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Post by exile on Jul 14, 2008 22:12:30 GMT -5
With a brief nod towards the Taker, Hadrian enacts the spell a second time, shielding his companion in arcane energy. Peering back into the darkness below, he steels himself to meet whatever fate awaits him and steps down to face it.
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Jul 17, 2008 15:16:52 GMT -5
“ Very well,” Hadrian assented. “ We will bargain with the rats then. Uathach, perhaps its best if you stay up here and keep tempers at bay. John, if you would please come with me cutter, just incase they decide to renege on their word. And sister, maybe we should keep quiet about the antidote until we have it in our hands. We don’t need a riot on top of everything else.” Wraith nods. "Of course, Brother. I understand the need for discretion." She says in a soft voice, glancing over her shoulder at the men and women still stumbling about, searching for the rats. "In the meantime, I'll do what I can about my patients and the rest of the workers up here. Perhaps distracting them with a song will help keep tempers at bay, and their minds off the rats." She purses her lips thoughtfully. Lively tunes weren't exactly her forte, but sometimes stepping outside one's comfort zone was necessary. Watching John and Hadrian retreat into the kitchens, and from there into an uncertain fate, Wraith and her son return to Foster's table. Sitting the boy down, and smoothing his hair back with the palm of her hand, again she considers what to do next. |
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Post by Stix on Jul 22, 2008 14:24:30 GMT -5
Hadrian and John warily descend into the cellar, finding only a scant few rats in sight -- four on the shelves, two on the floor, their false ganglia pulsing faintly with sickly light.
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Post by exile on Jul 22, 2008 22:35:21 GMT -5
Hadrian draws close to the nearer of the rats looking up at him from the floorboards and meets its gaze. “We wish to see a demonstration of the antidote before we agree to your terms. This man has been poisoned. If your antidote truly works, you may have your food and we will leave you be.”
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Post by john on Jul 22, 2008 22:59:01 GMT -5
John's phlegmy breathing serves as a punctuation to Hadrian's words, and he waits for the rats to fulfill their part of the bargain. There is no lesser scum than those that would break a contact and shirk equivalent exchange. If they do that.... he will do his best to kill them all before he succumbs to the poison.
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Jul 22, 2008 23:38:28 GMT -5
Time passes while John and Hadrian confer with the rats below, and those patrons still capable of standing continued to tear the common room and kitchen apart. Bidding Aerin to remain in his seat, Wraith checks on her slumbering patients, beginning with Foster, who was still curled up in pain. A plan was budding in her mind, but she'd have to act on it now. Time was running out.
Stopping in the centre of the room, Wraith calls out in a loud voice. "Bashers, I know you are tired, sick and scared. But tearing up this tavern is not the answer. I have performed many a miracle here tonight. Perhaps, if you would kindly allow it, I will do so again, to help put your minds at ease, while my friends search for a solution."
Not waiting for a reply, Wraith begins to sing; a lively and popular Sigillian tune...
[ooc: Wraith is attempting to Alter Moods with her music.]
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Post by Stix on Jul 27, 2008 15:55:06 GMT -5
The addressed rat hisses, displeased with the arrangement, but after a few seconds, two of its fellows bring out a thumb-sized vial from their hole, resting it on the floor and scattering from it.
(The antidote will take effect in:
[dice=6]+[dice=6] rounds. Penalties and HP loss will have to be recovered from normally, but John's condition won't worsen any further.)[rand=323318293626745479066916128998579208246072553732066042033794057763]
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Post by john on Jul 28, 2008 12:15:20 GMT -5
John picks up the vial and imbibes it. He grunts... feeling a bit queasy still, but no more aches and pains beyond those that presently beset him are growing on him, so he shrugs his shoulders at Hadrian.
"It appears to be working."
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Post by exile on Jul 28, 2008 14:32:07 GMT -5
Hadrian scrutinizes John while the man imbibes the elixir, carefully studying his reaction. Content that the Taker is satisfied, he nods as though arriving at some careful decision. Turning his gaze back on the rats, Hadrian addresses their chosen spokesman.
"We have a deal then. Bring us the rest of the antidote and the food is yours."
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Post by Stix on Aug 20, 2008 17:21:00 GMT -5
A few of the rats scurry back toward their hole, carrying out a belt pouch. Within are eleven remaining vials. Apparently, whoever prepared for accidental poisoning never thought it would happen on this scale.
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Post by exile on Aug 20, 2008 23:08:33 GMT -5
Bending low to pick up the belt pouch ferried over on the backs of several of the vile creatures, Hadrian’s stomach sunk at the sight of the meager offering. Eleven lives. They had traded their security for eleven lives. And what of the others? What of the riot that would follow his declaration to the walking wounded? How many would kill their fellows to be counted among the lucky few?
“Tell me, where did you acquire this? Is there no more to be had? ”
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Post by Stix on Aug 23, 2008 21:31:05 GMT -5
"Took from shelf," informs one of the glaring rats. "Now go. Lock door. We eat."
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Post by exile on Aug 24, 2008 22:46:09 GMT -5
Hadrian took a step towards the stairs as a gesture of compliance, but he tried to press the issue once more; lives depended upon it. “From which shelf please? I must know. What building did you find it in? This one?”
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Post by Stix on Sept 12, 2008 23:31:24 GMT -5
The rat hisses discontentedly, but scurries to the top shelf. "Here."
The little beast appears to be telling the truth -- there is an empty spot, accompanied by streaks in the dust where the cranium rats must have dragged it to the edge to steal off with it.
