After a while of speaking, Haiku hurried back from the lavatory. I wonder what I missed thought Haiku. Haiku was briefed on what the current situation was and was surprised how everything now was turning out.
"Seriously Belial...A whip tying in nicely with Slaanesh? That may be true but if you go by that reasoning then you should vote for all of us at once. We have definitely all used Whips on slaves and to prosecute someone for doing their right job is something I cannot do.
I shall unvote Aenarin for I see no further evidence on him them before. Actually the evidence on him is decreasing and I am feeling small signs of respect towards him, somehow." stated Haiku.
Twiddling his thumbs for a moment, Haiku started again.
"I see no evidence on anyone but Sleek at the moment, though I grant you Sleek the evidence is somewhat small." finished Haiku, stroking his scar which ran down his face.
Unvote: Aenarin
"I see absolutely no critical evidence anywhere from what I see now."
OOC: The reason why I am not speaking as much as I would like to is because Work is doing hell to me at the moment and I am trying desperately to catch up on sleep.
SAU XII: Black Ark Down
Moderator: The Makers of Chains
Saldrimek Xenan - WS6 / S4 / T3 / D5 / I3
Equipment: Executioners Axe (Rune of Beastslaying - Heroic Killing Blow), 2 Scimitars (Rune of Speed - Always Strike First), Dagger, Rune Branded Leather Armour, Executioner Helm, Fine Set of Throwing Knives (x4)
Inventory: Amulet of Darkness, Poison Vials x7, Deadly Poison Vials x8
Mount: Dark Steed
Gold: 163
Skills: Ambidexterity, Frenzy, Two Weapon Fighting, Ride
Class: Khainite
Equipment: Executioners Axe (Rune of Beastslaying - Heroic Killing Blow), 2 Scimitars (Rune of Speed - Always Strike First), Dagger, Rune Branded Leather Armour, Executioner Helm, Fine Set of Throwing Knives (x4)
Inventory: Amulet of Darkness, Poison Vials x7, Deadly Poison Vials x8
Mount: Dark Steed
Gold: 163
Skills: Ambidexterity, Frenzy, Two Weapon Fighting, Ride
Class: Khainite
-
Lordofthenight
- Malekith's Personal Guard
- Posts: 803
- Joined: Mon Jan 15, 2007 7:57 pm
- Location: Hell
- Contact:
"Sleek - you make good points. Of the two in that case, which among them would you vote for? I see others have followed Anubis's obvious decision in voting for Kurlan, but which would you have chosen?
(OOC - oh, and because I forgot to do it earlier...)
Unvote: Aenarin
(OOC - oh, and because I forgot to do it earlier...)
Unvote: Aenarin
Punishment leads to Fear. Fear leads to Obedience. Obedience leads to Freedom. Therefore, Punishment leads to Freedom.
Kuyoz Nightkiller
WS: 4 S:3 T:3 D:4 I:4
Repeater Crossbow, Short Sword, Shade Cloak, Light Armour
5 throwing daggers, 90gc
Kuyoz Nightkiller
WS: 4 S:3 T:3 D:4 I:4
Repeater Crossbow, Short Sword, Shade Cloak, Light Armour
5 throwing daggers, 90gc
"I had a slightly larger speech prepared in my head," sighed Aleraen, "and yet I find myself unable to skate the issue any longer. If we must vote, I follow my earlier judgement. I vote Zaniev."
Vote: Drainial Shadowheart
Vote: Drainial Shadowheart
Aleraen Gleamfollower
High-Consort of Army Wide Hatred
<Sirist> So you won't lose me. I'm still around. I'm just in you, and in everyone I've known.
High-Consort of Army Wide Hatred
<Sirist> So you won't lose me. I'm still around. I'm just in you, and in everyone I've known.
"Good points Sleek, but Beastmaster Kurlan's silence might be only that he has fallen asleep because this council bickers with minor things.
Everyone's stance changes very quickly that it is almost impossible to have any decisions made. Belial votes just for the fun of it, as i may see, of his kill-list; he seems to be the best one in stirring the council to a mess.
If this council made a decision, as simple as that, by voting for a certain person, we would actually see who has been wrong and who has been right.
People seem to have given up on Aenarin; almost all votes on him are pulled back; sorry for all that I am not a person to break my word.
My stance isn't changing, although no-one will actually get into the interrogation room if the stances change so quickly.
Beastmaster Kurlan isn't the one that should be accused the most, in my humble opinion."
Everyone's stance changes very quickly that it is almost impossible to have any decisions made. Belial votes just for the fun of it, as i may see, of his kill-list; he seems to be the best one in stirring the council to a mess.
If this council made a decision, as simple as that, by voting for a certain person, we would actually see who has been wrong and who has been right.
People seem to have given up on Aenarin; almost all votes on him are pulled back; sorry for all that I am not a person to break my word.
My stance isn't changing, although no-one will actually get into the interrogation room if the stances change so quickly.
Beastmaster Kurlan isn't the one that should be accused the most, in my humble opinion."
"Yes, many others have also not spoken up for a while too. Not mentioning who though." replied Haiku to Belcar's statement, adressing the Council.
Saldrimek Xenan - WS6 / S4 / T3 / D5 / I3
Equipment: Executioners Axe (Rune of Beastslaying - Heroic Killing Blow), 2 Scimitars (Rune of Speed - Always Strike First), Dagger, Rune Branded Leather Armour, Executioner Helm, Fine Set of Throwing Knives (x4)
Inventory: Amulet of Darkness, Poison Vials x7, Deadly Poison Vials x8
Mount: Dark Steed
Gold: 163
Skills: Ambidexterity, Frenzy, Two Weapon Fighting, Ride
Class: Khainite
Equipment: Executioners Axe (Rune of Beastslaying - Heroic Killing Blow), 2 Scimitars (Rune of Speed - Always Strike First), Dagger, Rune Branded Leather Armour, Executioner Helm, Fine Set of Throwing Knives (x4)
Inventory: Amulet of Darkness, Poison Vials x7, Deadly Poison Vials x8
Mount: Dark Steed
Gold: 163
Skills: Ambidexterity, Frenzy, Two Weapon Fighting, Ride
Class: Khainite
-
Sleekdd
- Highborn
- Posts: 637
- Joined: Sat May 21, 2005 7:33 am
- Location: Belgium, the only country where surrealism is a way of life.
“Beastmaster Kurlan’s silence may be inspired by many things and we will never be the wiser for it. Giving the benefit of the doubt may be a commendable trait in everyday life but here it must be used with more caution. After all, the silent never build a case against them and they are easily overlooked. This is a position the traitors would like very much: we fight each other – under their ‘wise’ nudges in case something goes wrong – and they pick us off one by one.”
“During the day many of us have changed stance but it also taught us a great deal; at least, it did in my opinion. It isn’t breaking your word to act on gleaned knowledge and change your opinion. If you feel Aenarin’s reaction doesn’t clear him of the suspicion you have against him, by all means, continue. But if you’re just keeping it in place because you refuse to change it, I urge you to reconsider your approach.”
“We need to get something done and it seems that, from my list of likely suspects, most have chosen Beastmaster Kurlan. I will place my vote there as well and take the responsibility that comes with it. Officers, it is time to act now.”
Vote: Beastmaster Kurlan
“During the day many of us have changed stance but it also taught us a great deal; at least, it did in my opinion. It isn’t breaking your word to act on gleaned knowledge and change your opinion. If you feel Aenarin’s reaction doesn’t clear him of the suspicion you have against him, by all means, continue. But if you’re just keeping it in place because you refuse to change it, I urge you to reconsider your approach.”
“We need to get something done and it seems that, from my list of likely suspects, most have chosen Beastmaster Kurlan. I will place my vote there as well and take the responsibility that comes with it. Officers, it is time to act now.”
Vote: Beastmaster Kurlan
Great minds think alike.
So if you want diversity, try morons.
So if you want diversity, try morons.
-
Drainial
- Prophet of Tzeentch
- Posts: 4641
- Joined: Fri May 19, 2006 3:51 pm
- Location: I am the voice inside your head
" That seems greatly suspicous to me Belial, no one else is voting for me, you see no chance of geting me bumped of this night so you swich, with little reason, to a candidate more likly. Prehaps you have a reason beyond simple wanting someone killed but if so please share it with us."
Moding a group of Druchii.net players is much like directing the musical 'Cats' using actual cats. Frustrating, difficult, chaotic but ultimatley satisfying and a great deal of fun.
Arch Deacon of the RPG forum
Gentleman of Moderation
Arch Deacon of the RPG forum
Gentleman of Moderation
"Khelmor. It was merely a secondary reason, and one made in an illfated attempt at humor.
To Zaniev: Why continue a vote for you, if noone else follow suit? I believe a death is necessary, but in order to have one, we need majority. I change my vote to get results. That does not mean I do no suspect you, merely that I do not wish to see my vote wasted."
To Zaniev: Why continue a vote for you, if noone else follow suit? I believe a death is necessary, but in order to have one, we need majority. I change my vote to get results. That does not mean I do no suspect you, merely that I do not wish to see my vote wasted."
"I don't think it is the time to make jokes about our current situation. Though it did cheer a few people up here." replied Haiku nodding towards a few people who had smiled at the joke.
