Hey all, I'm heading out of town and somewhat off grid until late next week. Will likely have limited internet and so won't be able to post much or at all until I get back.
Please bot as needed.
Search Posts
No rush and no worries. Take care of yourself and glad you are on the mend.
So I thought Gather Info rolls were more about the quality or amount of information vs the usual consequences, harm, etc. With results being Limited, Standard, or Great each yielding better info. So with a 4, that would be 'Standard: You get good details. Clarifying and follow-up questions are possible.' I'm just trying to understand how much risk is actually involved in this part of the game since we really haven't used this mechanic before. Or is this really the beginning of the score and thus all the usual mechanics apply? Either way, I'll roll to resist the harm, but not the scrying.
No bargain on the Gather Info, I'll save that for something during the actual score.
The ghost field could be a good place to hide something a person doesn't want easily found. Once we can actually ID Elandra then Jonah can spend a bit of time poking around her residence. Going to assume she has some defenses (probably a whole bunch of defenses), so he won't be taking any big risks. Much more of a passive sweep than anything direct at this point. Mostly to just see 'what echoes in the ghost field?' or 'if there is anything lost, weird or hidden?' So would that be an Attune roll or would is just be Survey?
"Elanda." Jonah says wincing as Ranna cleans the cuts. "The inspector's name is Elanda. Haven't heard of her myself." At the suggestion of going to the clinic, the whisper nods warily and tries to wave away the concern. "I've slept like the dead." He says. A brief thoughtful pause as he recalls a few snippets of the odd dreams plaguing him lately. But strange dreams were pretty common among Whispers. A side effect of constantly delving into the ghost field. Another shrug. "I'm sure it's just the usual exhaustion from too much work and a few bizarre dreams likely caused by too much eel pie and time spent in the city sewers."
Fitting. I guess that would make sense as Jonah really doesn't have much time or focus given the need to heal and turn his attention to the next score. So he doesn't learn much with just one tick on a clock.
Ranna: Cool. Thank you. GM: Yes, I was going to pay 1 Coin for another action involving his long-term project of helping Naty. Since I don't think I've had a chance to dig further yet, I'm still in the initial stages of investigating Lord Penderyn and the Path of Echoes mystery cult. At this point I think it would just be low-key Investigation with Survey work to get to know Penderyn's habits, haunts, and associates and hopefully a bit more about the cult in general. Then we can see if he can work on infiltrating the cult or just join up to learn more, etc. I'm not sure if that is just a single gather info or if you want it to be a 4 or 6 clock? Luce: I can't say for sure. Jonah is probably similar to Ranna in that anything more recent is a bit easier to discover, so a 4-clock. Anything prior to his arrival in the city (ie. Anything that happened during the war, his family, etc.) would probably be a lot harder or take longer to find out. Although his biggest 'secret' which is Naty's existence probably doesn't even need a clock as she'll probably just show up at some point.
Heh. No worries. It's just the dice roller getting back at me. Go ahead and roll a second time because Jonah is using both of his DT actions for healing. There's no way I can go into another score with all those wounds.
26 APRIL, 847 IE Jonah offers Ranna a weak smile when the healer steps into the room. The Whisper is clearly exhausted and not well. His skin is pale, even more so than usual. His eyes lined with dark circles as the Whisper slowly rubs at the pain throbbing in his temples. When Ranna apologizes, he lets out a breath he hadn't really realized he was holding. "Glad to have you back." He says to Ranna before offering his own thoughts on their new job. His voice clearly tired. "And I would just like to say I'm sorry as well. It probably would have been better to say something sooner about our hand in the Grinders demise. I'd no idea you knew them so well. Although it really isn't a surprise given the location of your clinic. I should've put two and two together a bit sooner." A final sigh as he limps over to the pot of brewing coffee steaming on the small iron cook top that heats the hideout. Taking a welcome sip of the brew, he nods as Casia mentions their own need to see the job done. "Of course, the first order of business is to get eyes on this Inspector and figure out where she might be hiding her evidence." The Whispers hand seems to shake a little as he brings the mug to his lips for another sip. "It'll likely be someplace personal to her. Anything in her office has probably already been searched by whoever Lyssa has on the inside."
Jonah tenses as a dagger suddenly manifests in Casia's hand. It was a helluva trick, but this was definitely not the time or place. But before he can even make a likely futile attempt to reason with Fin's sister, Lyssa takes the wind right out of her sails. Even through the usual haze of booze, Cas could see that with Fin already in prison, Lyssa held all the cards and stacked the deck. One word from the Crow boss and his life is tolerable as she promises or filled with misery and a grim death. The unspoken promise if they don't do as she says. Sighing, Jonah rubs a hand over his aching head and resets his hat. With no choice, Casia was correct, they'd evidence to gather. His eyes glance between the two women. Another sigh. He'd been around Casia long enough to know that no matter what happens now, Lyssa had made an enemy for life. "We'll be in touch as soon as we've got something." Is all he says to Lyssa before turning and following the only other Dusk Mite from their original group of Doskvol flotsam.
