Iwaku: Dark Reign

Status
Not open for further replies.
[DASH="blue"]"Please, have a seat, I'll make some coffee."

The apartment he leads me into...well, it's not the best, but it's not the worst. It does its job, but not much more-It's a nice place to sleep, but I wouldn't want to hang out here.

While he goes off to make coffee I just flop down on the couch and start inspecting the room. I'll need to know it fairly well if I want to jump back here for whatever reason, and something tells me that this apartment's going to become my home on this world.

Then Zypher took of his jacket and revealed himself to be a her, which was more than a bit surprising. It did explain why she sounded like she had a bad cold earlier, though...

"Gods that hurts, I tell you being a boy isn't much fun."
"Um, yeah...I can imagine..." Perhaps it's better not to tell her my experience on the subject.

She goes off to take a shower, leaving me alone with my thoughts. This world is a bit more hostile to new arrivals than I would like, but it looks like I've gotten a lucky break and some breathing room. Still, I'd be willing to bet that at some point soon those ISAF guys will try searching this apartment at random, so I'll need to move quickly...

Then Zypher comes out in some japanese bathrobe, and my attention is completely diverted towards her for a brief bit. Until politeness kicks in and I get back to examining the ceiling, of course.

"So, Zypher, how do people adjust the government to make it fit with the changing times?"
"They don't." She comes back with the coffee, setting it down on a small table in front of the couch. "The inner workings of the government are privy only to the Mad King and his servants, and they even keep their identities secret so nobody even knows who's in power."
"...And this is the same mad king who's abandoned this world?"
"Mad King, and yes."
"..Right..."

I sit up and drink some of the coffee; it is a horrible, bitter brew, and I swallow it greedily. I'm going to need friends if I want to succeed in this world and god only knows how many times I've been screwed over for minor gestures of rudeness.

That last question no doubt gave away that I am Not From Here, but she's still sitting quietly with her legs crossed, waiting for me to carry on. I doubt she's as dumb as bricks so she's probably just waiting for me to continue and eventually explain myself.

"Well that rules out a political solution...are there any rebellions going on?"
"Well, no, but-"
"Actually, scratch that, they tend to be just as bad as the people they replace."

I lean back for a bit, and start thinking for the long term-something I do exceedingly rarely, all things considered. What I really want here is a major change in the power scheme of this world, one that doesn't require me to maintain itself. The sort of thing that will change the face of the world for centuries, if not millenia to come...

"Zypher, I'm thinking of destroying the world. Want in?"[/DASH]
 
There is the screech of the bar stool against the floor as she stands.

"elitists!" she hisses through her sharp, clenched teeth. She picks up her suitcase, which leaves a dark, wet spot on the floor.

"too wrapped up in your own egos in this stinking cbox to notice the rest of us living in your fucking playground!" She's blind with anger, now. She knows she's going to have to make it past the Warmaster, then the streets swarming with ISAF, searching for her. That she would die alone-
 
[size=-2]
Kitti felt the tears string her eyes and had, in an instant, leapt up to grab the arm of the woman. Her face was contorted into a mask of agony, her hair bedraggled and milky white skin contrasted by stitches coated with dried blood that traced a slash across her neck. Kitti pulled her close to her face, exposing her to the heady scent of stale alcohol and iron.

"Tell me now, is there any hope? Do you have something to offer me, do you know anything, anything to bring back what I have lost?" her voice was hoarse now, as well as hushed to prevent being overheard. Her eyes were both desperate and still slowly dying. "I could get you out of this hellhole, if you know how to flee. But I have to know that my efforts had a chance, some way of restoring... I'll do anything. I would challenge the mad king myself, if only it could bring back the single thing I hold most dear."

Kitti felt uncomfortable, the prickle of her skin alerted her that she might soon be overheard by people coming too close to their conversation. It was a dangerous thing to discuss in a place where anyone could be paid the price to forfeit your life. Even the woman, Kitti did not trust, but if the plan was good enough, then hope was hope and faith was secondary.
​
​
[/size]
 
A chilled wind blows, bringing with it the scent of alcohol, cigarettes, and the sweet smell of decay through her hair. She smiles to herself, despite the trail of blood running from her mouth.

