Iwaku SHATTERED - Redux

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Re: Iwaku SHATTERED

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<table ALIGN="CENTER"]><tr><td width=175 align="center">Marvin</td><td width=184 align="center">Sergeant Spears</td><td width=198 align="center">Jake</td></tr></table>​

"It creeps me out when he does that, man," Marvin muttered as he watched Karsikan move away. Sergeant Spears was stretched out on the floor of the hanger, his eyes closed as his burnt skin continued flaking away from the healthier flesh beneath. It was like watching the man on a fast-forwarding film - Karsikan's magic achieving what might have taken months otherwise.

"He's gonna have some serious munchies when he wakes up," said Jake, scratching his neck as he looked down at the Sergeant.

"Yeah... remember when Karsikan fixed my rib? I got me the cravings for sponge cake. Shit man, I don't even like sponge cake."

"Yeah, who would'a thought biomantic hijacking of the nervous system would be so problematic?" Jake's sarcasm was lost on Marvin, who was kneeling now and prodding the Sergeant's chest. Minutes passed. The others in the hangar were slowly being triaged, while others moved outside to view the desert. The surfer was shouting about something, and Aeolus and Raymond were sharing grim discourse. It was a few minutes before Jake cocked his head, scowling a little. "Is that music?" He cocked his head again, as if sniffing the air. The sounds of a melancholic violin were floating in with the sunlight. "I hear music.... Marv...?"

He looked down to see his friend stifling a tear.

"Shit man, that's beautiful..." Marvin sobbed.

"What the hell?"

"I love you, man. I just want you to know... if we don't get out of this..."

"OKAY!" Jake interrupted, before turning on his heel and walking away from his blubbering friend. The engineer followed Doctor Surgeon out of the hangar, watching as the the Doctor's tirade silenced the mysterious violinist.

"Yes, yes. Enough, enough already. What are you again? An Ex-Finned? Some sort of amphibious castaway trading scales and fins for the ability to play murder into the ears of others? I have a fantastic way you can assist. Kindly point your noise making machine at any enemy we come across, that they might hear and die in agony rather than us. Or, or, or, if you feel so inclined, you can remove your skin and fashion a blanket of it to ward off the cold...or...or, perhaps best yet. Let us feed your stringed...stringed...thing into a fire that we may all benefit from the end of such an abominable invention."

As the speech came to an end, Jake leaned out from behind the surgeon and gave a half-hearted wave to Exvind. "Hey." Then he looked to Raymond and Aeolus. "I guess we're going to need water, right?"

Marvin came out of the ship and stood next to Jake, blowing his nose on a field dressing.



Spears falls to sleep after being healed. Marvin gets over-emotional at the sound of Exvind's violin. Jake asks Aeolus about the water situation.
 
Re: Iwaku SHATTERED

[size=+1]A new face in the most unlikely of places.

I mean, really, I can't say I was expecting to meet anyone new in this desert.

He 'assumes I'm the leader' of the crew and gives us a warning regarding the nature of the desert. Then he's producing a violin from an old battered case and has started to play. Now I've heard musicians before; even in this doomed world some still find time to play instruments. But goddamn if this guy isn't one of the best I've heard in a long time. Possibly ever. The music spreads through the open doors and into the ship, reaching the ears of my fellow survivors, and for a moment we all just take the time to stop and listen.

And then it's all over again.

"...I am Exvind...pleasure to meet you all....that being said, the sun plays tricks. Nightfall will come far sooner than expected, and you will want to be prepared...all this heat will turn to cold. I will help as best as I am able..." I look the man up and down, taking in what I can about him, as the good Doctor Surgeon and Na'ava express their… distaste at the music that has just been played.
"Relax the both of ye'," I chide, intervening just as the doctor's finished with the skin-removal threats, "Jus' cos ye' don' l'ke h's play'n doesn't mean ye' need t'threaten th' man, now." I turn back to the new arrival and quickly shake the man's hand. "Name's Aeolus. Guess ah'm the one 'n charge here for now. An' we could use whatever help we can get. 'F ye've got any med'cal sk'lls we could sure as fuck use them."

Several of the other survivors are now peering out the door at Exvind, and I note the wary looks in their eyes. Understandable; given what they've just been through they're going to be slow to trust. Still, if he makes himself useful and doesn't try to kill us I'm sure they'll warm up to him soon enough. Jake and Marvin step out of the ship and move over to join me, the taller man giving a brief wave to the new arrival as his comrade blows his nose on a field dressing.
"I guess we're going to need water, right?" Jake asks, looking towards Raymond and myself.
"Tha' we w'll, an' soon," I observe, a note of concern in my voice, "Let's hope th' sh'p has some, or else tha' our new fr'end knows where we can get it. Otherw'se we're go'n t'be 'n an even worse way than we are now."

Exvind begins to move back off into the ship with some of the other survivors, my eyes following him as he leaves. I still don't trust him yet. I can't afford to, after all; he's some wastelander who's come wandering in and offered to help out of the blue. Maybe his intentions are noble but I can't count on that. Still, right now we need the help so I can't afford to risk driving him away. The situation calls for a more subtle approach. I motion Jake, Marvin and Raymond closer so they can hear me talking quietly.
"Le's be keep'n an eye on the new guy, alr'ght? Hopefully he's who he says he 's, but there's always the chance he's not. Jus' keep an eye on him, make sure he's not up t'any funny sh't. An' 'f he does start act'n we'rd? Let me know, yeah?"

* * *​

Exvind's warning is right on the money; night comes round sooner than expected. The broken sun fades from view as the temperature drops and the night kicks off it's stay for the next several hours.

The wounded have been treated as best we can and we've rationed out what food we managed to get on the ship. The supplies are pretty minimal at best but we've got enough supplies to last us a few days yet. It's water that's concerning me; we didn't have much to start with and we're almost out of that. Still, that's a problem for tomorrow. This old relic's build from technology from a better time, so perhaps there's some supplies on board. If not, Exvind may know the location of a water supply not too far away. There's also the small matter of getting the ship up and running again. Even if we had landed somewhere that's actually, you know, liveable, I'd still want to be moving on. I guess crashing in a fucking desert is just an extra incentive.

Goddammit. I shouldn't be thinking about this stuff right now. I should be trying to get some sleep.

