Ghosts of Bara Magna

[Jesse Pinkman]

IC: Karak - 

Quote

"He's Karak's father I suppose?"

Involuntarily my body shuts down. Even whilst my gaze is averted from the naïve thing I feel a sudden rush of...

Not anger, not truly, something more destructive that chips at my skeleton - a blight that if left to fester would consume me, leaving me without use or hope. 

The jolt is not longlasting. It just surprises me - breaks my guard. 

...

"No."

My voice betrays nothing of my inner process.

OOC: @Snelly @Techn0geist

Edited June 7, 2023 by Morgan Yu
shut up you didn't see anything

[Snelly]

IC: Skyra Daring - Tajun (Heading to Celrys) -

At Del's question, Skyra laughed, probably louder than she should have. "No you doofus, an arena is a place you go to fight, for money and stuff." Skyra didn't explain further as she lead the two towards Celrys' workshop, still snickering while she did.

It didn't take long before they reached the workshop, it was indeed close like Skyra had promised. The jungle Glatorian went up to the door and rapped on it quite incessantly. 

"Hey Celrys you in? It's Skyra Daring! I have someone with me that really wants to see you, so open the f### up already!" 

@Techn0geist @Morgan Yu @a goose

[a goose]

IC: NPC (Celrys' Workshop, Tajun)

It was a pleasant little stone building, and surprisingly humble, tucked into the shade in one of Tajun's most affluent neighbourhoods. The only thing that gave any indication of its nature was a gold plaque by the door, upon which was embossed:

CELTECH

Consultations by Appointment Only

The text seemed almost to glare at Skyra, its disapproval palpable. Still, the door was answered – not by Celrys, but by a diminutive, beleaguered-looking Water Tribe Agori. She was young, but her face gained a decade at least in the moment she laid eyes on Skyra. It was quite apparent she recognised her.

"Miss Daring, the door was not locked. If you and your-" She looked briefly at Del, and then even more briefly – so much as to seem intentionally so – at Karak. "Companions would like to step inside, you can explain your predicament and I'll find out when he's available."

IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell)

Then he wanted her alive. She had suspected as much, but to have it confirmed…

She could use that, somehow. She would find a way.

"I've got good news for you, then; I've already lasted longer than I expected, but I watched nearly a dozen miners succumb to this plague. It took them all, in the end." Somnii paused, a thought occurring to her. "That's what this is about, right? I heard Crucius say I was being 'kept for observation.' If that's the case, then I think we can help each other."

IC: Skrall (The Prison Wagon)

Skrall sighed and shook his head. He had little love for the Bone Hunters – they were parasites, without honour or worth, and made allies of the Skrall only out of a desire for further profit. Such venality drove every decision they made; if another tribe made a better offer, they would turn on the Black Legion without hesitation.

Still, he supposed, the Skrall would have to take allies where they could find them. The greed of the Hunters at least made them willing to overlook the notions of conquest and racial supremacy that so chafed the rest of the locals, and the old saying about the choices of beggars held true. This was how it had to be – for the Skrall, and for their prisoner.

OOC: uhh, let's see here. @Snelly @Morgan YuYuYuYuYuYuYYuYuYuYuYuYuYuYuYuYuYuYuYYuYuYuYuYuYu @Techn0geist @Toru Nui @skrall 

[Snelly]

IC: Skyra Daring - Celrys' Workshop, Tajun -

"Alright, thanks!" Skyra said cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to the Agori's annoyance. She let herself in, gesturing for Karak and Del to enter as well. 

Skyra found a seat and sat herself down. "So, I'll get straight to the point. Del here..." She pointed at Del. "...is Celrys' son or something like that. I was paid to get him here and meet Celrys." Skyra figured she better get down to business now that they were inside. 

@Techn0geist @Morgan Yu @a goose

[Techn0geist]

IC: Mard & Ahmoa - Training Ground, outskirts of Atero

Lorqua's back was to the proverbial ropes, not a favourable position but far from out; her ingenuity in using her arm for manoeuvre as well as offense kept her odds roughly even with Lutenus.

"You remember my birthday's coming up, right?" Mard suggested, looking pointed at the corded length of limb.

"And here I thought augmentations gave you the willies," Ahmoa intoned with half-surprise, half-cheek.

"I'm beginning to see the merit. Just keep that creep Celrys on the other side of the desert from me, is all." A flicker of bitterness at the augment tycoon passed through Mard's eyes before he clicked his fingers, turning to his partner with a stupid grin. "Ooh, maybe we could start our own clinic!" The green guard seemed frighteningly genuine about the idea.

This loosed a chuckle from the Fire Agori. "Calm down, dear, we're not exactly rolling in denarii. How do you propose to finance this venture?"

"My dessert fund?"

"Your dessert fund for a thousand years, and it still wouldn't stretch even as far as Lorqua's arm." Ahmoa clapped a hand on Mard's shoulder, looking off into the distance, out across the rolling dunes. "For all we talk down to the man, I hope our Del is in good hands with Celrys..."

 

IC: Del - Celrys's Workshop, Tajun

On 6/8/2023 at 11:06 AM, Morgan Yu said:

"No."

The query was satisfied, the Glatorian none the wiser to the momentary trauma they had inflicted on Karak.

As Skyra pounded on and swore at the door of the unassuming abode, their eyes fell on the gold plaque, the word in capitals.

<<Celtech.>>

Unconsciously they reached up, touching their fingers delicately to their helmet, to the spot on their scalp beneath.

The trio piled into what appeared a small waiting room, Skyra falling into a seat with the usual decorum she demonstrated. Del took the chair beside her, sitting rather more deliberately.

10 hours ago, Snelly said:

"So, I'll get straight to the point. Del here... is Celrys' son or something like that. I was paid to get him here and meet Celrys."

Del nodded politely. "Find Celrys," they repeated once again, directed at the Water Agori, "he's your father I suppose." The Iron Tribal held their penetrating, unblinking gaze for an uncomfortable few seconds before—

<<Query.>>

—turning to Skyra, the most familiar face in the room. "Father... is?"

 

OOC: @Toru Nui @oncertainty @Morgan Yu @Snelly

[Jesse Pinkman]

IC: Karak - Celrys' Workshop

I catch the glance. The conversation becomes hard to follow - Skyra talks too quick, and with little interest in the conversation at hand I instead decide to remain standing by the door, idly gazing at the woman conjugating with the Glatorians.

So many buildings in these settlements, ones with countless purposes I'm still yet to learn. These people seem to bathe themselves in barter and business. An inane life.

I lick my lips, feeling dry skin flake away.

"Water. Have?" I speak to the assistant, removing my mask again.

OOC: @a goose@Techn0geist @Snelly

[a goose]

IC: NPC (Celrys' Workshop)

The Agori blinked. Then blinked again. Somewhere in between, Skyra seemed to have made herself at home in the reception area, and she found herself having to rush back in to catch up.

"I, uh, that… as the case may be, you must understand that Celrys is a very busy man. Tournament season is a particularly busy period, it may be weeks before he can offer a consultation to your…"

She looked at Del, Celrys' alleged child. There was something familiar about them, to be sure, but even aside from the disparity in species she saw little similarity to Celrys.

”Water. Have?”

“Oh, uh, certainly. Give me just a moment.”

With that, she retreated to her desk, behind which was some manner of strange contraption. After a moment, she produced a glass of water and placed it on the countertop.

“Now, where was I…”

A small white light behind her ear began to blink. She straightened up immediately and cleared her throat.

“It appears that Celrys would, in fact, like to see you. Take the door on the left to his office, and he’ll be with you momentarily.” Returning to the usual script, or perhaps just the prospect of the three visitors being out of her hands, had greatly calmed her. She interacted with a notch on the desk, and the door she had indicated slid open of its own accord.

