"Hope he knows what he's getting himself into.", Alys says as she watches the two leave.
She turns to Connor: "I should probably explain all this... guild business at some point..." after an awkward pause she continues, "Worst possible place in the Isles, huh? Ash would seem a little too easy."
"I knew Reaghar wasn't happy but we didn't have much chance to decide our lives at the moment." Connor said, keeping an eye out in the tavern. "Still, he was useful as a partner, in fights and in crafting." He sighed.
"At least we're back home! I don't even mind a trip towards Ash." he told Alys. "Don't you remember all those stories your parents used to tell you as a child, 'Be good or you'll be sent to Ash', 'Magic-user, magic-user, burn in Ash and don't come back'." Connor laughed. "We've plenty of time to shop around tonight and maybe tomorrow morning. When did you want to leave?"
"Catch you all later, maybe. Unless she kills me, heh."
Reaghar heads out the door.
Alys and Connor, once the duo has left, and the tension in the bar drops several thousand percent, have an ale to drain their own tension, and then head out.
Flying in a straight a line as they can toward Ash from the tavern, they finally notice an old ship holding station about halfway there.
Well, calling it a ship. It's got battle damage, very old battle damage. It was obsolete a hundred years ago. How it's managed to stay in one piece is a mystery.
Landing on the deck, the duo is surprised, or rather, not surprised, to see their boss, Kalvant.
"Hah! Well, look what the storm blew in! You two look a sorry state. Not sure I should keep you on the payroll, send you off with a group of 7, and back you come with only the two of you." He laughs. "So, what do you think of the ship? Isn't she a beauty? You know she once belonged to Alistairia 'tel Mintakia herself?" He pats the battered railing affectionately.
"It certainly did! And if you don't believe us, you can ask her corpse, it's in the hold, she was buried at sky with it 400 years ago!" A merry voice pipes up from doorway, and purple butterfly wings and matching purple flicker in the dark recesses of the doorway leading into the ship itself.
"Alls be damned, it's the peacekeepers! Kill 'em!"
Those are never good words to hear, but it's most especially bad to hear them from your moments ago urbane and foppish employer. As if someone had figured out how to get magic to work, a transformation overtook the foppish rich merchant who'd only moments ago been nattering away like a foolish moron about what the best wine to use with blue dragonmeat was. His features hardened, a heavy gauge shotgun appears in his hands out of nowhere and roars as it sends a blast of dragonfire rounds at the uniformed men and women who'd just burst in through the window of the tea house the man had been doing business in moments before.
The woman he'd been doing business with, a shrewish elvavian screeched at her own retainers, who drew a mixture of firearms and blades out of thin air as well. Tables overturned, expensive china shattered, blood sprayed, people screamed in anger and agony.
Roderick found himself in the middle of a 3-way battle with no knowledge of who was on his side, if anyone. Small wonder he only lasted a third of the way through the fight. He never found out exactly who shot him, there was a roar behind him, and blood exploded out of his chest and onto his hands as the bullet ripped through his body.
When he awoke, he was in a prison hospital, arrested by the Peacekeepers. Shock turned to bile as he heard what he was charged with... magic smuggling. Dapper Dan, as Roderick has thought of the foppish merchant, was a magic smuggler, and Roderick was now one as well.
Roderick's claim he had not known what the merchant did went exactly nowhere with the peacekeepers, nor with the judge, who handed down 10 years at hard labor, and then banishment for the crime.
Roderick had spent a month working in the crystal mines, a dirty, dangerous, nasty job that Roderick was unlikely to survive to be exiled from.
So it was quite a surprise when he was, in the middle of the night, awakened by someone jamming a sack over his head, and then being pummeled into unconsciousness.
"By the thunders, I've had enough of you! NOW GET THE HELL OUT OF MY OFFICE AND NEVER DARKEN MY DOOR AGAIN!" Colonel Mythradian bellowed, his florid face more florid than ever, his eyes bulging and bloodshot. "You think you have the right to question the treatment of a traitor? I'll be damned if I am putting up with another minute! I've given you all the benefit I intend to! Marines! Remove this woman from my sight, and put her on the next ship for the surface! Make it a garbage scow if possible!"
Two very large and burly strix guards grab Elara by the arms and duck march her out of the Colonel's office, ignoring any words she has to say.
The next few days are a blur, as she's sent from one post to another, each worse than the last one, and each time the people she's assigned to turning more and more surly to see her. Each of them find some way to transfer her out as soon as possible, until she really is guarding a garbage scow.
The next 3 months are the worst of her career, as she ends up assigned to an Disposal Ship, guarding magical ticking time bombs as they take them over to Ash for disposal. The wild magic storms, the lightning strikes, the detonations below the ship as magic items are dropped into an unstable zone. All tend to be hard on the crews, and they tend to be a very surly lot.
