Hunters, Hunted.
The light mist clung late among the buildings of the small riverside hamlet. A single stone span jut from a tumbled rough stone levy crafted against the changing moods of the dark swirling current of the river -acting as a wharf for barges to carry commerce -out into the river that swirled through the town. Between the older Long-hall Crofters who’s farms snuggled into the valleys rising into the steep mountain hills and the main buildings of the town. A lone ‘jack chuffed as it shifted crated wares under the direction of its handler, while at the end of the wharf a squat building fed heavy chains out to the far bank along which a ferry ran.
In the main town slate roofs peaked over stolid stone buildings. The inhabitants went about their business morning business. All wrapped in warm felt coats, kirtles and jackets. Nodding polite greetings in passing as the faint drifting mists beaded all with the silver trappings of condensation brushed from the morning air.
The outer boarder of the town circled by a hefty earthen fosse of green spring grass. Its top breasted by rough stone ramparts delineated the border of the town from the forest beyond where the trees -their tangled branches of Fir, Pine, Ash and Oak being the true wilds -in a blanket of green frosted darkness.
The guards stationed at the entry closest towards the forest stood about the comforting warmth of a small wrought iron brassier. Keeping alert to the presence of the nearby brooding trees. The crunch of hooves upon the gravel road slowly became louder and the guards looked to each other and peered towards the green darkness. The eldest of them glanced at the youngest and spoke quickly,
“Sounds like som’n coming up the old road. Best get th’ sergeant.”
The youngster nodded and started off to the barracks buried in the rear of the thick earth of the fosse, while the rest of group casually shifted their stance, adjusting the grips on their pole arms.
A pair of horses resolved from the mists and screen of the trees. Leading them lightly stepped a figure swathed in a heavy, travel worn, black great coat. Topped by a wide brimmed, low crowned black hat, made more for the climate of the dry and dusty East.
Short stirruped astride the great black mare -which was in the lead -sat a ragged, bound and gagged man who glared and muffled at the world. His most venomous stares directed at the hat wearing shape leading the horses. Draped over the back of the following quiet bay lay the still forms of three bodies.
The figure and horses came to a halt a distance from the guards. In doing so the stance of the stranger allowed the great coat to shift open enough for a holstered pistol to show free. There the figure waited, with a gloved hand hanging close.
"………”
Sergeant Grant Standborough strode out from the warmth of the redoubt. His worn heavy great coat appearing more as a shade of gray in the overcast and misty light, instead of its original royal Cygnaran blue. At close to six feet in height, his gait was sure and firm, a weathered face surrounded by steel Grey hair.
"Good Morrow and who is it we welcome to our fair burgh?" his gravel-deep voice carried to all as he took in the tableau before him.
"We don't get much travel up yon road, on account of near do wells who'd prey on other folks misery. Now it seems there's less bodies presented here than reports'd suggest. So how do I know who has been the victim of whom?" He finished with a raised eyebrow and a hard stare.
The hatted figure did no more than sigh softly, while shoving quickly upwards on the mounted captives' nearest boot, sending him to a painful tumble on the gravel road below.
"What ye see here are either the eedjots too arrogant t’ be in cover when the leader there," The hat twitched towards the now moaning man "Done called fer my money. Or to slow to get t’ cover when I gave 'em my reply."
"Now, m’ horse is tired, I'm wantin’ a tub an’ a meal, if you c’n just give me th’ quick guide lines on townie behavior an’ a pointer at a tavern with stables, I'd be much appreciative." The soft jingle of coins drifted across the open space where the strangers other gloved hand held a small, soft bag.
Standborough just frowned and walked up to the bay. Levering up the first body, he found a bullet wound in its chest. The second body he didn't touch, the matted hair and bloodied mess attesting to a fatal head wound, with the third body having a bullet wound located in its side.
He walked all the way around the group to where the captive still lay, muffled moaning coming through their gag. He didn't need to bend down to see the resemblance to the etchings depicted on the wanted fliers affixed to the barracks walls and the offices boards.
"Hhrrmm, we'll have a patrol down that road to check all that. As for lodgings, I'd recommend the 'Tippled Tun'. That should see to you and your horses wants. As well as being handy enough to drop by and chat about anything that comes to mind." And he paused, his voice gaining a rougher burr,
"O' course, the usual rules of law apply, this ain't a one horse town by any means. You brawl, disturb the piece, act in a lewd or ‘unseemly’ manner and we’ll move you on.” He leaned in closer to add emphasis to his hight,
“You draw that Iron and you better have a whole lot of reason to do so. Cause if you don’t, you will not believe the world of hurt I will muster upon your shoulders.” He stepped back, “Gate fee is three silvers a mount or wagon. Two silvers a merchant or wain!”
He finished loudly turning to look at the other guards even as the black coats’ shoulders shrugged, while at the same time a gloved hand spun a small silk bag towards him. His hand popping up in a reflex catch, the chink of coins sounding in his ear.
“That should cover.” Came the quiet, nonchalant response. The gun wielder beginning to lead the big black towards the town leaving the reins of the bey discarded on the gravel.
“Hey?!..” Standborough started, looking askance at the crumpled man and the placid bay with its baggage.
“Whut? T’is not my horse an’ I’ve got enough expenses with this hay burner! Can’t afford th’ cost of another.” Called back the black clad figure not turning, the words ending with a soft chuckle.
The pair walked coolly into the town as the clearing clouds allowed more of the sun to shine down, beginning to drive the mists away into a muggy haze. The entry guards talked quietly amongst themselves as Strandborough sighed and began to think through the report he was going to have to write.
*…………*
‘Chief Constable’ Jonathann Rystell took in the view of the town from his office window high in the building of the town Hall. One of his first acts upon ‘returning to duties’ had been to establish his post in the highest room he could find, an idea that still brought a rueful smirk. His official reason had been to ‘Help bolster his fitness and recuperation’ but he’d been very happy to find that only the most pressing matters managed to make it quickly up the arduous climb of three flights of stairs.
He sighed as he reviewed the handy work of his latest report. Putting his quill aside he carefully lifted the paper by one corner and blew gently to speed the ink in drying.
*Definitely getting to the stage where I could submit something without having a clerk re-draft the durn thing* he mused.
Pushing up from his chair, he stretched to draw the kinks from his back and began flexing his hand. As he worked the kinks from his spine his gaze fell across his captains badges. His mood darkened the small pieces of brass looking inert and dull.
Jonathann scratched a twinge in his right side then brushed his fingers through his auburn hair. He sighed, his fugue deepening, reflecting on how his time in the army felt so far removed even though it had been relatively recent. His musings turning to how such a span of time, less than a decade, may have affected him.
The door to his office blew open as a svelte figure waltzed in past the muted squeak of his office secretary.
“MORNING!” beamed Mellani Rystell, as she swooped around his desk, proceeding to hug him fiercely.
She stood back and looked up at him, her head held askance.
“You’re not wearing it?” The words were half question, half accusation.
Jon absently reached across and scratched his right shoulder.
“Ummm”
Mellani pouted, “Want I should rub some liniment on it?” She affected the same tones one of their old nannies had used when either of them had suffered a scrape in one of their many young escapades. The humor brought smiles and soft laughter to them both.
“It’s just that I need more time to adjust.” He replied defensively
“Look, my cursive-’s becoming quite good!” Reaching around her to snatch up the report attempting to head off further possible recriminations.
Mellani took the paper and held it up to the full light of the window.
“Oh yes!” she opined “How many ‘P’s in appointment?” her arched eyebrow adding an impish quality to her smiling face.
“Wha?.. Were? Hey one rehabilitation exercise at a time!” Jonathann protested, taking back the document and peering intently for the offending squiggles.
Mellani giggled as she hopped up to perch upon an edge of Jonathann’s desk, her face turning solemn.
“Remember what the prognoses of Doctor Thronton read,” she warned seriously then her features flicking back into their grin,
“Besides, I bet Major Haley wears hers all the time.” She couldn’t resist baiting her brother with old romantic notions.
“Hmmm…Yes well, I shan’t go recounting barracks jokes…” his voice trailed off absently, still frowning at the form in his hand, then noticing that Mellani was wearing boots and trues he frowned as his ire piquing irrationally at the ‘unlady’ like attire. He slid the paper onto the pile awaiting his office clerk’s attention.
“To be honest, it makes me feel unbalanced.” He reached out and ruffled her hair, the scowl that showed under the playful jostling showing that the action was acknowledged as payback for the needling though not quite hiding the concern in her eyes.
“And let’s not forget that incident with the…” They were interrupted as young messenger bolted to the top of the stairs and waved a small sheaf of papers.
“Message from Green Gate!” He panted.
"..."
The barkeep scowled. His hands occupied with cleaning the mug between them. He’d long since given up directing his ire at the figure sprawled out at his best ‘corner’ table. No amount of complaining had helped his dark mood.
“That’ns gonna bring nothin’ but trouble.” He groused at the hired help as she continued to sweep the floor. Cleaning away any detritus left from the previous evening.
Cecily nodded meekly, often casting surreptitious glance at the object of the barkeeps’ ire. She didn’t understand the problem; the customer had paid Creedons’ prices without question or hesitation. She’d even heard Rob the stable hand whisper he’d been tipped handsomely for extra care to be spent on the big black mare now resting under a quilt in the best stall.
Creedon had seen the figure coming down the street through his ‘grand window’. A large framed construct of many thick panes of glass, which had so far resisted all bodies that had come against it. The horse had stood out first, fine lines, proud gait, and full tack, even disheveled by the damp as it had been. He’d been mentally adding amounts together to charge for stabling and services when the owner had barely glanced up at the tavern sign before waltzing straight into the stables.
He’d cussed then. The was only one gate from that direction a stranger could've come from and only one person who’d a reason to direct some one from said gate to his establishment. By the time he bustled into the stables the tack had already been draped over a stand and he saw the stable waif guiltily shoving a tight fist into his breeches pocket. The look Creedon had wilted under from the stranger had quickly quelled any thoughts about claiming a ‘cut’.
“I want th’ front room, fresh linens. M’ cloths laundered. A bath set. Send fer a carpenter an’ leather worker!” The orders had snapped out fast, quick, precise. He found himself agreeing to things with prices tumbling out before he’d even begun to think over details and costs. All punctuated by the scrape of the currycomb brushing down the huge mare.
As his wits had gathered, he’d found himself wringing his apron and nodding. Dropping the cloth he’d gotten a moments sinister pleasure from the whispered threat the stable hand had obviously received but under ‘that’ gaze he’d hustled off himself, only later re-establishing ‘his’ place and ordering the staff about with and aggrieved air.
“Nuthin but trouble.” He grumbled again, shifting the weight of his stance. The Gobber, perched atop a barstool near the doorway flicked his eyes briefly towards the comment. Momentarily distracted from the mesmerizing actions of the strangers slow methodical ritual of disassembling, checking, cleaning and reassembling of the exotic shooting irons, drawn from the masterfully crafted leather ‘rig’ that graced the strangers hips.
Bront Creedon was about to make a complaint about the state of his bunions and the sure premonition of the troubles to come, when he saw other figures advancing towards the tavern through the window.
“I must’ve the luck like a kiss from the Dark Twin.” He grumbled quietly instead as they stopped in his doorway.
"..."
Jonathann stepped out of the town hall and walked along the town streets, with Mellani debonairly on his left arm. He nodded politely to the people he met as they passed by. He flexed his right shoulder, feeling the skin draw tighter where the brass mekanical fitting abutted against his body. The armature hung loosely, currently an inert piece of metal, crystal and leather; the mechanikal hand adroitly tucked into the buckle of his sword belt.
The gentle squeeze he gave his sisters hand was returned in response that, perhaps in truth, was being more than just company. Her presence being the stabilizing, bolstering support helping him staying on a steady course. As they casually strolled from the towns offices around towards the gateway that was closest to the encircling forest.
Turning one last last corner brought them within sight of the ‘Green Gate’ as well as the figure of Sergeant Standborough sauntering towards them.
“Mornin’, SA!” Standborough snapped to a salute.
“Morning Gunny.” Jonathann smiled at the older trooper while negotiating an about turn that brought his sister in between the both of them on their new course back into town towards a certain inn.
“Your report, brought to me this morning, mentioned ‘Four miscreants, three deceased, being delivered to your post.” He began lightly.
“Yes, Sir.” Responded ‘Gunny’ Grant. His eyes seemingly lost in the distance of town ass they walked.
“One horse, bearing the mark of ‘Ten Brinkel Steeding’, reported missing. Along with one driver and one wagon, not returned.”
“Yes, Sir.” Came the same neutral reply.
“The attached surgeons notes detail that all said deceased expired from one well placed shot and that all had been facing their assailants.”
“I had noted that as well, sir.” Blandly responded Standborough.
“Now you have also mentioned that the person who delivered these items of note had been seen to walk towards an establishment by the name of ‘The Tippled Tun’.”
“Yes, Sir.” Responded Grant, his gaze still neutrally forward.
"You also mention, in an addendum report, about 'Possible undesirables now billeting at the Tippled Tun'."
"Yes, Sir." Standborough replied, his manner still plain and neutral.
“Now I seem to recall previous reports and inferences regarding said establishment. Most of which question the repute of the premises while not directly making accusations nor condemnations.” Jonathann glanced across at Grant with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes, Sir.” Came the same neutral tone and inflection.
“Now, it seems interesting that most noted undesirables seem to end up staying at said establishment.”
“Yes, Sir, quite a coincidence, Sir.” Agreed Grant nonchalantly.
“Now, would it also be correct to point out that it is an ‘open rumor’ that there would seem to be a ‘disagreement’ between A Mr. Bront Creedon and your self?”
“Yes, Sir. I have heard such barracks whispers.” Grant responded, all the while his manner remaining neutral and uncaring.
“So Gunny, can I ask if you have any enemies that you really don’t like?” Finished Jonathann as he stepped up to the doorway under the sign of the ‘Tippled Tun’.
“None as what I can think of that is still breathing, Sir.” Was the perfectly deadpan reply from Standborough as he took up a position by the door in a stance that told all comers ‘No Entry’.
Jonathann glanced at Mellani who’d been listening the whole time to see a look of shock and surprise trying to be smothered by her social skills.
*………*
Since my first offering is worth the boards. I present the first attempt I every put my hand to at writing. Since first penning these words, I think I've learn a bit and will work through the prose both to make it better and to let a better spell checker sort out my terrible spelling.
I hope the prose brings you entertainment for the time spent reading it.
EDIT: I changed two things.
1) I wrote this tale originally inspired by the Role Playing game created by Privateer Press game reality called "Iron Kingdoms". A Google image search should fill a reader with more than enough images to illustrate the 'elements' of the world.
2) I took off the (1) at this entries heading.
As certain world specific images are written about, I shall have a link at the bottom of the relevant page to highlight the item.
Comments and criticisms welcome.
*Bows*
Hunters, Hunted. (An Iron Kingdoms Story)
Moderator: LadyTevar
Hunters, Hunted. (An Iron Kingdoms Story)
Last edited by Peebo-T on 2010-12-11 04:08pm, edited 1 time in total.
Re: Hunters, Hunted. (A Warmachine Story)
*....*
Together the pair stepped into the 'Tippled Tun'. Mellani's nose wrinkling slightly at the underlying scent of spilled alcohol and stale hooga smoke, the interior clearly lit by the high roof skylights and the great window beside her. The occupants evenly split between the two staff and two patrons. Behind the ironwood counter top the hostler shifted his weight uneasily while a slip of a maidservant cleaned away at the previous evenings detritus. A long coated Gobber squatted atop a barstool near the entrance, glancing briefly at them as they walked towards the figure almost reclining at a rear corner table. As she crossed the room Mellani unhooked her arm from Jonathann's and caught up two chairs, placing them in front of the area of their interest, while using the action to appraise this new stranger.
High thigh boots -with locking clamps of silver buckles, the heels of which were still hung with spurs - were extended and propped up on a second chair. Rising up out of the boots were leather trues swelling out into graceful hips resting upon a second/ Around which were them-selves wrapped in silver embossed, well oiled, black tooled leather belt upon which hung a gun holster rig. A fresh white silk shirt was held in place with a finely sculpted black leather vest which also acting as a bodice. The shirt covering the pale skinned shoulders flowing up into a graceful neck to the soft accentuated curves of a distinctly Elven face. Framed by escaped wisps of fine golden hair that had escaped the braid snaking down the back of the chair in which she lounged.
The woman's low lidded, pale blue eyes were focussed on the intricacies of cleaning and caring for the cold gray metal of the gun currently under her hands upon the table's top. For a brief moment Melanie thought she caught those eyes flick over them both, but it was so fleeting she couldn't be sure.
Jonathann shifted into a more formal stance, "Good day, allow me to introduce my self. My name is Jonathann Rystell, senior officer in charge of the town militia." He finished with a half salute, half bow.
The elves' hands slowed their flutter about the gun, replacing the cleaning gear back into its respective spaces in the case off to on side. While the gun's parts were splayed out upon the table like some jewel smiths anatomy lesson. One arm hooked over the chair back, while the other hand came to float above the horn handled gun still resting on her outer hip. Now her eyes looked them over.
Mellani shunted a chair behind Jonathann while sitting across the back of the chair she'd gathered for herself.
"Caelani tai bashtii requelai ile na eithie. Amin essyilne Mellani amin tor Jonathann ly vanyii essRytell." Mellani smiled as she completed her introduction.
Jonathann's annoyance at his sister city style of ease was quashed by the admiration at how masterful she was with the foreign tongue, as he politely seated himself with a nod.
"Seasu moressi tharr quel mara amin na Elanesadriel." Replied the elf with a nod and the ghost of a smile.
"Umm, Very nice to meet you, my name is...'Sunset'?" Mellani translated with uncertainty clearly in her voice.
"I didn't quite catch all the inflections, I haven't heard nearly enough Iosian speakers to get a good grip on accents."
The laugh from 'Sunset' was deeper and throaty-er than Jonathann would have expected.
"Aye! An' I'll wager m' horse you'll not find a skiff load o' t'ohers whut're as broad an 'accent' as mine." There was a 'loosening' in her form,
"Yeah, Sunset be as good approximation of what I hale to, an' that's a Corviss accent t' yer teachin', if'n I'm not mistaken?" She finished with a raised eyebrow above her now friendly smile.
Mellani smiled demurely in return, "Yes, I've just finished my second round of semesters. I'm trying to decide on a future subject of study to begin my dissertation, then if I get high enough marks and gather enough interest, maybe even a professorship." She straightened as more confidence came to her, "And I studied Iosian for some of those extra credits already." She gently nudged Jonathann's boot with her own.
"Umm, yes *hhrmph* I'm not familiar with Iosians either, you're not quite the image one's come to expect."
Sunset looked at Jonathann,
"Aye, well you'll be happy to know I'nt come across a Cygnarian who fits all the rumors an' innuendos, neither. What is it that brings me t' yer attention?" Her now hooded eyes lingered on him. A half smile on her lips and unaccountably Jonathann found his ire rising.
"I am responding to reports of unknown, armed and now it appears foreign folk entering into town. In addition there is the matter of wanted miscreants being presented to my personnel." His tone was flat and neutral. He watched her closely for any reaction, any shift in her body language.
All Elanesadriel did was shrug bonelessly, no evident care or concern in her attitude,
"As I said about theme n'alaquel," As she added emphasis to the elven word, he caught a twitch and blink in Mellanis' expression, "Stood there in'a forest an' that goit of a leader had the balls of brass to challenge me to 'Stand and deliver'." This statement utterd with an undertone of disbelief, even as Jonathann noticed a sloight blush in his sisters complexion.
"Now I now these," Sunset continued, gesturing casually to her head, "Don't exactly show under me bonnet, an' the rig I wear is fancy an all," She shrugged, "But by Morrows P......estle!" She hastily changed tack as Jonathanns' hackles visibly rose, "Maybe they were greedy an' ig'orant sots whut got what they had coming! I was mor'n happy to be obliging." By the end, a slight rise in her voice also indicated that she too was gaining a temper.
"See, self defense!" Mellani piped up, her flush of colour having retreated as quickly as it had appeared, "I've often heard the good sergeant and yourself debating the best way to clear the 'obstruction to trade' on the old south road." She continued on, trying to smooth the rising tension between the pair. For some reason she couldn't yet put her finger on, she'd taken a liking to the roguish style of this 'Sunset' and her brothers' slightly parochial attitude was making her feel much inclined to support this new comers position.
Jonathann looked towards his sister, the impish grin she gave back instantly shifting his mood. His temper evaporated under her smile. Turning back to Sunset, he was distracted as she shifted in her chair and reached out for the parts upon the wood's surface. Both Mellani and Jonathann watched, intrigued, as she began reassembling the pieces with fluid ease and obvious long acquaintance.
Within moments the firearm regained its form. The smooth, swirl grained horn, furnished handle arched into the wide under slung gray sheen-ed fame. The large hinge point embedded in the metal forming the forward part of the trigger guard allowing the low mounted barrel and upper frame to tip forward, hence allowing the complete cylinder to be pushed down on its pin axle. With a practiced 'snick', 'snap' the frame clicked shut, the securing bolt already partly sliding back under the motion, brought to its locked down position with a knowing hand. A further finger flicked a matching boss upon the opposite side of the frame's top, making the strange square 'stirrup' shaped lever projecting over the back of the handle pop up, while at the same time the trigger shifted forward, both under the pressure of the safety catch. The complete pistol sitting comfortably in Sunsets grip.
Jonathann admired the contrast between the shifting swirls of the quenched serricsteel cylinder and barrel against the more muted luster of the plain serricsteel frame. There were no stampings, no embossing, no filigree and no embellishments other than the strange horn of the handle. It bespoke utility, practicality and functionality.
"Is it, a Radliffe?" He inquired, still watching the gun.
Sunset laughed "No, not that I wouldn't accept somet' like that mind you. Whooo, what a pretty penny I'd trade one of those show pieces for." She sighed,
"I must admit to spending some coin on what was claimed to be a copy o' the details, or blue-prints ye might say, o' the 'Fire Storm' tho'." With a flash the gun vanished into its holster.
"Took the paperwork to some...associates of mine in Five Fingers. They've been doing quality work on me rigs fer years now. T'is a family run factory, whut get inspirations from time to time. They specialize in the making of lots of clock bits faster'n better'n any one else." Almost as punctuation both guns flicked out and just as quickly twirled away,
"O' course the Binbiddles tinker around all th' time. I in't met a junk jockey yet who could resist fiddlin' with someone else's ideas or gizmos." She winked at Jonathann,
"If'n ye want as to enquire fer business, I c'n give ye an address as well as a recommendation." Her demeanor was probably trying to look innocent even as Jonathann matched her blue eyed gaze with his own green stare. Mellani sat quietly still impressed by Sunset's mercurial speed.
"I'm sure your business contacts have missives that can be passed on. I would remind you of the civil codes here. Do not waive those about," He gestured to the pistols. "By the rights and ordinance laws I could have them wired into their holsters. Am I being informative enough?"
Sunset seemed to recoil slightly "Oh that's cold, Catp'n, very cold. I hear you," One hand left the gun handle and demurely settled over her heart.
"You may rest assured, I swear I'll only throw down under provocation... Extreme provocation." She amended, seeing Jonathanns' attitude not change. Jonathann continued to regard Sunset for a moment then nodded,
"Well as long as you behave properly, there shouldn't be any problems. I hope your stay in town is pleasant. As well as uneventful" He stood up and Mellani did so as well, only to twirl her chair around,
"Iotesse uin amin talas ent istium?" She queried, sitting back down and glancing up at Jonathann
"Avaen ulilm valin alm mowlin nehiel...o' course I'd be more'n happy t' broaden yer gabbin' skills." Sunset flipping to common adroitly with a cheerful smile for both of them.
Jonathann looked at his sister; he remembered the letters complaining about tuition fees
*At least these lessons will only cost her some time of day.* He thought and smiled more for his sister than Sunset.
"Good day." Was the comment he said in passing as he turned and walked out
Sunset sighed, "Well, that could've gone better. I'm not sure if'n I've made the right impression on yon feller."
Mellani watched her brothers departing figure, some concern showing on her face.
"He's been...different...since..." Her voice trailed off.
"..."
As Jonathann stepped out onto the street a voice spoke quietly
"Hat, Sir?"
He looked down at Sergeant Grant, who now reclined against the taverns stone wall, his blue coat exchanged for a gray jacket.
"Thank you, um, Grant." Replied Jonathan, taking the proffered adornment with a raised eyebrow and a questioning look.
"Just thought I'd take in some sun, Sir." Grant spoke nonchalantly, " You see Sir, I'd just finished my watch when I bumped into y'self and Ms Mellani which brought me here. Now while I was thinkin' of what to do with the rest of my day who should come past but Sergeant Muntz. Well we exchanged pleasantries and it was raised that it did seem to be shaping up to such a fine day, we should p'rhapse pass the time in such a manner as to enjoy it."
Jonathann rested his left arm against his middle, almost 'crossing' his arms, listening to Grants recitation.
"Well then Sergeant Harcliff and young Gilfin, shaping up well he is Sir, also wandered by and it just sort of occurred to us like that, a game of cards, here in the sun would do us just the trick."
"Cards?" queried Jonathann, a tinge of humor in his voice.
"Oh, yes Sir, wouldn't want folks thinkin', "There's a bunch a nare do wells just loiterin', wouldn't do at all Sir." Affirmed Grant
"Mmm, hmm." Agreed Jonathann, the corners of his mouth twitching.
"A group of off duty militia, obviously being engaged in a productive past time, would give no cause for remark Sir." His tone then changed to one of complete seriousness.
"You should have that report on the Old South Road by mid day tomorrow, Sir. Sergeant Hogart's leading two squads on an investigation. Ah! 'Ere comes Muntz now!" He finished brightly.
"Thank you for that Sergeant," Jonathann coughed, " Mr Stanborough." He affirmed as he straightened and started walking back towards his office, acknowledging Muntzs' salute as they passed.
"You owe me for this Stand!" Muntz growled quietly, arranging a couple of chairs around Stanborough.
"Aye, you know me Muntz, I'll always settle things. Always." Was the quiet reply.
*....*
Together the pair stepped into the 'Tippled Tun'. Mellani's nose wrinkling slightly at the underlying scent of spilled alcohol and stale hooga smoke, the interior clearly lit by the high roof skylights and the great window beside her. The occupants evenly split between the two staff and two patrons. Behind the ironwood counter top the hostler shifted his weight uneasily while a slip of a maidservant cleaned away at the previous evenings detritus. A long coated Gobber squatted atop a barstool near the entrance, glancing briefly at them as they walked towards the figure almost reclining at a rear corner table. As she crossed the room Mellani unhooked her arm from Jonathann's and caught up two chairs, placing them in front of the area of their interest, while using the action to appraise this new stranger.
High thigh boots -with locking clamps of silver buckles, the heels of which were still hung with spurs - were extended and propped up on a second chair. Rising up out of the boots were leather trues swelling out into graceful hips resting upon a second/ Around which were them-selves wrapped in silver embossed, well oiled, black tooled leather belt upon which hung a gun holster rig. A fresh white silk shirt was held in place with a finely sculpted black leather vest which also acting as a bodice. The shirt covering the pale skinned shoulders flowing up into a graceful neck to the soft accentuated curves of a distinctly Elven face. Framed by escaped wisps of fine golden hair that had escaped the braid snaking down the back of the chair in which she lounged.
The woman's low lidded, pale blue eyes were focussed on the intricacies of cleaning and caring for the cold gray metal of the gun currently under her hands upon the table's top. For a brief moment Melanie thought she caught those eyes flick over them both, but it was so fleeting she couldn't be sure.
Jonathann shifted into a more formal stance, "Good day, allow me to introduce my self. My name is Jonathann Rystell, senior officer in charge of the town militia." He finished with a half salute, half bow.
The elves' hands slowed their flutter about the gun, replacing the cleaning gear back into its respective spaces in the case off to on side. While the gun's parts were splayed out upon the table like some jewel smiths anatomy lesson. One arm hooked over the chair back, while the other hand came to float above the horn handled gun still resting on her outer hip. Now her eyes looked them over.
Mellani shunted a chair behind Jonathann while sitting across the back of the chair she'd gathered for herself.
"Caelani tai bashtii requelai ile na eithie. Amin essyilne Mellani amin tor Jonathann ly vanyii essRytell." Mellani smiled as she completed her introduction.
Jonathann's annoyance at his sister city style of ease was quashed by the admiration at how masterful she was with the foreign tongue, as he politely seated himself with a nod.
"Seasu moressi tharr quel mara amin na Elanesadriel." Replied the elf with a nod and the ghost of a smile.
"Umm, Very nice to meet you, my name is...'Sunset'?" Mellani translated with uncertainty clearly in her voice.
"I didn't quite catch all the inflections, I haven't heard nearly enough Iosian speakers to get a good grip on accents."
The laugh from 'Sunset' was deeper and throaty-er than Jonathann would have expected.
"Aye! An' I'll wager m' horse you'll not find a skiff load o' t'ohers whut're as broad an 'accent' as mine." There was a 'loosening' in her form,
"Yeah, Sunset be as good approximation of what I hale to, an' that's a Corviss accent t' yer teachin', if'n I'm not mistaken?" She finished with a raised eyebrow above her now friendly smile.
Mellani smiled demurely in return, "Yes, I've just finished my second round of semesters. I'm trying to decide on a future subject of study to begin my dissertation, then if I get high enough marks and gather enough interest, maybe even a professorship." She straightened as more confidence came to her, "And I studied Iosian for some of those extra credits already." She gently nudged Jonathann's boot with her own.
"Umm, yes *hhrmph* I'm not familiar with Iosians either, you're not quite the image one's come to expect."
Sunset looked at Jonathann,
"Aye, well you'll be happy to know I'nt come across a Cygnarian who fits all the rumors an' innuendos, neither. What is it that brings me t' yer attention?" Her now hooded eyes lingered on him. A half smile on her lips and unaccountably Jonathann found his ire rising.
"I am responding to reports of unknown, armed and now it appears foreign folk entering into town. In addition there is the matter of wanted miscreants being presented to my personnel." His tone was flat and neutral. He watched her closely for any reaction, any shift in her body language.
All Elanesadriel did was shrug bonelessly, no evident care or concern in her attitude,
"As I said about theme n'alaquel," As she added emphasis to the elven word, he caught a twitch and blink in Mellanis' expression, "Stood there in'a forest an' that goit of a leader had the balls of brass to challenge me to 'Stand and deliver'." This statement utterd with an undertone of disbelief, even as Jonathann noticed a sloight blush in his sisters complexion.
"Now I now these," Sunset continued, gesturing casually to her head, "Don't exactly show under me bonnet, an' the rig I wear is fancy an all," She shrugged, "But by Morrows P......estle!" She hastily changed tack as Jonathanns' hackles visibly rose, "Maybe they were greedy an' ig'orant sots whut got what they had coming! I was mor'n happy to be obliging." By the end, a slight rise in her voice also indicated that she too was gaining a temper.
"See, self defense!" Mellani piped up, her flush of colour having retreated as quickly as it had appeared, "I've often heard the good sergeant and yourself debating the best way to clear the 'obstruction to trade' on the old south road." She continued on, trying to smooth the rising tension between the pair. For some reason she couldn't yet put her finger on, she'd taken a liking to the roguish style of this 'Sunset' and her brothers' slightly parochial attitude was making her feel much inclined to support this new comers position.
Jonathann looked towards his sister, the impish grin she gave back instantly shifting his mood. His temper evaporated under her smile. Turning back to Sunset, he was distracted as she shifted in her chair and reached out for the parts upon the wood's surface. Both Mellani and Jonathann watched, intrigued, as she began reassembling the pieces with fluid ease and obvious long acquaintance.
Within moments the firearm regained its form. The smooth, swirl grained horn, furnished handle arched into the wide under slung gray sheen-ed fame. The large hinge point embedded in the metal forming the forward part of the trigger guard allowing the low mounted barrel and upper frame to tip forward, hence allowing the complete cylinder to be pushed down on its pin axle. With a practiced 'snick', 'snap' the frame clicked shut, the securing bolt already partly sliding back under the motion, brought to its locked down position with a knowing hand. A further finger flicked a matching boss upon the opposite side of the frame's top, making the strange square 'stirrup' shaped lever projecting over the back of the handle pop up, while at the same time the trigger shifted forward, both under the pressure of the safety catch. The complete pistol sitting comfortably in Sunsets grip.