The room beyond it was quite unique – far from the stone and metal and daylight of the lobby, it was covered almost entirely in imported Tesaran wood, from the bookshelves that lined the walls to the large desk at its apex. There were already two seats in front of it, both wooden themselves, and a third behind that was clearly for the artificer himself, still nowhere to be seen. But strangest of all was the one wall that wasn’t hidden behind bookshelves, and provided the shimmering light that illuminated most of the room: it was, it seemed, a glass window, facing not onto the outdoors but instead into an enclosure of water, lit by unclear means. Fish – some real, some mechanical – swam back and forth within, while the fronds of strange plants swayed, suspended from below.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? Like a window into another world.”

The voice came from another door next to the fish tank, which again slid shut behind the Agori. He was tall – unusually so, though not so much as to look like a Glatorian – and covered in plated gold, including a helmet which totally enclosed all but his mouth and his pale blue eyes, a glass lens suspended above the right. On a second glance, he appeared to be almost entirely artificial – though dark grey skin showed here and there, his legs, his lower right arm and the entirety of his left were black metal, accented with gold. In his mechanical hands was another wooden chair, which he pushed in to face the desk. Celrys looked at the trio and beamed, a genuine warmth to his smile and excitement glistening in his eyes.

“Please, please, sit. I can’t wait to hear what you have to say.”

OOC: @Morgan Yu @Techn0geist @Snelly

Edited June 15, 2023 by a goose

[Jesse Pinkman]

IC: Karak - Celrys’ Office

I offer a grateful grunt as my lips caress the edge of the cup - the liquid wets their texture like a much awaited monsoon. 

And then, involuntarily, some of the liquid spews out back into the cup as I lay eyes upon this “Celrys”. His body has been butchered, defiled and impaled with countless mechanical implants and substitutes. I feel sick gazing upon him. 
 

OOC: @a goose @Techn0geist @Snelly

Edited June 16, 2023 by Morgan Yu

[a goose]

IC: Tueris (Staff NPC; The Precipice)

Tueris’ brow furrowed.

“We… are in no position to refuse aid.” He had to force the words from his throat, as reticent to say them as he was aware of their truth. “They are welcome to join us, if they wish.”

Though he himself had never sat down, he gave the nod to Aurax. Time to stand up; they were done here.

“If you’ll introduce them to us, we can be on our way.”

OOC: @Nato G @~Xemnas~ @Burnmad @oncertainty

[Nato G]

IC: Somok - Precipere

"Of course," Somok said, gritting his teeth to hold back a groan as he forced himself to his feet once more. "Fetch Salwa and Xyde," he ordered Giltu, who in turn ordered other guards to carry out the instructions. 

The two Agori in question would promptly find guards knocking on their doors, if curiosity hadn't already drawn them out. 

@Geardirector @Toru Nui

[Toru Nui]

IC: Taldrix (Bone Hunter Stronghold, Outside Somnii’s Cell) - A Dangerous Pastime, I Know

Just what she was afraid of - the stupid brat was now thinking. A dangerous pastime for slaves. One that could cost Taldrix her job if something went wrong. And since Taldrix’s job was her life… she tried to conceal her sudden burst of fear.

A chance in tactics was in order. “What are you proposing, exactly?” She asked, swallowing all contempt for the girl in the cell, trying to come across as impartial to hide her stake in this business. “Feign illness and get him to inspect you personally? What happens to you when he finds out you’re not really sick?”

Well, more importantly, what would happen to Taldrix, but somehow, she doubted that the prisoner held any more regard for her life than she did hers. ‘Morality’ was a scam, after all. Made the weak feel better about not being strong enough to just take what they want. No doubt this offer to ‘help’ was spawned from the persistent delusion that escape was feasible, that somehow she was one of the small exceptions to the countless items the Gatherers had accumulated over their long history. There were occasional successful runaways, yes… again, small exceptions.

In her brief panic, she had managed to completely overlook the mention of a plague…

@a goose

 

IC: Xyde (Precipere, Guardhouse) - The Guest House

“Somok, I-” Xyde began as they absent-mindedly entered, only to notice the copious - and perhaps dangerous - level of outsiders in the room. “I see we have guests. To what do we owe the pleasure?” They could tell that a number of them were Vulcanians. Oh, joy.

@Nato G @a goose @Burnmad @~Xemnas~ @oncertainty

[a goose]

IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell)

"I am sick. That's why he's keeping me here. But that's beside the point."

She took a breath, closing her eyes for just a moment while she arranged her thoughts. This would be a difficult pitch, but it had merit. That much she was sure of.

Her eyes opened once again.

"Your plan isn't bad – if I fake some kind of attack or fit, I bet he'd be panicked enough to want to investigate. When it turns out I'm fine, he might be too relieved to punish you, but that's a gamble; it works out better for me than for you, since he can't harm me. We know he wants me alive and in good health. Well, I'm an important person, so maybe that's because he wants to ransom me, but that doesn't explain the observation. That's what I mean when I say he's keeping me here because I'm sick – he wants to know how the sickness works."

It was another guess on her part, but it seemed to make the most sense. She couldn't have made it far from Ferrum by the time she was found, and she'd told them what she could about what had become of her village. That meant he knew about the plague, and that she had been infected. Combined with the other pieces, a fairly clear picture had formed.

"The one way to be sure he's only seeing the sickness is if I'm healthy in every other way, and then I'm being observed so that he can watch how it develops. That's what he really wants: information. That is what I'm offering you."

OOC: @Toru Nui

[Snelly]

IC: Skyra Daring - Celrys' Workshop, Tajun -

"Father... is?"

"Well uh...a father is..." Skyra was struggling a bit, so she was glad when Celrys barged in and started talking about his pretty aquarium

"Yeah yeah it's cool, you literally talk about it every time I'm here." Skyra rolled her eyes a little as she sat down, though she had a smile on her face as usual. If she was bothered by Celrys' appearance she certainly didn't show it, acted familiar with him more than anything. Like many others she had her own implants installed in the very workshop they were currently in. 

She patted the seat next to her for Del to sit down. She wasn't sure he'd know to do so otherwise. 

"So...this is Del." She pointed at Del. "And he is here too...well I'll just let him tell you." Skyra figured it was best to let Del do the talking.

@Techn0geist @Morgan Yu @a goose

Edited June 20, 2023 by Snelly

[a goose]

IC: (Staff NPC; The Shadiest Spot on Bara Magna)

Tajun nights were cold.

It was hardly unique in that regard; everywhere in the Wastelands that wasn't Vulcanus could confidently say the same. A Bara Magna day would boil you alive, just as surely as the night would freeze you solid. So far, so standard. It was for this reason that most jobs, especially labour-intensive ones, especially especially ones performed outdoors, would be done in the early morning and the late evening.

In Tajun, though, there were no such limitations; plentiful shade and water made it just about the most comfortable place to spend an afternoon, whether one was working or merely relaxing. It created one of the village's many fascinating contradictions: though not the village that produced the most wealth, it still found itself home to many of the Wastelands' wealthiest denizens. Tajun real estate was always in high demand, and there was never enough to go around. Homelessness was endemic, but in a village so full of shadows, there were plenty of places to hide out of sight. Poverty, greed, and darkness were the conditions in which crime would always thrive, and make no mistake: Scodonius was thriving.

And Kirbraz loathed him for it.

Not because he profited from the suffering of his people – both passively, by allowing the rich to shunt them to the sidelines, and actively through a drug trade he had a direct stake in – nor for his cowardice in shunting that simpleton Berix to the fore, just so that he could someday take the fall for him. It wasn't even because his one-time arena partner denigrated and abused him at every opportunity.