And then, she's transferred off the ship unceremoniously, with more black marks on her record. And she finds herself assigned to a prison ship, and not a very good one. It looks like it was built before the islands blasted into the sky, and the cells are old, iron, and hold 4 people who look like they are the scum of the earth.
The captain of the ship, a large heavily muscled elvavian man with a quick laugh, and his assistant, a purple haired and purple winged halvavian with a sense of humor that is not safe to be around, mostly ignore her other than telling her to make sure the unconscious prisoners stay unconscious until her new bosses arrive. At which time, she can pour some potions over them to wake them up (in addition to dumping a bucket or two of ice water on them).
"We'll see how much you go spouting your mouth about how people are framing your traitorous friend when you're wings is broke, you little dragonturd!" The voice was the only warning Adran had that he'd opened his mouth one time too many.
It wasn't that Adran wasn't a good man in a fight, but, there's only so much one can do when one is outnumbered eight to one. The fight lasted long enough for someone to end up dead, Adran didn't even remember killing the halvavian woman, but she'd ended up dead, and his head on the block for it, even though they'd attacked him.
He'd claimed he had been attacked, but there were 7 fine upstanding clansmen and women swearing he'd attacked the dead halvavian first, shouting about them having framed his friend, and how they'd beaten him in retaliation for what he'd done.
Given his bad reputation already, the judge hadn't seen any reason to believe him over 7 witnesses, and Adran was sentenced to exile.
The jail cell he found himself in was not overly large, but then neither was Adran. However, he hadn't been in it for long when someone put a sack over his head as he slept and then stars as something hard hit him on the forehead.
Clan McIntyre does not deal well with embarrassment, and Kyzin is a major embarrassment. So much of an embarrassment, that he's shipped off to the military unceremoniously.
For six months, he's worked hard, treated harder, and surrounded by people with no sense of humor.
It's like putting a starving man in the middle of an all you can eat buffet and telling him he can't even smell the food.
He'll avoid the temptation for a day, a week, maybe even a month, and then the practical jokes kick back in again. And then he goes further down the ladder, working his way steadily down the ladder from recruit on a battleship, to janitor on a destroyer, to hull cleaner on a scout ship.
Eventually, his jokes get him thrown in a brig on shore leave. Nothing too awful, but he's sure to get demoted again. Probably off ships entirely.
It's half-way through the night when he's awakened by a hand on his mouth, and then something hard on his forehead putting him back out again.
You are the forth person in a cage. You are unconscious, because they wanted to carry you off the ship boneless.
Alys looks around the battered vessel: "Meeting on a grave, glad you guys haven't lost your style. As for the thing with losing five members, see it as a show of our loyalty, as we could have clearly ducked out if we wanted to, but we didn't."
Muttering a profanity as the ship's habitual sudden list nearly bangs her head into a wall, Sergeant Elara of Kore grabs a wooden stool and sets herself down upon it in the corner, facing the caged souls. Crossing her arms, she tries to relax against the wall, grumbling as her hand reaches for a deep pocket. Drawing out an ancient wooden pipe, tinder and tobacco, her mind wanders as she falls into the well-practiced routine of putting them all together to create smoke and a little relaxation.
She's an odd figure; a half-elf bastard with no wings, an old but well-made grey army coat with dirtied insignia and rank bars marking her as a sergeant, enough visible bulk for a well-build body underneath then a third again added mysteriously, a black leather tricorn hat wide enough to keep quite a bit of sun off emblazoned with an iron Reville skull and crossbones, a sharpened falchion with a dull red leather grip on her belt and an expression like she just smelled something vile. Her face is beginning to wrinkle with age and lack of sleep, and she looks up suddenly at the cage.
"Oi, you lot still asleep?" Puff, puff. "Keep it that way or get belted." Puff, puff. "Good lads."
Crossing her arms and leaning back, she resumes practicing sleeping with her eyes open. Puff, puff.
"Hah! Well, look what the storm blew in! You two look a sorry state. Not sure I should keep you on the payroll, send you off with a group of 7, and back you come with only the two of you." He laughs. "So, what do you think of the ship? Isn't she a beauty? You know she once belonged to Alistairia 'tel Mintakia herself?" He pats the battered railing affectionately.
"It certainly did! And if you don't believe us, you can ask her corpse, it's in the hold, she was buried at sky with it 400 years ago!" A merry voice pipes up from doorway, and purple butterfly wings and matching purple flicker in the dark recesses of the doorway leading into the ship itself.
Alys looks around the battered vessel: "Meeting on a grave, glad you guys haven't lost your style. As for the thing with losing five members, see it as a show of our loyalty, as we could have clearly ducked out if we wanted to, but we didn't."
"Or we could leave right now." Connor said to himself, seeing Alys take off, spreading her wings East as soon as she was outside.