Jonathann admired the contrast between the shifting swirls of the quenched serricsteel cylinder and barrel against the more muted luster of the plain serricsteel frame. There were no stampings, no embossing, no filigree and no embellishments other than the strange horn of the handle. It bespoke utility, practicality and functionality.
"Is it, a Radliffe?" He inquired, still watching the gun.
Sunset laughed "No, not that I wouldn't accept somet' like that mind you. Whooo, what a pretty penny I'd trade one of those show pieces for." She sighed,
"I must admit to spending some coin on what was claimed to be a copy o' the details, or blue-prints ye might say, o' the 'Fire Storm' tho'." With a flash the gun vanished into its holster.
"Took the paperwork to some...associates of mine in Five Fingers. They've been doing quality work on me rigs fer years now. T'is a family run factory, whut get inspirations from time to time. They specialize in the making of lots of clock bits faster'n better'n any one else." Almost as punctuation both guns flicked out and just as quickly twirled away,
"O' course the Binbiddles tinker around all th' time. I in't met a junk jockey yet who could resist fiddlin' with someone else's ideas or gizmos." She winked at Jonathann,
"If'n ye want as to enquire fer business, I c'n give ye an address as well as a recommendation." Her demeanor was probably trying to look innocent even as Jonathann matched her blue eyed gaze with his own green stare. Mellani sat quietly still impressed by Sunset's mercurial speed.
"I'm sure your business contacts have missives that can be passed on. I would remind you of the civil codes here. Do not waive those about," He gestured to the pistols. "By the rights and ordinance laws I could have them wired into their holsters. Am I being informative enough?"
Sunset seemed to recoil slightly "Oh that's cold, Catp'n, very cold. I hear you," One hand left the gun handle and demurely settled over her heart.
"You may rest assured, I swear I'll only throw down under provocation... Extreme provocation." She amended, seeing Jonathanns' attitude not change. Jonathann continued to regard Sunset for a moment then nodded,
"Well as long as you behave properly, there shouldn't be any problems. I hope your stay in town is pleasant. As well as uneventful" He stood up and Mellani did so as well, only to twirl her chair around,
"Iotesse uin amin talas ent istium?" She queried, sitting back down and glancing up at Jonathann
"Avaen ulilm valin alm mowlin nehiel...o' course I'd be more'n happy t' broaden yer gabbin' skills." Sunset flipping to common adroitly with a cheerful smile for both of them.
Jonathann looked at his sister; he remembered the letters complaining about tuition fees
*At least these lessons will only cost her some time of day.* He thought and smiled more for his sister than Sunset.
"Good day." Was the comment he said in passing as he turned and walked out
Sunset sighed, "Well, that could've gone better. I'm not sure if'n I've made the right impression on yon feller."
Mellani watched her brothers departing figure, some concern showing on her face.
"He's been...different...since..." Her voice trailed off.
"..."
As Jonathann stepped out onto the street a voice spoke quietly
"Hat, Sir?"
He looked down at Sergeant Grant, who now reclined against the taverns stone wall, his blue coat exchanged for a gray jacket.
"Thank you, um, Grant." Replied Jonathan, taking the proffered adornment with a raised eyebrow and a questioning look.
"Just thought I'd take in some sun, Sir." Grant spoke nonchalantly, " You see Sir, I'd just finished my watch when I bumped into y'self and Ms Mellani which brought me here. Now while I was thinkin' of what to do with the rest of my day who should come past but Sergeant Muntz. Well we exchanged pleasantries and it was raised that it did seem to be shaping up to such a fine day, we should p'rhapse pass the time in such a manner as to enjoy it."
Jonathann rested his left arm against his middle, almost 'crossing' his arms, listening to Grants recitation.
"Well then Sergeant Harcliff and young Gilfin, shaping up well he is Sir, also wandered by and it just sort of occurred to us like that, a game of cards, here in the sun would do us just the trick."
"Cards?" queried Jonathann, a tinge of humor in his voice.
"Oh, yes Sir, wouldn't want folks thinkin', "There's a bunch a nare do wells just loiterin', wouldn't do at all Sir." Affirmed Grant
"Mmm, hmm." Agreed Jonathann, the corners of his mouth twitching.
"A group of off duty militia, obviously being engaged in a productive past time, would give no cause for remark Sir." His tone then changed to one of complete seriousness.
"You should have that report on the Old South Road by mid day tomorrow, Sir. Sergeant Hogart's leading two squads on an investigation. Ah! 'Ere comes Muntz now!" He finished brightly.
"Thank you for that Sergeant," Jonathann coughed, " Mr Stanborough." He affirmed as he straightened and started walking back towards his office, acknowledging Muntzs' salute as they passed.
"You owe me for this Stand!" Muntz growled quietly, arranging a couple of chairs around Stanborough.
"Aye, you know me Muntz, I'll always settle things. Always." Was the quiet reply.
*....*
Re: Hunters, Hunted. (A Warmachine Story)
*......*
Sunset watched the young woman sitting at the table with her. The fair auburn hair with its touch of gold kept short. Fine boned and pale skinned face turned away from her as the girl watched the man walk away. Sunset remembered the gold flecked hazel eyes that had been staring at her as the pair had walked across the room. There was slenderness to her frame that under stated her age. In profile Sunset made out the lines of muscle across her shoulders and used that to gauge how well she could use the old style Caspian battle dagger which, upon the girl's narrow hips, appearing more like a short sword that hung at her waist.
Sunset raised a pale eyebrow as she noted the scabbard could be worn with ease on either side. The fashion of the young woman's clothes bespoke the fashion of almost any Cygnaran city but there was a conservative rural cut to the styling of it. The high boots into which the trues of her pants were folded were well used and scuffed.
Mellani blinked as she regaining her thoughts, which had been derailed by concern for her brother, and turned back to find the Elf-Sunset her mind ran through both versions of the name -regarding her.
"Ye kind o' 'left' fer a tad there?" Sunset offered words into the silence.
Mellani nodded a little bashfully, "Sorry, when we were growing up he was always there helping me out of trouble. Now I feel the urge to give some of that help back," she sighed, "But he hates being 'fussed' over and I can understand that too."
"Beggin' yer pardon, but ye brother and ye aren't exactly peas of a pod." Probed Elanesadriel, while calling the serving lass over and requesting a pitcher of cider and two mugs. Mellani grinned, the smile making her seem younger again.
"Yes well, Grandfather always refereed to it as the 'Curse of the Rystanni'."
"Aye, thieves an' witches the lot of 'em!" Chimed in Cecliy returning with the order and overhearing, " Um, beggin' the ladies pardon." She blushed, even as she nodded and curtsied to Mellani, suddenly remembering who was sharing the table with the Elf in black.
Mellani giggled, "That's alright, the legend still 'haunts' the family, even now." Seeing Sunset's still puzzled expression Mellani scooted forward in her chair, seeming more than happy to share the tale.
"You see the family history goes way back. Our name goes back to some of the first settlers who set up to work the old mines on the far side of the river. That's probably where the 'stel' comes from, a version of 'steel'." She paused and poured them both a mug,
"So over time, of course, the mines played out and they changed to the first land holders. Any way gypsies who, it was also rumored, were in league with or part Grymkin often visited the area. Well conflict cropped up between the two sides. The Stels straight landholder types not liking the free and easy ways of the Gypsy Rystanni and vice versa." Mellani grinned,
"There are tales of blood feuds, vendettas, duels, ambushes and all sorts of shenanigans going on." She sipped from her mug. "Now the story of how the two sides resolved all this varies depending on who's telling the tale. Some would say it was the cunning of Stel lass who tricked a Rystanni into honest marriage. Others would say it was a Rystanni Lad managing to elope with a Stel girl. Either way the two bloodlines were brought together and joined. Now occasionally down through the generations one bloodline stands out over the other. Then sometimes you'll get a case where both express at the same time and hence it's called 'The Curse of the Rystanni'. BOO!" Mellani suddenly lunged at Cecily who'd been idly 'sweeping' the floor nearby, who squealed and scurried away. They all laughed.
"All these stories I heard on my grandfathers knee. Irascible old scoundrel that he was. He'd been trained in the Cygnaran Royal Engineers. Sometimes I think he told the tales to me in a subtle way to encourage the wild steak I had. I was a right little hellion. He definitely impressed upon Jonathann and myself to be what ever we wanted to be. Sponsored my education and tutelage to higher education." She sighed remembering, even as a dark cloud settled over her features,
"He had this idea to bridge the river. His study at home is still full of plans and models. There were stories of this 'Rainbow Bridge' up in Rhul that had him fascinated. He always wanted to go and find it and see how it was built, sure that it would solve some of the engineering problems of spanning the distances of the river." Her voice trailed off as she realized she'd started to ramble off into her memories.
"So, just how good are you?" Mellani suddenly changed tack with a probing question of her own back at the Elf.
"A tale fer a tale, 'eh?" Sunset leaned back on her chair and pursed her lips, thinking long before answering.
"Y'see t' me it don't just work out to who's 'good' or 'fast versus 'slow'. See I find things is always changing. There's new ways of wearing a rig or new intricacies in how they're made. New materials an' styles to the pouches; New material fer gun furnishings. Or some one comes up with a new load or barrel shape, new rounds. Dozens of different little things." As Sunset spoke one hand stroked a horn handle idly.
"I'm always listenin' to the stories of how other folks do things. Watch how a bravo moves as soon as I catch sight of 'em. I'm always tryin' to think of how a throw is going to pan out even before I've thought that there'd be a duel." Sunset shrugged,
"Now I'm not saying that when two bravos' meet there's got to be a throw down. But invariably they're workin' an' it's often not for the same side, So.'s it's the job that brings 'em into conflict."
"So you're confidant that if some 'Young Gun' came waltzing in here, there'd be no contest?" Mellani asked impishly with a twinkle of mischief alight in her eyes.
Sunset smiled in return, "Well, if'n some young buck did happen t' wander in, an' I determined that it wouldn't be a complete waste of my valuable time. I'm sure I could assuage 'is ego an' be sendin' 'im on his way with neither of us much the worst fer wear." They both grinned and laughed.
"How about a Wraith?" Mellani asked teasingly and Sunsets' playful attitude vanished instantly. Her whole demeanor becoming as cold as her side arms.
"Definitely." A single word, no emotion, no infliction. The almost Basilisk intensity of Elanesadrials gaze pinning Mellani. A slight tremor ran through her at the sudden realization that the creature sharing the table with her was not human.
"HA!" The barkeeps short laugh snapped the tension.
"Next you'll be claimin' you did in what's iss' name, Bradick, hisself!" Creedan expounded loudly.
Both Sunset and Mellani looked at him. When Sunsets' gaze locked onto Bront it was as if he suddenly wanted to hide inside himself. He hunched down and scuttled away. Sunset sighed and glanced back at Mellani, Her whole mood darkening.
"Did I kill Bradick? No, no I didn't, but I knew the man," She stated matter of factually, "Probably one o' th' few people what new him as Lachlan Bradick." The pause as she gathered her thoughts together lengthened until she shifted in her chair, finally continuing.
"Our paths crossed just after He'd left the Army. I was mixed up in a challenge with a knife thrower in Five Fingers at the time as it happened. He came along in the middle of it all and d@mn near turned it into a three way tie." The old memories brought a wistful smile to her face. "Poor feller wasn't walkin' straight fer a week."
"Well the three of us just sort of fell in together after that. Wherever some one needed some Bravos' we'd go for the job. Sometimes we'd go for the money. Other times we'd side with the one's as took our fancy. Sometimes it ended up being against whichever stupid sots' as threw down on us first." She sighed.
"Ah Tureil, she loved her blades. She could flick a knife at a body fasten' most people even think. I s'pose she liked that 'personal' touch. Oh, she was wild an' passionate, headstrong an' intense, an' dangerous to boot. But like a lot of dangerous things if you treat it with caution and respect then things be just fine. Now that I come t' think on it, t'was probably her that kept us together as long as we were."
"Now just as Turiel was the tempest, Lach he was the brooder. There was always somethin' 'dark' about him. Lachlan was a stickler for routine. He always wore his rig 'just so'. Always dressed 'Just so'. H#ll as far as I know he even hand packed his rounds just 'Just So'! Y'see all his challenges an' 'Killbricht' dtyle duelin' stuff were just another way of him having his 'Just So' moments. A way to make the other feller be in Lachs' field. There weren't any 'honour' in it. Giving some one three days to 'think' on things can work against 'em. As well that's not to say a lot of things can't happen in three days. A bad knock in the pub, suddenly taking down sick." She shrugged again. "Not saying Lachlan 'did' anything like that, however his personality wouldn't have nay said such things either."
"Well like everything, times moved on. Or should I say Turiel moved on. She found what she'd been hunting fer and left off t'wards home. Me an' Lach we waived her goodbye off the docks an' as simple as that the two of us just walked away from each other. Me, I wandered back up to ol' Llael. The place was a good one fer a Bravo to live. Now Lachlan, seems he went and picked up on business I thought he'd left behind in the Army. He'd never talked about his soldiering days, an' now having heard the rumors of what he'd supposed to have done," Sunset shrugged'" Well I can't say as I was surprised after having been in his company." She sipped from her mug
"The full tale of what happened during those days?" Sunset shrugged a shoulder, "Well there's stories an' gossip. The known fact is that Lach eventually didn't win a duel. Or perhaps the other side didn't want to sit for Lachs' appointed throw down an' finished things off there way? Anywho, Ol' Lachlan, he didn't stay still. O' course the first tales of a ghostly shooter had most other Bravos' laughin', not me. Nup, t' me it felt like something Bradig would've arranged. Would he have had it in him to make a dark pact, aye an' then some." Her voice trailed away.
"So that's why you duel? So that you'll be good enough to stop Bradig?" Mellani queried, a slight concern rising in the back of her mind.
Sunset chuckled softly without humor and leaned back in her chair.
"No lass. I know how good I am an' how good these wraiths are. I've no fear of these ghosties. There's many a way to deal with spooks like these. No, for me it's personal. I. Hunt. Them." And on those final tones Mellani knew it as a simple fact.
Then Mr. Baskin, the town's premier carpenter, came bustling into the 'Tippled Tun' looing around for the person offering him trade, eventually his seeking eyes found the singular form of Sunset and he hurried over to commence some business, interrupting the conversation. Mellani smiled, said her 'good days' in elvish and wandered out into a growing afternoons' sun that really didn't feel so warming.
*...............*
Sergeant Hogart stalked through the forest along the Old South Road. His thick cork soled boots making no sound in the damp forest loam. He passed the soldier who'd been in front of him and who now crouched watching the forest. After continuing for an internal count of fifty paces he stopped and crouched. After scanning the forest ahead he gave a hand signal to the trooper now behind him who began moving forward and past him. In teams of two, on either side of the road, the squad crept forward.
Each figure wore knee high boots. Pants whose inner thighs were of thick felt and outer thighs of 'chaps' like leather. A dull coloured cotton shirt under a thick, felt lined chain vest. A soft well-worn heavy great coat covering this. Each held a mekanica crossbow at the ready. A small backpack rode low on their back with other items such as canteens, knives, and a grenade snuggly tucked or buckled about their torsos. A wide brimmed felt hat, reinforced with metal bands, built up over a modified Trencher helm's covered their heads.
A signal rippled down along the party, causing them to stop and crouch. Hogart saw the 'Come, Me.' signal and moved towards Private Kugen. Crouched in the low bush, the Private's eyes continued to scan the forest. At Hogart's light tap on the shoulder he pointed towards a prone object at the base of a gnarled Elm.
Hogart slipped forwards cautiously and examined the scene. Here a figure had come to lay face down. Flipping the body over he found a bloodied wound in its shoulder. Tracing back he found more tracks. He surmised that the character had taken a round to the shoulder, staggered a few steps away from the spot and collapsed due to the shock and or the onset of blood loss.
He looked towards the road and saw the lay of the terrain, where the trail entered a small dell. He quickly set about hand signaling his group. They efficiently moved to encircle the space, with half the group becoming sentries facing outwards scanning the forest and the other half then moving inwards to scour the depression. Once there was a signal to indicate 'All secure', Hogart signaled 'At Ease.'
"Well I count three dead and Falks 'as found a trail and blood leading off to the South east." Summed up Lieutenant Lynch.
Sergeant Hogart crouched by the side of the road. He shook his head.
"We've been sneaking after these wodders for nigh on 'alf a year, then this poncy Bravo waltzes in and' pops a few off and hands Gatley over t' Standborough slick as you please."
"Yeah, that bat-turf gets all the luck." Quietly snarled Private Kinnet. Hogart just glared over at him angrily.
Lieutenant Lynch stood under a think low hanging branch, while waiving out at the forest to highlight the tracks he'd found and the information they implied.
"We've got four drag marks to this point. Rope burns up on that branch. Two sets horse prints, one from down the road, the other from just over that rise.
"Explains the aftermath. Its' the foreplay I want to hear." Piped up Private Langworth.
"I dunno sarge, what sort of slick can just cut down," Private Hedley did a quick adding up, "Six bandits, wound one and clip another? All in one innings? That's what? Eight rounds? How fancy can you get with shooters?" He finished, slightly in awe.
Private Denby sneered, "You don't need fancy," patting her crossbow, "They don't hear the bolt until they feel the steel!"
Hogart spat into some nearby ferns and stood "Hitch, Rolfe, Lynch, Falk," He quietly snapped out, "Back and help move B company along."
"Versh, Langworth, Kinnet and Boggs prep the spud, dressed and double wrapped. Kugen and Denby start up that trail, by the looks of it the bulk of 'em scarpered that way. They were dragging a weight, mark the trail. Watch for presents, no one wants to end up like Bingley." This brought knowing chuckles from some as they moved to carry out his orders.
Soon the slightly heavier equipped second squad joined up with the first and as one group they moved off after the trail left by the forward scouts. After half a mile the trail joined a game track and they made quicker time. Eventually coming upon Denby waiting for them. Hogart signaled =Halt, Caution= silently to those following and moved up to talk quietly.
"Around the bend we've got what looks like a cleft opening into clearing or collapsed sink. Looks like a good a place as any for a hidey hole." Denby whispered to him, explaining what had been found.
"Right." He turned and whispered orders that were carried down the line.
"Remember, safe and quiet." He finished.
Some of the scouts moved up and around the depression, encircling the area. Hogart crept in to the narrow dirt cleft, barely wide enough for a horse or donkey, ever on the alert for traps. Eventually the space opened up into a natural form of amphitheater, left over from when the roof of the cavern had fallen in. The rubble was having been cleared to form crude breastworks encircling the area.
The bandit camp was in ruin. Hogart's gaze took in the tumbled chaos. Crates and bales tipped out. Sacks spilling there contents haphazardly across the ground. Always cautious he took his time searching the wreckage. Eventually coming across a make shift awning where he found the wounded bandit, lost in a fever dream. With quick signals he arranged the groups tasks. The troops medic stripped, cleaned, inspected then treated the girls wound, Private Rolfe acting as 'orderly'.
"She's young enough t' be me baby sister." he lamented.
While other members either scoured the clearing or alertly watched the forest encircling them.
Lieutenant Versh quietly talked to Sergeant Hogart.
"They didn't waste time scarpering."
"Aye, Gatley was the rock holdin' 'em together. Lift the rock away and they scuttle fer other places t' hide."
"Well, at least they're not our problem now."
"No, they've spread 'emselves to being other folks problems." Hogart finished, looking up at the waning sunshine.
"Right you lot. I don't fancy walkin' home with this lot of swag in the dark. Pack and stack, we set camp here, cold rations!" This was greeted by groans, "Think of this as the real thing, boys and girls! You go off and start playing in the adult's games wi' Khardor and Cyrix an' ANY meal first night out 'll be a banquet!" He clapped his hand to hurry his people along.
"Remember, this is the big bad woods kiddies! Do it right or it'll be more 'n bedbugs crawlin' up yer dates in the dark!" With that he joined in preparing the area for the night to come.
"Rolfe, you don't have a sister."
*=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=*
I hope my grammar etc is passable. *bows*
Sunset watched the young woman sitting at the table with her. The fair auburn hair with its touch of gold kept short. Fine boned and pale skinned face turned away from her as the girl watched the man walk away. Sunset remembered the gold flecked hazel eyes that had been staring at her as the pair had walked across the room. There was slenderness to her frame that under stated her age. In profile Sunset made out the lines of muscle across her shoulders and used that to gauge how well she could use the old style Caspian battle dagger which, upon the girl's narrow hips, appearing more like a short sword that hung at her waist.
Sunset raised a pale eyebrow as she noted the scabbard could be worn with ease on either side. The fashion of the young woman's clothes bespoke the fashion of almost any Cygnaran city but there was a conservative rural cut to the styling of it. The high boots into which the trues of her pants were folded were well used and scuffed.
Mellani blinked as she regaining her thoughts, which had been derailed by concern for her brother, and turned back to find the Elf-Sunset her mind ran through both versions of the name -regarding her.
"Ye kind o' 'left' fer a tad there?" Sunset offered words into the silence.
Mellani nodded a little bashfully, "Sorry, when we were growing up he was always there helping me out of trouble. Now I feel the urge to give some of that help back," she sighed, "But he hates being 'fussed' over and I can understand that too."
"Beggin' yer pardon, but ye brother and ye aren't exactly peas of a pod." Probed Elanesadriel, while calling the serving lass over and requesting a pitcher of cider and two mugs. Mellani grinned, the smile making her seem younger again.
"Yes well, Grandfather always refereed to it as the 'Curse of the Rystanni'."
"Aye, thieves an' witches the lot of 'em!" Chimed in Cecliy returning with the order and overhearing, " Um, beggin' the ladies pardon." She blushed, even as she nodded and curtsied to Mellani, suddenly remembering who was sharing the table with the Elf in black.
Mellani giggled, "That's alright, the legend still 'haunts' the family, even now." Seeing Sunset's still puzzled expression Mellani scooted forward in her chair, seeming more than happy to share the tale.
"You see the family history goes way back. Our name goes back to some of the first settlers who set up to work the old mines on the far side of the river. That's probably where the 'stel' comes from, a version of 'steel'." She paused and poured them both a mug,
"So over time, of course, the mines played out and they changed to the first land holders. Any way gypsies who, it was also rumored, were in league with or part Grymkin often visited the area. Well conflict cropped up between the two sides. The Stels straight landholder types not liking the free and easy ways of the Gypsy Rystanni and vice versa." Mellani grinned,
"There are tales of blood feuds, vendettas, duels, ambushes and all sorts of shenanigans going on." She sipped from her mug. "Now the story of how the two sides resolved all this varies depending on who's telling the tale. Some would say it was the cunning of Stel lass who tricked a Rystanni into honest marriage. Others would say it was a Rystanni Lad managing to elope with a Stel girl. Either way the two bloodlines were brought together and joined. Now occasionally down through the generations one bloodline stands out over the other. Then sometimes you'll get a case where both express at the same time and hence it's called 'The Curse of the Rystanni'. BOO!" Mellani suddenly lunged at Cecily who'd been idly 'sweeping' the floor nearby, who squealed and scurried away. They all laughed.
"All these stories I heard on my grandfathers knee. Irascible old scoundrel that he was. He'd been trained in the Cygnaran Royal Engineers. Sometimes I think he told the tales to me in a subtle way to encourage the wild steak I had. I was a right little hellion. He definitely impressed upon Jonathann and myself to be what ever we wanted to be. Sponsored my education and tutelage to higher education." She sighed remembering, even as a dark cloud settled over her features,
"He had this idea to bridge the river. His study at home is still full of plans and models. There were stories of this 'Rainbow Bridge' up in Rhul that had him fascinated. He always wanted to go and find it and see how it was built, sure that it would solve some of the engineering problems of spanning the distances of the river." Her voice trailed off as she realized she'd started to ramble off into her memories.
"So, just how good are you?" Mellani suddenly changed tack with a probing question of her own back at the Elf.
"A tale fer a tale, 'eh?" Sunset leaned back on her chair and pursed her lips, thinking long before answering.
"Y'see t' me it don't just work out to who's 'good' or 'fast versus 'slow'. See I find things is always changing. There's new ways of wearing a rig or new intricacies in how they're made. New materials an' styles to the pouches; New material fer gun furnishings. Or some one comes up with a new load or barrel shape, new rounds. Dozens of different little things." As Sunset spoke one hand stroked a horn handle idly.
"I'm always listenin' to the stories of how other folks do things. Watch how a bravo moves as soon as I catch sight of 'em. I'm always tryin' to think of how a throw is going to pan out even before I've thought that there'd be a duel." Sunset shrugged,
"Now I'm not saying that when two bravos' meet there's got to be a throw down. But invariably they're workin' an' it's often not for the same side, So.'s it's the job that brings 'em into conflict."
"So you're confidant that if some 'Young Gun' came waltzing in here, there'd be no contest?" Mellani asked impishly with a twinkle of mischief alight in her eyes.
Sunset smiled in return, "Well, if'n some young buck did happen t' wander in, an' I determined that it wouldn't be a complete waste of my valuable time. I'm sure I could assuage 'is ego an' be sendin' 'im on his way with neither of us much the worst fer wear." They both grinned and laughed.
"How about a Wraith?" Mellani asked teasingly and Sunsets' playful attitude vanished instantly. Her whole demeanor becoming as cold as her side arms.
"Definitely." A single word, no emotion, no infliction. The almost Basilisk intensity of Elanesadrials gaze pinning Mellani. A slight tremor ran through her at the sudden realization that the creature sharing the table with her was not human.
"HA!" The barkeeps short laugh snapped the tension.
"Next you'll be claimin' you did in what's iss' name, Bradick, hisself!" Creedan expounded loudly.
Both Sunset and Mellani looked at him. When Sunsets' gaze locked onto Bront it was as if he suddenly wanted to hide inside himself. He hunched down and scuttled away. Sunset sighed and glanced back at Mellani, Her whole mood darkening.
"Did I kill Bradick? No, no I didn't, but I knew the man," She stated matter of factually, "Probably one o' th' few people what new him as Lachlan Bradick." The pause as she gathered her thoughts together lengthened until she shifted in her chair, finally continuing.
"Our paths crossed just after He'd left the Army. I was mixed up in a challenge with a knife thrower in Five Fingers at the time as it happened. He came along in the middle of it all and d@mn near turned it into a three way tie." The old memories brought a wistful smile to her face. "Poor feller wasn't walkin' straight fer a week."
"Well the three of us just sort of fell in together after that. Wherever some one needed some Bravos' we'd go for the job. Sometimes we'd go for the money. Other times we'd side with the one's as took our fancy. Sometimes it ended up being against whichever stupid sots' as threw down on us first." She sighed.
"Ah Tureil, she loved her blades. She could flick a knife at a body fasten' most people even think. I s'pose she liked that 'personal' touch. Oh, she was wild an' passionate, headstrong an' intense, an' dangerous to boot. But like a lot of dangerous things if you treat it with caution and respect then things be just fine. Now that I come t' think on it, t'was probably her that kept us together as long as we were."
"Now just as Turiel was the tempest, Lach he was the brooder. There was always somethin' 'dark' about him. Lachlan was a stickler for routine. He always wore his rig 'just so'. Always dressed 'Just so'. H#ll as far as I know he even hand packed his rounds just 'Just So'! Y'see all his challenges an' 'Killbricht' dtyle duelin' stuff were just another way of him having his 'Just So' moments. A way to make the other feller be in Lachs' field. There weren't any 'honour' in it. Giving some one three days to 'think' on things can work against 'em. As well that's not to say a lot of things can't happen in three days. A bad knock in the pub, suddenly taking down sick." She shrugged again. "Not saying Lachlan 'did' anything like that, however his personality wouldn't have nay said such things either."
"Well like everything, times moved on. Or should I say Turiel moved on. She found what she'd been hunting fer and left off t'wards home. Me an' Lach we waived her goodbye off the docks an' as simple as that the two of us just walked away from each other. Me, I wandered back up to ol' Llael. The place was a good one fer a Bravo to live. Now Lachlan, seems he went and picked up on business I thought he'd left behind in the Army. He'd never talked about his soldiering days, an' now having heard the rumors of what he'd supposed to have done," Sunset shrugged'" Well I can't say as I was surprised after having been in his company." She sipped from her mug
"The full tale of what happened during those days?" Sunset shrugged a shoulder, "Well there's stories an' gossip. The known fact is that Lach eventually didn't win a duel. Or perhaps the other side didn't want to sit for Lachs' appointed throw down an' finished things off there way? Anywho, Ol' Lachlan, he didn't stay still. O' course the first tales of a ghostly shooter had most other Bravos' laughin', not me. Nup, t' me it felt like something Bradig would've arranged. Would he have had it in him to make a dark pact, aye an' then some." Her voice trailed away.
"So that's why you duel? So that you'll be good enough to stop Bradig?" Mellani queried, a slight concern rising in the back of her mind.
Sunset chuckled softly without humor and leaned back in her chair.
"No lass. I know how good I am an' how good these wraiths are. I've no fear of these ghosties. There's many a way to deal with spooks like these. No, for me it's personal. I. Hunt. Them." And on those final tones Mellani knew it as a simple fact.
Then Mr. Baskin, the town's premier carpenter, came bustling into the 'Tippled Tun' looing around for the person offering him trade, eventually his seeking eyes found the singular form of Sunset and he hurried over to commence some business, interrupting the conversation. Mellani smiled, said her 'good days' in elvish and wandered out into a growing afternoons' sun that really didn't feel so warming.
*...............*
Sergeant Hogart stalked through the forest along the Old South Road. His thick cork soled boots making no sound in the damp forest loam. He passed the soldier who'd been in front of him and who now crouched watching the forest. After continuing for an internal count of fifty paces he stopped and crouched. After scanning the forest ahead he gave a hand signal to the trooper now behind him who began moving forward and past him. In teams of two, on either side of the road, the squad crept forward.
Each figure wore knee high boots. Pants whose inner thighs were of thick felt and outer thighs of 'chaps' like leather. A dull coloured cotton shirt under a thick, felt lined chain vest. A soft well-worn heavy great coat covering this. Each held a mekanica crossbow at the ready. A small backpack rode low on their back with other items such as canteens, knives, and a grenade snuggly tucked or buckled about their torsos. A wide brimmed felt hat, reinforced with metal bands, built up over a modified Trencher helm's covered their heads.
A signal rippled down along the party, causing them to stop and crouch. Hogart saw the 'Come, Me.' signal and moved towards Private Kugen. Crouched in the low bush, the Private's eyes continued to scan the forest. At Hogart's light tap on the shoulder he pointed towards a prone object at the base of a gnarled Elm.
Hogart slipped forwards cautiously and examined the scene. Here a figure had come to lay face down. Flipping the body over he found a bloodied wound in its shoulder. Tracing back he found more tracks. He surmised that the character had taken a round to the shoulder, staggered a few steps away from the spot and collapsed due to the shock and or the onset of blood loss.
He looked towards the road and saw the lay of the terrain, where the trail entered a small dell. He quickly set about hand signaling his group. They efficiently moved to encircle the space, with half the group becoming sentries facing outwards scanning the forest and the other half then moving inwards to scour the depression. Once there was a signal to indicate 'All secure', Hogart signaled 'At Ease.'
"Well I count three dead and Falks 'as found a trail and blood leading off to the South east." Summed up Lieutenant Lynch.
Sergeant Hogart crouched by the side of the road. He shook his head.
"We've been sneaking after these wodders for nigh on 'alf a year, then this poncy Bravo waltzes in and' pops a few off and hands Gatley over t' Standborough slick as you please."
"Yeah, that bat-turf gets all the luck." Quietly snarled Private Kinnet. Hogart just glared over at him angrily.
Lieutenant Lynch stood under a think low hanging branch, while waiving out at the forest to highlight the tracks he'd found and the information they implied.
"We've got four drag marks to this point. Rope burns up on that branch. Two sets horse prints, one from down the road, the other from just over that rise.
"Explains the aftermath. Its' the foreplay I want to hear." Piped up Private Langworth.