Kirbraz hated Scodonius because it should have been his.

On the bright side, unlike homelessness or crime – sad inevitabilities of enormous profit – that, at least, could be rectified. All he needed was the right ammunition to bring Scodonius down… ammunition that was, at long last, within his grasp. Because Tajun nights were cold.

It was Berix who had brought it to his attention; stupid and Spice-addled as he was (and make no mistake, he was), the jumpiness and paranoia that came hand-in-hand with his addiction made him a surprisingly effective spy. No matter how small or seemingly benign, the slightest inconsistencies would provoke his anxieties. It made for no shortage of false leads, but on this one occasion, it seemed he had actually discovered something of use. And the thread he had pulled, the thing that could unravel Kirbraz's rival at long last?

Scodonius had been taking late-night walks. Only in Tajun, the one place where all activities could be comfortably conducted in daylight, could such an act be suspicious. Even so, Scodonius might have dismissed it, were he not so desperate for leverage – and it was a good thing he hadn't.

Scodonius' excursions followed a pattern. He would receive a telegram – no doubt with a time and place – and immediately destroy it, a choice he seemingly failed to realise was absurdly suspicious. Within a day or two, he would leave under cover of darkness, and return some time later. And there it was, the fact that clued Kirbraz in to the true significance of these clandestine meetings: that Scodonius, who valued his own comfort above all else, who had met criminals in broad daylight, in his own home, would expose himself to the cold simply to keep a secret.

Kirbraz had already drawn a few conclusions from this. For one, meeting at night was clearly not Scodonius' idea, which meant that his contact had proposed it. By extension, it also meant that this mysterious contact was valuable enough to him that he would accept that proposal. Whoever his contact was, they were powerful, and they wanted their association with Scodonius to be kept a secret. That was the key – Scodonius himself was shameless, but his mysterious contact held some manner of power over him, and feared exposure.

Essentially, whatever they were plotting was totally inconsequential; Kirbraz just needed to know who to blackmail. If they had power over Scodonius, they could simply force him to resign and name Kirbraz his successor, or risk having their dodgy dealings revealed to the public. It was a plan that was simply brilliant and brilliant in its simplicity, and Kirbraz had come up with it all on his own.

Best of all was that Scodonius had, according to his sources, received and shredded a telegram earlier that very same day. Soon – maybe that night, or the next night, maybe even the night after that – Kirbraz could tail his rival through the streets of Tajun, and finally have the ammunition he had been craving for years.

And all because Tajun nights were cold.

Edited June 20, 2023 by a goose

[Toru Nui]

IC: Dornak (Streets of Atero) - A Busy Night of Doing Nothing

OK, so far, no Skrall. Dornak looked around him, peeking his head out of his Thornatus. Was his inactivity drawing attention? None that he could see…

He probably shouldn’t have expected the Skrall to arrive straightaway. They probably had important Skrall business… now that Dornak thought about it, why would they even bother participating in the Games? And now that Dornak thought about it more, how official was his agreement with the Rock Tribe? Was there a ‘do not maim’ bulletin on him?

As he determined earlier, he couldn’t just go north - there was nothing up there but Roxtus and the Bone Hunter Stronghold, and thus, it would be suspicious for anyone to go there. His only value to the Skrall was that he was not openly affiliated with them, he could not afford to be exposed! But he could also not afford to be seen to do nothing all night, especially when the action was with Tajun…

Then again, not everyone was leaving right away, and so, neither would he. As for his present inaction… Dornak decided to get some shuteye. It was getting dark as it was.

He was going to need it.

 

IC: Maxas (Tajun, Maxas’ Hut) - Orange Is Sus

And so, following this enigmatic and irrefutably suspicious Iron Glatorian from a considerable distance back to his ‘home village’ of Tajun, Maxas saw them head towards the direction of the Celtech building. Of course he had something to do with this.

Maxas parked his Kaxium in the driveway of his home. He then looked painstakingly throughout the premises for the slightest hint of forced entry, or some manner of trap. There was none… none he could see, at least. And he knew better than to relax at this - that was just how Berix and his underworld masters wanted him to react, to lower his guard before they would strike truly at him.

In any case, he would now have to brave whatever horrors awaited him in Celrys’ laboratory and butcher shop hybrid in order to find the truth behind this. There was little doubt in his mind that Ferrum’s abrupt silence was but a part of a grander, sinister design, and that this Glatorian knew something about it…

By the Lord of Water, Tajun nights were cold.

 

IC: Taldrix (Bone Hunter Stronghold, Outside Somnii’s Cell) - Trade Offer

There was a brief silence as Taldrix mulled it over… unbelievable. She only came in here to check up on her and verbally demean her a little, just to get the item acclimatised to her new environment and vent a little frustration on her own part. And now, she was seriously considering… what? An alliance, of sorts?

Well. You didn’t need to be allies to listen.

“And you want… what, in return?”

@a goose

[a goose]

IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell)

"Information. Can't think of a fairer trade than that."

This would be the make-or-break moment, she knew; she had to win Taldrix on two levels. The first, at least, was easy.

"Like I said, I watched nearly a dozen miners die by this plague. I can give you timelines – not just what symptoms appeared and when, but also the first crucial piece your boss is missing: date of infection. He can watch me all he wants, but without that, his 'observation' is meaningless. If you go to him with that, you make yourself important in two distinct ways: first, you've given him something he needs, which is always a good way to earn favour. But you make yourself even more valuable in the process, because now you're the one who can get me to talk. You get his gratitude now, and his attention forever. Or, at least, until I die."

And now for the hard part. She knew the play well; time and again, it was how she resolved disputes back in Ferrum. Contrary to what a fair few in the tribe seemed to believe, she wasn't some master negotiator, and contrary to what she would have liked to believe, it wasn't just her empathy and down-to-earth nature that had earned her that reputation. It was a trick – the most important one her grandfather had ever taught her.

Any man will take a bad deal if he thinks he's got one over on you.

What he used for sales, she used for diplomacy. When there wasn't a clear right and wrong, the only answer was compromise, and no one wanted to feel they had lost. So, she let them win. It was her own take on her grandfather's adage:

Let someone believe they're getting more than you mean to give, and they'll take terms they'd otherwise refuse.

It wasn't as catchy, but it better reflected her approach; after all, she was never trying to con anyone into a 'bad deal.' The fact was, people were stubborn, and their idea of 'fair' was often just a little bit self-centred. If everyone felt like they were winning, and no one was truly disadvantaged, it became an awful lot easier to keep the peace.

That was the play. Taldrix, due to some deep insecurities, hated her. More importantly, she looked down on her. If Somnii was right, she would believe she had the upper hand because she wanted to believe it. All her life, Taldrix had had to fend for herself – she was cleverer than Somnii, because she had to be. Her wits had kept her alive. Somnii was a pampered child of nobility; Taldrix had been raised by the streets. Somnii was a desperate slave, bargaining for her life, maybe hoping that she could befriend Taldrix, have her aid in the pointless escape she was planning. When had she ever had to strike a deal? When had anyone not simply bowed to her power and praised her, willing to do anything to ingratiate themselves to her?

Somnii was naïve, and Taldrix was wise.

She found a fire behind her eyes, and smirked. Overconfident. Arrogant. That was who she was, who she needed to be.

"In return, I want to know what your boss' deal is. Who he is, what he wants – and not just what he wants from me. An outsider wouldn't be trying to unite the Bone Hunters if he didn't have an agenda. And I know what you're thinking: once you have what you want, you have no reason to get that information for me, much less bring it back. You're wrong. You need me to keep talking, because it keeps you valuable, and because I have more to say. The one thing I bet your boss wants to know most: how the plague is spread."