"The days getting late....Darkness is almost upon us. This is not good." stated Haiku, shivering at the fact.
"The days getting late....Darkness is almost upon us. This is not good." stated Haiku, shivering at the fact.
Saldrimek Xenan - WS6 / S4 / T3 / D5 / I3
Equipment: Executioners Axe (Rune of Beastslaying - Heroic Killing Blow), 2 Scimitars (Rune of Speed - Always Strike First), Dagger, Rune Branded Leather Armour, Executioner Helm, Fine Set of Throwing Knives (x4)
Inventory: Amulet of Darkness, Poison Vials x7, Deadly Poison Vials x8
Mount: Dark Steed
Gold: 163
Skills: Ambidexterity, Frenzy, Two Weapon Fighting, Ride
Class: Khainite
Equipment: Executioners Axe (Rune of Beastslaying - Heroic Killing Blow), 2 Scimitars (Rune of Speed - Always Strike First), Dagger, Rune Branded Leather Armour, Executioner Helm, Fine Set of Throwing Knives (x4)
Inventory: Amulet of Darkness, Poison Vials x7, Deadly Poison Vials x8
Mount: Dark Steed
Gold: 163
Skills: Ambidexterity, Frenzy, Two Weapon Fighting, Ride
Class: Khainite
"I just feel it to be to hastily follow the mass when one decides to change his stance to match the most of the others. Haiku is right, the darkness will fall soon, and the most votes cast on someone is altogether four, which is here on Beastmaster Kurlan. To have a majority we would need five more to have him sent to the interrogation, and seemingly the stances differ so much that we have to wait till tomorrow- and I fear that there is one less of us to open his eyes when the sun rises again. Because I would like to be able to open my eyes, I want votes to be cast with unanimosity.
Four votes on Beastmaster Kurlan. If I add to the number, four voters would be needed.
I unvote: Aenarin and vote: Beastmaster Kurlan, because I can achieve nothing by sticking to my stance on Aenarin.
The four ones who could perhaps vote Beastmaster Kurlan, decide your stances. Don't stick to waiting for evidence, because we will not receive it- and mentioning the need of it will make the infiltrators even more careful. The real guilties will not jump up and starting to dance in front of us, we have to find them by other ways. Which in here means interrogating.
Vote, people!"
Four votes on Beastmaster Kurlan. If I add to the number, four voters would be needed.
I unvote: Aenarin and vote: Beastmaster Kurlan, because I can achieve nothing by sticking to my stance on Aenarin.
The four ones who could perhaps vote Beastmaster Kurlan, decide your stances. Don't stick to waiting for evidence, because we will not receive it- and mentioning the need of it will make the infiltrators even more careful. The real guilties will not jump up and starting to dance in front of us, we have to find them by other ways. Which in here means interrogating.
Vote, people!"
"I have not seen enough indication of Beastmaster Kurlans guilt to vote for him.
What I make of others guilt I can not say yet.
But I will say this though, if the beastmaster has not spoken in his defence before the last rays of the sun disappers on the horizon you will have my vote for him aswell"
What I make of others guilt I can not say yet.
But I will say this though, if the beastmaster has not spoken in his defence before the last rays of the sun disappers on the horizon you will have my vote for him aswell"
Andreas
"As it might have been said, there are people who don't think him to be guilty, rather wanting to have something done. Because voting is the only way to know, because the interrogation gives us the information of his allegiance- and information is what we need, even the smallest hints."
Belcar saw how the sun was turning red. Night would fall within few hours. he cursed in his mind that people were obviously not wanting to root the infiltrators out.
Belcar saw how the sun was turning red. Night would fall within few hours. he cursed in his mind that people were obviously not wanting to root the infiltrators out.
Belial shook his head in disbelief at the ones who had not yet voted, and who had remained largely silent.
"Indifference and inactivity will bring us nothing but our undoing. I wish to support the words of Belcar. You must vote. We must get on. With each day that passes, without us settling on someone to interrogate, our chances of weeding out the traitors grow slimmer. Yes, killing our own will not help much, but if we don't the traitors will. That is, if they have any sense... And for each of us that dies, they are closer at majority in this assembly. As was said, I believe it was by Belcar, we must not absatin from voting in the fear that we help the traitors, but vote in the hope that we thwart them. As the day is ending, I fear for myself, that I might not be here tomorrow. And you should have that same fear. And use that impulse, to act."
There had been no trace of humour this time. The corsair had turned moody, and grave.
"Please, we have precious little time. This is not the time for silence."
"Indifference and inactivity will bring us nothing but our undoing. I wish to support the words of Belcar. You must vote. We must get on. With each day that passes, without us settling on someone to interrogate, our chances of weeding out the traitors grow slimmer. Yes, killing our own will not help much, but if we don't the traitors will. That is, if they have any sense... And for each of us that dies, they are closer at majority in this assembly. As was said, I believe it was by Belcar, we must not absatin from voting in the fear that we help the traitors, but vote in the hope that we thwart them. As the day is ending, I fear for myself, that I might not be here tomorrow. And you should have that same fear. And use that impulse, to act."
There had been no trace of humour this time. The corsair had turned moody, and grave.
"Please, we have precious little time. This is not the time for silence."
-
Sleekdd
- Highborn
- Posts: 637
- Joined: Sat May 21, 2005 7:33 am
- Location: Belgium, the only country where surrealism is a way of life.
Sleek slumped his shoulder and sighed. He pressed his lips and suddenly realized something.
“You know, this is actually quite revealing”, Sleek said. “You see, there are seventeen of us. Among us, there are probably three and maybe four traitors. That means that, unless the cause seems lost and the traitors join the vote, we need nine votes out of fourteen or thirteen. Add to that a few loose cannons and you need near-unanimity with the officers worthy their name to get something done. The fact it is so hard to get this done bodes well because it is an indication we’re on to something. In fact, I’ve seen some pretty obvious manoeuvres to delay the proceedings by now. I take it I’m not the only one to see this. We need to stop wasting our time, the traitors certainly won’t waste theirs. The decision is yours, people: are we hunters, or are we prey?”
“You know, this is actually quite revealing”, Sleek said. “You see, there are seventeen of us. Among us, there are probably three and maybe four traitors. That means that, unless the cause seems lost and the traitors join the vote, we need nine votes out of fourteen or thirteen. Add to that a few loose cannons and you need near-unanimity with the officers worthy their name to get something done. The fact it is so hard to get this done bodes well because it is an indication we’re on to something. In fact, I’ve seen some pretty obvious manoeuvres to delay the proceedings by now. I take it I’m not the only one to see this. We need to stop wasting our time, the traitors certainly won’t waste theirs. The decision is yours, people: are we hunters, or are we prey?”
Great minds think alike.
So if you want diversity, try morons.
So if you want diversity, try morons.
-
Tarbo
- Morathi's Best Friend
- Posts: 1203
- Joined: Tue Oct 04, 2005 5:06 pm
- Location: Flanders, Belgium
Light is starting to filter into the meeting as the sun slowly rises from behind the horizon. Troops all abound are waking and preparing for the long march ahead, taking with them what they need and leaving behind what they can. It will be a long and perilous journey in an attempt to find something. Sabotaged or not, a lot of effort went into this expedition, many resources are at stake, so returning empty-handed is not an option.
An agreement could not be reached. Votes lie idly in the arena, with a recent move towards Kurlan, but nine were needed. Anleth wistfully stares at the far light appearing despite the claims of some that night approaches. Perhaps they mean that in a poetic sense.
“That was all the time we had. We need to organise the troops into marching order,” she reminds everyone while rising to her feet, breaking up the meeting. “In the meantime, I hope those of you with a minimalistic approach to our ordeal come to their senses.”
You rise to your feet and assemble your belongings. Some are relieved that the discussion is over, others grumble at the lack of action, and even others bemoan their fate of having to slog all day through the Chaos Wastes. What dangers lie ahead? Random daemon attacks such as caused the demise of the ark? Looming insanity at the hands of the ever-shifting?
You do not have the answers, but something tells you that you soon will.
________________________
Trivia Questions
1) Rensat convinces Hellebron to send an expedition by...
Ruleswise, it is now Night, though it is in fact day in the game. People in teams can now communicate with eachother; people with abilities should PM their use to me. Team Captains, don't forget that you must send how team abilities are used.
The Night ends on Wednesday, 20h00 GMT. I'm pretty ruthless on Night deadlines. If you don't make it, you don't act.
An agreement could not be reached. Votes lie idly in the arena, with a recent move towards Kurlan, but nine were needed. Anleth wistfully stares at the far light appearing despite the claims of some that night approaches. Perhaps they mean that in a poetic sense.
“That was all the time we had. We need to organise the troops into marching order,” she reminds everyone while rising to her feet, breaking up the meeting. “In the meantime, I hope those of you with a minimalistic approach to our ordeal come to their senses.”
You rise to your feet and assemble your belongings. Some are relieved that the discussion is over, others grumble at the lack of action, and even others bemoan their fate of having to slog all day through the Chaos Wastes. What dangers lie ahead? Random daemon attacks such as caused the demise of the ark? Looming insanity at the hands of the ever-shifting?