Guards have been posted on the doors to make sure we're as safe as we can be; after what these people have been through I think they deserve a little peace of mind. I say 'guards'; they're survivors as scared as the rest of us but have weapons to give them a little bit of courage. Still, they'll give us a bit of warning should anything happen. Not that it will; this is a desert, after all. There's nothing else out--

"AEOLUS! THERE'S SOMETHING OUT THERE!"

The yelling startles me out of my daze and I'm scrambling for my revolver as one of the guards comes running towards me. He looks unnerved to say the least; never a good sign.
"Wha's go'n on?" I call to him as we run back towards the doors of the hanger.
"Come take a look." Around us some of the others are beginning to stir from their sleep, many of them woken by the shouting. We sprint out of the doors to meet the other guard, who's pointing out into the darkness of the desert. Immediately I understand their concerns.
"Ah, fuck…" I mutter, my heart beginning to pound slightly.

Our surroundings are almost pitch-black, the sands concealed from our view by the encroaching night.

Except for several lights out in the distance.

Lights that are approaching our airship a little too fast for my liking.

Aeolus chides Doctor Surgeon and Na'ava for being aggressive towards the new arrival and welcomes Exvind's offer for help, but privately asks Jake, Marvin and Raymond to keep an eye on him in case he is a danger to the survivors.

Time passes and night arrives; most of the group is attempting to get some sleep when Aeolus is woken by one of the guards posted on the doors. Lights can be seen out in the darkness of the desert, and they are approaching the airship.
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Re: Iwaku SHATTERED

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<table ALIGN="CENTER"]><tr><td width=175 align="center">Marvin</td><td width=184 align="center">Sergeant Spears</td><td width=198 align="center">Jake</td></tr></table>​

FIVE MINUTES EARLIER...

"OHMN NOHM NOHM NOHM!"

"Hey Jake, you ever go to church?"

"OHMN NOHM NOHM NOHM!"

"Jessy says our kids get enough stupid notions from me."

"OHMN...UUGH.. NAU... UHHRP!!"

"I tried one of them Bread Sermons once."

"That explains some things."

Marvin gave Jake the finger and went back to smoking his cigarette. He was leant against the airship's outer hull, rifle against his shoulder and boots buried in the growing bank of sand that was being blown against the ship. The temperature had plummeted and the night was ink black. The only light came from Jake's small hexamine burner, which he had set up in the hangar doorway. The engineer tended to the fire whilst beside him Sergeant Spears was tearing open their ration packs and devouring the cold foods inside.

"OHMN NOHM NOHM!!"

"So this preacher gets up and he starts yapping 'bout somethin' called synchronicity." Smoke, sand and misted breath swirled around Marvin as he spoke. "He said that somethin' in Iwaku messes with the brain's pack instinct. See, when yer in trouble, yer supposed to be wary of strangers, and when you ain't in trouble, yer supposed to be accommodatin'. But this fella reckoned that in Iwaku it's the other way round. See, when we ain't got the blood pumping, we treat most folk like they ain't important, like they ain't part of our story or like extras or some shit. But when we're fighting or a clusterfuck's happenin', we straight-up trust whoever comes and helps us. We form a group and don't question each other's motives." Marvin took another ponderous drag of his cigarette. "This preacher said the best way to join a group in Iwaku is to do it when the group's distracted. That way they ain't got time to suspect you of nothin', and they usually forget how you turned up anyway."

"You're the philosopher of our time, Marv," Jake answered. Beside him Spears tore open another ration pack and emptied powdered milk down his throat. His chest had healed over quite nicely. But his appetite would take longer to sate.

"Just reminded me, is all. I mean fuck, man, we're taking orders from a girl who don't speak right..."

"I can see how that would upset you."

"...and medical tips from a psycho in a bird mask. Then some glowing prick is turning his skin green while a dame bursts into spontaneous song and another dame rants 'bout the Mushroom King and a guy with a surfboard hams it up. Then a violinist turns up? An' we all act like we're friends now?! Shit's FUBAR, Jake. FU-fucking-BAR."

Spears made a grab for Jake's ration pack. The engineer pulled the food away. "Sarge, wait - no!"

Scchiing!

Spears brought a blade to Jake's throat, the combat knife trembling in his hand. The man's eyes were glazed and food was dribbling down his chin. Jake stayed very still. "Sarge... it's me... Jake..." He carefully lifted his hand and put a finger on the blade. "You're eating all the rations, Sarge." He eased the knife away from his throat.

Spears blinked a few times, looked at the blade, lowered it, then swallowed. "Sorry," he muttered. Then he pulled his blanket over him and laid back on the floor of the hangar. Jake put his ration pack in his opposite pocket.

"Let's not let Karsikan heal anyone else, okay?"

"FUCK!" Marvin yelled suddenly. His rifle came up into the braced position and his legs kicked their way from the minature sand dune they were buried in. "Fuck man!"

Jake looked up then followed his friend's gaze, out into the desert darkness. There were lights in the distance and they were getting larger by the second.

"Shit shit shit!" Marvin dodged around Jake and ran back into the hangar, yelling at the top of his voice. "AEOLUS! THERE'S SOMETHING OUT THERE!"

Jake remained in the hangar door, watching the lights as people woke up behind him. And when Marvin returned with Aeolus the engineer simply pointed into the night, showing her what they had seen.

[size=+1]"Ah, fuck…"[/size]

"Maybe they'll join our group while we're distracted," Jake murmured.





Jake and Marvin take watch, discussing the absurdity of their situation whilst Spears replenishes his carbs. They then see the lights and alert Aeolus.
 
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Re: Iwaku SHATTERED


I awoke with a jolt, draped in heavy cloth.

The cloth, as it turned out, was a coat, weighty between my fingers and possessing a strangely familiar scent. The familiarity was explained upon my vision clearing; it was the same coat as the man I'd pounced in the back room of the inn, the same fabric I'd felt as I pinned him to the floor. The same inn that had begun to burn as all hell broke loose, just before a sharp pain and then nothingness claimed me. My memories were more muddled and fragmented than ever, but for the face of that man. Where was I now? Had he brought me here, as the coat would suggest? And if so, where was he?

Had he also been the one to strike me? I suspected he had. My teeth gritted a little at that. Why would he bring me along?