She played it like her ace, and leaned back in smug satisfaction. Taldrix, she hoped, would see what Somnii had 'overlooked' – that the information she wanted, Taldrix wanted too. Her captor had little to lose, and everything to gain. This wasn't an alliance; it was an opportunity to use Somnii for her own gain, and to prove herself superior in the process. And if Somnii had played it right, Taldrix would be very eager to get one over on her.

OOC: @Toru Nui

[~Xemnas~]

IC, Aurax: Precipere

Aurax stood up at Tueris's nod. He was eager to get out of the village and get the excursion over with.

OOC:  @Nato G @oncertainty @Burnmad @a goose

[a goose]

OOC: a jam with the irreplaceable, irreducible, irreparable @Morgan Yu (extra Yu's not included)

 

IC: Scodonius (Staff NPC) and Vitrum (The Shadiest Spot on Bara Magna)

Scodonius was, at this stage in his illustrious career, rather used to getting his own way. So when his secret friend told him, in no uncertain terms, to put out a hit on the closest thing he had to a brother (it was only natural to hate one’s siblings with a burning passion and endeavour to see them fail miserably in all their efforts, he’d been told) and Scodonius replied, ‘No, you do it’ – well, it came as something of a surprise that the suggestion wasn’t met with immediate and enthusiastic agreement.

Now, should it have been a surprise, particularly given who he was dealing with? Perhaps not. But if Scodonius had allowed himself to be governed by words like ‘should,’ he would never have made it so far in life.

Still, here he was, spending his afternoon in his home office instead of his personal pool, speaking to some sword-for-hire. Was it beneath him? Obviously, but that wouldn't keep him from maintaining his standard grace and decorum. She was a professional, after all, even if said 'profession' was distasteful.

Why in the names of the Lords did I not just order Berix to handle this?

"So, I understand you're, a, uh… a woman of discretion."

The sellsword gave a single, measured nod in response. Two ruby eyes peered at the gangster through her helmet.

The collar of Scodonius’ shirt felt suddenly tight. “Would you- I mean, that is, can I get you a glass of water?”

She shook her head.

“Ah. Right down to business, I see. I like that.” He did not like that. He swallowed hard before continuing, suddenly very aware of how dry his mouth was. “Well, you see, I asked you here today because of a problem I have. Well, it’s not just me, but I- right, no, it is me. Not that – I’m not the problem. It’s my problem. And you have a reputation in certain circles as something of a problem-solver.”

“I’ll need a name, and I’ll need a timeframe.” The words came out clear, paced and precise.

“Kirbraz. He’s – that is, he was – my arena partner, from back in the day. He’s uh, blue, black, actually looks a lot like me. Less handsome, of course.” He gave what he hoped was a winning smile, and felt immediately glad he didn’t have a mirror. “And, uh, time, yes. Soon. As soon as possible. Yesterday, even. I mean- well, you know what I mean. You’re a pro. You get it.”

It seemed as if the mercenary moved upright ever so slightly. Scodonius flinched.

“Kirbraz. And you have no qualms on how it is handled?” She placed a thumb on her chin.

"Handled?" Scodonius squeaked.

She stared back. 

"I mean, you know, main thing is just that it is handled. But like, don't, uh, don't be too rough on the guy." He shrugged, committally, and tried to blink back sweat from his eyes.

“Meaning what? Do you want him killed, or not?” The mercenary leaned forward by inches.

“What? Yes. Obviously, yes.” For once, confusion and indignation momentarily won out over anxiety. “That’s why I’m hiring you. To, y’know, to take care of him. That’s the whole deal.”

She kept her glare, pensively idle before nodding a final time. “I’ll need half the pay, up front. No contact until I’m finished.”

"So, uh… when it's done, how do I get in touch?"

With that, the assassin stood up from her chair, setting the clips on her cloak and rolling her shoulders. Scodonius could just about glimpse her sword on her waist.

“I’m staying at the Scarabax’s Delight, third room, first floor. Any unforeseen elements or emergencies, leave a message for ‘Vitrum’ at the front desk.”

She glanced back up to Scodonius, ruby eyes seeming to cut more like diamonds.

“But I’ll let you know myself, once the mark has been killed.”

"Well, excellent. This, uh, this should cover the… deposit?" He slid a small, bulging cloth bag across the desk. It made a sound not unlike what one might expect from a set of incredibly expensive wind chimes, which also happened to be full of money. In this respect, those wind chimes would be a great deal like the bag.

Vitrum reached for said bag, fingers attached to scarred knuckles prying the knot open to take a look inside. Beneath her mouthpiece her lips quietly mouthed the count of the coins as she carefully, but quickly, placed a stack of coins onto the desk they’d both been sat at. Before long she’d decanted all of the denarii onto the desk - quite an expensive deposit all in all. And then, finally, she shifted one of the small piles over to Scodonius.

“Your count was high.” She stated, simply.

Scodonius blinked, incredulous. She really was a pro.

With that, Vitrum scooped the rest of the money into the cloth bag with care, tying it off with little effort and stuffing it somewhere beneath her cloak, with a brief bob of her head to her employer before she made for the door. The clock was ticking - and Tajun nights were cold.

[Techn0geist]

IC: Del - Celrys's Workshop, Tajun

The Ferrumite sat transfixed by the aquarium for a time, the organic fish flitting and twirling so graceful through the water, the robo-fish turning and darting sharply around in grotesque imitation, eyes struggling to settle on any one specimen. The voice from the far door broke their trance, Del's head snapping towards it.

<<Analysing scenario.>>

They followed Celrys as he approached and sat and grinned with impish glee, beckoning for their lurid tale and gleaming with garish gold; a picture of nauseating excess.

<<Unknown quantity.>>

No familiarity passed through the Glatorian's head at all. This man in front of them, this clinic, this city. Not a hint.

Del's eyes bored through Celrys's lens and, one more time, uttered the words that had brought them so far across the desert.

"Find Celrys. He's your father I suppose."

<<Query.>>

"Father is?" they repeated, still without answer.

<<Clarification.>>

Putting together context clues, the analytical mind queried further. "Celrys... is? Celrys... you?"

 

OOC: @Snelly @Morgan Yu @a goose

[Emzee]

On 5/14/2023 at 6:30 PM, Nato G said:

IC: Avinus - Tajun

"It's always best to keep a few tricks to yourself," she said, nodding, "The ones who make it far in the tournament are usually the ones who spend a lotta time watchin', studyin' their upcoming opponents."

@Emzee

IC: Luka — Streets of Tajun

"Exactly!"

Maybe it was just Luka, but it felt like as the day continued to wind down into the evening, the town square became even more bustling than it already was. It was only after his affirmation that he started to notice more eyes on them. A few Agori tourists would occasionally slow their step or stop completely to steal a glance at the two armed Glatorian, perhaps out of awe.

"I tell ya, one thing that will take getting used to is this extra attention," Luka said to Avinus. 

OOC: @Nato G

[Nato G]

IC: Avinus - Tajun Streets

"Certainly shows ya where people's priorities lie," she said, winking at a passing group of gawking Agori, "A lotta these folks aint gonna watch us fight a regular match when it's over vital supplies for Tajun, but kickin' butt in the name of village pride and braggin' rights really brings in the crowds." 

@Emzee

[a goose]

IC: Celrys (His office, Tajun)

Celrys' blue eyes burned even brighter, curiosity now entangled with what appeared to be nothing short of awe.

"My word," he muttered. "You're something special, aren't you?"

He cleared his throat, and spoke gently: "Take that helmet off, let me get a proper look at you."

