Divianne Athel looks back and forth between both constables nearby, her musket raised slightly now so as to not be pointing directly at the door in case of a misfire. She blinks twice as Constable Muhnee speaks to her, and then looks directly back to Constable Lanvaldan for orders and confirmation. "Uhh...orders, ma'am?" Athel looks back towards where she was guarding the magazine stores at the forward section of the deck where all three of them can see an azure gem glowing in an ensconced brass cage on the wall between two doors, resting on what oddly appears to be a bed of wreath-like ivy or mistletoe inside the cage. "My orders tonight were to guard the magazine rooms, but it's standard post duty. I'm not gonna be leavin' my post unless you're countering my orders with your own, but only an idiot would not take your orders." Athel adds in a belated, "Ma'am."
Now that he had the Halfling with no place to go, Arthur had to find a way of marking his target. He rushes over to the large guest quarters and rummages through the purses of the unfortunate ladies in waiting. He finds what he is looking for, several small jars of make-up powder and blush. Smiling intently,Constable Wilde makes his way back to the closed and somewhat smoking door.
With no other foes to contend with, Emerson heads forward towards Anneca’s position, hoping everything is alright. He arrives to see her down the healing potion they recovered earlier in the day.
”I see you’re none the worse for wear. Do you have eyes on Sorkana?”
Willem shrugs and mumbles, ::"Typical!":: and changes his mind to stealthily go down the {AO-25} stairs instead of the {AL-29} ladder. He prepares to move quietly and avoids the center air vent completely. And he swaps his pistol for his gladius before descending.
Coaltongue Map
Coaltongue General Info
While Arthur quickly searches for makeshift powder that may reveal Ilton’s whereabouts should he show up again, the closed door to the guest quarters is not tried, and no sounds can be heard from within. It could be that Arthur finished the job this time with his two remaining bombs. Yet his instincts told him otherwise, and his instincts are what saved him several times before during the war.
”Orders, ma’am?” asks Athel to Constable Lanvaldan, her eyes scanning from the open doorway where she can see Emerson Hill, all the way past the growing silvery light of the Capacitor’s chamber, to the front of the ship and the softer light of the fireward between the two magazine room doors. ”If there’s sabotage about they may try for the firedust stores – we’re full up in both rooms in preparation for a shakedown cruise.”
”OST!” The burned engineer saboteur seems as if he’s going to join the fight where his comrade fights Gemma and Anneca, a vicious snarl of revenge evident upon his face as he sees the woman who set him on fire earlier. Yet he does not, and instead lurches himself back towards the rear of the engine room, moving up to the port propeller shaft housing and hauling himself up and over it. Jenner nearly stumbles on a raised deck of metal plating that covers access to the ship’s rudders, then moves over to the starboard propeller shaft housing, leaning forward onto it in near exhaustion and pain. It is clear he is trying to reach a wheeled valve on the far side of the boiler engines, similar to the one he has just rusted and destroyed.
The handmaiden of the Duchess still has neither been seen nor heard since Anneca saw her walk into the furnace room with the large Jiese Gem earlier, but clearly she is bent on the utter destruction of the ship and everyone aboard.
Tactical Map, Berth Deck Aft
Tactical Map, Berth Deck Fwd
Tactical Map, Engine Deck Aft
______________________________
When Ifris is asked for orders, a brief look of surprise mixed with horror crosses her face. It's easily played off as nerves to everyone but herself. "Corporal," all business. So much business that Ifris stops moving and turns back to the soldier, posturing as though she wants to raise a hand, clap it on Corporal Athel's shoulder, and tell her to run for her life. Unfortunately being armed for a full-scale confrontation means her hands are occupied. Perhaps there's some dignity in that. "I need you to go topside. Find Director Price-Hall and—discreetly—inform him that there's an attempted sabotage in progress that is being handled." A brief glance to Willem as if to ask it is being handled, right? Then, back to Corporal Athel. "Go on," has an unspoken I don't want to see you get hurt appended.
After handing down orders to the Corporal, Ifris swiftly makes her way to the stairs.
Willem attempts to carefully and stealthily go down the stairs from the berthing deck to the noisy engine deck with his gladius drawn and he move as far as he can into the engine room. Willem's mission is to secure the fire box or shut down the fire.
Marine guard Divianne Athel salutes crisply and simply says to Ifris, ”ON IT!” before sprinting off towards the front ladderwell, holding her musket aloft in both hands as she does so. She makes it to the ladderwell and peers upwards to the climb she needs to make.
Clutching his studded leather jerkin at the horrendous wound to his shoulder, Gemma considers that if he were a tactical swordsman, his best option would be to take a fully defensive stance and parry her attacks, drawing out as much time as possible while keeping her on the stairs. However, the big saboteur Ostman is no swordsman, and seems intent on serving his fanaticism to the end with a last desperate attack. ”FOR THE QUEEN!”
With a final reckless overhand swing he lunges forward to try and bash her face in, but she parries his attack easily. Blood spurts from the deep gash in his shoulder and he pitches forward, slipping on his own blood and falling at the foot of the stairs with the wrench clattering upon the deck beside him.
Tactical Map, Berth Deck Aft
Tactical Map, Berth Deck Fwd
Tactical Map, Engine Deck Aft
Arthur moves back to the guest quarter door that the Halfling is behind and shakes out all but one jar of the powder on the floor beside him.
Idiot ... you could have bought your friend some more time ... is all Gemma can think after Ostman takes a wild swing at her, effectively taking himself out of the fight. "Anneca, I think we should try and get to the other valve as quickly as possible. I think if the other man is allowed to do to that valve what he did to this one, we’re in some trouble." Gemma takes a quick moment to decide which way would be the fastest. If she goes the way Jenner did, then the engine works will slow her down. So she decides the quickest way to head him off will be to go around the other way, through the furnace room. She makes her way out the door closest to her and heads through and across to try and get to the other door.
Emerson slides by Anneca as she finishes off her potion. His boots hit the deck and he’s running on the heels of Gemma. Through the Furnace room he threads the needle between the front of the furnace and a large Firegem spill obviously left by the conspirators. He stops short behind Gemma who is ready to burst through the door to the starboard side boiler room. ”Wait! Let me go first through the door. That way I can get in a clean shot before you rush in and skewer this bastard.”