You do not have the answers, but something tells you that you soon will.
________________________
Trivia Questions
1) Rensat convinces Hellebron to send an expedition by...
- promising her a share of the loot.
- threatening to remove her from the Temple.
- promising efforts to get her access to the original Cauldron.
- command of the Witch King.
- serving drinks.
- interrogating crewmen.
- leading the expedition.
- patrolling the deck.
- a rock.
- a magical rock.
- a disappeared outpost.
- a shrine to destroy.
- They don't; they simply assume that there are.
- Mioralynthia scried for the culprits and found them alive.
- No saboteur bodies were found in the ark's wreckage.
- There was another act of sabotage.
- The chamber they were in collapsed when the ark crashed.
- They died leading a counter-attack on the daemons.
- A horde of daemons stormed their chamber.
- They were quietly assassinated by saboteurs.
- Players
- Soupman
- LordAnubis
- Drainial Shadowheart
- Belial.
- lordofthenight
- Ashnari Doomsong
- Demendred
- Khelmor
- Draknir Reaverblade
- Aleraen
- Has Neledak
- beastmaster kurlan
- Aenarin
- Katash
- Shadow Dark
- 51la5
- SleekDD
- LordAnubis
- Ashnari Doomsong
- Belial
- Demendred
- Drainial Shadowheart
- Katash
- Drainial Shadowheart
- Aleraen
- beastmaster kurlan
- SleekDD
- Aenarin
- Belial
- LordAnubis
- Draknir Reaverblade
- Soupman
Ruleswise, it is now Night, though it is in fact day in the game. People in teams can now communicate with eachother; people with abilities should PM their use to me. Team Captains, don't forget that you must send how team abilities are used.
The Night ends on Wednesday, 20h00 GMT. I'm pretty ruthless on Night deadlines. If you don't make it, you don't act.
Swearing viciously at his bad luck, haiku struggled to pick his belongings up with his 2 fingered hand. Walking slowly while trying to balance out his weapons, Haiku joined the ranks which where trudging along grimly.
Saldrimek Xenan - WS6 / S4 / T3 / D5 / I3
Equipment: Executioners Axe (Rune of Beastslaying - Heroic Killing Blow), 2 Scimitars (Rune of Speed - Always Strike First), Dagger, Rune Branded Leather Armour, Executioner Helm, Fine Set of Throwing Knives (x4)
Inventory: Amulet of Darkness, Poison Vials x7, Deadly Poison Vials x8
Mount: Dark Steed
Gold: 163
Skills: Ambidexterity, Frenzy, Two Weapon Fighting, Ride
Class: Khainite
Equipment: Executioners Axe (Rune of Beastslaying - Heroic Killing Blow), 2 Scimitars (Rune of Speed - Always Strike First), Dagger, Rune Branded Leather Armour, Executioner Helm, Fine Set of Throwing Knives (x4)
Inventory: Amulet of Darkness, Poison Vials x7, Deadly Poison Vials x8
Mount: Dark Steed
Gold: 163
Skills: Ambidexterity, Frenzy, Two Weapon Fighting, Ride
Class: Khainite
A small chuckle emitted for Haiku's mouth. Turning around, Haiku kicked Demendred in the back of the knee's hard. Slipping backwards, Demendred landed in a large puddle of Mud. The surrounding warriors let out a small chuckle as they walked past and saw the mud covered warrior.
With a smirk, Haiku turned around and walked off.
With a smirk, Haiku turned around and walked off.
Saldrimek Xenan - WS6 / S4 / T3 / D5 / I3
Equipment: Executioners Axe (Rune of Beastslaying - Heroic Killing Blow), 2 Scimitars (Rune of Speed - Always Strike First), Dagger, Rune Branded Leather Armour, Executioner Helm, Fine Set of Throwing Knives (x4)
Inventory: Amulet of Darkness, Poison Vials x7, Deadly Poison Vials x8
Mount: Dark Steed
Gold: 163
Skills: Ambidexterity, Frenzy, Two Weapon Fighting, Ride
Class: Khainite
Equipment: Executioners Axe (Rune of Beastslaying - Heroic Killing Blow), 2 Scimitars (Rune of Speed - Always Strike First), Dagger, Rune Branded Leather Armour, Executioner Helm, Fine Set of Throwing Knives (x4)
Inventory: Amulet of Darkness, Poison Vials x7, Deadly Poison Vials x8
Mount: Dark Steed
Gold: 163
Skills: Ambidexterity, Frenzy, Two Weapon Fighting, Ride
Class: Khainite
Belial packed his few belongings. Only a small bag with some personal affects and some spare pieces of clothing, was taken from the stuff he had managed to salvage. A bunch of trinkets and knickknack was left behind, as was a small painting, charred and discoloured from the ark-accident, of a female druchii. Adjusting his chainmail and seadragoncloak, as well as the belt holding his blade, he sets out behind the others, a smile on his lips. Walking wouldn't be a picknick, but at least there might be some action. And, hopefully, some clues as to the identity of their advessaries, might appear.
-
Drainial
- Prophet of Tzeentch
- Posts: 4641
- Joined: Fri May 19, 2006 3:51 pm
- Location: I am the voice inside your head
Zaniev made an exasperated sound as he saw the caperings of Belial and Demendred "Just like kids," he breathed. Walking would be no fun at all on legs as short as his. Zanievs horse had mystriously disapeairs dispite the stables being relitivly intackt. He regarded last nights cook fires as the most likly culprit.
Moding a group of Druchii.net players is much like directing the musical 'Cats' using actual cats. Frustrating, difficult, chaotic but ultimatley satisfying and a great deal of fun.
Arch Deacon of the RPG forum
Gentleman of Moderation
Arch Deacon of the RPG forum
Gentleman of Moderation
-
Beastmaster kurlan
- Malekith's Best Friend
- Posts: 1467
- Joined: Tue Oct 26, 2004 5:34 pm
- Location: Portsmouth, England
-
Tarbo
- Morathi's Best Friend
- Posts: 1203
- Joined: Tue Oct 04, 2005 5:06 pm
- Location: Flanders, Belgium
Dark clouds hung threateningly low over the icy flats, rumbling deafeningly with dry thunder and lightning. The cover was so thick that the expedition still carried torches to mark the different parts in the marching column, its yellow flares dancing idly in the oppressive lack of wind. Snow cracked with each step taken, sinking feet into the ground until they hit solid earth or ice.
Part of the end of the column, Has Neledak looked behind him, wanting to get a feel of the many leagues they had to have travelled by then, with still no change in scenery in sight. The tracks extended far behind them on a mostly straight line, marking the only significant terrain feature. He shook his head and wanted to move on, but then noticed something peculiar: distant tracks seemed to be disappearing.
“Demendred, are you seeing what I'm seeing?”
“Doubtful, or I'd sound as surprised as you,” Demendred muffled from the scarf he had pulled over his lips to keep them from freezing. He threw a peek over his shoulder and frowned at what he saw. He was used to seeing tracks, but not used to seeing them vanish, as if they were chased by some invisible creature that erased marks in the terrain as it followed its prey. “That's disturbing.”
“That explains the pristine state of these Wastes,” Shadow Dark guessed. “I wonder what happens to the Black Ark we left.”
“Does that really matter?” Zaniev countered, pulling his cloak tighter around himself to keep the freezing outside air from touching his body. “We took what we needed, left what we had to. It's not like we're going back to the ark.”
“We're not?” Demendred asked, brow raised in surprise. “Then how on earth are we getting back?”
“You may not have noticed, but the ark's not exactly air-worthy anymore.” Zaniev shook his head slightly. “It's useless to us.”
“Not necessarily so,” Has Neledak raised. “Wreckage or not, the ark is still a great beacon to anyone looking for us. I'm certain it can be scried from across the globe.”
“You're assuming someone would look for us,” Shadow Dark said.
“Is that such a big stretch?”
“Someone friendly.”
“Ah. Point taken.”
“At any rate,” Zaniev interrupted, “we might want to let the others know we can't just follow our tracks back. I'll move on to the head of the column.”
“Are you sure that's such a good idea?” Demendred cautioned. “You didn't exactly make a good impression with the head sorceress there. Maybe someone else should go, to keep you from spontaneously combusting or something.”
“I'll take my chances,” Zaniev sneered. “I'm not afraid of some sorceress.”
“It's your ass, man.”
°°°
Finally, some kind of terrain! Even with sulphur-laden lightning blasts tearing through the ashen cloud cover overhead, the familiar sight of trees, rocks, and a frozen river snaking through the landscape made the place feel a little less alien than it previously did, an oasis of home away from home.
Tarbo pulled his chin, lying on an upward slope with a monocular. He had a good view on the structure the scouts had found earlier, but he wasn't sure what to make of it. It looked like a fortress of sorts, perhaps a temple or shrine somesuch—regardless, that was outside his area of expertise, as it was of many here. So he had called for the closest thing to an expert they had.
Mioralynthia kept her head low while moving up to Tarbo. She lied down in the snow and kept her eyes on the strange construction far ahead of them. “Anleth told me you called?”
Tarbo smiled when observing the sorceress, and he nodded once to her or, more precisely, her outfit. “Is that some kind of sorceress winter assault gear? Never seen it before.”
