[dice=Constable DC15]1d20+6
[dice=Hero Point]14+4 -Willem moves with the other constables as a group relaying his findings and gut feelings to the other constables as the group moves to the warehouse-style building. As they enter, Willem quickly adjusts to the surroundings and lighting.
Upon contact with the Flint Police Footment, Willem knows that something is awry with the peace officer's gear. They are wearing long swords instead of just their standard issued baton and dagger. Willem draws his beautifully crafted sidearm as well and points it at them, "ON YOUR BELLIES NOW WITH YOUR HANDS SPREAD OUT TO YOUR SIDES! DO NOT GRAB YOUR LONG SWORDS OR ADVANCE ANY FURTHER OR YOU WILL BE FIRED UPON" Willem keeps his distance to prevent Attack of Opportunity. His steely eyes fixated on the two suspects with the gunslinger stare. There is no doubt to the suspects, he will shoot if they do anything else but get on their bellies.
Willem begins to study the suspect directly in front of him with his Slayer Class Skill - Studied Target.
After Anneca issues her challenge, time in the hallway seems to slow down for the longest of moments, with what seems like hours that pass as both sides stare at each other for an inevitable confrontation. Both men are set in standard leather jerkins underneath the police tabards, with longsword, baton and dagger. To Anneca it seems that her denouncement of the police imposter almost causes him to give way and surrender, but something seems to steel him from doing so. He shakes visibly but begins to reach for his longsword, as does the fellow conspirator just to his right and behind him...
The movement towards the longsword is all the confirmation that Anneca needs. She summons forth the heat and flame from the Plane of Fire, channels it through her weapon, and unleashes it in a blazing cone against the pair of imposters. It hits both of them at full blast, disorienting them as they try to escape the furnace of heat. With any luck, her furious elemental assault has badly injured both to the point that they go down easily without warning others. "Hope they authorized deadly force," she mutters idly to herself.
Emerson is so used to traditional combat he steals himself for the concussion of Anneca’s blunderbuss as he steps up beside her. But instead, it’s more of a whoosh. Well, I guess I can always make some noise.
The closest Rebel takes Anneca’s flames straight in the face and falls to one knee trying to put the flames out. This leaves enough room for Emerson to aim and fire at the second burning man. While the bullet makes contact, it is but a graze and only affects him slightly.
Being the type A, by-the-book constable, Willem speaks up which delays his action, "I must remind all of you, we are supposed to capture if we can. Deadly Force is authorized when our lives are at stake. It is currently 2.5 to 1 odds in our favor. We should at least try to capture one of the suspects for questioning and not vaporize both of them!"
Short range, cone base blast... interesting. Arthur notes as Anneca's blunderbuss belches flames, followed quickly by Emerson unloading a single shot into the remaining rebel. Acting just as quickly, Arthur already has a iron sphere in his hand and with a flick of the wick towards his cigar has the bomb hissing in ominous sputters.
Glancing towards Willem and his shouted warning, Arthur scowls, before hurling the sphere at the dazed form of the remaining trator.
Ting.. ting.. .
Glancing at Willem again, Arthur frowns. Eh.. what was that Willy? My hearing aint so good. Arthur said with a chuckle. Blood outsider going to come to my city and tell me how to do my job? Bub's gotta nother thing comin, sure is sure.
Emerson grins at his friend over the smoke that now fills the corridor. "Yes but the King's life is in jeopardy. I think we can make a few exceptions."
He strides forward down the hall and pulls another bullet from his belt pouch although he doesn't load it. He grips it tightly in his hand and concentrates for a second. He opens his palm and suddenly the hallway is as bright as day the magical light centered on the ammunition. Emerson never breaks stride and positions himself on the far side of the door in the hall. He finishes reloading his pistol, the light now emanating from the end of his pistol like a miniature bullseye lantern.
The two hapless impostors, badly burned with one on the verge of panic and the other clipped from Emerson's shot, watch almost despairingly as Arthur's bomb lands next to them and detonates. Both men now collapsed in a heap, it would almost be comical if not for the smell of burnt flesh mixed with firedust and other chemicals. Yet both foes seem to be alive if only slightly so, the force of the blast knocking them out in addition to giving them additional savage burns.
