trollthumper

Yeah, the ballistas were destroyed. But if Hyperslice wants to go all "elmo_exults_in_the_flames.gif," I won't object.

The good thing about having his jacket treated in the waters of the River Styx was that Nick didn't really have to worry about what pouring rain would do to the leather. Of course, that was the least of his concerns. Dunwich Prep looked like the magical equivalent of a toxic waste dump. Sure, to mortal eyes, it might look like heavy security. But the fencing, the symbols, the wards... Nick could feel the power radiating off of this place. It reminded him of those articles of nuclear semiotics, how to tell civilizations millennia into the future that there was toxic waste buried in the ground. This place is not a place of honor. No highly esteemed deed is commemorated here. Nothing valued is here. "I'm going to guess a little bit of Column A, a little bit of Column B," Nick said, trying to get as good of a grasp on the wards as he could without directly touching them. "Keep whatever's inside from leaking out, and keep idiots from trying to get at the toy prize inside. Of course, the issue we're dealing with here is that the wards may have served as a cask, causing whatever's inside to ferment and cultivate." His eyes fell on a small breach in the wards, a place that Sea Devil was gazing upon. "And it looks like someone just took an axe to the side..." Nick focused on the breach, trying to extend his senses within. He shifted his focus from the denizens of death to the threads of the universe - and places beyond - trying to get a better sense of just how much the area within might have been saturated by the energies of Shub-Niggurath's realm.

Well. That was good to know. Like Nick, Sea Devil lived by the understanding that there was thing not meant for the kenning of ordinary people. He wouldn't exactly put them on the same tier, but after looking at one or two all-consuming, rapacious underworlds run by deities with some sort of rot at their heart, he had a very good sense that necromancy and the realms of the dead were not fun for the whole family. So, while they might have disagreed on what was the best thing to worship by whom, they at least shared common ground on the idea of not letting people get a chance to lick the wall socket of the universe. "Good. We're agreed on buffering the walls. Any strategies and arcane constructs you might recommend?"

Charter a plane. She couldn't possibly do it. This woman had just had her shop robbed, and even though she clearly had the money to make up for it, that was still her money, and could be better spent on repairs. Charter. A private plane. There were environmental concerns to take into account. She didn't know them all that well, but she didn't think it would help much to get yet another plane in the air. Well, it would help the airplane spirits, but that's what they did... Charter. A. Plane. Set would be Insta'ing one hundred percent of the time, and she would be in the background with Sekhmet as one of the "no fun police." Dreams of in-flight service that was more than a bag of pretzels flew by... and were dashed on the waves of practicality. "I have been provided with tickets by the client who wished for me to come out to take the measure of the city's animistic half," she said, finding it easy to lie. "Perhaps to ensure I did not run screaming from the offer, he promised first class. I could possibly convert the ticket to provide coverage for us all..." She let the "on coach" hang leaden and heavy in the air, lest Set pounce. Though she knew he would. It was what he did.

Nick knew that there was much he just had to deal with. Well, "deal with" made some of it sound like a burden. He knew that his calling had taken him to the outer limits of what could be grasped. He'd been to Heaven. He'd been to Hell. He'd been abducted to Tartarus on at least one occasion. There was much that fell within to his field of expertise and the realms of his calling, which meant there were many things that had to be done in order to get at the true wonders. "...yes, Cimitiere. C-I-M-I-T-I-E-R-E... yes, like cemetery, only a lot more French... we'll make sure of it, yes... okay, thank you." After getting off the phone to the Deep One's parole officer, Nick looked to her. The idea that she saw the mutagenic blessings of Shub-Niggurath as "glory" was perhaps not the best start in the world... but it might be a translation matter. There was a time Nick would've been burned as a witch, too. "So. What do you know about Dunwich?"