“It's designed to keep us free of weight while providing some protection against the cold, yes. New commission from the Temple, and I was granted a spare for previous services.”
“It's supposed to protect from the cold?”
“Yes, it is and no, it doesn't.”
“Still, it looks good on you.”
“Since I'm lying in the snow, would you mind to keep this brief?”
“Right,” Tarbo pulled himself back to the matter at hand and offered a peek through the scope he was holding. “I need you to tell me what that structure is.”
Mioralynthia frowned. The construction appeared to be made out of a single stone—which was absurd, given its impressive size—and there were a number of scriptures painted tall on the sides. Towers bulged halfly out of the walls, with horizontal grooves too small to crawl through; possibly some sort of firing position. A number of metal dishes and spikes sat idly on several towers and on top of what appeared to be the main building; lightning conductors, perhaps?
“I'm not sure,” she admitted, and lowered the monocular again. “The markings bear some similarity to Imperial scripture, but they look too rigid and round for an exact match.”
“A lot of chaos worshippers are human,” Tarbo reminded. “It makes sense to have some mockery of their alphabet. Can you make it out?”
“H...a-n... g-a-r. And then some numbers, ahm... Thirty thousand four hundred fifteen.”
“Thirty thousand four hundred fifteen?”
Mioralynthia took a deep breath and shook her head. “Markings of some coordinate system, perhaps?”
Tarbo nodded vaguely, considering it, then looked back at his associate. “I don't see any guards. Do you?”
“None whatsoever. That doesn't mean there aren't any in there, though.”
“Can you scry for them?”
“I could try, but chances are that the building is warded. Chaos is part magic, after all, and their sorcerers many.”
“Alright, we'll do this the old-fashioned way then.”
°°°
Powerful lights trapped behind glass shone from the ceiling high above, casting a surprising amount of clarity in the giant room. This chamber gave out on the outside, making it some sort of entrance hall, but it appeared to easily make up a quarter of the entire building; it was hard to judge from the inside.
Metal skeletal arms protruded idly from the sides and ceiling. The vague scent of oil pervaded the air, notably starker from several of the large, metallic, box-like constructions that stood neatly aligned in white rectangles painted on the floor. Genoreth scratched his cheek, wondering. There must have been some way to move these things; perhaps these were converted steam tanks? No... they were too large to be merely converted. But back to business.
Belcar glid from one shadow to the other, never staying in the light for too long, and guiding the way for others. The expedition's new leadership had split, with one team exploring the outer perimeter, while another moved through the inner structure to assess resistance and reconnoiter the layout.
Tall pillars barred light in preciously few places. The structure's grey appearance was challenged only by occasional markings and geometric figures: circles, arrows, numbers... all in colours ranging from white to yellow to red to blue. There must've been some significance to it.
Aenarin frowned when he found Sleek Darrez in a shadow (not that strange) holding a starkly blue helmet (rather peculiar). He had to have found it lying around. “Where did you find that?”
“It hung on the wall here. I believe it's a helmet of some kind, but I cannot be sure. There's room for a head inside, and it looks like it has eyes.”
“What are these tubes going to the mouth?”
“I'm not sure,” Sleek admitted. “But I'm guessing they fit with the rest of the armour hanging here.”
Aenarin's eyes followed Sleek's thumb over his shoulder and widened when they spotted the rather impressive full armour standing empty at the side. It was fully blue and looked impossibly heavy and unwieldy. Whoever could carry such armour and still fight—or even move—had superhuman strength indeed.
“My guess is that it allow for fluids or some other drink to pass to the lips. You know, like those beer hats they sell at the arena.”
Aenarin whistled quietly. “Talk about technological advances. Do you think these are standard issue with these guys?”
“No, it's probably reserved for officers. I'll try it on, see what it does.” Sleek carefully slid his head into the helmet, finding it a little tight around the ears, but otherwise being a good fit. “...Wow.”
“What? What do you see?”
Sleek Darrez couldn't quite describe it. He was looking through some kind of glass, casting a greenish hue over all he saw. As through magic, yellow lines traced around any objects he laid his eyes on, and a wealth of letters sprung up before his eyes while he did. “It's like an acid high on a coven talent show.”
“Man, your voice sounds different. Distorted or something. And I can hear you breathe—that's just creepy. Like some mechanic bellows.”
”Deviant at nine.”
“Hang on,” Sleek suddenly said. “She's talking to me.”
Aenarin looked about him and noticed that the only nearby woman was Mioralynthia, and she was not saying a word. “Who?”
“The helmet, hang on.” Sleek turned to look at Aenarin; instantly, red flashes throbbed on his eyes, with a big letters that probably were some kind of warning. “Deviant spotted. IFF failed.”
“Hey, who're you calling a deviant?” Aenarin stood on his toes and pointed his finger threateningly at the helmet. “Don't make me come in there.”
Sleek frowned and looked around. “She says everyone is a deviant.”
“Ah, so it's an equal opportunity sort of helmet?”
“Think so. I'll try the rest of this armour on, see what gives.”
“Hey, that just gave me an idea...”
°°°
“What've you gotten there?” Tarbo put his hands on his knees and looked over Anleth's shoulder at the booklet she was reading. It was filled with schemes and diagrams and, of course, a whole lot of text.
“It looks like a operating manual, sir,” Anleth replied, frowning slightly while deciphering the script. “For instance, it says here there is room in the aft room for ten people.”
Tarbo looked over his own shoulder at the strange vehicle they had found about three miles from the base. It had heavy, metal tracks for wheels; it was almost entirely made out of metal, resembling a lunch box of some sort; oh, and had he mentioned it was painted a tasteless, fluorescent blue? A white horseshoe stood as strange markings on the side of the vehicle. “Ten people? In there? Are you sure it's about the right vehicle?”
“The image on the front cover matches. It's called a rhinoceros, I believe.”
“That's just ridiculous. It doesn't even look like a rhinoceros.”
Anleth lifted her shoulders helplessly. “Would you like a read, sir?”
“Nah, men never read manuals. We have an innate instinct for mechanics,” he claimed. “Leave it to us, and we'll have that engine running in no time. Coming?”
“I'd rather play on the safe side, sir.”
“Suit yourself, Captain.”
“Sir, we think we found something here,” Ashnari called from inside the vehicle.
Tarbo made his way to the front of the vehicle, likely some sort of driver's capsule. Belial, Haiku and Ashnari were already there, and they were looking at a... he wasn't sure what it was. “Ahh... what are we looking at?”
“Looks like some automated picture slideshow,” Belial replied while Haiku was still looking for where the pictures went in. “There are buttons here that control it. The big square stops playing, and the triangle resumes it.”
“Right then,” Tarbo said. “Hit the triangle, see what it says.”
When Ashnari pressed the button, there was a brief skipping of noise, until green text popped up: “You have two messages: playing first message.”
Instantly, the picture changed to a snowy wasteland. Dozens of vehicles were moving in the background, with at least four times as many blue, armoured suits walking to the left. One of them was looking towards the picture, helmet removed. He was wearing some kind of dark windshield in front of his eyes, with a smoking stick held between his lips. His voice was gruff and powerful: “Where's my damn delivery? It was supposed to be here over an hour ago!”
Haiku, Belial and Tarbo stared blankly at eachother. Did they make that out correctly? A delivery? This was a Fed-Ex machine?
“Second message.”
The pictured sky looked darker, with flashes of light zapping from left to right, and a lot of background noise. Sounded like a battle. The same man was standing in front, looking at the three of them. “If I find out the two of you have been sleeping on the job again, I'm gonna kick your blue—!”
“End of messages.”
“Wow,” Haiku noted. “He sounds pissed.”
“If you were trapped in a little box like that, you'd be pissed, too,” Ashnari replied. “Too small for comfort.”
“Alright, let's try to get its engine running,” Tarbo suggested. “Anleth told me supposedly ten people fit in the back, and up to three up front. We should be able to fit everyone in here and roll back to that fortress.”
°°°
Lordofthenight snapped his neck briefly. This large inner chamber seemed devoid of any life or guards. Mioralynthia was still checking whether there was some magic warding, but it appeared that the structure was abandoned, or that the guards were holed up elsewhere. Exploration could commence.
Now, what was this? An object vaguely resembling a rifle lied unmanned on the floor. He picked it up and observed it more closely, trying to read the inscriptions on the side.
“Found anything interesting?” Genoreth asked him, peeking along over his shoulder.
“I don't know. 'Imperial standard issue Laser-gun.' ”
Genoreth frowned. “That doesn't even make sense. What in the blazes is a 'laser'?”
“I've no idea, but better stay back a bit while I test it. Who knows what kind of blast radius this thing has...” He shouldered it, pointed at the floor some ten yards away, and squeezed the trigger. A thin beam of light zapped from the barrel, landing precisely on the spot he aimed for. There was no recoil, just a lot of light.
“Not a mark on the floor,” Genoreth noticed. “It's a bit like these lights set into the ceiling. Maybe it's some portable version?”
“I think you're right. A bit unfriendly that you need to squeeze the trigger, though.”
”Waargh!”