Tegan stares out at the jagged skyline.

Machinery_of_the_Stars_by_alexiuss-1.jpg



"Did you see it?"

"Yes, but only for a moment."

"It should be enough. Do you know what you must do?"

"I believe so."

"Then I'll leave you to do it."​
 
"My my, ain't that somethin'" I saw the smokey darkness form around, Grumpy and Asmodeus. What can I say curiousity got the better of me so I took a peep "Most people would've been sent up to the Madgod for havin' somethin' like that stuck in their chest" He looks like he's been through Hell, probably in some part to do with the ISAF attack dog outside looking like a predator bein' taunted with his prey.

"You been gone A long time Angel, left before the world turned to shit. Hell most of the world thought you were dead" A chuckle escapes my throat "Good to see they were wrong."
 
[dash=#483d8b]Zypher enjoyed her shower, it calmed her nerves and gave her time to think about the strange woman that she had allowed into her apartment. For some reason she felt that she could trust her. Her plans swam around in her head, her primary concern was getting the soulmates somewhere safe and let the rest of the world rot.

The discussion that unsued after she had returned to the living room caught her off guard. It seemed that Archy's goals were similar to hers.

"Destroying the world you say? We can't do that wantonly, there must be order where the Mad King has let chaos rule. On top of that we have to have someone left to help reshape and reforge the world. I have the perfect solution, the soulmates. They are oppressed but they are the easiest ones to reshape the future, they're mostly peaceful and the most available to repopulate. But we shouldn't involve them in our plans, we should find others like us and the best place to do that is the Cbox a local bar." She shrugged and walked back into her room getting dressed in female clothing.

It's strange to think that this is my disguise... She shook her head and got dressed, making sure to clip her holsters and pistols to her belt.[/dash]
 
'Medusa'.

A woman's whose entrancing beauty was warped by the Gods, transforming her into a monster whose very visage turned men to stone.

"Curious," I mutter, sitting back into my chair, the Angel finally looking me in the eye, "And you say this will happen again? I come to you for answers, Angel, and all you give me are more questions--"

"Well, ain't that something!" Booms a voice from my left, and my head snaps round to glare at the speaker. Power armour, more power armour. Not as thick as that worn by the man-mountain lurking outside, but of the same look. I hiss at the interruption, my eyes staring at those of the familiar man in the curious armour.
"It always confounds me," I whisper, just loudly enough that the Angel and the Warrior in Blue can hear, "That when two people choose to sit in the dark, gloomy corner of a bar, and surround themselves with a thick smoke, that individuals such as yourself believe they wish to be spoken to."

Without warning, I'm out from behind the table and pacing around the man. He's tall, far too tall for an ordinary man. His armour smells of battles and wars fought long ago, and his face shows the scars of such events, too. It's his eyes that intrigue me, though; unnaturally fierce.
"Your not the first of your kind I've met today, Warrior in Blue." I continue to circle around him, before suddenly whipping round to his front and staring him in the eyes, my legs extending in an unnatural manner. "What manner of being are you? You smell of man, but... changed. Moulded for battle, but not by magic I think." The air around us begins to smell of death as my magic takes effect, and my face becomes slightly more gaunt and skeletal.

My gaze is locked with his, and a grin spreads across my face. "Identify yourself... soldier."
 
[DASH="Blue"]Okay, that is not the reaction I was expecting. It was the one I was hoping for, sure, but most people will call you crazy when you ask them to help you destroy the world.

This place must really suck.

The whole soulmates just adds another tick to the list of things I don't know yet about this world. I'll have to see what sort of history and geography books I can brush up on once we get some free time-sure, it's part of my Standard Operating Procedure, but when I'm just doing adventurer work I can usually wing it.

Zypher's agreed to the basic idea, so I move to clear up some misconceptions she might have.

"Well, yeah. I don't know about you, but I don't have the sort of skills required to just run up and kill everyone. But we can arrange for a complete destruction of the current social order..."

Already though Zypher is two steps ahead of me, getting ready to go out and start recruiting others to help out with our effort. She doesn't even know the plan and already she's helping speed things along.

