Tombwatch

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Excession

Excession

Infohazard
Original poster
FOLKLORE MEMBER
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Posting Speed
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Writing Levels
  1. Advanced
  2. Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Male
Genres
Horror, fantasy, sci-fi.
OPEN SIGNUPS - These Benighted Stars

It's another bright, windy day in the Tomblands. Little hotter than usual, so it wouldn't be so uncomfortable to go without the outers, but there's a duststorm whipping up a few klicks south and those things can really sneak up on you.


At your back, Tombwatch sits on the mesa like spilled engine parts, glinting in the sun. Around you the desert stretches to the horizon. Ahead, the cracked spires and crumbling domes of the Tomb poke through the sand like the fingertips of a drowning giant; here then buried again. They say nature ain't quite natural atop the Tomb.


You're split over two trucks, wheeled and sturdy and built by Duster hands. Council weren't willing to part with any of the hovers over this little expedition.


You reckon you can get into the ruin through one of the towers that still barely rises over the sands, and there's no shortage of digging and cutting gear on your vehicles. You'll get in there somehow.


Still, a few minutes drive left, only the sounds you make and the rumbles of engines over whispering winds.
 
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Eliza "Ellie" Warren

Arms folded behind her head, tawny hair flying free, feet resting on the dashboard, Ellie Warren beams at the world. Her face is practically split with a grin, and she bobs her head to some unheard tune.

Bentley, her thaumhound, sits behind her, his sharp snout stuck out over the side of the truck, tongue lolling in the wind.

"I feel like it's gonna be a beautiful damn day. I can feel it in my bones," she chimes happily.
 
Ben

A sentient lump of dusty clothing and toughened leather was driving.
The only sound he was giving off was the soft whirr of the rebreather, as it inhaled and exhaled, and the soft tap-tap of a fingernail clicking against the edge of a minuscule silver compass, the needle dancing as it tried to find north in the constant shuddering movement of the truck. The other hand wrangling the steering wheel with considerable strain.

The compass snips shut, and returns to it's home under the neck of his poncho hood, before the spare hand swats his sisters big boots muddying up the dashboard interior.
No admonition, just a dissatisfied sigh.
 
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Eliza "Ellie" Warren

Rolling her eyes with a sigh that mirrors her brothers, Ellie sets her feet down, stretching her arms out in the process.

"You could at least pretend to be cheerful Ben," she gripes, throwing a frown in the direction of the driver. "Them ol' folks finally let us head up to the Tomb, and you got a face on you like yer chewing nails,"
 
Ben

Her brother, in a full-face plate visor, turns, ever so slightly and slowly towards her. Shoulders following with his head.
His completely expressionless visage somehow managing to convey a deadpan retort despite having no features to do it with.
 
Eliza "Ellie" Warren

Ellie just rolls her eyes.

"Oh quit yer bellyachin', you know what I'm tryin' to tell you,"

She leans back in the seat, scowling at him.

"'Sides, why you all wound up anyway? S'a beautiful day, we got permission to go Tomb divin', and we got a pair a trucks to haul the goods. Even if somethin' does go wrong, we got ol' Lightnin' here," she exclaims, patting the sheathed blade sitting next to the seat.

"So lighten up. Smile even. Bandi knows it wouldn't kill ya to be cheerful for once,"
 
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Beathel

When the Tomb came up at dinner the night before, some of her aunts and uncles cackled about the trouble she was getting into, "for a whole lot of nothing," making fun of the old stories more than her. Some of the young ones latched on to her when she made to head out early, but they let go at the sound of tiles and the odd widget clattering on the tables. The game sets had been pulled out. Bea had hugged her folks and set out with leftover food, an extra canteen, and a heavy lantern.

All of it had made it on to the truck, although technically the food was in her stomach.

The hospital had let her sign out some equipment as well. But used to working in the habs, Bea could not get her field-grade face visor to sit properly while keeping her rebreather in place. Halfway to their destination, she had reluctantly set aside the borrowed visor.

Her eyes flicked towards the distant dust clouds. It was hard to judge distances in the desert. Trying to catch Chalith's attention, Bea pointed questioningly at the southern horizon and then to one of the broken fingers of the Tomb. Were they going to get there in time? And there was all the gear from the truck to unload too.