Once Del had done as he asked, the lens autonomously slid into place over Celrys' eye, extending into a telescopic scope. Wheels clicked and whirred until at last they seemed to settle, and the artificer steepled his hands on his desk. His expression had become something studious, serious, though his visible eye was no less intense. After a moment's silence, he relaxed and smiled.

"Celrys me," he announced, beaming. "Though I'm afraid I must disappoint you: I'm quite certain I'm not your father. I suspect that message you're reciting is a little garbled, though your directive to find me was thankfully unimpeded."

With that, he turned his eye to Skyra. "You were quite correct to bring Del here, Miss Daring; that device in your friend's cranium is definitely my handiwork. If it's the problem, we'll get to the bottom of this in no time. Say, Del – would you be so kind as to turn your head just a smidge? I'd like to get a look at the serial number."

OOC: @Techn0geist @Snelly @Morgan Yu

Edited June 26, 2023 by a goose

[oncertainty]

IC: Lorqua - Training Ground, Outskirts of Atero

Lorqua stepped back as Lutenus came towards her, desert-honed reflexes kicking in as they always did. She could almost see the flow of blood on sand, hear the cries of battle. Then taut cordage bit into her back, and she was reminded of the realities of her situation.

Full awareness returned to her with the familiar throb of injury. A welcome sensation, because it meant she hadn't gone into shock. She was alive. Still, there was time enough for that to change yet. But in the critical moments before Lutenus arrived she noticed something. Evident only in contrast with his mechanical lack of hesitation thus far, Lorqua noticed a change. Not quite a moment of uncertainty. But, all the same, the swing lacked commitment. Given how he had been fighting thus far? It might as well have been a Skopio rising from the floor of the arena.

Not certain that what she was doing was entirely legal, Lorqua threw up her shield to intercept Lutenus' swing. Rather than aiming for his axe, she aimed for his arm. She threw her weight behind it, trying to push through him and get back into the open field. If she had to take the blow from the axe all the same, she would take that trade.

OOC: @Toru Nui @Techn0geist

 

IC: Skrall - Bone Hunter Stronghold

Seizing the opportunity afforded by the moment of silence, Skrall leapt over the side of the cart. Cybernetic claws extended from the soles of his feet, and he did not sink into the sand as he landed. Giving the Spikit an ample berth, he jogged forward to come in line with the lead cart, keeping pace with ease as they slowed to enter the stronghold.

He would not meet the Bone Hunters sitting down. If this was to be the gate to the new world, he would go through it on his feet.

OOC: @skrall

 

IC: Escus - Precipere Guardhouse

As his companions rose and made to leave, Escus turned away from his contemplation of the wall.

"If we are already doing as they wish," he offered the comment nearly under his breath, his appraisal of the recent revelations clear. "Then we shall need as many as we can get. If surprise is no longer an option, I mean."

He wore a lopsided smile. It was harsh, he realized, but he preferred to make his views known now. They would be of no use to anyone later.

OOC: @a goose @Nato G @Burnmad @~Xemnas~

[Jesse Pinkman]

IC: Vitrum - 'Scarabax's Delight' Inn, Third Room, First Floor (Tajun)

A small, oil soaked cloth caressed the steel of Vitrum's blade, immaculately maintained and yet long serving. It was a deceitful thing; on a glance it looked not dissimilar to any other shortsword style sidearm carried regularly by any breed of individual seeking protection - or simply aiming to take a life. But its painstaking maintenance hid its trickery - as the cloth edged across it, it dipped ever so slightly every couple dozen centimetres, only to rise up on the inverse stroke. 

Vitrum momentarily kept the fabric in one hand as she inspected the blade closely - before suddenly pressing a calloused thumb against a button mechanism near the handguard. Within milliseconds, miniature clockwork mechanisms rumbled to life and three almost invisible partings of now obvious segments of the switchblade telescoped into one another, the wooden handle of the dragging them in sequence inside like a hungry beast. 

Good. 

Vitrum now satisfied, the contraption was stowed away in the bedside table, poised for action if and when it were to come. The mercenary glanced to a half-eaten pie that room service had brought up on top of the same table. She'd eat the rest later.

Fatigue pulled at her eyelids. An hour's sleep, and her job began.

---

IC: Karak - Celrys' Office

At this point, I almost see myself out of the door to wait. Whatever abominable contraptions this man is seeking to place inside of Del - I wish never to see. Moments pass before the disgust takes ahold of me like a nasty fever and I speak without thought.

"Oi! What you do him, metal man?!" I demand, pointing at him with fervour. 

OOC: @a goose @Snelly @Techn0geist

Edited June 26, 2023 by Morgan Yu

[a goose]

IC: Celrys (His office, Tajun)

He looked curiously at Karak, taking him in. Unfamiliar colours, unfamiliar accent, difficulty with the language – an outlander, perhaps? And, most curious of all, no visible mechanical implants.

Fascinating.

"Well, I intend to do a few tests to determine cognitive function – memory, motor skills, that kind of thing. If you're concerned, you're welcome to sit in on the process. If you're talking past tense, however, I can't rightly say I know – I have a great many clients, which is why I need Del's serial number. Once I have that, I can tell you exactly what that device is."

He paused for a moment; beneath his helmet, he furrowed his brow.

"I should also clarify that I am not made of metal. Extensively augmented, certainly, but still a living being, just like you. I couldn't do my work otherwise; the brain is a truly incredible organ, marvelous in its complexity, the likes of which no machine can quite match. The ability to think, to feel, to create, is something uniquely ours. Now, I can tell you're not from around here – from the west, or the north perhaps – and I understand your culture may view cybernetics differently, but here they are simply a fact of life. And, if it reassures you at all, my modifications do serve a purpose: when it comes to my creations, I am always my first intelligent test subject. When at all possible, I make sure that I do not subject anyone to anything I would be unwilling to install upon myself. So you see, safety is of the utmost importance to me – which is why I am absolutely determined to work out what's wrong with your friend. Does that help at all?"

OOC: @Morgan Yu @Snelly @Techn0geist

[Daniel the Finlander]

IC: Xani (Streets of Atero)

"Well, of course, of course," she said to Vraek with a slight chuckle. "My crafts are meant to be admired, not used in battle. Though you shouldn't underestimate the sharpness of crystal, either."

She then turned to Jeizmel with a smile. "Anything helps. Money is hard to come by these days." Unless you were a slave trader, of course.

Finally, she turned back to face the direction she had come from, and urged the two to follow with a motion of her hand. "Come, I have not yet unloaded by goods since arriving here, so everything is still in the stables. Follow me..."

After a short while of walking, she arrived near the city gates. "Wait here," she told the two and walked inside the stables. Not much time passed before a rowdy two-headed Spikit pulled a chariot outside, guided by Xani. She then started to unload some of the crystal crafts from the cargo sled that was attached to the chariot.

"Don't mind the Spikit, I haven't fed it in a while, I really should go buy food for it before it eats anyone... which you can help me with by buying any of these!" She showed various crystalline items to the two, such as rings, bracelets, masks, ceremonial weapons, necklaces, drinking glasses and so on. They were all polished to perfection and expertly made. "What do you think?"

OOC: @That Matoran with a Vahi@Toru Nui

Edited June 26, 2023 by Daniel the Finlander

[Snelly]

IC: Skyra Daring - Celrys' Workshop, Tajun -

Skyra nodded in her seat. "Yeah I figured it was something like that. Unless of course it has something to do with whatever's going on with Ferrum. You heard about that right?" Skyra figured a man like Celrys heard just about everything. 

 

@Techn0geist @Morgan Yu @a goose

[a goose]

IC: Celrys (His office, Tajun)

Celrys' face became somber, and he nodded. "Indeed I have. A troubling business; I've already given Raanu some technology that should be of use to the scouting party. If Del's problems are related, I'll be sure to send him a telegram with whatever we learn."

