H130, Day 234, 3 AP (Hadrian, Open)

[Stix]

(Continued from the Gatehouse thread.)

exile said:

”Right then, cutters,” Hadrian spoke with absolute assurance and offered a curt nod in acknowledgement of his troops. Pausing for a moment to take in the details of his followers faces, he felt a long quiescent ember in his soul spring back to life. For a moment it sputtered against the howling winds of his psyche and then took hold of this newest kindling with wild abandon. Here again was a Hadrian that had lived on only in dreams.

Hadrian, the soldier. Hadrian, stormrider. Hadrian, son of Odin.

”Let us write our names in the histories and let every man know who stepped forward today and rattled the Cage.” Turning sharply on his heels, the aasimar plunged off into the rapidly receding crowd with grimly determined strides. His eyes blazed like sapphire suns but even so, they paled before the roiling flames that leapt in his heart like a flight of Phoenixes.

As he walked along the rainswept cobbles of Bedlam Row towards their destination, he addressed his men in earnest terms.”I am Hadrian, son of Odin, warrior of Ysgard.” he announced. ”And today, for this moment, I put aside my faction and adopt you all as my brothers and sisters in arms. Tell me of yourselves, I would know my kin.”

It's a strange crew that Hadrian leads through the streets: Lycenia and her lover Clay, both of whom are soft-spoken but smoldering with anger; Burgess, a starved-looking sod who talks more to himself than anyone else; Aiden and Sobraugh, cousins from Tir na Og who've fallen on hard times and turned to crime; and lastly, the Celts' "friend", Lorrip, a hard-edged tiefling who seems to either have an eye on everyone's valuables or be sizing them up for a fight.

"So, whadda we need for this ride?" asks Lorrip.

Sobraugh chimes in with his curiosity. "Yeh, are we diggin', or buildin', or what?"

[exile]

“For now we are surveying,” Hadrian replies. “ We cannot begin to lay the brickwork until we have established the foundations. That is what we go to do now. If a building still stands in the slags that can serve as our focus, then we will reclaim it. Otherwise, we will clear the rubble and build anew.”

Already in his mind’s eye the aasimar can see the fruit of their labors standing as a beacon amidst the ruin, drawing ever more faithful like moths to the flames. The Hive would look after her own; the rest be damned.

“As for preparations well, we will need tools both for the salvage and reconstruction. Pickaxes, shovels and wheelbarrows ought to suffice for the present stage. I am not a builder, and I don’t labor under any false pretenses. We will need direction from such a knowledgeable cutter when the time comes to expand. Unless of course one of you has experience in raising buildings?”

At the last he halted to once more take stock of his followers.

“Don’t worry if such is not the case, cutters. Even if all we have is our bare-hands and our wits, we can make this work. Everything else is serendipity. I have my Art and the blessings of Odin to extend to this venture. Each of you has something to contribute as well. And if none amongst us is a builder by trade then we will find one when that time comes.”

[Stix]

"Eh-heh," Sobraugh mutters, stifling a belch. "An' how much jink do we earn fer this?"

[exile]

“Earn? Well that depends, cutter,” Hadrian resumed his brisk stride as he spoke, assured that his party would follow. His congenial tone was now purely matter-of-fact as he prepared to discuss the details of the business at hand. “I don’t care to see any of you go hungry over joining my cause, but I’ll lann you now if you’re in this only for the money, Sobraugh, there are better ways to get jink. First and foremost this should be about what we intend to accomplish.”

“If I still have your interest though, this is what I propose. If you’re the gambling type, cutter, we can enter into this as a company, and as a company split whatever windfalls we might receive. I’m sure none of you need reminding that there’s still unclaimed jink to be had in the slags. Whatever we find gets split into shares, with the company as a whole receiving some portion to cover our expenses.

“If instead you’d rather something more reliable, we can discuss suitable remuneration for your service. The going rate for trained labor in the cage is still three stingers a day, so don’t think for a moment that just because people think we’re barmy means we don’t know how far a coin goes in Sigil. Of course I recognize that this isn’t a typical day’s work I’m asking of you, and I’m prepared to negotiate. If you’re going to stick me with the risks, the corollary is that I get to decide what’s done with the rewards. Any caches we might uncover are at my discretion to spend, follow?

“Now this is an open bargain, my friends. Each of you can decide as you see fit, and you don’t have to reach a consensus. But once you make up your minds, I’d say we have a bargain, and you can’t go back on your decision simply because fortunes change. Mull it over, cutters. You have a decision to make."

(OOC: 3 silver is the listed price in the PHB. If that doesn't hold true, Hadrian would be aware and adjust his statement accordingly.)

[Stix]

Sobraugh follows somewhat dimly, his expression souring in confusion at words like "remuneration" and "corollary". For guidance, he looks to Lorrip, who flashes a fanged grin.