@Custodiet Teh
 
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Chalith Hoydt

"You've really got to stop fidgeting so much Bea..." Chalith finally coming out of the lengthy series of 'power' naps she'd been on since their truck rumbled out into the desert. She'd worked a shift in the engineering sector right before heading out with the little bunch of, what could she call them? Prospectors, Gravediggers? Kids able to convince the right people to fund a trip out to look at weird rocks? Probably the last one.

Explained why she actually got picked to accompany them, despite having minimal experience outside the habs. Elders said 'a cool head to work with the passions of youth' or some other flowery nonsense.

Stretching and yawning, Chalith lurched up to peek out to where Bea had been pointing. To be honest, apart from the finger like shape, everything looked the same out here. Windswept rocks and Dust.

Bea looked up at her expectantly, the same sort of look Chalith had seen on Bea since the days of retrieving her lost dolls out of venting shafts. Chalith stares a few more moments before shrugging and falling back onto the seat of her worn pants.

"We will get there soon enough. Other truck is making good time and we just have to follow them. I'm sure the Warren boy has it all planned out" she punctuates the sentence by snagging the field visor left sitting by Bea's side and adjusting the straps. Field grade was SI for Marshal work, even when they were stationed indoors.

Setting the visor back beside Bea, Chalith takes another look at the fingers outside. She doesn't linger on the formation long, instead leaning down to pull out her stowed rifle and with it couple boxes of 'lethal' rounds she'd been authorized to load up on.

@Cirno
 
The Tomb can't loom, broken and fallen as it is, but the impression of size lingers; vast obelisks jutting from the sand at weird angles for the better part of five klicks in every direction from the heart, and there, a glassy dome scored but uncracked by time and weather.

You must be cautious. The sand rises and twists in eerie eddies as lingering magic infuses the grains or empowers the breeze. Old Kester talks about the time she came down here with her 'hound and it leapt into a heat-shimmer on the sands only to be crushed into a tiny sphere by some invisible force. You've got some explosives if you need them to find a way in - from here, your best bets appear to be the top of some old tower to the west, the heart to the north, and a sinkhole to the east.
 
Beathel

She had been twisting around every so often to see the duststorm over her shoulder, although she kept one hand steady on the wheel. At Chalith's words, Bea waggled her eyebrows in a squinting, apologetic gesture that eased into a grateful curve.

Chalith had an economy of movement--quick tugs adjusting the field-grade visor straps, easily maneuvering her rifle and rounds in the small space--that got Bea to consciously drop her hunched up shoulders.

Bea returned her other hand to the wheel. She had kept behind and a bit off-side the Warrens' truck for most of the drive to avoid the dust kicked up. As they neared the Tomb, she made to properly follow the Warrens' trail. Just a few more klicks to go.
 
Ben

A chuckle comes from underneath the visor and breather. A strange, mechanical hissing sound when strained through the vents, his shoulders bucking with the motion.

He turns towards her, and smiles theatrically...
...
That act completely and utterly lost by that shield of metal over his face.

As the truck slows to a halt on the sand just before the city outskirts, he turns it off, and lowers it's undercarriage bracers to the floor, to prevent it from overturning in the storm that was rapidly approaching. He gives his sister a childish dig in the arm, before shoving a shoulder against the door, and exiting the truck, slamming it shut and proceeding to haul his backpack and brutal looking pick from the truck bed, covering the tarpaulin over the windows and engine grill to shield from the incoming sand.

He waits for his sibling to get her act together and waits for the accompanying truck that was following them to do the same, slinging his weap- digging tool over his shoulder.
 
Eliza "Ellie" Warren

"Hey!" she whines, throwing a quick flail of arms to ward off any further digs.

"Ass!" is the rebuttal, a word with no unkindness behind it.

Shaking her head, Ellie makes do with her own prep as she exits the vehicle. Sword goes to the hip, pistol is checked in its holster, bag goes on back, and a dozen other little checks and rechecks to make sure everything is accounted for.

Walking back over to Ben, she whistles for Bentley to follow, along with a command of "Stay!". The thaumhound hops out of the truckbed, bounding over to his master in time to see her return the knuckles from earlier.