25 April 847 IE Jonah didn't always agree with Lyssa or her methods, but in this case he found himself nodding along with her scheme. The last thing we need is an overzealous inspector poking around. The very thought makes his eye twitch and reignites the ache in his head. The Dusk Mites were involved, directly or indirectly, in way too much bloodshed in recent weeks for a smart snooper to not start uncovering things best left buried deep in the Doskvol sewers. And killing the gung ho Bluecoat? Well, he simply refused to entertain the kind of disaster that could create. He glances at the Crow boss, his eyes and thin smile reflecting a respect for this hard, scheming woman who has somehow managed to keep herself alive and even thriving amongst the cutthroats of the city. But the smile starts to fade as thoughts of bosses like Baszo or Mylera or another Hutton step into the frame. Bosses more likely to stab first and consider consequences later. Forgetting his usual dislike of alcohol, Jonah takes a sip of the wine and nods again. "Avoiding the stick to offer a poisoned carrot instead." The whisper says tipping a finger to his hat to salute the Crow boss. "A fine, clever idea and prudent. The last thing anyone wants is the law stirred up and trying to bring order and justice to this town. Getting the dirt on this Elandra and running her out nice and quiet makes bunch of sense." Or keeping her well under the Crows thumb. Jonah considers to himself before turning to Casia. "What do you think? I'm in if the others can cop to the plan."
Daring or just plain too stubborn or stupid to give up? Jonah ponders the potential differences between their perceived reputation and reality. A quick mental shrug. Probably all three. The Whisper lets Lyssa's final words dangle in the air for several moments. It wouldn't suit to come across too eager for the work. Not a substantial stretch for him at the moment given the numerous aches and pains currently afflicting his worn down self. Still, slugs were already growing short after the meager takings following the clinic job and Lyssa had paid well the last time. So finally... "I think we are all in agreement that keeping the bloodshed to a minimum is in all our best interests." He says only to suddenly feel a icy chill run through his body as if he'd stumbled and fallen in the cold waters of the harbor. The taste of salt, blood, and filth momentarily coat his tongue causing him to choke. The feeling is gone as quickly as it arrives, but leaves the whisper shivering and subdued. Shaking his head he coughs once, twice, a third time to try and clear the awful taste from his mouth. A futile effort. "S-So what do you want s-s-stolen and who would you like to keep in the dark about your involvement-t-t in the theft?" Jonah asks blowing into his hands to warm them as he shivers despite the warmth billowing from the nearby fire.
For crew XP I'd say 1XP for the theft, 2XP for challenges above our station since the Silver Nails are tier 3, and 2XP for goals, inner conflict, etc. Plenty of inner conflict. So 5XP total?
Jonah winces as his carefully rubs the newly grown knot on the back of his head. The Crow leader's invitation was doing nothing positive for the his overall health or mood. Blinking the pain and sack dust from his eyes he hears Casia's familiar cursing before turning to see his fellow Dusk Mite looking as happy to be here as he was. Politely accepting the offered glass of the wine, Jonah only takes enough of a sip to keep up the social pretense before setting it aside. He'd no desire to compound his aching head with alcohol. "The past is certainly no place for any sane person to want to dwell." Jonah mutters while grabbing his hat from the sack and dropping it back onto his head. "And I've no interest in a grudge or any trouble with the Crows. It was all just business. Just eels wriggling under the bridge as far as I'm concerned. All I ask is for a less concussion inducing greeting next time." A quick wince as he adjusts the hat slightly. "I've enough lumps up there as it is." Leaning back in his chair, Jonah offers the gang leader a slim smile. "So what's the job?"
21 APRIL 847 IE Jonah is too weak and too tired to argue with or follow after Ranna. He tries to waves his hand dismissively after her storming exit, but it ends up looking more like a starved eel flopping hopelessly in a drying pool. While his body desired nothing more than rest and food, his mind fumed at Hutton's ability to drag the Mites through the muck even after the gangster was dead. The man had trafficked in his own people, of that the Whisper has little doubt. He'd deserved his fate and so had any others who'd fought for such a man. It was the Justice he deserved. His hand rubs at a throbbing pain in his temple. The headaches had been growing stronger lately. His diagnosis being that it was just a lack of sleep and the added strain of the past few weeks. Somewhere outside someone is chopping firewood. A steady *thwack* *thwack* *thwack* of the blade striking hardwood that adds to his misery. "She'll be back. Probably." He says to Fin, Cas and Luce, the latter seeming to put to rest any question of her own choice. It wasn't the first time he'd been on the wrong end of the leeches ire. Healing and soldering rarely agreed, especially the kind of fighting he'd done at the end of the war. "Take her a bit to cool down. Then...well...we'll see." He rubs again at his temple and mumbles something about getting some rest before heading out into the rain and to the quiet solitude of his own cot. 25 APRIL 847 IE Sleep. It had overtaken him almost as soon as he'd closed and locked the door to the old railcar he called home. According to the concerned and bored ghost of his sister, the slumber had lasted for nearly two days. And was filled with a variety of nightmares that had him mumbling, muttering and occasionally screaming as he thrashed about on his small cot. Odd visions filled his mind. Hutton's head sitting atop a mountain of fallen souls. The gangsters eyes gleaming hate and betrayal. Ranna trying to stitch together a half dozen small Skovlander bodies. Each with the face of a fallen Grinder. She looks up at him with accusing hate filled eyes. 'Your fault.' Nyryx seduces him only to slip a blade into his hand and call him back to the trenches. Back to war and death and destruction. Climbing a bone mountain, hundreds of Silver Nails baying for his blood as they scrabble after him like hounds on the hunt. A crimson and gold robed figure, her golden voice offering justice and eternal reward. She whispers of revenge and redemption. Sultry words dripping with honey, promise, and hope, not a word of truth among them. She holds a golden blade capable of cutting down his enemies like a scythe reaping wheat. It is his if only he gives himself to her. Wally's ghostly visage leering at him as the ghost wraps aethereal shackles weighted by the souls of the dead around his arms and legs. Pushes him into the black nothingness of the void where only ghostly laughter and malice keeps him company. The chains stretch out behind. A metallic leviathan of doom and death. Since finally waking from his dark rest, Jonah spends the next few days seeing to his wounds and trying to make progress in his researches into the Reconciled. But his ability to concentrate is constantly thwarted by headaches and lingering doubts about the Grinders. Deciding to finally try to speak with Ranna to understand why she was so certain Hutton wasn't selling his own folk or at the very least get something to ease the headaches, he dons coat and hat and steps out into the cold, wet dreariness of Doskvol. The clinic is a bit of a walk. A painful trek on his hobbled hip, but the exercise would be good and keep the limb from losing its strength and mobility. The clinic is only a block or two away when the sap cracks the back of his head and a sack blots out the blue glow of a distant street lamp.
