Cassian:
shrugs. "Rescue it is," he says. "And maybe your own barge. Hard to beat that."
"Thanks for the assist," he says to Cassian. "I owe you one for the good of Westcrown. respects his debts."
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Cassian: "Livia," calls to his familiar of sorts. "Can you show me where these kept their shinies?"
He looks to Cassian and shrugs. "Fair's fair," he says. "I hope you need a barge. It looks like a nice barge."
Cassian: "I swear," says between slashes, "they showed up so fast when I killed the first one, it was like the others just knew."
And after they drop, surveys the men rowing the barge. "Are you gentlemen prisoners that need to be rescued, or adversaries that need to be slain?" His voice polite, but curious.
Cassian/Re-barge: leaps, and hits the barge deck at a run, announcing his presence with his blade.
If there is room, takes a step, and continues his attack. If there is no room, there is no step.
Cassian: looks briefly thoughtful. It's not a typical expression for him.
"...you are a proper villain, aren't you? Huh."
Cassian: nods at Cassian. "...and yet I couldn't have done it without her," he says.
"Are you going to feel the need to kill the red-wings yourself?" asks Khaz. "I personally don't, I just want to make sure they are taken care of." "And by taken care of, I mean made dead."
Cassian: "Garish red wings," says. "Probably dyed."
"Please don't kill that raven," says. "She's been working with me on this. She can fly." Conspiratorially, to Cassian, "Sometimes I suspect that she's not all there ... in the head, as they say."
Cassian: "Yes," says. "Just like Khaz there, except with red wings. There were initially four of them."
will lead the group ... toward a near point on the river. describes the barge. "It travels in a roughly..." he moves his hand in a complex but regular pattern "...like that."
Cassian: "Two redheads, and I'm not sure how many hirelings. My source of intel was more concerned with their intense shininess -- which sounds like armor to me. And their shooting at invisible things. They're on a barge which plies the water between Westcrown city and island. I don't know its current location, but I do know its rough pattern of movements."
He shakes his head. "If I could fly or walk on water, I would have kept hunting them that night. Stupid river."
Redheads are trouble. Got it.It's why I live in terror of my wife. ..."I am cute and harmless" is a trap. The more true it is, the more insidious the trap.
Cassian: "A small flock of redheads has impugned my good name," the frown is evident in 's voice. "And while I did well enough against them when I took them by surprise the other night, I clearly was not able to take them all. And now they have hirelings. I am here to seek your assistance. These winged redheads must be stopped. And I am using stopped as a euphemism for killed most dead." He shakes his head. "They are not good people."
Cassian: sighs. "No, child ... but everyone makes that mistake. I am--" Hands on hips ", and I would have words with Cassian if he is about."
GM: After the attack at the dockside tavern, sets about locating the Red Furies (or their barge). If he can.
He asks Livia (when she shows up). Whether or not he gets a location for the Furies, his next step is to track down Cassian Merro.
Redheads are trouble. Got it.
GM: harrumphs.
"Darn those redheads," he says, then attempts to extinguish his dingy.
GM: waits, panting quietly, in the darkness. Until he comes to his senses.
Then he starts to get mad. Angry. Really quite upset. He circles back toward the pier, hoping the barge is still where he left it.
GM / barging in Addendum:
GM / barging in Round 3: [ooc's AC is 36. His AC against AoO is 40 as he attempts to escape. is down 15 HP.[/ooc]
heads out very quickly indeed.
GM / barging in Round 2:
"You should have a moment," calls out to the man outside. "I think they're all trying to kill me first." And to the furies, "You all got here very quickly. I must not be as silent as I hoped -- but I am indeed deadly."
GM / barging in Round 1: beats her to the five-foot attacking step.
GM: "Then I will live to see you and yours dead," says, a little sadly.
GM: "I don't suppose I could talk you into freeing your captives prior to killing me?" asks. "I hate to have outsiders interfere in family matters."
GM: takes a moment to untie the man that the devil was torturing.
He does not un-gag the man, but puts his finger to his lips. Then heads out into the hall. He moves to stand between his freed captive and the devil emerging. Puts a hand on his hip. "Lay down your arms and surrender to if you value your eyeballs," he says.
GM: moves into the room, announcing his presence with steel.
steps sideways and presses his attack.
GM: Caution being near to the wind, if not quite thrown there yet, enters the first of the doors.
If he can stop this torture barge, he will.
GM: does quick reconnaissance of the barge. He doesn't get too close to the garish red rope.
He slips through the door, looking for the source of the scream. Or more accurately, looking for what is causing the source to scream. His hands are not far from the hilt of his sword. His Injustice Sense is tingling.