-------------------------
The trip towards Ash was in silence, so Connor reviewed some of the trip in his memorized frames. When the derelict was in sight, Connor started to manifest mindpowers, his psionic focus like learning to hold one's breath for several minutes. First his psychokinetic body-envelope at maximum capability. A Humavian-sized construct appeared to his left, then to his right. He sent the constructs to either spire of the ship, hovering, awaiting action. Connor himself landed fully defended, including a disc of invisible energy in front of him. Keep an eye out, Hero. he sent to the psicrystal around his neck.
Seeing Kalvant 'tel Mintakia, Connor didn't lower his shields. Mirandi 'tel Mintakia used a handgun, as he recalled. Connor wished he had a mindpower that could deflect bullets, or a martial strike. Where was? Oh, there. Connor mentally counted as he heard the Halvavian.
"Going to the Surface, with magic, changes a person." Connor added after Alys' reply. Connor retrieved Selvan's missive from his shirt. Moving carefully, he handed it over to Kalvant. "One lost, three resigned, one, well, reassigned. Assassin's Guild, my guess - you can take up the personnel issue with them. At least Sevlan wrote you a letter. He also cared enough to save Alys' life, once."
Connor stood back. "But our intelligence is greater than what the Mintakias or even the Council bargained for. Yes, we were recognized as spies, multiple times, by different parties. What we found was mindpowers still in use, as well as a godling of the Halflings. Magic greater than our psionics. In addition to dragons. Mundane and deep crystal in abundance, if you are exceedingly careful with its' owners." Connor took off his backpack and got out both the scrolls he had written as well as his journal, not his original, but the one he had written in during the skyship journey. He handed these over to Kalvant as well, his actions treating the parchment and paper like the precious jewels he delivered, the mundane crystal bracelet, Salishana's pendant, and a shard of deep crystal. "Kalliert and the Lands West, Org’trassah and the Lands East." the Humavian told the older Elfavian.
Finally looking around, Connor said, relaxing, "I do not believe we were followed. Now that I've served on a skyship, I know what you mean. Most of our engineers would go back to coal-fired steam engines, and not have to deal with the elementals in the boilers. Why not your library, though? I'd hoped to peruse the books again, now that I know what I am looking for. Alys and I both learned to do things that make us more valuable, more self-sufficient." A book on psicrystals, and metacreativity at the highest levels, would be nice to purchase or read.
This Humavian statue is made from an otherworldly, translucent silvery material. It stands ready to obey its' master's silent command.
Craft (Sculpting) check:
A result of 10 to 19 creates a creature that is recognizably similar to the desired creature shape; a result of 20 to 29 creates a construct that looks like an accurate portrayal of that creature type; a result of 30 or higher creates a construct that looks like a specific individual.
N Medium construct
Init +2; Senses darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision, Perception -
DEFENSE
AC 18, touch 12, flat-footed 16 (+2 Dex, +6 natural)
HP 31 (2d10+20)
Fort +0, Ref +2, Will +0; Immune construct traits
OFFENSE
Speed 40 ft., fly 20 ft. (Average)
(only if changed to attack) Melee slam +2 melee (1d6+6) with Power Attack (Ex)
Space 5 ft.; Reach 5 ft.
STATISTICS
Str 17, Dex 15, Con —, Int —, Wis 11, Cha 10
BAB +2, CMB +5; CMD 17
Feats -
Skills: Can perform any simple task of DC 10 or less for its' duration.
SPECIAL ABILITIES (Two options from Menu A; one option from Advanced Constructs Menu A)
Fly (Ex)
Power Attack (Ex)
Utility (Ex)
This Humavian statue is made from an otherworldly, translucent silvery material. It stands ready to obey its' master's silent command.
Craft (Sculpting) check:
A result of 10 to 19 creates a creature that is recognizably similar to the desired creature shape; a result of 20 to 29 creates a construct that looks like an accurate portrayal of that creature type; a result of 30 or higher creates a construct that looks like a specific individual.
N Medium construct
Init +2; Senses darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision, Perception -
DEFENSE
AC 18, touch 12, flat-footed 16 (+2 Dex, +6 natural)
HP 31 (2d10+20)
Fort +0, Ref +2, Will +0; Immune construct traits
OFFENSE
Speed 40 ft., fly 20 ft. (Average)
(only if changed to attack) Melee slam +2 melee (1d6+6) with Power Attack (Ex)
Space 5 ft.; Reach 5 ft.
STATISTICS
Str 17, Dex 15, Con —, Int —, Wis 11, Cha 10
BAB +2, CMB +5; CMD 17
Feats -
Skills: Can perform any simple task of DC 10 or less for its' duration.