"I dunno sarge, what sort of slick can just cut down," Private Hedley did a quick adding up, "Six bandits, wound one and clip another? All in one innings? That's what? Eight rounds? How fancy can you get with shooters?" He finished, slightly in awe.
Private Denby sneered, "You don't need fancy," patting her crossbow, "They don't hear the bolt until they feel the steel!"
Hogart spat into some nearby ferns and stood "Hitch, Rolfe, Lynch, Falk," He quietly snapped out, "Back and help move B company along."
"Versh, Langworth, Kinnet and Boggs prep the spud, dressed and double wrapped. Kugen and Denby start up that trail, by the looks of it the bulk of 'em scarpered that way. They were dragging a weight, mark the trail. Watch for presents, no one wants to end up like Bingley." This brought knowing chuckles from some as they moved to carry out his orders.
Soon the slightly heavier equipped second squad joined up with the first and as one group they moved off after the trail left by the forward scouts. After half a mile the trail joined a game track and they made quicker time. Eventually coming upon Denby waiting for them. Hogart signaled =Halt, Caution= silently to those following and moved up to talk quietly.
"Around the bend we've got what looks like a cleft opening into clearing or collapsed sink. Looks like a good a place as any for a hidey hole." Denby whispered to him, explaining what had been found.
"Right." He turned and whispered orders that were carried down the line.
"Remember, safe and quiet." He finished.
Some of the scouts moved up and around the depression, encircling the area. Hogart crept in to the narrow dirt cleft, barely wide enough for a horse or donkey, ever on the alert for traps. Eventually the space opened up into a natural form of amphitheater, left over from when the roof of the cavern had fallen in. The rubble was having been cleared to form crude breastworks encircling the area.
The bandit camp was in ruin. Hogart's gaze took in the tumbled chaos. Crates and bales tipped out. Sacks spilling there contents haphazardly across the ground. Always cautious he took his time searching the wreckage. Eventually coming across a make shift awning where he found the wounded bandit, lost in a fever dream. With quick signals he arranged the groups tasks. The troops medic stripped, cleaned, inspected then treated the girls wound, Private Rolfe acting as 'orderly'.
"She's young enough t' be me baby sister." he lamented.
While other members either scoured the clearing or alertly watched the forest encircling them.
Lieutenant Versh quietly talked to Sergeant Hogart.
"They didn't waste time scarpering."
"Aye, Gatley was the rock holdin' 'em together. Lift the rock away and they scuttle fer other places t' hide."
"Well, at least they're not our problem now."
"No, they've spread 'emselves to being other folks problems." Hogart finished, looking up at the waning sunshine.
"Right you lot. I don't fancy walkin' home with this lot of swag in the dark. Pack and stack, we set camp here, cold rations!" This was greeted by groans, "Think of this as the real thing, boys and girls! You go off and start playing in the adult's games wi' Khardor and Cyrix an' ANY meal first night out 'll be a banquet!" He clapped his hand to hurry his people along.
"Remember, this is the big bad woods kiddies! Do it right or it'll be more 'n bedbugs crawlin' up yer dates in the dark!" With that he joined in preparing the area for the night to come.
"Rolfe, you don't have a sister."
*=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=*
I hope my grammar etc is passable. *bows*
Re: Hunters, Hunted. (An Iron Kingdoms Story)
*........*
The chamber smelt faintly of fresh damp earth. Fine motes of stone dust floated in the soft light thrown from the bale lanterns mounted high on the new stone walls. In the center of the room a large table, no more than a great flat finished slab of stone that had been excavated from the very works that had created the spaces of the surrounding chambers, lay strewn with a mosaic swath of paper. Built up by the reams of parchment a picture of a town lay depicted, spread before a circling figure. A black metal'd gauntlet hovered over the diagram, idly tracing the patterns lying there.
"Flens ya! Ya whore son of a bodger!" The curse preceded its originator into the room, on whose heels another figure closely followed -hissing and clicking in agitation.
"Ow long are me an' my crew gonna be sittin' an' filin' our horns?!"
The occupant carefully settled its weight on its arms at the edge of the table and watched the fluid grace of the Satyxis Reaver as she prowled back and forth, still shouting imprecations. It mentally stilled its Scarlock, gathered the report the same way and dismissed it back to its duties.
"Well!" Demanded Ysillith as she spun to glare openly at the Iron Lich, for an instant she thought of sweeping the table clear of its nest of papers and clutter, then the moment of pique passed and she simply crossed her arms to settle into a staring match instead.
The face inside the armored cowl of the necro-construct had more flesh upon it than most Iron Lichs' she'd heard of, but the cold, dead gray eyes showed no flicker of emotion.
After some time, Ixarvexious vented a sigh,
*Tell me, my dear Ysillith, when you gaze upon this plan. What do you see?* Its' voice neutral and seeming cold, devoid of emotions. The susurrations of the mechankia that animated it seemed to have more 'life' than the face within.
She leaned forward, a lock sable of hair drifting across her perfect cheek. Shifting her weight, she spoke with her full attention now focused on the plans.
"I see a small t' middlin' burg. No real walls just these mounds o' dirt an' piles o' rock. A few hidey holes here an' there an' a great big basket of goodies fer the takin'!" She made a grasping fist over the map for emphasis.
*So it would be a simple matter then, for you and yours to pillage and plunder to your black hearts content?*
"Aye me girls a' I, we enter over the berm here," She flicked a hand at a line. " These buildin's 'ave the look of warehouses, so we set a line of fire along 'ere," Her fingers jabbed at a row of shaded squares. "t' cut off the pillage zone, an load up the river ferry there. Once she's loaded, we cut the moorings and use her to run the river," She closed her eyes in thought, "Oh about a hun'ert miles or so down the river an' we're at the top of the Gnarls. Then it's a simple matter of slipping ashore, laying a false trail, erect a small camp, use what we 'ave time too," She leered, "Then survey and split up the rest o' th' swag." She rubbed her hands together, already sorting through any amount of possible types of stolen goods, "Then we trickle into the Fingers an' use the loot to buy our way onto better births." She finished.
*I am flattered by your loyalty.*
Ysillith blinked, coming back to the reality of the bunker and suddenly snorted "Sorry, *cough*, dust." She waived her hand, spluttering.
*Indeed. So these earth works concern you not? The age of there construction causes you no concern? These reports of large orders of timbers acquired, with no slip ways being in evidence?*
Ysillith shrugged "The hills aren't a nothin' my girls can't clear. O' course your mob of shamblers 'll be findin' it slow goin'. I s'pose hence the favor they done you by not puttin' doors or gates on these nice through ways in't town." She pointed out.
*Yesss. Great big thoroughfares with naught but these warehouses either side of the entry road; Also of recent construction or renovation. Or so the information that has been supplied tells me.*
"So, ye thinkin' it be a trap then?" Ysillith tried to look innocent.
Ixarvexious actually seemed to 'stare' at her for a moment, before resuming its orbit of the table.
*It matters not. There are things I am tasked to do. Information I am set to gather. You and your 'crew' shall serve as the chaotic tempest I wish them to be. Plans move within plans. Events move on.*
"Aye, well you can move your planin' events 'ow ever you like. Me, I'm bored." She clapped her hands together and rubbed them in anticipation. "Me? I think I'll go see if'n some o' them folks we found waderin' in the woods are still 'serviceable' and frisky like." She grinned, her face showing a range of emotions, as the Satyxis Reaver Captain turned with a natural theatrical swirl of her hair and stalked off.
*Hmmm.* Was the only reply, as the Lich returned to ponder the towns lay out that was arrayed upon the table map before it.
*........................*
The evening at the 'Tippled Tun' moved on, with the presence of Elanesadrial keeping the mood quieter than usual. Initially calm and silent, she gradually became more restless as the evening wore on. Constantly glancing at a pocket watch produced from a vest pouch. Her unsettled mood wearing of on the few other regular patrons who swaggered and staggered out by the first hours of the morning. Finally, with a snarl of seeming frustration, Sunset stalked up stairs entered her room and went to bed. Bront and Cecily moved about dousing lamps and locking up before they too retired for the night. Leaving the building in quiet darkness.
After some time passed a section of slate behind the bar lifted. A small green head popped up; alchemical goggled aglow with their own faint light. Silently replacing the stone hatch, he quickly padded across to the wooden stairs. Under the vision of the mechanika, glowing spots appeared indicating which stairs would not make sound under his fleet tread. Following similar patterns, his progress to the prime guest suit was noiseless. A quick jolt from his lock jiggler, pulled from a pocket, had the locks undone. The door ghost opens just enough to slide his head inside the room. The inside of which, with the curtains drawn, was as dark as the bottom of a coalmine. The goober grinned, slipping into the room while tucking the hinge oil applicator back into a pouch. The supine figure of the elf lay under the covers and there, on a chair at the bedside rested his prize. The fancy leather rig crossed over the back of the chair with the holsters resting on the seat, the guns handles riding high, held in place by the shaped tooled leather.
He touched a switch on the side of the goggles and his view changed. Now a suffused blue glow came from the elf, muffled by the bed sheets. From the saddlebags at the foot of the bed faint flickers sent off by the powder could be seen emanating but his biggest disappointment was the cold inert black of the guns. He frowned and stepped lightly towards his prey, flicking between settings on the goggles. It was only when he was virtually point blank at the weapons that a faint glow emanated from the quenched serric steel of the gun, just visible in their leather cradles.
He shivered in anticipation, slowly reaching out to lift the guns -gently, ever so gently -by their trigger guards.
" 'Ello moppet." *Sna-chk* The words whispered quietly and full of menace, the metallic noise of the latch coming back on the handgun lightly kissing his temple under scoring the danger.
He froze solid, then cautiously turned his head sideways. The elf's eyes were open and glowing with an arcane light of their own. The hand holding the pistol had slithered out from under the pillow now 'pressing' her point home.
"Now, I c'n see that's an expensive piece of equipment you be wearin' there," She paused "An' I'm wonderin' what a small town like this, has t' offer some one t' hire somethin' like that?" She shifted the gun to rest upon the bridge of his nose, pressing against the center of the goggles, then sat up. The gun in his face easily being enough to cover her modesty.
"So, here's the deal. I'm gong to be nice. You are goin' t'do whut you do best and 'disappear'." There was a jingle of coin from the clothes on the nightstand. "You are going to take this 'donation' and get as far away from me as you can. Consider this a 'Head start' with me countin'. 'Ave ye got that?"
He nodded behind the gun, the lump of fear in his throat hindering any attempt to speak. Her hand suddenly whipped out and ripped the goggles from his head, happening so fast there was only a lingering burn from his scalp. He blinked in the sudden blackness.
"B...B...But how am I supposed to get out?" He whispered querulously. He heard a deep-throated chuckle from the darkness and a window opening.
"That's O.k., poppet. You'll be takin' a flyin' start." He barely had time to 'yeep' as strong hands grabbed him by his collar and belt and hoisted him up, across the room and out the window. The speed at which he found himself was dropping towards the ground below freezing his thoughts in terror.
There was a quiet *poing* as his safety rope snapped taut, leaving the Gobber staring at the cobbles bare inches from his face, Sunset having jammed the small grappling hook head of his 'safety climber' into the wood of the sill. She flicked it out of the window frame, letting the small figure splat quietly onto the street below. The patter of silk rope as it trickled down around him being accentuated by the heavy chink of the coin bag that smacked him on the back of the head. Grabbing both, he scampered off into the night. Sunset chuckled quietly to herself as she reset her wards and went back to bed.
*..................*
With soft, quiet, measured steps it stalked through the forest growth. Its long bone pale snout weaving back and forth searching, sampling. It's multiple legs rising and falling rhythmically, giving the hunched black carapace of a body the impression of floating through the foliage. The hissing as of breath issuing from the row of long vents jutting above its curved hump of a form. A pale green light issuing from the coils and tubes nestled inside its black armored plates.
The scents drawn through its intakes were filtered, sampled and measured. At every planting of a long curved stilted leg all the tremors in the surrounding earth were registered. Any sound falling across its frame and those that softly reverberated back from its own emanations were registered. All the information gathered and combined to form a complex, multidimensional 'picture' of the world through which it moved.
The original trail that had been fixed into its matrix had slowly been fading with time as it followed it back towards its possible origin. What had 'piqued' its drive had been when 'other' spoor had merged and falling in line with the original hunt. With something akin to 'greed' it hurried along.
Over hill and through dell it stalked, eventually coming to a narrow cleft and a slight 'scattering/splaying' of the scents. Gliding first one way, then another, it built up an image of which might be potentially 'false' leads to its directive and which were 'true'. Within a few moments it moved forward cautiously into the narrow cleft.
Once it reached the clearing at the other end it accelerated as it registered so many scents, so many tracks. It quickly found the large patch of dry coppery blood, with its traces of herbs. There in the center of the clearing a pile of equipment, some leaking a faint trace of arcane energy. It circled the space in ever decreasing spirals. Eventually coming to a halt almost at its center. An almost animal whine issued from its hull. It rocked back and forth. Its inputs were conflicting with its directives. It had found the source of its primary, but the secondary spoor stopped! Gone! It slowly spun in place. It whined again as its turbines ran past full power. Over speeding to funnel the maximum power to its sensors.
The minor arcane essences in the pile 'glowed' brightly to it. There was nothing else in its range. No heat, No sounds, No vibrations. The whine as it continued to run its turbine up to maximum sounding like a soft howl of complaint. Searching, scanning, scenting, reaching. Conflict, conflict, conflict!
The pale gaunt figure suddenly stepped into the clearing as if through a door between rooms. As he gazed upon the Bone Jack, he remembered 'humor'. Watching it softly whine and howl stirred memories long untouched. Thoughts of hounds stymied by smarter prey came drifting back. He took the 'final' step back into the world and waited still until the Jack had pattern matched him and settled. He stepped forward to where it crouched, laying a desiccated palm upon its casing where eyes should be.
"Success, return, report." He intoned, knowing that his master would easily gather the information collected by the construct. He gazed off into the darkness even as the 'Stalker Jack' scuttled back the way it had come. Off in the distance he could 'feel' the presence of a target. He knew the rough distance to the nearby town, but to be 'drawn' by the pull of a duel from here. He stood motionless, one pale boned hand absently stroking the curve of the grip of the pistol in his belt, while within him thoughts and feelings 'roiled' in unfamiliar confusion. Time passed and then, upon reaching a decision, he 'stepped' back into the strange space almost between the realms. The ties binding him to his current master now being over ridden by the distant siren's call before him. He began to drift onwards, towards the town, following the urging pull of the 'need' that he decided he could no longer ignore. As he moved, some times literally, through the trees of the forest, he remembered another emotion; 'Anticipation'.
*.................................*
The other side to the tale. *Bows*
Iron Lich
Satyxis
Pistol Wraith
The chamber smelt faintly of fresh damp earth. Fine motes of stone dust floated in the soft light thrown from the bale lanterns mounted high on the new stone walls. In the center of the room a large table, no more than a great flat finished slab of stone that had been excavated from the very works that had created the spaces of the surrounding chambers, lay strewn with a mosaic swath of paper. Built up by the reams of parchment a picture of a town lay depicted, spread before a circling figure. A black metal'd gauntlet hovered over the diagram, idly tracing the patterns lying there.
"Flens ya! Ya whore son of a bodger!" The curse preceded its originator into the room, on whose heels another figure closely followed -hissing and clicking in agitation.
"Ow long are me an' my crew gonna be sittin' an' filin' our horns?!"
The occupant carefully settled its weight on its arms at the edge of the table and watched the fluid grace of the Satyxis Reaver as she prowled back and forth, still shouting imprecations. It mentally stilled its Scarlock, gathered the report the same way and dismissed it back to its duties.
"Well!" Demanded Ysillith as she spun to glare openly at the Iron Lich, for an instant she thought of sweeping the table clear of its nest of papers and clutter, then the moment of pique passed and she simply crossed her arms to settle into a staring match instead.
The face inside the armored cowl of the necro-construct had more flesh upon it than most Iron Lichs' she'd heard of, but the cold, dead gray eyes showed no flicker of emotion.
After some time, Ixarvexious vented a sigh,
*Tell me, my dear Ysillith, when you gaze upon this plan. What do you see?* Its' voice neutral and seeming cold, devoid of emotions. The susurrations of the mechankia that animated it seemed to have more 'life' than the face within.
She leaned forward, a lock sable of hair drifting across her perfect cheek. Shifting her weight, she spoke with her full attention now focused on the plans.
"I see a small t' middlin' burg. No real walls just these mounds o' dirt an' piles o' rock. A few hidey holes here an' there an' a great big basket of goodies fer the takin'!" She made a grasping fist over the map for emphasis.
*So it would be a simple matter then, for you and yours to pillage and plunder to your black hearts content?*
"Aye me girls a' I, we enter over the berm here," She flicked a hand at a line. " These buildin's 'ave the look of warehouses, so we set a line of fire along 'ere," Her fingers jabbed at a row of shaded squares. "t' cut off the pillage zone, an load up the river ferry there. Once she's loaded, we cut the moorings and use her to run the river," She closed her eyes in thought, "Oh about a hun'ert miles or so down the river an' we're at the top of the Gnarls. Then it's a simple matter of slipping ashore, laying a false trail, erect a small camp, use what we 'ave time too," She leered, "Then survey and split up the rest o' th' swag." She rubbed her hands together, already sorting through any amount of possible types of stolen goods, "Then we trickle into the Fingers an' use the loot to buy our way onto better births." She finished.
*I am flattered by your loyalty.*
Ysillith blinked, coming back to the reality of the bunker and suddenly snorted "Sorry, *cough*, dust." She waived her hand, spluttering.
*Indeed. So these earth works concern you not? The age of there construction causes you no concern? These reports of large orders of timbers acquired, with no slip ways being in evidence?*
Ysillith shrugged "The hills aren't a nothin' my girls can't clear. O' course your mob of shamblers 'll be findin' it slow goin'. I s'pose hence the favor they done you by not puttin' doors or gates on these nice through ways in't town." She pointed out.
*Yesss. Great big thoroughfares with naught but these warehouses either side of the entry road; Also of recent construction or renovation. Or so the information that has been supplied tells me.*
"So, ye thinkin' it be a trap then?" Ysillith tried to look innocent.
Ixarvexious actually seemed to 'stare' at her for a moment, before resuming its orbit of the table.
*It matters not. There are things I am tasked to do. Information I am set to gather. You and your 'crew' shall serve as the chaotic tempest I wish them to be. Plans move within plans. Events move on.*
"Aye, well you can move your planin' events 'ow ever you like. Me, I'm bored." She clapped her hands together and rubbed them in anticipation. "Me? I think I'll go see if'n some o' them folks we found waderin' in the woods are still 'serviceable' and frisky like." She grinned, her face showing a range of emotions, as the Satyxis Reaver Captain turned with a natural theatrical swirl of her hair and stalked off.
*Hmmm.* Was the only reply, as the Lich returned to ponder the towns lay out that was arrayed upon the table map before it.
*........................*
The evening at the 'Tippled Tun' moved on, with the presence of Elanesadrial keeping the mood quieter than usual. Initially calm and silent, she gradually became more restless as the evening wore on. Constantly glancing at a pocket watch produced from a vest pouch. Her unsettled mood wearing of on the few other regular patrons who swaggered and staggered out by the first hours of the morning. Finally, with a snarl of seeming frustration, Sunset stalked up stairs entered her room and went to bed. Bront and Cecily moved about dousing lamps and locking up before they too retired for the night. Leaving the building in quiet darkness.
After some time passed a section of slate behind the bar lifted. A small green head popped up; alchemical goggled aglow with their own faint light. Silently replacing the stone hatch, he quickly padded across to the wooden stairs. Under the vision of the mechanika, glowing spots appeared indicating which stairs would not make sound under his fleet tread. Following similar patterns, his progress to the prime guest suit was noiseless. A quick jolt from his lock jiggler, pulled from a pocket, had the locks undone. The door ghost opens just enough to slide his head inside the room. The inside of which, with the curtains drawn, was as dark as the bottom of a coalmine. The goober grinned, slipping into the room while tucking the hinge oil applicator back into a pouch. The supine figure of the elf lay under the covers and there, on a chair at the bedside rested his prize. The fancy leather rig crossed over the back of the chair with the holsters resting on the seat, the guns handles riding high, held in place by the shaped tooled leather.
He touched a switch on the side of the goggles and his view changed. Now a suffused blue glow came from the elf, muffled by the bed sheets. From the saddlebags at the foot of the bed faint flickers sent off by the powder could be seen emanating but his biggest disappointment was the cold inert black of the guns. He frowned and stepped lightly towards his prey, flicking between settings on the goggles. It was only when he was virtually point blank at the weapons that a faint glow emanated from the quenched serric steel of the gun, just visible in their leather cradles.
He shivered in anticipation, slowly reaching out to lift the guns -gently, ever so gently -by their trigger guards.
" 'Ello moppet." *Sna-chk* The words whispered quietly and full of menace, the metallic noise of the latch coming back on the handgun lightly kissing his temple under scoring the danger.
He froze solid, then cautiously turned his head sideways. The elf's eyes were open and glowing with an arcane light of their own. The hand holding the pistol had slithered out from under the pillow now 'pressing' her point home.
"Now, I c'n see that's an expensive piece of equipment you be wearin' there," She paused "An' I'm wonderin' what a small town like this, has t' offer some one t' hire somethin' like that?" She shifted the gun to rest upon the bridge of his nose, pressing against the center of the goggles, then sat up. The gun in his face easily being enough to cover her modesty.
"So, here's the deal. I'm gong to be nice. You are goin' t'do whut you do best and 'disappear'." There was a jingle of coin from the clothes on the nightstand. "You are going to take this 'donation' and get as far away from me as you can. Consider this a 'Head start' with me countin'. 'Ave ye got that?"
He nodded behind the gun, the lump of fear in his throat hindering any attempt to speak. Her hand suddenly whipped out and ripped the goggles from his head, happening so fast there was only a lingering burn from his scalp. He blinked in the sudden blackness.
"B...B...But how am I supposed to get out?" He whispered querulously. He heard a deep-throated chuckle from the darkness and a window opening.
"That's O.k., poppet. You'll be takin' a flyin' start." He barely had time to 'yeep' as strong hands grabbed him by his collar and belt and hoisted him up, across the room and out the window. The speed at which he found himself was dropping towards the ground below freezing his thoughts in terror.
There was a quiet *poing* as his safety rope snapped taut, leaving the Gobber staring at the cobbles bare inches from his face, Sunset having jammed the small grappling hook head of his 'safety climber' into the wood of the sill. She flicked it out of the window frame, letting the small figure splat quietly onto the street below. The patter of silk rope as it trickled down around him being accentuated by the heavy chink of the coin bag that smacked him on the back of the head. Grabbing both, he scampered off into the night. Sunset chuckled quietly to herself as she reset her wards and went back to bed.
*..................*
With soft, quiet, measured steps it stalked through the forest growth. Its long bone pale snout weaving back and forth searching, sampling. It's multiple legs rising and falling rhythmically, giving the hunched black carapace of a body the impression of floating through the foliage. The hissing as of breath issuing from the row of long vents jutting above its curved hump of a form. A pale green light issuing from the coils and tubes nestled inside its black armored plates.
The scents drawn through its intakes were filtered, sampled and measured. At every planting of a long curved stilted leg all the tremors in the surrounding earth were registered. Any sound falling across its frame and those that softly reverberated back from its own emanations were registered. All the information gathered and combined to form a complex, multidimensional 'picture' of the world through which it moved.
The original trail that had been fixed into its matrix had slowly been fading with time as it followed it back towards its possible origin. What had 'piqued' its drive had been when 'other' spoor had merged and falling in line with the original hunt. With something akin to 'greed' it hurried along.
Over hill and through dell it stalked, eventually coming to a narrow cleft and a slight 'scattering/splaying' of the scents. Gliding first one way, then another, it built up an image of which might be potentially 'false' leads to its directive and which were 'true'. Within a few moments it moved forward cautiously into the narrow cleft.
Once it reached the clearing at the other end it accelerated as it registered so many scents, so many tracks. It quickly found the large patch of dry coppery blood, with its traces of herbs. There in the center of the clearing a pile of equipment, some leaking a faint trace of arcane energy. It circled the space in ever decreasing spirals. Eventually coming to a halt almost at its center. An almost animal whine issued from its hull. It rocked back and forth. Its inputs were conflicting with its directives. It had found the source of its primary, but the secondary spoor stopped! Gone! It slowly spun in place. It whined again as its turbines ran past full power. Over speeding to funnel the maximum power to its sensors.
The minor arcane essences in the pile 'glowed' brightly to it. There was nothing else in its range. No heat, No sounds, No vibrations. The whine as it continued to run its turbine up to maximum sounding like a soft howl of complaint. Searching, scanning, scenting, reaching. Conflict, conflict, conflict!
The pale gaunt figure suddenly stepped into the clearing as if through a door between rooms. As he gazed upon the Bone Jack, he remembered 'humor'. Watching it softly whine and howl stirred memories long untouched. Thoughts of hounds stymied by smarter prey came drifting back. He took the 'final' step back into the world and waited still until the Jack had pattern matched him and settled. He stepped forward to where it crouched, laying a desiccated palm upon its casing where eyes should be.
"Success, return, report." He intoned, knowing that his master would easily gather the information collected by the construct. He gazed off into the darkness even as the 'Stalker Jack' scuttled back the way it had come. Off in the distance he could 'feel' the presence of a target. He knew the rough distance to the nearby town, but to be 'drawn' by the pull of a duel from here. He stood motionless, one pale boned hand absently stroking the curve of the grip of the pistol in his belt, while within him thoughts and feelings 'roiled' in unfamiliar confusion. Time passed and then, upon reaching a decision, he 'stepped' back into the strange space almost between the realms. The ties binding him to his current master now being over ridden by the distant siren's call before him. He began to drift onwards, towards the town, following the urging pull of the 'need' that he decided he could no longer ignore. As he moved, some times literally, through the trees of the forest, he remembered another emotion; 'Anticipation'.
*.................................*
The other side to the tale. *Bows*
Iron Lich
Satyxis
Pistol Wraith
Re: Hunters, Hunted. (An Iron Kingdoms Story)
The new day
Jonathann slowly moved though his sword drill. The new morning's light shining in though the windows high in the studie's walls. Slowly working at retraining his body to perform well with his left-hand now dominant. There came a polite knocking at the door. He returned to 'guard' before putting the practice baton down then reaching for a towel.
"Come!" He called, his eyebrows raising as both Sergeants Standborough and Hogart stepped into the room, only Hogart's eyes flickering towards Jonathan's' right side, then both men saluted before Hogart put two sheaves of paper on the small desk that held the sword-training manual Jonathann was currently working from. Grant settled into a position standing just in front of the closed study door. Jonathann leafed through the pages,
"This is two reports." He noted with a glance towards Hogart and Standborough, "Relax gents."
"Yes, Sir." They replied, even as their posture loosened.
"Hmmm, so our 'mysterious stranger' has given orders to a carpenter for 'Two platforms plus backdrops'?"
"Yes, Sir." Grants tone was delivered with a neutral flat tone that Jonathann recognized al too well. He sighed as he rubbed himself down, slightly awkwardly with just his left arm.
"Gunny, how long have we know each other?"
"Since we served in th' regulars, Sir." Grant responded again flatly.
"Mm, hmm. Now since I don't start 'work' until," He glanced at a cabinet clock, "Eight, we are all standing in my study and these reports obviously couldn't wait. What exactly has bristled your fur about this particular person?" He finished as he out Standborough's report to one side and starting to read through Hogart's reports.
Grant stiffened, "I just think that such a person represents a known and relative threat. Now that there's evidence she intends to encourage dueling and especially since the reported threat of Cyrixian forces has been demonstrated, Sir." He finished as Jonathann came to the sketch at the rear of Hogart's report.
"Is this accurate, Rikard?" He held up the illustration.
"Aye, Sir. The thing come stalkin' up th' entry gully an' you could 'see' it sniffin' about like. Definitely trackin' our scent." He cleared his throat, "I've got to say, sir, if we hadn't been up in them tree lofts, it would a' had the lot of us. 'At was an inspiration you had there, sir."
"No Rikard it wasn't. It was just an idea that I figured out after hearing your tales of dear and elk hunting, while glancing at some of my grandfathers ideas for a suspension bridge for over the river." Jonathann sighed.
"Your troop are being kept 'quiet'? The 'victim' is being segregated?" Seeing Hogart's nods he turned to Grant, "Things are proceeding along 'normal' lines?"
"Aye, sir. Everything's still running like normal. I'm tryin' to move things about wi' out causin' to many ripples. I..." He was interrupted by the door rebounding off his boot heel and a muffled, "YOUWCH!" He stepped away from and opened the door to reveal Mellani standing out of kilter and trying to rebalance the arm full of things that she was carrying.
"Oh! I'm sorry young Ms Mellani, I didn't realize you was needin' to be in here." Grant apologized as Mellani slipped around him; still rubbing at the spot the door had thumped. Jonathann quickly used the distraction to slip his training journal over the reports.
"That's alright Grant," She smiled back at him as she walked over to an old couch, nodding to Hogart, to deposit her arm full of gear upon it. Then she hurried over to Jonathann and began to carefully inspect his right side. Through the occasional wince at the prodding, poking and salve smearing he gave a look of long suffering to his two sergeants, who both carefully hid their amusement and sympathy.
Sergeant Rikard Hogart raised an eyebrow when he realized that the young looking lass was attired in dueling leathers. He glanced at Grant, who minutely shook his head and silently motioned caution as the pair, inspection complete, picked up their practice batons and took up 'guard' positions, both saluting their 'weapons' to their brows. Hogart watched as they began to spar, noting that while Jonathann seemed slightly stiff and a little awkward, he definitely had the strength and reach over his sister -to seemingly casually bat away Mellani's practice 'weapon'.
Jonathann spoke over the 'clack' of the crossing batons.
"What did you use to say to me Gunny? About when you come across combatants that are better than you are?"
"I think it was somthin' along the lines of 'If you find someone on your side who's better 'n yourself, get 'em to beat you black and blue till you can stop 'em. If they're on the other side, you get 'em to beat someone else black and blue until you can stop 'em, Sir" He finished with a grin.
Jonathann began to force Mellani back slowly across the training mat.
"So sergeant Rikard, you've obviously heard some of the escapades of my sister in her halconian days of youth?"
'Um," Rikard looked nervous at this strange and personal question, "One of course hears all sorts of scuttle about, sir."
Jonathann continued to watch his sisters' expression and he grinned.
"Mellani has always had a rather 'mercurial' nature. Which manifested often in the forms of pranks." He watched the frown begin to gather on her features, "One of the most notorious happened between herself and a rather strict Governess, whom our parents had employed, in the hope it would put my sister's feet upon the straight and narrow." Mellani's look continued to darken, her head shaking a silent 'No' in warning
"A rather firm Menite wasn't she?" He quipped rhetorically, deftly pushing through her guard to score a thump on her shoulder. He could see the flicker of anger in her eyes.
"Now the story unfolds that the Governess had been overhearing rumors about a certain 'Grymkin infested' old mill pond. Of course, the fact that Mellani and myself were possibly some of the sources of said rumors." He shrugged, wincing as his right side gave a twinge
"Then, one fine spring morning, little Mellani fails to appear for the start of her classes. Of course our stalwart Governess, not wanting to alarm the family over just a possible 'sleep in', valiantly strikes out in search of her charge. Easily following a clear trail leading her down towards the said 'mysterious' pond."
Rikard could see Mellani's stance changing, her movements becoming more fluid, her grip firmer. Instead of receiving blows, she was deflecting them, negating Jonathan's' greater arm strength.
"To the governess' mounting trepidation, no sign of her fragile young innocent could be found at the pond. Of course, when the dripping figure arose gauntly from the watery depths, the Governess' terrified screams could be heard across the estate! Bringing the entire household running. Luckily I got there first and managed to spirit away my little 'Ruslaka' of a sister, we then only having to explain away a summer sniffle. The poor Governess' nerves never truly recovered, the sixth wasn't she?" Jonathan's' grin was almost ear to ear.