Despite their impressive display over the two traitorous imposters, the constables know that the King's life is still under threat - neither man was able to shout an alarm, but the gunshots and detonations in the hallway were far from stealthy. A closed door awaits them down the hall to what is guessed as the interior of the warehouse-type building.
*********************
The constables stand by what appears to be a rather standard and cheap looking wooden door that opens inwards, though it has been locked from the inside with a poor-quality lock. Under the door they catch the flicking of light from what is probably a lantern or lamp. They can hear some sound of metal striking or scraping stone, as well as what sounds like the snapping of wood of some sort. There is a brief clanging sound and what may be at least two distinctly different voices, though any conversation is muffled from the door and the other sounds beyond...
Willem wants to cuff the suspects and get them medical attention but there is no time for that, and the team must move in a cohesive unit.
Willem ignores Arthur's belligerence, thinks to himself, "The law is the law and I am going to cover my rear in my report. Then the higher echelon can decide if there was a breach in the force level used."
When the group arrives at the door, Willem says quietly, "Anneca can you blow off the hinges with your firearm and Art, can you throw in a grenade for causing a distraction of some sort?"
Gemma frowns slightly at Arthur's small slight towards Willem, but after all the flurry of activity, she starts to move to the unopened door. Gemma stands closer to the hinge side of it, while Emerson is closer to the lock side. Quietly drawing her sabre and a dagger in preparation of whatever is to come, she waits by the door for the other constables.
Upon hearing Willem’s plan of action, Gemma responds quietly in kind. “Excellent idea, Willem, but perhaps someone might take a moment to manacle the two while someone else can open the door more quiet-like. We’ve already lost the element of surprise, but if I’m first one in I’d like a moment to set up before I take it in the face.”
Willem returns Gemma's compliments with a smile and a whisper, "Good, another person I can work with on this team!" ... Willem looks at Arthur, then looks back to Gemma continuing in a whisper, "If you have an extra set of manacles, I will secure our two unconscious prisoners while someone quietly opens the door. I should be back in time to cover you when the door is unlocked for entry. And remind me, we should design a shield that will allow us to enter rooms filled with bad guys more safely?"
Fair enough, fair enough. Arthur murmurs in his Nettles accent while glancing at the other constables before letting his cool eyes slide to the door. Clicking his tongue in thought, Arthur examines the lock, then flashing a pearly white smile at Gemma, Arthur saunters over to the lock like a cat strutting and kneels. Excuse me, Love. The saboteur stated while unrolling a leather satchel at his side and easing a steel pick out from the roll. Benefits of a misspent youth, you could say. Arthur muttered, letting the steel slide into the lock as he finessed the tumbler.
Click...
Arthur stepped away, picking up the bundle of tools as he did so with a matter of fact nod at the others and motioning towards the door as if saying "After you."
Willem cuffs the first perpetrator with one set of manacles, then slides the second pair of manacles between the arms and connecting chain of the first, then binds the second perp hands. Thus, both perps are cuffed at the hands and they are essentially tangled together making escape more difficult if they should gain consciousness or dragged off.
Willem comes back and whispers, "Ok, the unconscious perps are bound. Is the door opened and how do you want to go in?" Willem draws his decorated peeperbox pistol and keeps the barrels down pointed at the floor and away from the other constables.
As Gemma pushes open the door with sabre drawn and moves inside a very large warehouse room, a shot rings out from somewhere ahead of her and slightly to her left, behind a large worktable with a single lit lantern. Fortunately for Gemma the shot misses wide to her right and ricochets off the wall several feet from her; the shot comes from a drawn pistol by a capable looking foeman wearing the same Flint Police uniform as those outside in the hallway. He calmly surveys his shot and appears ready to reload from a side pouch for another. ”They’re greymen all right! A whole $#&! binful of ‘em pilin’ in!”
”Then we’ll just kill ‘em right quick, won’t we now?” Another uniformed imposter appears at the top of a twelve-foot high balcony level above the main warehouse work floor, dropping a crowbar in his hands to the ground with a clatter and calmly drawing a pistol.
From behind him upstairs there is an open archway that leads back to another room, whereupon they hear a slightly higher-pitched male voice shout, ”We’re running out of time! Get them taken care of and then let us finish this!”