Anneca runs hard down the stairs, clearing the fallen enemy with a leap. She follows the scorched engineer as the others turn back to the elven maiden. "I'll get that bastard," she shouts to Gemma and Willem. With her blunderbuss in hand, she clears the corner of the engine just past the broken valve and brings up her weapon. Even though his back is turned and he has no cover from the low shafts housing and rudder plates, Anneca misses when she pulls the trigger. The loud explosion reverberates through the small area. She curses quietly to herself as she considers if her backup pistol would be better than another flask of fire or acid thrown at him.
Coaltongue Map
Coaltongue General Info
Perhaps due to the scatter shot that bounces off of metal in the rearward part of the engine room, or perhaps because he sees the flame-haired constable who partially burned him alive chasing him, Jenner utters a guttural scream and hauls himself over the starboard-side propeller shaft housing; he makes a mad dash for the starboard-side wheel valve and frantically starts turning it counter-clockwise, though it will take him several precious seconds more to complete the closure and attempt to destroy it with the strange wand in his possession.
Suddenly to the two constables and lone marine guard on the berth deck, three fiery fey creatures with overly large mouths and gaping teeth materialize into existence in the area right before the fireward, instantly babbling and pointing with fury at both the humans and the azure-hued gem in the brass-enclosed sconce between the two magazine room doors. They are fire sprites from the Dreaming – almost identical in appearance to the three Willem fought earlier in the aft area of this deck.
Sorkana gestures imperiously to the three sprites, who cringe at the bright blue gem glowing before them upon the wall. Speaking Sylvan-tongue, she cries to them, ”O deris o gau unn gimmo fo caum fo felan fil dargo o biov! Gimmo fo felan as fen fang gau fo garobo pidar faun fergo rogo tennan! Lau fon as fav fodr fo tiathin!”
Sorkana then steps forward several paces towards the sprites’ nearest foe, the marine guard who stands on the other side of the ladderway. Her eyes glow a sky-blue color that rivals the intensity of the fireward gem for a moment, bringing up her hand to let loose a searing ray of fiery orange light at the marine. Divianne Athel lets out a bellow of pain and curses as the ray strikes her across her breastplate and down her left side to her thigh, cruelly etching her body with a deadly path of destruction, the smell of burnt flesh suddenly strong. Strangely, bright motes of orange light dance off of the areas where she is burned, surrounding her in a starry dazzling haze from helm to torso; the guard grunts again in pain and tries to swipe away the motes of light, only to find the eddies and swirls of light continue to dance around her, as if overtaken by a swarm of summertime fireflies in a lush meadow at dusk.
As the sprites surge forward towards the fireward, each lets out a yelp of pain and seem to gasp for breath, the fire around their bodies suddenly suppressing and threatening to flicker out altogether. Even so, the summoned fey creatures do as they have been commanded to do; one moves to the brass enclosure housing the outer gem, while the other two each head to a magazine door. For the moment, however, all three seem to be sluggish and in some degree of discomfort or pain.
Tactical Map, Berth Deck Aft
Tactical Map, Berth Deck Fwd
Tactical Map, Engine Deck Aft
_______
Fire, screams, smoke. Ifris is rushing across the deck towards the scream before she even realizes what is happening. The corporal smells like burning flesh, screams muffled now because of the pounding adrenaline and needle-point focus on the other woman. She's a silhouette in Ifris' vision, a humanoid blotch with limbs and intentions and vulnerabilities. She fails to register as a person any longer. That's how it makes this easier.
Ifris comes around the capacitor in a fast walk, shield up and mind blade cocked back with bent-elbow as if she were ready to deliver a gut punch. Once she's around the corner of the capacitor, Ifris' speed picks up and she practically leaps at Sorkana, shield drawing back at the last minute to allow her to punch out with that radiant blade of hard light. She wedges the blade between Sorkana's shoulder and pectoral, kicks off of the capacitor's glassteel wall for leverage and tries to pry her open like a baked phesant. Blood flows out of the wound, any sound Sorkana makes blurs together with the rest of the sensory chaff Ifris ignores. The blade withdraws, Ifris takes a half step back and exhales sharply. She raises her shield high and close, its top angled forward, ahead of the bottom edge, to keep the splashback from any more fire magic from coming up at her face.
"Stand down," is a firm order, all business. There's a part of Ifris that knows—wants—Sorkana to keep fighting. Her mother's side; the wolf.
Willem does not need to challenge or tell someone to halt after a vicious attack with a spell on anyone, he simply just levels his pepperbox pistol at Sorkana and fires.
Some steam bellows out nearby and makes Willem jump throwing off his aim. The round goes off wide and he curses silently to himself.
"Firewards...they're gonna take..." Divianne Athel falters in her warning and spits out a spray of blood from her mouth, the wounds to her chest and arm severe. Yet she continues to do her duty, knowing all too well what may happen if the flaming fey creatures remove the wards from their brass cages. Athel raises her Pemberton-make musket and fires at the fire sprite who threatens the nearest ward to them all - though wounded and struggling in her aim due to the swirling motes of fiery stars clouding her vision, she just manages to hit the threatening sprite squarely in the back, the steel bullet bursting through the creature's chest and ricocheting off the wall next to the brass cage. With an abrupt screech the fey creature falls to the ground, its suppressed fiery aura going out almost entirely.
Knowing she has no time to reload, guard Athel lurches away from the ladderwell and steps into the chilling aura of the outer fireward charm, drawing her longsword as she does so to strike at the next nearest fey intruder by the port-side magazine door.
Tactical Map, Berth Deck Aft
Tactical Map, Berth Deck Fwd
Tactical Map, Engine Deck Aft
As the constables battle Duchess Ethelyn’s radical saboteurs for control of the Coaltongue’s fate and those onboard, they cannot help but feel something is very wrong with the ship at this point. Arthur, Ifris and Willem feel the uncomfortable heat rise up through the grated deck plating from below, a noticeable difference from earlier during the tours when the ship was steaming underway towards its destination; the Capacitor now glows with silvery-hued illumination that nearly rivals a sunrod, with sparks and streaks of lightning suggesting a greater agitation within its chamber. For both Emerson and Gemma down on the engine deck, the humid heat in the boiler engine room is stifling, soaking their faces and dress coats in sweat. Yet even that is preferable to when they ran between the closed furnace and spilled firegem pile, the blasting heat of the air so intense that it almost hurt to breathe and made them momentarily light-headed. Groans of metal echo everywhere now, from pipes in the boiler engine room to an ominous low rumbling in the furnace itself. Something bad is about to happen, and happen soon.