Perhaps this remnant of a ancient goddess (or maybe it is just some harnessed memory within ghost field) has had more influence over Jonah than either he or anyone else has realized? Making him more prone to risk, more willing to shed blood, more susceptible to conspiracies and suggestions such as the Grinders being slavers. Whatever it is slowly turning him into an unwitting servant of destruction and death and certainly in conflict with his real goals of not causing more death and destruction. His studies into the Reconciled and saving Naty could then be the only way he can save himself as well. Heh...Chalk it up to GM minds thinking alike. :) Via PM is probably best for me, I've not been on Discord for months and months.
Apologies all, I managed to go back and reread that initial mission and see that I got it all messed up. Somehow in my head, their initial lie got all muddled with their betrayal after we'd made a deal. I'd even forgotten that it wasn't the Grinders we were initially stealing from but someone else. All I can say is that this was all nearly two years ago. :) GM: However, I think I do have a somewhat plausible explanation for why Jonah has things so messed up in his head. It all comes back to the odd dingus that belonged to the Dimmer Sisters that he carried around until we stashed it in Baszo's safe. What Jonah saw when taking the box:
She is magnificent. A vision of power, glory, and sensuality. Hovering atop the peak of a pyramid. A temple of worship judging by all of the enraptured worshippers kneeling at the stone mountain’s base. Her hair flows in a swirling wind like a golden fire dancing upon the rooftops of a burning city. Blue eyes filled with icy radiance. Rose hued lips are curled into a smile that says I know what you wish and all you have to do is give me everything and you may have your dreams. She wears robes of crimson, gold and platinum that sparkle beneath the brilliant, massive, golden orb that hangs in the sky. One hand holds a massive sword. Blood runs from that wicked blade. A crimson torrent. The other hand beckons to him. Her long, delicate fingers curling to bring him into her fold. Waves toward the multitude of others kneeling at the base of the great stone temple. Each chanting some unintelligible, repetitive nonsense as they undulate up and down upon their knees like a massive kelp bed riding the currents. The chanting that drones in his ears.
Worshipers line a long stairway that climbs the mountain to heaven. A red haired, light skinned young woman is the next to reach the top. Her back is to Jonah, but he can feel the ecstacy radiating from her youthful body, her arms raised in open supplication. The goddess smiles. Calls the girl of no more than twenty forward to kneel before her. Her head raises up to gaze into those depthless glacier eyes to seek comfort, healing, and end to her worldly pain a beginning to otherworldly bliss. For a heartbeat the sword shines bright in the sunlight. The glare stings Jonah’s eyes. He blinks. The sound of the blade striking flesh. His heart pounds as he realizes something familiar about the young woman. But the knowledge comes much, much too late. Half of the youth falls to the left, the other half to the right. Both cascade down the pyramid to lesser pyramids. These not made of stone, but a bounty of flesh harvested over eons. A macabre horror of mortal lives lost to twisted hopes, dashed dreams, wars of pride, prejudice and purity. As the torso tumbles the woman’s head twists around. It’s is Naty’s face. A serene smile still frozen on her features as the light of life slips away to darkness. Naty’s remains land with a sickening squelch upon those who took the trip up the pyramid before her. Jonah staggers backward, a scream rising in his throat. Her pull on his mind is not so strong that he cannot escape…this time. He begins to run. Her throaty laugh fills the sky, follows his fleeing soul. It echoes across space and time. He keeps running, tears streaming down his face. Tears of loss, tears of failure, tears of pain and of a rage that burns as bright and hot as that ancient lost orb. The laughter grows. ”Come to me and all will be taken away.” The goddess speaks. ”Worship me and end your pain. End your guilt. End your suffering. End your futile mortal struggle. Worship me and know true peace.” He staggers under the weight of her voice, her words, the focus of her eyes upon him. His soul yearns to believe this ancient being of death and lies. Yearns to truly find the peace that she offers. But not in death. Not to be harvested like wheat in the field of some ancient goddesses garden. He cannot. He will not. He will go on. He will find a way to bring Naty back. Her spirit was not truly in this being’s possession. No, it was stuck in a rail car in a city of darkness and grief. But he would give her life again. Give her a second chance. Give himself a second chance. A chance to make up for his failure to find her in time. To keep her safe. The goddess laughs again. His thoughts amuse her, childish as they may be. ”Only the gods can grant life and death.” She says as he here’s the sound of the sword falling again. Followed by more laughter. ”Run…run while you can little mortal. But soon enough you will be mine.” ”No! I will not!” He places all of his pain into that shout. Flings it at her like a child throwing a tantrum at a grinning parent. ”I will not worship her! I will not worship her!” He shouts over and over as he keeps on running. Perhaps this remnant of a ancient goddess (or maybe it is just some harnessed memory within ghost field) has had more influence over Jonah than either he or anyone else has realized? Making him more prone to risk, more willing to shed blood, more susceptible to conspiracies and suggestions such as the Grinders being slavers. Whatever it is slowly turning him into an unwitting servant of destruction and death and certainly in conflict with his real goals of not causing more death and destruction. His studies into the Reconciled and saving Naty could then be the only way he can save himself as well.