A just-over-mansized, fully plated blue armour jumped into view, arms held out threateningly and waving its hands. Lordofthenight and Genoreth yelled in surprise, the former manhandling the weapon and reflexively firing shots at the looming armour. Sparks flung away, but there wasn't even a dent. “What the hell is that thing!?”
“Hell if I care! Keep firing at it!”
“Genoreth, I am your father!” As distorted as the voice was, they did recognise it as Sleek Darrez'. Not too far behind him, Aenarin was doubling up over the floor.
“Sleek?” Genoreth guessed. “Cripes, you scared us witless with that suit. And what's that about fatherhood?”
“Honestly don't know. It sounded catchy at the time,” Sleek replied. “This helmet is wickedly cool. I can see through armour and spot weapons and everything. What's with the light gun, anyway?”
“It's a laser gun, not a light gun.”
“A who-what now?”
“La-ser. It gives light.”
“Like a light gun.”
“Yeah, except that it's a laser.”
“What in the blazes is going on here?” That was Mioralynthia's voice, and she didn't sound thrilled. She never sounded thrilled, but there was a definitely dangerous tone to her voice now.
“Uh-oh,” Genoreth whispered. “Ice Queen at 3 o'clock.” Instantly, the five of them jumped to attention. Lordofthenight hastily hid his rifle behind his back. “We were just, eh... testing some of this stuff.”
“Yeah, so we can...” “...estimate the, eh...” “enemy resistance! If...” “...they come at us. With these...” “...thing-a-magicks.”
Mioralynthia nodded faintly, a brow raised while staring at the five elves, or four elves and one tall armour. “Truly now. And the armour?”
A hollow bang sounded when Aenarin elbowed Sleek's armour. “Say something, Sleek.”
“Uhh...” Sleek's voice trailed off while staring rigidly ahead of him. “Do you remember that, eh, thing I said about armour and seeing things?” He left a brief but meaningful pause. “Does this helmet have a zoom function?”
“Why'd you want to...” Belcar opened his eyes widely, following suit with the others catching on. “Gimme that helmet!”
“Hey, I saw this first, find your own!” Sleek defended his helmet—with his life, if need be. “There's more on the wall.”
“Could we possibly keep it quiet?” Mioralynthia raised her voice slightly. “I don't want to alarm any guards. We should lay low until the other team returns.” She sighed, turned, and walked away. Sleek's helmet turned slightly, following her until she left sight.
“Gentlemen,” he whispered. “Spread the word. We hit the jackpot.”
°°°
Anleth kept her nose in the book while stepping into the 'Rhino', her boots tapping hollowly on the metallic grate that covered its floor. “Sir, I may have figured out how to start the engine. You should find a key and turn it, then—” She stopped when she suddenly felt the vehicle tremble, a deep rumble coming from the front compartment. Wondering what it was, she hurried over.
“Alright!” Ashnari yelled excitedly when the rumbling noise lowered gently. “Way to go, Belial! Now all we've got to figure out is how to move forward.”
“Ah, gentlemen,” Anleth retried. “The manual here states—”
“Who needs a manual, eh?” Katash didn't aim that at Anleth, though she took it that way. He was simply impressed with their accomplishment. “I'll just try this lever here.”
Anleth sighed. “Right, ah, if you need me, I'll be outside.” She walked out again, clapping the covers of the manual together.
“Hm?” Tarbo looked up briefly when hearing Anleth's voice. “Alright, thanks Captain, we'll know where to find you.”
Outside, the wind was picking up again. It was cold, blisteringly cold, and Anleth took a bite out of her rations in the hope that chewing would warm her up a bit. And chewing most certainly was necessary. She added a mental note to try this 'cookie' for ablative armour.
“How are things inside, Captain?” Zenovia asked when she spotted Anleth. “I hear they got it to work.”
“Yes, but it might take a while before it can drive. They'd rather 'get a feeling' than use the manual.”
Zenovia shook her head. “Men,” she sighed.
The rumbling of the engine pitched higher, as if it were going through more effort, and excited woohoos and yeehaws came from the front compartment again. They found the throttle.
Anleth nodded in agreement with Zenovia, and plunged down on a rock. “Men indeed.”
°°°
“Are you sure you can drive this thing, Captain?” Aleraen sounded a little alarmed in the back. His voice was muffled.
“All I can say, officer, is that I've read and understood the manual,” Anleth replied, fitting her gloved hands around a few controls, checking that she handled the correct ones.
“But we can count on you getting us there in one piece, right?” Silas asked.
“I guarantee nothing,” Anleth stressed, and took a deep breath, looking over each of the controls again. Next to her, Tarbo put his hands on the dashboard with a hint of suspense in his eyes, while Haksor... well...
“gfi”
Anleth frowned briefly. Did Haksor just ask about a girlfriend? His? Hers? She forwent any further thinking about it—he just didn't make any sense.
“How are you doing back there?” Tarbo asked, peeking over his shoulder. Behind him, eight people were packed in the hind compartment. 'Packed' was a very accurate term there. “Got enough air to breathe?”
“We're all good in here,” Belial replied. “But please hurry a little; I have Nature's call to answer.”
And off they went! With a neck-snapping start, the vehicle snorted into movement and, much like a snort as well, instantly came to a screeching halt again. Somewhere in the engine, parts were screaming for mercy, which they found denied when the machine jumped into motion again... for a second.
“Easy!” Tarbo put his hands on the dashboard again, as if he could feel the engine's pain. “You're murdering it.”
“The manual said: clutch in, gas in, clutch out. In that order. So that's what I'm doing.”
“...If you're sure.”
Another premature leap of power gave some grunts and groans from the hind compartment. It wasn't exactly comfortable in there. “That's it!” Haiku shouted. “When I get back to Naggaroth, I'm going to file a law banning any woman from ever touching a vehicle again!”
“lol n00b”
“Oh, and I suppose you can do any better?” Anleth challenged Haksor, offering him to take her seat. “You do? Well then, by all means, be my guest.”
Instantly, the vehicle kicked into motion, lifting its front into the air with screeching tracks (the image is best left to the imagination) before landing flatly again and soaring away at breakneck speed. Trees and tall rocks darted left and right, dodging the vehicle through its new driver's uncanny precision.
In the hind compartment, Zenovia suddenly frowned indignantly. “Ashnari! Have you no shame?”
“But...I... Come on, I'm a guy, I have my nose in a bossom,” Ashnari defended himself. “What do you expect?”
“Could be worse, you know. You could be in my position,” Silas sighed. “I have my nose pretty much up Kurlan's lower back.”
“Better not get too comfortable then,” Kurlan replied. “I had a double helping of beans before we left.”
“No. No-no-no. Kurlan, my man, friend, buddy, chap, you can't do that. You have a duty to hold on.”
“Sorry, man. I can't hold on forever.”
“No! No-no!”
An unmanly, lung-piercing shriek of panic tore through the rear compartment, drowned by the rumbling engine.
°°°
“Are they there yet?” Belcar asked Genoreth, who was standing watch near the wide open entrance to the central chamber (apparently called a 'hangar'). The outside team had been a little late. That was understandable, but some worry was beginning to rise. After all, this were the Wastes, and no-one truly knew what to expect. No-one but the chronically insane, that was.
Hmm. Query Ashnari, perhaps?
“No, nothing. Zilch. De rien. De nada.” Genoreth grumbled, keeping his coat closely wrapped around himself. “Just ice, snow, an occasional five-legged lizard, and a whole lot of nothing.”
“Hang on,” Belcar raised, honing his ears. “Do you hear that?”
“Those are my appendages freezing off. Appendages I have grown quite fond of.”
No... Well, yes, but not, that wasn't the noise Belcar made out from the howling wind outside. Two dots of light popped out of the mist, pointing mysteriously at them while shaking left and right. “What do you think those are?” Belcar asked.
Genoreth shook his head with lips sogging to the floor. He hadn't the slightest clue. “Whatever it is, it's coming this way.” Instantly, his eyes sprung open, and he dove aside. “Get out of the way!”
With maniacal speed, a large, blue lunchbox on tracks shoved itself in between the two elves standing guard. It swung left momentarily, then right, finally left again and spun wildly while sliding to others of its kind. Genoreth and Belcar screwed their eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable crash... but they heard nothing. Except for the machine powering down.
When they opened their eyes again, they found that maniacal lunchbox neatly arranged between two others, occupying another spot marked by a white rectangle. Whatever it was, it looked like it was asleep again.
Instantly, the hind door fell out like a boarding ramp, and eight elves crashed out of the rear compartment. There were groans and grunts from the disorderly heap of skin and armour, with arms and legs effortfully trying to drag their owners out from the disorderly stack of elves who had taken Twister a notch too far.
“Hey,” Haiku wondered, “why is everyone else wearing a blue helmet?”
“And why are they all looking at Zenovia?” Aleraen noticed.
°°°
It was quiet. The entire day had been spent searching and marching, so the night held a well-deserved moment of rest. The wind still howled outside, so the expedition had set up camp deeper into the 'hangar', to shield themselves from the adverse weather conditions.
Odours of oils, steam, rusted metal and combustion pervaded the air more than the occasional smouldering campfire did. Tents were pitched near vehicles, walls, or anywhere else where some sort of shelter better than cloth was provided. Soldiers that had not spent their efforts searching were now on guard, keeping an eye out for the original occupants.