As my eyelids lifted further amid the haze and pounding ache that mired my mind, I suddenly became aware that I was not alone. The hair on the back of my neck stood up on end, and within seconds I was in a crouch, hissing and clutching the coat to my chest. Alert and raised voices echoed throughout what seemed to be a ship; that must have been what woke me.


 
Re: Iwaku SHATTERED


Karsikan sat, on a crate along the outside of the ship since the man with the violin showed up, Let the humans sing and dance and complain. On rare occasion someone's comment would actually bring a morbid grin. He had a few supplies on him still, and took a mental inventory. He had enough food to leave the humans behind and could possibly find, but a few of them he actually had some degree of respect for, combined with his armor's still functioning waste re-processors he'd still likely out last everyone if they didn't get supplies soon. His mind began to drift off as the sun sank in the sky, trying to figure out what happened and how he got here.


Memory, his was far better than those he traveled with, but even what he could remember was chaos. He remembered the Gellar Field giving out, forcing his ship to drop out of warp. He remembered traveling iwaku, fighting a giant transforming stone sphere, a mad angel, finding each drop pod containing his brothers still sealed, their corpses inside....outrage, guilt....and then chaos as the very world broke apart...something wasn't quite right about the last one, it was as if he was reliving it so much as watching from a vid-screen, rather than actually being there.

Then the collector attack, how long had it been between those events? he'd lost count of the years. What stuck out to him the most, was that he could now practically taste the warp-stink of a Daemon nearby.

Marvin's scream for Aeolus snapped him out of his reverie, lights approaching the airship fast. even with superior night vision the shift in the lighting messed up his adjustment, it wasn't likely that he'd discover what this was any sooner than the others. Enough time to deal with the daemon later, he wanted to observe it first.

He stood, readied his crossbow and began planting the javelin sized in the sand around him for quicker access. If he was to be attacked, this time he'd be ready for it.

Summary: GMK tries to remember what happened to the world, considers ditching everyone and prepares for whatever the hell those lights are that are coming towards the ship.
 
Re: Iwaku SHATTERED


Bristling with the request of the girl who managed to crash the ship and kill a couple of people on board, the almost condescending demand to not threaten the violinist just because Na'ava didn't like his playing, Na'ava twirled the marker in her hands with narrowed eyes. She was on the verge of a retort, a reminder that he'd just wandered in and acted like it was his prerogative to assault the ears of the crew just because he could. For now, however, she would simply rest. Her mind, however, would not let her rest and before she knew it, there was yet another commotion.

She wanted to say something, to put the nagging fury at the back of her mind to rest. She bit back the words in favor of staring, awe-struck at the approaching lights. Even still, her thoughts could not, would not, leave her alone. She had to speak or be tormented by wanting to do so.

"Well, at least we're not alone out here" Na'ava hissed, instantly interested in the lights. If they were collectors, the lot of them would likely die out here and that would be the end of their brief, if tragic, tale. If they weren't though... NA'ava glanced around. She'd happily take the chance to get away from the violinist if possible and the girl who thought she could give the rest of them orders. Turning on her heel, prepared to head to the exit of the ship, Na'ava spotted the violinist standing nearby.

Taking advantage of everyone else's distraction, she stepped closer to him. Using the marker to gesture, she hissed at him in a barely audible whisper "Don't waltz in like you own the place and start assaulting the ears of those of us with more acute hearing. There's no one here who's the master of me, so I suggest that you don't do it again." Antagonist and adept at making friends as always, Na'ava turned sharply, her hair forming a brown whip behind her as she snapped instantly back into walking toward the door, satisfied that she wouldn't have to hear the sound again.

"Who wants to go find out what the lights are?" she asked brightly.​
​
Na'ava threatens Exvind while the others are distracted by pretty lights. Decides she wants to investigate and asks for volunteers to help.
 
Re: Iwaku SHATTERED

At first the wind was hot and mean but quite rapidly it turned cold and probably more mean. Effort had begun to relax, some people wondered if the cold bothered him because he had removed his boots, socks, and jacket. The cold didn't affect him much and he felt more comfortable barefoot, yet there were times where he needed the protective steel toes of his boots.

He got up, his feet making no noise against the metal of the floor. The murmurs were caused by the lights fast approaching the ship. If they were enemies they would at least have more of a heads up this time and might be able to fend them off better than they had the Collectors. Watching the lights he thought that if he used hawk eyes to try and tell what was producing the lights, he'd just get blinded.

Some of the people that had helped fight at the town were looking out at the lights and talking. Nothing was directed toward him so he only listened and watched. Until he heard a hiss from behind. He bristled, thinking a snaked or something had gotten in to stay warm amongst the bodies and some one rolled onto it. Looking back he swept his eyes over the area until his eyes showed him what his ears heard. It was a chick who looked like she was something Dr.Frankenstein would have created. At the moment Effort didn't think she would be a threat to anyone unless they were a threat to her first; he waved at her in a friendly matter in hopes to put her at ease and turned back to watch the lights.

To the last thing Na'ava had said, Effort said "I'll go." Having an idea in mind on how best to get close without being seen; appropriate to the terrain.

Effort has removed his boots and jacket to rest but gets up to observe the lights. He responds to Na'ava saying he'd go and check out what the lights are.
 
Re: Iwaku SHATTERED

For Acqua the warning was not necessary. Many days she had traversed the desert, her god-forsaken nest. Well did she know his scorching rays, his sweeping sands, and above all, his icy nights. Neglectful was her barren father, yet he taught her all she knew. Due to the brevity of their separation, Acqua still retained these lessons that kept her from disappearing into the sand, from becoming a voice silenced in an unending expanse. The inevitable chill advanced as Night curtained Day once more.

Alarm: It danced on the faces of passengers, blaring lights coming into view. Acqua remained seated, not phased. In fact, she had been wondering when this sort of thing would appear, for bandits and other people often were afoot in the night, hunting for sitting ducks such as the survivors of this ship. From those she had encountered, most were so desperate that they had little capacity for planning, for anything requiring skill. She would have continued to speculate the nature of the light source in her head had it not been for catching a glimpse of Na'ava hissing at Exvind, her countenance contorted with anger as words flowed from her mouth, venomous intent coating them. Acqua could not make out what the young lady said due to the panic shooting through the survivors, but she could infer that it was quite unpleasant.