"No whinging or you get two for flinching," she chuckles, cracking him in the shoulder.
 
Chalith

Ducking as she exited the truck, Chalith took a deep breath and cast her eyes out over their site. A thrumming anxiety had been festering down in the pit of her stomach that she'd been effectively ignoring but on seeing their worksite and being so far out of her usual schedule, the acidic little pain spiked.

This was what you wanted Chalith, a break from routine before you became one of those century old Marshals that put the muzzle of their gun in their mouth after making sure all their equipment would be safe from damage.

Just a little break. She surpresses the feeling with the same sort of steely eyed stoicism she was known for and exits the truck.

The siblings were already scrambling this way and that, their eagerness filling the air with a sense of purpose. Ambition was the name of the game and who else but the warrens to try and win.

"Bea!" Chalith barks over her shoulder "Need help unloading or should we head over and touch base with the kids?"

Chalith wanted to know where they wanted to try and breach. The sinkhole was her opinion of a best bet. A natural opening and less climbing in case they had to evacuate. Not nearly as glorious as blasting open ancient walls but what did glory ever get anyone?
 
Beathel

When Bea let go on the accelerator, the truck had jerked to a stop. It took Bea a beat longer to get moving.

The protective visor fit perfectly this time. Upon exiting, she started copying Ben, getting the tarp over their transport, but Chalith's call stopped her. She didn't know what they needed to unload out of the truck.

She hurried to join Chalith and the others, though the sand dragged at her steps. Her own hands empty, she stared openly at the pick? adze? that Ben had at the ready. Digging time? It being her first time going this far with a scavenging unit, the sinkhole hadn't crossed her mind as a point of entry.
 
Ben

The younger brother casts a feeble glance at the knuckles cracking off his shoulder. He doesn't so much as flinch, cocking his head fractionally, "Help... I'm dying..." The sarcasm laid on even thicker by the mechanical hint to his vocals.

The others had finally finished putting their truck in order and he gives them a polite salute to Chalith and Beathel as they approach, pausing to give Bently a skritch behind his ear.
 
Eliza "Ellie" Warren

Following behind her brother, Ellie makes a wave to the other pair approaching.

"Hey! Chal, Bea. Once we're all done gearin' up, which way ya wanna try an' breach?" she asks as she gets closer to them.

"Sinkhole seems nice, but then we gotta lug whatever we find back up again, and that's jus' a pain in the ass. The tower might be easier in them regards, but I doubt there's an easy entrance jus' waiting. As for the heart..."

Pursing her lips as she rubs her chin, Ellie watches the dome very carefully.

"...well, if there's anythin' worth takin' that'd be yer best bet, but there'd be a hell of a lot more risk to it to. Personally, I'm vouchin' fer that one,"
 
Beathel

Bea stared blankly. They had options? She looked to Chalith and back to Ellie.

At the possibility of the sinkhole, her mind spun up practical and paranoid flashes of moving an injured person at a vertical. But the sinkhole might be the easiest way to get out of the storm's path.

Undecided, Bea tilted her head towards the dome. She unmolded her rebreather from her face. "Why that one?"
 
Eliza "Ellie" Warren

She shrugs, wrinkling her nose.

"Riskin' our lives anyway. Might as well go straight fer the good stuff,"
 
Chalith

"You bring stuff to blast it or just plan on having Ben there blow the engine out on the truck?" Chalith rolled her eyes and continued on with her little routine of securing their working area. Didn't need some creature slinking around in the dust coming up to get the drop on them. Hurrying a few feet out, she starts walking a circle around their trucks. Every few steps dropping a small metal ball, each one briefly flashing as it connected into their network. Above or below, nothing was coming in close without them knowing.

While walking the perimeter, Chalith can't help but smile. Beathel, the Warrens, that Hound. It was a little youthful for her but their anticipation was infectious and she was glad she'd been chosen to keep an eye on them.
 
Eliza "Ellie" Warren

Ellie just chuckles.

"Call that Plan B. Fer the moment, we got a coupla sticks a' dynamite. My kinda skeleton key," she grins, hunkering down next to Bentley.

"So we goin' for the heart then, 'less anybody got any objections?"
 
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