Zaniev groaned when he turned on top of his blanket. The floor wasn't exactly comfortable, being rock hard, dusty, and freezing cold. A blanket served for protection against the elements, he had reasoned, and the floor was more hostile than the steely air, so he preferred to lie on top of his sheet. He opened his weary eyes and looked about himself, reaching for his water flask (conveniently filled with scotch) for a nip.
To his surprise, he heard a metal clang when he turned, feeling a poke in his back. Instantly, a loud, pitched whine came from his back again, and two jets of red-hot air and fire blasted out of his tent. A blue pair of tubes were somehow strapped onto him, and Zaniev screamed when he was lifted off the floor, soaring into the hangar's airspace, heavily crowded by metal utilities, overhanging lights, and other objects that promised unpleasant collisions.
While caught completely by surprise, Zaniev put his mind to work. Being up was a bad idea; being down was a better idea. The levitation device on his back was secured to him with a few belts and straps—if he were low enough, he could free himself and escape certain death. So he nudged his balance down, finding himself diving to the floor at breakneck speeds while some elves poked their heads from their tents to assess the source of the infernal racket.
Zaniev timely aimed himself level with the floor again, and industriously worked to free himself without swaying left and right too much. He was still gaining speed, and turning predictably was becoming a little difficult. There, one strap gone, three more to go. But... was that a wall?
Oh, crap.
°°°
You're all sitting in a meeting again, scattered around in a space cordoned off by imaginary walls, mechanical devices and dusty crates. Thanks to someone's sick sense of humour, you haven't had a great deal of good sleep, what with the jet engines and attached elf soaring through the hangar.
There is no fire in the middle this time, but the area is still starkly lit by the powerful lights scattered around the hangar, making sure you can see every speck of dust, every spot of oil, and every scorch mark. Whoever built this place was not hung up on cleanliness.
Mioralynthia wipes some dust off a nearby crate to sit on, then wipes again... and finally puts down a book to seat herself on. “You've all undoubtedly heard about Zaniev's 'accident'. We're still looking around the scene, finding out what actually happened, but we're fairly sure malevolence was involved.”
With one of your number down, you find yourself reminded of the urgency of the situation. If this expedition is to succeed, the saboteurs must be found. Time is a scarce resource here, limiting the amount of people that can be interrogated effectively while still pursuing the objectives of this mission. How that time would be spent was entirely up to you and your fellows.
And so, with less drama or panic than you had imagined at first, the second meeting commences.
________________________
It is now Day. You may discuss and vote freely again. With 16 players left, 9 constitute a majority.
The activity deadline is set for Sunday, 20h00 GMT. The final deadline is yet to be decided, but will likely be around Tuesday evening.
People who have not submitted their actions for the Night should consider them forfeited. Late entries for actions are not accepted; the deadline has passed.
Note: If you took an action and received no feedback from me, that means nothing noteworthy happened. For instance, protectors that shield someone will typically not receive a message, and so will investigators who found nothing. However, if your ability was blocked for some reason, you will be notified.
Part of the end of the column, Has Neledak looked behind him, wanting to get a feel of the many leagues they had to have travelled by then, with still no change in scenery in sight. The tracks extended far behind them on a mostly straight line, marking the only significant terrain feature. He shook his head and wanted to move on, but then noticed something peculiar: distant tracks seemed to be disappearing.
“Demendred, are you seeing what I'm seeing?”
“Doubtful, or I'd sound as surprised as you,” Demendred muffled from the scarf he had pulled over his lips to keep them from freezing. He threw a peek over his shoulder and frowned at what he saw. He was used to seeing tracks, but not used to seeing them vanish, as if they were chased by some invisible creature that erased marks in the terrain as it followed its prey. “That's disturbing.”
“That explains the pristine state of these Wastes,” Shadow Dark guessed. “I wonder what happens to the Black Ark we left.”
“Does that really matter?” Zaniev countered, pulling his cloak tighter around himself to keep the freezing outside air from touching his body. “We took what we needed, left what we had to. It's not like we're going back to the ark.”
“We're not?” Demendred asked, brow raised in surprise. “Then how on earth are we getting back?”
“You may not have noticed, but the ark's not exactly air-worthy anymore.” Zaniev shook his head slightly. “It's useless to us.”
“Not necessarily so,” Has Neledak raised. “Wreckage or not, the ark is still a great beacon to anyone looking for us. I'm certain it can be scried from across the globe.”
“You're assuming someone would look for us,” Shadow Dark said.
“Is that such a big stretch?”
“Someone friendly.”
“Ah. Point taken.”
“At any rate,” Zaniev interrupted, “we might want to let the others know we can't just follow our tracks back. I'll move on to the head of the column.”
“Are you sure that's such a good idea?” Demendred cautioned. “You didn't exactly make a good impression with the head sorceress there. Maybe someone else should go, to keep you from spontaneously combusting or something.”
“I'll take my chances,” Zaniev sneered. “I'm not afraid of some sorceress.”
“It's your ass, man.”
°°°
Finally, some kind of terrain! Even with sulphur-laden lightning blasts tearing through the ashen cloud cover overhead, the familiar sight of trees, rocks, and a frozen river snaking through the landscape made the place feel a little less alien than it previously did, an oasis of home away from home.
Tarbo pulled his chin, lying on an upward slope with a monocular. He had a good view on the structure the scouts had found earlier, but he wasn't sure what to make of it. It looked like a fortress of sorts, perhaps a temple or shrine somesuch—regardless, that was outside his area of expertise, as it was of many here. So he had called for the closest thing to an expert they had.
Mioralynthia kept her head low while moving up to Tarbo. She lied down in the snow and kept her eyes on the strange construction far ahead of them. “Anleth told me you called?”
Tarbo smiled when observing the sorceress, and he nodded once to her or, more precisely, her outfit. “Is that some kind of sorceress winter assault gear? Never seen it before.”
“It's designed to keep us free of weight while providing some protection against the cold, yes. New commission from the Temple, and I was granted a spare for previous services.”
“It's supposed to protect from the cold?”
“Yes, it is and no, it doesn't.”
“Still, it looks good on you.”
“Since I'm lying in the snow, would you mind to keep this brief?”
“Right,” Tarbo pulled himself back to the matter at hand and offered a peek through the scope he was holding. “I need you to tell me what that structure is.”
Mioralynthia frowned. The construction appeared to be made out of a single stone—which was absurd, given its impressive size—and there were a number of scriptures painted tall on the sides. Towers bulged halfly out of the walls, with horizontal grooves too small to crawl through; possibly some sort of firing position. A number of metal dishes and spikes sat idly on several towers and on top of what appeared to be the main building; lightning conductors, perhaps?
“I'm not sure,” she admitted, and lowered the monocular again. “The markings bear some similarity to Imperial scripture, but they look too rigid and round for an exact match.”
“A lot of chaos worshippers are human,” Tarbo reminded. “It makes sense to have some mockery of their alphabet. Can you make it out?”
“H...a-n... g-a-r. And then some numbers, ahm... Thirty thousand four hundred fifteen.”
“Thirty thousand four hundred fifteen?”
Mioralynthia took a deep breath and shook her head. “Markings of some coordinate system, perhaps?”
Tarbo nodded vaguely, considering it, then looked back at his associate. “I don't see any guards. Do you?”
“None whatsoever. That doesn't mean there aren't any in there, though.”
“Can you scry for them?”
“I could try, but chances are that the building is warded. Chaos is part magic, after all, and their sorcerers many.”
“Alright, we'll do this the old-fashioned way then.”
°°°
Powerful lights trapped behind glass shone from the ceiling high above, casting a surprising amount of clarity in the giant room. This chamber gave out on the outside, making it some sort of entrance hall, but it appeared to easily make up a quarter of the entire building; it was hard to judge from the inside.
Metal skeletal arms protruded idly from the sides and ceiling. The vague scent of oil pervaded the air, notably starker from several of the large, metallic, box-like constructions that stood neatly aligned in white rectangles painted on the floor. Genoreth scratched his cheek, wondering. There must have been some way to move these things; perhaps these were converted steam tanks? No... they were too large to be merely converted. But back to business.
Belcar glid from one shadow to the other, never staying in the light for too long, and guiding the way for others. The expedition's new leadership had split, with one team exploring the outer perimeter, while another moved through the inner structure to assess resistance and reconnoiter the layout.
Tall pillars barred light in preciously few places. The structure's grey appearance was challenged only by occasional markings and geometric figures: circles, arrows, numbers... all in colours ranging from white to yellow to red to blue. There must've been some significance to it.
Aenarin frowned when he found Sleek Darrez in a shadow (not that strange) holding a starkly blue helmet (rather peculiar). He had to have found it lying around. “Where did you find that?”
“It hung on the wall here. I believe it's a helmet of some kind, but I cannot be sure. There's room for a head inside, and it looks like it has eyes.”
“What are these tubes going to the mouth?”
“I'm not sure,” Sleek admitted. “But I'm guessing they fit with the rest of the armour hanging here.”
Aenarin's eyes followed Sleek's thumb over his shoulder and widened when they spotted the rather impressive full armour standing empty at the side. It was fully blue and looked impossibly heavy and unwieldy. Whoever could carry such armour and still fight—or even move—had superhuman strength indeed.
