto and we do so without more scars to our skin, and I'll be happy. You can find some other pursuit in life, and I recommend you do. But I have nothing to gain from inflicting any harm on any of you."

[MrAbdiel]

Of your four 'companions', only Cesare has much to say to you. He seems not to have taken the altercation outside the Cestiés' shop personally, at least. Or perhaps he recognizes how dangerous this mission is, and how foolish it would be to alienate you, since your sight will be responsible for their safety in the dark evening in which only a narrow crescent of the white moon lights up a cloudy sky. You have to circle the city and do so from far enough out that the torches on the walls to not highlight your suspicious group skulking about; that would invite reprisals from the city, which would be less than ideal. It's overland hustle over lumpy ground, and following in your steps the thieves behind you don't break their ankles. Eventually, you come to what the locals call the Oak Waters - strictly the delta of the river Trino. But not quite a river in essense, but a river-wide brackish swamp delta that joins the city's moat and canals to the waters of the Blighted Swamp on the other side. A single, huge, dead oak tree towers over a barge station where a guild of boatmen make honest money carrying men and goods back and forth from the banks, weaving through heaping islands of mud and muck that vary based on the tide. But this is the honest part, and that is done only within daylike hours. Your destination is upstream; a smaller, less impressive and much more innocuous jerry with two modest rafts and their operators keeping each other company by a small fire in the evening cool. Your companions seem to know them; some silver changes hands, and you load on to one of the rafts with a dim lantern leading the way, to be poled across to the other side.

From the other side, you strike out west. The land raises up somewhat, enough to support a road that leads to the closed and fortified northwest gate to Miragliano. This, you give a wide berth. Massive watchfires burn on its walls; and great polished steel mirrors swivel on mounted hinges behind those fires, casting great beams of light over the moonlit landscape. The contraption involved in directing the light where it needs to go looks somewhat technical, but is ingenious; you've never seen anything like it in the other cities of Tilea. Such is the marvel of Miragliano - on the edge of innovation, one the banks of hell. And toward hell you go, descending down the other side of that raised road slope and into marshier ground where the thieves in their dishonest tabards need your guidance the most.

Spoiler: OOC: It's rollin' time.

Show

Technically this is a new day; so you may have your FP back.

If you would like to put some effort into defusing the hostility some of the thieves feel toward you, give me a charm roll. +0%.

On top of that, I'd like a Visual perception test, at +0% difficulty also.

And then a Silent Move test. If you pass the perception test above, it's +20%. Otherwise, it's +0%.

Finally, just for kicks, a +0% hearing perception test.

[MrAbdiel]

Ultimately, these are scared kids who are trying to be tough in a tough world. This is something you understand; and you defrost their displeasure with you over the journey with small words, honest answers, and sincere questions. Cesare, Gianni and Rafaello seem reasonably warmed to you by the time you cross the Oak Waters. Nothing will move Elda, probably; but without anyone willing to entertain her spiteful grief, she is forced to contain it.

Your night-eyes help the group avoid a number of hazards; deep pools, snarling roots and as you enter swamp skimmer territory, a few rope-based snare traps. There is enough moon and starlight your companions can follow you, but they certainly would have run afoul of these things without you. Eventually, you come to dry lump of earth where the first of a number of braziers you can see in the distance burns nose-stinging oil smoke. A pair of genuinely filthy humans are there, talking to each other by the warmth of it. They are clad in stitched rags and woven reeds, with matted hair and clumsy Tilean.

"It comin' uppa, say sure, ye."
"Ye, it comin' uppa. Poor lil' fish don hanged out been; not see much ransom, ye."
"Not see, nay; moon too high, figure. Go'n now an tella that boy what is be, let him make him peace with Morr, least can-do, ye."
"Ye. Least Garnon be pleased."
"Ye."

You and your companions are close enough for your excellent ears to overhear this conversation, before the younger of the pair of skimmers peels away and wanders off from the other who remains by the brazier. You almost slip away without alerting the lone sentry remaining - but the mud beneath your heel makes an unfortunate sucking pop that causes him to look over his shoulder in surprise, and pick our your dark shapes. He is too stunned to gasp.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

You're a move action away from this guy, but you can act while he's surprised.
If your initiative beats a (1d10+2)[9], you can act again after that first move and (probably) attack, before he can respond at all.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia moved through the swamp with the others, gradually forming a symbiotic relationship with them. It felt odd to be the 'oldest' in a group, as she herself was used to being the kid, the youth, the juve, the one who looked to the elders for support and assistance. But now, she wasn't even 20 years old yet these kids were looking to her to, if not guide them, at least point out the pitfalls so that they could navigate them on their way to the Weavers hide-out.