Well, I may have misremembered or misinterpreted things, and I haven't really had time to dig back in and confirm, but I always thought it was Hutton and the Grinders that were the slavers. It fact, Jonah was all for sending a message to Hutton on behalf of Lyssa because he thought they were running Skov slaves which had him pretty ticked off. It could be Jonah is totally wrong. (The ghost field does strange things to the mind at times.) But so far that's how he sees it and how he remembers it. So he isn't lying, but he could be badly misinformed. If I get a bit of time, I'll try to go back and see where I might have gone wrong and got things confused.
21 APRIL 847 IE Jonah finishes unloading the pilfered medical supplies from the various pockets of his long coat and eases himself gently into one of the rickety chairs that pass for furniture in their hideout. The flair of a match followed by the now familiar smell of a cigarette as he draws the smoke into his lungs and slowly exhales it like a worn out dragon on his last legs. His face is much too pale, except where it is much too red from the aetheric feedback shock he'd sparked slipping into the Silver Staff. Hearing Ranna's question and Cas' Cas-like reply, the whisper sighs and slowly shakes his head. He agreed with Fin. Both Ranna and Luce deserved to know before they got in any deeper. "Mostly it was all born from a terrible mistake." He says. His scratchy voice a bit sad, but not regretful. "A mistake and Hutton's own choices." The mention of Hutton caused a cloud of anger to momentarily drift across his features. A pause as the cigarette slips between his lips and he sucks in more of the sickly sweet smoke. "We'd first bumped into the Grinders on a simple warehouse job we'd been hired to do." A quick shrug of his shoulders. "Usual snatch and grab kind of thing. Intercept a shipment of drugs and reroute them to someone else. The job went fairly well, except we discovered Hutton was also running slaves." His face grows hard, his voice cold. "Skovlander slaves." "And while the fact that dung worm, Hutton was trading his own people like eel meat at market didn't cause the war, it certainly made taking the job that did that much easier." The half smoked cigarette dangles from his lips as he tries to adjust the blood soaked bandage pressed against the oozing wound in his thigh. "Seems others wanted to send him a message. Hired us to do it. Again, another job requiring more sneak than blood. A job we did. Got it got out. Left the warning in his own room with not a ghostly trace. But then things went wrong. We got separated. Fin with Lolo, me and Cas." He head tilts toward Fin. "They made it back first, but rather than staying put and waiting for us to show, Lolo went back out." Another pause. Another cloud of smoke as he still tries to put the chaotic events of that next hour or two into some sensible order. A way that make everything that comes after make sense. He still can't really do it. "We showed up not so long after, so I decided to go out in search of Lolo searching for us. Things were all abuzz down in the docks by then. Grinders were running about everywhere trying to find the crew that had busted into Hutton's house and left a dagger on his pillow." His eyes flick to Cas. "Or wherever she'd left the thing." "Lolo got herself spotted. Slipped into some piss-hole of a bar that looked closed up. Unfortunately, it happened to be occupied by one young woman. Neither one of us knew it at the time, but that was Hutton's daughter." A sadness returns to his face. The sound of a gunshot, more Skov blood spilling to the ground. "She was a real spitfire some would say. Others might call her a cutter just like her father. I'd say she was just a foolish kid. Surprised. Bitter. Scared." "I came in just as she tried to go for Lolo's gun. They wrestled. The gun went off. The kid got the worst of it. She was done for. Would've tried to save her, but..." A shiver runs through his frame as he recalls watching the life slip from the girl's face. Another sigh. "I started the fire. An attempt to cover our tracks. It worked well enough to get us clear. But by that point too many eyes had seen us in the area. Hutton put two and two together to get five and decided it was all our fault. Or more than likely the bastard just saw easy pickings and an excuse to make a grab for what little we had. Never mind if his girl had just backed off, we would've been happy to just leave her be. Never mind if he hadn't overstepped and needing warning off we wouldn't have been doing the job in the first place. Never mind he went and killed an innocent woman who'd stepped away from the life well before any of this had happened. None of that matter. Hutton wanted war, so he started it. Started it by killing poor Dary." A moment passes as he glances at the little dish of peppermints they always kept filled on the corner table. "Poor Dary has stepped away from the life long before any of this had happened. At that point she was just another soul trying to eek out an honest life in this dishonest city." "Lolo'd already skipped out with Fionna. She wasn't happy about leaving us, but we all agreed, her daughter needed a chance for something better. So it was just Fin, Cas, and me against Hutton and his whole crew." A wry smile crosses his pale lips. "Not great odds, but we figured a way to even 'em just a bit. Hutton was finally going to face what he should've faced with the rest of us during the war. Let him and his band of slave traders draw blood against the real enemy for once. And so we lured the Silver Nails into our little war. A word here. A plant there. A pot stirred. A kettle blackened." A quick shrug and another thin smile. "The rouse worked." "The Nails ended up doing most of our work for us. Whittled Hutton's gang down to the bone. Then we slipped in to put the bit of filth down for good." Jonah frowns as he pulls a final drag from his cigarette. Shakes his head slowly. "The whole ghost thing though. That wasn't us. Just another coincidence...maybe. Who can know in this city. Someone else maybe had it in for Hutton. Either way we were sneaking into Hutton's...through the sewers. You want to be a Mite, best get used to the sewers. Came across this bunch of amateurs summoning a big nasty from the aether. Most of them died to their own handiwork. We managed to hold off the beast for a bit, but it'd managed to get our scent. Followed us to Hutton's. That was the ghost that ultimately killed him. We've still no idea who those people were. Likely never will as all of them are probably dead." He looks around the room meeting Ranna and Luce with his eyes. "So there you have it. The truth as best I can tell. Hutton was scum and frankly he deserved his fate. But we aren't cold killers looking to draw blood on every score. I've seen plenty of blood spilled in my day. Be plenty glad to not see another drop, but this isn't the life for that wish to come true. We'll fight to protect our own and keep what's ours but we won't go out of our way to kill." He leans back in the chair. Face even more pale as the deep cut still seeps blood. "You're both welcome to stay as far as I'm concerned. But if you'd prefer not, I understand." He looks over at Ranna. "I'm sorry for the girl's death. And sorry we didn't say anything sooner. but it's not a story we're keen on sharing much. But I'll not be sorry for seeing Hutton into the underworld. He deserved what he got." "All of us have seen plenty of death in our time. The world seems to conspire to force us to see more. I guess the choice we make is who we want at our side when the knives start flying from the shadows."