“My guess is that it allow for fluids or some other drink to pass to the lips. You know, like those beer hats they sell at the arena.”
Aenarin whistled quietly. “Talk about technological advances. Do you think these are standard issue with these guys?”
“No, it's probably reserved for officers. I'll try it on, see what it does.” Sleek carefully slid his head into the helmet, finding it a little tight around the ears, but otherwise being a good fit. “...Wow.”
“What? What do you see?”
Sleek Darrez couldn't quite describe it. He was looking through some kind of glass, casting a greenish hue over all he saw. As through magic, yellow lines traced around any objects he laid his eyes on, and a wealth of letters sprung up before his eyes while he did. “It's like an acid high on a coven talent show.”
“Man, your voice sounds different. Distorted or something. And I can hear you breathe—that's just creepy. Like some mechanic bellows.”
”Deviant at nine.”
“Hang on,” Sleek suddenly said. “She's talking to me.”
Aenarin looked about him and noticed that the only nearby woman was Mioralynthia, and she was not saying a word. “Who?”
“The helmet, hang on.” Sleek turned to look at Aenarin; instantly, red flashes throbbed on his eyes, with a big letters that probably were some kind of warning. “Deviant spotted. IFF failed.”
“Hey, who're you calling a deviant?” Aenarin stood on his toes and pointed his finger threateningly at the helmet. “Don't make me come in there.”
Sleek frowned and looked around. “She says everyone is a deviant.”
“Ah, so it's an equal opportunity sort of helmet?”
“Think so. I'll try the rest of this armour on, see what gives.”
“Hey, that just gave me an idea...”
°°°
“What've you gotten there?” Tarbo put his hands on his knees and looked over Anleth's shoulder at the booklet she was reading. It was filled with schemes and diagrams and, of course, a whole lot of text.
“It looks like a operating manual, sir,” Anleth replied, frowning slightly while deciphering the script. “For instance, it says here there is room in the aft room for ten people.”
Tarbo looked over his own shoulder at the strange vehicle they had found about three miles from the base. It had heavy, metal tracks for wheels; it was almost entirely made out of metal, resembling a lunch box of some sort; oh, and had he mentioned it was painted a tasteless, fluorescent blue? A white horseshoe stood as strange markings on the side of the vehicle. “Ten people? In there? Are you sure it's about the right vehicle?”
“The image on the front cover matches. It's called a rhinoceros, I believe.”
“That's just ridiculous. It doesn't even look like a rhinoceros.”
Anleth lifted her shoulders helplessly. “Would you like a read, sir?”
“Nah, men never read manuals. We have an innate instinct for mechanics,” he claimed. “Leave it to us, and we'll have that engine running in no time. Coming?”
“I'd rather play on the safe side, sir.”
“Suit yourself, Captain.”
“Sir, we think we found something here,” Ashnari called from inside the vehicle.
Tarbo made his way to the front of the vehicle, likely some sort of driver's capsule. Belial, Haiku and Ashnari were already there, and they were looking at a... he wasn't sure what it was. “Ahh... what are we looking at?”
“Looks like some automated picture slideshow,” Belial replied while Haiku was still looking for where the pictures went in. “There are buttons here that control it. The big square stops playing, and the triangle resumes it.”
“Right then,” Tarbo said. “Hit the triangle, see what it says.”
When Ashnari pressed the button, there was a brief skipping of noise, until green text popped up: “You have two messages: playing first message.”
Instantly, the picture changed to a snowy wasteland. Dozens of vehicles were moving in the background, with at least four times as many blue, armoured suits walking to the left. One of them was looking towards the picture, helmet removed. He was wearing some kind of dark windshield in front of his eyes, with a smoking stick held between his lips. His voice was gruff and powerful: “Where's my damn delivery? It was supposed to be here over an hour ago!”
Haiku, Belial and Tarbo stared blankly at eachother. Did they make that out correctly? A delivery? This was a Fed-Ex machine?
“Second message.”
The pictured sky looked darker, with flashes of light zapping from left to right, and a lot of background noise. Sounded like a battle. The same man was standing in front, looking at the three of them. “If I find out the two of you have been sleeping on the job again, I'm gonna kick your blue—!”
“End of messages.”
“Wow,” Haiku noted. “He sounds pissed.”
“If you were trapped in a little box like that, you'd be pissed, too,” Ashnari replied. “Too small for comfort.”
“Alright, let's try to get its engine running,” Tarbo suggested. “Anleth told me supposedly ten people fit in the back, and up to three up front. We should be able to fit everyone in here and roll back to that fortress.”
°°°
Lordofthenight snapped his neck briefly. This large inner chamber seemed devoid of any life or guards. Mioralynthia was still checking whether there was some magic warding, but it appeared that the structure was abandoned, or that the guards were holed up elsewhere. Exploration could commence.
Now, what was this? An object vaguely resembling a rifle lied unmanned on the floor. He picked it up and observed it more closely, trying to read the inscriptions on the side.
“Found anything interesting?” Genoreth asked him, peeking along over his shoulder.
“I don't know. 'Imperial standard issue Laser-gun.' ”
Genoreth frowned. “That doesn't even make sense. What in the blazes is a 'laser'?”
“I've no idea, but better stay back a bit while I test it. Who knows what kind of blast radius this thing has...” He shouldered it, pointed at the floor some ten yards away, and squeezed the trigger. A thin beam of light zapped from the barrel, landing precisely on the spot he aimed for. There was no recoil, just a lot of light.
“Not a mark on the floor,” Genoreth noticed. “It's a bit like these lights set into the ceiling. Maybe it's some portable version?”
“I think you're right. A bit unfriendly that you need to squeeze the trigger, though.”
”Waargh!”
A just-over-mansized, fully plated blue armour jumped into view, arms held out threateningly and waving its hands. Lordofthenight and Genoreth yelled in surprise, the former manhandling the weapon and reflexively firing shots at the looming armour. Sparks flung away, but there wasn't even a dent. “What the hell is that thing!?”
“Hell if I care! Keep firing at it!”
“Genoreth, I am your father!” As distorted as the voice was, they did recognise it as Sleek Darrez'. Not too far behind him, Aenarin was doubling up over the floor.
“Sleek?” Genoreth guessed. “Cripes, you scared us witless with that suit. And what's that about fatherhood?”
“Honestly don't know. It sounded catchy at the time,” Sleek replied. “This helmet is wickedly cool. I can see through armour and spot weapons and everything. What's with the light gun, anyway?”
“It's a laser gun, not a light gun.”
“A who-what now?”
“La-ser. It gives light.”
“Like a light gun.”
“Yeah, except that it's a laser.”
“What in the blazes is going on here?” That was Mioralynthia's voice, and she didn't sound thrilled. She never sounded thrilled, but there was a definitely dangerous tone to her voice now.
“Uh-oh,” Genoreth whispered. “Ice Queen at 3 o'clock.” Instantly, the five of them jumped to attention. Lordofthenight hastily hid his rifle behind his back. “We were just, eh... testing some of this stuff.”
“Yeah, so we can...” “...estimate the, eh...” “enemy resistance! If...” “...they come at us. With these...” “...thing-a-magicks.”
Mioralynthia nodded faintly, a brow raised while staring at the five elves, or four elves and one tall armour. “Truly now. And the armour?”
A hollow bang sounded when Aenarin elbowed Sleek's armour. “Say something, Sleek.”
“Uhh...” Sleek's voice trailed off while staring rigidly ahead of him. “Do you remember that, eh, thing I said about armour and seeing things?” He left a brief but meaningful pause. “Does this helmet have a zoom function?”
“Why'd you want to...” Belcar opened his eyes widely, following suit with the others catching on. “Gimme that helmet!”
“Hey, I saw this first, find your own!” Sleek defended his helmet—with his life, if need be. “There's more on the wall.”
“Could we possibly keep it quiet?” Mioralynthia raised her voice slightly. “I don't want to alarm any guards. We should lay low until the other team returns.” She sighed, turned, and walked away. Sleek's helmet turned slightly, following her until she left sight.
“Gentlemen,” he whispered. “Spread the word. We hit the jackpot.”
°°°
Anleth kept her nose in the book while stepping into the 'Rhino', her boots tapping hollowly on the metallic grate that covered its floor. “Sir, I may have figured out how to start the engine. You should find a key and turn it, then—” She stopped when she suddenly felt the vehicle tremble, a deep rumble coming from the front compartment. Wondering what it was, she hurried over.
“Alright!” Ashnari yelled excitedly when the rumbling noise lowered gently. “Way to go, Belial! Now all we've got to figure out is how to move forward.”
“Ah, gentlemen,” Anleth retried. “The manual here states—”
“Who needs a manual, eh?” Katash didn't aim that at Anleth, though she took it that way. He was simply impressed with their accomplishment. “I'll just try this lever here.”
Anleth sighed. “Right, ah, if you need me, I'll be outside.” She walked out again, clapping the covers of the manual together.
“Hm?” Tarbo looked up briefly when hearing Anleth's voice. “Alright, thanks Captain, we'll know where to find you.”