Fortunately for the constables, the room is fairly well lit from a nearby lantern on a worktable, along with light coming in upstairs from the open archway beyond the balcony at the top of the stairs. The constables quickly make out that this warehouse appears to be a place where nets and ropes are fashioned for use on the Risuri Navy ships – nets adorn the walls in various sizes and functions, and large coils of hemp rope are stacked both in crates and loosely in barrels on the far side of the warehouse floor. Underneath the balcony level and its supporting wooden beam supports are more crates and barrels of completed rope and net product.
Gemma instinctually flinches slightly in reaction to the wild gunshot but then continues forward with a call back to Arthur. “When you’re in here, we may need one of your devices lobbed firmly upstairs, Boomer.” She makes a quick glance back to the constable in case he’s unsure who her new nickname is aimed at.
She moves in so that the table gives her some partial cover and then throws the dagger in her right hand at the perp across from her.
Gemma frowns at her missed attempt but knows that other constables will be filing in behind her for back up.
Maybe they'll have a bit of better luck. It was a long shot anyways.
Anneca grimaces as she sees the tactical situation before her. Her blunderbuss is a short-range weapon. While it can act as a crude musket if loaded with normal shot, she has it loaded with pellets meant to spray closely. She finds herself wishing yet again that she had a backup weapon. She knows that she has to get close to strike with either her weapon or her magic, but that is easier said than done. She follows Gemma into the open door to the sole source of cover available - the table currently occupied by the reloading rebel. She sprints as fast as she can, glad that she is unhindered by armor but awaiting a bullet to fly her way from either of the suspects.
Emerson follows Gemma and Anneca through the doorway knowing the only option is to charge ahead towards cover. His vision is clouded with the memories of combat from the Fourth Yerasol War. He can almost see explosions of dirt darting across the landscape. He’s moving behind Gemma but from this angle she looks like Sergeant Phillips giving him a wink on the Island of Sirai. Her face still haunts his dreams.
He blinks again and the room is now fully in view. He concentrates on the lantern sitting on the table in front of him. He uses it as a beacon, protection from the phantasms. It’s closer now, and the false visions are gone. He crouches down behind the table next to Gemma and smiles. ”Well this might have been a bad idea” he says rather nonchalantly.
Not liking the cover around the table, some cover is better than none, Willem sprints to his current position and tucks himself in the crates and barrels a little to offer protection from the balcony and a crossfire.
Arthur seems to be in no hurry to rush in after the others, but instead watches with a keen eye on where their enemies seem to be positioning themselves. His hands twitch for another throwing bomb at his bandolier, but he bides his time…
Somewhere up beyond the wooden balcony landing and the open doorway, they hear a frantic series of banging and scraping, sounds of metal hitting stone. This seems to carry on and echo into the open warehouse where they are. Frustrated, they hear the strange speech of a language that is neither Primordial nor Lanjyr Common. ”Diavbo fon pidr as fon deribraiv fil pan as foran ho! Fo Sigio fen po aro cir go fergo ken gau no cerarwisad nio haro felo as fionnog albain oth cein!”
The first rebel who fired at Gemma previously calmly reloads his pistol and then fires at her again from across the wide worktable. The shot, however, goes ridiculously wide once again. He quickly looks behind him to see where his fellow compatriot is. "They're piling up at the table! Get over here why don't ya?"
"I'm coming don't fret," snaps the second man irritably who descends the broad stairwell, his pistol initially aiming at Gemma at her corner behind the worktable. Seeing Willem with his pepperbox to the left behind some crates, however, gives him pause; he steps down and takes cover behind some crates of his own as he fires off a shot, hoping to get lucky and hit the constable between the eyes. The shot however is high by at least a foot and ricochets off the wall behind Willem.
Willem shifts his focus from Veteran 1 to Veteran 2 since he is closer and poses a bigger threat now, especially after getting shot at from him. He studies Veteran 2 for an opening and finds a small one, and returns fire.
However veteran 2 knew that something was not right, so he ducks behind the barrels and crates. The shot misses and splinters one of the crates and barrels that veteran 2 is hiding behind. Wil yells out, "I WILL STALL THE PERP NEAR THE STAIRS, FOCUS FIRE AND SUBDUE OR KILL THE PERP BY THE BENCH!"
Ducking behind cover as the assailant fires over their heads, Emerson smiles and laughs a little out loud. ”Gemma, you run around the table to the right and move up. I’m going to do something rather stupid.”