I really wish that people were always this helpful.

Pretty soon the two of us are headed out for a night on the town, and I feel a little out of place next to Zypher and her dress. My clothes aren't exactly feminine, to say the least, and if the Cbox has more than just the standard pub level of class I am woefully underdressed.

"So, this bar...what's it like?"[/DASH]
 
Myrnodyn seemed to sober up slightly, as he looked around him to make sure that no-one was near and everyone had other business. Kitti was still talking to the mysterious woman that had had bumped into her, the angel and the necromancer had retreated into a dark corner and seemed to want to be left alone themselves despite the man-thing joining them. No-one else seemed near enough to overhear their conversation and so the former shapeshifter scientist turned towards the barman again.

"Alright, I'll tell you. But keep silent about it okay? It's important." The slur was gone from his voice. Myrn was drunk enough to spill the story, but obviously not as drunk as he had pretended to be. He looked around again, perhaps a bit more shifty as he would have done normally.

"Tomorrow, what's left of the 'guild' will gather around the Bread Cult Bakery a few blocks south of here. We found out that aside from producing bread there, they also produce weapons and ammo for the ISAF and the cult itself. I think this could be our big break Torst... I mean, I would have robbed the place for the bread alone, seeing as how they aren't especially prone to giving it out to us unregistered."

Myrn kept silent for a moment, his gaze slid downwards to the bar and his drink and he decided to take a big gulp before continuing. The few shapeshifters with any sense of loyalty to the guild were hungry and hunted creatures, living mostly on feral instincts and whatever they could scrounge up from the back alleys of Iwaku.

"Engel be praised, I have to take this chance. If it continues like this, soon, we will be nothing more than the dark and twisted creatures popular lore would tell people we are. Nothing more than another Shadow prowling the slums and the C-box quarters." The shapeshifter looked up at Torsty again, sincerity in his eyes. "I'm telling you this because you've been a good friend to me, Torsty, despite our differences in the past. Please don't betray my trust."

After those last words had crossed his lips his eyes glazed over again and a grin spread over his face. "So how's about that whiskey, eh barkeep?" He said loudly, the slur back in his words and the wobble back in his head. "My glass is empty, y'know!"
 
I laugh escapes my lips as the necromancer asks me to explain myself "Name's Karsikan" my laughing subsides to a sinister smile "And there was a time when I was called Chaplain, then I learned a few things some would call...unnatural..." my smile revealed some of that, Shark Like teeth and barbed, dagger like tongue "Things that would destroy the mind of lesser beings," I stop smiling and take on a more serious tone, "But I'm sure you're familiar with sumthin' like that"

This Necromancer was powerful I'll give him that, but my really worry was the Animal outside. "And No, not moulded by magic, no fleshcraft you would know built me." I notice he's eye to eye with me now, soulless black eyes...Fitting

I can smell the death energy he's calling around us, looks like someone's angry at my interruption. doubt the Blood God would be too pleased though, this guy positively radiated death, and perhaps with the right push here and there...Gods, that's the old way of thinking coming out again, This place. Madness ruled it, but no madness that would ever serve the Will of Chaos, nothing the Gods could use to finish off the Corpse God once and for all.

"Now I've had my Introduction, tell me your's Necromancer."
 
The Cbox, ultimately christened the safe haven amongst rebellion movements. The government may dabble with it on occasion but for the most part it is generally untouched. Awhile back they sent a representative there, one they thought they could trust, Aragon Draco. This man was supposed to bring a piece of the main city there. Instead it turns out the High Councilman wants the man investigated for possible treason.