"You CAD!" Mellani spat, as instantly the tempo of her attacks increased. Becoming almost a blur. Shifting to a two handed grip on the baton, her attacks became a flurry of blows. Jonathann was immediately forced back on the defensive. Backing away and now desperately trying to parry and block the pummeling attack storming against his guard. Her speed and agility allowing quick shifts of stance to hedge in under Jonathan's' arms reach. Rikard winced as some of her blows slipped through the captains' guard. There was a crash of furniture as Jonathann tumbled over the small table. They all cried in alarm, except for Jonathann who hissed in pain through clenched teeth as he landed heavily.
"JON!" Mellani's cry showed instant concern, her baton flying. Both Rikard and Grant moved to gather papers and things together while helping the downed captain recover.
"And that, gentle men, is why you must always treat any lady Rystell with respect." Jonathann quipped tightly.
"Right you are sir." Affirmed Grant "Well, sorry to interrupt, we'd best be moving along. Militia to keep in line an' all, sir. 'Day Ms Mellani!" Said Sergeant Standborough, quickly arranging the reports unobtrusively in his coat. The two of sergeants continued to bid their good days leaving Mellani fussing over a conciliatory Jonathann.
*.....................*
As they returned to town, as he lent against the railing of the ferry, Sergeant Standborough hummed a jaunty tune.
"Damn, but that girl was fast." Hogart commented quietly.
"Aye." Affirmed Grant.
"Lucky fer the Captain it were just a practice stick she was beltin' into 'im with. Otherwise I reckon it'd be another arm he'd be needing." Rikard finished, admiration showing in his voice.
"Aye, she'd be capable of somin' like that. By all accounts the minx snuck into the Grandfathers den an' stole a couple o' potions. Spent the good part of a week and ten days setting up the bottom o' that pond to pull that 'jack inna box' stunt off. 'Twas the eighth Governess, if I remember the tale correctly." Grant shifted his stance. "I say we've Ascendants watching out for us that her humor's lost a good deal of its bite."
"What had it in the Captains mind to go pulling her levers like that?" Rikard asked.
"Twelve months ago the Captain could barely keep up wi' the training forms. A year afore he was doin' well to hold form with the trainin' guide at all. Th' year before that, he was getting' his strength back an' young Miss Mellani was actin' as his crutch. It was her who steered him into getting the mekanica." Grant finished thoughtfully.
"So who was it that taught her some of those reverse moves?" Rikard asked cautiously
"Oh, aye, I had a hand in Miss Mellanis' practical skills." Grant replied cheerfully and resumed humming.
Rikard sighed, "All right ya tosser, tell me yer tale." He spoke with resignation.
Grant smiled "Well, when we came back from the 'tiff'. The Captain was still in a bad way. The regulars had done right by him, doctorin' and salvin' his wounds and such. They sorted out the why's and where fores of that Thamars' @rse of an engagement. Gave him and some of we other survivors their medals an' pay outs and what not and sent him home to recuperate." Grant shifted again, "Well, he wasn't really in the best of shape back then, an Miss Mellani, she'd dropped her schooling' to get back home an' help the family. Then there was that gods awful winter of '07." He sighed and Rikard nodded in remembered agreement.
"Now, I'd already set up my services to help teach 'Self Defense' and some other 'hobbies' to bolster my pension. " Rikard shot him an annoyed glance to which Grant gave no indication of, "And so I was already improving on some of the skills she'd picked up in a club back at her schoolin'. Well one morning Miss Mellani was lookin' more peaked than usual, I s'pose all the hassles were pilling up on her, so I suggested we 'practice' a bit. I sweetened the deal by offerin' to show her some of the 'tricks of the trade' we pick up in the regulars," Grant grinned at the memory "Well that pricked her ears up, but she was still mopin' and half hearted. The worry for her brother and the other family problems and all." Grant paused a moment and casually looked about the ferry, Rikard moved a little closer.
"Now I'm going to admit to making a 'mistake'," Continued Grant quietly, "See, I'd only ever seen the Lass sparrin' casual like an' I thought I'd maybe get her mind off things and see just how good she was with that over sized heirloom of hers."
"You can't resist pokin' people Stand." Muttered Rikard.
"Yeah, So my inclination always seems to be. So I'm patting her antique about an' seeing how half hearted she was, so I kind of started to 'pull her levers' as it were. Well, not having the experience with her temper that I have now, I kind of missed all the early warnin' signs and blew right on past the stops." Grant was nonchalantly rolling back the sleeve on his left arm as he talked, shifting position so that they both covered his actions. He sighed,
"Almost before I knew it, the lass was comin' at me like a steam saw. She threw everything I'd showed her back in me face and then some. She caught me out she did, moved and jinked som'it slick and quick an' next thing I know she's almost taken my arm off. Opened it from wrist to elbow." He indicated a fine silver scar that ran from the outside of his wrist, along the bone to the elbow. Its shape and colour standing out form the other old wounds and scratches.
Rikard's eyebrows rose high "That does look nasty." He said quietly
"Aye, quick as a summer storm, she was beside herself wi' grief. Pulled out all the stops to have me fixed up. Exerted the family name so's the priest who was here helpin' with the troubles went over it with the proper rituals an' such to heal it up right and proper." Grant dropped his sleeve as the ferry came into the towns' dock.
"What is it you want?" Rikard asked in resignation.
Standborough chuckled "Well, seein' as all my lot are all at double drillin' and your mob are whilin' away their time at the barracks and the lock up. I thought I'd impose and ask for some quiet quality time wi' Gatley."
Rikard frowned "You know th' Captains orders on security about 'im."
"Aye, since I'm the one that gave 'em to you. It's not a big ask." Grants' voice took on an edge.
Rikard nodded in acquiescence as they walked up the street "Aye, go ahead. Just give me a bit to set things up wi' the watch order. Make sure this stays twixt you, me an' those at the post." Rikard warned.
"You know me, Sergeant Hogart." Said Grant happily as he strode away into town.
"All too bl@@dy well." Muttered Rikard as he went about his own business of the day.
*........................*
Jonathann slowly moved though his sword drill. The new morning's light shining in though the windows high in the studie's walls. Slowly working at retraining his body to perform well with his left-hand now dominant. There came a polite knocking at the door. He returned to 'guard' before putting the practice baton down then reaching for a towel.
"Come!" He called, his eyebrows raising as both Sergeants Standborough and Hogart stepped into the room, only Hogart's eyes flickering towards Jonathan's' right side, then both men saluted before Hogart put two sheaves of paper on the small desk that held the sword-training manual Jonathann was currently working from. Grant settled into a position standing just in front of the closed study door. Jonathann leafed through the pages,
"This is two reports." He noted with a glance towards Hogart and Standborough, "Relax gents."
"Yes, Sir." They replied, even as their posture loosened.
"Hmmm, so our 'mysterious stranger' has given orders to a carpenter for 'Two platforms plus backdrops'?"
"Yes, Sir." Grants tone was delivered with a neutral flat tone that Jonathann recognized al too well. He sighed as he rubbed himself down, slightly awkwardly with just his left arm.
"Gunny, how long have we know each other?"
"Since we served in th' regulars, Sir." Grant responded again flatly.
"Mm, hmm. Now since I don't start 'work' until," He glanced at a cabinet clock, "Eight, we are all standing in my study and these reports obviously couldn't wait. What exactly has bristled your fur about this particular person?" He finished as he out Standborough's report to one side and starting to read through Hogart's reports.
Grant stiffened, "I just think that such a person represents a known and relative threat. Now that there's evidence she intends to encourage dueling and especially since the reported threat of Cyrixian forces has been demonstrated, Sir." He finished as Jonathann came to the sketch at the rear of Hogart's report.
"Is this accurate, Rikard?" He held up the illustration.
"Aye, Sir. The thing come stalkin' up th' entry gully an' you could 'see' it sniffin' about like. Definitely trackin' our scent." He cleared his throat, "I've got to say, sir, if we hadn't been up in them tree lofts, it would a' had the lot of us. 'At was an inspiration you had there, sir."
"No Rikard it wasn't. It was just an idea that I figured out after hearing your tales of dear and elk hunting, while glancing at some of my grandfathers ideas for a suspension bridge for over the river." Jonathann sighed.
"Your troop are being kept 'quiet'? The 'victim' is being segregated?" Seeing Hogart's nods he turned to Grant, "Things are proceeding along 'normal' lines?"
"Aye, sir. Everything's still running like normal. I'm tryin' to move things about wi' out causin' to many ripples. I..." He was interrupted by the door rebounding off his boot heel and a muffled, "YOUWCH!" He stepped away from and opened the door to reveal Mellani standing out of kilter and trying to rebalance the arm full of things that she was carrying.
"Oh! I'm sorry young Ms Mellani, I didn't realize you was needin' to be in here." Grant apologized as Mellani slipped around him; still rubbing at the spot the door had thumped. Jonathann quickly used the distraction to slip his training journal over the reports.
"That's alright Grant," She smiled back at him as she walked over to an old couch, nodding to Hogart, to deposit her arm full of gear upon it. Then she hurried over to Jonathann and began to carefully inspect his right side. Through the occasional wince at the prodding, poking and salve smearing he gave a look of long suffering to his two sergeants, who both carefully hid their amusement and sympathy.
Sergeant Rikard Hogart raised an eyebrow when he realized that the young looking lass was attired in dueling leathers. He glanced at Grant, who minutely shook his head and silently motioned caution as the pair, inspection complete, picked up their practice batons and took up 'guard' positions, both saluting their 'weapons' to their brows. Hogart watched as they began to spar, noting that while Jonathann seemed slightly stiff and a little awkward, he definitely had the strength and reach over his sister -to seemingly casually bat away Mellani's practice 'weapon'.
Jonathann spoke over the 'clack' of the crossing batons.
"What did you use to say to me Gunny? About when you come across combatants that are better than you are?"
"I think it was somthin' along the lines of 'If you find someone on your side who's better 'n yourself, get 'em to beat you black and blue till you can stop 'em. If they're on the other side, you get 'em to beat someone else black and blue until you can stop 'em, Sir" He finished with a grin.
Jonathann began to force Mellani back slowly across the training mat.
"So sergeant Rikard, you've obviously heard some of the escapades of my sister in her halconian days of youth?"
'Um," Rikard looked nervous at this strange and personal question, "One of course hears all sorts of scuttle about, sir."
Jonathann continued to watch his sisters' expression and he grinned.
"Mellani has always had a rather 'mercurial' nature. Which manifested often in the forms of pranks." He watched the frown begin to gather on her features, "One of the most notorious happened between herself and a rather strict Governess, whom our parents had employed, in the hope it would put my sister's feet upon the straight and narrow." Mellani's look continued to darken, her head shaking a silent 'No' in warning
"A rather firm Menite wasn't she?" He quipped rhetorically, deftly pushing through her guard to score a thump on her shoulder. He could see the flicker of anger in her eyes.
"Now the story unfolds that the Governess had been overhearing rumors about a certain 'Grymkin infested' old mill pond. Of course, the fact that Mellani and myself were possibly some of the sources of said rumors." He shrugged, wincing as his right side gave a twinge
"Then, one fine spring morning, little Mellani fails to appear for the start of her classes. Of course our stalwart Governess, not wanting to alarm the family over just a possible 'sleep in', valiantly strikes out in search of her charge. Easily following a clear trail leading her down towards the said 'mysterious' pond."
Rikard could see Mellani's stance changing, her movements becoming more fluid, her grip firmer. Instead of receiving blows, she was deflecting them, negating Jonathan's' greater arm strength.
"To the governess' mounting trepidation, no sign of her fragile young innocent could be found at the pond. Of course, when the dripping figure arose gauntly from the watery depths, the Governess' terrified screams could be heard across the estate! Bringing the entire household running. Luckily I got there first and managed to spirit away my little 'Ruslaka' of a sister, we then only having to explain away a summer sniffle. The poor Governess' nerves never truly recovered, the sixth wasn't she?" Jonathan's' grin was almost ear to ear.
"You CAD!" Mellani spat, as instantly the tempo of her attacks increased. Becoming almost a blur. Shifting to a two handed grip on the baton, her attacks became a flurry of blows. Jonathann was immediately forced back on the defensive. Backing away and now desperately trying to parry and block the pummeling attack storming against his guard. Her speed and agility allowing quick shifts of stance to hedge in under Jonathan's' arms reach. Rikard winced as some of her blows slipped through the captains' guard. There was a crash of furniture as Jonathann tumbled over the small table. They all cried in alarm, except for Jonathann who hissed in pain through clenched teeth as he landed heavily.
"JON!" Mellani's cry showed instant concern, her baton flying. Both Rikard and Grant moved to gather papers and things together while helping the downed captain recover.
"And that, gentle men, is why you must always treat any lady Rystell with respect." Jonathann quipped tightly.
"Right you are sir." Affirmed Grant "Well, sorry to interrupt, we'd best be moving along. Militia to keep in line an' all, sir. 'Day Ms Mellani!" Said Sergeant Standborough, quickly arranging the reports unobtrusively in his coat. The two of sergeants continued to bid their good days leaving Mellani fussing over a conciliatory Jonathann.
*.....................*
As they returned to town, as he lent against the railing of the ferry, Sergeant Standborough hummed a jaunty tune.
"Damn, but that girl was fast." Hogart commented quietly.
"Aye." Affirmed Grant.
"Lucky fer the Captain it were just a practice stick she was beltin' into 'im with. Otherwise I reckon it'd be another arm he'd be needing." Rikard finished, admiration showing in his voice.
"Aye, she'd be capable of somin' like that. By all accounts the minx snuck into the Grandfathers den an' stole a couple o' potions. Spent the good part of a week and ten days setting up the bottom o' that pond to pull that 'jack inna box' stunt off. 'Twas the eighth Governess, if I remember the tale correctly." Grant shifted his stance. "I say we've Ascendants watching out for us that her humor's lost a good deal of its bite."
"What had it in the Captains mind to go pulling her levers like that?" Rikard asked.
"Twelve months ago the Captain could barely keep up wi' the training forms. A year afore he was doin' well to hold form with the trainin' guide at all. Th' year before that, he was getting' his strength back an' young Miss Mellani was actin' as his crutch. It was her who steered him into getting the mekanica." Grant finished thoughtfully.
"So who was it that taught her some of those reverse moves?" Rikard asked cautiously
"Oh, aye, I had a hand in Miss Mellanis' practical skills." Grant replied cheerfully and resumed humming.
Rikard sighed, "All right ya tosser, tell me yer tale." He spoke with resignation.
Grant smiled "Well, when we came back from the 'tiff'. The Captain was still in a bad way. The regulars had done right by him, doctorin' and salvin' his wounds and such. They sorted out the why's and where fores of that Thamars' @rse of an engagement. Gave him and some of we other survivors their medals an' pay outs and what not and sent him home to recuperate." Grant shifted again, "Well, he wasn't really in the best of shape back then, an Miss Mellani, she'd dropped her schooling' to get back home an' help the family. Then there was that gods awful winter of '07." He sighed and Rikard nodded in remembered agreement.
"Now, I'd already set up my services to help teach 'Self Defense' and some other 'hobbies' to bolster my pension. " Rikard shot him an annoyed glance to which Grant gave no indication of, "And so I was already improving on some of the skills she'd picked up in a club back at her schoolin'. Well one morning Miss Mellani was lookin' more peaked than usual, I s'pose all the hassles were pilling up on her, so I suggested we 'practice' a bit. I sweetened the deal by offerin' to show her some of the 'tricks of the trade' we pick up in the regulars," Grant grinned at the memory "Well that pricked her ears up, but she was still mopin' and half hearted. The worry for her brother and the other family problems and all." Grant paused a moment and casually looked about the ferry, Rikard moved a little closer.
"Now I'm going to admit to making a 'mistake'," Continued Grant quietly, "See, I'd only ever seen the Lass sparrin' casual like an' I thought I'd maybe get her mind off things and see just how good she was with that over sized heirloom of hers."
"You can't resist pokin' people Stand." Muttered Rikard.
"Yeah, So my inclination always seems to be. So I'm patting her antique about an' seeing how half hearted she was, so I kind of started to 'pull her levers' as it were. Well, not having the experience with her temper that I have now, I kind of missed all the early warnin' signs and blew right on past the stops." Grant was nonchalantly rolling back the sleeve on his left arm as he talked, shifting position so that they both covered his actions. He sighed,
"Almost before I knew it, the lass was comin' at me like a steam saw. She threw everything I'd showed her back in me face and then some. She caught me out she did, moved and jinked som'it slick and quick an' next thing I know she's almost taken my arm off. Opened it from wrist to elbow." He indicated a fine silver scar that ran from the outside of his wrist, along the bone to the elbow. Its shape and colour standing out form the other old wounds and scratches.
Rikard's eyebrows rose high "That does look nasty." He said quietly
"Aye, quick as a summer storm, she was beside herself wi' grief. Pulled out all the stops to have me fixed up. Exerted the family name so's the priest who was here helpin' with the troubles went over it with the proper rituals an' such to heal it up right and proper." Grant dropped his sleeve as the ferry came into the towns' dock.
"What is it you want?" Rikard asked in resignation.
Standborough chuckled "Well, seein' as all my lot are all at double drillin' and your mob are whilin' away their time at the barracks and the lock up. I thought I'd impose and ask for some quiet quality time wi' Gatley."
Rikard frowned "You know th' Captains orders on security about 'im."
"Aye, since I'm the one that gave 'em to you. It's not a big ask." Grants' voice took on an edge.
Rikard nodded in acquiescence as they walked up the street "Aye, go ahead. Just give me a bit to set things up wi' the watch order. Make sure this stays twixt you, me an' those at the post." Rikard warned.
"You know me, Sergeant Hogart." Said Grant happily as he strode away into town.
"All too bl@@dy well." Muttered Rikard as he went about his own business of the day.
*........................*
Re: Hunters, Hunted. (An Iron Kingdoms Story)
As a former Gunslinger, I'm surprised Sunset's pistols don't have more arcane. Of course, the fun part is engraving the bullets.
You have my interest, and I'm waiting to see more
You have my interest, and I'm waiting to see more
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
Re: Hunters, Hunted. (An Iron Kingdoms Story)
*...............*
Jonathann relaxed at his desk, his arm and side still sore from Mellanis' ire. He slowly worked his way through Sergeant Hogarts' report of the previous encounter, scratching notes into a journal with a pencil. He paused and thought about the previous day then jotted additional details into the margin of the journals' page. The sound of Footsteps came, indicating some one ascending the stairs. Quickly Jonathann scooped the papers into an open desk draw and slid it shut with a knee, while stretching and reaching across to flick the armature her wore into 'life'.
The young assistant secretary, who was stationed at the desk outside, at also hearing the approaching person 'perked' up by smiling and making herself 'prim'. With proud aristocratic bearing, Baron Garret Blackwell rose into view. His pale brown eyes passing over the girl without a flicker, he nodded perfunctorily as he strode passed, straight through the open door and into Jonathanns' office.
He stopped as another person sidled up and positioned himself beside Blackwell.
"Good morning, commander." Garrets' cultured voice carried well.
Jonathann looked up and smiled.
"Why, Good morning to you, councilor." He saw the flicker in Garrets eyes as he stood and offered a formal handshake. Garret showed no discomfort at clutching the mechanika limb that was proffered.
"Please, be seated." Jon indicated the only other chair in the room, Garrets' man having to make do with perching on the windowsill.
"Thank you, Commander Rystell..."
"Something to ward off the morning mists, perhaps?" Jonathann interjected, getting up and moving around the desk to open a small cabinet. Deftly withdrawing a carafe and some glasses. He placed the glasses on the desk and poured three 'shots'
"I find it a useful 'arthritis' relief." He quipped, lightly rolling his right shoulder, while handing out the glasses with his other hand. Garrets' man grinned in appreciation/understanding while taking his glass.
"Now then Commander. It would seem that a wanted criminal has been 'apprehended'?"
"Yes. Mr. Gatley is securely locked away and my men are continuing to search the woods for any other surviving accomplices." Replied Jonathann, sitting back down in his chair.
"I would like it known that 'due process' is being served. I'm sure the authorities in Point Bourne will be notified promptly?"
"No need for concern, councilor. Why now that the Southern road is clear, I'm sure quicker time will be had with a response from Orven." Jonathann replied reassuringly, sipping at his liqueur.
"Just because some ne'er do well has been apprehended, does not greener pasture make." Warned Garret, emphasising his point with a wave of his glass.
Jonathann smiled, "You've been reading 'Forsyths' treaties on tactics I see." Garret looked at him blankly until slowly a bemused smile graced his countenance,
"Well..." Started the Baron
"Worry not. I do ensure that my men are well trained and capable of handling themselves. I've not sent them into anything they can't handle." Jonathann continued.
"Yes, about 'Deployment of troops'. Why are there 'Troopers' stationed about the Council house?" Queried Garret. Now it was Jonathann's turn to raise an eyebrow, before smiling and chuckling ruefully.
"I'll make sure to question Sergeant Standborough in regards to what the men did to deserve such a punishment. Are there any other concerns that I may put your mind at ease, Sir?" Jonathann asked cordially.
The Baron smiled "Hrrm, well none that come immediately to mind. I Thank you for your time of day commander, you have been of great reassurance." With that both Garret and his man stood, the Baron nodding his farewells and striding out, his man 'tugging' his forelock and slipping out after him. Jonathann leaned back in his chair smiling happily. He waited until the footfalls had receded, then reached across and flicked off the armature. He chuckled to himself as he recovered the papers, journal and reports from the drawer.
It was awhile and a good distance away from the council hall before Garrets man, Scarrow, spoke.
"E's not waistin' time holerin' fer the Magistrates. Is 'e?"
Garret strolled along the streets, smiling in response to those who greeted him in passing.
"It matters not how fleet of foot or hoof his messengers are. I think our good 'Captain' will find a Magistrate already performing his rounds in the company of some of the Kings finest and their itinerary brings them ever closer to resolving the matters here that are outstanding."
"The Cap'ns lookin' good wi' that arm o' his."
"Hmm, A simple show of bravado. He did nothing more than handle a rock crystal decanter that even 'Chuffy' the labour jack could have played with. No, all the fine movements he passed off with his left hand. BAH! Such heroic nonsense!" Garrets' tone was chiding
The two of them arriving at the Barons sprawling town house, where they were greeted at the door by his butler.
"A 'master' Redgrave to see you, sar." He intoned, leading them towards Garrets study.
There leaning casually next to the sturdy oak paneled door rested a powerful, trim figure that smiled through his well-groomed beard. Scarrow stopped and stood nervously some distance back in the hall.
"Oh, by the way Scarrow. It would seem that some one of rather.. dubious character has alighted in town. Perhaps you could strike up a polite conversation with them. Garner some information about perhaps? Possibly as to why our renowned Sergeant Standborough dislikes them so?" Garret spoke casually as he unlocked the door to his study next to Redgrave.
"Um, yea, yes sir, got it sir." Scarrow backed away hastily, moving almost at a jogging pace as he left the front door.
"Honestly, why do you keep that annoying little stain about?" Rumbled Malek Redgraves' voice as he sauntered across the room to a large cabinet.
"Why for the similar reasons I find your flash point homicidal tendencies so amusing," Returned Garret, securing the door behind himself.
"All things in their place and a place for all things. Waste not want not." He intoned as he moved to stand behind a huge mahogany desk and look down at the many notes and missives arrayed there. Malek took down a carafe and glass before settling comfortably into a plush chair as he asked.
"No concerns regarding certain parties?"
"Gatley was always going to be caught. It is intriguing that it was sooner rather than later. It was only the bad luck of those few scouts who wandered across the wrong woodland beast that his hidden hole wasn't found before hand." Commented Garret absently
Malek rumbled a chuckle deep within his chest at the last comment,
"How are things between yourself and our 'good' captain?" He inquired, amusement still playing across his features.
Garret frowned, re-arranging some notes and making amendments to others.
"Yes it would seem that our self appointed 'Captain of guard' is in good humor. The military mind is only happy in a few instances. Either in thinking it knows something that you do not. It has found out something that you thought hidden, or it is attempting to 'bluff'." He continued to ponder his notes.
"Rather 'resilient' is our Captain." Malek mentioned, "Who would have thought he'd make it through that terrible winter. Him lying there, all torn up and recuperating from such terrible wounds, relatives dropping off the twig left and right," He swirled his drink contemplatively.
Garret sighed "Yes, well when one is being nursed by the bosom of Morrow, then of course ones longevity is mostly assured.'
"Funny, I seem to remember some one who was 'surprised'. Nay one could say 'enraged' when a certain elderly Rystell shuffled off to urcaern as opposed to our 'good' Captain." Redgrave continued with his needling.
Now Garret looked up at Malek, a warning glower upon his features.
"Your humour is ill attempted." He said flatly, then changed the subject with a question of his own, "What of Gatleys' band of motleys?"
Malek shrugged, muscles rippling under his black silk shirt "Not a hide nor hair to be found any-more." He grinned, "One might say they ran afoul of said 'wrong woodland beast-y'. The forest is known for harbouring some very dangerous wild life. Then there are rumours from Hogart's bunch of rabble regarding necro-tech and Cyrixians." Another dismissive shrug, "There are no loose ends to tangle anything up there, you can be assured of that." He took another long sip as Garret stroked his chin at Malek's reply,
"What perhaps could it be that I may not be aware of?" He pondered.
"The Jack foundry they've established in the old district?" Malek questioned.
"No, I've kept close track of the goods received there. A couple of second hand, run down mercenary machines. What good is a 'Mule' Warjack if the powder for its ammunition is considered a 'military only' expenditure, hence unavailable for 'Civilian' or backs woods mercenary use?" Garret straightened and looked across the room in thought.
"Speaking of 'A mind knowing things of which you do not'. It seems your little stain has gone and misplaced something of value." Malek commented the strong white teeth of his grin highlighted by his beard.
"Mmm, how unfortunate," Garret mused absently in response, walking over to a low table then turning back to look across the room at a large wall appointed bookshelf. "Tell me Mal, how long since my engagement ball?" He asked quietly, walking towards the wall of tomes.
Malek's brow knitted "Um," he thought back "Oh, I'd say a good eight to ten months, why?"
Garret reached out and pulled a volume from the shelf, crossed sabers embossed upon its blue leather, and "It would seem our Captain has other talents I must inquire into." He said holding a copy of 'Forsyths Tactics' Manual' in his hand. "Now, about this 'loose end'. Tell me more..."
*........................................*
The muted sounds of construction work carried through out the marshalling hall echoed in the large space as here and there Thralls put the finishing touches to the stone work and fittings. The 'stalker' Bone Jack rested in a cradle, the Liche's Scarlock and a TechThrall servicing the more delicate apparatus of the unique, specialised machine -while also interfacing with its necrocortex to glean all the possible information about its previous night's hunt.
Ixarvexius restlessly paced in front of the great doors, now open to the early night air, as the fists of its gauntlets opened and closed the only other sign of its emotional state. Ysillith stalked passed the dormant bone-Jack and its attendant thralls to approach the doorway that framed the circling Liche,
"So, 'ow are yer plans goin'?" She called. The Lich spun on her suddenly and her hands twitched as she stifled the urge to draw her battle blade. She stood tense and waiting until, finally when the large mechanika enhanced undead did nothing further, shrugged languidly and moving to the entrance -giving the black armored figure a very wide berth -to also gaze out into the cool night air.
Ixarvexious seemed to watch her, its talons still kneading the air,
*Thingss are not 'unfolding' ass I had planned,* A slight hiss entering its speech in its heightened state of agitation, *The reportss I had been expecting are not forth coming. Now it appearss that a minion hass become 'missplaced'.* Ysillith just arched an eyebrow in silent question.
*Rrr, the Wraith I had marsshaled to my causse, it hass not returned.*
"BAH! Shifty, smarmy, skanky pieces o' work. I don't trust 'em as far as I could 'kiss' 'em. The things don't understand a 'real' fight. T'would rather stand there an' gloat an' primp than get their mitts bloodied." Ysillith spat "Good riddance t' bad ballast, I say."
*It iss more than a missing minion. Ssomthing thwartss me, I can feel it. The town hass not but a russtic chapel. The god botherer there hass no real power, yet thingss continue to deviate from what iss expected.* Its steam vents seemed to hiss in frustration. Ysillith shrugged again,
"P'rapse yer minion got itself tangled up wi' this 'feelin' of yours. What about yer other 'spook'?"
*Your inssight iss massterful.* Ixharvexious' voice held tones of scorn and irony.
"'Tis nothin'." Ysillith noted demurely
*Hrrrm, I am dissinclined to ssend good minionss after bad.* The Lich turned to look at her intently *Do you have ssomething 'consstructive' to conjecture with?* Ixarvexious slowly stalked towards her.
"Hey! You hired me fer me brawn, not me noggin'!" She flicked the armoured figure a glance and rolled her hips. "Doin' extra's going to cost ye extra." She replied with a feral grin.
The Lich stopped still *Continue.*
"Well, I might 'ave a trick or two tucked away. I take it yer wantin' a bit o' scopin' about? Get th' true lay o' the land an' such?"
*I believe stealth is called for.* A talloned claw waived towards Ysilliths' crown. *Not something for which the Satyxsis attributes are renowned for.* The Lich indicated the Reavers other rather 'outstanding' features.
"Heh! You ain't seen me in m' 'fancy dress', luv." She grinned, "I c'n turn out quite th' proper miss, when I set me mind to it."
*Indeed, come,* Ixarvexius turned and, with a wave of a metal claw, bade for Ysillith to join it, *There is an itinerary for you and I have wasted enough time loitering here.* As they walked back into the complex, Ixarvexious gave a mental command to its Scarlock, which scurried off to enact it. Soon the hall began to fill with ranks of thralls and the Bane Knights that would lead them.
".............................."
The Wraith floated out from the forest, its substance less than the shadows of the evening through which it drifted. Its passing into the town no more noticed than an errant breeze. The pull drew it onwards towards an inn. The voices of the patrons floating out into the night air. It waited in the street, reviling in the sensations thrumming through it. Never before had the draw of a duel been so strong. Were these feelings of 'joy'? 'Anticipation'? 'Need'? It puzzled over them and pondered the best way in which to make its first impression and entrance.
**Appear directly in their midst?** No, to jarring.
**Call the challenger out into the street?** No that would give the mark too much control. Besides which it hadn't really scoped out the buildings layout and wouldn't a chase scene out a back door be just sooo demeaning. It thoughts wandered through permutations before finally settling upon its course of action.
It 'stepped' partly into the world and drifted up the steps, thence simply through the main door. The room's noise vanished in that instant. Here and there a chair scrapped, or the clatter of a falling plate or spilled mugs, as all attention became riveted to it.
**Perrrfect** It hummed to itself in thought. There in the classic corner lounged the mark. It almost gave voice to its pleasure. No 'boast full' Bravo this one. The stretching out of spur heeled boots -bespoke professionalism and pride - while also increased the area of personal space around the Gun-slinger.
**Wonderful !** The thought came to it as it stopped in the centre of the room. None dared to move lest they attract its attention. The fear and terror palpable in the air around it,
**Excellent**.
The Bravo kicked the foot 'stool' away and stood up fluidly. It noted the silver trappings, the soft kid leather gloves, and the beautiful sheen to the twin gun rig. How the horn handles rode low on the hips
**Ah! Set for a reclining draw** it noted. Had it been able it would have frowned as it noticed the wide arch of the carriage and the strange 'stirrups' that projected back over the handles.
**Some new fangled 'toy'** It thought with irritation. The Bravo kept closing
**Such 'Chutzpa'!** It gloated, looking up just I time.
"You!" JAB "Are!" JAB "LATE!" JAB Sunset punctuated each statement with a solid finger driven into the wraiths' chest. Each thump nudging the figure back.
"Wha...? How...?" It gapped down at the finger pressed into its cravat.
"OIY! Me eyes are up here!" Sunset lifted its chin with the finger to stare into the green lit depths of its sockets. Its gaze came up, past the blouse, to stare into pools of blue with the empathy of glacial lakes.
"Right! Here's how it's going t'be! You WILL come back in two nights hence an' together we WILL go over the set up and everything to make sure it's all on the square! We WILL face off two nights after that an' nothin' funny is going to happen a'fore hand! You got that?" Sunset shoved the Pistol Wraith back a full 'step' in distance with her finger.