"Who wants to go find out what the lights are?" Na'va invited someone to discover the light's source.​

"I'll go."

"No me sorprenderú si nos atacã." Acqua muttered, not expecting anyone to hear or understand what she was thinking aloud. "Calm," Acqua turned to address an agitated Chanter nearby. "From burned down town flew and--blech, y'probably can't understand what I'm sayin' right now," Acqua's face and voice remained without emotion, betraying the heat that began to rise in her chest. "Okay, that town we were in burned down and that guy y'tried to attack helped ya when y'passed out'n'got ya on this ship. Now we're in the desert'n'there's somethin' with lights comin' fast. Acatta--I mean, did y'understand?" her cheeks at last gave way to a scarlet hue, displaying a nervous wish for Chanter to comprehend her chatter.

Summary: Acqua stays calm, having expected something bad to happen at night while the others act with some alarm. She then addresses Chanter to try to make sense of what happened while she was unconscious, even though her English at the moment is quite rough. Translation of sentence from Acqua-speak: I won't be surprised if they attack us.


 
Re: Iwaku SHATTERED

Crescendo

​
The ships passengers were even more varied and diverse than the Wanderer had expected. Granted, the reactions of the masked man in black and the girl were not unheard of...there simply existed people who disliked music. Though the eccentricity of the man and his accusatory little rant had pressed on the musician's nerves as he slowly tucked The Score and his instrument away, and returned the Spear to its natural state. It would have been so easy to just club him over the head...but the time was to make allies, not more enemies. For now. At the introductions though, he bowed at the shoulders, and made the motion to enter the ship. However, the girl who 'threatened him' pulled a response , with her talk of being no-one's servant. His leathery, wrinkled face tugged into a grim smile as he bent somewhat to mutter, "Likewise, you are no master of me....the Score dictates when I play. Not you, nor anyone else." With that, he pressed past Na'ava and into the ship - to help as best as he could.

For the short few hours before nightfall, Exvind was mildly awestruck. The myriad of men, women, beasts, children, individuals from every walk of life...it was a miniature, bloodied, melting pot. The number of dead was tragic - it explained why the Score had read so somberly. The masked man seemed to be the most proficient medical force...which was disturbing on so very many levels...while the people were sorted into differing degrees of injury. The bard only knew the very basics...his body typically did the rest, but for a time, he played the part of assistant. But that only lasted for so long - the ship beckoned to him. He had spent days at a time out among the sands searching for water, he could spare a few hours to do the same within the confines of a metal behemoth. Winding halls of metal, doors sealed and open, it was a ghost of the time before...and for a time, it had flown again. That was the remarkable thing...but there would be time to ruminate on that later. His hunt for any sort of water storage was fruitless, which meant that they would likely have to trek out to the nearest oasis...

...Which was hardly 'near' at all, if they were to travel by foot. It was unfortunate news Exvind was going to have to report, but then there was a cry of alarm. Lights. He tensed, tired eyes sharpening. He had seen the lights some previous nights. He had always pressed himself to the dunes and gone unnoticed. Scavengers perhaps. Possibly vehicles. Bandits. His mind did not rightly allow for the thought of Good Samaritans wasting fuel to come all the way out here. He could be wrong, but it was unlikely. He trudged through the bowels of the ship toward where he had been permitted entrance. Soldiers were there, along with some of the others he had met this day, along with the Tatooed Girl - Aeolus. The Score had marked her...from what he saw, Exvind read from his Score, while she wore hers upon her flesh. All in all, not a bad idea...but there was only so much flesh he had, even if he had the means to transmit The Score onto him. Still. Thoughts for another time.

He took his place among the others looking out at the lights, fingers tightening as he leaned against his Spear.

[SPOILI]Summary: Exvind matches Na'ava's retort, pokes around helping the injured, and hunts for water before going up to prepare for the lights with the others.[/SPOILI]​
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[SPOILI]
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Re: Iwaku SHATTERED


The girl was addressing me, I realized, after a minute of her garbled speech. Another of them was waving at me. They clearly viewed me as no threat, and no wonder, for there were far more of them than I could reasonably take at present. All I could do was cover my vitals, hunch my back, and hope I didn't look like the easy pickings I might very well be. I hadn't eaten but the one orange, and then I'd been injured and rendered unconscious for who knew how long; my calcium stores likely weren't at optimum. Experimentally, I flexed the fingers of my right hand, watching as my nails thickened and extended into claws.

At least I had that much defense.

With that settled, I crept toward the nearest wall, keeping my eyes on the pair who'd addressed me. They seemed distracted, anyway; something to do with the shouting? The one who'd waved was speaking of leaving. The girl seemed to be waiting on a response, and so as soon as I felt less exposed, I replayed her words. Town burned. Desert. Lights? So too were my suspicions confirmed about the man I'd tackled. He was here... somewhere.

"Where?" I rasped, my vocal chords straining with misuse. "Where... is... he?"

I didn't know why I was asking for him. All I knew was that he was the only clear face in my head for as long as I could remember, and that I needed to know why he'd taken the time to bring me here. I balled his coat in my hands, staring at the woman.

Chanter, having just woken, finds herself surrounded in a strange ship and weak, but still able to use her abilities. She responds marginally well to efforts at communication, but is mostly concerned with asking for Raziel.
 
Re: Iwaku SHATTERED

Once making sure the girl would be taken care of Raz he retreated to get the rest his body sorely needed. Even before arriving in the city he had been on the train for days despite hunger and thirst a nap was what he really needed. But he had awoken a little while ago now, just as the sun had been starting to set. He had wanted to thank the doctor, but he was also avoiding the barman who obviously still had a grudge against him, so when the hour came that the lights appeared he moved to join the group standing by the door.

"I don't think we need to go out to investigate." he pointed out. "They're coming in our direction pretty fast. Scavengers looking to pick over wreckage maybe, this place is a graveyard of some kind, isn't it?" he Looked from Na'ava to the rest of the group forming by the door. "I think he need to display a bit of caution, get a welcoming party together, one, many two people. Everyone else hides, preferably with guns. If the wastes has taught me one thing its never show your full hand and always have a trick up your sleeve. If we can trade or bargain with them or if they can help us get somewhere safe, great, if they're here to pick over corpses, we'll be a ready as he can be. If I need to I'll be one of those standing in the open." Night was going to be cold. If only he had his coat.