SPECIAL ABILITIES (Two options from Menu A; one option from Advanced Constructs Menu A)
Fly (Ex)
Power Attack (Ex)
Utility (Ex)
Kalliert and the Lands West (4 sheets parchment)
Org’trassah and the Lands East (3 sheets parchment - includes palanquin plans)
journal, half in Auran
mundane crystal on a bracelet (25 gp)
deep crystal shard
gift from Salishana (jewelry, 100 gp)
"Yes, I'm afraid Alys's services have cost me a favor with the guild, but it's worth it having an Assassin around, as long as she's not been driven insane by her weapons." Kalvant replies, and takes the papers. He reads Selvan's missive, laughs, and hands it to Mirandi, who reads it, giggling to herself.
He skims Connor's parchments, then re-reads it while settling on the railing. When he's done, he folds it up and hands it to Alsatia as well. "Good work. Can't really blame Sammark too much for staying, what with the wife thing. He was facing exile anyway, so if he's happy with that, I have no issues. Flick's loss is troubling, but none of your doing. Those who let their fear rule them usually have a bad end. Selvan's managed to find his backbone again, and he had good reviews from the captain he was serving under, so no problems there. All in all, a much better outing than your first one."
"Yeah, they're still picking up bits of the poor quarter off the roofs of the government buildings. You guys really did a number on that quarter..." The halvavian giggles, putting the papers away in her pouch.
"Yes, do try to keep the wanton destruction to a minimum." He says dryly. Then he hands a packet of papers to Connor and Alys.
Roderick of MacDuncan of McIntyre - Alchemist and Mercenary. Convicted of magic item smuggling. Sentenced to hard labor, 10 years, crystal mines, followed by Exile. Died 11th Miniri. Research indicates he likely didn't actually know he was smuggling magic items. Ignorance not being a defense, was sentenced to maximum penalty due to aggravating circumstances (Deaths of Peacekeeper's during arrest raid).
Adraniel von Celestrada - Aegis Scout. Convicted of Murder in the death of Ministrina Von Celestrada, a fellow clans-woman. Convinced his mentor was not a traitor, as convicted, and made waves. Waters are murky, witnesses claim he attacked Ministrina, he claims her and her clan mates attacked him first. Died 14th Miniri.
Kyzin of Lialis of McIntyre - Kinetic Psion. Embarrassment to Clan McIntyre, apparently McIntyre embarrasses easy, or else they have a lot of screw ups, given present company. This one has managed to work his way down from Battleship duty to garbage scow duty through playing practical jokes on superior officers. Currently AWOL and not missed.
Rory of Reville - Former ship's captain and all around jackass. Managed to get his entire crew kill, his ship blown up, and something unknown inhabiting his soul. Not sure what it is, but we need him watched by people we trust. Skill set very useful, but unknown thing inside him makes him a questionable asset. Kill if you think you need to, but do it from a distance, entity may jump bodies. Suggest dropping him on Ash if you need to dispose of him. Died 13th Miniri.
Elara of 'Kore' - Sergeant, currently AWOL, but doesn't know it. Insists she's starting her own clan, called Kore, after her mentor. Said mentor was selling firearms to gangs, including one you met last year. In fact, Connor's arm had one of the bullets he sold in it. She's been making waves to get his honors re-instated despite his treason. Managed to throw away a perfectly good career over it.
Once the duo read the papers, he continues. "You're the old hands now, so I'll let you educate your new crew on their new lives. I suggest the dead ones get some permanent changes, and the non-dead ones some cosmetic stuff, hair dye, tats in prominent places, that sort of thing. Remember, they may not be worth the time and effort. If they turn surly, dispose of them. Every single person in there is living on borrowed time for one reason or another, except maybe the Sergeant. You're giving them a chance to do something better than they did before. Can either of you honestly say you'd have made more of a difference making jewelry or living on the run than you did bringing that information about the dragons experimenting with psionics, or the 'drow' people having it?"
Connor looked up with a sour face, passing the papers to Alys. "Council policy was more enlightened when discussed around the McIntyre dinner table than, than this." he stated, hooking a thumb at the papers, expressing his distaste. "We lost both a crafter and our healer, so I hope they can do more than swing a blade. Or blow up a building. Not that I'm taking that option off the table."
The young man folded his arms. "So is it another Surface trip, since two of the newly indentured have an axe to grind? And yes, I'm starting to remember a couple of McIntyre cousins who 'disappeared' off the rolls. I never knew it was because they objected to the family's 'honor and glory'." Connor said bitterly.