But that was not on Pirogeth's mind, not as much as the prisoner. "How long Piroko?" Her body seemed to endure the walk more than enjoy it. Her face remained blank as she answered.
"Too long." Of course she would be vague, but you could tell she was upset. Pirogeth believed it was his lack of action during the initial rebellion. If it was not for him she would probably not be in chains.
"Piroko, I'm sorry I got you into this." She looked at him confused. A cold chill ran down his spine as she stared at him.
"Are you really that naive? You did what you had to. I understood that, but what I don't understand is why you became this lap dog to the current government. Surely the place we are going is safe enough." She put up a good arguement, most of the cbox was safe to discuss anarchistic endeavors.
"Well if it is not me, then who? I think I have kept things sound for awile." His rebuttal was not really confident. Even with his Network there have been few times when Pirogeth was actually able to stop the ISAF. And after turning one more corner he confirmed yet another failure on his list. The Warmaster was standing outside a local pub, he looked to be bored as all heck. Waiting for confirmation to attack a target was not always fun. "Good for his heart I suppose." He said and continued on. Just down the street was the local residence of the Cbox Representative. He liked his quarters being near what he called 'The Life of the City.'
"Do you really intend to kill him if he does not cooperate?" Piroko questioned straightening out her blonde hair.
"Hostility is the last thing I want. We are only here to gather information." He was about to head up the steps of the large victorian building but he took a moment to think. "You know what, I should still be able to defend myself if you are just down the street. Why don't you go to the pub and enjoy a drink. I'll be there when I'm done." She looked at him with a bit of concern but finally acknowledged his request. Walking up the rest of the stairs Pirogeth knocked on the door. A servant, more than likely a shifter based on its smell, answered the door. "Good...evening. I am Pirogeth Council Advisor, is Aragon available for a routine performance update?" The servant stayed there looking at him for a bit. He seemed captivated and ti was a bit unnerving. Eventually the glare was broken and he went to go get his master.
"Pirogeth? What a suprise. Please come on in. The cbox can be a bit dangerous towards government members."

-The Bar

Piroko entered it after receiving a few looks from the ISAF. Her device on her back was hidden enough with a plain shirt, so it didn't single her out too much. She continued to straighten out her mangled hair as she took an empty seat. "I just hope Pirogeth doesn't piss anyone off."
 
At the opposite end of the Cbox, in the corner across from me, the evening's entertainment shows up. A Shifter, here to dance and give a taste of pleasures brought for a little extra in the backrooms. The jazz band on the old stage strikes up a wild tune and she goes with it, twisting around the pole, rolling and writhing like the beast withing. I wonder how much of it's for our pleasure and how much is a reflection of the anger she carries with her. The girl draws equal share of jeers and smiles from the drinkers - they want her and despise her at the same time. The Shifter's particular curse. No wonder Myrn has turned away. No wonder he drinks. Anything to drown the truth that his people have been whored to the highest bidder.

As she bares her body I cover mine up, pulling my coat across the bloodied book before the Space Marine can see anymore. He's an interferring asshole, but Grumpy's got him engaged. Probably a grunt from the Barship... if that thing even exists in this place. I should ask him what's happened to the Warmaster out there... But the truth is, I don't care enough to talk to the Marine, not with the way he's acting. The two killers are exchanging smiles and standoffs and it reminds me of a worser part of myself. A part that burned the closest things to him...

I can't sit here and listen to it.

Getting up, still wincing from my wounds, I leave the Necromancer to think on what I've shown him and make a return to the bar, sidestepping a girl with mangled hair who barely acknowledges my existence.

I'm considering another shot of goldenrod when something freezes me. And I stand there, a few feet from the bar, between Myrnodyn and Kitti who are each wrapped up in their own dialogues.

And I just stare.

There's a selection of food in a cabinet behind the drinks bottles. Nothing a sane man would ever consider buying - some old bags of peanuts, potato chips, cold pizza, stale carrot cake.

And a plate of glazed spam.

All of a sudden, I'm thinking about the fall again... about the golden apartment block I saw before I hit the ground.

And then I'm thinking of the word on my chest. Medusa.

Medusa... glazed spam... the apartment block.... glazed spam... Medusa...

What the fuck is the Cycle trying to tell me?

One of the drinkers makes a grab for the dancer and the vikings are on him in seconds. The brief scuffle at the stage brings me out of my trance and I blink, looking right to notice Kitti holding the arm of a suitcase-bearing woman whose just stubbed out her cigarette. The alleycat seems distressed, while the other dame has a touch of fury in her countenance.

And why do I feel I have to keep Kitti out of trouble?

