Era 7 Episode 3

[Lunamor she/her]

On 6/27/2024 at 3:55 PM, Longshot97 said:

Eighth shifted to a more secure position, digging his toes into the grooves of the rooftiles. Getting in was hardly an issue. His waterskin suddenly felt a conspicuous weight at his side. Going in discreetly, avoiding injury? Eighth frowned thoughtfully. He had no doubt the quicksilver could take care of any and all foes. If only he could control it.

Idly, Eighth lifted a hand and wiped it on his trousers, careful to avoid contact with his blowdarts. Even residual sweat would begin melting the carapace dart-

Eighth froze. Then, carefully, he flipped the blowpipe casing open, withdrawing a blowdart. He flipped the casing back down, inspecting the dart carefully. The weapon was an arrow in all but name. The weight and balance were similar. Despite the smaller fletching, the blowdart flew straight and true. He had hunted with it, and found its responsiveness pleasingly acute.

Eighth rubbed his fingers together, trying to gather moisture. Then, carefully, he clasped the dart about the head.

A hissing sound rose into the air, and he felt the warhead growing malleable in his hand. Slowly, he applied pressure, compressing the sharp edges into a small, dense sphere. He hefted his new dart. In his mind, he no longer compared it to an arrow. To him, it had roughly the heft of a good slingstone.

Eighth's mind raced. His blowpipes shot the darts with enough force to pierce skin, as well as several layers of clothing. But what if the darts were no longer sharp?

Eighth smiled, certain. He glanced up at the stars, then mentally berated himself. These were not his skies. He shifted to look at the moon instead. If the hours here were anything like his, he had a little less than one hour before midnight came. He would only need half an hour to modify his ammunition. 

"I can subdue any sentries," Eighth assured Eza, withdrawing a handful of darts. "But I will need time to prepare. We strike as soon as we are able. I will enter first, to clear the hallway. You will locate your friend while I deal with any efforts to stop us. We reconvene here, and go up through the roof. Father willing, we escape by midnight."

Eighth of the Eve, Smokestack, Smokestack Constabulary, 11:30 PM

Eighth slid the last of his knockout darts into his blowpipes. The others he tucked into his coat, within easy reach. He worked the handpump, ensuring all chambers were primed. He was ready.

He nodded at Eza, then knelt to make a wider opening in the tiles. These he stacked carefully to the side, trying to minimize sound.

He tightened his glove about his hand, then reached for his waterskin. He removed the cork, then upended it over the wooden planking.

A stream of liquid silver flowed out, eerily luminous in the moonlight. It puddled smoothly on the wooden planks, then began to run in all directions.

Eighth placed his gloved hand in the center of the quicksilver. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the relic. He had not used it in many moons, but he remembered it well. The pure joy of new experience, of testing muscles he had never known existed. The thrill of accomplishment, of triumphs he could never have dreamt of having. Eighth knelt there, and without looking, he felt the silver veins of his hand glow an ethereal, otherworldly violet.

He moved his hand to the left, and the quicksilver flowed with the motion, eagerly responsive. He moved his hand to the right, and it followed. He had never been able to contain it, but he exulted in its motion, free and unencumbered.

Eighth felt a smile stretch his lips. He quashed it, firmly, settling his expression to one of somber concentration. He reached out to the metal below, and commanded it down.

Many thought that timber was solid. They were right, yet at the same time, so wrong. There existed within the wood tiny flaws, minuscule spaces no solid object could dream of entering. But liquid went where it willed. Water swelled raft timbers, and sap flowed through trees in tiny channels. It was through these crevices that he commanded the quicksilver through. And before his eyes, he saw the pool of radiance dissipate, little by little.

He was suddenly conscious of Eza's scrutiny. Father, he thought. Prayed? Let this work. Let me prove myself. If not to you, then to her. Let me prove my worth.

If only once.

Eighth moved his hand a fraction of an inch away, and heard the planks groan quietly, felt them warp ever so slightly. His eyes tightened in satisfaction. He met Eza's eyes, and held up the fingers of his other hand. Three. Two.

One.

Eighth of the Eve clenched his gloved hand into a fist, and heard the muted crunch of separating fibers. He thrust his hand down, and a smoothly circular section of roof caved in. Below, he heard voices abruptly cease.

Eighth hooked his knees over the opening and swung his torso headfirst into the hall below. Two guards stood before a reinforced door. They had eyes only for the section of roof on the floor below, and he aimed quickly. His blowpipes hissed, and one guard's head snapped into the stone wall behind him. The other made the mistake of looking to the side at his partner, rather than up. The second dart caught him in the temple, and collapsed with a thump.