"I got a suggestion, cutter," the tiefling says hoarsely. "Never surveyed nowhere before, but that means we have to clear ground, right? Chant has it there's supplies still buried there from a tanar'ri Blood War raid, hidden in big blocks o' stone. So maybe we look fer a few suspiciously large bricks, an' start our li'l project there. If we're lucky enough, you won' have to pay us a green copper."

[exile]

Hadrian smiled wryly to himself. He hadn’t been raised in the cage, and though he understood the planar cant as well as any, his introduction to the trade tongue had been academic and remote. Over the years of his stay, the odd word had crept into his vocabulary but whenever he became deeply enraptured with a subject, he was prone to forgetting the limitations of those around him.

“That’s a fine idea, Lorrip,” he remarked without a trace of irony. “We’ll start with that, and split whatever we find. Fair?”

[Stix]

"Sounds fair t' me," Lorrip assents, his grin peeling his lips back so far it looks almost like a snarl. Toward the rear of the marching order, Lycenia and Clay bicker with hushed intensity and sharp gestures.

"Shovels," Burgess mumbles from near Hadrian, his gaze fixed for the moment on a bubbling puddle of muck across the street. "Block and tackle. Timber 'n bricks. Mmm, mmmortar. Mmm, shingles. Hush! ...Mmm, umm, sheet metal. An' glass. An' bones...." The barmy holds his further thoughts to sibilant whispering under his breath.

[exile]

Gossamer shafts of daylight had begun to pierce the morning pall which clung to the great torus as the unlikely troupe wended their way through the ramshackle laneways of the Hive. All about them life, or what settled for it in this desolate corner of the multiverse, carried on as ever in all of its abject poverty and poetic misery. A landlord and his tenant argued in pitched tones about outstanding rent. Bleary eyed bashers stepped around plaintive beggars without a coin to rattle in their cups. In the mouth of an alleyway, a surly bubber swilled his devilish spirits and cursed at any passersby unfortunate enough to stray into his view.

Nearby, hive children kicked an inflated boar’s bladder around with wild enthusiasm, no doubt scavenged from the slaughterhouse scraps that morning. Their gales of laughter were the only lifting note in an otherwise discordant symphony. But such joy was transient and fading here among the wretched. Which among these fresh faces would be the starving sods of tomorrow? Which among them would be the cut-throats? The cross-traders? The bubbers and whores? Hadrian would never know.

“What was that, cutter?” the aasimar said, casting a glance back over his shoulder towards Burgess. Behind him, whispering in hushed tones and exchanging furtive glares, paced the fiery couple of Lycenia and Clay. Hadrian strained his ears in an effort once more to catch a glimpse into their conflict while waiting on the barmy man’s reply.

In short order they arrived alongside Allesha’s pantry, a mere stone’s throw from the scratchwall and the boundery of the Slags proper. Already the line of alms seekers had stretched beyond sight around a bend in the street. The Bleaker shook his head sadly. Allesha would be busy again today, as she was every day, and still there were never enough hours in the day to feed all the mouths that landed on her doorstep.

He was going to change all of that; that much he swore. The steel in his nerves had returned tenfold. There would be another haven in the Hive before long, one raised by his own two hands.

The scratchwall loomed up before them, suddenly, and Hadrian turned a passing glance on its marred face. Amidst the tangle of words and graffiti, someone had emblazoned the words “The Truth Will Set Us Free” in large chalk letters. It looked to be recent, the ever-present dampness and rain had barely begun to blur its outlines. It could have been the motto of any of the fifteen factions that controlled the city, each with their own perception of the truth. Well, not the Xaositects; there’s would read more along the lines of “Magpies, meat pies, and bagpipes!” A clueless bleaker might also ask, “What truth?”, but then he’d be missing the point.

And then they were there.

Before them, lying blasted and broken until it was barely recognizable as the ruins of a city was the staging ground of the only Blood War battle to ever shake the very Cage itself. Buildings lay in heaps of rubble. Bricks and timbers lay scattered about what once might have passed for streets. Great rents like the claw marks of some titanic beast made the footing treacherous and untenable at the best of times, impossible at the worst. The fetid canals which drained the rest of the hive poured into this derelict district, forming cesspools in the runnels and dips. And they were only at the outskirts.

The Slags.

“There,” Hadrian pointed, indicating the burnt out husk of a building, little more than fractured walls now, which stood over the waste. “Lets climb up and get a better look.”

Pausing for a moment, the aasimar set his spear aside and artfully performed a ritual set of gesticulations and quiet intonations. Although no outward change could be observed, he was seemingly pleased with the results and reached once more for his weapon.

“Lets go.”


I thought I’d move things along a bit, feel free to interject if I’ve pushed too far ahead.
Cast: Mage Armor – duration 6 hours.
Cast: Greater Magic Weapon – duration 6 hours.
Listen check: [dice=20+3]

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