Nick Cimitiere had dealt with death gods, zombies, psychopomps, and things that clasped against the void. He took tea with ghosts and drank Jack with the ghede. It said a lot whenever he found something that unsettled him. And he didn't know whether it said more about them, or about him. "Hey, Sea Devil," he said. "No worries about the hunting - I don't think my duties cover fish and game." Well, except for that one really weird time in the Pine Barrens... "We're here because there's a matter in New York that could use your expertise. Just out of curiosity... what do you know about the Black Goat with a Thousand Young?"

Nick had heard a good deal about Sea Devil. She was... trying to do good? A part of him wanted to look at the situation through the lens of his own situation. He dealt in powers few understood, powers that would easily be dubbed malefic or terrible from an outside perspective. He consorted with deities associated with records of atrocity and a rapacious desire for destruction - mostly unfairly. And yet. He'd seen what lurked in those shadowed reaches. He'd seen what had happened to divine figures who poked the outer darkness with sticks, only to have it crawl up their arms like some infection of the veins. Sea Devil may have been doing right by her gods... but as Nick well knew, beseeching some gods was very much a matter of tit-for-tat. And there was a good chance that it would be more than Sea Devil paying for the "favor" bestowed upon them. "Sea Devil's beckoning is an example that speaks for itself," he said. He didn't want to cut the conversation off, in case Ms. Thursday wanted to know more, but there were pertinent details to get here. "Speaking of 'grow,' just what exactly might we be expecting on the grounds? Has the ambient magic affected plant life, fauna, etc? I mean, I saw Annihilation; I know what happens when stuff like Shub-Niggurath gets into the water table."

Temperance did a careful scan of the bookstore. Going by Lynn's words, there was a possibility the wards had been smashed, and maybe some spirits had shown up to take a look around when the smashing happened. "Apparently, Hawthorne is something of a regular presence on the convention circuit," she said. "I never saw practitioners as having 'conventions.' 'Esbats,' maybe..." She shook her head. "Bedlam as well? I have business that takes me there... trying to take the measure of the city and its patron spirit." She realized too late that saying such a thing likely opened her up to any number of comments from people who knew more about Bedlam, but she might as well plunge forward. "So. It appears that our business calls us all towards the Midwest's greatest sinkhole. I feel like fate is playing dominoes..."

Dunwich Prep. Nick hadn't been there for that hullabaloo, but he knew the stories about it from Kimber. And, of course, he'd seen the news story about one of its students turning into the Blob right in the middle of a parade. The headmistress - a former superhero herself - had turned out to be a blood descendant of Shub-Niggurath, one of the more boundless things that some people considered a "god." Nick didn't want to think on how one could be descended from it, but from what he understood, the cultists of Shub-Niggurath weren't ones to let things like logic and decency stop them from interacting with their patron's fleshy architecture. Only problem was, the headmistress had been sharing the wealth, spreading the milk of Shub-Niggurath among the student body to unlock their powers and fuel a multitude of transformations. By Kimber's account, there had been evil trees and strange rituals, all in an attempt to call the Black Goat with a Thousand Young down live and in person. Apparently, they'd managed to crack the walls a little bit before being taken down. "Outsiders aren't exactly my bailiwick," he said, "but it wouldn't be my first time dealing with these things." He turned to Ms. Thursday. "I might get yelled at for this, but... how would you like to punch something right between its thousand eyes?"

It was certainly a very interesting Thanksgiving. The Parkhurst had often served as a waystation for Claremont students attuned to the mystic arts, but it wasn't exactly something that happened every year, or with every class. But when it did happen, the mansion rose to the occasion. The ghosts were always happy to get a chance to put food on the table, and full-on feasts were a special chance to cut loose. Nick Cimitiere had helped, of course - mainly with the pastries and the coffee, but help nonetheless. He had been talking with Ms. Thursday on matters of the divine - as well as the interdimensional nuances of gods, something that he knew was there but didn't necessarily like to poke with a stick - when Gatekeeper had shown up. "Gatekeeper," he said warmly. Kyle, he thought to himself. Queer magician superheroes didn't exactly come a dozen to a bundle, so there had been some collaboration - and some drinks - and the possibility of something more over the years. For now, though, their relationship was pretty much 100% professional, if more due to professional obligation than anything else. "We've still got some pie left, if you wanna join - but the way you say 'a situation,' I think you'll probably want it to go."