As for Anneca Summers, her breath catches in her throat, yet it is not just from the heat and humidity of the air in the aft section of the engine room. To Anneca, each groan of the pipes and hiss of escaping steam speaks to her most clearly, mental calculations in her mind of heat and fire, pressure and time racing across her brain as she takes in the information of the great technological heart of the ship. She sees the rusted broken valve, the pipes of steam to the two stacks jutting upwards, the waves of heat coming off the engine blocks, the ever-slight colorations of metal glowing with stored heat and ever-increasing as she looks to the metal plating adjacent to the furnace in the adjoining room. Formulas and calculations of precise pyromantic beauty dance around the edges of her vision like stars in the nighttime sky, each one begging to be plucked and held in her mind. There is no doubt the ship’s technological heart is sick, is about to burst, and Anneca intuitively understands how it all fits together in a way that would take a classically trained ship’s engineer years to master. She needs to see more, however, to know how to stop the catastrophe that is about to occur in roughly one minute, its cause undeniably from whatever Sorkana Dell did when she left this room while Anneca was being attacked by Jenner upon the stairwell.
On each end of the engine block sits a metal wheel valve, connected by a copper coupling to a series of steel pipes that go into the engine block as well as up into the twin boiler stacks near the ceiling. The port-side wheel valve is broken, rusted and destroyed, its pipes hissing and shaking with pressurized steam, dripping with excess moisture. The starboard-side wheel valve is currently intact, and its pipes are under less stress.
On the housing to the aft boiler stack is a curious panel of thick glass, metal and brass, jutting out from the housing at an odd angle. Inside the glass panel portion are a series of gages and cylinders measuring what appear to be temperature and some other number about the boiler engines – all read zero currently. Behind the panel are three copper pipes which run into the housing.
This heavy steel and black iron structure is the ship’s furnace, the heart of the ship’s power source to generate steam and turn the propeller shafts. The furnace is not quite unlike an enclosed blacksmith’s bellows for their forge, although obviously sealed and much larger in size. Currently the two furnace doors are closed, which is fortunate as they appear to be searing hot to the touch, fringes of the metal almost glowing a dull red color. Waves of intense heat emanate from the metal housings of the furnace in all directions. A deep thrumming can be heard inside, as well as a groaning of metal from all around it, including the metal gratings of the deck above it. At the top coming off the furnace are several glassteel tubes which feed up into the deck’s ceiling, carrying an ever-increasing rush of fiery energy upwards into the Capacitor chamber above.
Complicating this issue is that the doors have been rusted shut, making them very hard to open. Touching the searing metal will burn anyone touching them; having the doors open will burn those standing directly in front of the open furnace. Yet is there any choice?
Firegems are spilled out all across the floor of the engine deck, as a result of two large bin doors and four smaller bin “windows” being fully opened. The huge iron bin clearly contains firegems of crude quality, larger and less refined than the ones used as a percussion cap for pistols and muskets. The firegem bin has clearly been filled to capacity for an upcoming shakedown cruise, making the spill only a third of what has emptied out of it. Two iron shovels can be seen discarded in the pile of firegems, with others on the walls of the deck hung on pegs.
A complex series of brass panels and cylinders jut out from a gleaming polished Risuri sheensteel cabinet, with glassteel tubes coming out of the cabinet and running up across the ceiling to the Capacitor chamber above. The cylinders and tubes are etched with arcane runes, while the two outside brass panels have gages and indicators written in Primordial, all of which seem to be dormant. Even stranger is the middle brass panel, which has an etched scene of what appears to be a chart of the Heavens in the sky, with movable parts for what appear to be spherical gems encased in gold settings. Finally, the sheensteel cabinet has shaped grooves holding seven glassteel smooth banded bracelets, unadorned except for etched runes contained inside the glassteel.
Three brass cage enclosures are ensconced on the walls of the forward berth deck area; one caged sconce outside between the doors to the two firedust magazine rooms, with one inside each of the rooms themselves. Each brass cage has a small hinged brass door with a simple latch. Inside is what appears to be a bed of wreath-like mistletoe plant at the base of the cage, forming something of a “nest” or bed for a large irregular-shaped polished agate stone. The gemstone glows with a steady azure-hued light, giving off an aura of coolness that can only be characterized as the ‘opposite’ of heat emanating from a bonfire.
The frantic cries and banging announce that Jenner has made it to the Starboard side Engine Room. Emerson winks at Gemma. ”Here we go…”
Hill steps into the room past Gemma, and pulls both his pistols at Jenner, who is frantically trying to turn the valve in front of him. He sees Emerson and lets out a yelp in surprise. Their eyes meet just as Emerson pulls both triggers. One shot ricochets of the wall next to Jenner but the other hits him center mass.
The Saboteur looks down at the blood pouring out of his chest with a look of surprise. ”This wasn’t supposed to..” is all he can get out before crumpling to the floor.
”Gemma, this guy’s down for good. What’s going on with that boiler? It doesn’t sound good.”
Arthur pulls out some wire from his kit and ties it around the door handle to the guest room in front of him. He gets the length just right and makes a makeshift wedge. He then balances the last jar of powder on the top of the door frame. Task accomplished, he starts to lower his hands away from the jar. It holds for half a second and then drops into his open hands.
”Dammit!”
Anneca stops running when she hears Jenner drop in a fusillade of gunshots from Emerson. "You get him?" she asks for confirmation. She shouts around the corner to the others after looking at the damage done. "The pipes are damaged! Magically rusted, I think. Lots of pressure on the engine. We have a minute, maybe less, unless we find a way to relieve the pressure. I'm headed to the engine room!" She breaks into a run, headed to the source.
Gemma gives an approving nod to Emerson after he takes down Jenner. ”Well done! Now, let’s hope I can get this valve shut off!"
She quickly makes her way over to the valve Jenner was turning and attempts to turn it back, hoping to stop the escalating crisis. She tries to yell across the engine room to Anneca. ”I’m going to try and fix this valve. Hopefully, it will slow down the overheating process, but I think we’re going to have to do more as quickly as possible."
The wheel seems to be turning back into it's original position with just a little work. "Anneca! I'll have this one shortly! Is there a control panel that you can see? Or a way to undo the other valve somehow?"