On her way, Taalia had offered a few words here, some chit-chat there. They weren't grizzled veterans set in their ways. A benefit and pitfall of their youth was impressionability, and so far their initial dislike of her seemed to be wearing off. Taalia had employed those trouble maker boys for two years, she knew how young men behaved, acted and thought; she was able to tailor her words and draw up conversations and lines of dialogue that dissolved their spite and got them snickering or laughing gently.

Obviously, such a tactic didn't work on Elda, even with her emotionally reinforced hatred for the towering, white-haired outsider.

But when they approached that camp, Taalia did her best to stay hidden - but alas, t'was not to be. Her night time sight picked out traps and snares, sparing and preserving their lives, had carried them to this moment, but at the last second the sentry became aware of their presence.

Her sword already in hand, Taalia wasted no time in charging, knowing at least the most nearby of her companions would likely do the same, hoping to stab and dragging the sentry down into the muck with her other hand over his mouth to muffle and scream and hide their presence....

[MrAbdiel]

Stunned at your sudden arrival, the lookout gives a grunt of shock as you rush him. He raises his arm to defend himself, but your blade punches through his forearm, into his chest and heart; and as the light flees his eyes you drag him back a few steps into the reedy slush of the marsh. The young Weevers are going for their weapons, preparing for the situation to 'go loud'; but when your swift efforts, they sheathe their knives and their esteem for you grows.

Cesare even vocalizes it. "Good. That chainmail makes you clumsier, but at least you can back up the difference. Let's follow the other one."

Shadowing the swamp-skimmer, you trek away from the firelights; south along the swamp's rim, but further from the land of the particular swamp-dwelling clan you have come to seek. It seems where they have elected to keep Augusto is not within their camp proper - perhaps wise, to prevent a direct rescue. Your night-eyes are important here, and with them you avoid having to follow so close you are heard and falling into hazards on the way. Eventually the skimmer leads you to a sort of elevated cave; it is above the level of the swamp by a few inches, so the mud tapers off to the stone cavemouth that leads into the inside of a rocky hillock.

The skimmer takes and lights a lantern as he goes inside; and you can see just inside the cavemouth the scene it illuminates: a young man bound with ropes to a natural pillar of stone, slouching and battered, as the skimmer approaches with an indiscernible conversational jabber. The swamp skimmer hasn't produced a weapon yet; pausing to do perhaps exactly what he was asked to do: give the captive a chance to make peace with his gods.

"There he is," Cesare confirms. "That's Augusto. They've worked him over badly. I thought he'd be closer to the skimmer camp, but I guess that's the point. If we can get him out, we can dash east back towards the towers on the wall. They'll fire on skimmers, but not tabarded men. With the morning light oncoming, we'll be in the clear."

But west of you, deeper within the swamp toward the skimmer camp, the is a slow swelling clamour and shout. Perhaps they have found the dead man - but striking before dawn is not soley the province of stealthy bands like yours. Perhaps the clans fight among themselves, for your benefit. But your instincts tell you that, by the knife in the belt of the skimmer you followed, or by whatever is happening back in the camp, your window for action is narrowing.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

Time for action. You can:

1. Take your time and sneak up. This requires no roll, but will cost time, which may or may not mean something.
2. Hurry and sneak up. This requires a challenging Silent Move roll, but you will be able to attack the unaware man at the end if you succeed; or else he will be aware.
3. Hurry and charge. This requires no roll; but the man will hear you coming and have a chance to act briefly before you arrive. The thieves will fire their slings as you close; they may even take him out, but it's not at all as promising as a melee attack on an unaware opponent.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


It was a nasty little job, but it had to be done. She just needed to remind herself: these weren't some doe-eyed innocents out for a walk. These were extortionist, murderous gangsters that had kidnapped the equivilent to her adoptive grand-fathers grand-son...almost her brother! Well not quite, obviously, but that familial tree was compelling, even if it did rest upon pure sentimentality and gratitude.