Well, it looks like once again all I can do is heal and try to reduce stress. I'd say 2 XP for addressing challenges with knowledge or arcane power and 2 XP for expressing beliefs, drive, heritage, etc. None for vice or trauma and no desperate rolls. I think I'll dump all four into Special Abilities.
Handwave is fine by me.
Jonah/Ranna: Watching the big bouncer stumble off down the hall, Jonah breathes a heavy sigh of relief and nods along with Ranna's assessment.
"Lady Luck has not been smiling on us much during this endeavor." He says rubbing at his still tingling and sore leg. Despite the pain of the effort he kneels down and helps to quickly brush as much of the glass as possible under the nearest mattress before leveraging himself back on his feet. "That's the best we can do." A quick glance up and down the thankfully quiet corridor. "Let's get to the door and hope that Lottie made the right choice." His usually quick, easy stride has turned painful and ponderous as the cuts in his leg argue their case for simply sitting down and giving up. But there was really no way Jonah was going to die in this place. He'd work left to do and he was pretty certain he owed Nyryx yet another dinner, probably at someplace a bit nicer than the Gizzard. Another sigh as he recalls the silver threaded bandages left behind. Indeed, Lady Luck was laughing at him all the way to his grave.
Sounds good to me. I'd agree, it sounds like Jonah's move would now be more of a quick assist vs a full on separate action. I'll certainly spend the 1 stress.
Okay, so not Samy. In that case could we have 'liberated' a small jar of some kind of strong sedative? If so, then maybe Jonah can distract him just long enough for Ranna to prepare a syringe of the stuff and then stick it in his backside to knock him out. Not lethal (hopefully), but keeps us from an outright fight. So maybe Sway, then Finesse?
I'm fine with it.
19 APRIL 847 IE:
"Buy a girl a drink?" Nyryx's voice is quiet but filled with a lighthearted friendliness that few others actually get to hear. She slides into the bench seat across from Jonah, flipping the hood of her coat back to keep more water from dripping down into her face. It was the face of a twenty year old. Pale, elfin features framed by black as night hair. Most would call her pretty, some might even say beautiful. If she were a nobles or some wealthy merchant's daughter she'd be courted by men across the city. But she isn't any such thing. Just another bit of flotsam floating up from the sordid depths of Coalridge destined to little more than a life of hardship and an early grave. The evidence of such a fate is plain, not upon the rouged cheeks or cheap jasmine scented perfume, but in the hard, guarded look of her tired, wary eyes. Eyes that have seen much too much. Eyes nearly always probing for weakness and opportunity, danger and deception. Eyes to match every other scoundrel in the blood soaked city of Doskvol. But here, now, in the smoke stained confines of the Grinning Gizzard, her eyes momentarily fill with something else. Something as close to friendship and fondness as can happen in a city like this. The smile and sparkle of brief happiness slowly starts to slip away into worry as she registers the exhausted, worn look of the man sitting across from her. "You've been pushing too hard again Jonah." She says, reaching across the table to grab the steaming mug of java from Jonah's callused hand. He can't help but notice the fresh bruise marking her wrist. His gaze is countered by a shrug of her shoulders and a pointed look at the numerous cuts and bruises marking his own battered features. "I'm fine." Is all she says. An eyebrow quirks and her chin juts out toward his chest. "How're the ribs?" This causes a soft laugh to escape from Jonah, one quickly cut off as such things still hurt a bit too much for comfort despite Ranna's recent ministrations. He holds up his hands in mock surrender and smiles. "They're better. Still a bit on the sore side." He says. "You having any trouble? You know I can..." She holds up her own hand and shakes her head. "I'm fine Jonah." The less than delicate sound of sipping java. "Really, it's nothing I couldn't handle." She leans in close and gives the whisper a pointed gaze. Her voice drops to a conspiratorial murmur. "And you've done plenty lately. Best leave the Nails alone for a bit. That kettles still boiling after the recent ruckus with the Grinders." His wry grin in response is all she needs to mutter a string of curses only a doxy working the Silver Staff could utter without bursting into flames. Her gaze glances back to his ribs and the various scars, some of which are much more recent then others. "What are you up to now and more importantly, what're you going to need me to do?" The harshness of her voice is born of worry and frustration. She'd liked and been worried about Jonah ever since they first met following Naty's death. Initially she'd just wanted to help Naty's grieving brother and pay back those who'd hurt her friend. But as she'd spent time with Jonah and occasionally pierced the hard armor surrounding the man, the more she'd simply come to like him. Perhaps her feelings ran even deeper, although such things were best kept buried in places like Coalridge. Unfortunately, Jonah's research and other activities left little time of energy for pursuing friendships or anything else. Thus the whisper was mostly unaware of the young woman's growing feelings. Feelings of the kind he himself may have reciprocated if he'd allowed any such thing to surface in the wake of his sister's death at the hands of the