Coaltongue Map
Coaltongue General Info
As Arthur curses and attempts to ready his next attempt at the powder trap, a slight creaking sound alerts him to the guest quarters door just to the left of the door he is in front of. With a slight creeping feeling of horror, Arthur sees the door suddenly thrown wide open and distinctly hears a malevolent chuckle of mirth – somehow the halfling had escaped the first room and emerged from the second, his invisibility still concealing him. One thing is now clear – Ilton the assassin is now somewhere in the hallway with Arthur, and is actively stalking him…
With a mumbled curse in her native tongue, Sorkana abruptly takes a quick agile leap backwards and away from Ifris and her manifested armor and blade; clearly by her face she does not know what to make of the shielded constable before her. Yet her primary target, that being the severely wounded Divianne Athel, is now denied to her with the aura of the outermost fireward gem still intact in its ensconced brass charm cage on the wall. Sorkana channels yet another powerful spell from her essence, her eyes flaring once again in brilliant solid azure light that momentarily obscures her irises and pupils altogether.
”It was my Queen, my love and myself which burned one of your precious elite constables to nothing but ash…yet my power alone is more than enough to deal with the likes of you. Do you court the Bleak, or simply desire the burning as the followers of Vekesh? Let us find out – but first to deal with this sneakfilth rabble!”
As the blossoming of fiery energy springs from the palm of her hand, she unexpectedly swings it around to her left, targeting Willem’s upper torso even as he readies his pepperbox pistol for another shot at her. Before he can dive for cover, her fiery ray hits him just right of center, piercing his lung and charring ribs, searing part of his abdomen before ending. The ray cauterizes the wound even as it does terrible damage, overcoming the Slate constable in the span of a single breath. Yet breath still occurs from his one remaining lung as he collapses upon the stairs to the engine deck, firefly-like motes of energy swirling around his head.
With grim satisfaction, Sorkana turns back to Ifris for her next assault, even as she withdraws a bluish-green hued vial from her belt pouch and clutches it tightly for later use.
Howling and gibbering at one of their own fallen beside them, the two remaining fire sprites continue to do as they were bidden by Sorkana, each moving the unlocked bar latch aside to both port and starboard magazine room doors, throwing them open and beating their wings furiously to move inside. Yet even as they do so, the one nearest Athel exposes itself to her longsword, and she jabs it violently in its direction before it moves within - the action runs the sprite through its wings and into its neck, causing it to screech and fall to the deck with a thump before the magazine door. Two of the sprites have been downed by the marine guard, but the third manages to enter the magazine room itself, searching for its fireward gem to retrieve and dispose of.
Tactical Map, Berth Deck Aft
Tactical Map, Berth Deck Fwd
Tactical Map, Engine Deck Aft
Ifris steps forward resolutely to continue her assault, her face grim at her friend and ally Willem collapsing on the stairs. She does not respond to the inflammatory speech of the eladrin saboteur, but simply answers with a solid lunge to the woman's mid-section. Unfortunately, the arcane armor that protects Sorkana diverts the amber-colored mind blade as if it were a breastplate, sending it wide. Remembering her training and that of a thesis from one of her former Battalion instructors on the use of all terrain elements on the battlefield to achieve victory, Ifris then tries to bring her mind-formed golden shield hand around to sweep the saboteur's held potion into the support column. Yet Sorkana is too quick for this, and darts her hand away so that the column blocks the impromptu attack.
Her face now a scowl, Ifris says to Divianne Athel with matter-of-fact confidence, "Kill off the final fey in the room - I have this traitor occupied." Looking askance at Willem's unmoving form on the stairwell, she bellows out a shout towards where he is on the stairwell, hoping someone below on the engine deck will hear her. "MUHNEE IS DOWN! STARBOARD STAIRWELL! ELF FEMALE FIRE-CASTER HERE AND ENGAGED!"
With a quick salute of her blade to Lanvaldan, Guard Athel moves forward quickly with her longsword in one hand and unloaded musket in the other, moving along the wall of the forward compartment so as to not be taken unawares by Sorkana. She reaches the starboard-side magazine room door and lashes out with her longsword, slicing the small fey sprite across with a wide gash across its back. It screams but still stays aloft as it tries to work the latch of the cage door.
A singed Willem crashes to the floor in a heap and smoke rises from his mouth.
Willem is a fighter and successfully fights to stay alive!
Gemma finishes opening the valve that Jenner had started to close, releasing some of the pressure on the engine, but she knows it won’t be enough.
No time to get to the other pipe to break the coupling. I don’t think that’s our biggest problem though.
She thinks back on what Cyneburg said through Delft. Something about a glowing gem of Jiese paired with her own deduction of the ship being where fire and water are close but do not meet. Suddenly a devastating realization comes together in her head and she hopes she isn’t right.
”Son of a b+%%$…” is all Gemma can think to say under her breath before shouting to her fellow constables.
”There’s not enough time to deal with the other pipe. We would need to break the coupling to release the pressure. We need to get to the furnace room as quickly as possible. I think Sorkana may have done something to the furnace to make it overheat. I can’t be sure until I see it.” She may be wrong, but that’s her best guess right now.
Realizing that it will slow her down, Gemma takes off her armored coat and drops it to the floor next to the body of the saboteur before heading to the furnace room.
”How in the nine hells?” Arthur knows he’s in trouble and his options are limited. He takes a step back into the large guest quarters and prepares for Ilton to advance, hoping he can hit him with his last make up kit to reveal the assassin before he can get a strike.
Emerson steps back into the furnace room, holstering his off hand pistol. He quickly reloads his primary pistol and then looks around the room to see if he can figure out what if anything he can do to stop the overload. I wish dad where here. He’d be able to tell what to do. Just then steam shoots out of a pipe from behind him, dousing him in hot mist. On second thought that is a dumb idea!
His momentary thoughts are interrupted by Ifris yelling from up on the forward berth deck. He yells at Gemma and Anneca ”Hey, I can’t make heads or tails of this mess! I’m going to see if I can help Willem and Ifris. I’ll be right back!”
Anneca runs hard and fast to make it to the control panel. She cuts between the furnace and the spilled mass of firegems, feeling the incredible heat of the furnace at her side. In that moment, as she stops to quickly appraise it, she realizes that the problem starts and ends with the furnace. "We need this furnace opened! It is hotter than Hell itself! I need a fire warding gem!"
Coaltongue Map
Coaltongue General Info
Arthur's hunch pays off, as he sees footsteps in the powder on the left side of the hallway - he hurls the powder jar to that spot and it shatters on the ground there, white powder billowing forth to cling to the halfling as he moves in for his kill, partially revealing him in a hazy white outline.