Her gloved hand over the mans mouth, she dragged him back into the thickets where she dumped his body behind a tree and continued with her compatriots. Here is where her night-eyes really helped, as she was able to be up front and lead them through the reedy swamp-land just outside the illuminated periphery of the sentinels emplaced torches. Following the perimeter of the camp for a little longer, their movement taking them up to a cave, the group descended inside and came to witness the object of their task: Augusto Cestie, tied up, exhausted and clearly beaten. Taalia pursed her lips, hoping she could bring some good news to Maso Cestie later on, before she started pondering how to make that good news happen.

Then the shouting came from the camp.

Had they found the body? Or were they just getting drunk and enjoying themselves? It was hard to tell, but it installed a sense of urgency within the girl as she considered the lone current barrier between herself and her rescue target: a single guard.

Exhaling, pursing her lips, she looked over her shoulders at her companions as she silently drew up her right hand and made a circular motion, then gestured as if letting go - a sling. She pointed to them, as she silently withdrew her sword, picked up a rock, turned back to the guard, aimed, and hurled it quietly over his head where it impacted upon the swampy-cave floor on the opposite side of their locaiton.

He looked. Her chance. She approached quietly, taking best advantage of the distraction to approach him from behind - Daybreak drawn back and shoved forth for a stabbing motion that caught him in the back of the head.

[MrAbdiel]

The swamp dweller hears the scuff of your boots, but too late. As he is turning, a hail of slingstones zip through the air, and he yelps and covers up with his right arm defensively. They are hard, painful blows on their own and he drops the knife he had half managed to draw; but then Daybreak spears out and punches through his palm and scores his chest behind. When you withdraw the blade from the strike, the torque of your wrist carves up the veins and ligaments in his palm and crimson core pumps from his hand in great splashes. He will die soon, certainly; but for now, he puts up no defense, instead falling to the ground and holding his arm to himself, groaning and grunting.

His pained, horrified face looks up at you looming over him, and he raises his uncarved hand slightly. It's a warding gesture, begging your mercy... but something else in it, too. He is not screaming out for help, however far his allies might be, as a man about to die usually might try. Indeed, he is cringing in his suffering holding himself back from such a naturally reaction.

This close, you can see Augusto. He seems groggy; dehydrated, battered. You see no resemblance particularly to Biagio... but then, there wouldn't be; and that family does not seem to place much of a premium on such things. Gagged, the young man's dark and puffy eyes watch you as you stand over his captor, with the power of life and death for both in your hands. Cesare and Elda are hustling up to join you, while the remaining lads watch from the lip of the cavemouth.

Like the thief from the night before, this swamp-dweller will bleed out shortly without intervention. Perhaps sooner than that, one of the thieves will likely end his life more directly.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

Mercy, or pragmatic justice? Which way, Wasteland girl?

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

It was easy to be ruthless in the heat of the moment. Someone steps to you trying to do you bodily harm and you respond in kind. Simple, quick, over. The shepardess was under no illusion that this sentry was some 'good' guy. Maybe he was, however doubtful, and his actions had been preserved from the usual shadowy cruelty of his gang of thugs, relegated to less violent courses of action. Maybe. Doubtful, but maybe. But as he lay dying there, the blood coughing up from his throat and splattering down one side of his face as he stared up at Taalia's towering image that loomed above him, something about that crimson-stained hand reaching out for her, at first warding against further action but then almost as if to anchor himself so that the specter of death could not seize his spirit and take him to whatever judgement awaited him in the afterlife.

She had heard that near-death-experiences could change people. And from what she could see - this was about as near-death as it got.

Pursing her lips, wanting to tend first to Augusto, Taalia tried to turn away but some unseen force stayed her and forced her confrontation with the bleeding and dying sentry at her feet. Tilting her head, clenching her lips together, the girl hissed in breath briefly before gesturing for the others to see to the prisoner they had come to rescue.

"Untie him!" she gestured to Augusto, as she knelt down next to the fallen sentry, slung her backpack around to access its contents and then go to work.

Once she was finished, the shepardess would peer at him for a long second.

"You got a second chance. Don't waste it with this lot," she gestured to the camp, before standing and seeing to Augusto and the crew.

[MrAbdiel]

The swamp skimmer is speechless as you take and bind his hand; Morr's tithe unsettled for a little longer as you contain the bleeding. There is a chance he will lose the hand later anyway; but perhaps not his life.

Cesare rushes to cut Augusto's ropes, and the boy almost collapses if not for his friend holding him up.

Elda is coming up on you with her dagger out. For a moment you think she's taking her moment to strike, but she is angling to finish off the skimmer until she sees what you are doing. She splutters.

"What are you - stop that, he's a bloody skimmer! Let him die!" She barks, with utter conviction.