Eighth extended his knees, releasing his grip on the edge. He flipped to the floor below, landing soundlessly, then approached the guards. Both completely unconscious. Luck had favored them. He stripped them of their coats, then the two securely to each other, gagging and blindfolding them.

On them, he found firearms - which he set gingerly aside - papers that appeared to be identification, cudgels, and a keyring.

He then retrieved his darts, flipping his blowpipes open and reloading carefully.

"Well?" Eighth of the Eve said. "They were guarding this doorway. Shall we?"

@Lunamor

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I'm good with them mistakenly assuming the door leads to the cell Asylum's in. Also, apologies if I'm slow to respond. I started a new course recently and it's taking up a bunch of my mental energy.

Eza nodded in affirmation, not wanting to make more noise than was necessary. As she crept to the door on silent feet, she glanced over at the guards. They seemed to be ok- in the loosest definition of the word, at least. They weren't dead, their chests still rising and falling, although they'd hurt something awful when they woke up. This was probably their best case scenario, however. She was glad that Eighth had figured something nonlethal out. He'd done an impressive job- staying undetected required incapacitating the guards in one blow before they realized what was happening, and he'd done just that. She wondered how much experience he had with this sort of thing.

Burning iron for a brief moment, she was disappointed to find that the men didn't have anything metal on their person for her to pilfer. It made sense, considering that they were guarding metalborn, but she'd been hoping anyways. It also would've admittedly felt a bit dirty to take stuff from unconscious people, not that that would've stopped her.

She reached the door and pushed it open slightly, moving it slowly enough to ensure that it didn't creak. Eza peered through the thin gap, trying to see what the room beyond it looked like. There weren't any people immediately nearby. That made sense- the noise from their confrontation, while relatively quiet, would've been enough to draw the attention of anyone close.

It didn't look like somewhere cells would be, however. She saw a desk littered with stacks of paper and a weirdly high number of pencils. Contrasting the messy desk, an empty chair was neatly pushed under it. It was fortunate that they'd waited this long to enter. The room was likely unoccupied because someone with a desk job wouldn't be working late at night. It probably wasn't worth searching, so Eza shut the door again.

"It's an office," Eza whispered to Eighth. Maybe they could hide out there briefly if needed at some point.

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The office is intended to be a random one. I can change what she saw if preferred.

 

[Koloss17 She/They]

On 6/28/2024 at 1:58 PM, Stormlightsong said:

The moment everything started Keshi thought of interfering, but he didn’t. Something was wrong, why was the man not resisting the attacks? As Keshi watched, the man started glowing, and his wounds started to close. Right as Keshi was writing this down, a gigantic hammer appeared in the man’s hand. Seeing the signs that an incredibly dangerous fight was about to break out, Keshi started to interfere. 
 

Sending a message to Goto, Keshi appeared on the big hammer man’s shoulder. Before anyone could react, Goto teleported Keshi and the man a to a roof a block down. “Sorry about this.” Keshi said to the man. “He’s in my jurisdiction.” 
 

Goto teleported Keshi back to the building with the inquisitor. Keshi immediately laid down destructor fire and began to circle the target using light lines and short range teleportation. The target seemed to possess a cloak with a built in defensive system. For some reason, it seemed almost alive. The destructor blasts would only distract his opponent until they discovered it was mostly harmless. So as a nail the side of his arm started flying toward him, Keshi used this opportunity to teleport between the inquisitor and the projectile and attach a light line to the nail now flying away from him. Before Goto fell too much, Keshi sent him an image of the space directly behind the target. After teleporting himself and the nail to the new position, he used the remaining light lines to stabilize himself and angle the nail to swing directly towards the inquisitor’s shoulder.

@Koloss17

Perses yelled in pain as the nail bit into his shoulder. Teleportation? Rusts. He reflexively stored pain, weakening the pain of the nail to a dull ache.

His lifesense was useful, allowing him to know where the small being was going to strike. Yet it didn’t help with his reflexes. Damn, the guy was fast. Perses burned his bronzesense even further, trying to detect the magic being used. He caught glimpses of something before the teleportation, but nothing useful.

”My fights not with you, rascal! It’s with the radiant. Get out of my way!”

Perses took another bit of metal in the thigh. He had to stop doing this to himself. He stopped pushing and pulling. Leaving his metals burning, he stored his steelsense, plunging himself back into darkness.

However, this darkness had accompanied him all his life. 

Keeping his other senses alert, he anticipated the attacks, slowly learning the attack pattern while taking inconsequential hits. His cloak was keeping the creature at bay. Good.