In a blink of an eye the halfling closes the distance and aims a sure thrust at Arthur's gut, almost certainly running him through if the grenadier had been caught unawares with his tricks. As it is though, Arthur steps to the side and takes the thrust on his studded leather jerkin, the sharp blade skittering off one of the metal studs. Snarling, Ilton fully appears now and is no longer partially invisible, the residue of white makeup powder still present on his right arm, shoulder and legs.
"NO!" shouts Sorkana in frustration, as she sees Athel methodically take apart her summoned fire sprites, preventing them from removing the fireward gems that would further spell doom for the ship. She starts to shout to the lone remaining sprite to turn and attack the marine guard, only to sputter as she realizes the fey creature's bite has no real effect while in the multiple auras of the charms. Sorkana takes another step back away from Ifris, only to realize she's near the hull of the ship and running out of room to maneuver.
"Fine. Let's see if your faith in the lies of the Clergy can shield you from this!"
Ifris can only wonder at what the traitorous eladrin mistakenly thinks of the origin of her powers when a blast of intense fire streaks out from her outstretched hand, fanning across her and into the aura of the fireward - it diminishes quickly as soon as it reaches anywhere close to Athel, but Ifris nearly feels the full impact as she struggles to duck underneath the fanning flames. Fortunately she manages to avoid much of it, but part of her uniform and blade arm is scorched nonetheless.
"Your Clergy taint cannot protect you!" Sorkana's eyes sparkle a deep blue as she spits in her direction as a sign of fanatical contempt.
Meanwhile, the lone remaining fire sprite bares its teeth at Athel, working the latch of the brass cage inside the starboard magazine room and grabs the fireward gem, howling in pain as it does so. As it snatches it out, the aura inside the room fades almost immediately. Athel, still surrounded by swirling fiery motes of light, tries to take another thrust and run the creature through, but this time the sprite drops lower and avoids her strike completely. Still, the marine is blocking the doorway, preventing the sprite from leaving with its cursed gem towards an open porthole on the berth deck.
Choosing the ignore the slights of Sorkana, Ifris resolutely steps forward after being burned and takes a jabbing thrust at her outstretched free hand. The amber mind blade nearly impales her but somehow Sorkana snatches her hand back in time, receiving a nasty gash across her forearm instead.
Divianne Athel now takes a low slash at the fey sprite from the doorway, the fireflies swirling around her head finally fading. Somehow though the creature is too quick and soars upwards in a frantic direction, avoiding the slash entirely.
Tactical Map, Berth Deck Aft
Tactical Map, Berth Deck Fwd
Tactical Map, Engine Deck Aft
Emerson had served with Ifris long enough to have learned the subtle inflections in her otherwise stern voice. He could tell that the situation was less than ideal, with all of his friends spread thin across the ship. ”On my way Ifris”. He moves quickly but cautiously towards the starboard side stair well leading back to the berth deck, only to see Muhnee’s body crumpled at the top of the stairs. Emerson reaches down mentally to tap that strange power reserve that has lived inside him since that day he died on Sirai. A wave of healing energy pulses out in all directions centered upon Hill which just manages to reach Willem. Much to his relief, he can see his friend start to move again.
"Muhnee!Get your ass back up and fight!'
Anneca knows that she cannot open up the furnace doors, not without leverage and time - and time is something that they have very little of. "Gemma! The furnace is overfed and needs to vent! Can you burst the port side steam pipes to buy us some time? We need to get the furnace open, but it's rusted shut! Emerson! Help her or help her get the furnace open! I'm going to the control panel!" She dashes to the panel, making her way around the pile of firegems scattered on teh ground. As she looks over the controls, she realizes how she might save the ship and all of her comrades. "I've got a plan! This will take a few moments!"
Perhaps the most complex and wondrous display of arcano-technology in existence today, at least in all of Risur. This control panel calibrates the Capacitor for use by the ship’s war mages (by donning the glassteel bracelets which are attuned to it), thereby able to use the Capacitor to enhance their spells as well as direct and fire the pyromantic Brand at the bow of the ship. Yet for now the Capacitor has not been calibrated, requiring knowledge in three distinct disciplines to do so properly: technological know-how to draw enough sustainable energy flow from the ship’s furnace into the Capacitor for use by its war-mages, arcane knowledge to invoke the attunement spell for the glassteel bracelets without snuffing out the mages drawing upon the immense power in the Capacitor, and astronomical knowledge of the Skyseers to set the sky chart of the Heavens to current positions so that the Brand can be directed and fired properly, though it would drain all excess energy from the Capacitor and ship’s furnace. If achieved, the Capacitor can be used and the Brand fired by an arcane war mage donning a glassteel bracelet.
Willem wakes up all of sudden because the last thing he remembers is a flash of light, ::"Am I dead?":: Willem looks up at Emerson and says with a grimacing smile, ::Oh it's you again? Saving my butt like always?!:: Willem looks down his charred body, ::"Not to sound ungrateful but don't you have any more healing juice? She took me out when I was fully healthy in one shot and I can tell that I am no where near that! Now, you want me to go out and attack her? I'll die for sure!":: Willem stops whispering so he does not draw attention but kind of hard in all of this activity and sound.
Arthur feels a little more confident now that he can see his foe. He takes a step back reaches in his belt pouch and throws a small vial of acid on the Halfling. It strikes him dead center, the liquid quickly eating away at his clothing and burning his skin.
Gemma hears Anneca’s instructions but knows that it will take too much time to get back over to the other steam pipe. It’s a long shot, but she knows she has to try to get the furnace doors open. If that doesn’t work, then there’s always the pipe.
Because of the din of the overwhelmed engines, Gemma waits till she’s inside the furnace room before yelling to her comrade.
”I understand! I’ll give the furnace doors a couple tries on my way to vent the steam! Let's hope it works!"
The heat from the furnace doors is almost unbearable the closer she gets to them. Knowing that it would be folly to just try and grab the handles, Gemma starts to look around for anything that might help.
Coaltongue Map
Coaltongue General Info
Both livid and sneering in his efforts to take Arthur down, the acid-burned assassin Ilton closes the distance with a quick hop and half-step forward, thrusting his shortsword towards the grenadier's stomach; Arthur just manages to turn aside for the blow to slice deeply across his hip, the blood now mingling with the spilled makeup powder. Grinning, Ilton's blade blurs once again in an effort to slice upwards towards Arthur's neck, but the man jerks backwards at the last moment, with the blade hitting nothing but air.
Both opponents are sweating now from the heat that rises from the engine deck below them. "Feel that fool? Yer ship is gonna blow apart to pieces, and there's nothin' you're gonna do about it. Why? Because you can't do much with stumps for hands and a new smile across yer neck, that's why!"