With that said, Emerson stands up and leaps up onto the table affording him a point blank shot from higher ground. Emerson points his pistol at the surprised man. He must have been expecting an attack from the sides as he was caught completely unawares.
Constable Hill fires and strikes the man in the head, blood and bone spraying into the air.
Gemma nods to Emerson, agreeing with whatever he has in mind. Before she moves, though, she turns her face back slightly, trying to catch Arthur in her periphery. “Arthur, if you wouldn’t mind joining us, now might be a prudent time.”
She then turns her attention back to the task at hand and moves around to the right side of the table. She tilts her head a little when Emerson jumps up onto the table and takes what seems like a killing shot, a bit of blood splashing onto her coat sleeve and hand.
S$@@, s*$&, s&!~, s&!@! He just shot a damned hole in his head right practically on top of me! She grits her teeth a bit more than before. Ignore it. Look past it. Focus on where you’ll put your sword stroke. Break down the chaos. Process your tactics. One stroke, not many.
She’s trained for this but never actually seen some of the things she’s imagined Emerson has seen. There’s a lot of blood and guts that they don’t include in the books and seeing a living man (rather than a cadaver on a slab) with his brains blown out right in front of her isn’t something she could train for. Yet, she manages to keep her composure and bring her sabre across to try and finish him.
But, alas, it's a poor, poor stroke. Whether it's Emerson's gun shot ringing in her left ear or the gore or the damn bench in her way, she is sorely disappointed in her missed opportunity.
Anneca brings her weapon up to aim at the nearest suspect - only to see him drop like meat when Hill shoots him in the head. She grunts in surprise at the sudden violent end to the man, then runs from cover to cover. She skirts along the edge of the barrel, hunched over to not provide a shot to the two suspects still a threat. She stops a half-dozen paces from the one on the stairs and takes aim - so to speak - with her blunderbuss. She should have cover to protect her against both until she is ready to fire. Even as she runs in the heat of battle, her mind translates the Sylvan words; she looks for meaning in them, but they sound like deranged babble to her at the moment - except for his frustration. "The one up there! Get to him now! He's stalled on something!"
Arthur merely grunts in answer to Gemma's call, watching the fight unfold as his office mate's bold scramble on top of the worktable allows him to take a devastating shot at the hapless rebel there. With Gemma pressing the advantage, Arthur decides to put his attention to the other man at the base of the stairs. He swings around his light crossbow and briefly checks to ensure the bolt is secure and the tension of the string is adequate, then causally aims and looses it at the enemy.
The bolt flies and lands with an impressive thudding crash into the side of the crate just a few paces from the rebel's leg. Frowning at the results, Arthur slaps the stock of his crossbow as if to wake it up from a stupor and looks to draw another bolt from his bolt case.
Other than what may be an exclaimed curse phrase or two, the mysterious Third Man does not speak any discernable words that can be understood. The sound of metal scraping on stone seems intensified and uneven by the sound of it.
The man whom Emerson has shot looks gruesome indeed, as he momentarily gags and coughs up blood all over the front of his police uniform. Blood also streams from clumped and matted hair on the right side of his head, his ear mangled beyond recognition and what appears to be part of his cheek and upper teeth missing. Blood begins to drip down from his cheek uncontrollably, and the fanatic can only manage a painful moan as he moves back out of the reach of Gemma’s sabre; the unloaded pistol remains in his right hand but he pays no attention to it as he instead withdraws a stoppered glass vial from his belt pouch with a swirling dual-hued mixture of verdant and azure colors. It is clear to all that he is desperate to drink it and sustain his existence.
”ARN! NO!” The second rebel nearly snarls in disbelief and anger at his associate being treated thus, and begins to raise his own pistol to fire in the direction of Emerson and Gemma, only to curse as he realizes his pistol needs reloading. The man shouts loudly to the landing behind him, ”GARRYS! WE GOTS A SITUATION DOWN HERE!” Abruptly he makes a decision to help cut his comrade out of trouble, his eyes settling on Anneca viciously. Stalking towards her while drawing his longsword in one fluid motion, he reaches her position and slashes sideways at her abdomen.
The slash comes under her blunderbuss and bites into her deeply at her hip bone, the R.H.C. uniform staining rapidly with blood. Though she feels she could black out at any moment, it is perhaps only by Anneca's sheer will and stubborn determination which she possesses that she remains conscious.