”That all you got, little mouse?”

Edited July 1, 2024 by Koloss17

[Longshot97 he/him]

On 6/28/2024 at 7:50 PM, Lunamor said:

Eza nodded in affirmation, not wanting to make more noise than was necessary. As she crept to the door on silent feet, she glanced over at the guards. They seemed to be ok- in the loosest definition of the word, at least. They weren't dead, their chests still rising and falling, although they'd hurt something awful when they woke up. This was probably their best case scenario, however. She was glad that Eighth had figured something nonlethal out. He'd done an impressive job- staying undetected required incapacitating the guards in one blow before they realized what was happening, and he'd done just that. She wondered how much experience he had with this sort of thing.

Burning iron for a brief moment, she was disappointed to find that the men didn't have anything metal on their person for her to pilfer. It made sense, considering that they were guarding metalborn, but she'd been hoping anyways. It also would've admittedly felt a bit dirty to take stuff from unconscious people, not that that would've stopped her.

She reached the door and pushed it open slightly, moving it slowly enough to ensure that it didn't creak. Eza peered through the thin gap, trying to see what the room beyond it looked like. There weren't any people immediately nearby. That made sense- the noise from their confrontation, while relatively quiet, would've been enough to draw the attention of anyone close.

It didn't look like somewhere cells would be, however. She saw a desk littered with stacks of paper and a weirdly high number of pencils. Contrasting the messy desk, an empty chair was neatly pushed under it. It was fortunate that they'd waited this long to enter. The room was likely unoccupied because someone with a desk job wouldn't be working late at night. It probably wasn't worth searching, so Eza shut the door again.

"It's an office," Eza whispered to Eighth. Maybe they could hide out there briefly if needed at some point.

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I'm good with them mistakenly assuming the door leads to the cell Asylum's in. Also, apologies if I'm slow to respond. I started a new course recently and it's taking up a bunch of my mental energy.

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Sadly, I am in the same boat. I think I've sorted out a system, and so will try to avoid any more day-long gaps between responses. Sorry for the wait.

Eighth of the Eve frowned. An office? Here, in a cellblock? Though, as he looked around, it didn't look like much of a cellblock. Such strange worlds he saw. He flicked his gloved fingers, and the quicksilver pooled out of the wooden planks. The remaining planks were strangely warped, their edge eerily circular.

Eighth tested the glowing bonds one final time before leaving the unconscious guards. He entered the room, trying to find another doorway. He saw one on the far wall, and crept soundlessly to it. On the other side, he heard muffled voices, and a few distant shadows moved in tandem with faint footsteps. His brow furrowed as he tracked the movements. Three, perhaps four people?

Eighth backed away, treading silently. He had hoped to locate Eza's friend swiftly. This complicated matters. He could only incapacitate so many people before absences were noticed.

His foot landed on something oddly soft, and he looked down to see one of the guard's coats. Wool, dyed in distinctive blues, browns, and yellows. Eighth paused, then held it up. It might just fit him, though the sleeves were too small to accommodate his blowpipes. 

Eighth shrugged off his trapper's coat, then began stripping the weapon off his arm. "Beyond seems to be a well-guarded section," he said, "with officers walking about. There is no pattern I can discern. I might be able to slip out and view the prisoners." Eighth picked up the guardcoat and swung into it. He tucked his braid down the collar, frowned at the conspicuous glowing glove on his left hand, then stuffed it in a pocket, muffling the light. He slid a cudgel through his belt, then hid his blowpipes under his coat, on his left side. He stepped over to the pool of quicksilver, examining his reflection.

Everything seemed fine. All but his face, with black eyes, swollen skin, and purple bruising. He frowned, then reached over to the bound constables, retrieving one of the odd hats they wore. He jammed it over his head, angling the brim to shade his eyes and nose. His vision was slightly restricted, but his reflection seemed more believable. Eighth tucked his chin slightly, then deliberately slumped his shoulders. That was the best he could do.

A chirp sounded behind him, and Eighth turned to see Seiju flutter in through the opening. She didn't enjoy being indoors, especially cramped buildings. He smiled slightly, nodding to her in thanks. He would need her help for this.

"I can try to sneak into the area outside. It's likely a circular cellblock. There seem to be few sentries, and those walk a good distance before re-approaching the office - their gaits are distinct. I can meld in, trying to look for your friend."

Eighth eyed the girl. "I doubt that you could, however. I will have to search alone. How can I recognize your friend, and would he trust me?"