Sorkana suddenly finds she has run out of room to maneuver from the pressing attack of Ifris, even with the reassurance of the healing potion in her hand. Desperate to gain some distance, she darts to her left and risks the constable's shimmering amber blade slicing her open, but once again Ifris finds Sorkana's enchanted armor is too strong for a quick cut. The eladrin rebel is fast, and she whips around past Ifris on her right flank and makes her way to the Capacitor, using it and the ladderwell to block errant gunfire and secure her own flanks.
"Heavens spit upon you! I call upon Jiesse to rain fire and rock upon you, wretched woman!" In answer to her strange call, a shrieking sound heralds a small swirling portal of fire directly over Lanvaldan's head, whereupon fiery meteors seemingly from the Heavens itself rains down upon her like flaming hailstones. Ifris, however, is quick to react, and deftly dodges the assault by turning and shifting to her right; the rocks crash and shatter across the berth deck, but Ifris is unharmed.
With clear desperation in its face as it clutches the fireward gem while gibbering in pain, the fire sprite suddenly lurches upwards and over Divianne Athel in a mad dash to get past her and the doorway of the starboard-side magazine room. Guard Athel however, though wounded and fatigued, recognizes the ploy and raises herself to full height, throwing up her musket and sword to block the fey creature. The sprite runs directly into the stock of Athel's musket and is forced backwards, its aerial attempt to bypass her ruined. Before it can ready itself Athel swings her blade down upon the sprite's head, but somehow it spins in the air and rolls sideways, the longsword just missing its head by a fingerspan.
Wounded from the earlier fan of fire sent at her, Ifris seethes with cold ire at the traitorous handmaiden sending a column of tiny meteors at her head, and resolves to deprive this eladrin of her advantage of fire. Instead of moving directly after her for another headlong attack, Ifris parallels her movement, feeling the coolness of the fireward aura as she enters it; she stalks Sorkana by the ladderwell, readying her amber blade for a new purpose.
Just as Ifris stalks past the port side edge of the ladderwell, she lets fly with her mindblade, sending it straight and true to pierce through Sorkana's arcane armor and wounding her across her left shoulder and upper back. Sorkana cries out in pain and surprise at the sudden throw of her weapon, noticing the blade shimmers and then winks out of existence where it lay on the deck, though the blood still remains.
Ifris smiles coldly - in her waiting hand Sorkana sees the beginnings of a new amber blade forming there, standing in a guarded stance within the protective aura of the fireward where Sorkana's fiery spells lack potency.
Luck and time has run out for the sprite, its last dodging roll leaving it open for another attack by Divianne Athel. The marine guard snarls in frustration and thrusts straight forward with her blade; this time the sword finds its mark and runs the small sprite through its chest, coming out the other side in a full impalement. Gurgling fire in its mouth, the dying sprite lets the fireward gem it had claimed fall to the ground just inside the door to the magazine room, falling next to it in a crumpled heap.
"I got him! I got the last of 'em! I'm coming to help!" Athel shouts out clearly to Constable Lanvaldan, moving away from the door to get a better look at where Sorkana stands, but still staying within the protective aura of the outer fireward charm. Athel sheathes her longsword, bringing her musket around and a hand on her ammo satchel to prepare for reloading.
Tactical Map, Berth Deck Aft
Tactical Map, Berth Deck Fwd
Tactical Map, Engine Deck Aft
Another roaring thunderclap echoes across the compound of R.H.C. Shale Branch, the screams of dying men barely heard on the shattered ramparts. A cold but soft, steady rain from the Avery Sea falls across the city this night, yet the lightning that strikes the compound is anything but normal.
Johnathan Jackson has a solid grip under the shoulder and arm of Lucas Lawrence, the Chief Inspector of Slate Branch, half dragging the man with him as they just make it inside the main doors of the R.H.C. Headquarters Building. Lawrence’s head bobs back and forth from the vigorous effort to get him inside, drool dripping from his open mouth and his eyes wide but unseeing from shock. The man smells like burnt flesh mixed with a distinctive crisp odor that only comes from the onset of a strong summer thunderstorm. Or in this case, several bolts of lightning that ripped through the outer courtyard of the compound just moments ago. The Chief’s legs seem useless, his two feet dragging along the cobblestone floor at odd angles. Yet he is still alive, thanks to Johnathan. At least for the moment anyway.
The more familiar smell of firedust discharge from Pemberton-make muskets wafts across Johnathan’s nostrils, the loud sound of a volley of musket fire from the remaining handful of Risuri Army soldiers behind him producing satisfying screams of their own from the courtyard. Then the heavy double doors are closed with a familiar thunk and the black iron crossbar is lowered down into place.
”Is that everyone? Damn…alright HAMMER IT IN BOYS! NICE AND SOLID! THEN LOAD YOUR GUNS AND READY YER BLADES!” Even without looking across the room at the orcish constable, Johnathan knows Corbin Spears has survived the onslaught. His mind starts to wonder if any others have made it, but his longtime training and experiences in battle force it quickly out of his mind; he drags Chief Lawrence over to the stone stairs that lead up to the Inspector’s Tower and sits him down, propping him against the stairwell wall. Lawrence feebly puts a hand to his forehead, clearly in great pain and still drooling openly from his mouth, but slurs something of an acceptance and waves John off with his other hand. That was something, at least.
Johnathan Jackson, constable of the Royal Homeland Constabulary for four years now and one-time war hero of the Risuri Naval Marines, turns around to view the surrounding mayhem in the receiving hall of their HQ building. He had just saved the life of his Chief Inspector out in the outer courtyard, dashing forward through lightning and arrows to get him where he had just fallen. Yet even John does not fully comprehend what had just happened to them all. Considering what it seems to be fills him with a rage-filled anger and pain he instinctively knows will not allow him to think clearly, so he stuffs it down for now, surveying the situation dispassionately. Four dead army soldiers laid in a heap near the door to his left, and three others wounded beyond the capacity to fight effectively near the cloakroom closet to his right. Six soldiers of fighting status in front him at the HQ doors. Besides himself, Corbin Spears and the severely wounded Chief Inspector, there were no other constables in sight that made it. He knew at least two RHC men were dead out in the courtyard, Grady and Cooke, for he had witnessed it firsthand. Probably most of the half-company of Risuri Army soldiers who had duty at R.H.C. Shale Branch were dead or dying, though perhaps some soldiers alone or in pairs had made it to the stables or kitchens or one of the other outlying buildings, or were holed up in their main guard barracks. Too little though to effect any real defense, and no means to contact them anyway. The main compound had already fallen. HQ building was the rally point, and this is all that had made it. They had plenty of ammunition and supplies here, but too few men to hold it. Eight against what may be two full companies by his brief estimation.