"Right, yeah, the glowing chick," said the guard, with the tone of somebody trying very hard to pretend that they had not been quite close to voiding themselves within the past hour. He looked to his colleague, who looked like he was trying to have as little to do with this as possible despite standing right there in front of it. The first guard finally just yielded. "What the hell," he said. "They say the world's ending anyway." --- Dr. Blackmore paced her room, having lit a cigarette. She was taking drags off of it as if she were deep underwater and it was her scuba hose. "I don't know," she said. "Why here. Why me. Why this. I don't know why any of this. I just know I've been finding... fragments. For years upon years upon years. I tried to get out of Bedlam years ago, tried to take my practice elsewhere, but I found myself back here. At first, I thought it was the product of a dying mother and vengeful colleagues. But now I think Bedlam doesn't want to let me go. And I don't know if I'm here as witness, sacrifice, or..." She let the thought trail off with the cigarette smoke. As JETTE entered the room, Dr. Blackmore barely paid her any notice, except to nod. "A colleague, I take it," she said, addressing Lady Horus. "Good. It should feel more inevitable, when it happens, like there's no chance of escape. "Because I think you may need to kill me."

I feel like I am obligated to bring either Nick or Temperance along for this thrill ride.

Archived at player request.

Archived at player request.

Temperance felt like she should do something in response to Set's greeting. A glare wouldn't be professional, and there was no singular part of her that wanted to give a polite bow, as if answering to applause. Instead, she just gave a friendly, firm nod. "It is good to see you again, Set," she said - and she meant it. She and Set had a good relationship, and it had been some time since she'd seem him - though the fact that he sometimes came on as strong as this was a good reminder of why she hadn't exactly sought him out at times. She turned to Lynn. "I should have come in here a while ago." She extended a hand. "I'm attuned to the realms animistic, and can communicate with the entities that work off of the motions of the world. And, as Set has suggested, I can also freeze things quite well." She took a look around the shop. "I assume the bookshop is warded against spirits? I was hoping to possibly get witness accounts from the invisible denizens within, but if that's not possible, I can go outside to see what those on the street saw. First, though, I was wondering if you could tell me a little bit more about the text..."

Eliza decided to go subtle in showing up to the shop. No costume, no mask, no refined English. She could pass as another girl with a taste for the strange and unusual. Keep it low key. Which is why, of course, Set and Sekhmet were there. Eliza did as subtle a turnaround as she could manage when she saw Set's familiar features through the broken window, not wanting to hang around for long enough for connections to be drawn. There's really only so long I can keep this going if I try to play keep away with my secret identity. Sekhmet's got the nose to smell something familiar, and Set has always been good at knowing me. And I always did hate that Three's Company bull****... So. Best to face this head on. She ducked into a side alley and crouched behind a dumpster, making sure the little corner was unoccupied. The water from her bottle hit her face hard, froze, and slowly shifted to elegance. She never felt the cold. Add the peacoat stuck in her bag, and it was close enough to costume to work. And so, Temperance walked into the bookstore, November chill behind her. "I heard there was something of a disturbance..."

Ah, the juggling of flaming chainsaws. Eliza was familiar with Silberman's. When one was attuned to the secret currents of the world, realizing their various node points across the city was simple. She didn't visit it as often as she wanted to, but she knew about the power within the pages. So the fact that somebody had broken it to steal an ancient tome that dated back to ancient days probably meant that this was not some empty pursuit. And yet... Bedlam. Eliza had heard many stories of Bedlam as well. Cursed. Corrupted. Decayed. If there was any place where the city patron needed to be taken out and shot like a horse with a broken leg, Bedlam would likely be at the top of the lest. It was a cold way to think about it, but then again, spirit hierarchies were often cold things of patronage and conflicting desire - places where the rot could easily spread from the head down. And now she was going to the city to look at a half-formed tower that desperately fought to keep itself upright. I should focus my energies. Lest I end up being off my game when I run into Candyman, or whoever the city blames its problems on. But... local matters do have some obligation... And so, she left her bags open, telling herself she could pack once she was done checking in at Silberman's.