OOC: @Snelly @Morgan Yu @Techn0geist

[Techn0geist]

IC: Del - Celrys's Workshop, Tajun

Del made assessment of their not-father Celrys as he approached, observed, scrutinised. Doing as requested, the Glatorian reached up; the moment the helmet slipped away from their head, the fans which had been silently whirling within ceased. A heat began to rise, creeping.

Beneath the Iron Tribal's helmet lay gentle green; not like the lush jungle growth of Tesara, but an ancient forest on a moonlit night. Their eyes glowed dimly, the narrow visor of their headwear no longer focusing teal light amidst shadowed face.

On 6/26/2023 at 12:57 PM, a goose said:

"Say, Del – would you be so kind as to turn your head just a smidge? I'd like to get a look at the serial number."

<<No present threat. Maintain awareness.>>

Not taking their eyes of the artificer until the last possible moment, Del turned their head slowly to the right. The aquarium's shimmering light played across their bare scalp before catching and glinting off a small metal plate, the only exterior sign of the implant occupying a humble portion of Del's skull. Beneath the Celtech maker's mark, Celrys's eyes began to play over the delicate engraving of a serial number.

D3•L—

22 hours ago, Morgan Yu said:

"Oi! What you do him, metal man?!"

Their head, the plate, snapped away to look over the other shoulder to Karak. The intonation, the indignation, was alien to Del, so far versed (for a given value) only in much more measured interlocution.

<<Dialogue experiment.>>

Del faced Celrys again and, surprisingly loud for the until-now reserved Glatorian, demanded in turn: "What you do him, metal man?!"

Immediately they decided the manner of engagement did not match the preceding interaction and resumed a more neutral sitting posture once again, eyes still resting on Celrys. More interestingly, 'What you do him' was noted as well. This function of identity, as they had already with names, would be assessed at a later date.

More spirited back-and-forth between Del's companions and the cyberneticist, and the conversation turned to Ferrum's fate. The voice unlike anything else in Del's head arose once more, and their words spilled from the Glatorian's mouth.

"I broke quarantine, got us out of Ferrum." A pause, preceding innocent query. "Ferrum... is? Quarantine is?"

 

OOC: @a goose @Morgan Yu @Snelly

[Jesse Pinkman]

IC: Karak - Celrys' Office

A tempest of jargon and incomprehensible phrases comes from the grotesque flesh sculptor. The outburst of anger only moments before swells again. Del glances at me - apparently shocked. And then, seemingly, he demands the same answer from the man - with about as much vitriol as I myself had spat out.

Enough was enough. I storm forward, my thumb poised at the man.

"He like not! You stop!"

OOC: @Techn0geist @Snelly @a goose

[a goose]

IC: Celrys (His office, Tajun)

Celrys blinked, perplexed, and took a moment to consider where he might have gone wrong.

Unfamiliar colours, unfamiliar accent, difficulty with the language-

Ah. That would do it, yes.

"I'm very sorry, let me try to be clearer: I mean your friend no harm. I want to help. I will not put any more metal inside Del, I will only use machines to look. I am metal because I put metal in people – but always in myself first, so I know it's safe. I want to find out what's wrong with Del, and to help if I can. You are worried it might be my fault, and I am worried about that too. That's why I have to help."

With that said, he stood up, and turned his back on the trio. If the outlander was still disposed to violence, Skyra would hold him back; she was quite capable. In the meantime, he needed to find the…

There.

He pulled a journal from his bookcases and sat back down, leafing through it, before remembering Del's queries. Without looking up, he began to speak:

"Ferrum is a village, like Tajun. The people of the Iron Tribe live there – by the colour of your armour, you are likely one of them. Quarantine is when sick people are put in a place they cannot leave, to prevent them from making others sick. You contracted the Ferrum Plague, and were kept in isolation-"

He froze, and looked up. "You contracted the Ferrum Plague, and were kept in isolation. Someone helped you get out, someone who told you to find me because of the device I installed in your head… Nemoni."

He tapped the current page in his book. "D3•L3•G8. Nemoni, Iron Tribe Glatorian, female. AKA… Del."

OOC: @Techn0geist @Morgan Yu @Snelly

Edited June 28, 2023 by a goose

[Wotz]

IC: Dune Wolf (Atero; Red Star Inn)

Visions...? Visions, to Dune Wolf, were fearful, involuntary, synonymous with nightmares. Even now, through the veil of vague amnesia induced by the Blackthorn Gin, flashes of parched flesh, blood and rusted metal swam behind his eyes.

"Funny," he forced a laugh. "Seems to me that visions are the thing I spend most of my time trying to get away from."

Still, there was something enticing about her request. He had never heard of these 'Serrata' before, but he felt some strange kinship with them for that reason. Forgotten people. And if he helped them, perhaps there would be a stronger force to help him take on the Bone Hunters.

Besides, who would he be without nightmares?

Dune eyed the blackness in his hand. "But that voodoo shi'it probably has more of a kick than this trash." He looked up at this mercenary who shared his name, and realised the face had become familiar. Purely by accident, there was a barely detectable smile on his face. "Sure, I'll come east. Iconox can wait, for now. But let's wait and leave in the morning. I've ridden far enough today."

OOC: @a goose

[a goose]

IC: Wolf (Atero; Red Star Inn)

Wolf nodded. Though perturbed by the other wolf's thoughts on the traditions of her people, she tried not to let it show; she had a feeling that meeting with Moth might allow him a better understanding.

"This inn offers lodgings. I can get us a room for the night, and we can set out after daybreak."

She downed the remainder of her glass and stood, leaving it upon the table. Ignoring the commotions that had stirred during their conversation – some Ferrumite at the root of them, it seemed – she walked to the bar. Coins became a key.

"Upstairs, second door on the left," she said, walking back towards her fellow wolf. "Two beds; you won't have to sleep on the floor."

OOC: @Wotz

[Snelly]

IC: Skyra Daring - Celrys' Workshop, Tajun -

Skyra sighed before looking at Karak. "Karak it's fine, metal man is trying to help Del." While trying to reassure Karak she listened to Celrys' findings. 

"Wait what!? Plague!? Nemoni!? Holy S***!" Skyra had stood up, looking shocked for a moment before promptly sitting down.

"Her name is Nemoni, and they have the Ferrum Plague, got it..." Skyra nodded her head thoughtfully. 

...

...

"...now what?"  

 

@a goose @Morgan Yu @Techn0geist

Edited June 28, 2023 by Snelly

[Wotz]

IC: Dune Wolf (Atero; Red Star Inn)

"What a treat."

- - - - -

That night, Dune Wolf slept restlessly, when he slept at all. He had thought that a proper bed would relax him, had looked forward to a deep sleep. But he felt wrong, out of place. Too hot. It was rudimentary, just animal skins and dried grass, but he was accustomed to sleeping in caves, upon sand and on cold, hard stone.

Almost without thinking about it, he crept back downstairs and stood out the back door of the inn. By this time, most of the patrons had turned in or gone home, while those who had none slumped over their tables in slurred conversation.

Dune Wolf chewed fireroot and looked up at the stars. He recalled an old slave once telling him that the stars were the souls of the dead watching over the living. He could see how that would be consolling. It would be consolling for him now, if he could bring himself to believe it. But it was more relaxing here, with the open sky above him. If he just sat down...

The fireroot was finished. He spat it out. His eyelids drooped. Better head back up. For now, just rest his eyes, lean back...