Initially content to stand at the doorway and provide lethal fire from a distance, it all changes for Arthur as he sees his colleague Anneca Summers take the dreadful wound from the second conspirator. Both rebels now have unloaded pistols, and at this distance Arthur knows he cannot hope to repeat his effective grenade throws even if he wanted to. So he moves as fast as he dares into the warehouse without cover, unloaded crossbow still in one hand but ready to drop it and prepare his volatile primer for another bomb as soon as he sees an opening.
For Gemma, it’s as if time itself slows down long enough for her to assess everything that’s going on; the first rebel drawing his potion, trying to drink it before he falls, Emerson on the table, Arthur rushing into the room, Willem by the barrels near the stairs, and her office mate and fellow constable taking a grievous, near fatal wound.
She steps up in an attempt to take charge of the situation. Without taking her eyes off the second rebel, she calls out to her fellow officers. “Emerson, please prevent him from living,” her quick head tilt towards the first rebel being a clear indicator as to who she means. “Arthur and Willem, take the stairs, if you would.” She then brings her sabre up to engage the imposter in front of her. “This one’s mine.”
This better damn well work…
Willem watches in horror as Anneca gets too close to Veteran 2 and is attacked viciously by him. Willem then methodically comes out of his cover and calmly walks towards Veteran 2 from behind, with steely focus that would chill his victims and other witnesses to the bone, he levels his revolver at veteran's 2 head, lines his sights up with proper sight line and picture, and then fires.
At the same time, Willem responds to Gemma, "I got it Gemma, but first I must pay my respects to the perp that shot Anneca."
The .50 Caliber round flies out of the barrel with a loud boom and a bit of fire, whizzing within hearing range of Gemma, and flying true to its target. As veteran 2 watches his blood spray out in front of him with some spray landing on Anneca, he feels immense pain, a drenching wet feeling, and weakness come over him.
Willem uses his free hand to rotate the barrel, readying the next loaded barrel. Then he looks right, left, and rear for more engagements besides the two in front of him in severe trouble and agony.
Failure!
”Dammit! That guy just took Anneca down. Have get to her but we can’t let this one heal himself…” Emerson is trying to assign priorities when Willem fires at the second rebel and kills him with a similarly deadly shot.
With the second man out of the way, Emerson makes the decision to use his inherited abilities to control the closest remaining rebel. He points at the staggered man and shouts. ”Drop it!” Arn, is now barely able to see due to the gore upon him. He is clearly desperate to drink from the vial that could save his life but the power of Constable Hill’s voice forces his hand down from his quivering lips. He is horror struck as his hands open involuntarily, both pistol and potion clattering to the floor.
Hill leaps down from the table and closes the distance hoping Gemma will be there to back him up.
Badly injured, Anneca staggers backwards as pain threatens to overtake her. Blood seeps out of the deep cut to her side, but the adrenaline of the life-or-death fight keeps her moving. She starts to bring her weapon up to shoot the man who cut her, but he falls to the ground in a spray of blood. She looks over to see which of her colleagues saved her, only to wonder who the man actually was. As she looks, she sees the other rebel with something in his hands other than his pistol. She had believed him to incapacitated, but clearly he is still a threat. She brings her blunderbuss up and blasts him with a spray of grapeshot. The pellets slam into him in a narrow spread, dropping him to the ground. "Keep going! I'll be fine!" Anneca tries to rally the others to get the Sylvan speaker rather than tend to her grievous injury. She drops to the ground as darkness overtakes her. "Get him," she mutters weakly as she starts to pass out.
The pair of traitorous enemy combatants lie still upon the floor of the warehouse, bleeding from the terrible carnage inflicted by both pistols and blunderbuss shot. Both fallen men still appear to be breathing slightly, despite the grievous wounds.