"Ye...yes. Two nights hence, Then two nights after." As it stammered a reply, it felt something inside itself twist. It floated backwards and away, surreptitiously passing a hand through a barstool. It shuddered at the lack of contact.
"Well? What are you waiting for? GET!" Sunset raised her hand as if to strike. The wraith turned and fled into the night, different sensations roiling through it now. It remembered its last 'real' duel. It remembered *fear*.
Sunset looked around at the room of equally stunned, some still terrified, faces that stared back at her.
"Whut?" She queried even as she adjusting the set of the rigs on her hips and gave a hard glare to the barkeep.
"That'll teach ye t'think every bravo's nothin' but a hat full o' tall tails or just some casual blow in rowdy!" She spat then turned and strutting across the tavern space, heading up the stairs then her room. Stopping upon the landing above, she turned and called down.
"I'll be up early in the mornin' an' I'll be wantin' help to organize m' things." With that she stalked into her room.
Slowly talk and movement crept back into the atmosphere of the room. Most of the crowd gathering themselves and any belongings and dispersing, to seek the safety of their homes.
*...............*
*Bows* The Elf in black has enough tricks up her sleeve. Anything 'more' would become far too pretentious and potentially drag me before accusations of a dreaded 'Mary' type of character. =)
EDIT: *Bows Again* Thank you for the compliment. The finger poking the insubstantial Wraith shall be explained. As I said, the lady Elf has enough mystery and tricks without the Iron Kingdoms trade mark Mechanika. I'm leaving the ironmongery for the towns-folk to defend themselves with.
Jonathann relaxed at his desk, his arm and side still sore from Mellanis' ire. He slowly worked his way through Sergeant Hogarts' report of the previous encounter, scratching notes into a journal with a pencil. He paused and thought about the previous day then jotted additional details into the margin of the journals' page. The sound of Footsteps came, indicating some one ascending the stairs. Quickly Jonathann scooped the papers into an open desk draw and slid it shut with a knee, while stretching and reaching across to flick the armature her wore into 'life'.
The young assistant secretary, who was stationed at the desk outside, at also hearing the approaching person 'perked' up by smiling and making herself 'prim'. With proud aristocratic bearing, Baron Garret Blackwell rose into view. His pale brown eyes passing over the girl without a flicker, he nodded perfunctorily as he strode passed, straight through the open door and into Jonathanns' office.
He stopped as another person sidled up and positioned himself beside Blackwell.
"Good morning, commander." Garrets' cultured voice carried well.
Jonathann looked up and smiled.
"Why, Good morning to you, councilor." He saw the flicker in Garrets eyes as he stood and offered a formal handshake. Garret showed no discomfort at clutching the mechanika limb that was proffered.
"Please, be seated." Jon indicated the only other chair in the room, Garrets' man having to make do with perching on the windowsill.
"Thank you, Commander Rystell..."
"Something to ward off the morning mists, perhaps?" Jonathann interjected, getting up and moving around the desk to open a small cabinet. Deftly withdrawing a carafe and some glasses. He placed the glasses on the desk and poured three 'shots'
"I find it a useful 'arthritis' relief." He quipped, lightly rolling his right shoulder, while handing out the glasses with his other hand. Garrets' man grinned in appreciation/understanding while taking his glass.
"Now then Commander. It would seem that a wanted criminal has been 'apprehended'?"
"Yes. Mr. Gatley is securely locked away and my men are continuing to search the woods for any other surviving accomplices." Replied Jonathann, sitting back down in his chair.
"I would like it known that 'due process' is being served. I'm sure the authorities in Point Bourne will be notified promptly?"
"No need for concern, councilor. Why now that the Southern road is clear, I'm sure quicker time will be had with a response from Orven." Jonathann replied reassuringly, sipping at his liqueur.
"Just because some ne'er do well has been apprehended, does not greener pasture make." Warned Garret, emphasising his point with a wave of his glass.
Jonathann smiled, "You've been reading 'Forsyths' treaties on tactics I see." Garret looked at him blankly until slowly a bemused smile graced his countenance,
"Well..." Started the Baron
"Worry not. I do ensure that my men are well trained and capable of handling themselves. I've not sent them into anything they can't handle." Jonathann continued.
"Yes, about 'Deployment of troops'. Why are there 'Troopers' stationed about the Council house?" Queried Garret. Now it was Jonathann's turn to raise an eyebrow, before smiling and chuckling ruefully.
"I'll make sure to question Sergeant Standborough in regards to what the men did to deserve such a punishment. Are there any other concerns that I may put your mind at ease, Sir?" Jonathann asked cordially.
The Baron smiled "Hrrm, well none that come immediately to mind. I Thank you for your time of day commander, you have been of great reassurance." With that both Garret and his man stood, the Baron nodding his farewells and striding out, his man 'tugging' his forelock and slipping out after him. Jonathann leaned back in his chair smiling happily. He waited until the footfalls had receded, then reached across and flicked off the armature. He chuckled to himself as he recovered the papers, journal and reports from the drawer.
It was awhile and a good distance away from the council hall before Garrets man, Scarrow, spoke.
"E's not waistin' time holerin' fer the Magistrates. Is 'e?"
Garret strolled along the streets, smiling in response to those who greeted him in passing.
"It matters not how fleet of foot or hoof his messengers are. I think our good 'Captain' will find a Magistrate already performing his rounds in the company of some of the Kings finest and their itinerary brings them ever closer to resolving the matters here that are outstanding."
"The Cap'ns lookin' good wi' that arm o' his."
"Hmm, A simple show of bravado. He did nothing more than handle a rock crystal decanter that even 'Chuffy' the labour jack could have played with. No, all the fine movements he passed off with his left hand. BAH! Such heroic nonsense!" Garrets' tone was chiding
The two of them arriving at the Barons sprawling town house, where they were greeted at the door by his butler.
"A 'master' Redgrave to see you, sar." He intoned, leading them towards Garrets study.
There leaning casually next to the sturdy oak paneled door rested a powerful, trim figure that smiled through his well-groomed beard. Scarrow stopped and stood nervously some distance back in the hall.
"Oh, by the way Scarrow. It would seem that some one of rather.. dubious character has alighted in town. Perhaps you could strike up a polite conversation with them. Garner some information about perhaps? Possibly as to why our renowned Sergeant Standborough dislikes them so?" Garret spoke casually as he unlocked the door to his study next to Redgrave.
"Um, yea, yes sir, got it sir." Scarrow backed away hastily, moving almost at a jogging pace as he left the front door.
"Honestly, why do you keep that annoying little stain about?" Rumbled Malek Redgraves' voice as he sauntered across the room to a large cabinet.
"Why for the similar reasons I find your flash point homicidal tendencies so amusing," Returned Garret, securing the door behind himself.
"All things in their place and a place for all things. Waste not want not." He intoned as he moved to stand behind a huge mahogany desk and look down at the many notes and missives arrayed there. Malek took down a carafe and glass before settling comfortably into a plush chair as he asked.
"No concerns regarding certain parties?"
"Gatley was always going to be caught. It is intriguing that it was sooner rather than later. It was only the bad luck of those few scouts who wandered across the wrong woodland beast that his hidden hole wasn't found before hand." Commented Garret absently
Malek rumbled a chuckle deep within his chest at the last comment,
"How are things between yourself and our 'good' captain?" He inquired, amusement still playing across his features.
Garret frowned, re-arranging some notes and making amendments to others.
"Yes it would seem that our self appointed 'Captain of guard' is in good humor. The military mind is only happy in a few instances. Either in thinking it knows something that you do not. It has found out something that you thought hidden, or it is attempting to 'bluff'." He continued to ponder his notes.
"Rather 'resilient' is our Captain." Malek mentioned, "Who would have thought he'd make it through that terrible winter. Him lying there, all torn up and recuperating from such terrible wounds, relatives dropping off the twig left and right," He swirled his drink contemplatively.
Garret sighed "Yes, well when one is being nursed by the bosom of Morrow, then of course ones longevity is mostly assured.'
"Funny, I seem to remember some one who was 'surprised'. Nay one could say 'enraged' when a certain elderly Rystell shuffled off to urcaern as opposed to our 'good' Captain." Redgrave continued with his needling.
Now Garret looked up at Malek, a warning glower upon his features.
"Your humour is ill attempted." He said flatly, then changed the subject with a question of his own, "What of Gatleys' band of motleys?"
Malek shrugged, muscles rippling under his black silk shirt "Not a hide nor hair to be found any-more." He grinned, "One might say they ran afoul of said 'wrong woodland beast-y'. The forest is known for harbouring some very dangerous wild life. Then there are rumours from Hogart's bunch of rabble regarding necro-tech and Cyrixians." Another dismissive shrug, "There are no loose ends to tangle anything up there, you can be assured of that." He took another long sip as Garret stroked his chin at Malek's reply,
"What perhaps could it be that I may not be aware of?" He pondered.
"The Jack foundry they've established in the old district?" Malek questioned.
"No, I've kept close track of the goods received there. A couple of second hand, run down mercenary machines. What good is a 'Mule' Warjack if the powder for its ammunition is considered a 'military only' expenditure, hence unavailable for 'Civilian' or backs woods mercenary use?" Garret straightened and looked across the room in thought.
"Speaking of 'A mind knowing things of which you do not'. It seems your little stain has gone and misplaced something of value." Malek commented the strong white teeth of his grin highlighted by his beard.
"Mmm, how unfortunate," Garret mused absently in response, walking over to a low table then turning back to look across the room at a large wall appointed bookshelf. "Tell me Mal, how long since my engagement ball?" He asked quietly, walking towards the wall of tomes.
Malek's brow knitted "Um," he thought back "Oh, I'd say a good eight to ten months, why?"
Garret reached out and pulled a volume from the shelf, crossed sabers embossed upon its blue leather, and "It would seem our Captain has other talents I must inquire into." He said holding a copy of 'Forsyths Tactics' Manual' in his hand. "Now, about this 'loose end'. Tell me more..."
*........................................*
The muted sounds of construction work carried through out the marshalling hall echoed in the large space as here and there Thralls put the finishing touches to the stone work and fittings. The 'stalker' Bone Jack rested in a cradle, the Liche's Scarlock and a TechThrall servicing the more delicate apparatus of the unique, specialised machine -while also interfacing with its necrocortex to glean all the possible information about its previous night's hunt.
Ixarvexius restlessly paced in front of the great doors, now open to the early night air, as the fists of its gauntlets opened and closed the only other sign of its emotional state. Ysillith stalked passed the dormant bone-Jack and its attendant thralls to approach the doorway that framed the circling Liche,
"So, 'ow are yer plans goin'?" She called. The Lich spun on her suddenly and her hands twitched as she stifled the urge to draw her battle blade. She stood tense and waiting until, finally when the large mechanika enhanced undead did nothing further, shrugged languidly and moving to the entrance -giving the black armored figure a very wide berth -to also gaze out into the cool night air.
Ixarvexious seemed to watch her, its talons still kneading the air,
*Thingss are not 'unfolding' ass I had planned,* A slight hiss entering its speech in its heightened state of agitation, *The reportss I had been expecting are not forth coming. Now it appearss that a minion hass become 'missplaced'.* Ysillith just arched an eyebrow in silent question.
*Rrr, the Wraith I had marsshaled to my causse, it hass not returned.*
"BAH! Shifty, smarmy, skanky pieces o' work. I don't trust 'em as far as I could 'kiss' 'em. The things don't understand a 'real' fight. T'would rather stand there an' gloat an' primp than get their mitts bloodied." Ysillith spat "Good riddance t' bad ballast, I say."
*It iss more than a missing minion. Ssomthing thwartss me, I can feel it. The town hass not but a russtic chapel. The god botherer there hass no real power, yet thingss continue to deviate from what iss expected.* Its steam vents seemed to hiss in frustration. Ysillith shrugged again,
"P'rapse yer minion got itself tangled up wi' this 'feelin' of yours. What about yer other 'spook'?"
*Your inssight iss massterful.* Ixharvexious' voice held tones of scorn and irony.
"'Tis nothin'." Ysillith noted demurely
*Hrrrm, I am dissinclined to ssend good minionss after bad.* The Lich turned to look at her intently *Do you have ssomething 'consstructive' to conjecture with?* Ixarvexious slowly stalked towards her.
"Hey! You hired me fer me brawn, not me noggin'!" She flicked the armoured figure a glance and rolled her hips. "Doin' extra's going to cost ye extra." She replied with a feral grin.
The Lich stopped still *Continue.*
"Well, I might 'ave a trick or two tucked away. I take it yer wantin' a bit o' scopin' about? Get th' true lay o' the land an' such?"
*I believe stealth is called for.* A talloned claw waived towards Ysilliths' crown. *Not something for which the Satyxsis attributes are renowned for.* The Lich indicated the Reavers other rather 'outstanding' features.
"Heh! You ain't seen me in m' 'fancy dress', luv." She grinned, "I c'n turn out quite th' proper miss, when I set me mind to it."
*Indeed, come,* Ixarvexius turned and, with a wave of a metal claw, bade for Ysillith to join it, *There is an itinerary for you and I have wasted enough time loitering here.* As they walked back into the complex, Ixarvexious gave a mental command to its Scarlock, which scurried off to enact it. Soon the hall began to fill with ranks of thralls and the Bane Knights that would lead them.
".............................."
The Wraith floated out from the forest, its substance less than the shadows of the evening through which it drifted. Its passing into the town no more noticed than an errant breeze. The pull drew it onwards towards an inn. The voices of the patrons floating out into the night air. It waited in the street, reviling in the sensations thrumming through it. Never before had the draw of a duel been so strong. Were these feelings of 'joy'? 'Anticipation'? 'Need'? It puzzled over them and pondered the best way in which to make its first impression and entrance.
**Appear directly in their midst?** No, to jarring.
**Call the challenger out into the street?** No that would give the mark too much control. Besides which it hadn't really scoped out the buildings layout and wouldn't a chase scene out a back door be just sooo demeaning. It thoughts wandered through permutations before finally settling upon its course of action.
It 'stepped' partly into the world and drifted up the steps, thence simply through the main door. The room's noise vanished in that instant. Here and there a chair scrapped, or the clatter of a falling plate or spilled mugs, as all attention became riveted to it.
**Perrrfect** It hummed to itself in thought. There in the classic corner lounged the mark. It almost gave voice to its pleasure. No 'boast full' Bravo this one. The stretching out of spur heeled boots -bespoke professionalism and pride - while also increased the area of personal space around the Gun-slinger.
**Wonderful !** The thought came to it as it stopped in the centre of the room. None dared to move lest they attract its attention. The fear and terror palpable in the air around it,
**Excellent**.
The Bravo kicked the foot 'stool' away and stood up fluidly. It noted the silver trappings, the soft kid leather gloves, and the beautiful sheen to the twin gun rig. How the horn handles rode low on the hips
**Ah! Set for a reclining draw** it noted. Had it been able it would have frowned as it noticed the wide arch of the carriage and the strange 'stirrups' that projected back over the handles.
**Some new fangled 'toy'** It thought with irritation. The Bravo kept closing
**Such 'Chutzpa'!** It gloated, looking up just I time.
"You!" JAB "Are!" JAB "LATE!" JAB Sunset punctuated each statement with a solid finger driven into the wraiths' chest. Each thump nudging the figure back.
"Wha...? How...?" It gapped down at the finger pressed into its cravat.
"OIY! Me eyes are up here!" Sunset lifted its chin with the finger to stare into the green lit depths of its sockets. Its gaze came up, past the blouse, to stare into pools of blue with the empathy of glacial lakes.
"Right! Here's how it's going t'be! You WILL come back in two nights hence an' together we WILL go over the set up and everything to make sure it's all on the square! We WILL face off two nights after that an' nothin' funny is going to happen a'fore hand! You got that?" Sunset shoved the Pistol Wraith back a full 'step' in distance with her finger.
"Ye...yes. Two nights hence, Then two nights after." As it stammered a reply, it felt something inside itself twist. It floated backwards and away, surreptitiously passing a hand through a barstool. It shuddered at the lack of contact.
"Well? What are you waiting for? GET!" Sunset raised her hand as if to strike. The wraith turned and fled into the night, different sensations roiling through it now. It remembered its last 'real' duel. It remembered *fear*.
Sunset looked around at the room of equally stunned, some still terrified, faces that stared back at her.
"Whut?" She queried even as she adjusting the set of the rigs on her hips and gave a hard glare to the barkeep.
"That'll teach ye t'think every bravo's nothin' but a hat full o' tall tails or just some casual blow in rowdy!" She spat then turned and strutting across the tavern space, heading up the stairs then her room. Stopping upon the landing above, she turned and called down.
"I'll be up early in the mornin' an' I'll be wantin' help to organize m' things." With that she stalked into her room.
Slowly talk and movement crept back into the atmosphere of the room. Most of the crowd gathering themselves and any belongings and dispersing, to seek the safety of their homes.
*...............*
*Bows* The Elf in black has enough tricks up her sleeve. Anything 'more' would become far too pretentious and potentially drag me before accusations of a dreaded 'Mary' type of character. =)
EDIT: *Bows Again* Thank you for the compliment. The finger poking the insubstantial Wraith shall be explained. As I said, the lady Elf has enough mystery and tricks without the Iron Kingdoms trade mark Mechanika. I'm leaving the ironmongery for the towns-folk to defend themselves with.
Last edited by Peebo-T on 2010-12-26 11:48pm, edited 1 time in total.
Re: Hunters, Hunted. (An Iron Kingdoms Story)
I think she's fantastic 
Best way in the world to get any enemy off-balance is a strong first attack.
Best way in the world to get any enemy off-balance is a strong first attack.
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
Re: Hunters, Hunted. (An Iron Kingdoms Story)
[The new day]
Mellani trotted through the early morning mists. Her Great coat rugged around herself to keep out the clinging morning damp. Her stomach bolstered by the large breakfast of honeyed oats and porridge, so as to ward off the aroma from the basket snuggled under her coat that gave off the scent of fresh baked ginger nut biscuits. The few figures she passed in the gloom possibly did little more than nod; it was hard for her to tell. She stopped on a corner amongst old, low, long walled buildings that crowded beside the river's front. The edifices dating back to the earliest days of the town.
"Mellani!" The exuberant greeting and engulfing hug catching her off balance, while dragging her backwards into an alley between two of the hall like structures.
"I'm so happy you're here! OhmystarsyoubroughttheCOOKIES!" The buoyant greeter stepping back and Mellani looked at the energetic figure grinning at her. A similar over sized great coat rugged over the top of the canvas and leather overalls. A scrunched woollen cap partly held in place by the straps of dark lens-ed goggles upon the top thicket of spiky, ginger hair that seemed to be attempting to burst out from underneath.
"Morning Penelope. You've 'arranged' things, then?" Mellani asked while handing over the warm, clothe covered basket which Penelope eagerly whisked away and managed to hook the wicker handle over one sleeve while at the same time managing some how to get two large, warm, fresh biscuits into her mouth.
"Mmmmm, Gmph, mumph, mummbll. Mmmmmmm!" Was all Penelope could get past the crumbling delicacies as she walked and twirled down the alleyway between the two old, sloped walled buildings. To which Mellani giggled,
"I swear, you are such a sight! You're supposed to 'chew' treats, not just 'inhale' them!" She finished admonishingly though still grinning.
"Mmmph! Buff verph fow GOOBPH!" Penelope crooned around a third and fourth cookie, behind a politely held hand that had also doubled as shovel. They came upon an old side door, recessed and tucked away in the rough-stone wall of the large building. Penelope reached out and pressed a hidden latch. A small panel swung free allowing the two of them to slip inside. Once the hatch closed it disappeared back into the shape of the surrounding wood panelling.
The great interior space they had entered was warm and lit by arcano-lights hanging suspended from the over reaching beams high above. They doffed their coats, Penelope placing the basket safely on a shelf over the factories' boiler plant, which chuffed away softly in the corner. Built against the 'rear' wall of the building were built great caged frameworks enfolding two large, humanoid machines to which Penelope sauntered up to them,
"Here they are!" She gestured proudly, "This one's Smith." She pointed to the Jack on the left. "And that one's Wesson!" Indicating the other.
Mellani glanced from Penelope to the two constructs, an eyebrow raised. She could discern no immediate difference between the two, obvious War-Jacks.
"Smith..and..Wesson..?" She replied dubiously.
"I now, not very imaginative. Wesson came from some junker near Westmarch. He's the first prototype, still got some minor rebuilding to do when we get the time..." Penelope mused.
Ahh, TSHOO! Mellani flinched and sneezed, Penelope automatically flicking a silk handkerchief to her, who nodded in returned thanks.
"Now Smith. He's the 'first' production make. We got his chassis from some where south." She shrugged' "South, Smith. I can't even remember who coined it first, but its kind'a stuck."
"Ribhth!" *snork,sniffle* Mumbled Mellani
Penelope grinned "A master knows their works! Want to bet on it?" She needled.
Mellani glanced between the two Jacks then frowned at Penelope, who just smiled back smugly.
"Well, Jonathann always says to trust the tools as much as the tool maker," *sniff* "So I guess I've got to take you're word, Eh?"
Penelope tried not to look disappointed by Mellani's lack of 'bite'. She steered her friend further into the factory, past benches and machinery for working upon 'heavy metal'. Moving to present a third Jack standing in its frame almost in the centre of the warehouse/factory. Mellani could see a difference in this one. It appeared to stand tall in its cradle, as opposed to slouch. Its cold eye plates seeming to be looking over their heads to some threat beyond the factories closed great doors. The suspension in its legs making the torso 'ride high' -its stance square on, not 'bow' or 'bandy legged'.
Its right arm and hand hung empty. A great battle blade waiting in a rack near by. On its left side a great shield virtually formed from its arm. The square topped plate work having little if any curve. A large 'boss' swelled the centre with a ridge running down to the deep scallop of the bottom edge -poking out from which the barrel of a cannon seemed to be aimed at the floor.
"I give you THE STALWART! Light WarJack!" Penelope gushed with a great flourish.
"So how does it perform compared to, say um, a 'Hunter'?" Queried Mellani, noting similarities in the Jacks stance, size and styling.
"Well, they don't have anything as fancy as an auxiliary boiler. Nor is the targeting system 'free-floating' like the Hunter. Of course, we've had to go with a modernised steam cannon, based on the old Mule. Then there's the.." She saw Mellani's eyes starting to glaze over, "But we've really tweaked the suspension and drive relays, so they should be getting up to three or four miles an hour out of 'im! 'An they should be just as nimble over most terrain" She hurriedly finished up in a rush.
"Mmmph." Mellani nodded appreciatively, then sneezed again,
*snork!* "Doesn't the shield cause problems?" *honk,sniffle* She asked, trying to think of how the Hunter looked up close, all the while continuing to walk around the frame and wipe at her nose.
"Aye, well because of the structure of the gun, feeder lines and the nature of the combat envelope specified. It did kind of get rather on the 'large' side." Acknowledged Penelope, "So to offset the weight of the shield and the unique armature, we shifted the boiler and tanks around the centre of mass in the body to compensate."
"Oh," Mellani looked closely as she wandered back around the machine, "Masterfully done. I reckon you'd be hard pressed to notice the changes."
"Nah, a good mechanik'd spot it straight out." Dismissed Penelope.
"Ah, yes, but it won't be mechanik's who'll be shooting at it. Will they?" Mellani said grinning and Penelope blinked in comprehension even as she nodded thoughtfully.
"’Ere! I thought I 'erd sommit!" Came a gruff voice. Penelope jumped skittishly, while Mellani turned with an instant smile
"Hello! Mr. Magoogin! She cheerfully greeted the mechanik who was approaching them with his gear wrench raised.
"Wot 're you doin' 'ere Ms Rystell? These shops 're s'posed t' be 'off limits'..." Magoogin frowned as he lowered his weapon.
"That's all right. I'm here........just checking on things for Jonathann." She replied brightly.
"Well, I don't rightly know 'bout that. The place's s'posed to be 'secure' kind 'o thing."
"Not to worry, why Uncle Myrtell was just talking about the new 'Stalwarts' the other evening over dinner." Her tone was assuring.
"That's interesting young Mellani Rystell! Since I don't seem to recall that conversation, or that dinner." Came a voice from the doorway to a room nestled high up in the rafters near the great front doors of the great hall, perched with its windows looking down over the 'shop'.
Penelope blanched, Mellani blinked, both turning and looking upwards towards the speaker.
"Uncle!" Mellani gushed, Penelope smiling up nervously. The stocky senior mechanik stroked his bristling ginger coloured moustache and sighed.
"I don't know, Mellani Rystell." He sighed, "Keeping you out of places you shouldn't be is as productive as trying to teach a Gear Worm to hunt Gremlins!" Gimbert Myrtell spoke with resignation. "As for you young Penelope..." His voice becoming sterner.
"Oh! Penelope just found me looking about and was escorting me safely through the factory," Mellani hooked a jacket draped arm through Penelope's who nodded shyly in affirmation of what her companion was saying, "We'd just decided to go and get some fresh pies. Want some?" She looked up at the stern face innocently.
"Aye, well, remember young Penelope, any time you drop now, you make up for later!" He admonished sternly.
"Yes, Grandfather!" Penelope called, even as Mellani dragged her out through the 'man-hole' door in the factories great portals and off into the tepid morning sun, both of them quickly shucking back into their great coats once outside.
Gimbet called down instructions to Magoogin before turning back into his office and the other mechaniks and tradesmen gathered there. Talbot, his leading hand, was grinning at him.
"Incorrigible, in't she?"
"Aye, that an' the fact she just cost me ten crowns!" Myrtell grumbled, "I had a bet with Standborough that it'd take her more'n a month to find her way into the works. Another two days an' I'd've won."
Chuckles resounded at this
"Talbot? Try and find out how she got in, please?" He turned to the others, "Now about the visual relay interface..."
*...........................*
Sergeant Grant Standborough jogged through the early morning mists. His heavy, reinforced, armoured great coat billowing in his wake, rifle held muzzle down. Behind him, his squad of troopers kept pace, weapons also held ready. He stopped and sidled up to a building's corner. Peering around the edge of its cover, he looked across the last street at the objective. His eyes narrowed. The doorway stood wide and inviting. He gave quick hand signals to the troops. Half followed him around the corner and slide up against the wall beside the open door, the other half taking up positions to cover the doors leading from the stables at the rear. He patiently waited till he received signals that every trooper had signalled they were ready and in position.
He spun into the Taverns common room, rifle snapping up to ready position, his eyes flicking left and right. He moved forward as his following troopers shifted in behind him to take up positions to the left and right of the door, there own rifles covering the rooms' space.
One figure leaned against a far corner table. She grinned at Grant while slowly raising her hands, empty palms facing outwards. Grant looked at Sunset, then towards the heap of her gear resting two tables away, holsters and pistols placed openly on the top of the pile.
"Well, I must say I've never had such an impressive mornin' call a'fore." She quipped, dryly.
Satisfied Sunset was 'covered' Grant slung his rifle and stalked up to her.
"Private Kerstell, get her things!" He called, his eyes never leaving the black clad Elf. "I've orders to present you to th' Captain. He'd like a little word with you," His voice softened to a menacing growl, "If'n it were me..."
"Oh, become th' favourite of the Captain, have I?" She replied, standing gracefully.
Grant grinned as he pulled manacles from a deep coat pocket and gave them a dangling jingle.
"Captain said he wanted to talk to you. He didn't say how comfortable you had to be. I'd have brought leg irons as well, but then some one 'd have to carry your scrawny Elven @rse. So I settled on just bringing the bracelets." As he fitted the shackles Sunset quipped.
"I'm beginning to wonder why it is that you hate me so, Sergeant."
"Nah, this is just a mild form of me 'dislike'. Believe me when I say you do not want to see me in'a bad mood, lass." Grant replied tugging the restraints, checking his men had everything then signalling for them to move out.
Elanesadriel noted the methodical, careful manner of the troopers as they all ghosted through the town. Their formation alternating between covering her and watching outward, scanning the surrounding buildings as they passed. Grant was keeping a firm grip on the manacle chains and she wasn't sure if he held a pistol at the ready. A good ten paces behind, the remaining third of the squad covered the rear and her.
"A rather 'round-about' route we seem to be tak'n?" Murmured Sunset softly.
"I know the town well enough, so's not to cause 'undue alarm' amongst the residents." Standborough growled in reply just as quietly, steering his charge through quiet back streets and 'by ways'. With no fuss they approached the goal house and barracks complex. With silent efficiency the group moved into and through the array of buildings. Standborough and a select few of his group-escorting Sunset into isolated rear offices.
A door opened and Sunset preceded Standborough into the windowless cell. She stopped suddenly at the sight revealed, Grant bumping her then pushing her in and closing the solid door behind them.
Sunsets eyes crawled over Jonathann's exposed back. The still livid scars a jagged network starting from near his spine, spreading and congealing across his shoulder blade and back until truncating suddenly at the void where his right arm should have been. What truly made Elanesadriel's gorge move were the nubs and bracing's of mechanika jutting, here and there, from the exposed flesh and scar tissue. Jonathann was engrossed in conversation with a person who appeared to be a mechanik of some kind, only turning when Grant cleared his throat. On turning and seeing Sunset, his eyes flickered from her gaze to his side; he quickly reached out and deftly began slipping into a shirt.
"All right Gunny. This ends now." Jonathann's tone was clipped and flat.
"Sir! Reporting with persons of interest as requested! SIR!" Was Grants neutral and perfunctory response. All the while staring into the distance, pushing Sunset down on the rooms only chair.
Jon sighed. "Don't push me Grant. Yes, our history is deep, but you know I'll win if push comes to shoving. Take. Those. Shackles. Off!" He finished menacingly his anger quite plain at Grant's behaviour, then quickly changing his tone as he glanced to the new guest, "I must apologise for my Sergeants brusqueness and 'efficiency', Ms Sunset." Then just as quickly shifted back to tones of authority. "You will however, be completely honest and up front about the business you were involved with the previous evening." As he continued to button up his shirt.
"There's not a lot to tell. The 'bug-a-boo' turned up an' I sent it packin'!" Sunset shrugged around Grant as he finished removing the restraints.
"Have much trade with Cryxians, do we?" Grant commented softly.
"Sergeant Standborough, Enough! You have duties to attend. Send for Private Kerstell. Mr Millward will stay and keep 'witness', have the Private bring Ms Sunset's things as well." Jonathann finished with a smile to Sunset.
"Sir! May I remind sir of rules regarding civil codes and..."
"Enough!" Jonathann's tone silenced Grant. He stepped over to Standborough. "We do not have time for this Gunny. Too many things are coming to a head," He grinned half-heartedly, "And let's face it, I'm a sh#t house juggler to keep so many balls aloft."
Grants face softened though his stance remaining rigid. "You never did play fair, sir." He replied softly.
"No, Gunny, I don't. Also consider your 'free time' with Gatley as my way of a thank you bonus. After all," Jonathann grinned. "I do play nice."
Grant blinked at him. "But?..."
"That's all right Gunny. I've spent far to many years chasing the trouble my sister gets into [not] to be able to stay ahead of my troopers."
Standborough nodded, a slight smile showing, saluted and left.
"Now then Ms Elanesadriel. Let's talk about that previous evening." Jonathann turned back to face Sunset.
*............................................*
Hunter Light War-jack as an example of the styling of the 'Stalwart' might look like
Mellani trotted through the early morning mists. Her Great coat rugged around herself to keep out the clinging morning damp. Her stomach bolstered by the large breakfast of honeyed oats and porridge, so as to ward off the aroma from the basket snuggled under her coat that gave off the scent of fresh baked ginger nut biscuits. The few figures she passed in the gloom possibly did little more than nod; it was hard for her to tell. She stopped on a corner amongst old, low, long walled buildings that crowded beside the river's front. The edifices dating back to the earliest days of the town.
"Mellani!" The exuberant greeting and engulfing hug catching her off balance, while dragging her backwards into an alley between two of the hall like structures.
"I'm so happy you're here! OhmystarsyoubroughttheCOOKIES!" The buoyant greeter stepping back and Mellani looked at the energetic figure grinning at her. A similar over sized great coat rugged over the top of the canvas and leather overalls. A scrunched woollen cap partly held in place by the straps of dark lens-ed goggles upon the top thicket of spiky, ginger hair that seemed to be attempting to burst out from underneath.