The skimmer flinches at the shout, cringing again. He looks to you as the one with whom he thinks he can reason, and holds a finger to his lips. He is urging quiet. But it comes too late.

"Shut up, Elda - quit whining and help me with Augusto, he can barely stand. We'll need to brace him." Bitterly, she prepares a rejoinder, but does not find time to say it. Just as you are finishing the bandage on your injured enemy's hand, the smell crashes into your senses again. Not the swamp smell; the smell you remember vividly from the cave on the road south of Bella Collina, into which you forayed starving and rag-garbed seeking shelter, and finding only filth, and a monster.

"Bahz nuuuuu? Nu kaaaah?"

A massive, gravelly throat slurs the words with soporific weight; roused recently it seems from around the blind bend of the cave's deeper innards. You can hear it shuffling now, almost at the bend after which it will spot you and the others. The fact that the smell reached you before the sound is an indictment that this is just a foul of a beast as the one you fought before.

That one, you fought with a team of archers, and dogs, and loyal brave horsemen running distraction. Beside you now are five kids, one too wounded to walk on his own, and a battered and crippled swamp dweller. The cave corner is maybe thirty yards deep from you; and its denizen is about to emerge. Cesare and Elda, with Augusto loosely upright with an arm over each of their shoulders, look to you in horror for a miracle.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

No need to roll initiative.

You go. All the thieves and the skimmer goes. Then the troll goes. On his turn, the troll's about to round the corner.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


Taalia's back stiffened for a second as an all-too familiar scent reached her nostrils - an odiferous melange that had long burned into her brain and would remain within recollection until the day she died.

Troll.

The girls eyes widened, her mouth gaping open a little.

"Hide!" she hissed to the thieves, gesturing her hand to the thickets surrounding them. Remembering how she managed to evade the last one and rescue her ram, Hermes and a ewe from the beast, Taalia reached over and plucked one of the lit torches that lined the pathway to this apparent sacrificial area, turned and hurled it towards that cave entrance.

Wasting no time as her heart slammed against her rib-cage, the girl reached down and grabbed the injured Weaver by the collar and roughly dragged him towards the thicket, getting as far and deep into those as she could until she could tell the troll had emerged. She knew the things weakness: they were beyond stupid. That fire should catch its attention for long enough to allow the group to disappear into the thicket where they had the best chance to lose it behind them.

[MrAbdiel]

You almost drag your spared swamp-skimmer as you and the thieves, themselves not happy to have that prisoner with them but more focused on the desperate imperative you gave them. You see it as it emerges - as huge and ugly as the one you killed, though with some variation; smaller ears on this one; and the nose is not a bulbous knob but a flat, batlike snout on the front of its head with not one but four great flaring nostrils. You see it over your shoulder as you and the others hide. It does not see you - because, as you had hoped, its attention is first on the torch spluttering away at the entrance to its cave. It puzzles over it for a long second before looking up - to the reeds where you and your companions hide; then down to the bloodsplash where you bound the man's hand; then the pillar which, it seems to recognize, is normally associated with its interests. It gives the stone, and the cut ropes on the ground with it, a generous series of sniffs; even eating a handful of the severed cords.

The troll you saw before was not fixated on smell. Perhaps, being a 'river troll', it was adapted to lying in wait in water, where smell is less relevant. But this 'swamp troll' seems much more olfactorilly concerned...

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

Between your previous troll encounter, and having successfully distracted it to establish a bit of distance and hide, I'm going to say that you don't need to make a fear check. Neither does the skimmer, who knew this danger already; he's afraid, bit not paralyzed by it. He would be very happy to get away. And Augusto is barely concious, so it's much of a muchness to him.

But the thieves not so much...

Vs31EldaFear - (1d100)[81]
Vs37CesareFear - (1d100)[13]
Vs31GianniFear - (1d100)[12]
Vs31RafaelloFear - (1d100)[38]

Narrative pending.

Cesare's eyes widen, but his hand instictively goes to his sling, and he loads a lead sling bullet into it quietly. Gianni, one of the not-twins, sees the example and compies it. But Rafaello is locked in an eyes wide paroxysm of alarm; and Elda almost screams at the sight of the troll and all its presence implies, managing at the last moment to still her vocal cords so the sound is a quarillous sigh of horror instead. Witless as those two are, they won't be going anywhere until they get a grip. Augusto, hangong on Rafaello and Gianni's shoulders, quietly slurs...

