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Post by Stix on Jul 6, 2008 3:32:57 GMT -5
"Look at the dates."
The informant pushes a dry sheet of parchment gently across the splintered table. Gl'Fnak quickly reads some thirty entries, ranging from 127-241 to 131-112.
"No mathematical pattern, don't bother trying to look for one. Here's the real dark of it: they correspond perfectly with major eruptions on Chamada."
The chantmonger -- a shaggy-haired, mustachioed Sinker -- takes little joy in the revelation. "I've scanned all the chant there is... anything a Guvner or a Taker or any clerk or berk wrote, I read it. It's the only connection I can make, and it doesn't make any sodding sense." He searches the Cipher's face for any sign of recognition, hoping his work hasn't been in vain.
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Post by TheGratefulNed on Jul 6, 2008 11:38:47 GMT -5
The tiefling's nearly ever-present smile is noticeably absent; it is replaced by a severe, tight-lipped countenance. He grimly scans the proffered parchment, the various dates and numbers dancing before his eyes. "Chamada..." he mutters unthinkingly.
Knowledge: the Planes
[dice=20+7]
Knowledge: Factions
[dice=20+7][rand=3532752881728679037119981344324815508860061969392827929804280536785]
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Post by TheGratefulNed on Jul 6, 2008 19:04:00 GMT -5
His scaly brow wrinkles in consternation. "The numbers and chant mean nothing to me; someone more in touch with the Cadence will understand it though," he states confidently. "If any other chant reaches your ears, contact us. You will be compensated for it as well, cutter." Gl'Fnak gives the mustached man an appreciative nod and waits for him to either speak more or take his leave.
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Post by exile on Jul 7, 2008 21:47:46 GMT -5
“Sodding Bleakniks,” Hadrian grumbled, staring through the cracked bottom of an empty mug. “I asked for a pint of ale, not a philosophical statement. With all the tap-houses in the Hive, legitimate and otherwise, remind me again why we came here?”
Laying his glass down bitterly on the graffiti etched surface of their table, Hadrian sat back in his chair and laced his gloved fingers behind his neck. Staring over the top of Hialithic’s head, the aasimar scanned the crowded common room for familiar faces, finding more than a few. One in particular stood out however, by virtue of both its exotic garb and the unexpected faction insignia.
He was a Cipher in a room full of Bleakers. He also wore an Illithid’s head on his brow, an oddity even in the Cage.
“I’ll be damned. It seems our dear friend Gl’Fnak has wandered into the wrong part of town. Excuse me cutters.”
Rising from his seat, Hadrian made his way across to the table where the ashen-faced Tiefling held court with his informant.
“Evening cutter!” he exclaimed, smiling warmly. “There are plenty of faces I expect to see in this place, but yours isn’t one of them. How are you faring?”
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Post by Stix on Jul 11, 2008 12:40:26 GMT -5
With a nod, the Doomguard rises from his seat. "You'll excuse me, then," he says before heading toward the door.
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Post by TheGratefulNed on Jul 11, 2008 14:12:43 GMT -5
With a curt nod, Gl'Fnak acknowledges the mans departure and glances over the sheet in front of him again. His expressionless face shakes slowly from side to side as he carefully rolls the parchment and slips it into a water-proofed scroll case. Sealing the cylinder, he securely tucks it away in his backpack. “ Evening cutter!” he exclaimed, smiling warmly. “ There are plenty of faces I expect to see in this place, but yours isn’t one of them. How are you faring?” The horse-legged tiefling turns to regard the familiar voice. With a nod he replies, " evening. Faction business often takes one to unfamiliar places. I'd be better if I could get more consistent bub." He shakes his head with a look of disgust, lightened only slightly by the faintest hint of a grin. |
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Post by exile on Jul 11, 2008 22:07:46 GMT -5
“On that matter you and I are agreed, cutter,” Hadrian replies with a laugh, before settling down into the departing Doomguard’s seat. “And what now then, Gl’Fnak? Is faction business calling you away or do you have a moment to relax in the company of friends and madmen? You remember Hilathic no doubt, and Wraith is here as well.”
Hadrian gestured back over his shoulder towards the table he had left behind.
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Post by TheGratefulNed on Jul 20, 2008 21:08:02 GMT -5
"The Transcendent Order's business will call me back to the Great Gymnasium when it is time," he states matter-of-factly. Glancing over to the table where the two tieflings were waiting, Gl'Fnak motions to Hadrian and walks over to Wraith and Hilathic, mug in hand.