Silver Nails. Unfortunately for them both, revenge, guilt and the need to save his sister's ghost still ruled much of Jonah's heart and mind. Thus he doesn't entirely sense the hurt beneath Nyryx's words and look as she waits for his reply. Instead, he just races forward. "So there's a girl that works at the Staff. Lottie. Seems she's caught the eye of one of the bouncers..." Jonah goes on to relate the tale of Samy and Lottie ending with the need to convince the girl she's better off trying to start a life with Samy than sticking around the Silver Staff. "Samy?" Nyryx's surprise is clear. "He's such a quiet boy. Never thought he'd be brave enough to try such a stunt as to slip free of the Nails noose. And Lottie, she's a good girl. Deserves a second chance. Probably just needs an extra push." Her eyes flick to Jonah's, their blue capturing and holding his own. "At least she's found a chance for something better. Someone willing to take a risk with her." She watches Jonah's face, her lips slowly curving into a wry grin and a sliver of realization begins to seep into his features. He swallows hard and runs a nervous hand through his hair. The ghost field induced white highlights standing out in the dim lamplight of the Gizzard. "Okay, I'll talk to her for you." She says turning to wave a hand at Stella. "Hopefully someday I'll find my own brave soul willing to risk it all to win my heart." Another sly grin. "In the meantime, you can start to pay me back by buying me dinner."
21 APRIL 847 IE *crunch* It takes a moment for Jonah to feel the glass cutting through his trousers and then his flesh. It takes a few heartbeats more for the burning, furious sting of the antiseptic to force a barely stifled hiss of pain to slither through his clenched teeth. With his leg under assault from a thousand angry hornets, the whisper barely comprehends the surprised and suspicious look of the bouncer as the brawny man's eyes flick back and forth between him and Ranna. "Oh...s$%t." Is the thoughtful and immediately useless commentary that interrupts his pained mutterings.
Sounds good. Definitely time to repay Nyryx a little. I'll take the bargain.
Success. Huzzah. Quick question, when does this actually fit into the timing of things? I'm guessing it would come after Luce's and Ranna's conversations with Lottie, but want to make sure before I post something.
Limited effect makes sense. I think I'd rather push myself to get an extra die or did you have a specific Devil's Bargain in mind? That way I could hold onto the stress for whatever last ditch effort we might need.
I've got a dot in Sway as well. Given this is a Silver Nails establishment, Jonah's friend Nyryx (who also knew Naty) could be a fellow worker with Lottie. Jonah could have arranged for Nyryx to quietly 'vouch' for the Dusk Mites with the girl as both she and Jonah would want to see the two able to escape to a better life somewhere. Obviously, this could become pretty personal for Jonah as he could see something of his sister in Lottie and his own need to help someone try and break free of the same life that turned Naty into a ghost.
Jonah's grip on the loaded and much better maintained pistol in his pocket eases as the tense and potentially bloody situation with the two tarts appears to relax. A soft sigh of relief starts to slip through his lips only to get choked off by a harsh laugh at Ranna's comment. The outburst quickly slips into a frown of concern as Casia offers a more lethal and permanent solution to the young woman's misbegotten vendetta. Fortunately steel doesn't fly and the old soldier is happy enough to quietly move along in the wake of his fiery companions. Seeing Luce and Casia whispering amongst themselves, and the looks passing between the two, he can't help but get that old sinking feeling in his stomach. The same one that usually meant trouble flying at him like a raving, starved ghost. With a sigh he grips the big jugs of antiseptic a bit harder and hurries through the tunnels.
With everyone's hands in the air, Jonah glares at the young woman and strides over to snatch the gun from the ground. Dropping it into one of his many pockets with a nods to Renna's more than sensible suggestion. "A more than reasonable proposition than most would offer after being shot at, I'd say." The whisper adds grouchily. Sewers, lying ghost field mirrors, silver left behind, and now being shot at by girl younger than Naty. All of it was starting to fray his nerves and patience giving his voice and scowl more severity than intended. And yet the girl was younger or perhaps about the same age as his dearly semi-departed sister. And so he pulls a few slugs from another pocket. "Here, if anyone asks, these should help you recall the four big Iruvians dressed in flimsy silks that looked like they'd passed through a bunch of thick cobwebs."
Oh! Right, I totally forgot about that. Thanks for the reminder. So Prowess would be 3d.
I have to try and resist the Level 2 harm. Prowess would be 2d.
Seeing Ranna smile, Jonah's own tension eases a bit. He'd worried for the healer since they'd passed through the mirror-filled halls. Her grim, stoic features reminding him of some of the soldiers who'd simply given themselves over to death in those final dark days of the war. Must have just been nerves or some haunting memory in the mirrors. He assumes, knowing the lying silvered glass often affects people in strange ways. Thinking the trouble behind them, he hefts the glass jugs in his arms and nods his agreement with Casia. "Aye, I'm all too ready to get out of this place." He adds following them all down the corridor.