Moving in, I put my hand on Kitti's arm, trying to ease away the savage grip she's placed on the stranger. The other woman looks like she's set for a long trip - white coat, hat covering brunette curls, and a suitcase already damp from its travels. Maybe Kitti was trying to hitch a ride out of town with her.

"Is there a problem?" I ask, to neither one in particular.

 
"fuck off!" She snatches her arm from Kitti's grip. Snarling, she whirls to Asmodeus, her pupils slit with anger. Suitcase still in hand, she puts her hands to his chest, and with surprising strength, shoves him.

Rather than take the blow, the angel receives it. Asmodeus takes two steps back, keeping just ahead of her hands. With nothing to transfer the momentum too, she loses her balance and stumbles. Her eyes widen in shock when her fingers run across something broad and smooth in his chest. She catches herself, and takes a step back, panting from her previous rage. She looks calm, but the angel can see the hate in her eyes.

"yeah there's a fucking problem;im trapped in this goddamn city because someone got isaf pissed off." She growls, her Noobish accent showing through.
 
Ulcer's acting up, like a beetle nested in my stomach. I feel the pain but it registers surreal.

I hear the siren howling the hour but I do not check my watch.

Broken anyways.

No one believed Paorou could slay the day when he babbled it first in Iwaku. The world, myself included, regarded him as mad…a warlord drowning on a sanity-starved mind gone wanting. Of course, we never considered there was power in that cobbled head. The clouds had descended swiftly, stifling the light from the sky. Imagine the panic…imagine the depression. There were some screaming outrage, others curled within themselves. Paorou had done the one thing Asmodeus had never attempted in his many conquests.

He had sealed the heavens.

We had our doubts when Asmodeus claimed to be The Shadow. Hell, I fought Chaos firmly believing that angel was in the right. He was overdramatic, a bit too optimistic of us perhaps but never evil. Paorou? I think true evil can only exist within a vacuum…where good has never touched.

Paorou is that vacuum.

People cling to alleys and doorways like lost shadows, skittish creatures with neither spine nor heart. When the undead took the streets, most poured their hopes into gutter. Those that saved theirs…ended up like Kitti. I shiver, but not from wind. Maybe I should visit again, but I doubt she'd recognize me. She didn't last time and those scars were all the accusations I could stand.
No one fought Paorou.

People may have struggled, may have pretended to rise up, but no one really fought him.
Asmodeus had left Iwaku and no one else could shoulder a flag. Had the angel expected me too? Sometimes I think he did. We weren't on speaking terms when he vanished, feathered myth into wispy legend, but he had looked at me before ascending. Just one look, volumes of history in those amber eyes, and I knew he wanted me to do something.
Maybe to lead.

Brushing my fingers over the open clock face, I read the time it stopped on. Exactly a minute to midnight, one measly click from completing a day. My next assignment waits for me on the desk. It's stamped with all the right raised lines and I read it the best I can, sometimes people don't format correctly. It's an assassination, like always…and the target is described as an angel. I try not to let the image of Asmodeus get in the way, but I'm already thinking about him. When the council says jump, I ask how high…and then go higher. If they want me to cut the heart out of an angel, I'll do it…or damn well try. If they want me to cut my own heart out, I'll do it…and grin the whole way.

But they never ask.

I take the cane and my sword, rusted as it is. I don't know that, but I'm told by others that it is. No matter how I clean, it remains stained. But I doubt that's surprising. The cane was needed at first, the world is darker now…darker still without eyes, but I learned to cope. As punishment for seeing a future I did not commit to resolve, I was blinded. For supporting Asmodeus and failing the people, I was bound to this loathsome existence. No one cares, not really. Who is Jack Shade but the fallen hero with mottled history? Was I a Rory man? Was I my own man? Was I Asmo's man? Nobody knows and people are through caring. I did not lead when Asmo left and so I'm left with this, to be a dog at the beck and call of everyone else. Lately it's assassinations, they found I enjoyed cleaning scum too much. They tattoo the rules into my mind, a mantra repeating in my head . The first rule is obedience, obey the council, obey the antagonists, obey the allies, obey the lovers, obey the tricksters, heed the heralds. The second rule is commitment, the first rule can only be ignored if it is in violation of the second rule. Assignments given must be carried out at all costs. Shirk and you will suffer. Stop and an innocent will die. Third is the rule of preserverence. Your life must be preserved if possible and you may not receive orders contrary to this directive save directly from the Council. Attempt to do so and we will darken the lives of those you care for.