Kalvant shakes his head. "Not everyone does. You were a special case, that whole clan head family baggage. This lot went far beyond anything you ever did. Honestly, I sort of poached you even though you didn't really earn the rap in the teeth. I needed someone who wouldn't cause a fuss disappearing, but had enough integrity to see something through." He waves a hand, indicating the loss of people from the first group as proof he was right. "As to your cousins, if you mean Rory McIntyre, he ran off with that little Reville dancer girl you two met in the tavern. He has a rather nice little fishing business on the surface with her. I did recruit him to funnel me some information, but only after he settled down. If you mean Amelia McCavish McIntyre, I have no idea what happened to her. I know it's an open case, and there's some suspects, but I won't say who they are, given it's an internal clan matter at this point. I would suggest not trusting your cousin Donal though..." The man says, bleak faced for a moment. "I'm sure there's others though I don't know about. I usually don't bother with any vanishments unless they're from the head family."
"No, we need to get the reports done up in detail, and figure out how to spoon feed this to the Council, we don't want them going appoplectic and having heart attacks, or a sudden outbreak of stupidity, when they find out there's surface dwellers using psionics and dragons working their way through the basics." Alsatia pipes up, answering Connor's question about their next assignment. "Kalvant will be so busy dealing with that little pile of pigeon droppings, that he won't be able to get drunk or sleep in for at least a month." She giggles, and Kalvant gives her a tired glare and a grunt.
"I'll be taking over giving you assignments for a while. Your first assignment is to go down, wake the sleepyheads, explain reality to them, and figure out if you can use them or not. Any you can't use, leave locked up in a cage, I'll do something with them later. The sergeant is yours if you want her too, if you don't, and I wouldn't blame you, she'll be doing Ash exploration duty for the rest of her short life, given how badly she pissed off her military folks."
The halfavian looks thoughtful. "You should, after making it harder to recognize any of your new problem children, get them equipped and yourself re-equipped. I've got a storage depot you can raid for equipment. I can authorize up to about 10 thousand each in equipment. You should keep an eye toward being in a hot sweaty environment for a few months at least. She holds up a finger. "Just remember, any equipment you aren't using, leave at the depot for others. That 10 thousand is how much I'll authorize you to carry in equipment, anything of your own you keep comes out of that."
"Oh, this'll be fun!" Alys comments, as she concentrates her newfound mind abilities and slides down the stairs into the ship. Inside the ships belly she elegantly circles to a halt, facing the captives and standing straight with her hands crossed behind her back.
She begins yelling: "Attention, all of you! Get on your feet, that goes doubly for you sergeant! You're all under our supervision now. More than half of you are already dead and the rest will soon wish they were. You're here because atalantian society has spit you out like the refuse you are. But our employers decided to give you a chance and we will judgewhether you are fit for the purpose or will spend the rest of your miserable lives rotting away in here. My name is Alys, but you will adress me as Ma'am! And that is the first and last word I want to hear out of your filthy gobs. Have I made myself clear?!"
Alys barely manages to maintain her posture and suppress an amused grin.
Connor sighed, thinking great, I get to be 'good Constable' and followed Alys down the stairs. He activated another floating shield in front of himself. "What my esteemed colleague meant to say," Connor stated, making his footsteps heavy enough to echo down the hold, "is today is the first day of your new life. It will be a little harder than your old life. The veneer of society decided you didn't want to play by the rules; welcome to the underbelly of government, or how things get really done. They send people like us to fix things."
Connor looked slowly from jail cell to jail cell. "Roderick of MacDuncan of McIntyre." he began. "Hullo cousin, guess what? You screwed up too, and they sent you here. I'm told you're an alchemist. I make astral constructs. Lots of them. Too bad our parents wanted us to hold a sword and shield, instead. There's no glory where we're going."
The Humavian nodded at the next cell. "Adraniel von Celestrada. Too hotheaded for your own good. You want to put your abilities to better use? Welcome to the cloak-and-dagger world you don't hear about in the taverns." He moved on.
"Kyzin of Lialis of McIntyre. Didn't your parents teach you the battlefield's not a joking matter?" Connor asked bluntly. "We get one more McIntyre like this, and Grandfather's going to have another 'trial by combat' of all eligible males again. You remember last decade's culling, don't you? The so-called 'Coming of Age' tournament? Half the participants were dead in three days. Consider yourself lucky to be here. You're AWOL by the way. Don't try escaping and turning yourself in to a city soldier. You'll just be shot. The joke's on you." The brown-haired young man told his relative.
"Rory of Reville." Connor began, arms crossed behind his back, without moving this time. He stared at the bearded man looking back at him. "You were a ship's captain. What were you thinking? My new bosses actually listed you as a, quote-unquote, 'questionable asset'. Strike that. They meant 'disposable asset'. My partner and I," Connor nodded back at the blonde elfavian, "just lost five-sevenths of our original team. I don't want it becoming seven-sevenths. So yes, you'll get to fight. I'm putting you as 'point' when our new scout," he curled an arm and hooked a thumb back at the Halvavian, "thinks things are about to get dangerous. So fight all you want, the enemy's all yours, as far as I'm concerned."