Jonah runs his thumb over the silver woven in the bandages. The cool, pure chill of the metal is practically intoxicating. Judging by the bundled of rolled bandage he was carrying, there was enough silver for six months worth of research. Six months worth of working to save his sister from becoming something like Wally or the beast that had inhabited Hutton in the end. Family comes first. With a sweat soaked palm, he starts to slip the pack into one of the many pockets in his heavy duster. His eyes drift over to Ranna who continued to sort through the supplies. Ranna, who had saved Fin, no questions asked. Ranna who saved his own life and those of numerous others during those darkest days near the end of the war. Ranna who is a Dusk Mite now. And being a Dusk Mite meant being family. He'd make due with whatever his split of the total job was. If he had to scrape silver for a week, well, that was a small price to pay for family...both living and spiritual. The thought is still echoing in his mind when the healer points out the carbolic phenol. With a soft sigh as the slugs go slipping through his fingers, he puts the silvered bandages back and grabs one of the bulkier glass jugs. "Anything for family." He says, his gaze lingering on the bandages before he finally turns ready to make their getaway.
*smack* Luce's blow snaps Jonah's face to the side. The blow is just enough and just in time. The ghostly visions disappear leaving behind the telltale glow of yet another alarm. There is no time to disable the aetheric connections as the click of the lock tumbling into place is already an echoing memory. A quick burst of energy when Casia starts to swing the door open is the only warning Jonah has. With reactions born out of war, instinct and survival he slams every ounce of focus and will into racing the trigger back to its source. Successfully spotting the little silver chime that know doubt was enchanted to ring loud as a multitude of temple bells, Jonah quickly snips the aetheric link and watches with relief as the magic of the alarm simply shorts out with nary a sound. Bringing his hand up to rub his cheek, he gives Luce a quick nod of thanks before turning to see what and how much Kohana had managed to stash away.
I'll go ahead and try to Resist with Insight which is at 3d6.
Jonah studied Luce's blueprints of the door. He compares what was drawn on the page with what existed in reality in the dank smelling underground storage area. Nothing out of the ordinary. Of course, he wasn't really looking for anything ordinary. So the whisper slips on his spirit mask. But even through the aethereal gaze of the mask he sees nothing. Nothing until Hutton's laughing, mocking face appears front and center on the surface of the heavy door. The Grinder kingpin's ugly features grin wickedly at Ranna approaching the door. None of the others seem to see anything. Just Jonah. Ranna's voice is oddly flat and distant when she says something to Luce. Probably just the effect of the mask. Jonah thinks to distracted by the visage on the door. What he can't understand is how or why it is here. Then Hutton's laughter ends in a gunshot. Instead of the Grinder, Lolo is there. Her look of surprise and regret filling the flat iron surface. Her eyes partially shrouded by smoke from her pistol as Hutton's daughter slumps back against the wall, slowly sliding to the floor. One look, and Jonah knows there is no saving the girl. Blood flows from her lips and hatred burns in her eyes. Eyes that suddenly belong to Fiona, Lolo's daughter, he could only hope the girl was safe with her mother. He glances back at the door only to find Naty staring back at him. Then Daria. The young Skov girl in her wedding frock. Eyes that accuse and blame. Eyes that demand retribution, justice, blood for blood. He rips the mask from his face. Staggers back a few steps, suddenly dizzy as his racing heart tries to pound its way out of his chest. His breathing is rapid, on the verge of panic. His usual composure in the face of the ghost field and its trickery slipping through his fingers like butcher's blood. It wasn't our fault! His mind screams. She didn't mean to do it. It...it was an accident.
Well, that was a lot of 6's.
The balance is now restored...
Jonah could Survey the door for any alchemical or arcane traps or alarms. Maybe to help improve our position? I've only got one die in Survey, but he could use his fine spirit mask in the process since we're looking for something that would potentially have an arcane resonance. I think the 'Quality Implements/Tools' crew advance stacks with the 'Fine' gear on the character sheet, so that could put Jonah at Tier 3. Let me know if that isn't correct.
Using the acid works for me.
Not marking the mirrors specifically, mostly just indicating direction or turns to take at intersections. Marks might be near a mirror but could also be on the floor, wall, a tabletop. Mixing it up so it isn't as obvious or easy to track outside of our own crew. At least that was the intent.
Jonah/Ranna: "Sorry, I just needed to adjust my scarf."
Jonah deliberately avoids looking into the mirror in front of Ranna. He likely wouldn't see what she was seeing anyway and he'd prefer not to see anything else the wretched things had to offer. Instead he sees the healer's pale face, the slight shake running through her usually rock steady hands. Most of all he sees something in her eyes when she briefly glances at him. Fear? Anger? Hatred? Betrayal? He'd no idea really, but even distracted with the job and the ghost field, he could sense some kind of shift. During the war, he'd often experienced a variety the healer's moods and emotions. Anger over the killing. Sorrow for the price everyone was paying. Fear. Desperation. Stern certainty of what would happen to a wound if her instructions weren't followed correctly. And every once in a great, very infrequent while, a thin sliver of laughter over some absurd moment, usually at his own expense. But never had he seen whatever emerged following her encounter with the mirror. He just nods at her comment. "Best not to look into the mirrors." He says quietly. The scratch of chalk on board as he makes another mark before continuing to follow the thread. "The ghost field is active and mirrors..." He stops, swallows, sees Naty in the looking glass. Naty as she was before the war. Screaming at him. Screaming that he had betrayed her, left her. Left to her die. Left her to the Silver Nails. Left her fate. Screaming until she became some Wally-like horror that howled for his blood. He rips his eyes away from the mirror. Swallows and does his best to suppress his own shaking hands. "...and mirrors have a way of reflecting....things. Not reality. Or it is a reality based on the ghost field's own twisted and distorted versions our darkest fears, secrets, mistakes, memories, anything really." He starts moving down yet another corridor, slipping past some poor random patron of the place staring slack jawed into a mirror. His face frozen in a rictus of terror as sweat pours from his forehead and tears streak his cheeks. "Sooner we find the goods, the sooner we'll be done with blasted things."