Raz joins the group looking at the rights, as voices his suspicions that having the majority of the survivors out of sight and armed while a small welcoming party greets the incoming vehecles might be prudent.
 
Re: Iwaku SHATTERED

Xenoxis had decided to camp at his hiding spot atop the dune, rather than move in to investigate just yet. He had been asleep for a while when something jolted him from his slumber. He quickly wrestled his way out of his sleeping bag and stood up. The desert surrounding reminded him of home in his semi-slumbering state, and his hunter instincts kicked in. He scanned the air, searching for some sign of a great winged beast, afraid a Rathalos might have gotten the drop on him. Nothing. The wanderer breathed a sigh of relief and let his gaze fall to the horizon. That's when his heart nearly stopped cold. Lights, everywhere, on the horizon, and closing rapidly. The first thought that jumped into his head was Raiders. His next thought was of the survivors of the airship. He glanced at the ship, then back at the lights. The lights were moving fast. Almost too fast. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to reach the crash in time. Nor was he sure he wanted to. As courses of actions started to play through his head, it occurred to him that if a stranger covered in swords were to pop out of nowhere as a swarm of lights descended on them, they might not take kindly to the intended gesture. Instead, he grabbed what gear he had set down before his rest, and set off down the dune towards the craft, but stopped a quarter of the way from the bottom. Close enough to jump into action should it be needed, but far enough away to hopefully not be detected.


Xenoxis is awakened and notices the lights on the horizon. After thinking of several options, he heads most of the way down his dune towards the wreck.
 
Re: Iwaku SHATTERED

The dude was right, the lights were approaching fast. Effort listened to the rest of what the guy said about how they should approach the situation, and he agreed. Hm a trick.... He had an idea.

Effort's clothes became close fitting against his skin and he seemed to ripple as scales replaced his skin. His fingers and toes elongated and became webbed claws, his eyes became slitted with a spiny ridge above them. Next his face became narrow and stretched, forming a scaly snout. Now he was nearly four feet tall with sturdy limbs and a narrow body and scales all over, the transformation was short but kind of gross while it lasted. His voice rasped from his scaly throat "I'll be treading sand if you need me." The third eyelid Effort developed from the transformation slid over his eye as he ran forward and dove into the sand. Surprisingly though there wasn't much sand kicked up as he undulated his body and swam through the sand.

Effort agrees with Raz and mostly transforms into a lizard and dives into the sand to lay some kind of surprise in case what ever is behind the lights is unfriendly.
 
[size=+5]CHAPTER FOUR[/size]
[size=+3]REDUX[/size]
[size=+1]"From the end spring new beginnings."[/size]
[size=+2]- Pliny the Elder[/size]

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[size=+1]The ship is as silent as the grave.

It's corridors are empty and rusting, it's systems are offline. The hull doors are sealed, and have been for a long time. This is a relic from a time long forgotten, a masterpiece of engineering and design that no-one living could replicate. Though now old and rusting it still stands in one piece, sturdy and defiant against the years that have sought to grind it into dust.

They tell stories of this old airship in the ruined city near to where it lies. Rumours and guesswork as to what it was and whether it could still work. None have ever managed to gain entrance to it despite many trying, however, which only fuels the stories that surround it. It has no name, it has no owner; it is simply there.

And of all the storytellers of spin tales about it, only one knows what truly lies inside those silent halls.

Move down the gangways and corridors, through engine rooms and storage spaces, and you'll find the docking bay built into the very back of the ship. Once upon a better time it held vehicles and cargo and other such items, but those days are long since past.

Yet by no means is this docking bay empty.

Dotted all across the vast room are forms, bodies. They lie in rest, chests slowly rising and falling as they breathe the air that is fed through the ship's filtering systems. Survivors from a terrible attack, individuals out of space and out of time. They should not be, and yet here they are, silently sleeping in an airship none have ever entered.

But this is about to change.

For one of them is finally waking up…[/size]


[size=+1]They've been following Sebby for approximately ten minutes now.

It's making him more than a little nervous.

Ducking through a narrow alleyway between two shanty-huts, he emerges into the vast marketplace of upper-tier Fragment City; a twisted, sprawling mishmash of stalls, stores and ruined buildings with all manner of people passing amongst them. Shifter tribesmen brush shoulders with airship crewmen, Red recruiters preach their gospel under close watch from the guards as merchants desperately attempt to sell their goods and produce.

A medley of culture and trade.

The ideal place for Sebby to lose his unwanted followers.

Before they can catch up he all but dives into the centre of it all, dodging between stalls and salesmen. Not exactly subtle; they'll know he's made them now. But Sebby's been followed before, and he knows how to lose a tail in a crowd. He pushes through a family of refugees from one of the lower fragments, only to be accosted by one of the recruiters for the Order; all mucky crimson robes and wild eyes as he attempts to shove a flyer into Sebby's hands.
"The oven flames must be fed!" the man howls at him, "The line must be held!"

He's encountered such preachers before and knows how to evade them; ducking under the outstretched arm he's past the man and moving away already.
"Perhaps later, friend!" he calls back over his shoulder, "Have a nice war!" So busy is Sebby slinging quips over his shoulder that he almost walks into a hulking Shifter tribesman. At the last second he turns about to find himself staring at a tanned chest, marked with swirling tattoos. Snapping his head up he's staring into the expressionless face of the shifter, cat-ears poking out the side of braided dreadlocks. "Sorry, didn't see you there," Sebby mutters, breaking eye-contact almost instantly and dodging round the massive figure.

It's an insult to stare a Shifter tribesman in the eyes for too long. Or a challenge; Sebby can't remember which, but remembers the Old Man telling him it's not a wise thing to do.

Sebby listens to the advice the Old Man gives him. That's why he's on his way to meet him now.

He'll know what to do about the tail he's picked up.

And what to do with the stolen documents tucked away in his overcoat.[/size]


[size=+1]Slowly, ever so slowly… I drift back towards consciousness.

It's like rising from a vast body of water after lying in it for centuries.

The stiffness of my bones hits me almost immediately when I attempt to turn over; it's a struggle to lift my arm to cover my eyes from the dazzling lights, never mind move the rest of me. My mouth tastes like it's been filled with ash and my stomach almost immediately starts informing me that it feels like it's not been fed in aeons.