Outside, the wind was picking up again. It was cold, blisteringly cold, and Anleth took a bite out of her rations in the hope that chewing would warm her up a bit. And chewing most certainly was necessary. She added a mental note to try this 'cookie' for ablative armour.
“How are things inside, Captain?” Zenovia asked when she spotted Anleth. “I hear they got it to work.”
“Yes, but it might take a while before it can drive. They'd rather 'get a feeling' than use the manual.”
Zenovia shook her head. “Men,” she sighed.
The rumbling of the engine pitched higher, as if it were going through more effort, and excited woohoos and yeehaws came from the front compartment again. They found the throttle.
Anleth nodded in agreement with Zenovia, and plunged down on a rock. “Men indeed.”
°°°
“Are you sure you can drive this thing, Captain?” Aleraen sounded a little alarmed in the back. His voice was muffled.
“All I can say, officer, is that I've read and understood the manual,” Anleth replied, fitting her gloved hands around a few controls, checking that she handled the correct ones.
“But we can count on you getting us there in one piece, right?” Silas asked.
“I guarantee nothing,” Anleth stressed, and took a deep breath, looking over each of the controls again. Next to her, Tarbo put his hands on the dashboard with a hint of suspense in his eyes, while Haksor... well...
“gfi”
Anleth frowned briefly. Did Haksor just ask about a girlfriend? His? Hers? She forwent any further thinking about it—he just didn't make any sense.
“How are you doing back there?” Tarbo asked, peeking over his shoulder. Behind him, eight people were packed in the hind compartment. 'Packed' was a very accurate term there. “Got enough air to breathe?”
“We're all good in here,” Belial replied. “But please hurry a little; I have Nature's call to answer.”
And off they went! With a neck-snapping start, the vehicle snorted into movement and, much like a snort as well, instantly came to a screeching halt again. Somewhere in the engine, parts were screaming for mercy, which they found denied when the machine jumped into motion again... for a second.
“Easy!” Tarbo put his hands on the dashboard again, as if he could feel the engine's pain. “You're murdering it.”
“The manual said: clutch in, gas in, clutch out. In that order. So that's what I'm doing.”
“...If you're sure.”
Another premature leap of power gave some grunts and groans from the hind compartment. It wasn't exactly comfortable in there. “That's it!” Haiku shouted. “When I get back to Naggaroth, I'm going to file a law banning any woman from ever touching a vehicle again!”
“lol n00b”
“Oh, and I suppose you can do any better?” Anleth challenged Haksor, offering him to take her seat. “You do? Well then, by all means, be my guest.”
Instantly, the vehicle kicked into motion, lifting its front into the air with screeching tracks (the image is best left to the imagination) before landing flatly again and soaring away at breakneck speed. Trees and tall rocks darted left and right, dodging the vehicle through its new driver's uncanny precision.
In the hind compartment, Zenovia suddenly frowned indignantly. “Ashnari! Have you no shame?”
“But...I... Come on, I'm a guy, I have my nose in a bossom,” Ashnari defended himself. “What do you expect?”
“Could be worse, you know. You could be in my position,” Silas sighed. “I have my nose pretty much up Kurlan's lower back.”
“Better not get too comfortable then,” Kurlan replied. “I had a double helping of beans before we left.”
“No. No-no-no. Kurlan, my man, friend, buddy, chap, you can't do that. You have a duty to hold on.”
“Sorry, man. I can't hold on forever.”
“No! No-no!”
An unmanly, lung-piercing shriek of panic tore through the rear compartment, drowned by the rumbling engine.
°°°
“Are they there yet?” Belcar asked Genoreth, who was standing watch near the wide open entrance to the central chamber (apparently called a 'hangar'). The outside team had been a little late. That was understandable, but some worry was beginning to rise. After all, this were the Wastes, and no-one truly knew what to expect. No-one but the chronically insane, that was.
Hmm. Query Ashnari, perhaps?
“No, nothing. Zilch. De rien. De nada.” Genoreth grumbled, keeping his coat closely wrapped around himself. “Just ice, snow, an occasional five-legged lizard, and a whole lot of nothing.”
“Hang on,” Belcar raised, honing his ears. “Do you hear that?”
“Those are my appendages freezing off. Appendages I have grown quite fond of.”
No... Well, yes, but not, that wasn't the noise Belcar made out from the howling wind outside. Two dots of light popped out of the mist, pointing mysteriously at them while shaking left and right. “What do you think those are?” Belcar asked.
Genoreth shook his head with lips sogging to the floor. He hadn't the slightest clue. “Whatever it is, it's coming this way.” Instantly, his eyes sprung open, and he dove aside. “Get out of the way!”
With maniacal speed, a large, blue lunchbox on tracks shoved itself in between the two elves standing guard. It swung left momentarily, then right, finally left again and spun wildly while sliding to others of its kind. Genoreth and Belcar screwed their eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable crash... but they heard nothing. Except for the machine powering down.
When they opened their eyes again, they found that maniacal lunchbox neatly arranged between two others, occupying another spot marked by a white rectangle. Whatever it was, it looked like it was asleep again.
Instantly, the hind door fell out like a boarding ramp, and eight elves crashed out of the rear compartment. There were groans and grunts from the disorderly heap of skin and armour, with arms and legs effortfully trying to drag their owners out from the disorderly stack of elves who had taken Twister a notch too far.
“Hey,” Haiku wondered, “why is everyone else wearing a blue helmet?”
“And why are they all looking at Zenovia?” Aleraen noticed.
°°°
It was quiet. The entire day had been spent searching and marching, so the night held a well-deserved moment of rest. The wind still howled outside, so the expedition had set up camp deeper into the 'hangar', to shield themselves from the adverse weather conditions.
Odours of oils, steam, rusted metal and combustion pervaded the air more than the occasional smouldering campfire did. Tents were pitched near vehicles, walls, or anywhere else where some sort of shelter better than cloth was provided. Soldiers that had not spent their efforts searching were now on guard, keeping an eye out for the original occupants.
Zaniev groaned when he turned on top of his blanket. The floor wasn't exactly comfortable, being rock hard, dusty, and freezing cold. A blanket served for protection against the elements, he had reasoned, and the floor was more hostile than the steely air, so he preferred to lie on top of his sheet. He opened his weary eyes and looked about himself, reaching for his water flask (conveniently filled with scotch) for a nip.
To his surprise, he heard a metal clang when he turned, feeling a poke in his back. Instantly, a loud, pitched whine came from his back again, and two jets of red-hot air and fire blasted out of his tent. A blue pair of tubes were somehow strapped onto him, and Zaniev screamed when he was lifted off the floor, soaring into the hangar's airspace, heavily crowded by metal utilities, overhanging lights, and other objects that promised unpleasant collisions.
While caught completely by surprise, Zaniev put his mind to work. Being up was a bad idea; being down was a better idea. The levitation device on his back was secured to him with a few belts and straps—if he were low enough, he could free himself and escape certain death. So he nudged his balance down, finding himself diving to the floor at breakneck speeds while some elves poked their heads from their tents to assess the source of the infernal racket.
Zaniev timely aimed himself level with the floor again, and industriously worked to free himself without swaying left and right too much. He was still gaining speed, and turning predictably was becoming a little difficult. There, one strap gone, three more to go. But... was that a wall?
Oh, crap.
°°°
You're all sitting in a meeting again, scattered around in a space cordoned off by imaginary walls, mechanical devices and dusty crates. Thanks to someone's sick sense of humour, you haven't had a great deal of good sleep, what with the jet engines and attached elf soaring through the hangar.
There is no fire in the middle this time, but the area is still starkly lit by the powerful lights scattered around the hangar, making sure you can see every speck of dust, every spot of oil, and every scorch mark. Whoever built this place was not hung up on cleanliness.
Mioralynthia wipes some dust off a nearby crate to sit on, then wipes again... and finally puts down a book to seat herself on. “You've all undoubtedly heard about Zaniev's 'accident'. We're still looking around the scene, finding out what actually happened, but we're fairly sure malevolence was involved.”
With one of your number down, you find yourself reminded of the urgency of the situation. If this expedition is to succeed, the saboteurs must be found. Time is a scarce resource here, limiting the amount of people that can be interrogated effectively while still pursuing the objectives of this mission. How that time would be spent was entirely up to you and your fellows.
And so, with less drama or panic than you had imagined at first, the second meeting commences.
________________________
- Players
- Soupman
- LordAnubis
- Belial.
- lordofthenight
- Ashnari Doomsong
- Demendred
- Khelmor
- Draknir Reaverblade
- Aleraen
- Has Neledak
- beastmaster kurlan
- Aenarin
- Katash
- Shadow Dark
- 51la5
- SleekDD
- Deaths
- Drainial Shadowheart — Erudite
It is now Day. You may discuss and vote freely again. With 16 players left, 9 constitute a majority.
The activity deadline is set for Sunday, 20h00 GMT. The final deadline is yet to be decided, but will likely be around Tuesday evening.
People who have not submitted their actions for the Night should consider them forfeited. Late entries for actions are not accepted; the deadline has passed.
Note: If you took an action and received no feedback from me, that means nothing noteworthy happened. For instance, protectors that shield someone will typically not receive a message, and so will investigators who found nothing. However, if your ability was blocked for some reason, you will be notified.