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Probably, things will go terribly wrong in the cell block over. After all, Asylum isn't there, Eighth is acting like an extra sentry (which any guard will notice sooner or later) in a rather flimsy disguise, and this episode still needs to wrap up. How exactly the proverbial fecal matter will strike the fan is heavily subject to change, but I think the setting has been estabished enough to guide events. Of course, a lot depends on Stormlightsong, and the details of the Big Thing™. 

@Lunamor

Edited July 8, 2024 by Longshot97

[Lunamor she/her]

On 6/30/2024 at 5:40 PM, Longshot97 said:

Eighth of the Eve frowned. An office? Here, in a cellblock? Though, as he looked around, it didn't look like much of a cellblock. Such strange worlds he saw. He flicked his gloved fingers, and the quicksilver pooled out of the wooden planks. The remaining planks were strangely warped, their edge eerily circular.

Eighth tested the glowing bonds one final time before leaving the unconscious guards. He entered the room, trying to find another doorway. He saw one on the far wall, and crept soundlessly to it. On the other side, he heard muffled voices, and a few distant shadows moved in tandem with faint footsteps. His brow furrowed as he tracked the movements. Three, perhaps four people?

Eighth backed away, treading silently. He had hoped to locate Eza's friend swiftly. This complicated matters. He could only incapacitate so many people before absences were noticed.

His foot landed on something oddly soft, and he looked down to see one of the guard's coats. Wool, dyed in distinctive blues, browns, and yellows. Eighth paused, then held it up. It might just fit him, though the sleeves were too small to accommodate his blowpipes. 

Eighth shrugged off his tracker's coat, then began stripping the weapon off his arm. "Beyond seems to be a well-guarded section," he said, "with officers walking about. There is no pattern I can discern. I might be able to slip out and view the prisoners." Eighth picked up the guardcoat and swung into it. He tucked his braid down the collar, frowned at the conspicuous glowing glove on his left hand, then stuffed it in a pocket, muffling the light. He slid a cudgel through his belt, then hid his blowpipes under his coat, on his left side. He stepped over to the pool of quicksilver, examining his reflection.

Everything seemed fine. All but his face, with black eyes, swollen skin, and purple bruising. He frowned, then reached over to the bound constables, retrieving one of the odd hats they wore. He jammed it over his head, angling the brim to shade his eyes and nose. His vision was slightly restricted, but his reflection seemed more believable. Eighth tucked his chin slightly, then deliberately slumped his shoulders. That was the best he could do.

A chirp sounded behind him, and Eighth turned to see Seiju flutter in through the opening. She didn't enjoy being indoors, especially cramped buildings. He smiled slightly, nodding to her in thanks. He would need her help for this.

"I can try to sneak into the area outside. It's likely a circular cellblock. There seem to be few sentries, and those walk a good distance before re-approaching the office - their gaits are distinct. I can meld in, trying to look for your friend."

Eighth eyed the girl. "I doubt that you could, however. I will have to search alone. How can I recognize your friend, and would he trust me?"

@Lunamor

Eza nearly objected to Eighth looking for Lum alone, but held her tongue. She would only give him away if she followed; there weren't any spots to hide effectively in this building, and someone with her small stature had no chance at passing for a guard. That coat would look like an oversized, floor-length robe on her. She didn't have a better plan than his, either. She hadn't even been able to decide on a way into the building without him.

Despite her acceptance of her inability to follow, it still made her uncomfortable. His disguise was less-than-perfect. His incredibly beat-up face couldn't be completely hidden by just a hat; the guards would probably know the faces of their coworkers, anyways. Eighth going alone also meant that she couldn't be there to help him if he got in trouble. Her best bet would have to be hiding somewhere potentially in earshot. Shoving down her unease at using this guy like a stone you threw into a hole to see how deep it was, she described her friend to him.

"Asylum's a they, not a he. They wear stuff with lots of four-leaf clovers on it, although I don't know if they got to keep their regular clothes when they were arrested. They're pretty tall. I think they're somewhere in their 20s, although they never told me and I never asked."

She narrowed her eyes at Seiju. Hopefully the bird wouldn't tag along with Eighth. Having a brightly colored animal on your shoulder didn't seem smart if you were trying to hide or blend in. Chances are it would just start squawking loudly for the heck of it and draw a bunch of attention even if he somehow kept out of sight. She didn't exactly want it to stay with her either, though. Maybe it'd wait on the roof. Birds seemed to like it up there.

Eza scrutinized the avian nuisance for a moment longer, then looked back to Eighth.

"And, um, please make a loud noise or something if you get caught. I'm not sure how much I'll be able to hear, but I'll try to come help if it sounds like you're in trouble."