Connor stepped up to the next barred cell, at the woman smoking a pipe. "Elara of 'Kore'. Another Wingless. I don't like you. At all. You're everything I resisted, and it got me to this job." He stated to the woman flatly. "Here's a town crier bulletin for you, Serge-ant: You were wrong, and your superiors decided to get rid of you." Connor told her. "You're listed as 'permanently AWOL', likely to be shot if you ever try to return to your old company. Good luck with that. Or you can help us out with our clandestine missions, and earn a nondescript retirement. Maybe even save the country, not that anyone will know."
Connor looked back at the hung-over crowd. "I'm Connor, formerly of McIntyre, yes, the head clan. Now with Reville. But that's just a cover. Welcome to the 'tel Mintakias way of 'getting things done'. You've just met Alys. Don't cross her." Connor said, his voice lifting a note. "She makes a 'ghost gun' out of nothing, and she's just acquired some new mindpowers. You will not get the drop on her." Connor looked from cell to cell. "I can make enough astral constructs to man this skyship and drive us all into Ash, if I so choose. Enough to plummet everyone here into pulp. Or I can give you so many 'battle buddies' the enemy will wear itself out before even getting to you."
"So!" Connor snapped, clapping his hands together. "What's it going to be, a slow death by starvation here, or a new career as someone the Council would immediately immolate before the public finds out about us?" he asked the group.
Rory gets up. Though rises may be a better term for the way the large man groggily lifts himself from the deck a good foot taller than his accosters. He looks around at the others not really seeming to hear Connor or Alys. Reaching into some unknown realm of his clothes he pulls out a beaten tricorne hat flicks it a couple of times with his wrist to make it resemble something like a hat and places it atop his head.
Elara's face is quickly conquered by a look of absolute horror, growing and growing as Alys and Connor continue talking. When he finishes, she covers her eyes with her hand and bends over. "Oh gods above and below... did you just conscript me to CIVILIAN SPECIAL FORCES...Oh gods..." Her face goes through several more appalled expressions as new, hideous facets of the situation occur to her; finally, she taps her pipe, stows it, and stands, running her eyes reassuringly over the two of them.
"Alright, 'Connor', 'Alys'. You just threw one g%$%~$n heavy anvil at me. Till I deal with it or confirm for myself that it ain't b~~$***&, I'm with you. Two things then. First, either I'm on duty and you're my officer and get to yell and tell me what to think, or I'm AWOL and I can think whoever I damn well think was in the right as long as I get the job done and you say 'please' like the good civvies we are."
Walking over to the cage, she unlocks it then begins pouring potions down throats to speed the other prisoners into wakefulness. She shoots a glare at Connor.
"Second, you're trying to command by shouting and threatening. Nothing wrong with that for new recruits, you need to scream some bad habits out of heads sometimes. Ain't gonna work on me. So if you want to command me with more than that, give me something to respect. What've you done? What're we gonna do for the country? Or don't, pull this rank you seem to have. The anvil says I'm with you anyway until I can deal with it. Well?"
"Oh right. Sorry. 'Ma'am'" she says mockingly.
Alys suppresses a snicker and then skates up to the half-elf. Coming to a halt only inches from her face she glares into the woman's eyes: "I don't believe I have heard you correctly, sergeant. It sounded like you would prefer to stay here and guard the rotting corpse of some Mintakian bigshot for the rest of your life."
A smirk creeps across Alys's face before she spins around to face Rory, her tailed blue butterfly wings blowing a gust of dusty wind at Elara: "And you, Reville! Get your s#!+ together! If you can't get a hold of yourself, why should we think you can keep that... thing in check?"
"Respect is a two-way street, Elara." Connor told the woman. "Rank goes out the window when the eldritch knight is coming up the stairs, or the dragon is about to land, or the ogre horde is coming over the hills at you. What works is whoever has the best plan at the moment. We're all equal rank here - the bottom. So teamwork counts more than salutes."
Connor pointed at their jail cells. "The first job here is opening those cells. My bosses didn't give me any keys, in case you were wondering. And I'm a terrible thief. I've been told so by Tenfa herself." His eyes rolled over to Adraniel's cell, to see if the smaller person had any recognition. "So you all had better hope I can pick the locks."
"...uh-huh. Then I guess it's... 'yes, boss.'"
Screaming internally, she waves some keys at Connor before pocketing them and resuming pouring potions down gullets. She whacks some cheeks. "Up and at 'em, greet the new day."
Walking over to Rory, she looks concernedly at him, waving a hand in front of his face. "You all there, soldier?"
"Or you could have the keys yourself." Connor said, watching Elara go to the other cages.