It is unclear whether “Garrys” responds to the urgent warning by the now-downed second man, or whether he came at the sound of the gunshots fired in the warehouse. Whatever the reason, a clanging of metal can be heard in the room beyond the balcony doorway, followed by what sounds like a muttered prayer or incantation. The third man “Garrys” suddenly appears in the doorway to survey the situation for himself, and deal directly with his enemies…
…but it is not what the constables would have ever expected. Before them all stands neither a Risuri human nor sylvan fey, but a male deva. With what appears to be light blonde hair braided into several carefully woven tight braids across his head, amber eyes that flare with anger and animosity, and silvery geometric patterns across his entire face, neck and arms as if tattooed, the constables clearly make him out as a Deva – not wholly unlike the recently transferred Constable Rhegalion Arbalistre, though Rhegalion had elvish features whereas “Garrys” clearly was fully human before his initial transformation long ago, if the myths and stories are true about them. The ringleader wields a dagger in one hand and seems to know how to use it.
Yet the revelation of “Garrys” as a Deva is not even the strangest thing about the third enemy rebel who seems at the heart of the plot to kill King Aodhan. Aside from his face, neck and lower arms, the rest of him is completely covered in what can only be described as a custom-made explosive suit – a mixture of leather, sewn metal plates, satchels of firedust sewn shut side-by-side with flat-sided glass tubes with a sickly red-hued liquid, all interwoven with what appear to be stout cords or wire throughout. The satchels of firedust and red liquid tubes extend from the top of his chest and shoulders to down across his back and abdomen, extending further down to the tops of his legs above the knees. In a wide bronze belt around him, still more pouches of firedust are interspersed with ensconced firegems and glass flasks of what appear to be finely powdered gold dust. The deva’s left arm with the held dagger is also braced with a bronze buckler-like apparatus that bears strange runes along its front, with a hint of parchment on the reverse side of the buckler as if giving him the ability to read without clutching it in his hands. Though “Garrys” has use of his right hand, clearly the apparatus around him is extremely cumbersome and limiting in his motion and dexterity; the sewn metal plates form a kind of flexible metal armor that would deflect most blows of sword, spear or bolt. Oddly, his neck is not armored, but instead sports a thick sculpted bronze torc which bears a single bright crimson-hued uncut gemstone; whether ruby or garnet is unclear, but it seems to almost glow or shine in the lantern light nearby.
As if the strangeness of both form and apparel was not odd enough for the constables, they can clearly see the deva is currently floating above the floor by at least a foot, achieving some degree of flight through some incredible display of magic, though by spell or by device they cannot tell.
Garrys snarls with frustration at his compatriots being brought low so quickly, showing contempt at the constables. ” O ceinnon ererich fathav! Siren oth ar rau-disad Fog! O fon o fandiom taro? Po lorirad olo oth ar rau-disad nand narnero gegi, as nio fo tundan o cybo puron podr kel cerarwidr ho ken feng anrandog fo an oth fo Sigio! O tindo detho faun coro as luf nas daurdog, as podr kel no lalad!”
The ringleader conspirator then starts an incantation with his free hand, his amber eyes flaring alight with arcane power and an unearthly hollow ring to his voice. Golden motes seem to gather above them all across the rafters of the main warehouse floor. Just as his woven incantation seems to build to a crescendo of power, a sudden movement of his free arm leans him precariously to one side with the shifting weight of his suit, throwing his gestures off and causing him to hesitate on a crucial syllable. The golden motes flare and then disappear above them, its summoned magic fading as quickly as it had come. "GAHH!" is all the deva can manage to shriek as his casting fails him at the most inopportune moment.
It is also both troubling and unusual to see fey or sylvan influences in this assassination plot against King Aodhan. The Kings of Risur rule in no small part by agreements with the Unseen Court and its Elder Fey Lords. Though disagreements have been known to occur, the slaying of a Risuri King by fey or sylvan interests would undermine the entire system of Risuri rule since the founding days of King Kelland over seventeen-hundred years ago!
"Watch Out! That suit he's wearing is essentially a bomb! You don't want to be close to him if it explodes.
Fay be damned!” is all that Gemma can manage to mutter with a tinge of anger after Willem’s bullet wizzes by her ear. She gets more blood and gore splattered on her uniform from the new kill.
So I guess the “Use of deadly force” aspect of this little venture has been cleared up
But very quickly her attention is drawn to the new threat on the stairs. If it wasn’t so deadly, it would almost be comical, especially when the casting is disrupted by the deva’s cumbersome movements.
Knowing that, tactically, she has very little to go with that won’t involve getting her and her fellow constables completely blown to bits, she tries the next best thing…figuring out as much as she can in a split second.
Unfortunately, anything learned isn't much more than what she already knew.