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Eza would know more details about Asylum's appearance, but they aren't in their character sheet and I can't remember if they've mentioned them, so please assume that Eza told Eighth enough info to recognize Asylum

 

[Stormlightsong]

On 6/30/2024 at 4:05 PM, Koloss17 said:

Perses yelled in pain as the nail bit into his shoulder. Teleportation? Rusts. He reflexively stored pain, weakening the pain of the nail to a dull ache.

His lifesense was useful, allowing him to know where the small being was going to strike. Yet it didn’t help with his reflexes. Damn, the guy was fast. Perses burned his bronzesense even further, trying to detect the magic being used. He caught glimpses of something before the teleportation, but nothing useful.

”My fights not with you, rascal! It’s with the radiant. Get out of my way!”

Perses took another bit of metal in the thigh. He had to stop doing this to himself. He stopped pushing and pulling. Leaving his metals burning, he stored his steelsense, plunging himself back into darkness.

However, this darkness had accompanied him all his life. 

Keeping his other senses alert, he anticipated the attacks, slowly learning the attack pattern while taking inconsequential hits. His cloak was keeping the creature at bay. Good.

”That all you got, little mouse?”

The target was taunting him, but Keshi had learned enough. With a final twist, he pulled out three nails from the inquisitors body. Then he was gone.

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Just wrapping up this thread. Make you final posts before the chaos begins.

 

[Koloss17 She/They]

1 hour ago, Stormlightsong said:

The target was taunting him, but Keshi had learned enough. With a final twist, he pulled out three nails from the inquisitors body. Then he was gone.

 

Perses lashed around, confused. What the hell was that? Who the hell was that? If that nuisance showed up again, he’d…

Rusts, he was bleeding. Perses was strong, but as much as he tried to deny it, he wasn’t immortal. Not yet.

Pushing his lifesense further, he didn’t seem find any other assailants. All he had to do was tend to his wounds. Ideally, somewhere more private. And that radiant still needed to be taught a lesson.

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@RoyalBeeMage you’re free to pop back in, or not. Perses is likely going to make some ominous threat and steelpush away, but it’s your call to make if you want to RP a brief interaction. Either way works, and if you have something in mind, feel free to RP it.

 

[Longshot97 he/him]

On 7/3/2024 at 12:53 AM, Lunamor said:

Eza nearly objected to Eighth looking for Lum alone, but held her tongue. She would only give him away if she followed; there weren't any spots to hide effectively in this building, and someone with her small stature had no chance at passing for a guard. That coat would look like an oversized, floor-length robe on her. She didn't have a better plan than his, either. She hadn't even been able to decide on a way into the building without him.

Despite her acceptance of her inability to follow, it still made her uncomfortable. His disguise was less-than-perfect. His incredibly beat-up face couldn't be completely hidden by just a hat; the guards would probably know the faces of their coworkers, anyways. Eighth going alone also meant that she couldn't be there to help him if he got in trouble. Her best bet would have to be hiding somewhere potentially in earshot. Shoving down her unease at using this guy like a stone you threw into a hole to see how deep it was, she described her friend to him.

"Asylum's a they, not a he. They wear stuff with lots of four-leaf clovers on it, although I don't know if they got to keep their regular clothes when they were arrested. They're pretty tall. I think they're somewhere in their 20s, although they never told me and I never asked."

She narrowed her eyes at Seiju. Hopefully the bird wouldn't tag along with Eighth. Having a brightly colored animal on your shoulder didn't seem smart if you were trying to hide or blend in. Chances are it would just start squawking loudly for the heck of it and draw a bunch of attention even if he somehow kept out of sight. She didn't exactly want it to stay with her either, though. Maybe it'd wait on the roof. Birds seemed to like it up there.

Eza scrutinized the avian nuisance for a moment longer, then looked back to Eighth.

"And, um, please make a loud noise or something if you get caught. I'm not sure how much I'll be able to hear, but I'll try to come help if it sounds like you're in trouble."

 

Eighth of the Eve nodded, going through her description. He was certain he could spot the man, though he wondered if prisoners kept their clothes with them.

He frowned at the thought of being caught. He had no intention of failing. However...

Fool. One does not walk Patji's Children comfortably, not even Sori. You are a trapper in unknown terrain. Act like one.

Well, when surrounded by the unfamiliar, rely on the familiar. "There may be an easier solution," Eighth said, withdrawing his gloved hand. The glow had faded, but rekindled at a thought from him. He waved his hand over the quicksilver, drawing it into his waterskin. This he held before Eza.