--------------------------
Connor shrugged when Elara waved the keys at him. "Fine. Our new bosses say they have a warehouse to outfit us with new gear, if you need it. But first we need to make you unrecognizable to old family and friends, since we'll be flying through the city. I can give you a few tattoos, but I don't have any inks or needles on me."
Connor grinned. "And before you ask, El-a-ra, no, I won't call you 'Sergeant', you can get that out of your head, you're not a sergeant anymore, I've got a way to carry you to the Big Island, Wingless."
Elara clutches her trenchcoat protectively for a moment as Connor talks, then sighs and yanks off the sergeant's bars and sticks them in a bandoleer pocket, shooting a glance at Connor. "Wouldn't dream of it, boss... and really, you got so little of my file? Guess we're not the only ones who don't get much love from the higher-ups." Sticking her hands in her pocket for a moment, Elara sighs and closes her eyes briefly before opening them and quite gently hovering a few inches above the floor. Out of now-revealed holes in the back of her trenchcoat, four long grey prehensile tentacles glide out to one by one set those prone up on their feet, deftly whacking the cheek of those still out of it to bring them back to life. Tentacles retracting back into her coat, Elara turns to Connor. "Keep calling me Wingless if you like. Good to have people underestimate you sometimes. Gives you an edge."
Connor chuckled at the half-elf's floating ability. "Not bad, Elara. Surprise is how you get to live, in this business. Alys and I already had to run the Airathon twice this year, though. Led by a half-fiend gnoll with bat wings." he said, referring to the Atalantian sport festival.
"Although it looks like I might still be carrying the others." Connor quipped, wondering if the rest of the cells' inhabitants were going to show any signs of awareness.
Roderick Macduncan, alchemist and former mercenary, pointedly ignores the drill sergeant ranting from Elara and Alys as he studiously watches the floor. World has a sense of humor at least. Gone from the Clan McIntyre and the sanctimonious bleating of it's patriarchs and I'm given over to these two. Typical. Shrugging at the absurdity of the situation, Roderick plays along by giving titles mockingly, "Right, 'Sergeant', 'Ma'am', I suppose I'll play along given the alternative is to rot in the bowels of this ship. A fresh start without the piss McIntyre likes to call glory and honor. Lot of honor in sending an innocent man to slave away for another's crime. At least you lot are honest about what you're about, no matter that it stinks. I'll fight your fights and and solve your mysteries, but my question is where's the end? We all going to be a number for next month's screwup?"
"The end?" Connor said, opening Roderick's door, "You get to go to places the Clans would prefer to send wave after wave of militia to. You know, exotic places. And kill things. So far the only people we've killed have tried to kill us first. Well, except for exploding half the poor quarter last year." The Humavian told him. "I'll admit we were poor spies, only because we lived instead of dying after a number of encounters on the Surface. And because it turned out we had something others wanted, and killing us would have left too many questions."
Waving the hands away he suddenly snaps to awareness and glowers at the two shouty ones. "By the spit of me grandmother is that what you think a wake up call is?" Rory put two meaty fists on his hips as his whole being thrust forward giving the image of a strutting peacock without the elegance and turns to the still prone Kyzin "If you're going to shout and threaten like some hardened bloodthirsty blighter of a captain you need to do it
Rory smiled broadly at the deafening silence that followed. "So where do we start?"
Alys crosses her arms with a disappointed pout on her face. "This is no fun if all of you play the disobedient recruit."
She sighs, "Alright, here's the thing, the five of you as well as Connor and I are all in the same boat.", she looks around, "No pun intended... we've all got some dirt that stinks bad enough to make us outcasts, and some people know how to exploit our problems. So it's either work for them or die. Or something worse. I don't want to see anyone left to rot here so we will all need to work together from now on. First we will need some new looks for all of you, you guys are somewhat high-profile at the moment, and we don't want you immediately recognized on the street. Then we all gear up, and after that no doubt we will get a nice paid vacation. We've been told to look forward to a hot sweaty environment.", she cocks her head to the side with a grin.
"I'll need some more power stone materials before we leave the warehouse." Connor reminded Alys. "If I can find certain materials, I might be able to craft something new for us. " To the bearded Rory he mentioned "Don't shout. The body of the captain of this boat is still here somewhere - you don't want to go adding to it."
Connor stepped up to the former ship captain. "You're the most recognizable here, blowhard. Skyship captains usually get their faces passed around to the shore guards." he told the other Humavian. Connor extended an arm, pointing at the man's face. A lump appeared under his long sleeve, moving to the back of Connor's hand, appearing as a splash of color. "Have a tattoo." Connor offered. "Our previous tattooist at least had talent. This one will make your nose purple, or put a really bad rash on your face, depending on where we keep it. Don't tap it, it's meant to feed you for a day, in emergencies. We still need to do something about your hair, and your feathers."