Jonah didn't like mirrors. Too many gateways, conjurations, and menacing entities inhabited the danged things. He also hated the way his pale skin was reflected in the uncaring glass. But most of all, it was the other reflections that stared back at him when he happened to be attuned to the ghost field when a mirror was around. Which he very much is as he and Ranna continue to follow the aetheric thread through this maze of debauchery. It is when Ranna stops to check her appearance in one of the mirrors that he make the mistake of looking directly into the silvered glass. He can't help but stare. Through his eyes, Ranna's reflection bleeds from her palms. Blood on her hands? He wonders. Crimson tears run in a steady stream down the healer's cheeks. He doesn't know why. But the other reflection he knows all too well. His own in some laughable sense. Frail. One might call it ancient with hunched back and scrawny shoulders. Frazzled tufts of grayish hair float in a ever present wind. He is entirely weighed down by chains. Thick iron beasts that rattle and dig into his pale flesh. Each long length is linked back to a body dragging along the floor. Hundreds of dead eyes and rictus grins mock and accuse. All faces of those who'd died through his own actions. Hutton is now foremost among them. The newest to join the grizzly cadre of corpses carried upon his shoulders. Stifling a gasp he quickly averts his eyes from the mirror and starts to shuffle forward. "Best we keep moving." He whispers hoarsely to Ranna once she's done. His face is pale and drawn, the flesh on his neck beating rapidly. But the situation doesn't lend itself to questions or answers. Instead, he just does his best to keep track of the twists and turns through the maze. To help he grabs a piece of simple yellow chalk from his arcane implements and surreptitiously marks a corner here the bottom of a mirror there. Never the same symbol twice, but each one used often enough by the Dusk Mites in their endeavors to be recognized by Cas or Luce. And each conveying enough information in their own shadow-code to help them find their way through the maze.
Sorry, been pretty swamped so far this week. Going to just use Survey to keep following the thread and subtly mark a path for the others to follow.
I'll go ahead and resist with Resolve, but take the harm.
Here's an Attune roll...
Dang. I may have botched it a little. I thought the loss of Ranna's supplies was the added complication and just rolled with that. I see now that it also takes something else. Sorry. I think Luce's idea's could fit in just fine as well. Maybe what ever she was able to sway/consort gather is added at the last minute as things don't work quite right until it is?
20 APRIL, 847 IE Jonah stepped into the workshop to discover it was already occupied by Ranna. It didn't take the ex-soldier long to recognize the materials for the explosive device she was making. What he doesn't really recognize is the anger roiling just beneath the surface as the woman who has dedicated herself to healing and helping others, once again finds herself either directly or indirectly causing harm. "It seems neither one of us completely trust Luce's plan to work as smoothly and simply as the shadow would have us believe." He says sifting through the variety of arcane flotsam that inevitably accumulate in any workshop. "I've been thinking about our actual target." His eyes glance at a bottle of simple, clear rubbing alcohol resting near Ranna's elbow. The last bottle. "Now I doubt Kohana is just keeping his stuff out in the open. It's going to be hidden for sure and maybe not where everyone's been led to believe. The sewers, they're a maze in themselves. Plenty of nooks, crannies, and oddities down there where someone could stash some goods." He sighs, runs a hand through his salt and pepper hair which has been growing much more salty after his recent escapades. "Way I see it, the longer we're there, the more chance someone's going to get hurt or worse." The tension in his voice is clear. He turns to Ranna offering her a weary, grim smile. "Cas and Luce, they're too young. The war is mostly just history for them. Killing isn't as...common place for them." His gaze grows distant. His hands grip the workbench. "We saw, some of us participated in, plenty of killing during the war. Every day. We were either death's harvesters or its chaff. I'd hoped once the war was over, the killing would stop." He sighs, his shoulders sag. "A fool's dream I suppose." A deep breath. A refocusing of his mind and spirit. Pointing to the small stash of herbs and ointments at the far end of the workbench, Ranna's remaining stash. "I think if I can use a bit of your goods, I can craft us a way to track Kohana's stores once we're a little closer. Hopefully getting in and out quickly, we can avoid any real bloodshed." CURRENT Jonah pulls the long, finger-sized crystal from his coat pocket along with the bottle of alcohol. The alcohol wasn't exactly pure anymore. Several bits of herb and exotic mushroom bits float in the thickened mixture. Uncorking the bottle, Jonah quickly drops the aetherically charged crystal into the bottle and reseals it. Giving everything a good shake, the Whisper channels a slight sliver of the ghost field into the attuned crystal. A light flares to life within the clear bottle. A dim, pale yellow light, barely a spark. But as Jonah slowly turns in a circle the light grows a bit brighter and then fades again until he twists back. A quick smile as the effort appears to be working. Hopefully it will be worth the cost of the last of their medicines. He tugs a bit more on the ghost field, tying the thread to the crystal within the bottle and letting the other end dance and twist free. Another quick shake of the bottle and the aethereal thread races briskly down the hall and around the corner. "If all goes well, this should take us right to Kohana's hidden stash."
|