Three rules.

Many years.

All in darkness.

The ISAF won't bother me, not here. My punishment is my mark and to kill me would be a blessing. For the abandoner of Iwaku, he with words of commitment and never following though, there is only disdain and scorn. I don't mind, it kinda fits me really. No one counting on me? Great. All I have to do is follow the words given to me and all will remain the same.

Hey…nobody's changing the world for the better right?

Why should I?

Ulcer acts up again, or maybe its something else…something worse. I pray for cancer. Word had it he was somewhere in town. All I have to do is wander till I find him. I have a knack for running into the wrong people…I'll be in his presence soon enough.
 
[size=-2]
Kitti felt her desperation ebb when Asmodeus's touch prompted her to release the woman's arm, leaving blooming red marks where the fingers had stubbornly clamped. Kitti trembled, her eyes stinging with tears again, but before she could answer the scene before her unfolds, Asmo taking the brunt of another hit when the woman pushed at him. The look of fear on the face of the woman gave Kitti pause as she turned to examine him but he was already looking with some expression on his face at the woman with the n00b accent. Was that revulsion, contempt, or something else that she couldn't decipher?

Kitti wrapped her arms around herself, taking deep breaths. Coping was the hardest thing she had tasked herself with, feeling emptiness everywhere that she went. No one cared anymore for the jaded shell of what had been one of the angels. Kitti had been forsaken by everyone - Rory had disappeared, vanished, as though he never existed, from her life. Jack Shade had been missing to the world, caught in his own self-hatred and weak uncertainty. Things had not been on the rise for Kitti, the war had stripped her of what she held most dear and Paorou had taken the rest.

Once, Kitti had been classed a trickster, with her master. Now, she had no identity, no master. She could have been a lover, but her love was tightly constrained and came only with grief. Not for the first time, watching Asmo stand there over the woman, did Kitti consider that she had no place in the cycle. The worry that had crossed Asmodeus's face, however, that brought Kitti back to the present, the doing instead of thinking.

"Th-thank you, Asmodeus" she mumbled, retreating closer to his body like a stray kitten pulling closer a wall for the comfort, the stability of it. Of all the people that Kitti had thought she could trust in, before this, he had not been one. She felt a little guilty for this now, her harsh view of the man who had come to her aid now twice. There was repentance and gratitude in her expression as she edged closer to him, taking care not to jostle or bump and stopping only a small distance from actually touching his torso.
​
​
[/size]
 
Musical Score: playing to win - Little River Band

The drunk stumbled, his outstreched hand slapping Piroko full in the face as he tumbles, and there is a rumble as WMD activates his powerfist

"Council agent under attack, moving to support" he growled over the radio, moving forwards, sniper bullets bouncing off the thick plate of his armor
"viking snipers in upper levels, tertiary targets" he said as he plowed through the wall of the C-box, his storm bolter directed in the direction of Asmodeus
"Primary target spotted, engaging" he growled, but even as his finger tightened on the trigger of the storm bolter, the shifter dancer, in a frantic attempt to escape, got between them, and her body first shoot as six bolts slammed into her, then a fraction of a second later her body erupted in a shower of blood, bone and ichor as the bolts detonated, but before the bulky assailant could fire another fusilade, a bright flash of blue slammed into his storm bolter, the weapon utterly destroyed by the impact.

Torsty lowered the plasma pistol, a parting gift from the a now dead barship-viking liaison officer, the weapon's cell overheated for the moment
"Kohler" the Warmaster growled as he lowered the mangled and melted remains of his wrist, moving to engage Asmodeus with his powerfist.
 
Introduction.

He wants me to tell him my name.

My name.

It's on the tip of my tongue, an illusive word that I can almost say, like a half-remembered dream.

"Perhaps..." I mutter, watching the Angel move across the bar, "...another time, Warrior in Blue who calls himself Karsikan. Perhaps when I remember it myself, yes?" My face, my skull, splits into a demented grin, and I slide around the warrior to move after Angel-boy.