"...What's... Who..."

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

Your turn. Trying to snap someone else out of fear is a command roll, which, if successful, allows your fellowship bonus in people to retake the test. Alternative, more heroic displays might permit this to happen with a bonus; but heroism of course has its downsides.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia hoped she would never have to see such a disgusting, vile creature again - but at the back of her mind, she knew that more of them were out there. It seemed only a matter of time until their paths crossed. But...given how few people ever encountered one of these grotesque abominations in the entirety of their lives, the fact that Taalia would meet two of the things, and hopefully live to tell the tale, was truly a coveted defiance of the odds...

Seeing that her fire-trick was working for now, Taalia put her long, strong legs to use and helped to drag her injured charge into that thicket, her tall figure ducking into that reedy protection. She knew she couldn't fight the troll, none of them could - not these close! Even with both her guns if she even somehow managed to land both hits, she remembered how much punishment the last one required before collapsing for good...and even then, they had to set to its fallen body with pitch and fire to ensure the thing remained down.

But...unlike Taalia, this was the first rodeo of two of the Weavers, one of the not-brothers and Eldar, whose loud voice had arguably stirred the creature.

The survivalist within Taalia told her to just continue, to drag the downed guard to safety, tell him to shut up, then make off with Augusto. But...

What to do?! She couldn't use her guns - that would attract the attention of the camp! And were they aware already? Were they not? What were they shouting about?

She couldn't attack the thing, that would be suicide! She wouldn't last 5 seconds in melee against that thing, even with how far she'd come.

Plus, their main priority was getting Augusto out of here. She'd rather not just abandon the Weaver to such a grotesque fate, especially after just possibly buying his mentality a second chance...

Whatever it was that she was going to do, she had to act fast. The Troll was still lost in the hypnotic flame of that burning torch, but she knew it wouldn't last forever.

Her hand still around the collar of the Weaver, she reached out with her other hand to grab the collar of Rafaello for the sole reason that he had Augusto around his shoulders - the five of them making a weird looking, huddled creature as Taalia yanked to shake the boy out of his fear.

"Psst! Elda!" the shepardess hissed sharply, gesturing with her forehead to the girl in the hope one of the conscious boys would be able to see what she was getting at and yank the other girl into the present.

The shepardess did her best to ferry them away, using the valuable time they had to disappear into that marsh while they could.

[MrAbdiel]

The troll sniffs, sniffs again; sniffs the torch and recoils; sniffs the pillar to which Augusto was tied; and then steps out onto the moist ground. It animates with an almost canine excitement; sets of five or six big steps, and then it sniffs the air again; another five or six, then adjusts it direction slightly. In these first few movements, it moves closer to the reeds where you hide; then laterally away; then back toward you again. It is tracking. Probably, tracking the scent of Augusto, infused into the stone where he has been tethered for days.

Some combination of your insistent voice and the troll's motion snaps Elda from her fugue. Her rage against you has vanished now; all mankind are brothers and sisters in the shadows of such monsters. She gives Rafaello a shove, but the lad is frozen; his numb legs slip from under his crouch and he and Augusto sprawl with a minimum of racket. The troll doesn't seem to have heard it, but Rafaello's insensibility reads immediately to all of you as the problem it is - remaining where you are even a moment longer runs a real risk of all of you being caught with the monster. It is costing you seconds you may not have.

She looks at Cesare, who reads her immediately with the wordless instinct of kids who have grown up together. He hisses at once:

"Don't-"

But it's too late. She bounds to her feet and bolts out of the brush toward the troll and off to one side. The intuitive plan is simple - I'll distract it, you get away.

But the young thieves have foolishness or courage in measure to their loyalty to each other, and Cesare and Gianni stand up, launching their sling bullets at the troll. Perhaps they don't know what you know - that without a great deal of fire, or an overwhelming barrage of damage, the troll is unlikely to suffer damage faster than it heals it. But they do not see inclined to leave each other behind. Dooming as it might be, it is in some ways admirable.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

Attacks!

Cesare vs35 - (1d100)[37] for (1d10+3)[13]
Gianni vs35 - (1d100)[73] for (1d10+3)[5]

Narrative pending.

With your night eyes, you can track the passage of the bullet. The troll is visible enough - eternally sweaty, slimy and damp as it is, it is glimmering with a firelight outline from the torch you tossed down. But you alone see Cesare's sling bullet crack it in the side of the head and sink in through the skull. It's probably more luck than skill, but the lead pellet must be partially lodged in the troll's brain. It bellows and staggers and claws at its own head; black blood leaks out the hole down its side. Then it maps all its pain and frustration on to the form of Elda dashing to its side, and bounds after her at full pelt, closing the gap between them almost immediately!