- - - - -

Pools of blood and countless atrocities. Millions of slaves, all of Bara Magna, all cattle, all meat. All of it visible across the landscape, illuminated by gore-stained sunlight, naked flesh, naked bodies. Chained together like cattle. Cattle and milllions. Millions of meat. Millions of bodies and endless death.

The child taken away from her mother. The mother clutches her bossom. She weeps. Then the black swords come down; she is old, her body-meat is stale. She is dead. The mother of the slave dead. Dead slave-mother. Millions of babies. It screams as they throw it into the firepit. Into the bloodlake. Learn to swim in an ocean of pain, or learn to die; these two options are the same. Death-learning. Learning to live its own death. The baby cries for it's death-mother.

Machinery now, pumping, churning. Surgically-enhanced flesh of the earth. The desert as a great body, its sand-skin penetrated by rusted, evil metal. Jagged shards. Millions of parts. Oiled by millions of blood and infinite atrocities. Teeth, natural teeth, ground up to feed. The slaves augment the machine. The body rises. Millions of bodies. Infinite death.

NO--

- - - - -

"--FREEEEEDOOOMMM!!!"

Dune Wolf blinked, looking around. He was standing there, fighting stance, out the back of the inn where he had obviously fallen asleep. The sun had just barely crept over the wall and laid a thin strand across him.

He turned to head back inside the inn. Tried, tried, TRIED-- Door locked, great. He clamboured up over the shed and scaled the wall up till he spotted the distinctive dark purple skin of his compatriot.

The window slid open. "You awake?"

OOC: @a goose

[Toru Nui]

IC: Lutenus (Outskirts of Atero, Training Ground) - Successful Counter

Lorqua’s shield slammed into Lutenus’ axe-wielding arm, sending him off-balance. He staggered backwards, trying to regain his footing, open for an attack…

@oncertainty @Techn0geist

 

IC: Vraek (Streets of Atero, Near the City Gates) - How to Quickly Make Decisions You Will Regret Later in Just One Easy Step

Now, Vraek did in fact, have a sizable amount of money on her person. What fool would dare attempt to rob a Glatorian of Iconox, after all? She could feasibly afford any one of the items here… the question was, of course - which one?

“Hmm…” She couldn’t afford to be indecisive in front of Jeizmel, so she pulled out an old trick her mother taught her in order to avoid such scenarios. “I think… that one.” She pointed randomly and intended to commit to whatever was at the end of her finger - a necklace.

@Daniel the Finlander @That Matoran with a Vahi

 

IC: Taldrix (Bone Hunter Stronghold, Outside Somnii’s Cell) - One Over Her

Cocky little princess, wasn’t she? Now, this wasn’t Taldrix’s first Rock Steed rodeo, she knew that the item was only doing this out of some vain hope of escape, to tell the world of the Gatherers’ new leader. And ‘vain’ was clearly the right word for her. Did she truly believe she was ever getting out of the stronghold? As far as the world was concerned, she was already dead, so there was no daring rescue on the way, nor was there any inclination to ransom her. And from the sound of it, she’d be dead of the plague eventually. Even if she could escape, she’d never make it to any other spot of civilisation - if you could even call the tribes civilised - before her end came. And if this could get her further standing with the Ghost and knowledge of his true nature…

“...Alright then.” She said, after a moment, softening her demeanour. “Sorry about earlier, usually the new ones who aren’t afraid don’t waste any time about how I’m ‘the scum of the sands’ and so on and so forth, I thought you’d be the same. I’d shake your hand, but, uh… I really don’t think it’s a good idea to touch you.”

@a goose

[Jesse Pinkman]

IC: Karak - Celrys' Office

The mineral puppet keeps talking. He speaks slow and deliberate so as for me to understand him better, but to no avail. All I can do is trace my gaze across the sharp and shiny prosthetics stapled onto him. His mere existence is close to an affront against who I was - who my people are. 

Skyra somehow punctures the haze. She speaks more gently than I've heard her try to before. It has the effect of rainfall on an open fire. And so, I fall back. I look back to her, and then at Celrys, and then Del.

Wordless, I exit the room. 

OOC: @Snelly @a goose @Techn0geist

---

IC: Clare (NPC) - 'Scarabax's Delight' Inn, Reception

Yep. They're not coming down with their rent, are they? 

In truth, it's kind of my fault. I make a habit of refusing guests who don't want to pay for the first night when they check in, but one of them kind of talked me into it. They had one of those voices you know you shouldn't listen to - but you cave when hearing in any case. 

I really need to ask for some time off.

And of course, today of all days our security guard sent his friend over to say he wouldn't be in. That's his last sick day, for anyone counting. So it's gonna have to be up to me to tell that lovely party that they'll have to either pay the money due along with a fine for being late, or leave. Not that I don't think they'll listen to me or anything. 

"I would like to book another room out."

******, that really scared me. It's that woman from a few nights ago - with the kinda eerie helmet. She's not a bad guest, but she's one of those I'm afraid to make small talk with. I don't feel like irritating her is a good idea.

"Uh, of course! You were in..."

I nearly fumble the papers out of my hand before smiling awkwardly. Get it together, Clare. 

"Room 3, right? First floor." 

She nods. Good, I didn't forget her name. I clear my throat.

"Did you have any preference on which room you'd want to be moved to?"

"Top floor. Room 1. It's the one with the window looking out to the front." 

Ah. Of course. Of course.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, but I'm afraid we can't give that room to you." I rub the back of my head, hoping to whatever was up there in the clouds that she doesn't inquire further. I feel my face lose a bit of colour as she leans in ever so slightly. 

"Is it booked?"

"Well, I...yes, well, sort of. We have some guests up there who had the place booked last night, but..."

I catch a blink behind the mask.

"But?"

Oh, screw it. I couldn't care less if it made the inn look bad, it's their fault for hiring such a deadbeat for security.

"They haven't paid for tonight. But they haven't checked out. I've uh...been on shift most of the day and they haven't seemed to have left."

Her head moves over to the door, where our doorman would usually be. Here it comes.

"Where's your security?"

"Hmm?"

She speaks while I'm mid-sip of water, and I just about manage to swallow it without choking.

"You had a doorman when I checked in."

"Oh, well, it seems he's taken ill or something. But don't worry! You're perfectly safe, the concierge is around all hours of the day so if you're concerned about anythin-"

She interrupts me by placing a flush of coins on the wooden desk in front of me - by a rough count probably about three nights of rent - and turns around, heading for the stairs.

"Three nights, please. Under Vitrum." She calls down to me.

At this point I'm not really sure what to do. I try to open my mouth to protest but she's already up the stairwell. 

"Please don't do anything that'll get me fired." I murmur under my breath, head in my hands.

[Techn0geist]

IC: Mard & Ahmoa - Training Ground, outskirts of Atero

"Oof! Ouch." Ahmoa proclaimed involuntarily as Lorqua brought Lutenus's axe charge to a stop with her shield-bash. "A tad rough, don't you think?"

"Pull your blows, last warning! That looked nasty!" Mard barked at the combatants, wondering how bad Lutenus would feel the bruising come morning.

But the counterattack had left Lutenus wide-open, and the referee readied himself to call the fight. Seeing how Lorqua had turned the tables so quickly however, he couldn't count out Lutenus doing the same just yet. So uncannily quick to push the attack, the two Agori wondered how that would translate to defensive recovery and offensive response.

 

IC: Del - Celrys's Workshop, Tajun

Del returned Karak's brief glance as he left the clinic, trying and failing to decipher what was happening behind the blood-red Glatorian's eyes.

On 6/29/2023 at 5:32 AM, a goose said:

"D3•L3•G8. Nemoni, Iron Tribe Glatorian, female. AKA… Del."

<<Analysing scenario.>>

The information imparted by Celrys gave Del rare pause. The heat climbing inside their head spiked.