Medusa. An apartment block that shone like gold. "This has happened before," the Angel said, "And it will happen again."

Trying to make sense of it is an exercise in pointlessness; there simply isn't enough information to go on. If the Angel wants answers, he will need to go find them. I want answers myself, but of a different sort, and I know my best chance at getting them will be with the Angel. Looks like I'll be accompanying Angel-boy, then, doesn't it?

I'm about to share such thoughts with him when Captain Freight-Train outside decides he'd like to come in, demolishing the wall as he rumbles about primary and tertiary targets. Cursing, I move towards the Angel as the dancer girl is torn to shreds in a hail of fire from the new patron in the bar. Behind the bar, the Viking leader lights up his weapon and destroys the gun attached to the Warmaster's arm.

He's still got that power fist, though, and I have no wish to be on the business end of that again.

Bedlam has ensued as I reach the Angel; patrons are fleeing in all directions, hiding under tables or just stood, rooted to the spot in shock from the Warmaster's entry. I grab Asmodeus by the shoulder and point to the backdoor.
"Bring your friends, I think it's time we left don't you?" I yell over the noise with a wild grin on my face. Behind me, I can hear the Warmaster stomping closer, ready to deal out some damage with that power-fist of his.

So I aim not to be here by the time he arrives at this spot. If Angel-boy wants to come with me, fair enough. If not, his fight, not mine.

It's a lovely bar, but I've no sudden wish to die for it.
 
I notice The Necromancer and Asmodeus move, leaving that powerfist on a collision course for me.... and it's stops, caught in a single gauntlet that now features talons the size of a man's torso. "Evenin' Pup. Bad night for you to show up here, inni't?" My right boot slams into his Breastplate. Though not powerful enough to break the armor, but enough to send him stumbling backwards a few meters.

"Seems you'll get some time to remember before we meet again, I'd suggest you and your friend get out of here before things start to get rowdy"

The First thing I felt was Hate, Not against The Warmaster, but the ISAF, for turning one of my Brothers into a rabid animal, this madman who runs Iwaku, the new bastardized ISAF. All of them had to be destroyed....The Emperor ignored my prayers of vengeance, and allowed this place to grow corrupt, but someone else, possibly several someones else, heard. Loud and Clear.​
 
-The Bar

Piroko was shocked for a second that a random hand had slapped her. This in turn seemed to spark something deep within her, something she managed to keep under control for the most part. Quickly her surprise turned to anger and just as the Warmaster burst through the wall her hand gripped the drunk patron's neck with amazing force. She threw him onto the table her eyes wide and focused. His choking was muffled by the shots of storm bolter and the explosion of the shifter. She was only brought out of this psychotic trance as the Warmaster was kicked into a stumble which ended up in the local tank heading on a collision course with her and the struggling man. She rolled out of the way but her victim wasn't so lucky becoming the foothold he needed to stop. Piroko rubbed her cheek wondering if she caused all this simply because she shared the same soul signature as Pirogeth. Sitting on the side of the hole the Warmaster made upon entering she waited for things to quiet down, and for Pirogeth to come get her.