”So you managed to make it once again, eh runt? Even luck favors the hopeless, though it’s gonna run out for you sooner or later!” Corbin’s voice rings out towards Johnathan as the hulking constable walks towards him and thumbing a large battleaxe in his massive hand, idly checking the status of a brace of throwing axes on his belt as well as a sheensteel pistol. The protruding teeth from Corbin’s lower jaw jeer at him in a leering smile, and John knows the constable insults him in an endearing manner that signifies the camaraderie of friendship and trust. It was not always that way between the Risuri human ex-Marine and the Risuri orcish ex-Army constables, for when John first apprenticed to the R.H.C. four years ago the insults and antipathy were all too real. Things had come to terms between Corbin and him about two years ago after the briefing session of a low-tier mission that had been botched in its execution - interestingly enough in the outer courtyard during a rainstorm not much unlike today. The pair had come to trading open blows in a brawl in the mud, the conditions preventing either from scoring a devastating strike or choking hold to end the violent contest. It should have been broken up by their RHC bosses, but for some reason Assistant Chief Inspector Grady convinced Chief Inspector Lawrence to let it play out. After an hour or so with both constables covered in mud and blood, surrounded by the other constables and soldiers cheering them on and taking bets on the victor, each brawler utterly exhausted and barely able to raise their arms to make another meaty blow on the bruised face of the other, Corbin simply started laughing. Which compelled Johnathan to start laughing in return, the ridiculousness of their fight and built-up animosity all too apparent, their pugilistic contest a draw. He and Corbin had been fast friends ever since, their rivalries and bickering an odd sign of true respect and caring that only men who had been through war together could ever truly know.
Of course as a result of their altercation, Johnathan and Corbin served a half-season prepping food in the kitchens and scribing reports for the branch, with Inspector Grady and Chief Lawrence harder on the pair that year than they were on any of the other constables. Yet neither constable received a black mark in their file, nor did it ever come up in any internal audit from the Director’s “noses” at Slate Branch. Grady and Lawrence were active in the war themselves after all, and they understood. Now, Assistant Chief Inspector Grady’s body was a torn, smoking wreck in the outer courtyard, and Chief Inspector Lawrence leans near the rear stairwell, half-dead and his legs seemingly paralyzed.
Johnathan’s brief reverie of the past is apparently not so brief, as Corbin steps forward closer and leans down towards him, speaking in a slightly softer tone with his rumbling voice. ”You all right there Jackson? You seemed okay to me when you came in with the Chief, but they cast some sort of wind wall at the entrance to prevent our return fire when the talking stopped, so I couldn’t see what was goin’ on with all the wind and rain. You hit somewheres?”
John looks up at his comrade and sees the concern on his face, shaking his head to indicate he’s all right and unhurt. He still cannot quite believe what just happened.
There were at least two companies of elite soldiers out there attempting to take the RHC compound, with one scattered report of other companies and possibly even regiments taking key buildings throughout the rest of the city. Shale was no stranger to assaults and invasion attempts over the course of the past four wars with Danor and had never fallen to the enemy; it was well fortified by both land and by sea, being the principal military harbor of the Risuri Navy and home to Risur’s most elite Army and Marine units. Johnathan’s own former Marine battalion the “Spine-Takers” were based here during the war, though the unit had been disbanded after the treaty of the Fourth had been concluded seven years ago. The city and its harbor were, by all reasonable and objective accounts, impregnable to an invasion by sea and similarly by land with nothing short of a full army of several corps, something even the cursed Danorans never had even attempted in the last two centuries of war. Shale was the tip of the spear, the vanguard of Risuri military might for the inevitable Fifth War that surely was to come in his lifetime. It should never have fallen…
…yet the attackers outside their doors were not Danoran. They were Risuri.
Calling themselves “patriots of the true Queen of Risur”, they surrounded R.H.C. Shale Branch after nightfall just as the drizzle of the afternoon turned to steady rain. Two companies of Shale’s Second Army, Third and Eighth Regiments - the elite hunters and storm druids of the “Gale Riders” fame, along with the formidable veteran archers of “Morgan’s Skystrikers” – had quickly taken up positions around the walls, demanding surrender of the R.H.C. immediately upon grounds of loyalty to the realm. A preposterous notion, but after the first honor guards atop the walls protecting Shale Branch were slain by expert sniper fire from the archers, both Grady and Lawrence called for a parley. It didn’t help that Shale Branch’s crack team Unremitting had been called out earlier that day to investigate a concern of possible sabotage by Danoran spies in the military harbor, a personal request sent by the Duchess apparently. Later before dusk, another three constables had left in response to a disturbance outside the city with a wagon supply train that had caught on fire. Johnathan thinks now that these were both ruses by the traitors, to deprive them of their full strength before what clearly was a planned assault. Chief Inspector Lawrence and Assistant Chief Inspector Grady had been left with four or five constables. Fortunately for them, the Risuri Army soldiers that guarded the compound were all from chosen companies out of Slate Branch, else they might have found bayonets in their bellies and throats already.
With the winds rising to a whipping pitch, Johnathan had stood with a squad of a dozen army guards, watching as Lawrence and Grady met the rebel officer at the center of the courtyard under a flag of parley, but less than a minute of talking something had gone wrong. The officer retreated suddenly with some aid of wind and levitation skyseer magic, and multiple streaks of lightning rained down upon the two Shale Branch bosses, the soldiers upon the walls and the double-ranks of men around Johnathan. How he was not struck and electrocuted he did not know, but seeing his leaders fall he rushed forward instantly, his mind rushing back to a former experiences in the war when he charged enemy positions or raced to save a wounded comrade from death. Before he knew it he was at the fallen forms of Lucas Lawrence and Hayden Grady; Grady was a charred smoking husk which had been tossed about like a ragdoll from what might have been two or even three direct bolts upon him and Lawrence, but Lawrence was still somehow alive and thrashing about. Even as a volley of arrows thudded into the unmoving back of Grady, turned Cooke into a tailor’s pincushion and streaked by Johnathan’s ear and shoulder, he hoisted his leader upright and dragged him back to the depleted lines of loyal Risuri men behind him. Screams of the dying and curses from the living echoed out everywhere, along with the sounds of musket and bowfire from multiple directions. It was chaos of the battlefield, something he had not felt for many years, even though he had been subjected to threats and danger in the post-war period. Strangely, Johnathan wondered at himself at the exhilaration of it all, of the perversion of missing the carnage and the threat of death that made him feel truly alive.