What the fuck is going on?

Allowing time for my eyes to adjust to the light, I finally start to become aware of my surroundings once more. I can make out other forms lying about nearby, curled up in sleeping positions. Familiar forms… it takes me a moment to recognise the people I barely escaped the Collectors alongside. My mind feels like it's filled with sawdust; I can barely think straight.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Slowly, I manage to pull myself to my feet and stagger towards the doors. Looks like we're locked in; probably to keep the sand out. I can remember something about a desert, lights flashing in the distance… and then I'm waking up on the floor of the loading bay of my recently stolen ship.

Fuck this noise; I'm going to get some air, clear my head. Even desert air should do the trick, right?

Reaching over, I pull on the lever that opens the loading-bay doors, willing my arms back to their former strength. It takes far more effort than I'm used to, but eventually it snaps down with a clang that echoes through the silent corridors of the ship. The doors begin to slide apart; I'm expecting a face-full of sand to suddenly hit me.

But no sand is forthcoming.

Instead a cold breeze begins to wash over me as the doors open up to a very different scene from what I was expecting. We're on the edge of a fragment, yes, but it's definitely not the one I recall crashing on. No sand, only empty wastes as far as the eye can see, with what looks like a vast ruined city several miles away. I find myself staring, my mind attempting to process this sudden change of locale.

Where the fuck are we?[/size]


[size=+1]Sebby's crossed the width of the marketplace before his followers have caught onto the fact he even entered it.

Not bad evasion; he compliments himself on a job well done as he moves towards his destination.

It's not far from the marketplace; a few spiralling twists and turns through a sprawling shanty town constructed from the wreckage of an ancient civilisation. Like rats living amongst rubble, Sebby thinks to himself; this is what Iwaku has been reduced to. He's heard the half-remembered tales all before, stories of a greater time, a utopia where all was just and fair in the world.

Once upon a time he believed it all, but Sebby's seventeen now; he's been around long enough to know that there's no such thing as utopias or happy endings, and that dreaming of a fondly-remembered past isn't going to make the present any less shitty. Waiting around and hoping for a better tomorrow has never been Sebby's thing, however. He once met an airship crewman who told him that you have to make your own luck; those are words that he's tried to live by since.

Climbing across the wreckage of a collapsed hut long since abandoned, he reaches his destination. It's fairly unassuming; just a shanty-house like any other. Outside it, stoking a small fire and taking draws from a pipe half the length of Sebby's arm is a man. Old doesn't quite do him justice; his face has more lines than you could possibly count, and his hair has long since faded to a dull, lifeless grey. By no means is he frail, though, far from it. Sebby imagines that he's actually carved from rock; solid and capable of weathering whatever life and time might throw at him.

As Sebby approaches the Old Man looks up from the fire with a wry smile on his face.
"Hey, old codger," Sebby says by way of hello, "What's with the fire?"
"Hello to you too, boy." the Old Man's voice is like gravel scraping against old tar; thick and grinding. "I trust you were successful?" In response Sebby pulls the documents from his coat pocket.
"They need to be more careful where they leave important things," he notes with a chuckle, "And you still haven't answered my question." The Old Man takes another draw from his pipe.
"Cold wind's rising from below, boy. Something's got the Abyss stirred up good and proper." He pokes at the fire with an old piece of metal, coaxing the flames ever higher. "Given the news I received earlier, it's not surprising. It's really just as well we acted when we did, boy."

Sitting down next to the fire, Sebby hands over the papers.
"Why's that?"
"Because of the sleepers, boy.

"The sleepers are waking up."[/size]
 
Sitting upon the floor with her back against a hut, is a young woman clad in scarlet monk robes. She sits near several shops who are serving food, but the noise does not disturb her. Her hands are in her lap and her eyes are closed, head tilted down. There is a hint of serenity on her face and one would think she is meditating, but alas she is actually sleeping.

And she dreams.

She dreams of a strange creature, a monkey who walks and talks like a human. In her dream this monkey was born from a rock, fashioned from the forces of chaos. He carries with him a staff that he can lengthen or shorten at will, and travels across the Heavens and Earth on a cloud. He has learned to transform into 72 different shapes, including a human. Called a demon for his rebellious acts against Heaven, he has the powers of a super hero.

She wonders about this irony, unsettled by this similarity between good and evil.

Soon the monkey's actions garners the God's attention and he is imprisoned under a mountain for his crimes.

But she doesn't know if the monkey escapes or does his time for her dream has ended. The woman's face loses its serenity, replaced by an unattractive frown. She is awake, a film of dust covers her robes, toning down their color. A soft hooting fills her ear, comfort filling her soul. As she reaches up to run a finger through her companion's feathers, it is hard not to see the beginnings of starvation on her exposed side. A half full satchel at her side says that she has food - so why does she not eat?

The bustling of the market place takes her mind off of food. She places a hand, rough from her harsh living, onto her owl to steady him as she rises. Zen exhales, dusts herself off, and walks. Her robes haven't lost their vibrancy and for this she smiles a little. A little bit of home travels with her still.


​
 
Of all the many and changing things that Isaac Terone subscribed to, none was more constant than his belief that better worlds are matters of the mind. They had no business being made, and any who thought to were the worst of heathens, men who did dishonour to the human will. For in the playground of the brain what could not be fashioned, constructed or cantilevered? What towers could not rise, what forests find no soil, what mountains ill-weather or oceans tumble? To condescend such visions to the human hand was sickening. Material works were but the sad marionettes, the splinted cripples, the foetal runts of inception.

But this did not deter Isaac Tyrone from his occupation as the most infamous Gang Lord in fifty years. Nor his reputation as the only man in Fragment City to own an arboretum.

The plot of containered soil had been incorporated into his tower twenty years ago. He called it his garden, but this was as accurate as calling his four-storey stack of corrugated sheds in the east quarter a tower. Seeded with rare cuttings purchased from the ISAF, the aboretum sported fourteen varieties of trees and wild flowers and was watered regularly by four of his closest bodyguards. Indeed, in the last years of Isaac's life, the act of sustaining this garden had become more important than the criminal activities that first funded it. Each day less hits were ordered, less rackets collected on, less cargo smuggled. But there was no margin for error permitted in the tending of the garden.