-Aragon's Estate

"So have you come to convince me of allowing the ISAF into the pub? Because I have already given my position on it to the High Councilman."
"I already know your position, always standard high threat protocol." Pirogeth mumbled as they entered the rather large living room. There were two sofas there surrounding a coffee table with a rug made of fine fur from an animal probably extinct. The two windows in the room looked out over his back courtyard and the front slums. Almost like looking into two different worlds if you forgot where you were.
"So what have you come here for?" Aragon asked sitting down on the sofa closest to his courtyard window.
"Simple checkup nothing besides that."
"Well as you see I have a wonderful home, a great set of individuals ready to carry out my every whim, and I get my work done when everyone wants it. Aside from the occasional visitor I am pretty much content." The servant came around bringing them tea. "Care for some Piro? It is made fresh from my garden in the back."
"I'd refrain from calling me by that nickname." Pirogeth eyed the representative. He knew how to push his buttons but at the same time he knew most everything this man did. "The past is not something I wish to bring up, it is the future. After all with so much happening around us it will not be long until we question certain aspects of our society." After taking a small sip of his tea Aragon looked to his inquisitor with a smile on his face half expecting something to come out of his mouth.
"What kind of aspects?"
"Numerous. Like your police force, perhaps a bigger budget toward them. The creation of a solid modern society. Even the possible disbanding of the ISAF. As time moves on the world shrinks. It is our jobs to make it larger." Aragon got up still clutching his tea. He walked toward the window behind him.
"A model society. Almost like my back yard. But there is a problem. Each person has their own back yard, they treat it with different levels of affection and care. In essence everyone's back yard is special. To turn a whole society into the same mess you lose your property. Your sanctuary is infested with the filth you want to escape. To that end I speak my mind, Pirogeth. I will not have this world lost in a pseudo-utopia you call progress." He was taken back by these words. The same ideals both Piroko and himself had shared. Nostalgic to think about but also dangerous. The next best thing was to report nothing but he knew he was under command of the Higher Councilman. To leave him be after this outburst was simply against the code. Overlooking it was like trying to not see that large elephant in the room and thus you had to do something about it.
"I'm sorry, but your back yard will not hear from you for awhile." Pirogeth's remorse in his voice caught Aragon's attention again. He looked toward the Advisor but also caught a glimpse of something else.
"You! You distracted me long enough for the ISAF to come up with a reason! Shifters!" The servant from earlier had been replicated at least ten times; but it was not replication, the shifters took on the form of the same individual. "You see I still care for what the Iwaku was and I'm not letting some low level no talent Advisor ruin that for me." Pirogeth tried to manifest a means to defend himself, but his earlier estimation was off. The pub was just out of reach. There were a few sparks in his hand but nothing more. The shifters grappled him and tied his arms and legs up. Aragon put a bag over his head, it had to be filled with chloroform or something to that effect. As soon as it was put over him he lost all will to fight, think, even stay conscious. He heard one last sentence though.
"Keep him alive, we'll bring him to Torsty's lot."
 
A bead of sweat runs down the side of her neck, just as something dark and red drips from her suitcase. The droplets splatter the floor. That's about when the wall exploded.

She opens her eyes, she's been knocked back by the blast, her ears are ringing, her hat is gone, she still holds the suitcase, there's a sea of blood and cigarettes on the floor, people are screaming.

Asmodeus and the Necromancer are already back on their feet, she follows their line of sight to a back door. She can make it to the door, she has ways, but they won't, not in time for it to matter, anyway. She still needs their help getting out of the city.

Maybe they can owe her.


Her heels slide across the blood-soaked bar floor, Neko ears flatten against her scalp. Silently, she slips between Asmodeus and the Necromancer, her face white with fear, her eyes burning with rage.

"you cunts owe me for this!"

She crouches, reaches into her suitcase and withdraws the skeletal remains of the F.Y.A umbrella. "stay behind me!" And Feral is running through the fray, towards the back door.

The Necromancer is hot on her heels without the slightest hesitation.

It takes Asmodeus only a moment to take Kitti by the arm and follow suit.

The ringing in their ears is replaced by a dull thunder, the air seems thicker, as if they're surrounded by a protective bubble. Shrapnel, bodies, furniture, spells, bottles fly over their heads as they hurry, keeping low, through the chaos.

The heel on Feral's shoe breaks off, sending her stumbling into the back door. It gives under the impact, sending the four spilling into the back alley. The wet garbage bags are there to break their fall.

"shit!" Feral hisses, kicking off her now worthless shoes. "those were my favorite." She's on her bare feet, ready to keep running. The Necromancer plucks a wet cigarette butt from his cheek, somehow able to appear aloof and alert at once. Asmodeus and Kitti had fallen together in a heap, and had to take a moment to untangle their limbs. His hand instinctively flies to his vitals, checking for damage.

Splsh!

His eyes shoot down to his torso, to inspect the gaping wound.

"Are you all right?" Kitti whispers urgently from behind.

"Yes," he gasps hoarsely, starring at the pink pulp in his hand.

"It's just glazed spam."
 
Status
Not open for further replies.
Top Bottom
Back