Emerson studies the satchels and tubes on the Deva's armor and does some calculations in his head. "If we can get some alchemical or magical fire on him we can trigger his suit here, where we can minimize the damage. The only problem is that his suit has a 20 foot blast radius."
He looks back to Arthur. "Can you get one of your bombs on him?"
Gemma takes Emerson’s words into account and decides to make an unorthodox and possibly very dangerous move. Hoping that Emerson will stay put and tend to Anneca, Gemma looks to Willem and smiles a bit. “I’m about to do something really stupid. If you could, please, wait a moment and reload in case it goes badly.”
She then digs through her small knapsack and pulls out a clear, stoppered flask filled with a swirling orange liquid that almost behaves and looks like a gas. As quickly as she can, she moves forward up the stairs and readies her action against the deva.
Emerson drops his Baton. Any hope of subduing the next foe evaporated as soon as he appeared on the landing.
Instead, Emerson decides to try and revive Anneca. He calms his mind and concentrates on bringing forth healing energies locked up within him. There is an almost imperceptible flash of light which emanates from Hill and spreads out in a 30’ radius. He can see that it works, although not quite as well as he would have hoped. He bleeding has stopped but the skin at the wound site is still red and raw.
He picks up the vial the rebel Arn dropped to further assist Anneca as soon as he is able.
Willem rolls his eyes and nods to Emerson, "Any other good news my friend?"
Willem looks at the Deva to see if he gets the same conclusion...
Willem sighs, "GREAT! A crazy fanatic to deal with!"
Willem responds to Gemma, "I'm already set to shoot again and I will cover you."
Willem then takes cover behind the crates and barrels closer to him at the bottom of the stairs, aims his pistol Garrys, and then studies him.
Anneca opens her eyes as a sudden surge of energy flows into her body. Her fingers are sticky with blood and shaking with pain, but she has enough strength left in her to get back into the fight. She slowly gets back to her feet, grabbing a bullet cartridge from her belt as she stands. She reloads the gun with a single round - not as effective as a musket is when only firing one shot - and peeks over the crates. She sees the floating deva in the bizarre contraption, making note of the fiery gem. "Watch out," she warns in a weak and ragged voice. "That gem can explode with a single word!
Arthur advances forward upon seeing the ringleader called Garrys in his suicidal explosive suit, coming to stand next to Willem and giving him a nonchalant shrug as his reaction to what they face. Though Arthur doesn't say anything, he only nods in agreement at Emerson's words about what he discerns about the danger. He's too far away to throw one of his custom grenades from here, and senses there will be an opportunity. So instead he calmly brings back the crossbow string to full tension and loads a bolt into it, just in case he needs it later on.
"You little b&*$@! You think to deny me my purpose for my Lady and my love? With your pitiful alchemy that you hold?" The fanatic ringleader known as "Garrys" speaks Lanjyr Common for once, almost spitting the words out at Gemma with clear hatred upon his face. "I watched as your pretty prized pet constable burned to nothingness, helpless and pathetic! Would you like to know how she felt? No? Lucky then for you a different death - NOW DIE!"
He raises his hand outstretched at Gemma, and three crackling balls of energy, purplish hue in color, flare to life and are given form. Yet just as Gemma is certain they will leap out to strike her, they weaken and then sputter out, one by one.
Garrys fumes with rage at his magic failing him a second time. It is clear to the constables that his donning of the suit took others to set and strap on, making it nearly impossible to remove by oneself. "BLASTED...I SHALL NOT BE DENIED!" Garrys then retreats backwards out of the open doorway and within the loft room, beyond the vision of all the constables as they have not ascended to the landing.
Gemma takes a deep breath as soon as she sees the crackling energy in the deva’s hand and then lets it out when the spell, thankfully, fails. She then starts up the stairs after him with her sabre in one hand and the vial of fire still in the other.
“I must insist that you surrender by order of the R.H.C.! If you choose not to, you will be given no quarter!”
She ends up on the left side of the door that he went through, delaying going in until she can make another action with her next movement.
Seeing their enemy retreat back into the loft-level room, Arthur moves rapidly to take to the stairs and arrives at the landing, taking up position on the side opposite Gemma at the open doorway. In one hand he has his loaded light crossbow, while in the other he has one of his custom bombs already selected, the activating agent which serves as the primer ready to trigger. He looks over to Gemma's hand with the alchemist fire flask, and gives her an encouraging nod and wry smile. "Guessing he's set to choose the martyr route Love, but nice of you to ask him all the same."