Isaac thought of it like redemption. For all the horrible things he had done in his sixty-two years upon this rock, at least he would leave behind this garden. This jewel; this gift. This one and only reflection of his beauty.

Ordinarily, a man as shrewd as Isaac would smell his own bullshit. But two things had recently ingratiated him to the poetry: firstly, his imminent death; and secondly, the curious and compelling fact that his garden had become haunted.


This morning, like any other, Isaac sat in his wicker chair and stared beyond the threshold of his metal room. A fan spun frantically to one side, sputtering and clacking like his failing heart. His penthouse was decked with the rarest finds - museum relics, paintings and trinkets that once belonged to the nameless and mighty. And between them were other instruments: the humming dehumidifiers, a heart monitor, a nebulizer for his medication, panic alarms and custom intercoms. His cadre had been busy bees of late, salvaging and stealing the best equipment for their ailing leader. The shack was half-gallery, half-hospital, which suited its occupant - a man at once a medical curiosity and the image of a dying generation. For Isaac would be the last great gang lord, one of the true gritters who built this town on wits and wiles. And this room, with its adjoining garden, would be the last of all palaces.

The ghost was in the garden. The old man could see it, where shadows formed from filtered sunlight. It moved at once like a man and then like a spider, trailing spindle arms of black. It was within the trees and of the trees, as fluid as rustling leaves, as twisting as sheafs of grass. And the ghost did as it had always done, for the seven years it had haunted this patch: it hunched and waited.

And on the blank-paged journal Isaac held, a blot of ink separated out into lines and symbols.

NO MORE SUNRISE, ISAAC?​
​

His dry lips cracked into a smile. "I think not, old friend."

In the distance the ghost shifted its cowl-like head, and more ink lines formed on Isaac's page.

WHAT WILL BECOME OF US?​

"I was..." The gang lord paused for a long, hacking cough. And as he did there was a creak on the floor below, as his bodyguards debated checking on him. But then Isaac went on and downstairs became silent. "I was hoping... you'd tell me."

On his lap was a soft rumble. He lowered the journal and ran a wrinkled hand over the tiny kitten that nestled there. It was looking up at him, eyes unblinking and mouth slightly open, as if about to ask the perfect, golden question. He ruffled the creature's ears and let it roll onto its back.

A QUESTION...​

He looked again at the book and nodded. "Yes, why not? Why break our habit now?"

ARE YOU AFRAID TO DIE?​

The fur of the kitten's belly was soft, almost fragile. Isaac wondered if it might break, should he stroke too hard. Everything about the kitten suggested frailty, the delicacy of the newborn, and Isaac smiled at the thought of it: a new soul perched upon the body of an old one. It was a wonder the kitten had not smelled the death on him; yet it seemed content, so very content upon his lap.

"Let me tell you something:" Isaac's gaze crossed the garden again, to fix upon the ghost in its tangling shadows. "I've killed. I've killed a lot of people. A man would have to, to get somewhere like this." A trembling hand indicated the shack, the statues with their dead eyes, the faded paintings. "I always figured those folks weren't scared, that somehow, before the end, they found a peace with it. Hell, it was the only way I could bring myself to kill 'em. It was a mean trick of the mind. But now I figure, if I assumed as much from them, I should show as much of myself. You gotta practice what you're preaching, this life."

...THIS DEATH.​

He rested the book on the arm of his chair, then scratched with both hands behind the kitten's ears. It closed its eyes and purred, the sound cutting through the rhythm of the fan and dehumidifier. "Yes Sir... Dying's a hard thing to do. Facing it brave, with a legacy, with a flock, with a million engels underneath your ass... well that just makes it harder."

WE WILL MISS YOU, ISAAC. YOU ARE ALL WE'VE KNOWN. FOR SEVEN YEARS, ALL WE'VE KNOWN.​

The gang lord glanced at the book and smiled again as his eyes fluttered shut. "The things you miss... are what make you..." His hands juddered and moved away from the cat, clutching the chair arms instead. "I'm gonna take a little sleep now, Friend. Just a... just a little sleep..."

He felt the cool breeze of the artificial air, bringing the scent of mimosa from the aboretum. It was the draught of another world, crystallised and immaculate in his mind. His hands and head drooped. The heart monitor gave a soleful chime, a single note held as the heart's orchestra fell silent. Then from below a stampede of footsteps signalled the bodyguards responding to the monitor - an effort that would come too late to save their leader.


And as Isaac Terone died, the little black and grey kitten hopped down from his lap and left behind the dead man and his blank, inkless journal. The animal sauntered across the garden between the wild flowers and joined the shadow, departing with him, an orphaned pair, through the web of sunlight.
 
"Once upon a time," a voice began, hushed and muted within the confines of the bird mask, "As I brought science and medicine to the Western Island Pathos, I heard a story that may explain our situation." Behind Aeolus, a black shadow detached itself from the quiet hallway, a phantom face of ivory white floating on a body of nothing but shadow. Doctor Surgeon stepped beside the girl, looking out at the vastly different environment. The former aqua creature, Ex-Finned, was no longer among them, neither were most of the arbitrary survivors, or those three soldiers. Many had vanished.

"They spoke of an island that comes only once annually, brought on the winds of summer." Cocking the beak toward the girl, the doctor inverted two fingers beneath the mask in an upside down 'v', "Hardly pragmatic of them, of course, summer rarely comes on specific days. Terribly unscientific of them, superstitious nonsense." A low moaning breeze wheezed onto the ship and descended, curling around the two of them. "Men and women vanished at this time, spirited away by the creatures the town called faeries, all to serve the Changeling King Jack on some Arcadian island of pleasures and horror."

He stepped out in front of the girl, their inferior captain, this wisp of a human with some hodgepodge knowledge of how to destroy an airship, turned back to her and held out his hands, "They came while the town slumbered, all of them, not a one could wake. Personally I blame fungal spores, or perhaps some nonsense magic to arrest circadian rhythms."

Holding up a finger, he waggled it in the air, as though scolding, gesturing out at the ruined city. "This is not that island, at least if superstitious villagers who pointlessly pray over comatose victims can be believed...but perhaps a similar calamity befell us. Maybe we've fallen victim of some desert dweller, some terribly poor person without a home to their name. Obviously your poor decision to crash us into a sand-drift defied probability."