"Morning Penelope. You've 'arranged' things, then?" Mellani asked while handing over the warm, clothe covered basket which Penelope eagerly whisked away and managed to hook the wicker handle over one sleeve while at the same time managing some how to get two large, warm, fresh biscuits into her mouth.
"Mmmmm, Gmph, mumph, mummbll. Mmmmmmm!" Was all Penelope could get past the crumbling delicacies as she walked and twirled down the alleyway between the two old, sloped walled buildings. To which Mellani giggled,
"I swear, you are such a sight! You're supposed to 'chew' treats, not just 'inhale' them!" She finished admonishingly though still grinning.
"Mmmph! Buff verph fow GOOBPH!" Penelope crooned around a third and fourth cookie, behind a politely held hand that had also doubled as shovel. They came upon an old side door, recessed and tucked away in the rough-stone wall of the large building. Penelope reached out and pressed a hidden latch. A small panel swung free allowing the two of them to slip inside. Once the hatch closed it disappeared back into the shape of the surrounding wood panelling.
The great interior space they had entered was warm and lit by arcano-lights hanging suspended from the over reaching beams high above. They doffed their coats, Penelope placing the basket safely on a shelf over the factories' boiler plant, which chuffed away softly in the corner. Built against the 'rear' wall of the building were built great caged frameworks enfolding two large, humanoid machines to which Penelope sauntered up to them,
"Here they are!" She gestured proudly, "This one's Smith." She pointed to the Jack on the left. "And that one's Wesson!" Indicating the other.
Mellani glanced from Penelope to the two constructs, an eyebrow raised. She could discern no immediate difference between the two, obvious War-Jacks.
"Smith..and..Wesson..?" She replied dubiously.
"I now, not very imaginative. Wesson came from some junker near Westmarch. He's the first prototype, still got some minor rebuilding to do when we get the time..." Penelope mused.
Ahh, TSHOO! Mellani flinched and sneezed, Penelope automatically flicking a silk handkerchief to her, who nodded in returned thanks.
"Now Smith. He's the 'first' production make. We got his chassis from some where south." She shrugged' "South, Smith. I can't even remember who coined it first, but its kind'a stuck."
"Ribhth!" *snork,sniffle* Mumbled Mellani
Penelope grinned "A master knows their works! Want to bet on it?" She needled.
Mellani glanced between the two Jacks then frowned at Penelope, who just smiled back smugly.
"Well, Jonathann always says to trust the tools as much as the tool maker," *sniff* "So I guess I've got to take you're word, Eh?"
Penelope tried not to look disappointed by Mellani's lack of 'bite'. She steered her friend further into the factory, past benches and machinery for working upon 'heavy metal'. Moving to present a third Jack standing in its frame almost in the centre of the warehouse/factory. Mellani could see a difference in this one. It appeared to stand tall in its cradle, as opposed to slouch. Its cold eye plates seeming to be looking over their heads to some threat beyond the factories closed great doors. The suspension in its legs making the torso 'ride high' -its stance square on, not 'bow' or 'bandy legged'.
Its right arm and hand hung empty. A great battle blade waiting in a rack near by. On its left side a great shield virtually formed from its arm. The square topped plate work having little if any curve. A large 'boss' swelled the centre with a ridge running down to the deep scallop of the bottom edge -poking out from which the barrel of a cannon seemed to be aimed at the floor.
"I give you THE STALWART! Light WarJack!" Penelope gushed with a great flourish.
"So how does it perform compared to, say um, a 'Hunter'?" Queried Mellani, noting similarities in the Jacks stance, size and styling.
"Well, they don't have anything as fancy as an auxiliary boiler. Nor is the targeting system 'free-floating' like the Hunter. Of course, we've had to go with a modernised steam cannon, based on the old Mule. Then there's the.." She saw Mellani's eyes starting to glaze over, "But we've really tweaked the suspension and drive relays, so they should be getting up to three or four miles an hour out of 'im! 'An they should be just as nimble over most terrain" She hurriedly finished up in a rush.
"Mmmph." Mellani nodded appreciatively, then sneezed again,
*snork!* "Doesn't the shield cause problems?" *honk,sniffle* She asked, trying to think of how the Hunter looked up close, all the while continuing to walk around the frame and wipe at her nose.
"Aye, well because of the structure of the gun, feeder lines and the nature of the combat envelope specified. It did kind of get rather on the 'large' side." Acknowledged Penelope, "So to offset the weight of the shield and the unique armature, we shifted the boiler and tanks around the centre of mass in the body to compensate."
"Oh," Mellani looked closely as she wandered back around the machine, "Masterfully done. I reckon you'd be hard pressed to notice the changes."
"Nah, a good mechanik'd spot it straight out." Dismissed Penelope.
"Ah, yes, but it won't be mechanik's who'll be shooting at it. Will they?" Mellani said grinning and Penelope blinked in comprehension even as she nodded thoughtfully.
"’Ere! I thought I 'erd sommit!" Came a gruff voice. Penelope jumped skittishly, while Mellani turned with an instant smile
"Hello! Mr. Magoogin! She cheerfully greeted the mechanik who was approaching them with his gear wrench raised.
"Wot 're you doin' 'ere Ms Rystell? These shops 're s'posed t' be 'off limits'..." Magoogin frowned as he lowered his weapon.
"That's all right. I'm here........just checking on things for Jonathann." She replied brightly.
"Well, I don't rightly know 'bout that. The place's s'posed to be 'secure' kind 'o thing."
"Not to worry, why Uncle Myrtell was just talking about the new 'Stalwarts' the other evening over dinner." Her tone was assuring.
"That's interesting young Mellani Rystell! Since I don't seem to recall that conversation, or that dinner." Came a voice from the doorway to a room nestled high up in the rafters near the great front doors of the great hall, perched with its windows looking down over the 'shop'.
Penelope blanched, Mellani blinked, both turning and looking upwards towards the speaker.
"Uncle!" Mellani gushed, Penelope smiling up nervously. The stocky senior mechanik stroked his bristling ginger coloured moustache and sighed.
"I don't know, Mellani Rystell." He sighed, "Keeping you out of places you shouldn't be is as productive as trying to teach a Gear Worm to hunt Gremlins!" Gimbert Myrtell spoke with resignation. "As for you young Penelope..." His voice becoming sterner.
"Oh! Penelope just found me looking about and was escorting me safely through the factory," Mellani hooked a jacket draped arm through Penelope's who nodded shyly in affirmation of what her companion was saying, "We'd just decided to go and get some fresh pies. Want some?" She looked up at the stern face innocently.
"Aye, well, remember young Penelope, any time you drop now, you make up for later!" He admonished sternly.
"Yes, Grandfather!" Penelope called, even as Mellani dragged her out through the 'man-hole' door in the factories great portals and off into the tepid morning sun, both of them quickly shucking back into their great coats once outside.
Gimbet called down instructions to Magoogin before turning back into his office and the other mechaniks and tradesmen gathered there. Talbot, his leading hand, was grinning at him.
"Incorrigible, in't she?"
"Aye, that an' the fact she just cost me ten crowns!" Myrtell grumbled, "I had a bet with Standborough that it'd take her more'n a month to find her way into the works. Another two days an' I'd've won."
Chuckles resounded at this
"Talbot? Try and find out how she got in, please?" He turned to the others, "Now about the visual relay interface..."
*...........................*
Sergeant Grant Standborough jogged through the early morning mists. His heavy, reinforced, armoured great coat billowing in his wake, rifle held muzzle down. Behind him, his squad of troopers kept pace, weapons also held ready. He stopped and sidled up to a building's corner. Peering around the edge of its cover, he looked across the last street at the objective. His eyes narrowed. The doorway stood wide and inviting. He gave quick hand signals to the troops. Half followed him around the corner and slide up against the wall beside the open door, the other half taking up positions to cover the doors leading from the stables at the rear. He patiently waited till he received signals that every trooper had signalled they were ready and in position.
He spun into the Taverns common room, rifle snapping up to ready position, his eyes flicking left and right. He moved forward as his following troopers shifted in behind him to take up positions to the left and right of the door, there own rifles covering the rooms' space.
One figure leaned against a far corner table. She grinned at Grant while slowly raising her hands, empty palms facing outwards. Grant looked at Sunset, then towards the heap of her gear resting two tables away, holsters and pistols placed openly on the top of the pile.
"Well, I must say I've never had such an impressive mornin' call a'fore." She quipped, dryly.
Satisfied Sunset was 'covered' Grant slung his rifle and stalked up to her.
"Private Kerstell, get her things!" He called, his eyes never leaving the black clad Elf. "I've orders to present you to th' Captain. He'd like a little word with you," His voice softened to a menacing growl, "If'n it were me..."
"Oh, become th' favourite of the Captain, have I?" She replied, standing gracefully.
Grant grinned as he pulled manacles from a deep coat pocket and gave them a dangling jingle.
"Captain said he wanted to talk to you. He didn't say how comfortable you had to be. I'd have brought leg irons as well, but then some one 'd have to carry your scrawny Elven @rse. So I settled on just bringing the bracelets." As he fitted the shackles Sunset quipped.
"I'm beginning to wonder why it is that you hate me so, Sergeant."
"Nah, this is just a mild form of me 'dislike'. Believe me when I say you do not want to see me in'a bad mood, lass." Grant replied tugging the restraints, checking his men had everything then signalling for them to move out.
Elanesadriel noted the methodical, careful manner of the troopers as they all ghosted through the town. Their formation alternating between covering her and watching outward, scanning the surrounding buildings as they passed. Grant was keeping a firm grip on the manacle chains and she wasn't sure if he held a pistol at the ready. A good ten paces behind, the remaining third of the squad covered the rear and her.
"A rather 'round-about' route we seem to be tak'n?" Murmured Sunset softly.
"I know the town well enough, so's not to cause 'undue alarm' amongst the residents." Standborough growled in reply just as quietly, steering his charge through quiet back streets and 'by ways'. With no fuss they approached the goal house and barracks complex. With silent efficiency the group moved into and through the array of buildings. Standborough and a select few of his group-escorting Sunset into isolated rear offices.
A door opened and Sunset preceded Standborough into the windowless cell. She stopped suddenly at the sight revealed, Grant bumping her then pushing her in and closing the solid door behind them.
Sunsets eyes crawled over Jonathann's exposed back. The still livid scars a jagged network starting from near his spine, spreading and congealing across his shoulder blade and back until truncating suddenly at the void where his right arm should have been. What truly made Elanesadriel's gorge move were the nubs and bracing's of mechanika jutting, here and there, from the exposed flesh and scar tissue. Jonathann was engrossed in conversation with a person who appeared to be a mechanik of some kind, only turning when Grant cleared his throat. On turning and seeing Sunset, his eyes flickered from her gaze to his side; he quickly reached out and deftly began slipping into a shirt.
"All right Gunny. This ends now." Jonathann's tone was clipped and flat.
"Sir! Reporting with persons of interest as requested! SIR!" Was Grants neutral and perfunctory response. All the while staring into the distance, pushing Sunset down on the rooms only chair.
Jon sighed. "Don't push me Grant. Yes, our history is deep, but you know I'll win if push comes to shoving. Take. Those. Shackles. Off!" He finished menacingly his anger quite plain at Grant's behaviour, then quickly changing his tone as he glanced to the new guest, "I must apologise for my Sergeants brusqueness and 'efficiency', Ms Sunset." Then just as quickly shifted back to tones of authority. "You will however, be completely honest and up front about the business you were involved with the previous evening." As he continued to button up his shirt.
"There's not a lot to tell. The 'bug-a-boo' turned up an' I sent it packin'!" Sunset shrugged around Grant as he finished removing the restraints.
"Have much trade with Cryxians, do we?" Grant commented softly.
"Sergeant Standborough, Enough! You have duties to attend. Send for Private Kerstell. Mr Millward will stay and keep 'witness', have the Private bring Ms Sunset's things as well." Jonathann finished with a smile to Sunset.
"Sir! May I remind sir of rules regarding civil codes and..."
"Enough!" Jonathann's tone silenced Grant. He stepped over to Standborough. "We do not have time for this Gunny. Too many things are coming to a head," He grinned half-heartedly, "And let's face it, I'm a sh#t house juggler to keep so many balls aloft."
Grants face softened though his stance remaining rigid. "You never did play fair, sir." He replied softly.
"No, Gunny, I don't. Also consider your 'free time' with Gatley as my way of a thank you bonus. After all," Jonathann grinned. "I do play nice."
Grant blinked at him. "But?..."
"That's all right Gunny. I've spent far to many years chasing the trouble my sister gets into [not] to be able to stay ahead of my troopers."
Standborough nodded, a slight smile showing, saluted and left.
"Now then Ms Elanesadriel. Let's talk about that previous evening." Jonathann turned back to face Sunset.
*............................................*
Hunter Light War-jack as an example of the styling of the 'Stalwart' might look like
Re: Hunters, Hunted. (An Iron Kingdoms Story)
Mellani and Penelope perched on the outside windowsill of the small pastry shop located a few doors away from the foundry. Positioned in such a place to snare the trade from the surrounding businesses and trade houses. Mellani finished a warm savory minced apple pie.
"So how go Crowle and Grunths' prospects?" She asked around the last of the pie.
"Penelope giggled. "That's 'Prospecting' and they say that some of the older mine works'd probably be worth a look with modern machinery and equipment. To get the economies of scale happening and such."
"I swear Crowle Myrtell's part Rhullish." Mellani teased playfully.
"Well Gruhn Rothrock is Rhullish and he claims my brother has great potential as an engineer. Nyeh!" Penelope poked her tongue out at Mellani in playful rejoined.
"Ha!" Mellani leaned closer conspiratorially; "I've already seen the reports. There's already work going on in some of the deeper mines, extracting ore and some processing being done in some of the upper reaches! Where do you think some of the gravel and base came from to build the fosse?" She grinned impishly.
"It always intrigues me how you manage to do that," Penelope spoke quietly, "I mean I know how you got away with your last trick." She nudged Mellani playfully.
"Hey! Do you know the things I had to go through to keep you in a months supply of ginger nut biscuits!" Mellani responded with mock indignation.
"Feh! All so's you could get into the works and for what? To see the new Jacks that we'll be walkin' out the door in a month or so anyways? Penelope shook her head.
Mellani whisked a cap out of a coat pocket and set it with flair on her head at a low and jaunty angle.
"You've no appreciation for cultivating 'Mystique! I've a reputation to work on. A proud tradition to uphold!" Mellani responded, affecting 'airs' and striking a pose. "It's like when you have a go at a recalcitrant bolt or a difficult valve needs shiftin'."
Penelope gasped and looked indignant "What? Why every thing I put my hand to is made right first time. Granddad'd have me cleaning the grease traps for a week, he heard a rumour like that!"
"Oh, like all that swearing and hammering on our family hall boiler the other month?" Mellani now asked slyly.
Penelope blushed red suddenly and found something interesting to look at out on the river, "It were a very early mornin' and I'd missed breakfast! Besides that old piece of furniture needs replacing with something new anyhow."
Now it was Mellani's turn to be indignant. "What! Grandpa Rystell designed and built that furnace works himself! Even uncle Myrtell lauds its construction!"
"Oh yes, My Granddad always talks up your Granddads works. The tales say the two were inseparable even before they joined the army. Even till now they.." Penelope's voice petered out and they both sat in silence of the shared pain of their memories and loss.
Soon though, Mellani shook herself out of the darkening mood and looked about. She nudged Penelope surreptitiously with a boot. "Speaking of something new." She indicated quietly towards the figure wandering absently up the street towards them.
*............................................................*
"Now Ms Elanesadriel, let's talk about last evening." Jonathann turned back to Sunset.
"Like I said, the..." She began
"No, I'll ask about the Wraith in a moment.' Jonathann interrupted, "I'm a little more interested in your conversation with Mr Scarrow." Seeing the blank look on Sunsets face he explained, "A Mr Paul Scarow? About yay high, a rather 'furtive' demeanor'?"
"Oh, that little wadder. I've met gobbers with more backbone," Sunset's countenance grimaced as she put a name to the face. "Yeah, he sidled up to me the other night. Flashin' crowns about as if my affections were negotiable. At least he wasn't stingy with thinkin' how negotiable they are!" She laughed.
"Still, it certainly didn't look like it were his crowns he was spendin'. So, being a bit leery, I said I was already engaged in some 'personal' business."
"Which would be the Gun Wraith that floated into town last night." Jonathann stated.
"Aye well, I did explain th' story t' your sister. Maybe I should've tried to catch your attention with it earlier in our conversation. Then again, it didn't seem that we were gettin' on to well, so I kind of thought to leave well enough alone."
Jonathann smiled "Yes, well, it would seem that you may have become inadvertently entangled in politics." He was interrupted as a trooper came bustling into the cell hauling Sunsets gear.
"Ah, thank you Kestell. Good day Mr Millward. Please, pass my thanks on to Master Myrtell." He waited until the gentleman had left and the door shut. Sunset, mean while, had almost immediately began checking her equipment.
"Now. I am going to ask you a question and I would like you to be completely honest in your answer." Jonathann watched the Elf in black carefully as he spoke, while Sunset stopped the survey of her guns and rig to look at him levelly in response.
"This'd be the 'politics' then?" She replied calmly, hands still running over one of her pistols.
"Yes." Replied Jonathann with no seeming concern for the gun in Sunsets hand.
"I need to know whether you have been 'contracted' or engaged either by Mr Scarrow or his benefactor Baron Blackwell?"
Sunset slid the weapon back into its holster and leaned back in the chair, pale blue eyes looking cooly back at Jonathann.
"An', if'n I were t' say 'Yes'?" Her blue eyes matching Jonathann's green stare.
"Then I would ask you to reside at my families estate, while certain matters are 'resolved'." He replied with a smile that did nothing to warm his face. Sunset pursed her lips and nodded slowly,
"So then. How would I be goin' about gettin' you t' trust my word that I'd done no more than give this Scarrow bloke th' brush off, with me bein' negotiable t' assist in the helpin' with yer 'resolve', like?" She raised an eyebrow.
Now Jonathann's smile seemed infectious and he chuckled, "I'd say that, while your offer would be very tempting, I'd politely decline and mention that 'we' take care of our own business and problems in 'this neck of the woods'." He smiled and sat on the edge of the small table bolted to one wall.
"Now how do we go about knowing the value of statements like that?" Jonathann mused "Mellani did tell some of your story at dinner the other night, so why not let that be a precedent. A story for a story, to better get to 'know' one another and explain things?" Sunset nodded at Jonathanns' proposal.
"She also told about your confrontations with certain creatures. So I wasn't surprised when Sergeant Grant reported this morning about your escapades in the Inn last night. I am not happy with such monsters being attracted to my town." Jonathann's tone became somber.
"OH? You'd rather I go an' play hide an' seek with the beasties out in the pleasant locals of the woods then!" Now Sunset showed a slight edge of anger that tempered her aloof exterior. There was a tense pause between them, when she sighed,
"Ah....no, I c'n see by yer expression that ye don't begrudge me takin' a stand where I did. So? What can I say t' calm yer fears? Should I spin a tale about how me winning th' comin' duel be money in th' bank?" The question hung in the air for a few seconds. She relaxed further into her chair. "T'is a good tale, but the night I step up t' a throw down thinkin' that'll? It'll be the time I end up joinin' the beasties." She sighed. "Ah, yes. The thought that does sometime come swimmin' though me head. These Wraiths are d@mned good at what they do. I s'pose that's th' rub, it'd be like takin' the 'easy' ways out an' my nature? T'is anything but easy."
"Oh, I'd venture 'stubborn' as a possible description." Ventured Jonathann smiling now impishly. Sunset replied with a grin of her own.
"So, how many have you 'dealt' with and what do you think your current chances are? Should I be the one ensuring the coming 'resolution' perhaps?" Jonathann questioned politely.
"This time the first impressions be normal." Seeing Jonathann's slight look of puzzlement, she explained farther "O.k. what do I mean by that. Well from what I've figured out and what's been explained to me, the Wraiths can 'sense' a serious dueller." She shrugged, "That's about as clear as I can figure it. So over time I've sort of got it figured roughly how far a part these things are an' can hazard a good guess as to when one'll show up. So knowin' how much of a honey pot I am to these things I try an' make sure I'm in my 'zone' where I'm ready to receive 'em. I wait, they show up, I confront them and judging by the reaction I know where I'll be standin' in the duel to come." She saw Jonathann's eyebrows knit, "Well this one's 'normal'. Came floatin' in all c@cksure of itself and left with it's coat tails 'tween its legs. It's probably lurkin' in some hole, frettin' for all it's worth," Her grin took on a feral cast, "An' that's just where I want them to be. It's the ones that are 'different' that cause me concern. They're the ones where I consider takin' out 'insurance'." While Sunset had been talking she'd gone through her saddlebags and drawn out her soft kid leather duelling gloves and laid them out on the table.
"Now, have a feel of the finger tips of these." She gestured and Jonathann reached out to pinch the proffered leather between his fingers.
"It feels like there's grains of sand of dust, maybe some grit, caught in the lining?" He commented, puzzled.
"There's 'grains' all right. What's trapped in the lining are the fine ground remains of the first round one of the tossers ever fired at me. Seems the bugger's real, don't matter who it's aimed at. So, one of the spooks turns up an' I poke 'em with there own iron monger-y. Tends to shake 'em up a treat. So much so that come the fight the blighters can't think straight." Jonathann nodded, appreciation showing on his face.
"That's not to say I've always had plain sailing. The first time I faced down one of these sods I was in a right state, let me tell you." She leaned back, tucking the gloves into her belt. "There was a friend, Turiel was her name," Seeing Jonathanns nod of understanding at having heard a part of this tale from his sister Sunset continued,
"Right, well we went our separate ways, her reasons being family and personal. Soo a couple of years later I gets a letter, this is just when I was first hearin' about th' Wraiths, to organize a meeting. To catch up on old times kind of thing I s'pose, " She sighed as the memories came back. "I got in't town just afore the eve of the fight. I weren't even sure the duel was 'tween her an' a Wraith. Oh she marked the bugger, let me tell you, but there's only so much damage a blade c'n do against critters like Wraiths and that's no real match against that sort of pistol duelin'." Sunset paused and her voice grew softer as her minds gaze looked over the memories.
"She died in me arms. Oh I screamed an' cursed, wasted I don't know how many rounds on the laughin' b@stard, an' that's what it did, just floated there an' laugh at how helpless I was t' avenge me friend. Then it 'stepped' forward an' clocked me in the head." She leaned forward, tilting her head and lifting away some blond locks, indicating a small scar upon her temple.
"So, I wake up a day or so later and the b@stard's gone. I buried m' friend, carried out some of her last wishes." Sunset blinked and her tone changed. "Did you know? Some Satyxis can 'feel' who the father of their spawn is? Yep seems there's something 'mystical' about some bondings." She shrugged even as she finished the short interruption, "Anyway, I was right fired up with nothing but revenge in my sights. I practised and trained and challenged anyone whut even looked at me 'funny'." Sunset stood and began to buckle on her rig. "They say we elves are 'aloof'. In a way I s'pose it's because o' the way we look at the world but I'll tell you now. You do not ever want to see an Elf p#ssed off an' gods help the stupid b@stards that're stupid enough rile up the whole lot of us. My people have legends and stories of war against others, you know. So I'll ask you this, what happened to the losers that emost other races have no records of them?"
Jonahtann now felt how Mellani had described her feelings at the similar time in the meeting between the two, he was hoping his nonchalance was holding, he could see the young private gulping with nerves. Finishing with her rig she sat back down and leaned back.
"So I did some thinkin' and research. Spent a 'Jack load of coin an' kitted myself out with my first set of 'Wraith Pistols'." Now a smile came to her face as she spoke wistfully, "Oh what beauties they were. Chrome finish, fully 'tricked' out fer th' speed of a draw, Wi' rune plates an' conduits running back to th' accumulators on the rig's belt. I do think that rig terrified most people into not even thinkin' sideways at me." She chortled. "Eventually the first Wraith showed up to call me out. Square off on the night we did. Full of p#ss an' vinegar the Wraith was," Her laugh was deep and throaty, "That smug b@stard learnt a lesson the hard way an' that's not t' never ignore me." She looked at Jonathann then, "Here's somethin' else I've learned. It seems the critters are solid when they let fly with the lead. So I cop a round in the arm and the stupid smug b@stard gets blown to bits." Jonathann blinked while Sunset laughed at the memory.
"Oh, aye. I'd set a whole keg of primed powder under the sod's stage where we squared off aginst each other. T'ugly beat me to the draw an' disappeared in a puff of smoke an' shrapnel." She chuckled, "Sold the rig an' all after that, too heavy an' slow, an' went back to straight shooting irons. It was the slug the Saw-Bones pulled out of m' shoulder whut really give me th' first insight in't th' critters. I've been collecting 'm ever since." She looked down to where her hands had been stroking the horn handles of her pistols fondly, "These babies are th' latest incarnation of my pledge t' an' old friend." Her voice trailing off again, awash with memories awoken from her past.
"So how many have you 'dealt' with?" Jonathann asked quietly.
'Ye know, I haven't a real clue." Sunset replied after some thought. "T'is really only the ones that're 'different', whut stand out that I remember. Like the one I swear were a lass when it were livin'. Kind'a strange that, an' given the nature of the beasties, also kind of hard to check. Then there was the one that actually had me thinkin' m' time was up." She sighed "I've not come across another like him yet. His dress was almost contemporary an' he was decked out in a two gun rig. C@cky sod was leanin' into me finger as I were pokin' him and gloating right back in me face. Turned up early on the second night and very thoroughly double checked the set up. Then to really place the wind up me it floated onto the stage," Here Sunset stood up to demonstrate, "He paused for effect, very theatrical this tosser, and proceeded to draw and fire, 'cept he didn't make to reload, just kinda 'flicked' his guns away an' drew fresh ones." She made circling motions from her hips to firing position and back, "D@mn spook made almost as much noise as one of yer trencher guns. Draw, shoot, flick, draw, shoot, flick. All happenin' faster than I can say it." She shook her head. "Now the weird thing was that the guns he was throwin' just seemed to fade out, as if tunin' to smoke, while he was pullin' what looked like the exact same shooters from his holsters. D@mned strange."
"So this was a time for another 'contingency'? Jonathann asked.
"Didn't dare." Sunset shook her head. "Not after the way he looked over the set up. It's one thing to catch one out with a broad side, quite another thing entirely to have one o' the sods think it's in the right to step through a wall and shoot y' in the back. " She shuddered, "No, I spent up big on potions an' charms to maybe help my odds, but in the end it were just me an' him squarin' off at the throw down." Sunset shrugged, "I pulled, pointed an' fired better 'n him an' was still standin' at the end. He clipped me with a round, but my shots were the more accurate an' on the mark. Still the number of rounds h' left in the backboard were a bonus. A while later I come across the paper work for the supposed 'Radliffs'. I never would 'ave thought twice about it without the ammunition. The Binbiddle's 've done a great job. These beauties 're no more'n a couple of ounces heavier than my previous irons." She smirked and stretched cat like.
"An' then there's the duel that I lost." She quipped with a smile.
*................................................*
Happy New Year to all! =)
I hope this is a successful, if slight, cliff hanger. *bows*
EDIT: In reviewing my notes, I now come to realise I have left a section out. Namely the alluded to, but missing piece where Grant Standborough chats with Spence Gatly (Which Grant had previously set up with Rikard and then Jonathann subsequently turns the table on Grant).....in a word....'Bugger!'
So, I shall post it next/soonish and then, later, place it back in where it should go/fit.
See, more than enough surprises from our Lady Elf that there is no real need for Mechanika frippery.
*bows* Thank you for your time and patience and I again apologise for this slight hiccup in the works.
"So how go Crowle and Grunths' prospects?" She asked around the last of the pie.
"Penelope giggled. "That's 'Prospecting' and they say that some of the older mine works'd probably be worth a look with modern machinery and equipment. To get the economies of scale happening and such."
"I swear Crowle Myrtell's part Rhullish." Mellani teased playfully.
"Well Gruhn Rothrock is Rhullish and he claims my brother has great potential as an engineer. Nyeh!" Penelope poked her tongue out at Mellani in playful rejoined.
"Ha!" Mellani leaned closer conspiratorially; "I've already seen the reports. There's already work going on in some of the deeper mines, extracting ore and some processing being done in some of the upper reaches! Where do you think some of the gravel and base came from to build the fosse?" She grinned impishly.
"It always intrigues me how you manage to do that," Penelope spoke quietly, "I mean I know how you got away with your last trick." She nudged Mellani playfully.
"Hey! Do you know the things I had to go through to keep you in a months supply of ginger nut biscuits!" Mellani responded with mock indignation.
"Feh! All so's you could get into the works and for what? To see the new Jacks that we'll be walkin' out the door in a month or so anyways? Penelope shook her head.
Mellani whisked a cap out of a coat pocket and set it with flair on her head at a low and jaunty angle.
"You've no appreciation for cultivating 'Mystique! I've a reputation to work on. A proud tradition to uphold!" Mellani responded, affecting 'airs' and striking a pose. "It's like when you have a go at a recalcitrant bolt or a difficult valve needs shiftin'."
Penelope gasped and looked indignant "What? Why every thing I put my hand to is made right first time. Granddad'd have me cleaning the grease traps for a week, he heard a rumour like that!"
"Oh, like all that swearing and hammering on our family hall boiler the other month?" Mellani now asked slyly.
Penelope blushed red suddenly and found something interesting to look at out on the river, "It were a very early mornin' and I'd missed breakfast! Besides that old piece of furniture needs replacing with something new anyhow."
Now it was Mellani's turn to be indignant. "What! Grandpa Rystell designed and built that furnace works himself! Even uncle Myrtell lauds its construction!"
"Oh yes, My Granddad always talks up your Granddads works. The tales say the two were inseparable even before they joined the army. Even till now they.." Penelope's voice petered out and they both sat in silence of the shared pain of their memories and loss.
Soon though, Mellani shook herself out of the darkening mood and looked about. She nudged Penelope surreptitiously with a boot. "Speaking of something new." She indicated quietly towards the figure wandering absently up the street towards them.
*............................................................*
"Now Ms Elanesadriel, let's talk about last evening." Jonathann turned back to Sunset.
"Like I said, the..." She began
"No, I'll ask about the Wraith in a moment.' Jonathann interrupted, "I'm a little more interested in your conversation with Mr Scarrow." Seeing the blank look on Sunsets face he explained, "A Mr Paul Scarow? About yay high, a rather 'furtive' demeanor'?"
"Oh, that little wadder. I've met gobbers with more backbone," Sunset's countenance grimaced as she put a name to the face. "Yeah, he sidled up to me the other night. Flashin' crowns about as if my affections were negotiable. At least he wasn't stingy with thinkin' how negotiable they are!" She laughed.
"Still, it certainly didn't look like it were his crowns he was spendin'. So, being a bit leery, I said I was already engaged in some 'personal' business."
"Which would be the Gun Wraith that floated into town last night." Jonathann stated.
"Aye well, I did explain th' story t' your sister. Maybe I should've tried to catch your attention with it earlier in our conversation. Then again, it didn't seem that we were gettin' on to well, so I kind of thought to leave well enough alone."
Jonathann smiled "Yes, well, it would seem that you may have become inadvertently entangled in politics." He was interrupted as a trooper came bustling into the cell hauling Sunsets gear.
"Ah, thank you Kestell. Good day Mr Millward. Please, pass my thanks on to Master Myrtell." He waited until the gentleman had left and the door shut. Sunset, mean while, had almost immediately began checking her equipment.
"Now. I am going to ask you a question and I would like you to be completely honest in your answer." Jonathann watched the Elf in black carefully as he spoke, while Sunset stopped the survey of her guns and rig to look at him levelly in response.
"This'd be the 'politics' then?" She replied calmly, hands still running over one of her pistols.
"Yes." Replied Jonathann with no seeming concern for the gun in Sunsets hand.
"I need to know whether you have been 'contracted' or engaged either by Mr Scarrow or his benefactor Baron Blackwell?"