Arching his multiply pierced brow, the Cipher glances inquisitively from the empty chairs to the two tieflings. Drinking the small mouthful of tepid water they'd brought him as the most recent 'round,' the Baatorian wrinkles his nose and retrieves a bottle from his backpack. Uncorking it, he takes a large swig and offers the bottle around the table.
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Post by exile on Jul 22, 2008 23:10:27 GMT -5
Hadrian accepts the proffered flask with an appreciative nod and takes a swig of the fiery spirits. “Best thing I’ve tasted since I got here, cutter,” he confides, handing it back. “In fact it’s the only thing.”
Striding around the side of the table, Hadrian reclaims his seat across from Hialthic and gestures towards the empty one for Gl'Fnak.
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Jul 23, 2008 0:01:43 GMT -5
If Uathach had heard Hadrian speak before, she didn't show it. She merely smiled and nodded when he departed, and again when he returned.
Unveiled, the pale woman is beautiful to look upon, her exquisite features set and poised as she contemplates some private moment. She sits beside Hilathic, her chair almost close enough to touch him, and her hand rests gently over his.
Closed eyes and a wistful smile playing upon her lips enhances this mask of serenity; a stark contrast compared to the Bleakniks around her.
She opens her eyes - a blaze of silver and purple outlined by smoky khol - as the Cipher passes around the bottle. "What is this?" She inquires softly, waving the bottle beneath her nose, but doesn't take a sip of it just yet; not until she knows exactly what it is.
[ooc: I apologise for such a lengthy delay, but I find it hard projecting Wraith this far into the future, and still keeping her "in character".]
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Post by Stix on Jul 24, 2008 0:58:58 GMT -5
An audible rush of air signals the opening of a dormant portal in the room. The plane-spanning energies flare to life, filling the space between arching support beams with a deep blackness.
A wounded aasimon crawls through on hands and knees, his white-feathered wings stained red and his dark skin and jet-black hair spattered with a brown-orange ichor.
Pained from his deep wounds, the deva rises unsteadily to his feet and faces the still-open portal, poised defensively with a great steel mace in hand.
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Post by john on Jul 24, 2008 7:24:05 GMT -5
Stumbles after the aasimon, still on his feet, a brace of throwing knives in one hand, wrapped in a white bathrobe, and covered in blood. Half his face is flayed down to the bone, it would seem, and he's got numerous other minor wounds. He blinks for a moment, bloodshot eyes seeming not to comprehend the scene.
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Jul 24, 2008 8:32:13 GMT -5
No sooner than the portal opens, and the bloodied Deva stumbles out, Wraith shoots to her feet. Without even sparing a glance for her companions, the tiefling surgeon advances on the Aasimon, hoping to intercept him before anyone else does.
"Merciful Apollo!" She nearly cries, skidding to a halt beside the wounded celestial. "What happened?" It was a silly thing to ask, really; the answer to that was as plain as the wounds carved into his flesh, and the russet ichor mingling with his own blood.
Almost immediately she begins cutting strips from an old cloak stashed in her satchel, fashioning them into bandages. "Please, do not be alarmed; I'm here to aid you however I can..." She says as she makes the necessary preparations; all this without asking first. But seeking permission now was pointless; that he needed help was first and foremost in her mind.
Then from out of the portal stumbles John, scarcely recognisable beneath the blood and raw flesh. Wraith gapes at the squat Taker in horror. "John...?" She can scarcely squeaze the words past the tightness in her throat. Then regaining her composure with a rough shake of her head, "Please, sit down, so that I may tend to your wounds." She implores John and the battered Deva.
Anatomy [to determine the extent of their injuries, treatment needed, and what might've caused it.] [19 or lower]
[dice=20]
[rand=21780407504685673001298258833344667693636156772241548058463442567176]
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Post by john on Jul 24, 2008 11:26:23 GMT -5
John shrugs off her ministrations and says, "Later, we've got a larger problem. There are going to be fiends coming through this portal in a moment. Get whoever you can to help fight.... I think this is going to be ugly." He takes a knife into his hand, and starts looking for cover. "Maybe we should just run. No profit in this fight."