GM: heads toward the scream. He looks for a place on the barge to moor his boat -- preferably to its stern. If he can't find a spot, he abandons the boat.
Boarding the barge, investigates. Quietly.
GM: "...yes, I would hate to be called a waterfowl," chuckles. looks for a boat that he can liberate. Certainly a man of his calibre can find a boat worthy of such a great cause.
He rows across the water to the island. Stealthily.
GM: moves rooftop-to-rooftop toward the river.
"I cannot fly," he says sadly. "Despite the righteousness of my cause. I will need to swim. Or walk. Or use a boat. Or wait until they return to shore."
GM: starts heading toward the river. "That sounds like a terrible waste of shiny," he says, sincerely.
"Could you point this barge out to me when we get there? I would like to liberate the prisoners and the shiny." "You brought me an adventure! Thank you, doctor."
GM: "Hmmm," says. "I had assumed they were moored at the dock, but if they're actually sailing around, it will be more difficult to properly subdue them and free their prisoners."
"Will you show me where this barge is? Or rather where it lairs if it's not there?" He thinks for a moment, trying to come up with something that might convince Livia. "...do they have shiny things? Or do you think they swallow them as well?"
GM: claps his hands. "Fantastic," he says. "You won't have to share me, but you could share in their destruction. And if they're too much for to undertake on my own, I could call on some boring people to assist. They're good at soaking up attacks from red women with wi--...."
The train of thought running suddenly aground on the shoals of the women. "Did you say they were attractive evil bird women things or ugly evil bird women things?"
GM: "Can you show me?" asks. "They might be just the diversion that I'm looking for."
He claps his hands together and looks at Livia expectantly.
GM: "The Red Furies?" asks the raven. "I don't think I know of these Red Furies. Where do they lair? What kind of people do they take? Do the people last a week because the Furies devour them very slowly, or for some other reason? I feel like investigating that."
GM: "Definitely more pleasant," says. "It's as though a certain attitude of oppression has been lifted, however briefly, and the city can breathe easily once again." He grins at his small companion. "Although there is some small part of me which regrets the loss of interesting things to do. Dark foes to vanquish, sparkling worlds to conquer. The grateful thanks of the attractive people of Westcrown. That sort of thing." He shrugs. And takes a deep breath of the night air.
GM: will go on three night-time roves before agreeing to meet with Gravlax at a prearranged time. He's feeling restless. If nothing happens on any of those (*), we can skip to the Gravlax//Fiosa conversation. (*) only has one thing planned -- commissioning statues of himself sculpted of cheese to be distributed to the poor of the city.
GM: The Raven is leaving ashes with lilies of the valley. He does not feel it necessary to speak with people in person. He is angry about something, but he doesn't know what.
Azhar, post-Rakshasa: nods his head, and is quiet as he accompanies Azhar (et al) out of the Nessian Spiral.
Azhar, post-Rakshasa: "That was disappointing," says quietly.
"Maybe next week."
Rakshasa: "I will return with you," says. He also takes a step away from the passionate nihilist.
Rakshasa: sighs. "Azhar?"
Rakshasa: 's tone is sharp, and he rattles off things with the force of arrows falling. "There is cheese and mutton. There are sunsets and moonlit nights. Mushrooms and mathematics and little wooden tops that spin forever. There is love and its cousin hate and their mortal enemy apathy, the death of spirit. You have too much passion to give up this coil easily. But if you say the word, we will make it quick." readies himself. "I hope you have more fire in your belly than that would suppose."
Rakshasa: shrugs. "He is correct. But you may choose. That's the difference. You may choose now."
Rakshasa: nods, and calls out. "What he says is so. If it is forever night, will not the moon serve a purpose?"
To Azhar, quietly: "That's harder than it looks.
Rakshasa: "Yes, I understand. And I as well."
Rakshasa: sighs. "Yes, he is dead. All is lost. Woe betide us. And is this what you want? To mourn him forever and join him in death?" To Azhar, quietly: "i'm not sure there is much we can do here"
Rakshasa: stays well back, and calls out the first thing he thinks, which is "What's wrong?"
Those who walk away from Zovarue: "I am willing to investigate this with you, as you came along with me," says, striking out in the wrong direction. "To the rakshasa!"
Those Who Walk Away From Zovarue: nods. "I will have to ask someone," he admits.
"Were there any further matters to investigate before we vacate this strange place?"
Talking to Zovarue: "I expect to return," says, and turns to leave.
"I don't suppose you know anything about bindings?" he mutters to Amaya on the way out .
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