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Post by exile on Sept 16, 2008 21:56:15 GMT -5
Hadrian stares at the vacant spot in dismay. There was nothing further to be gained from this interaction. Turning back to face John, he offers a morose nod for the Taker and begins the painfully long journey back to Wraith’s side. It was not the actual number of steps that made it feel interminable, so much as the dread he felt welling up inside at the prospect of what was to come. Eleven vials. Eleven lives.
And he was the judge.
Passing up into the lighted kitchen, Hadrian’s blank eyed gaze took in the faces of the ill-fated sods that had chosen the Pony over the warm fires of their kip this evening. The stench of the ceaseless retching suffused everything and weighed as heavily upon him as the pallid complexions of the wounded. Stepping over the body of the chef, he passed through the crowded room which more and more resembled a morgue.
Finding himself at last beside his friend and confidant, Hadrian paused while she tended to her latest in a line of unending patients. Halting the woman’s ministrations with a light touch upon her shoulder, he wordlessly pressed two of the vials into her hand and clasped her fingers tight around them with a meaningful look.
Nine vials. Nine lives. Light how cruel this empty life could be.
(OOC: Could we get a status/triage report? How many patrons are dead/hopelessly ill/seriously ill/modestly ill/minimally afflicted/well or whatever other breakdown you’d like to use?)
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Post by Stix on Sept 27, 2008 20:28:54 GMT -5
- Not poisoned: 3 (John, Hadrian, Foster)
- [If remaining still and undisturbed] Will survive poison running its course: 6 (one workman barring door, one brawler, two inquisitive patrons, one rat hunter, Godsman rat killer)
- Good chance of survival: 11 (Wraith, one workman barring door, two brawlers, talking negotiator, rat accuser, one rat hunter, Foster's two assailants, two inquisitive patrons)
- Poor chance of survival: 10 (Aerin, large workman barring door, one brawler, lead workman barring door, other negotiator, one rat hunter, aggressive patron, two penitent assailants, one inquisitive patron,
- Will die unless treated immediately: 8 (githyanki, four brawlers, forceful drunk, two other patrons)
- Dead: 13 (barman, genasi, cook, one workman barring door, two scrappers, four brawlers, three other patrons)
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Post by exile on Oct 2, 2008 17:23:54 GMT -5
(OOC: By ‘will die unless treated immediately,’ are you suggesting that the antidote is sufficient in itself for their recovery? Or do they require the antidote plus additional treatment? I think I'll wait for the answer before posting an action.)
A quick surveillance of the room was sufficient evidence to convince Hadrian of the hopelessness of their situation. Still, he couldn’t abandon the poor sods to their fate in good conscience. Under the pressure of their duress, it seemed that no one had stepped up to truly assume the mantle of leadership. At best, a few small cliques held court with closely guarded suspicion while the rest of the unhappy bashers floundered about on their own.
Now another factor threatened to hurl everything into chaos. When news of the limited quantity of the antidote eventually spread no one would give the slightest thought for their neighbor, certainly not in Sigil. Even if the masses could be placated, who would have the will to pass judgment over the lives of others? He did not relish such a miserable fate for his worst enemies, let alone his closest comrades.
Besides, Wraith had already given more than she could afford to offer and John would never twig to it; it just wasn’t the Taker way. No. He would have to shoulder this burden alone. But there was a slight hope he yet clung to...
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Post by Stix on Oct 21, 2008 14:36:41 GMT -5
(OOC: By ‘will die unless treated immediately,’ are you suggesting that the antidote is sufficient in itself for their recovery? Or do they require the antidote plus additional treatment? I think I'll wait for the answer before posting an action.) (The antidote will do it, unless someone roughs them up further or there's another detriment to their health that no one has yet discovered.) |
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Oct 22, 2008 7:07:30 GMT -5
Feeling the light touch upon her shoulder, Wraith glanced up at Hadrian as the sad-eyed Bleaker pressed two tiny vials into her pale hand; closing her fingers over them as though he seemed to know she would refuse. And taking in his grim countenance, and the burden that comes with knowledge behind his eyes, she knew the situation was about to become more dire.
She may yet earn the mantle, "Angel of Death".
Closing her eyes and nodding silently, Wraith opens her hand, and discretely passes back one of the vials. Her face was haggard and sweaty, her bosom heaving from each labored breath, but with stubborn determination and fiendish pride, she refused the antidote intended for her.
"Give the rest to the ones who're far sicker than I, Hadrain. But do it quietly so the others will not know. I shall attempt to lull them to sleep with my music, if I can; so that, if they pass on, at least their passing will be peaceful." She sighs, and runs her hand over her pale face.
"Their lives mean more to me than my own... and I'm trusting in my infernal heritage to pull me through this. I'm far stronger than I would appear." She whispers, forcing a reassuring smile as much for his sake, as it was for her own.
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Post by exile on Oct 23, 2008 21:55:58 GMT -5
Hadrian accepted the vial back into his possession with grim reluctance, but his eyes shone with the warmth of his considerable respect. He was proud of Wraith; in this difficult time her deportment had been the model of quiet selflessness and stoic resolve. “For the boy then,” he begrudgingly concurred. He was pleased to hear that the two of them were of the same mind with regard to the poisoned however. Drawing close beside his friend, Hadrian whispered for her alone to hear. “I will see to the others but then I must take counsel, our work ahead is far from over.”
Clasping her shoulder to offer what little measure of comfort he could, Hadrian looked to John as well and offered him a nod in solidarity. “Father smile upon us,” he breathed before stepping away into the waiting wounded.
(OOC: Hadrian will begin distributing the antidote to the most violently ill and work his way up until he runs out as discretely as he can manage.)
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