"You can pull on metal, yes?" He tied the skin securely over his abdomen, arranging it to appear like a paunch beneath his coat. He made sure to keep the cork within easy reach. "Should I be in danger, I will whistle. You may not hear it, but Seiju will. Watch the bird; she will make her distress known. Pull on this to hasten my retreat. This room is easier to defend, and our escape is here."

Spurred to greater caution, he pulled out his chalk and broke off a small piece. This he crushed on one hand, then powdered his exposed hair with dust to appear gray with age. He smeared the rest over his jaw, mimicking stubble.

He could no longer check his reflection, but felt more confident in the disguise. Seiju chirped approvingly, and he motioned her to silence. He opened the office door, and she fluttered silently through, alighting on a low desk.

He stepped over to the opposite door, one hand resting on his Aviar. There he stopped, eyes closed breathing slowly and deliberately. He felt his heart slow, and the rush in ears quieted. In that silence, he clearly made out Seiju's own heartbeat, quick and staccato. This too he tuned out, focusing on their bond and reaching out to the area beyond the door. He could make out the thuds of footsteps, faintly hear whisper of breath, imagine the rustle of cloth. The sentries were regularly spaced in their walk. Eighth stood, awaiting an opening. One guard passed. Then two. Then three...

There.

Eighth turned the latch, lifting the door up on its hinges. The metal had appeared rusted. Smoothly, he swung the door towards him, pivoting off his left foot. His right sandal cleared the doorway right as it opened wide enough to admit it. He planted his foot, twisted, and stepped backwards off his right foot. He allowed the door to swing shut behind him, closing soundlessly. Eighth kept the latch lifted until the door had settled, then turned it back in the same motion he swung off his right foot to walk placidly down the hall.

Eighth kept his head down, hat shading his brow. His shoulders slumped deliberately forwards, his knees bent gently in a way he hoped emphasized the paunch. His eyes, however, remained alert, darting about even while his head sloped down unmoving.

This was indeed a hallway, with holding cells on either side. The walls facing him were composed entirely of metal bars, allowing him convenient vision of each room. The cots within were flat against the wall, the occupants clearly visible in the muted light.

A massive grayskin, bulging out of the narrow bed. A man in muted clothing much like his own. A woman with what looked like feathers for hair. He passed them all, advancing at a steady pace.

Ahead, just turning the corner was the sentry he had heard. Behind him, he heard the guard behind him rounding the bend, passing the office door without a glance. Eighth suppressed a satisfied smile. He was in.

He continued, trudging on as though half-asleep. The prison cells were obviously constructed to provide a constant view of the prisoners. Eighth could easily pick out the people within.

And none were Eza's friend.

Doubt began to creep into Eighth's mind. His shoulders tensed, and his hands made fists in his pockets. None of these match the description of Asylum Smedry. But how? This is obviously the place where prisoners are kept. There is nowhere else to place them!

Right?

Eighth felt his act falter, felt his tension bleed into his stride. He strove to maintain an air of placid boredom as he rounded the corner to walk back to the office. Once at the door, he could slip in, reconvene with Eza. No. Surely, her friend is in one of these cells. Surely.

Eighth of the Eve strode on. He was approaching the place he had begun. The prisoners seemed to blur past him. A strange blue-skinned creature. An odd foxlike creature the height of his shin. A four-armed alien, much like the shopkeeper. Please, Father. Make this easy. There was only one cell left. Eighth approached it, and a hope rose within him.

The man was awake, despite the hour, facing the wall away from the bars. An elaborate suit enveloped his lean frame. Eighth walked on, and deliberately scuffed his foot against the ground as he passed. The man spun to face him, light on his feet. Eighth's heart rose...only to fall even deeper than before.

The man's skin was black as treebark. Defined muscles, hidden when stationary, rippled at his neck and shoulders. This was not him. This was not Asylum Smedry.

"'Ey! Tarmon!"

Eighth started at the noise. He looked around, wondering at the sound.

"Tarmon! This fellow givin' you any trouble?"

Of course. The guard behind him. He turned, heart sinking even as he did so. The hunt was ending.

The guard slowed from his light jog, glaring at the marbleskin. Then he glanced at Eighth.

"Hold on now. You're not Tarmon. But that's his coat!" His look of confusion turned to anger. "What did you do to hi-"

Eighth whipped out his right hand, snagging the cudgel from his belt. The knobbed end struck the guard square in the throat, his raised voice cutting with a sharp croak. He staggered back, drawing his own club. But Eighth was already moving, dashing away.

The sentry ahead rounded the bend, having heard the man's shout. His weapon was held carelessly at his side, but at seeing Eighth racing towards him, he cursed and backpedaled, raising his club.