Arcane Lore: 22 Current Events: 15 INT 1 (History): 17 INT 2 (Theology & Philosophy): 7 Gather Info via Well-Informed: 17 and 21

The Anointer looked to Paradigm, his features still dim behind the halo. "Those who wish for freedom and safety will be allowed to march in my camp," the figure said. "To show the people of Kolast that there is another way, that Olaya's fury shatters chains and tempers souls left flickering by the harsh winds of cruelty. Those who wish to stay in Derendis may do so. I will not drag them in my path. But I shall leave my watch behind, to make sure that the chains I've broken are not reforged." Cavalier had caught up with Paradigm by this point, floating in the Anointer's orbit. "You sound like you have a plan. How're you planning on keeping order, exactly? You going to give the captains of the guards a chance to bend the knee, or you just cutting right to the --" His question was interrupted by the proximity sensors on his armor going off. He pulled out of the way just as a ballista bolt almost as big as he was soared past his head. "Frag!" He turned his attention back to the city. The ballistas atop the city walls were centering on their position, and beneath them, an army of men with armor and spears was streaming out of the gates. It's almost not fair. "So, if you had a plan for --" Cavalier felt the gust of heat behind him and saw four beams of light stream past him. They hit the city walls with pinpoint accuracy, causing the ballistas to go up in flames. There were no explosions; the ballistas just burst into flames, sending guards running but not catching them in the backblast. All right. Definitely unfair. But man, I've kinda been wanting to kick some bastards in the teeth...

Cannonade didn't just want to punch the drone before him. He wanted to do so much more. He wished that his blow would break it in half. He wished that it would cause every organ to rupture, causing the enslaved mockery of a soldier to bleed for all its most precious orifices. He wished to make it cry to whatever darkness it held as master and commander, feeling some sort of regret as it asked for meaning for oblivion. He wished he could hurt it half as much as its armies had hurt him. The slow glanced off of its armor, however, catching off of whatever hell-forged plate it was wearing. However, Cannonade was able to travel with the deflection, taking advantage of the gap to wrap his arms around the Omegadrone and draw it close. "Well, whaddaya know..."

APPROVED

"Sounds right to me," said Temperance. She didn't like the spiritual static. It was starting to click with her now. It wasn't an absence, nor was it lurking. It felt more like camouflage, like a predator lurking in the tall grass. "Let's get back. We can do better reconnaissance in the daylight." Assuming this place has a daylight. By the time the group got back, Temperance's usually cool nerves were starting to fray. There was so much she wanted to say... so much more she wanted to do... so much of it still focused towards Tarva with all the intensity of a fire hose. But fury was still the last of her concerns. "Bluebird. Drop bulkheads and lower them until dawn." The security shutters on the outside windows fell like thunder. It wasn't like the inside could get any darker. But against the solid steel, Kimber and Indira could see something that the others - even Bluebird, shockingly enough - seemed to have missed. Little etchings in the glass. Not enough to shatter. Not enough to crack. But just enough to look like the ghost of words.

"I can aid with this effort," said Cavalier, turning to The Traveller. "Technically, this is a diplomatic mission, which means the Star Knights have license to use the quantum channels that run through Citadel. I'm probably going to be dealing with one hell of a roaming charge, and Mentor's gonna want to have a talk with me about my minutes..." Cavalier then realized that he was likely confusing the hell out of everyone else, which was not the right thing to do in a time of high tensions. "Never mind, Star Knight stuff. But The Traveller is right. We may be waiting for backup, but every minute we spend not bowing before the Khanate is another minute they spend getting angry. We'll help you to deal with the hostilities, and we'll be right there on the front line to take the brunt of the blow... but we can't guarantee that we'll take all of it. Ultimately, this is your choice to make, and we will default to it."