Hand on his head now, Doctor Surgeon shook it sadly, "Somehow, another you came upon us while we slumbered, fixed the damages, brought us aloft, and then crashed us again, fulfilling your destructive legacy of inferior piloting and then abandoning us in this wasteland." Shrugging, he kicked at a stone and shuffled back to the ship, glancing into the old wreck, tapping a finger at the edge of his beak.

"For a nominal fee, I offer my services to poke around in your head and remove your need to sleep. Perhaps then we can at least guarantee that should we be assaulted by a similar enemy, you can do what you do best and crash an airship into them."
 
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[size=+1]"Ah, great. You're awake." The sarcasm in my voice is so obvious a deaf person could hear it. "An' yer theory 's faer'es an' changel'ngs, eh? Or else my doppelganger go'n for round two 'n the a'rsh'p crash'n contest? Fan-fuck'n-tast'c."

Of all the people to come to right after me, it would have to be the eternally creepy and morally-stunted Doctor Surgeon. The mask disturbs me, as does the way he speaks. Unfortunately he's really quite good at fixing people up, so I fear I may be stuck with him for a while.

I'm still coming to my senses, but the fresh air seems to be doing something; slowly I step out of the doorway, still holding onto the hull, in order to take in the sight of our new surroundings. I don't want to look back in the loading-bay just yet; if the good Doctor is right, there's a lot of familiar faces who are suddenly missing.

This is a place I do not recognise; the landmarks and features of the fragment are alien and fresh to me. This realisation disturbs me a little more than it probably should; I was under the impression that I'm quite the traveller who's seen a lot of the sights, and now I feel like a fucking cabin-girl on her first fragment-jump.

Way too many questions that don't have easy answers plague my mind, and I'm not going to find answers standing about.

Time to get to work.

Sighing, I head back inside the ship to face Doctor Surgeon once more. "Looks l'ke 't's jus' you an' me just now, Doc. Let's see 'f we can get some of the others back on the'r feet." I move over to one of the sleeping forms and kneel down next to them, only to suddenly snap my arm up to point at the doctor.

"Oh, an' next t'me we face the cho'ce between go'n for a nose-d've 'nto the Abyss or crash-land'n, you can fly the fuck'n sh'p."[/size]
 
Surgeon followed her back into the ship, nodding his head at her assessment. By her own admission, his opinions were fantastic...mispronounced, of course, but could anyone really count on a girl who'd only learned half a piloting to speak grammar correctly? Oh the poor unfortunate youth. Swinging past the self-styled captain, Doctor Surgeon knelt near the stitched girl and neatly folded her arms across her chest, tracing a gloved finger across the scar on the bridge of her nose, then below that, then below that, tantalizingly toying with the collar of her garment, debating the merit of removing it. She probably wouldn't like it, but these days patients didn't like a lot of things.

He was pulled from his dilemma by Aeolus again, snapping some sort of hormonal nonsense at him.

Cocking his head at her, the Doctor seemed to think for a moment before shaking his head. "I apologize, but I fail to see your reason. Perhaps you are disoriented from your recent failures as a captain, or perhaps this is your time of the month? Please let me correct you by reminding that I am a doctor. My skills are best used in repairing those injured by your ill informed mistakes. Flying the ship would not only be a gross breach of common logical sense, but also an unfortunate disadvantage on your part. Should I accidentally handle the ship better, you'd be out of a job."

Confident with his arguement, the Doctor turned back to the stitched girl, tugging at the black lines that puckered her flesh. She was a pretty thing, of course, but her wounds seemed remarkably healed, and yet still stitched. What, then, was the purpose of this exercise? Was it fashion? Did it serve some other purpose?

Leaning over her, Doctor Surgeon removed a scalpel from his pocket, gently laying it on her arm parallel with a line of thread.

Well, best find out for himself...all the better she was sleeping.

Patients really were quite unbearable when awake.
 
I was having that dream again.


"You wanted to be a bigger part of this story, didn't you?"

"Of course I did," I answer, wiping a final fleck of spilled grey matter from my chin. It had taken a while to cobble myself back together, after the ordeal I'd been through. I still felt that pieces of myself were missing, shattered and scattered somewhere out there in the dark. "But that was never really the plan, you know."

"It could have been, if you'd taken the chance. If you'd made time."

"That would have been a mistake." I smile wryly. "I wanted to make a mark, to play a part, and so I did. But it was never my story. I came far too late for that. I was a Herald, not a Hero or Soulmate or Shadow. Not a role I'm suited for, it's true, but that's the role I was made to fill.

"No," I tell myself again, slipping away quietly from the scene unfolding beyond the breached wall. "It wasn't my story; it's theirs, so long in the making."

"What will happen to you now? What will you become?"

I don't have an easy answer to that.

"Well," I say, at last. My eyes gleam under the soft glow of the screen as I play with the edge of a broken sword. "That's another story entirely, isn't it?"




Something was touching me. Large, spider-like fingers, crawling and creeping across my face, my throat, over and under the stiff collar of my jacket...

With a primal and caterwauling hiss, I lashed out, nails elongating and slashing at the first purchase they met. My whole body was suddenly wriggling and fighting, every inch of me rebelling at having been invaded, before my eyes had even fully opened and come to focus. I don't like being touched.

When my mind did override the adrenaline enough to give me names for what I was seeing, my alarm was no less for it. The man in the white bird mask was my aggressor, the one who had been looking at me- at my stitches- when I'd been found in the back of the inn. I didn't like being looked at, either, and I bared my teeth at him now, kicking as I squirmed away and casting furtive looks at my surroundings. I was still in the same place I'd been, at my best guess; the last thing I recalled had been waking up in this place, and asking a strange girl about... someone...

I inhaled sharply, scrabbling at my sides for the man's coat. Where was it? Was it still here? I didn't understand why it was so important to me that I find it, but it was. I nearly sighed with relief when my hand met familiar-smelling leather, and I instantly pulled it tight to my chest, abruptly woozy.

How long had it been since I got some calcium?

My eyes focused again on Doctor Surgeon, a low growl in my throat. I couldn't let him know how tired and disoriented I was.

One should never show a predator weakness.
 
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