Sunset slid the weapon back into its holster and leaned back in the chair, pale blue eyes looking cooly back at Jonathann.
"An', if'n I were t' say 'Yes'?" Her blue eyes matching Jonathann's green stare.
"Then I would ask you to reside at my families estate, while certain matters are 'resolved'." He replied with a smile that did nothing to warm his face. Sunset pursed her lips and nodded slowly,
"So then. How would I be goin' about gettin' you t' trust my word that I'd done no more than give this Scarrow bloke th' brush off, with me bein' negotiable t' assist in the helpin' with yer 'resolve', like?" She raised an eyebrow.
Now Jonathann's smile seemed infectious and he chuckled, "I'd say that, while your offer would be very tempting, I'd politely decline and mention that 'we' take care of our own business and problems in 'this neck of the woods'." He smiled and sat on the edge of the small table bolted to one wall.
"Now how do we go about knowing the value of statements like that?" Jonathann mused "Mellani did tell some of your story at dinner the other night, so why not let that be a precedent. A story for a story, to better get to 'know' one another and explain things?" Sunset nodded at Jonathanns' proposal.
"She also told about your confrontations with certain creatures. So I wasn't surprised when Sergeant Grant reported this morning about your escapades in the Inn last night. I am not happy with such monsters being attracted to my town." Jonathann's tone became somber.
"OH? You'd rather I go an' play hide an' seek with the beasties out in the pleasant locals of the woods then!" Now Sunset showed a slight edge of anger that tempered her aloof exterior. There was a tense pause between them, when she sighed,
"Ah....no, I c'n see by yer expression that ye don't begrudge me takin' a stand where I did. So? What can I say t' calm yer fears? Should I spin a tale about how me winning th' comin' duel be money in th' bank?" The question hung in the air for a few seconds. She relaxed further into her chair. "T'is a good tale, but the night I step up t' a throw down thinkin' that'll? It'll be the time I end up joinin' the beasties." She sighed. "Ah, yes. The thought that does sometime come swimmin' though me head. These Wraiths are d@mned good at what they do. I s'pose that's th' rub, it'd be like takin' the 'easy' ways out an' my nature? T'is anything but easy."
"Oh, I'd venture 'stubborn' as a possible description." Ventured Jonathann smiling now impishly. Sunset replied with a grin of her own.
"So, how many have you 'dealt' with and what do you think your current chances are? Should I be the one ensuring the coming 'resolution' perhaps?" Jonathann questioned politely.
"This time the first impressions be normal." Seeing Jonathann's slight look of puzzlement, she explained farther "O.k. what do I mean by that. Well from what I've figured out and what's been explained to me, the Wraiths can 'sense' a serious dueller." She shrugged, "That's about as clear as I can figure it. So over time I've sort of got it figured roughly how far a part these things are an' can hazard a good guess as to when one'll show up. So knowin' how much of a honey pot I am to these things I try an' make sure I'm in my 'zone' where I'm ready to receive 'em. I wait, they show up, I confront them and judging by the reaction I know where I'll be standin' in the duel to come." She saw Jonathann's eyebrows knit, "Well this one's 'normal'. Came floatin' in all c@cksure of itself and left with it's coat tails 'tween its legs. It's probably lurkin' in some hole, frettin' for all it's worth," Her grin took on a feral cast, "An' that's just where I want them to be. It's the ones that are 'different' that cause me concern. They're the ones where I consider takin' out 'insurance'." While Sunset had been talking she'd gone through her saddlebags and drawn out her soft kid leather duelling gloves and laid them out on the table.
"Now, have a feel of the finger tips of these." She gestured and Jonathann reached out to pinch the proffered leather between his fingers.
"It feels like there's grains of sand of dust, maybe some grit, caught in the lining?" He commented, puzzled.
"There's 'grains' all right. What's trapped in the lining are the fine ground remains of the first round one of the tossers ever fired at me. Seems the bugger's real, don't matter who it's aimed at. So, one of the spooks turns up an' I poke 'em with there own iron monger-y. Tends to shake 'em up a treat. So much so that come the fight the blighters can't think straight." Jonathann nodded, appreciation showing on his face.
"That's not to say I've always had plain sailing. The first time I faced down one of these sods I was in a right state, let me tell you." She leaned back, tucking the gloves into her belt. "There was a friend, Turiel was her name," Seeing Jonathanns nod of understanding at having heard a part of this tale from his sister Sunset continued,
"Right, well we went our separate ways, her reasons being family and personal. Soo a couple of years later I gets a letter, this is just when I was first hearin' about th' Wraiths, to organize a meeting. To catch up on old times kind of thing I s'pose, " She sighed as the memories came back. "I got in't town just afore the eve of the fight. I weren't even sure the duel was 'tween her an' a Wraith. Oh she marked the bugger, let me tell you, but there's only so much damage a blade c'n do against critters like Wraiths and that's no real match against that sort of pistol duelin'." Sunset paused and her voice grew softer as her minds gaze looked over the memories.
"She died in me arms. Oh I screamed an' cursed, wasted I don't know how many rounds on the laughin' b@stard, an' that's what it did, just floated there an' laugh at how helpless I was t' avenge me friend. Then it 'stepped' forward an' clocked me in the head." She leaned forward, tilting her head and lifting away some blond locks, indicating a small scar upon her temple.
"So, I wake up a day or so later and the b@stard's gone. I buried m' friend, carried out some of her last wishes." Sunset blinked and her tone changed. "Did you know? Some Satyxis can 'feel' who the father of their spawn is? Yep seems there's something 'mystical' about some bondings." She shrugged even as she finished the short interruption, "Anyway, I was right fired up with nothing but revenge in my sights. I practised and trained and challenged anyone whut even looked at me 'funny'." Sunset stood and began to buckle on her rig. "They say we elves are 'aloof'. In a way I s'pose it's because o' the way we look at the world but I'll tell you now. You do not ever want to see an Elf p#ssed off an' gods help the stupid b@stards that're stupid enough rile up the whole lot of us. My people have legends and stories of war against others, you know. So I'll ask you this, what happened to the losers that emost other races have no records of them?"
Jonahtann now felt how Mellani had described her feelings at the similar time in the meeting between the two, he was hoping his nonchalance was holding, he could see the young private gulping with nerves. Finishing with her rig she sat back down and leaned back.
"So I did some thinkin' and research. Spent a 'Jack load of coin an' kitted myself out with my first set of 'Wraith Pistols'." Now a smile came to her face as she spoke wistfully, "Oh what beauties they were. Chrome finish, fully 'tricked' out fer th' speed of a draw, Wi' rune plates an' conduits running back to th' accumulators on the rig's belt. I do think that rig terrified most people into not even thinkin' sideways at me." She chortled. "Eventually the first Wraith showed up to call me out. Square off on the night we did. Full of p#ss an' vinegar the Wraith was," Her laugh was deep and throaty, "That smug b@stard learnt a lesson the hard way an' that's not t' never ignore me." She looked at Jonathann then, "Here's somethin' else I've learned. It seems the critters are solid when they let fly with the lead. So I cop a round in the arm and the stupid smug b@stard gets blown to bits." Jonathann blinked while Sunset laughed at the memory.
"Oh, aye. I'd set a whole keg of primed powder under the sod's stage where we squared off aginst each other. T'ugly beat me to the draw an' disappeared in a puff of smoke an' shrapnel." She chuckled, "Sold the rig an' all after that, too heavy an' slow, an' went back to straight shooting irons. It was the slug the Saw-Bones pulled out of m' shoulder whut really give me th' first insight in't th' critters. I've been collecting 'm ever since." She looked down to where her hands had been stroking the horn handles of her pistols fondly, "These babies are th' latest incarnation of my pledge t' an' old friend." Her voice trailing off again, awash with memories awoken from her past.
"So how many have you 'dealt' with?" Jonathann asked quietly.
'Ye know, I haven't a real clue." Sunset replied after some thought. "T'is really only the ones that're 'different', whut stand out that I remember. Like the one I swear were a lass when it were livin'. Kind'a strange that, an' given the nature of the beasties, also kind of hard to check. Then there was the one that actually had me thinkin' m' time was up." She sighed "I've not come across another like him yet. His dress was almost contemporary an' he was decked out in a two gun rig. C@cky sod was leanin' into me finger as I were pokin' him and gloating right back in me face. Turned up early on the second night and very thoroughly double checked the set up. Then to really place the wind up me it floated onto the stage," Here Sunset stood up to demonstrate, "He paused for effect, very theatrical this tosser, and proceeded to draw and fire, 'cept he didn't make to reload, just kinda 'flicked' his guns away an' drew fresh ones." She made circling motions from her hips to firing position and back, "D@mn spook made almost as much noise as one of yer trencher guns. Draw, shoot, flick, draw, shoot, flick. All happenin' faster than I can say it." She shook her head. "Now the weird thing was that the guns he was throwin' just seemed to fade out, as if tunin' to smoke, while he was pullin' what looked like the exact same shooters from his holsters. D@mned strange."
"So this was a time for another 'contingency'? Jonathann asked.
"Didn't dare." Sunset shook her head. "Not after the way he looked over the set up. It's one thing to catch one out with a broad side, quite another thing entirely to have one o' the sods think it's in the right to step through a wall and shoot y' in the back. " She shuddered, "No, I spent up big on potions an' charms to maybe help my odds, but in the end it were just me an' him squarin' off at the throw down." Sunset shrugged, "I pulled, pointed an' fired better 'n him an' was still standin' at the end. He clipped me with a round, but my shots were the more accurate an' on the mark. Still the number of rounds h' left in the backboard were a bonus. A while later I come across the paper work for the supposed 'Radliffs'. I never would 'ave thought twice about it without the ammunition. The Binbiddle's 've done a great job. These beauties 're no more'n a couple of ounces heavier than my previous irons." She smirked and stretched cat like.
"An' then there's the duel that I lost." She quipped with a smile.
*................................................*
Happy New Year to all! =)
I hope this is a successful, if slight, cliff hanger. *bows*
EDIT: In reviewing my notes, I now come to realise I have left a section out. Namely the alluded to, but missing piece where Grant Standborough chats with Spence Gatly (Which Grant had previously set up with Rikard and then Jonathann subsequently turns the table on Grant).....in a word....'Bugger!'
So, I shall post it next/soonish and then, later, place it back in where it should go/fit.
See, more than enough surprises from our Lady Elf that there is no real need for Mechanika frippery. *bows* Thank you for your time and patience and I again apologise for this slight hiccup in the works.
Last edited by Peebo-T on 2011-01-02 06:47am, edited 2 times in total.
Re: Hunters, Hunted. (An Iron Kingdoms Story)
LOST?????
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
Re: Hunters, Hunted. (An Iron Kingdoms Story)
*The previous day*
Gatley lay on his cells' cot and sighed. He had clean clothes, proper bandages for his head, fresh linen, himself giving of a nice soapy smell, a belly full of warm supper and no real foreseeable future.
His thoughts returned to the forest and the days before. His mind drifting back, the careful trip out to the road. The quiet jokes and horse play amongst the gang, setting up at one of his favorite spots and then, right on time the figure in black had come through the forest and down into the little clearing.
One Bravo his sources had informed him and sure enough there they were. Great fine horse, silver fittings dripping of 'em. He'd taken more than a full crew to give the slinger more targets than they should have been able to deal with.
"Stand and deliver!" He'd cried and the target had just stopped. No swearing, no comment, no cries of alarm, not even a hint of nerves. Even the big black had just stood still.
*Cheeky sod* the thought had come to him.
"Seems we got ourselves the only deaf Bravo in Cygnar!" this had gotten laughs from the gang, the hat had just shook. *Disbelief?* Gatley had had enough of this attitude and moved his horse higher over the rise.
"I said..." his last clear thoughs, then the roar of gunfire and the blinding pain in his head. He'd slowly come back to a very painful consciousness to find himself hog tied and the gunman hoisting the bodies of some of his gang up onto his own bl@@dy horse! Damn nag had probably just stood there cropping grass while the gunfire had sounded and he'd fallen of the d@mn things back!
He vaguely remembered cursing then. Swearing black and blue. He'd drawn on a long hard life to give vent to his ire and the b@stard had shoved a sock in his gob. He didn't think he'd stopped his mumbling rant even as he'd been hoisted up onto the big black.
His body tensed involuntarily as he heard an outer door open. He propped himself up; back resting against the granite blocked wall, giving the impression of relaxed nonchalance. The cell door swung open and Grant Standborough stepped up into the arclamp lit room.
"Well, well, well. I wuz wonderin' how long it'd be afore you showed up. I tried to get the guards into a little wager but you've got 'em trained up right. Wouldn't have non of it." He nodded to the escorting soldier now standing out in the hall, plainly visible.
"Really?" Queried Grant, setting a journal, quill and ink pot down on the small table fixed to one wall. Before settling into the rooms' only chair.
"Now, if it were me, I'd be spending my time on workin' a nasty point on the handle of a spoon. You can put a feller out right quick; you hit 'em right with the blunt end. As well as the guards an' kitchen staff are less likely to notice one missing than a fork or a knife." He winked knowingly at Gatley.
Gatley sighed, pulling the piece of pilfered cutlery out from his sleeve and tossing it out into the hall.
"Come to gloat have we? The whole 'My how the mighty have fallen' kind of thing?" He drawled, eyes narrowing.
"Now, now, Spence. You know me better than that." Grant responded his demeanour still cheerful.
Aye! An' I know it was always said you should 'ave been a bl@@dy accountant. Not a trooper," Spence Gatley replied sourly, "Always able to gauge the price of anything and anybody!"
"Humph! Truth is I could never keep the numbers straight on the page. Not that I don't have a knack for understanding the price of things." Grant admitted. "I warned you about that little snot of a captain out of Fharin. Jumped up, arrogant, little blue blooded 'daddies boy'."
"Speakin' of 'Captains'," Spence shot back. "How goes your little broken toy soldier?" He asked snidely.
Grant sighed, "Now, see, that's how off your game you are. That'd be a choice comment to have made a while back but you've lost yer edge out there in the wilderness. The barb just doesn't 'ave the sting it might a year or so ago." Grant replied calmly, possible sadness in his eyes.
"So where to from here? You lot pack me up and send me down the river?" Spence growled, changing tack seeing his baiting not working.
Grants demeanor hardened, "There's some who'd drop your sorry @rse in the river, no questions asked. Hogart's lost some good people hunting your mob."
Spence shrugged, "Ye sign up, ye take yer risks. Me an' the gang weren't takin' too much. Enough to get by on, an' have a bit of comfort. So some of Hogart's blokes got the short end of the stick. So what. How's it go? 'All's fair in love an' war'?" His tone was bored and uncaring, but he watched grant from the corner of his eye.
"'Cept this wasn't war an' what was done to them troopers weren't fair. I'd expected better from you Spence." Grant's tone was lowering and his face taking on a scowl.
"Feh! You 'know' me Grant. If Hogarts' blokes stuffed up, then it were him, or you, what botched the training. Always have a fall back plan ready fer when the load careens down the hill." Spence shrugged again, watching grants dander rise.
"An' you know me, you sodding toe rag! I know my job an' I do it right. I do right by my troopers an' they don't get marched off to slaughter." Standborough's voice came across as a low gravely snarl.
"Oh, get off yer high horse Stand! You didn't ever once hesitate to send anybody off to die!" Gatley retorted angrily
Grant leaned forward and growled quietly, "And I don't hesitate to lead em there, either!"
Gatley seemed to fold in on himself. To age before Grants eyes.
"I was going to marry her, you know." He said quietly and simply, the words delivered with almost a tired sigh, saying the words had hurt him more than they'd probbably hurt Grant, Spence realized.
The sudden change in Gatley took Grant momentarily by surprise. He reached around and swung the cell door closed. Then sighed and leaning back in the chair replied,
"She knew her own mind. I wouldn't have nay say'd anything. I s'pose that's why you dropped as low as you did? Why my letters an' such didn't get to you? I always did wonder why there was that 'friction' 'tween you an' me."
Spence shifted a ring around on his finger, so that the crest was facing outwards. Seeing the crest Grant stiffened.
"She said she'd lost it. After that run in with the pirates." He said quietly
"Oh?" Spence smiled with nostalgia as the memories of the encounter came back.
"Now, wasn't that a tale. There we were, making a run down the coast to re-supply...New Larkholm wasn't it? An' that Satyxian Brig swooped down on us out of the mornin' fog." He chuckled. "The witches were stormin' the deck an' takin' blokes left an' right. I tell you Grant, I know what the rabbit thinks in those last moments as the talons drop." He shook his head. "I'd thought of a dozen different things to do for a situation like that, an' as that vixen stalked towards me, sword out fer me blood, I couldn't call a one to mind." He sighed again.
"An' then there she was. Pretty much with naught but a belaying pin and a cook pot lid. She must've come straight up from mornin' vittles. Angry as a bouncing bag o' hornets."
"Yup, nothin' p#ssed Charlleen off more than missing a warm breakfast." Grant smiled at the memories.
Spence chuckled along with him, "Mmm, there she was, layin' about, clobberin' the deck hands almost as much as the witches. 'Move yer lazy @rses' or some such she was yellin'. She came around the mast one way, just as their captain come around t' other. If'n I weren't about to get gutted, I would've split me own sides, the tangle were that funny. Down they spilled and at it they went. Kneeing, punchin', elbowin', but nothin' 'unfair' like, no teeth bitin' nor eye gouging. Nothin' 'below the belt' like."
"You know Charlleen. She always did like a good brawl. Don't forget that punch up in Mercier. She garnered an extra two weeks in the stockade cause she told that watch officer to take a place in line while she finished off with that captain." Grant reminded him.
"S'funny. I though she got the extra time for callin' major what's his face an idiot?" Blinked Spence.
"No, that's what started the brawl." Corrected grant.
"Ah well, aye, she had a knack for that as well." Spence mused, then got lost in remembering again. "So they sort of 'bounced' apart, I think Charlleen tried t' nut the witch and vice-versa. They both come up an' started circlin'. By now every one had taken an interest. More of an interest in them, than killing each other anywho. The witch had the speed but Charlleen had the hight an' strength, and that's fer sure. It would have been grand to see who were the better fighter, but up comes Bixler an' the combined arms of the crew and troopers drove 'em off." Spence looked at Grant "Do you really think she deserved a week in the brig fer clockin' Bixler?"
Grant shrugged, "You don't hit senior officers Spence. You certainly don't go stormin' towards 'em growling about 'Getting' in the way' kind of thing," He chuckled, "Then again Charlleen never liked to leave things unfinished."
"That's for sure, never liked to be interrupted. So what is this place?" Spence switched tack again, taking advantage of the remenising Standorough. "It's not like any lock up I've had the pleasure of before." He indicated the strange complicated door hinges, the armor-grilled arcano light mounted in the ceiling.
"'Twas going to be a 'depository' or 'bank' of some sorts. The major families were getting' together to put it all up, then the winter of 607 came. Now those folks are..." Grant shrugged and sighed "There was a lot of wranglin' between the Captain Rystell and Baron Blackwell about 'ownership'. Something about 'Crown assets' or 'independent rights'. But the wills an' inheritances settled all that in the Captains favor."
"Mmm, we kind of heard about the problem from 'travelers'. Somthin' brought back with the soldiers? Some sort of 'trench foot'? It sounded bad?" Spence was puzzled.
Grant's face and posture closed up, he shook himself out of his 'lapse'.
"Well, it's been nice catchin' up with old times. I'm glad we got some history out of the way," He ignored Spenc's glare, "I'll tell you now, Gatley, banditry is generally a hanging offencse. If yer lucky a good confession will probably get you life and labor." He shrugged and stood, "I've left ye every thing you should need." He indicated the paper, quill and ink. "Still, you an' her. It explains why you were chain gunnin' together." He shook his head.
Gatley snorted, "It weren't anything of the sort!" He said grinning. "'Twas purely practical. She could tote an extra box of belts. Came in right handy that trick. So what of the rest of me crew?" Spence fished for more information.
Grant shook his head, "S'far as we can figure, they've scarpered. Scattered t' the four winds. But you know how those woods have got. Just how full of creepin' things. Looks like you're the only one to 'walk' out."
Spence looked glum, "Not a one?"
Standborough sighed and as he was about to open the cell door, said, "I really don't know what its' worth to you, except maybe for old times sake, but there is one. A young lass. Y' should be ashamed of your self, draggin' kids into a life like that."
Spence shrugged, "It was either that or starve on the streets of the 'Fingers'. That's one of the things what got me into 'toll waging' in the first place."
Grant Standborough nodded and left. Spence Gatley waited a good ten minutes before assaulting the paper with quill and ink. He grinned,
*Ah, fate* he thought, once again it had dropped a possible 'way out' in his lap.
*......................................*
So, yes. Here is the missing piece between Grant Standborough and Spence Gatly.
*Bows*
Gatley lay on his cells' cot and sighed. He had clean clothes, proper bandages for his head, fresh linen, himself giving of a nice soapy smell, a belly full of warm supper and no real foreseeable future.
His thoughts returned to the forest and the days before. His mind drifting back, the careful trip out to the road. The quiet jokes and horse play amongst the gang, setting up at one of his favorite spots and then, right on time the figure in black had come through the forest and down into the little clearing.
One Bravo his sources had informed him and sure enough there they were. Great fine horse, silver fittings dripping of 'em. He'd taken more than a full crew to give the slinger more targets than they should have been able to deal with.
"Stand and deliver!" He'd cried and the target had just stopped. No swearing, no comment, no cries of alarm, not even a hint of nerves. Even the big black had just stood still.
*Cheeky sod* the thought had come to him.
"Seems we got ourselves the only deaf Bravo in Cygnar!" this had gotten laughs from the gang, the hat had just shook. *Disbelief?* Gatley had had enough of this attitude and moved his horse higher over the rise.
"I said..." his last clear thoughs, then the roar of gunfire and the blinding pain in his head. He'd slowly come back to a very painful consciousness to find himself hog tied and the gunman hoisting the bodies of some of his gang up onto his own bl@@dy horse! Damn nag had probably just stood there cropping grass while the gunfire had sounded and he'd fallen of the d@mn things back!
He vaguely remembered cursing then. Swearing black and blue. He'd drawn on a long hard life to give vent to his ire and the b@stard had shoved a sock in his gob. He didn't think he'd stopped his mumbling rant even as he'd been hoisted up onto the big black.
His body tensed involuntarily as he heard an outer door open. He propped himself up; back resting against the granite blocked wall, giving the impression of relaxed nonchalance. The cell door swung open and Grant Standborough stepped up into the arclamp lit room.
"Well, well, well. I wuz wonderin' how long it'd be afore you showed up. I tried to get the guards into a little wager but you've got 'em trained up right. Wouldn't have non of it." He nodded to the escorting soldier now standing out in the hall, plainly visible.
"Really?" Queried Grant, setting a journal, quill and ink pot down on the small table fixed to one wall. Before settling into the rooms' only chair.
"Now, if it were me, I'd be spending my time on workin' a nasty point on the handle of a spoon. You can put a feller out right quick; you hit 'em right with the blunt end. As well as the guards an' kitchen staff are less likely to notice one missing than a fork or a knife." He winked knowingly at Gatley.
Gatley sighed, pulling the piece of pilfered cutlery out from his sleeve and tossing it out into the hall.
"Come to gloat have we? The whole 'My how the mighty have fallen' kind of thing?" He drawled, eyes narrowing.
"Now, now, Spence. You know me better than that." Grant responded his demeanour still cheerful.
Aye! An' I know it was always said you should 'ave been a bl@@dy accountant. Not a trooper," Spence Gatley replied sourly, "Always able to gauge the price of anything and anybody!"
"Humph! Truth is I could never keep the numbers straight on the page. Not that I don't have a knack for understanding the price of things." Grant admitted. "I warned you about that little snot of a captain out of Fharin. Jumped up, arrogant, little blue blooded 'daddies boy'."
"Speakin' of 'Captains'," Spence shot back. "How goes your little broken toy soldier?" He asked snidely.
Grant sighed, "Now, see, that's how off your game you are. That'd be a choice comment to have made a while back but you've lost yer edge out there in the wilderness. The barb just doesn't 'ave the sting it might a year or so ago." Grant replied calmly, possible sadness in his eyes.
"So where to from here? You lot pack me up and send me down the river?" Spence growled, changing tack seeing his baiting not working.
Grants demeanor hardened, "There's some who'd drop your sorry @rse in the river, no questions asked. Hogart's lost some good people hunting your mob."
Spence shrugged, "Ye sign up, ye take yer risks. Me an' the gang weren't takin' too much. Enough to get by on, an' have a bit of comfort. So some of Hogart's blokes got the short end of the stick. So what. How's it go? 'All's fair in love an' war'?" His tone was bored and uncaring, but he watched grant from the corner of his eye.
"'Cept this wasn't war an' what was done to them troopers weren't fair. I'd expected better from you Spence." Grant's tone was lowering and his face taking on a scowl.
"Feh! You 'know' me Grant. If Hogarts' blokes stuffed up, then it were him, or you, what botched the training. Always have a fall back plan ready fer when the load careens down the hill." Spence shrugged again, watching grants dander rise.
"An' you know me, you sodding toe rag! I know my job an' I do it right. I do right by my troopers an' they don't get marched off to slaughter." Standborough's voice came across as a low gravely snarl.
"Oh, get off yer high horse Stand! You didn't ever once hesitate to send anybody off to die!" Gatley retorted angrily
Grant leaned forward and growled quietly, "And I don't hesitate to lead em there, either!"
Gatley seemed to fold in on himself. To age before Grants eyes.
"I was going to marry her, you know." He said quietly and simply, the words delivered with almost a tired sigh, saying the words had hurt him more than they'd probbably hurt Grant, Spence realized.
The sudden change in Gatley took Grant momentarily by surprise. He reached around and swung the cell door closed. Then sighed and leaning back in the chair replied,
"She knew her own mind. I wouldn't have nay say'd anything. I s'pose that's why you dropped as low as you did? Why my letters an' such didn't get to you? I always did wonder why there was that 'friction' 'tween you an' me."
Spence shifted a ring around on his finger, so that the crest was facing outwards. Seeing the crest Grant stiffened.
"She said she'd lost it. After that run in with the pirates." He said quietly
"Oh?" Spence smiled with nostalgia as the memories of the encounter came back.
"Now, wasn't that a tale. There we were, making a run down the coast to re-supply...New Larkholm wasn't it? An' that Satyxian Brig swooped down on us out of the mornin' fog." He chuckled. "The witches were stormin' the deck an' takin' blokes left an' right. I tell you Grant, I know what the rabbit thinks in those last moments as the talons drop." He shook his head. "I'd thought of a dozen different things to do for a situation like that, an' as that vixen stalked towards me, sword out fer me blood, I couldn't call a one to mind." He sighed again.
"An' then there she was. Pretty much with naught but a belaying pin and a cook pot lid. She must've come straight up from mornin' vittles. Angry as a bouncing bag o' hornets."
"Yup, nothin' p#ssed Charlleen off more than missing a warm breakfast." Grant smiled at the memories.
Spence chuckled along with him, "Mmm, there she was, layin' about, clobberin' the deck hands almost as much as the witches. 'Move yer lazy @rses' or some such she was yellin'. She came around the mast one way, just as their captain come around t' other. If'n I weren't about to get gutted, I would've split me own sides, the tangle were that funny. Down they spilled and at it they went. Kneeing, punchin', elbowin', but nothin' 'unfair' like, no teeth bitin' nor eye gouging. Nothin' 'below the belt' like."
"You know Charlleen. She always did like a good brawl. Don't forget that punch up in Mercier. She garnered an extra two weeks in the stockade cause she told that watch officer to take a place in line while she finished off with that captain." Grant reminded him.
"S'funny. I though she got the extra time for callin' major what's his face an idiot?" Blinked Spence.
"No, that's what started the brawl." Corrected grant.
"Ah well, aye, she had a knack for that as well." Spence mused, then got lost in remembering again. "So they sort of 'bounced' apart, I think Charlleen tried t' nut the witch and vice-versa. They both come up an' started circlin'. By now every one had taken an interest. More of an interest in them, than killing each other anywho. The witch had the speed but Charlleen had the hight an' strength, and that's fer sure. It would have been grand to see who were the better fighter, but up comes Bixler an' the combined arms of the crew and troopers drove 'em off." Spence looked at Grant "Do you really think she deserved a week in the brig fer clockin' Bixler?"
Grant shrugged, "You don't hit senior officers Spence. You certainly don't go stormin' towards 'em growling about 'Getting' in the way' kind of thing," He chuckled, "Then again Charlleen never liked to leave things unfinished."
"That's for sure, never liked to be interrupted. So what is this place?" Spence switched tack again, taking advantage of the remenising Standorough. "It's not like any lock up I've had the pleasure of before." He indicated the strange complicated door hinges, the armor-grilled arcano light mounted in the ceiling.
"'Twas going to be a 'depository' or 'bank' of some sorts. The major families were getting' together to put it all up, then the winter of 607 came. Now those folks are..." Grant shrugged and sighed "There was a lot of wranglin' between the Captain Rystell and Baron Blackwell about 'ownership'. Something about 'Crown assets' or 'independent rights'. But the wills an' inheritances settled all that in the Captains favor."
"Mmm, we kind of heard about the problem from 'travelers'. Somthin' brought back with the soldiers? Some sort of 'trench foot'? It sounded bad?" Spence was puzzled.
Grant's face and posture closed up, he shook himself out of his 'lapse'.
"Well, it's been nice catchin' up with old times. I'm glad we got some history out of the way," He ignored Spenc's glare, "I'll tell you now, Gatley, banditry is generally a hanging offencse. If yer lucky a good confession will probably get you life and labor." He shrugged and stood, "I've left ye every thing you should need." He indicated the paper, quill and ink. "Still, you an' her. It explains why you were chain gunnin' together." He shook his head.
Gatley snorted, "It weren't anything of the sort!" He said grinning. "'Twas purely practical. She could tote an extra box of belts. Came in right handy that trick. So what of the rest of me crew?" Spence fished for more information.
Grant shook his head, "S'far as we can figure, they've scarpered. Scattered t' the four winds. But you know how those woods have got. Just how full of creepin' things. Looks like you're the only one to 'walk' out."
Spence looked glum, "Not a one?"
Standborough sighed and as he was about to open the cell door, said, "I really don't know what its' worth to you, except maybe for old times sake, but there is one. A young lass. Y' should be ashamed of your self, draggin' kids into a life like that."
Spence shrugged, "It was either that or starve on the streets of the 'Fingers'. That's one of the things what got me into 'toll waging' in the first place."
Grant Standborough nodded and left. Spence Gatley waited a good ten minutes before assaulting the paper with quill and ink. He grinned,
*Ah, fate* he thought, once again it had dropped a possible 'way out' in his lap.
*......................................*
So, yes. Here is the missing piece between Grant Standborough and Spence Gatly.
*Bows*
Re: Hunters, Hunted. (An Iron Kingdoms Story)
Ysillith grumbled silently to herself. The town had all seemed so well laid out as she'd been looking at it from out in the hills on her ride in. However once inside and the newly bought horse had been stabled, she'd found dozens of smaller buildings and edifices crammed into the space between the older, larger structures. Creating a maze of alleys, switchbacks and plazas. The entryway and road leading into the town; where the inn that her horse had been stabled was located; had been nice and straight, wide and open -to her minds eye it screamed 'Killing Box'. She'd over heard about the altercation between some blow in dueller and the Lich's Pistol Wraith while in the tavern and her hands had itched for her swords at the thought of a chance to fight the wench. though with that mystery easily solved -she snorted again as the feelings against such creatures rose to the forefront of her mind -she'd been freed up to wander through the town looking at the layout and defences. Investigating places of 'interest' for the coming incursion, while tasked to find an address and "Deliver a message" for the Lich.
Her thoughts turned again to the dealings in the purchase of the nag that had brought her into town. Paid for with amply supplied coin at some fortified farmstead up the road in the hills that ringed the valley of town. The Lich had been emphatic about the minimising of interaction with its forces as, all the while, its minions had cautiously and surreptitiously been creeping around the fringes of the complex of buildings, outer sheds and fields. To her way of thinking, a little bit of pillage and looting would have warmed her 'gels' up right nicely for the coming 'tiff'. Then again, personally there had been the temptation of the stable lad and that thought brought on a rueful grin to her lips.