Constable Johnathan Jackson looks up at Constable Corbin Spears, who nods to him in return and then asks gruffly, ”Grady? Cooke? No? Balls of an Beran aurochs! Well, I got Winston Watkins pulled back in time before he got fried – he’s upstairs now in the tower tryin’ to get a sending message off to Slate Branch and the Director, as he’s the only arcane we’ve got to try it.”
Anneca calibrates the first of the three panels, delicately moving the controls to the proper place. "There are three parts to the controls: an arcane component to attune one of those bracelets; an engineering component to properly calibrate the flow of energy; and a star-charting component to be able to direct the energy. I can do use it to vent the pressure and heat, I just need more time!" She knows that she has the arcane side of things under control, but there are two more components and barely enough time.
"Good to hear," Johnathan replies cooly. His exterior remains calm, despite the storm of emotions raging within him to match the gale outside the HQ building. Johnathan had never been one for politics, despite his deep patriotism. He'd always been too busy fighting and training to keep up on who was who amongst the aristocracy. I can't believe this is happening. A civil war is the worst thing that could happen to Risur now. Danor will be on us like wolves on a sick ram. "Who the hell are they talking about, the true queen of Risur?" he wonders aloud.
While waiting for Corbin's answer Johnathan's hands run through their habitual stroke of his body, checking for essential gear and weapons. His fingers stop for a moment on the embroidered patch of a circular, bloody human spine on his left collar. Spine-takers. How many years has it been since I've ripped the vertebra bloody from a man's back and wrapped them around his throat?....Has it come to that again? Johnathan shudders involuntarily.
When the shudder passes, the adrenaline pumping through his veins steadies him, and he continues his self-inspection. The feel of the overlapping steel plates of his armor reassure him under his longcoat. The thick end of his bluntly spiked mace's oak haft feels solid in his palm. The scratchy fletching on his left fingertips tells him the quiver of blunted arrows at his side is still in place. Johnathan had barely managed to keep a grip on his longbow while rescuing CI Lawrence. The bowstaff and string are slick with the CI's blood. Johnathan gives the bow a couple of test pulls to make sure the string is still taught, and then shrugs once it seems okay. Going to be hell getting that clean later...
Reassured that his tools are in place, he decides there are more important things to discuss. "You've been here longer than me, mate. Is there another way out of here? We've got to get CI Lawrence to safety. We're going to need all the officers we've got after tonight."
Emerson thinks about going upstairs to reinforce Willem and Ifris but one look at the furnace changes his mind.
”Willem! Bring one of those fireward gems down here on the double!”
After sending more healing energies to those around him, he runs over to Gemma to help her get the furnace door open.
Gemma spies a pair steel tongs hanging on a peg next to the furnace and grabs them. Better than nothing, I suppose.
Looking at the blazing hot furnace doors, she can easily see the areas where one or both of the saboteurs rusted the doors shut, attempting to seal the fate of the Coaltongue. She calls out to Emerson as she starts to try and chip some of the rust off with the tongs, hopefully giving the two of them a better chance at opening the doors. Due to the intense heat, the effort is tough-going, but it makes her realize that it was a wise decision to drop her armored coat.
Seeing Emerson moving across the room to help her, Gemma calls out to him.”They’ve rusted the damn things shut! If I can’t get them myself, then maybe the two of us together can get it opened up.”
She moves in closer, trying to shield her face from the heat with her free arm while she wedges the tongs through the door handle. ”You know, Constable…I don’t think we’re going to get out of this one unscathed.” Gemma casts a quick smile towards Emerson, then grips tightly onto the tongs and sets her feet firm. She braces one of her boots against the bottom side of the furnace and yanks the door towards her with all her might, hoping it will give.
As she pulls on the steel door, attempting to stop the imminent destruction of the Risuri flagship, a clear voice pops into her head. It’s a voice that she hasn’t heard in a long time. The voice of her father.
Dig deep, girl. Dig deep.
It’s such a quiet and simple message but one that evokes a flood of memories. She remembers being in her bed, the smells of early morning on a farm wafting through the house…moist earth, hay, baking bread…that was the only good part of the memory. The other part wasn’t so good. Her mother and sister had gone into Flint the day before to get some supplies and weren’t expected to be back until noon that day. Gemma hated being apart from her sister. Her sister was the only true calming force in her life and being separated from her for any length of time was unsettling. Ever since Gemma had been returned by the Fey, her parents, despite their caring and concern, had never really known what to do. They had their little girl back but things had forever been altered for the Atherton’s. When the nightmares came, her younger sister was the only one that could calm Gemma down and talk her through it. Now, for that day and a half, it was just Gemma and her father. He was a sweet man, an honest farmer, but not a man that really knew what to do with a tainted daughter.
She remembers waking up screaming, hysterical from one of her nightmares, shaking and dripping with sweat. She remembers her father rushing into the bedroom from the kitchen and pausing in the doorway, not really knowing what to do, but then moving to take Gemma into his arms. He held her tight, rocking his little girl back and forth on her bed while she sobbed, whispering in her ear ”Dig deep, girl. Dig deep. Don’t let those dreams scare you. It’s alright now. Dig deep and be strong.” He never really knew that the dreams weren't really dreams at all but buried memories. The words didn’t make the night terrors go away but it was the best advice her father had ever given her.
”Dig deep, girl. Dig deep.” She said it quietly out loud to herself, hoping it would help.
"Dammit!" She feels the doors give slightly, but it's not enough to open them. She casts a quick glance up to Emerson while she retightens her grip. "I almost had it!"
Seeing Emerson moving across the room to help her, Gemma calls out to him.”They’ve rusted the damn things shut! If I can’t get them myself, then maybe the two of us together can get it opened up.”
She moves in closer, trying to shield her face from the heat with her free arm while she wedges the tongs through the door handle. ”You know, Constable…I don’t think we’re going to get out of this one unscathed.”
"Oh I don't know about that" Emerson says nonchalantly as if their lives aren't hanging on a string. "I've been in worse situations"
Emerson gets up closer to Gemma, grabs a hold of the make shift prybar and puts his foot at the base of the furnace as well.
"Ready when you are..."