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

The troll runs, and next turn will certainly be able to attack Elda. It has taken... an astonishing 22 wounds from that shot. You're up!

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


And just like that, things went to hell. Stealth was out of the question now, the bellowing, roaring troll saw to that. Black blood spilled from the side of its head as that incredibly lucky lead bullet penetrated the thick skull of the beast, as its huge, moss-coated bulk drew itself up to pursue Elda with murderous frenzy.

In an almost de javu moment, Taalia saw Bella in Eldar, the wounded troll before her and her own actions as the only thing standing between a colleague from staying on this side of the grave.

Reaching to her holsters, Taalia drew up her first pistol - Crack!

Swift as quicksilver she was withdrawing her other one - Crack!

Should the beast fall...

Spoiler

Show

Her heart beating against her ribcage, Taalia's eyes would widened as she watched the troll collapse over, a large chunk of flesh torn from its body where one of her shots impacted.

Wasting no time, the shepardess darted over, drawing her sword out along the way to hack the ugly things head off.

[MrAbdiel]

The first bullet zips by, not quite connecting with the beast and sailing off into the night - but the second shot corrects for the first and the bullet thwips neatly through the filthy loincloth and into the vitals behind. The troll makes pained yawp and takes a knee for a moment, drooling and shivering.

"Rafaello! Rafaello, snap out of it! Come on, we need you!" Cesare slaps the stunned theif across the face, but he keeps on blinking, stupified. Gianni decides to get moving - with Augusto leaning on him, they break from cover and start hustling east towards the ridge of the hillock into which the troll's cave is formed; and back toward Miragliano, now feeling so far away.

"Come on! Hey! Come on!" Elda shouts at the troll, standing a few paces back and waving her little daggers at it, trying to keep its focus. Tears stream down her face as she does, battling her own fears and griefs and the possibility that she might die in the next few moments...

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

The troll is groinshot, an misses its action this turn.

Then it regenerates (1d10)[6] wounds. Narrative pending.

...And then it stands up... and looms over her, and begins rolling its shoulders and hacking like a dog preparing to cough up its lunch...

It's at this point that two figures trade presense in the scene. The swamp skimmer whose life you almost took, but then saved, makes a panting dash west for his village. And another finger - familiar curling dark hair and capped quarterstaff in hand, as if summoned by your imagination of her -
cuts from the darkness and makes the dash toward you. Bella's face is a mask of determination freezing out fear - she is somewhat bedraggled from following you through the dark; but did not do so only to let you confront another troll without adding what little she can to your defence. Just as in the haunted manor, here she is - as interested in looking out for you, as you are for her, and not to be dissuaded just because you're the stronger.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

It's still kickin'. Just! But it did miss this turn.

Bella joins the combat. If you want, you can spend your action shouting at her in disbeleif. Her following you, incidentally, was what you missed when you failed that perception (listening) roll, before!

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


Taalia hated trolls. She really hated Trolls. The survivalist within her was screaming at her to get Augusto and get the hell out of there! And she might of...until Bella arrived.

Like a mother seeing her infant straying into dangers way, Taalia's eyes widened when she spotted the raven-haired girl. She could've hit her right there; walked over to her and whack! with the back of her hand. If it wasn't the haunted house, it was the sunken city and now...this! The deja vu never ended, only now Taalia cared deeply about the girl, as frustratingly stubborn as she appeared to be.

Sucking in wind through her teeth, Taalia knew there was only one course of action - the one she had hoped would not come to it.

She withdrew her blade and charged.

[MrAbdiel]

You race into the melee, and swing Daybreak along the troll's back. It skin splits under the keen elven steel, even if the wound is pulling closed moments after it is made in disheartening swiftness. Then come the sling bullet flies from Cesare...

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

35 BS; -20 for friends in melee.

vs15 - (1d100)[34] for (1d10+3)[4].

Gianni sees the fight is being commited, sets Augusto down, aims.

vs40 - (1d100)[42] for (1d10)[1] dagger damage from Elda.

vs71 - (1d100)[88] for (1d10-1)[5] damage from an improvised weapon. She is prepared to use her blessing of Myrmidia to hit, if she needs do.

Narrative pending. Possible troll attack pending.