JETTE landed at the door to Crawley's main administrative building. She could already sense a certain tension in the air... and a chill. Despite the height of summer, it seemed like the temperature out here was 10 degrees cooler than in the heart of Bedlam. She watched as one of the guards reached to his walkie-talkie and said, "Uh, boss? We got another one." --- "There's no other way to put it," said Dr. Blackmore. "Bedlam is screwed. Oh, there's always talk of civic pride and 'f--- you, I'm Bedlam strong,' but this city has a hundred veins of rot running beneath its surface. One of those started here, back when these grounds belonged to the Bedlam Ladies' Academy. A place for young women of esteem and breeding who represented the heart's blood of the city. And, like any heart's blood, prime to be sacrificed." Dr. Blackmore scratched at her arms; deep down, Lady Horus recognized it as one of the automatisms of people desperately wanting a cigarette. "There have always been stories of entities lurking throughout the history of Bedlam. Mad prophets and dark shepherds, gods of death and decay and insanity. The girls who died at that school... may have been offered up to one of those entities, in an attempt to drive it away from Bedlam for a time. And, in time, those girls - the ones who survived - learned how to make deals with such entities. If they were offered to such an entity to save Bedlam, they would command such an entity to destroy it." Dr. Blackmore pulled a file from her desk, filled with yellowed scraps of newspaper lined through with red ink. "The collapse of Country Club, the death of several families on Scarlett Hill... there have been misfortunes, maledictions, all throughout the history of the city. Things designed to strike back at the same gentry who offered these girls up like fatted lambs. But, for a time... the misfortune slowed down. And the daughters of Bedlam, and their daughters, and their daughters, seemed to move back into the societal ranks that they'd harrowed." She sighed. "I think... if the chaos in the city, the sightings of that... thing, and all the deaths are any indicator... there's a schism. One side wants death; the other wants control. Those who have been killed are the ones who tried to use their gifts for power and wealth, and the ones with the upper hand... they want to let loose whatever entity they bound to their side." She rapped her fingernails on her desk. "I think they'll be coming here soon. For me." --- The Omegadrone charged across the kitchen, closing with Wadjet. Its steel-clad fist was enough to knock her aside, the dark glow of its pike passing far too close to her face for comfort. Arrowhawk met it in combat, her blows rattling whatever meat lay within that dreadful prison. It turned its attention on her, seeking to meet wrath with wrath...

God, this got let go. All right, so, Round 2. AA has told me Wadjet will be using her highest dice for TOU right now, which is the 14, so that will be a Daze and a Bruise. If she spends an HP to burn off the Daze, which I suspect she will, she can withdraw using Stealth. The Omegadrone then turns to Arrowhawk, using the 11 to hit on ; as per Ecal's wishes, the 1 for TOU will be rerolled to 13, which will be a 21 total, giving her a Daze and Bruise. As Arrowhawk has many HP to her name, I will assume she will spend another HP to shake off that Daze, especially as she rolled a 20 to-hit and will be doing DC30 TOU to the Omegadrone. The Omegadrone uses its 10 for TOU, which gives it another Bruise and leaves it Dazed. Wadjet: 18, Unharmed, using Lady Horus's HP Omegadrone: 13, Bruised x2, Dazed (Arrowhawk's Action), 0 HP Arrowhawk: 3, Bruised x1, 3 HP Round 3, Wadjet may still be withdrawing with the hostage, unless AA chooses to take a different route, in which case I will modify these actions. The Omegadrone shakes off its Daze - so, another HP for all - and takes a swing at Arrowhawk... with his 4, so that goes wild. Arrowhawk, in turn, swings with her 5, so that will miss the Omegadrone. Any change to actions for Round 4 and on?