Emerson does the best he can to hobble up the ramp after the Gemma and Arthur. He passes Anneca with the healing potion in his hand. "It's yours if you want it but you'll have to keep up"
Willem sees that maybe Arthur should be close to the door so he can throw a hand grenade if need be. He runs to his position leaving space for Arthur. When he arrives, Willem motions to Arthur to make a grenade ready but don't arm and throw it yet.
Anneca takes a few struggling steps forward and falls to one knee, still badly injured. With shaking hands, she reaches out and grabs the rebel's discarded potion, as well as his pistol. She uncorks it and drinks it in one quick motion, deductively reasoning that he would not have pulled it out so desperately if it were not a life-saving magic. She feels her injury knit close, though it burns in pain just as badly as when she first felt the steel's cut. The bloody gash is soon no more than a memory and a hazy burning sensation, but she feels a great deal more strength than she had before.
She may not be an expert in whatever gadgetry the man is wearing on his body, but she does know an explosive device when she sees one. She is, however, an expert on setting things aflame. "Let him burn!" she shouts at the rest of the constables.
”Surrender to you dogs and your misguided master? Better to DIE than bow down to ignorant halfwits that threaten to destroy the world – YOU UNWITTINGLY SERVE DEATH TO MILLIONS YOU FOOLS!”
Yet the next words from the deva are not more ravings of a suicidal zealot, but arcane words of power as he once again attempts to invoke arcane magic against the constables. The constables see a spot in the air right in front of the open doorway that seems to sparkle and shimmer with swirling powder, a very faint melody of fey-like voices sounding all around them. Both Gemma and Willem cannot resist stifling yawns as for a brief moment their eyes become heavy. Yet once again the sorcery of Garrys fails him in his suit, and the elaborate incantation falls apart and dissipates.
Desperate now, Garrys moves back to the far corner of the room, which is also lit by a single lantern on a large table. The walls of this warehouse are made of solid stone well over a foot thick, as these buildings along the shoreline of the royal harbor serve as a secondary defensive barrier should the shipyards ever be attacked by the sea. However, for those constables that can peek inside briefly, they see that the light of day comes in from several places where the stone’s masonry has been sundered and broken away, a pungent chemical stench in the air and rubble from broken stones littering the floor, where it appears several men were working away at it by the aid of metal crowbars and acid flasks. One crowbar lies with the constables out on the balcony landing where it was dropped by the second veteran rebel, while another one still lies inside the room on the floor near the largest hole over a foot-and-a-half wide and two feet tall, next to the broken remains of the weaker fired-brick chimney along the eastern wall just past the corner. It appears the rebels were working to break down a large enough hole in the stone wall near the chimney to allow the deva ringleader egress from the building, aided as he is apparently by magically induced flight.
Even from this distance, the gap in the wall that has already been opened shows the grey-blue waters of the area between shore and the royal shipyard isle, the bridge and Fleet Square a clear direct line from their viewpoint on the upper story of the warehouse. Perhaps with only a few more minutes of furious work by the rebels, the gap would have been sufficient for Garrys to fly through it and make a direct line-of-attack for the King’s carriage. Though the parade hasn’t started yet, it appears the police have now let the assembled citizens past the second checkpoint, as the bridge is packed with eager Risuri just now gaining access to the other side at Fleet Square…
If Gemma worshipped any gods, she would have prayed to them a couple of times by now, but instead she’s just thankful that all of the deva’s arcane magics are failing him.
With his last words, Gemma sighs, knowing that taking him alive and in for questioning is highly unlikely.
She makes her way inside the room, surveying the area and taking care to be out of the way of the other constables so that they can file in after her. Even though she still has the fire flask in her hand ready to throw, Gemma knows she doesn’t have the range yet. She has nothing more than words to throw at the fanatic.
“You have chosen poorly deva. It seems your suit puts you at a disadvantage and there’s no way you’re fitting though that hole.” She tips her head a little to the side. “That, and we cannot allow you to harm the king.”
I really hope someone can shoot him before he figures out a way out of this room or blows us all up...or before Anneca gets to him and rips him apart.