Eighth whistled, high and sharp, even as he collided with the sentry. He saw the man wince at the sound, even as his cudgel took Eighth in the arm. Pain shot through his wrist, and his weapon clattered to the floor. He spun to flee, then dropped as the first guard's swing hissed above his head. Eighth sprang from his crouch, driving his shoulder into the man's gut, driving him backwards. The man shouted hoarsely as he fell to the ground.

Eighth ripped off his coat, wrapping it hastily about his arms to intercept another blow. The wool cushioned the impact, but Father, it hurt. He whistled once more, even higher than before. Behind him, he heard the clatter of more footsteps, and voices began raising an alarm.

Come on, Seiju. Don't fail me now.

Edited July 8, 2024 by Longshot97

[RoyalBeeMage he/him]

On 7/5/2024 at 10:10 AM, Koloss17 said:

Perses lashed around, confused. What the hell was that? Who the hell was that? If that nuisance showed up again, he’d…

Rusts, he was bleeding. Perses was strong, but as much as he tried to deny it, he wasn’t immortal. Not yet.

Pushing his lifesense further, he didn’t seem find any other assailants. All he had to do was tend to his wounds. Ideally, somewhere more private. And that radiant still needed to be taught a lesson.

Quote

@RoyalBeeMage you’re free to pop back in, or not. Perses is likely going to make some ominous threat and steelpush away, but it’s your call to make if you want to RP a brief interaction. Either way works, and if you have something in mind, feel free to RP it.

Eleos picked up his shardhammer and kicked open the door to the place where Perses and the person who had teleported him away were fighting. He looked out at the chaos and saw Perses bleeding.

“Perses!” Eleos called out, his voice cutting through the din. He stepped forward, his shardhammer resting on his shoulder. “This has to end. Look at yourself. Look at what this path has brought you.”

He walked slowly towards Perses, keeping an eye on the surroundings for any potential threats. “You’re strong, but you’re not invincible. You don’t have to keep fighting alone. Let us help you.”

Eleos’s eyes softened with genuine concern as he took in Perses’s wounds. “You’re bleeding, Perses. You need to tend to your injuries. Continuing to fight in this condition will only make things worse. I’m not your enemy. Let’s stop this madness before it’s too late.”

He stopped a few steps away from Perses, giving him space but ready to intervene if needed. “I don’t want to fight you. I want to save the Mistwarrens, just like you do. Let’s find a way to do it together.”

Eleos held out his hand, offering peace once more. “Please, Perses. Let’s put an end to this chaos and work towards something better.”

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i asume its the same room

 

[Koloss17 She/They]

2 hours ago, RoyalBeeMage said:

 

“Perses!” Eleos called out, his voice cutting through the din. He stepped forward, his shardhammer resting on his shoulder. “This has to end. Look at yourself. Look at what this path has brought you.”

He walked slowly towards Perses, keeping an eye on the surroundings for any potential threats. “You’re strong, but you’re not invincible. You don’t have to keep fighting alone. Let us help you.”

Eleos’s eyes softened with genuine concern as he took in Perses’s wounds. “You’re bleeding, Perses. You need to tend to your injuries. Continuing to fight in this condition will only make things worse. I’m not your enemy. Let’s stop this madness before it’s too late.”

He stopped a few steps away from Perses, giving him space but ready to intervene if needed. “I don’t want to fight you. I want to save the Mistwarrens, just like you do. Let’s find a way to do it together.”

Eleos held out his hand, offering peace once more. “Please, Perses. Let’s put an end to this chaos and work towards something better.”

 

Perses looked at the radiant in disdain. All of his life, he had been underestimated, with others claiming that he couldn’t do what he wanted alone. His lack of sight holding him back. This radiant was doing the same rusting thing. Rage burned within Perses. 
 

He winced as his wounds came to his attention. Seething with rage, he knew the man was right about one thing. He was in no condition to fight. “You don’t know me. You don’t even begin to know what I am. Get you and your crew out of the Warrens, or I will see to it personally that you will know what I’m capable of.”

With that, Perses burned steel. He stepped out of the building and pushed away, taking to the skies. Retreating, for now.

———————————————

Perses’ Apartment.

Perses treated his wounds. The injuries went deep, and they wouldn’t heal without magical intervention. Fortunately, he knew a guy. However, he couldn't go to them now. 
 

Wincing in pain, but still storing most of the feeling, he worked to patch up his wounds. He could stop the external bleeding, at least. The wounds went deep, and the worst outcome was that they got infected. Strangely enough, his cloak almost seemed sympathetic to his pain.