"Oh, I can take care of that. I have some supplies to make some permanent changes to people's features. Can't say they make you look prettier, but they certainly make you look different." The halvavian says, hovering at the stairwell from the top deck. "We'll take care of that at the supply house."
"Well you lot certainly seem less stuffy than the Army. As for being AWOL, well, it isn't the first time. Though, depending on exactly how long I've been here, it'll probably be the first time someone finds out. No big loss." muttered Kyzin as he rose from his position on the floor. "Military was never my thing anyway."
After a moments focus on the lock he pushes on the door and lets himself out.
"So, you guys sound like a lot more fun than the old stiffs in the military. Count me in for now. All that McIntyre honor and glory was never really my cup of tea anyways. They sent me off to be raised amongst Mistrada, and if that didn't work for them, well then its their own fault. As far as disguises go..." Kyzin stops talking for a moment and screws up his face in concentration. In a matter of seconds, tattoos go swarming over his exposed skin leaving patterns of shimmering ink over his previously clear face and arms. "If tattoos are all you are looking for, I think I've got myself covered." Then he tacks on with a chuckle, "Heh, no pun intended. If y'all were so kind as to nab my gear when you snatched me, I've got further supplies for making tattoos, both mundane and psionic, with the rest of my stuff."
"You learn to pack light in this job. Real light." Connor retorted. "If it's not here, you can pick up brand-new at the warehouse we're going to. I'm looking forward to some weight-nullifying storage, myself. I'm a sculptor, not an armorer. But it's nice to know we can still make tattoos." But no telepathic network.
Connor waited for the last person, Adraniel, to speak up.
"All right you lot, if you're taking all of them, let's go." The halvavian says, snapping her fingers. She flits out of the ship's hold, and up and out into the air, winging her way north.
The halvavian has to stop several times along the way for the main group to catch up, and does so with an impatient sigh each time. Eventually though, after a couple of hours of flight time, the group approaches an islet.
Islets are chunks of floating stone and dirt that were either broken loose from the main islands, or were originally blown out and apart. To this day, ships occasionally find a chunk of islet floating around.
When they are found, they tow it back to the island.
This one is about a mile across, and half that wide, and about a quarter that high. It's got trees growing out at odd angles all the way around, even underneath. The island seems to be kept stable by large fins sticking out of it.
There are a dozen homes built on it, varying in size from a mansion to a few shacks. There's possibly more in the tree cover, but those are immediately visible.
Alsatia flitters around the island, to the leeward side, where a very old ship is moored to an old dock. She lands on the old dock, which creaks as she does, but she ignores the creaking.
Skipping toward the old house the dock leads to, Alsatia leads the group to the houses front door. Producing a key out of thin air with a flourish, she opens the door.
The interior is coated with dust, the furniture draped with sheets.
"Wait here one moment..." SHe says, and enters a room off the main hallway. A minute later, there's a flash of blue light.
"Ok, you can enter now. Don't touch the edges of the portal, you'll lose your fingers." She calls, her voice oddly attenuated.
When the group enters the room, they find an old dusty library with a shimmering blue oval of light floating in the center. Alsatia's voice comes from the portal. "Just step through the center of the light, don't touch the edges. Wings tucked in please."
Keeping up behind everyone, Elara runs her eyes over the islets and grunts. "Needs to look s!*+tier and have an obs post; otherwise, decent place to kip." Inside the house. "Much better. Dust is a nice touch." The portal. "...uh-huh." Then inside the portal.
Without hesistation Rory steps inside.
"Hooray, finally more portals!" Alys says before skipping through.
Upon stepping through the portal, those who do so find themselves in a room hewn from solid stone. The room is about a hundred feet long, and thirty feet wide, and thirty feet high.
Rows of shelves are covered with equipment. Backpacks, canteens, tents, cooking utensils, pens, paper, blankets, and so forth. All the standard day to day stuff one might need. It looks like there's enough here to equip a hundred people or so.
Off the edges of the room are doorways, each with a large plaque over it. They read Armoury, Clothing, Crystals, Enchanting, Tools, Miscellaneous, and Magic.
The doorway with 'Magic' over it has a rather large crystal face inset on the door.
Alsatia is fluttering nearby, holding a clipboard and a pen. "Alright, take what you need, but within reason. Each bin has the value of the items in the bin. You've each got a 10,000 spending limit. I have to keep enough supplies for emergencies. Welcome to Special Operations Branch Depot 42, it's your shopping day." She smiles, then turns to Alys and Connor. "If you have things you don't need anymore, feel free to drop them in the bin over there, I'll get them appraised and added to the stores. Most of this stuff comes from units returning with stuff they don't need anymore, or from confiscated equipment from smugglers."
"I'll brief you while you get your supplies together. Before I begin though, need to wait for the rest to step through."