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Post by hilathic on Jul 26, 2008 13:30:58 GMT -5
At John suggestion to run, Hilathic moves towards the door of Zero's and opens it. Not prepared to flee yet but not wanting to be the last one out the door, Hilathic poises himself to run. "What sort of fiends? Why do they chase you, John?" Hilathic asks quickly hoping to have some idea what he faced before the fiends where on top of them. Maybe running would not be an option.
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Post by john on Jul 26, 2008 23:08:38 GMT -5
"Half the damned abyss!"
He tries to kick over a table before realizing the tables here are damnably flimsy.
"What kind of bolt-hole is this place anyway?"
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Post by TheGratefulNed on Jul 26, 2008 23:13:45 GMT -5
((I'll have a post up within a day or two, still finalizing some potentially scene affecting things with Gl'Fnak's 2e conversion.))
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Jul 26, 2008 23:55:20 GMT -5
John shrugs off her ministrations and says, "Later, we've got a larger problem. There are going to be fiends coming through this portal in a moment. Get whoever you can to help fight.... I think this is going to be ugly." He takes a knife into his hand, and starts looking for cover. "Maybe we should just run. No profit in this fight." At John suggestion to run, Hilathic moves towards the door of Zero's and opens it. Not prepared to flee yet but not wanting to be the last one out the door, Hilathic poises himself to run. "What sort of fiends? Why do they chase you, John?" Hilathic asks quickly hoping to have some idea what he faced before the fiends where on top of them. Maybe running would not be an option. Wraith echoes, glancing toward the portal then back at John and the bleeding Deva. Whatever it was, it had to be powerful, or numerous, to inflict such grievous wounds... on both of them. Glancing about the room then - her eyes drift back to the gaping void - she assesses the situation. Very few of the Bleakniks looked like they were even capable of defending themselves, let alone blockading the unseen horde. The most likely outcome was that they'd continue to wallow in their fashionable despondency, even as they were overrun, and drinking companions were cut to pieces all around them. The taproom of Zero would become a bloodbath from out of their worst nightmares. Catching sight of Hilathic, slinking toward the door - he and John seemed to have the better idea in mind - Wraith calls out; "Hal, clear the hall, get these people out of here as quickly as you can." Turning back to John again she hisses in a low voice. "I don't know what you expect these people to do. They aren't capable of defending themselves. They're about as useful as flies pinned to the wall." It was a cruel analogy, but it was true, wasn't it? About the only thing they could do was die, a very horrible and agonizing death, and it was her responsibility to ensure they escaped unscathed. Wraith heaves a frustrated sigh. She agreed with John; this was about to get very ugly. "What are they? How many do we face, and is there a way to lock down the portal before they all bust through?" |
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Jul 26, 2008 23:58:25 GMT -5
ooc: crap. I just noticed John had posted while I was still finalising my reply.  |
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Jul 27, 2008 0:30:11 GMT -5
"Half the damned abyss!" He tries to kick over a table before realizing the tables here are damnably flimsy. "What kind of bolt-hole is this place anyway?" Wraith shrieks, her eyes blazing. "What... what do you think you're sodding doing, dragging them back here?" She demands, her voice rising to a high-pitched crescendo. Her vehement gaze swings from John to the Deva and back again. Jabbing a finger into the Taker's chest she hisses. "We're in Zero, a hiver dive, you twit, surrounded by Bleakniks who're about to be skinned alive. This is your problem, John, and now you've gone ahead and endangered innocent lives. What were you thinking?" Bordering on hysteria it took great force of will to pull herself together again, and assess the situation from a logical perspective. They must've come from the Abyss, hitched a ride through the nearest portal they could find. How could John possibly know he'd wind up here? Reining in her anger - arguing wasn't going to solve the situation - she takes a deep breath, and lets it out again. "Right! We take up a defensive position around the portal, try to push them back before they pour through; and hold our position until the Bleakniks escape, and the gate closes.
I might be mistaken, I've never had to deal with a situation like this before, but only a certain number can come through at the same time, right? And I doubt they're stupid enough to send their high-ups through first." She pauses. "Hadrian, assist me with the Deva. G'lfnak, John will need your help." Swinging a critical eye over the squat Coldblood she growls; "And don't even start telling me you don't want or need his help."[ooc: At this point, Wraith casts Protection from Evil on herself, and starts binding the Deva's wounds.] Healing [18 or lower][dice=20] +1[rand=74037303130745618913383049037509363881786162304159513571642217542] |
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