As he worked, he thought about what the radiant had said. He was wrong, in so many ways. He didn’t want to save the mistwarrens. He acted like he did, but he didn’t. It was a lost cause. But what did he want?

Power. Power to get what you want. To never be underestimated by others that think themselves better than you. To never be bossed around by those that would rather have someone that they thought was better suited for the job, even when they were dead wrong.

You want freedom, Perses.

 

Perses felt a sudden chill in the air. Yet it wasn’t something that he could store. Almost as if this “feeling” was coming from somewhere else. 

Something was deeply wrong.

@Stormlightsong

[Stormlightsong]

Asylum, Smokestack, Smokestack Constabulary.

Asylum sat in their cell waiting. As the moon approached its apex, they began the preparations. Thankfully the guard that had the last patrol around the prison had also been an old gambling partner and had owed lots of money to Asylum, but these contraband would have to suffice. Asylum laid the mirror upright in the center of their cell. Taking some salt, they created a circle around the mirror, making sure there were no gaps. Finally they laid the candle that the guards had foolishly given Asylum when they begged for light next to the mirror. Then they waited.

The moment what seemed to be a fight broke out a few halls down Asylum struck the mirror square in the center, the yells masking the shatter of glass. When they looked at the mirror, the glass had separated into thirteen equal pieces. And the face that stared back was no longer their own. Asylum smiled, “Hello demon” 

The shadow looked the same even after seven years. Even it’s expression was the same, a look of amusement. “I’ve called you here to make you a deal,” Asylum said with their perfect poker face. “I know that you have been restless because of my… reluctance to use your full power, restricting you to games of chance, but I have an ultimatum for you.” The figure started to shake, and Asylum frowned as they realized it was laughing. 

Asylum heard a whisper coming not from the mirror, but seemingly from themself. “You think you have anything you can give me?” The demon said from it’s cage, though it’s mouth did not move. “You who uses me for pleasure and gold?.”

Asylum smiled. “Ah, but I know what you want.” Asylum said. “You do not yearn for power or control, but for the sweet taste of chaos. I can give you that. I can restore our former glory. In exchange for this.” They placed the Malleus Maleficarum the mirror. 

The demon tilted back it’s head in uncontrolled laughter. “Your old science project? Your ‘Field Research On The Practices Of Witches In Europe’?”

The demon laughed as Asylum clenched their fists. “In this book I have collected the knowledge and spells of witches from Ireland to Russia! I can rain chaos from heaven to hell! All I need is a bit of leeway, so that I may bring misfortune to those radiants that put me here!” 

Asylum composed themself as the demon stopped its cackling. “Until the sun rises,” It said, as if weaving the thread of fate with its words. “You will have the power over misfortune as you desire. A power that will wither your soul and bend others to your will. In return you will raise hell on earth until the streets roll with blood and broken glass. A deal sealed in blood.”

“How else.” Asylum said before bringing their palm to their teeth and biting. They licked the blood from their teeth as they reached toward the mirror. Suddenly a smoky hand reached out of the mirror and grabbed their wound as the candle went out.

It was quiet as Asylum retrieved their hand from the mirror, which had finally started to crumble. The only light that remained was the silver shine of the moon. Suddenly the light changed. The moon darkened and glowed a deep red as if bleeding. Cries of surprise and confusion sounded from the streets as Asylum sat in their cell and smiled.

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The time has come! I know this might be confusing since it is written in Asylum’s perspective. So here is a breakdown of what just happened:

Spoiler

Asylum got an old gambling buddy to sneak in a small free standing mirror, some salt, and the Malleus Maleficarum (supplied by Lucy/Lucky/Luecine), into their cell through the barred window. They then created a salt circle to bind the “demon” and summoned it the same way they did seven years ago on accident: by breaking a mirror. This “demon” is actually their Smedry talent taking form the same way Alcatraz’s does in Alcatraz versus the evil librarians, but since Asylum perceives it as a demon superstitions about demons apply to it. Asylum then makes a deal with the “demon” for the power to use the spells that asylum has collected in their copy of the Malleus Maleficarum until daybreak. In exchange asylum must wreck havoc upon Alleycity to satiate the talent’s hunger for chaos. the deal is sealed with a blood pact, and the moon turns red for… reasons (the reason is it would be thematic.)

I will be exploring Asylum’s new powers in the next episode.

@Lunamor @Scars of Hathsin @TheFrugalWizard @RoyalBeeMage @Koloss17 @Longshot97

 

Edited July 6, 2024 by Stormlightsong