<<Unknown quantity aided Del I leave isolation. Unknown quantity, voice, dire— >>

Del's process was interrupted only briefly by Skyra Daring's colourful freakout, barely even a tick.

<< —cted Del I find Celrys. Del I find Celrys.>>

On 6/29/2023 at 11:09 AM, Snelly said:

"Her name is Nemoni, and they have the Ferrum Plague, got it..."

<<Nemoni. Nemoni. Nemoni.>>

Tick. Tick. Tick. Like a skipping record needle.

<<Cannot reconcile. N-N-N-Nemoni not I. Del I. Name Del I. I-I-Identity Del I...>>

A fierce sweat broke on their brow. Their mind was running hot now, dangerously hot. It had to throttle back, hard.

<<Quarantine w-w-when sick people... p-p-prevent-t-t-t making others sick-k-k-k-k-k...>>

"Youuu cooontracted thhhe Ferrummm Plagggue..." Del slurred out in lazy repetition, abandoning their usual precision speaking clip. "Theeey hhhave the Ferrum Plaaague..."

The helmet, slipping from their hands, clanged loudly onto the floor. Del looked up to Celrys, to Skyra. Their vision swam, their face clammy and their forehead hot with fever.

<<Q-Q-Q-Query.>>>

"Del I... sick?"

 

OOC: @Toru Nui @oncertainty @Morgan Yu @a goose @Snelly

Edited June 30, 2023 by Techn0geist

[oncertainty]

IC: Lorqua - Training Ground, Outskirts of Atero

A grunt of exertion was the only reply that escaped Lorqua's lips. Pulling that move had earned her a rebuke from the referee, but it had also earned her some space to move. Arena combat. Hard not to feel a certain tension in it, dulling your instincts on purpose. Even so, no use in doing it if she wasn't doing it properly.

Pushing past Lutenus, she crouched and spun around to face him. In tandem with this motion, she drew another javelin, swiping it towards Lutenus' legs like a sword. She retreated from the full force of it early in the swing. The hit wouldn't be as hard as it could be. She wasn't so far gone as to throw strikes at the torso, though even then she knew that was what the desert would teach her to do.

OOC: @Toru Nui @Techn0geist

Edited June 30, 2023 by oncertainty

[a goose]

IC: Wolf (Atero; Red Star Room)

“Awake and ready,” she replied, pulling her helm down over her eyes. Her few belongings were already gathered into a pack and flung over her shoulder. “I gather you would have preferred the floor; you’ll sleep well in the Serrate.”

OOC: @Wotz

IC: Celrys (His office, Tajun)

Celrys, his scope retracted, watched the strange Glatorian leave with a look of unmistakeable sadness in his eyes. There was disappointment there, yes – disappointment that he hadn’t been able to get through to him – but there was also hurt. The pain was an unfamiliar one, here as he was in his custom workshop, where people came to him from all across the known world, where he was respected and, perhaps, even revered. It was the look in the Glatorian’s eyes; it made him think of another Celrys, living another life, years before he would become a household name. One who was forced to grow accustomed to that look, one not just of anger or unease but of disgust. They looked at him like he was an aberration, an affront to nature itself. He felt a kinship with that other version of himself, who had seemed so distant until this moment. It was curious; he had faced criticism before, even hatred. Many considered his work unnerving or unnatural, and some even made their antipathy far more personal. What was it about this that was so different?

Offense, he realised. People found his work distasteful, they found him ‘creepy,’ but those were matters of taste, based on his actions and his words. That Glatorian had felt all of those things, and none of them truly mattered to Celrys; what had gotten under his skin was the way in which the man seemed to be offended by his very existence. He didn’t care what the artificer said or did, he wasn’t even listening. It was his presence itself that he objected to, and there was nothing that could be done to change his mind. Without realising it, Celrys had grown used to being larger than life – but in that Glatorian’s presence, he felt so very small.

Still, there was no time to dwell; Del was what was important. As if awakening from a trance, he turned his attention back to his actual client, just in time to experience their meltdown.

No time to waste.

“Cacia, we need some water in here, now.” Celrys was already on his feet, and making his way towards the door through which he had emerged.

“Right away, sir.” The voice that responded, though tinny and seemingly emerging from Celrys’ desk, was unmistakeably that of the receptionist. Though he rolled his eyes when she addressed him as ‘sir,’ he said nothing, focused on the door.

“Skyra, I need you to help Del up and follow me.” He held out his open palm, and the door slid open once again, revealing the workshop that had seen Skyra’s implants installed, like so many other Glatorian. In contrast to the office, the room was all sterile metal – metal walls, floor, desks, moveable trolleys. Metal implements, too. The only exception was the adjustable chair at the centre of the room; though metal in construction, allowing its position to be adjusted as necessary (even laid back entirely), in place of ‘cushions’ it had a rubbery surface upon which the client was expected to sit. It was not as uncomfortable as it looked, if not by very much. Celrys himself had made his way to one of the metal cabinets, from which a fog emerged as he opened it.

OOC: @Morgan Yu @Techn0geist @Snelly

IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell)

And there it was. It had worked. She was so dumbfounded that she couldn’t quite keep the look of surprise off her face, but she quickly regained her composure. “You’ll probably want to write this down.”

Somnii took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and then began.

“Usually, it takes one to two weeks from the first symptoms until… until death. Some made it to three; one was even pushing four when I left. Didn’t even know it was a disease to start with. People just… stopped dreaming.” She shuddered involuntarily, and had to take a moment before she could continue.

“It’s not like what you think. It’s… it’s as if you’re still there, the whole time. Asleep, but fully aware. And I don’t just mean you can’t move; I mean you’re aware, and that’s it. You don’t feel anything, don’t hear anything. Your body is asleep, you’re not physically anywhere. But you can’t think either. Only experience. And there’s nothing to experience but time. Every single second you’re ‘asleep,’ you’re aware. Hours of… nothing. Like being forced to sit and stare at a wall, without even the ability to distract yourself. The hours feel like years. And then you wake up, and it gets worse, because there’s no rest either. You wake up and you’re just as tired as when you fell asleep – more tired, even – and then that exhaustion compounds. It gets harder to think; you’re groggy, your reflexes are slow, your legs are as heavy as lead. You start forgetting things – blackouts, at first, then recent things stop sticking. You forget where you are, what you’re doing. Soon enough, though, it doesn’t matter if you used to know it. You don’t have the energy to find it in your mind anymore. You don’t have the energy to do much of anything anymore. But even that is better than being asleep.

“Pretty early on, people start trying to keep themselves awake. Simple stuff at first, caffeine, trying to keep your eyes open, the usual things a miner on a long shift knows to do. But that’s not enough, because you still fall asleep, and you still have to experience that… that void. That's when the dying starts. Some people take their own lives; it can’t be so different, after all. At least when you’re dead, you’re gone. Better to be nothing at all than to be forced to stare forever into oblivion. Sometimes it’s an accident – people try to go to work or go about their lives, but they’re slow. They fall, or they get hurt. Sometimes they hurt themselves on purpose, just trying to stay awake, and they’re too tired to realise they cut too deep. It doesn’t matter, because they’ll soon enough die anyway.

“The next stage turns the tiredness and confusion to aggression. People become violent, paranoid, irrational. They lash out, hurt others, get themselves hurt. It only takes another day or two after that before they just stop waking up. After that, some of them die quicker than others. We tried to keep the first few alive, comatose; that was before more people started getting it, and we realised what we were doing was tantamount to torture. Better to be dead than to be trapped in that dreamless sleep. So yes – you’re right not to shake my hand. I wouldn’t wish this sickness on anyone. Not even you.”

OOC: @Toru Nui