She sighed, looking around, the brew up 'tween Khardor and Cygnar must've been hurting the locals more than they were wont to let on, she thought. She hadn't seen a decent specimen since she'd left the homesteading, nothing but young boys gangling about or stout elder business owners caring for their profits. She'd passed an open-air tavern where War veterans were gabbing and hobbling about.
*At least the locals seemed to take care of their maimed in a decent fashion* were her thoughts. The ease that her 'Gels' would carve through the town brought a flush to her skin, a grin to her face and a skip to her walk.
She stepped out of an alley between two large old warehouses and onto the concourse facing the river. The sight of even this small trickle of water made her feel a little more at ease. She glanced up and down the street, seeing the pier where labourers were going about the transferring of cargo on a sturdy river barge. She ambled in that direction glancing absently at the small shops and businesses poking out of converted warehouse space to face the river. Her path wandering adjacent to a 'Gear Monkey' and a youngish waif, both rugged up in great coats against the river mist. The pair enjoying a morning meal break outside a pasty shop nestled into the end of one old building.
"Mornin' Miss!" The waif called. Ysillith stopped and took full note of the pair. The gangly gear monkey, oil and well-tended patches on her coveralls. Pale face under an explosion of ginger hair, semi-contained by a scrunched woolen cap, goggles hanging about her neck. Both hands curled about a pie of some sort. The small figure of the waif was hidden under a low drawn cap and the tumble of an old great coat, the darker blue patches standing out where the insignia had been removed in its recycling. Scuffed thick cork soled boots crossed at the ankles stuck out from beneath. Yslillth realised that the pair wore mechaniks boots, just that the waifs had been resoled recently with the cork. Said waif now bounced up and proffered a hand, having quickly brushed it clean against the coat to remove the breakfast crumbs and flakes.
"The names Min! Min Rindel!" And just as suddenly the sitting gear monkey exploded into a coughing fit of pastry, sending a cloud of flakes all over herself.
"Geeze! Ginge!" Min spun and admonished her companion, "I know yer boss doesn't give ye much time off, but could ye at LEAST try an chew a fore ye swallow?" Min proceeded to help the gear monkey up with much back thumping, "You'd better head back to th' barn. I'll have that knurling head for you some time in the next couple of days. Sorry about the wait, things are a bit tight 'tween me an' the watch at the moment." Then heading her off with a waive and a proffered handkerchief.
"Now then, Miss?" The waif spun adroitly to look up at Ysillith with an impish grin, hand reaching out again.
"Lilly." Ysillith supplied; a warning flag popping up in the back of her mind as Min pumped her arm. She resisted the urge to count fingers; glad she wasn't wearing any rings.
"So, yer new to town then?" Min's face was inquisitive. Her sparkling green eyes flicking all about Ysillith's figure.
"Yes, actually my family is just up from the coast to help out at our uncle.. Brinkles farm. Well, given the way things are goin' with the fighting about the place." Mins pale eyebrows bobbed up a bit at 'Lillys' last words.
"Things bad down that way? I could tell you's a city folk. How's it go 'The slice of yer jib's got that look to it'." She finished and stepped back grinning. Ysillith grimaced at the butchering of the nautical term.
"I think you'll be finding navies say 'Brace' or 'Cut o' th' jib'." She couldn't help correcting the urchin. "Well I s'pose the raiding along the coast's a bit more spread out than the grief between Khardor and.." She tried to recall places or names, "..Up north." She finished lamely. "So you are?" She quickly tried to shift the conversation to Min. Who debonairly bowed and stepped a bit closer to talk quietly.
"Min Rindel. Procurement specialist, Local Lore provider, Odd job performer, Message tote'r and Tour professional." She finished the lasti with a wink.
Ysillith pursed her lips, "Well, you're right, I am kind of 'adrift' here in town..."
"Right you are then, Miss! Why don't I help you get yer bearin's. After all, any acquaintance of the Brinkles is definitely a friend o' mine!" Min proffered an arm and the pair proceeded along the street.
*...........................*
Private Kerstell stiffened slightly; Jonathann raised an eyebrow and frowned.
"You..lost..a duel?" He said slowly "We are still talking about Pistol Wraiths here?" His tone was surprised and intrigued, though his demeanour did not show whether he was now also worried.
"Yup!" Sunset replied with a wide grin. She could see both Jonathann and the young trooper were hooked.
"I were in a sleepy little cantina down near Kings Vine. I'd taken m' preferred seating arrangement, I'd had to move the w@nker that thought they had more call t' th' spot than me, and was just settling in. I think the sun had just gone down, when this Wraith floats in through the door an' just stops, 'restin', at the bar. I'll admit to being a bit taken aback. I don't normally have to work at approaching them. So I stood up and I hear it ordering drinks. The Barkeep fumbled about, and it eventually took 'Im a couple of tries, sets a bottle and some glasses on the counter. The Wraith just sighs then turned an' asks me if I'll do the honours and pour. Now, th' truth be told, I were gobbersmacked. However, I do like t' think I were playing my cards close enough to m' chest that I didn't let on such. So I nods t' him and pour a shot, slide th' glass t'wards 'Im and then gets one fer m'self. He reaches in't his raiment's an' pulls out this smallish, silver music box and pops the lid -It did make a sweet little tinkle-y tune, come t'think on it -and gets some pinches of dust out an' sprinkles it into the drink. When I were ready, he calls cheers an' with his dusty fingers holdin' the glass, we throw back our drinks." She shook her head smiling at the memory.
" 'I've heard of you', He said, 'those of us who congregate talk, not that there's much to talk about but it passes the time.' "
" 'Infamous, then am I?' Were the best thing I could think of in reply."
"He looks at me fer a moment an' I hate t' use the word 'Dead pan' but ye get th' idea. Then indicates I should bring th' bottle an' glasses over t' me spot an' we took up said space in th' corner an', well, just started talkin'." Sunset paused and contemplated the ceiling, then her gaze fell on Jonathann.
"Have you ever wondered just how far some people'd go to get their revenge? Just what, perzactly, they'd be willing t'do? What they'd be willing to sacrifice? What would be the price they'd be willing to pay, t' get what business they had done? Just to get a chance t' get back at those that did them, or theirs, wrong?" She seemed to shiver at some memory or thought.
"Well, we chatted an' whiled away pretty much the whole d@mn night. Come the call o' the rooster, he gets up an' sets th' agenda for the following night. I nod an' he just faded away with the dawn. The next evenin' come around an' I've got the room set up the way he specified. He turns up on the hour, on the chime, to be presented with the table in the center, two rows of shot glasses lined up an' a bottle rack besides the table holdin' the liquor bottles. We nodded to each other an' settled in." She smiled ruefully and chuckled.
"That night taught me more about Wraiths than all the time I'd been chasein' 'em an' listening to tales. That's where I learned about the 'pull' of the duel. Some things o' course I already knew, others I'd guessed at an' some of the stuff was new an' useful. Seems that a wraith's got a 'need' for the act of dueling. It's not just reacting to the attraction. O' course the better the target, the harder to resist the actual act of throwin' down becomes. Of course most of these things, that's all they are, a drive to kill. No 'humanity'.." She grimaced at how the word she might have used translated into common, "..Left In 'em at all. Now this feller had an agenda an' had figured out a way of alleviating his condition while he worked up to his goals. I think you'll agree there are some right rotters out there in the world an' this Wraith didn't see anything wrong with using his state to sort some of 'em out. Now when he hears about me in passing conversation he decided I was worth checking out but he 'didn't want to spoil a good thing', his words not mine"' She shrugged and looked a little nonplussed.
"So that was his version of a duel?" Commented Jonathann, looking quizzical and uncertain, "He was some sort of 'Spirit' Wraith?"
At Jonathann's words Sunset laughed out heartily. "Oh I wish I'd had the wit to say that!" She replied, regaining her composure. "That's brilliant! I hope to find him again one day, just so's I can pass that on." She sighed happily. "No, he wanted to check me out to see if we could help each other kind of thing. An' he knew he'd have to 'duel' an' that actually satisfied the 'need'. O' course I ran out of sobriety long before he ran out of bullet powder, an' that was the terms of our match." Jonathann shook his head.
"A Wraith with a conscience." He mused.
"Oh he doesn't have a 'heart' of gold or anything. There's another reason I want to catch up t' him again. The b@stard stiffed me fer th' tab!"
Now it was Jonathann's turn to laugh.
"Well, that does kind of explain quite a bit and I thank you. Now I suppose it's my turn to 'gain some trust'." Jonathann looked at Sunset calmly, "Or at least explain some of the politics that's going on here abouts"
*....................*
So, the tale of how Sunset 'Lost' a duel is explained.
I must admit to having just seen Sergio Leonie's "For a Few Dollars More." again for the ump-teenth time and this Wraith created himself around a certain character and their music box.
To those who are still reading, I thank you. *bows*
Her thoughts turned again to the dealings in the purchase of the nag that had brought her into town. Paid for with amply supplied coin at some fortified farmstead up the road in the hills that ringed the valley of town. The Lich had been emphatic about the minimising of interaction with its forces as, all the while, its minions had cautiously and surreptitiously been creeping around the fringes of the complex of buildings, outer sheds and fields. To her way of thinking, a little bit of pillage and looting would have warmed her 'gels' up right nicely for the coming 'tiff'. Then again, personally there had been the temptation of the stable lad and that thought brought on a rueful grin to her lips.
She sighed, looking around, the brew up 'tween Khardor and Cygnar must've been hurting the locals more than they were wont to let on, she thought. She hadn't seen a decent specimen since she'd left the homesteading, nothing but young boys gangling about or stout elder business owners caring for their profits. She'd passed an open-air tavern where War veterans were gabbing and hobbling about.
*At least the locals seemed to take care of their maimed in a decent fashion* were her thoughts. The ease that her 'Gels' would carve through the town brought a flush to her skin, a grin to her face and a skip to her walk.
She stepped out of an alley between two large old warehouses and onto the concourse facing the river. The sight of even this small trickle of water made her feel a little more at ease. She glanced up and down the street, seeing the pier where labourers were going about the transferring of cargo on a sturdy river barge. She ambled in that direction glancing absently at the small shops and businesses poking out of converted warehouse space to face the river. Her path wandering adjacent to a 'Gear Monkey' and a youngish waif, both rugged up in great coats against the river mist. The pair enjoying a morning meal break outside a pasty shop nestled into the end of one old building.
"Mornin' Miss!" The waif called. Ysillith stopped and took full note of the pair. The gangly gear monkey, oil and well-tended patches on her coveralls. Pale face under an explosion of ginger hair, semi-contained by a scrunched woolen cap, goggles hanging about her neck. Both hands curled about a pie of some sort. The small figure of the waif was hidden under a low drawn cap and the tumble of an old great coat, the darker blue patches standing out where the insignia had been removed in its recycling. Scuffed thick cork soled boots crossed at the ankles stuck out from beneath. Yslillth realised that the pair wore mechaniks boots, just that the waifs had been resoled recently with the cork. Said waif now bounced up and proffered a hand, having quickly brushed it clean against the coat to remove the breakfast crumbs and flakes.
"The names Min! Min Rindel!" And just as suddenly the sitting gear monkey exploded into a coughing fit of pastry, sending a cloud of flakes all over herself.
"Geeze! Ginge!" Min spun and admonished her companion, "I know yer boss doesn't give ye much time off, but could ye at LEAST try an chew a fore ye swallow?" Min proceeded to help the gear monkey up with much back thumping, "You'd better head back to th' barn. I'll have that knurling head for you some time in the next couple of days. Sorry about the wait, things are a bit tight 'tween me an' the watch at the moment." Then heading her off with a waive and a proffered handkerchief.
"Now then, Miss?" The waif spun adroitly to look up at Ysillith with an impish grin, hand reaching out again.
"Lilly." Ysillith supplied; a warning flag popping up in the back of her mind as Min pumped her arm. She resisted the urge to count fingers; glad she wasn't wearing any rings.
"So, yer new to town then?" Min's face was inquisitive. Her sparkling green eyes flicking all about Ysillith's figure.
"Yes, actually my family is just up from the coast to help out at our uncle.. Brinkles farm. Well, given the way things are goin' with the fighting about the place." Mins pale eyebrows bobbed up a bit at 'Lillys' last words.
"Things bad down that way? I could tell you's a city folk. How's it go 'The slice of yer jib's got that look to it'." She finished and stepped back grinning. Ysillith grimaced at the butchering of the nautical term.
"I think you'll be finding navies say 'Brace' or 'Cut o' th' jib'." She couldn't help correcting the urchin. "Well I s'pose the raiding along the coast's a bit more spread out than the grief between Khardor and.." She tried to recall places or names, "..Up north." She finished lamely. "So you are?" She quickly tried to shift the conversation to Min. Who debonairly bowed and stepped a bit closer to talk quietly.
"Min Rindel. Procurement specialist, Local Lore provider, Odd job performer, Message tote'r and Tour professional." She finished the lasti with a wink.
Ysillith pursed her lips, "Well, you're right, I am kind of 'adrift' here in town..."
"Right you are then, Miss! Why don't I help you get yer bearin's. After all, any acquaintance of the Brinkles is definitely a friend o' mine!" Min proffered an arm and the pair proceeded along the street.
*...........................*
Private Kerstell stiffened slightly; Jonathann raised an eyebrow and frowned.
"You..lost..a duel?" He said slowly "We are still talking about Pistol Wraiths here?" His tone was surprised and intrigued, though his demeanour did not show whether he was now also worried.
"Yup!" Sunset replied with a wide grin. She could see both Jonathann and the young trooper were hooked.
"I were in a sleepy little cantina down near Kings Vine. I'd taken m' preferred seating arrangement, I'd had to move the w@nker that thought they had more call t' th' spot than me, and was just settling in. I think the sun had just gone down, when this Wraith floats in through the door an' just stops, 'restin', at the bar. I'll admit to being a bit taken aback. I don't normally have to work at approaching them. So I stood up and I hear it ordering drinks. The Barkeep fumbled about, and it eventually took 'Im a couple of tries, sets a bottle and some glasses on the counter. The Wraith just sighs then turned an' asks me if I'll do the honours and pour. Now, th' truth be told, I were gobbersmacked. However, I do like t' think I were playing my cards close enough to m' chest that I didn't let on such. So I nods t' him and pour a shot, slide th' glass t'wards 'Im and then gets one fer m'self. He reaches in't his raiment's an' pulls out this smallish, silver music box and pops the lid -It did make a sweet little tinkle-y tune, come t'think on it -and gets some pinches of dust out an' sprinkles it into the drink. When I were ready, he calls cheers an' with his dusty fingers holdin' the glass, we throw back our drinks." She shook her head smiling at the memory.
" 'I've heard of you', He said, 'those of us who congregate talk, not that there's much to talk about but it passes the time.' "
" 'Infamous, then am I?' Were the best thing I could think of in reply."
"He looks at me fer a moment an' I hate t' use the word 'Dead pan' but ye get th' idea. Then indicates I should bring th' bottle an' glasses over t' me spot an' we took up said space in th' corner an', well, just started talkin'." Sunset paused and contemplated the ceiling, then her gaze fell on Jonathann.
"Have you ever wondered just how far some people'd go to get their revenge? Just what, perzactly, they'd be willing t'do? What they'd be willing to sacrifice? What would be the price they'd be willing to pay, t' get what business they had done? Just to get a chance t' get back at those that did them, or theirs, wrong?" She seemed to shiver at some memory or thought.
"Well, we chatted an' whiled away pretty much the whole d@mn night. Come the call o' the rooster, he gets up an' sets th' agenda for the following night. I nod an' he just faded away with the dawn. The next evenin' come around an' I've got the room set up the way he specified. He turns up on the hour, on the chime, to be presented with the table in the center, two rows of shot glasses lined up an' a bottle rack besides the table holdin' the liquor bottles. We nodded to each other an' settled in." She smiled ruefully and chuckled.
"That night taught me more about Wraiths than all the time I'd been chasein' 'em an' listening to tales. That's where I learned about the 'pull' of the duel. Some things o' course I already knew, others I'd guessed at an' some of the stuff was new an' useful. Seems that a wraith's got a 'need' for the act of dueling. It's not just reacting to the attraction. O' course the better the target, the harder to resist the actual act of throwin' down becomes. Of course most of these things, that's all they are, a drive to kill. No 'humanity'.." She grimaced at how the word she might have used translated into common, "..Left In 'em at all. Now this feller had an agenda an' had figured out a way of alleviating his condition while he worked up to his goals. I think you'll agree there are some right rotters out there in the world an' this Wraith didn't see anything wrong with using his state to sort some of 'em out. Now when he hears about me in passing conversation he decided I was worth checking out but he 'didn't want to spoil a good thing', his words not mine"' She shrugged and looked a little nonplussed.
"So that was his version of a duel?" Commented Jonathann, looking quizzical and uncertain, "He was some sort of 'Spirit' Wraith?"
At Jonathann's words Sunset laughed out heartily. "Oh I wish I'd had the wit to say that!" She replied, regaining her composure. "That's brilliant! I hope to find him again one day, just so's I can pass that on." She sighed happily. "No, he wanted to check me out to see if we could help each other kind of thing. An' he knew he'd have to 'duel' an' that actually satisfied the 'need'. O' course I ran out of sobriety long before he ran out of bullet powder, an' that was the terms of our match." Jonathann shook his head.
"A Wraith with a conscience." He mused.
"Oh he doesn't have a 'heart' of gold or anything. There's another reason I want to catch up t' him again. The b@stard stiffed me fer th' tab!"
Now it was Jonathann's turn to laugh.
"Well, that does kind of explain quite a bit and I thank you. Now I suppose it's my turn to 'gain some trust'." Jonathann looked at Sunset calmly, "Or at least explain some of the politics that's going on here abouts"
*....................*
So, the tale of how Sunset 'Lost' a duel is explained.
I must admit to having just seen Sergio Leonie's "For a Few Dollars More." again for the ump-teenth time and this Wraith created himself around a certain character and their music box.
To those who are still reading, I thank you. *bows*
Re: Hunters, Hunted. (An Iron Kingdoms Story)
*bursts out laughing* And THAT is one of the most unique duels I've ever heard of. BRAVO!!!
I hope she does catch up with him one day.
Now, "Min Rindle" is just playing that Witch like a fiddle, isn't she.
I hope she does catch up with him one day.
Now, "Min Rindle" is just playing that Witch like a fiddle, isn't she.
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
Re: Hunters, Hunted. (An Iron Kingdoms Story)
*...............*
Lilly and Min strolled casually through the narrow town streets. Lilly (Ysillith) found the chatter from Min to be informative and seemingly inexhaustible. As the morning mist had been burnt away by the rising spring sunshine they'd doffed their coats and left them in the care of an obliging business folk-the shop owner had reassured her by offering a valuable token to safeguard the keeping -over Min's supposed reassurances of where to keep their gear.
While Min (Mellani) entertained her new guest with fervour and gusto, she constantly watched and listened to her as well. Mellanis' grin and cheer were real and honest for, while she thoroughly enjoyed playing the role of 'Back water hustler'. Her time in and around Corvis University giving her a lot of the experience she was using to play the part. She was positive 'Lilly' was not who or what she claimed to be either.
Lilly's style of dress could pass for landed gentry. Her great coat had definitely held the lingering scent of farm to it. The quality of her blouse, shirt and pants had a 'late fashion' city cut to them. The boots she wore were impressive though. Tall, well-kept, well-worn practically tooled black leather, Mellani was sure they were made of Dracodile skin. The buckles were some type of chromed metal, and plentiful. There was no hint of spurs marks or other riding marks on them, and the heels!
Mellani adjusted her blouse unconsciously as she wondered how Lilly maintained her 'support'. She hadn't seen a figure so full since a certain street in Corvis. Not that there wasn't such a building here. It's was just that the local ladies certainly wouldn't be able to compete with such a cosmopolitan city, and those city women sure as shot weren't going to be competing with Lilly, if she thought of putting her mind, and 'assets', to the task. Mellani blinked as the light again played tricks with the beautifully died scarf Lilly wore to 'control' her mane of hair, creating a weird glimmering sparkle across the silk caught from the corner of the eye. That was something else Mellani was envious of. When she let her hair go beyond a certain length, the d@mn stuff suddenly decided it wanted to be everywhere it was so fine. Lilly's looked silkier still and yet it flowed and moved almost like a single black cascade of water. If nothing else, she was going to befriend this strapping fine lass and plunder her beauty secrets!
Having seen Sunset and other, similar professionals, Mellani could see the fluid grace of a fighter in Lilly's movements. Every new person Lilly met was sized up as a potential threat first; smiles and handshakes coming moments later. Her accent shifted slightly every now and then as well. Occasionally a turn of phrase or drawl would hint at a background further a-field than perhaps Lilly had implied. But then again, she was from a port city, so a smearing of accents would happen, wouldn't it?
Mellani winced to herself as she kept track of the 'favours' she was racking up. Slipping ahead to get the scam rolling had been easy, especially with Penelope's help. The shop keeps and other folk had been eager to play along at with the jape at the 'city slickers' expense. 'Spreading' the joke was a lot more work, but the tingle of a jest well played kept driving her on.
Ysillith's eyes lit up when Min pointed out the new warehouses built by some Baron or other. She nodded politely, half listening, as Min described a tale of fire, loss and woe. Noting the pleasantly close distance of the ferry as well as the commanding position the building occupied. She felt the thrum of the coming raid rise up again.
A knot of men came out of one side door. Ysilliths' instincts made her reach for a sword she wasn't carrying at the first glance at their leader, who turned upon seeing the pair of them, stopped and stepped into the middle of the street even as the rest of the group bustled and hurried away.
"Hello, Princes." He said with a smile, but a rumbled threat lurked beneath it. His attention focussed on Min, though when he glanced at Ysillith, she didn't know whether the lust rising up inside her wanted to 'mount' or murder the c@cky and arrogantly standing b@stard.
"So, new friend then, have we?" When his brown eyes did focus on Ysillith, she knew for certain that it was murder. Feeling the hackles on the back of her neck rise, all she could do was grit her teeth and marshal her self control to smile 'demurely' at him.
"Yeah, Malek. 'Tis some thin' you should try. Get out from under yer boss occasionally." Mins' voice was chirpy still, yet Ysillith could hear the baiting tone underlying the words. She saw the naked urge to kill flash across the man's face, he actually stepped forward a pace in rage before bringing himself under control. For a brief moment, Ysillith wondered if the twist to his features snarl had been more than a shifting of the light.
Min didn't flinch, just shifted her stance to emphasise the blade upon her hip and the hand casually resting on the hilt.
"Go ahead. You know the Captain's just waiting for an excuse. Go ahead an' take yer best swing." Mins' voice shifting lower and gained an edge, all trace of humour and playfulness' gone, "Ye couldn't the first day ye made that mistake and this time, I've got witnesses." Ysillith was impressed by the slip of a girl facing down this cultivated brute.
Malek just grinned in return, an air of smugness about him.
"Whatever you say, Princess. I've work to do...not that passing the time of day in such august company isn't without its entertainment value." He gave a deep chuckle, then added, "I'm just soo glade that you and yours made it through another dreadful mountain winter." His smile was all malice around the faux honey of his words.
Ysillith was surprised and impressed, if she hadn't seen the shift in stance she wasn't sure if she could have grabbed the girls' arm in time to stop the sword from flying free. It was only Ysilliths' greater strength that held the blade in check. With a knowing grin/leer Malek nodded to them and swaggered off. Min quickly regained her composure.
"Thank ye." She said simply in way of reply and Ysillith let her go as she felt the tension leave the girls arm. The pair walking away in the opposite direction.
"I think I owe you lunch for that," Mins' attitude flicked back to brightness again, "And I know just the place." She finished with what Ysillith was becoming to think of as a 'trademark' impish grin as she led the way.
*....................................*
Garret Blackwell stood in his study. He frowned at the patterns hinted at in the paper work arrayed before him upon the great mahogany desk. He sighed and made yet more notes - most of which were little more than a detailing of names and addresses - as he sought resolutions. He hated being so heavy handed, but the coming chaos had to be taken advantage of and filling in the developing list with such people would shift one level of the playing field well into his favour.
At the soft chime of crystal being struck he looked up to find Malek taking down a glass and his favourite brandy snifter. Glancing to the entrance he noted the door to his study had been silently opened and closed and locked.
"I admit to being often impressed by how a man of your size can move so quietly." Garret commented.
"Consider it a minor talent amongst my many other virtues." Malek rumbled, amiably waiving the now half-filled glass.
"You are also late. Another of you virtues?" Garret shot back, an eyebrow raised.
Malek grimaced at Garret's comment "A minor run in with Mellani Rystell." He downed the fine liquor in one gulp, "Showing some country bumpkin about town, I think it was a Brinkle by her 'perfume'."
Garret's frown deepened to a semi-scowl "Another group to add to my lists. I grow weary of having such a nest of cuckoos nesting so close."
"It'll have to be something special. Those buildings are a series of fortresses. I dare say, living out there amongst the woods, they're well equipped to deal with said 'dangerous forest beasts'."
"And what of the Bravo?" Garret inquired, an edge to his voice that evoked a slight wince from Malek under the lash.
Malek's grin, however, was untroubled, "Seems your little 'snit' did something right for a change. Him sidling up to that guns-linger the other night and then what with that ghost turning up, had old Standborough all over her. The Captain's bundled her off, probably entertaining her 'personally' up at the family manor. Least that's the only reasonable place they could be taking her. Watched her and that big black horsy get on the ferry myself. You have no idea how much safer I find it walking the streets." There was dark humour in his voice.
"Really? Well, the good Captain never ceases to amaze at what wonderful turns he does. Of course having a lot of eggs in one basket would have been more convenient," Garret shrugged, "Still, one deals with what one can. IF he tries to bring her back into town?" The implication hung in the air, even as Garret moved paper work about to reflect the change happening around him.
Maleks' smile easily and naturally shifted to malice again, "Taken care of. Got some one lined up, all ready for a little 'match' plus insurance, of course." He nodded with a conspiratorial wink.
Garret nodded absently, almost dismissively, in reply walking over to the great book covered wall. He reached out and pulled one out of place and was rewarded by a soft 'click'. Malek put his glass aside and stretched, showing his boredom at Garret's antics.
"That is so cliché." He commented as Garret pulled a second book that released a panel of the shelving to swing aside. Garret grinned over his shoulder as they descended the narrow staircase hidden behind the concealed doorway and down into the wine cellar below.
"Yes, but it is 'fun'." Garret replied with a grin over his shoulder as he sidled in between two large tuns, which smelled strongly of fermenting Mead. He was amused further by Malek having to squeeze sideways into the narrow space. With a press of one particular stone a section of wall recessed smoothly and then slid to one side. They entered an small, austere tiled antechamber between the outer secret panel and the inner metal slab'd portal and both began to disrobe. The pair carefully folding there clothes and placing them in a steel basket. Garret noted a fine scar on Maleks' arm and another almost at his waist, just under his ribs.
"I really thought things like that were supposed to heal up better?" He voiced his thoughts while draping a large leather apron about his naked form.
Malek glowered, twisting to look down at the scar, as he waited for Garret to finish raising the outer spell-wards and thence open the inner portal.
"That bloody sticker of hers has some kind of 'taint'. No matter what I try, these just won't fade." He stretched gracefully, muscles bunching and rippling under Garrets now open gaze. "Still I suppose, given the type of life style I lead, having so few [real] scars is a bonus." Malek commented tracing the mark running along his side while the inner door swung open soundlessly upon great hinges and they both padded through, Garret now carrying the basket of clothes.
The room within was tiled, wall, floor and ceiling. The white gloss or their enamel still not throwing back enough light from the single arcano-bulb hanging from the ceiling to fully illuminate the corners of the space. A sink, almost large enough to function as a bath, occupied one wall. A large glass fronted cabinet dominated the other. From within came the glint of silver flickering from the myriad instruments suspended on the red velvet backing.
A complicated, articulated frame/table dominated the middle of the room, where upon the emaciated figure of Paul Scarrow lay strapped securely by well-padded clamps affixed to its top. By the table's side a gaunt, pale form draped in robes and cloth of pit black hues looked down at the gagged and whimpering form dispassionately.
"Well?" Garret asked impatiently of the figure even as he stalked across the room.
"This one truly has lost that which you seek." The replying voice contained weird harmonics and Garret could see Malek wince at the sound out of the corner of his eye. Stepping up to the table he brushed the sweat-slicked hair on Scarrow's head, though his gaze was locked upon the gaunt form and, other than to touch, it seemed as if Garret ignored the shivering, whimpering form between them.
"That's the best you can do?" He glared at the Inquisitor, noting the small bulbous creature nestled in the crook of one arm. "I know this idiot 'lost it'! Where did he lose it? Where is it now?" The strange eyes of the creature standing on the other side of the table looked dispassionately back at Garret.
"I cannot inquire further or this one may incur....damage and that I was instructed specifically not to do."
"Yes, yes." Garret replied impatiently "Still, a name? A lead? Something?"
"A name was forthcoming, but tracking the owner will be.....arduous." The Inquisitor replied, sounding almost simpering and coy.
"Right, fine." Garret quickly turned and grabbed some tongs from the cabinet then stalked over to the basket of clothes, pulling an envelope from his folded jacket.
"I think you will find the task detailed here in will provide enough recompense to find and talk to one other name owner," He jerked the missive back from grasping fingers, "No errors this time, either." Garret warned with a growl and saw the figure flinch in response.
"That incident.. is long in the past. Those involved have been...chastised." The dark robed figure bowed in supplication.
"Not long enough in the past that I'm likely to let you forget the mistake." Garret dropped the letters into the Inquisitors' clutches. It bowed formally then and simply stepped back 'into' the shadows which looked as if they folded around the creature, allowing it to literally disappear, the lighting in the room rising back to normal with its eldritch departure. Garret looked down at Scarrow finally and smiled without warmth or humour.
In the corner, near the sink, Malek took up a large chain and checked its mooring points where it attached to the wall. The thick metal ovals such that the shapes made no real noise as the inch thick bands rubbed against each other. Satisfied that the great bolts were holding fast, he proceeded to place and lock the large, padded collar at the chains other end about his neck. The wide collar resting on his shoulders. Lifting and flicking his dark hair free he turned to watch, a dark hunger and.. something [more] now growing in the powerfully built man's eyes.
"Didn't you understand the warnings I gave you Paul?" Garret spoke softly down at Scarrow, then turned and wheeled over a small table with an assortment of glittering utensils arrayed upon its surface. Taken form their place on the cabinet racks.
"Surely the finality of the disappearances of certain figures must have piqued your interest?" Garret adjusted the tables' inclination so that Scarrow 's head rose with the incline, such that he could now see Malek who stood, calm and relaxed, wearing nothing more than the great metal collar and chain. Though possibly hunched under the weight of his strange restraint
"I know it did. The effort you took to look for..." Garret clicked his fingers in thought
"Ghent, Ronn Ghent." Malek softly rumbled as he supplied the answer, the tiles seeming to add a faint, deeper reverberation to the big man's voice.
"Ah yes, Mr. Ghent. Silly man thought he could 'play both sides'. He realised far too late, there is only one side." Garret said as he finished his adjustments and removed the gag.
Paul Scarrow was still partially dazed from the cold 'clinically' and air of unreality of the situation, as he shifted and moved against his restraints. A back alley thumping, that he could understand, having been the instigator of many. This situation, the things he'd seen crawling at the edges of his vision. The weird voices that he'd heard -but maybe not heard. He whimpered and mumbled to Garret around a fear-thickened tongue that, even as the man padded over to one wall and adjusted the brass wheel mounted there, watching as the floating gauges of a thermometer bobbed and settled.
As the temperature within the austere, white room began to drop, Garret calmly walked back to Scarrow's side, lifting a wickedly sharp looking instrument from the tray and holding it up to the light to watch the light play across the silver sheen of the blade. Paul Scarrow however was far more captivated by the change now more obviously coming over Malek and, as the realisation dawned on him of what Garret intended to do with the chirurgon's knife and tourniquet, he redoubled his efforts against the straps, struggling in the grip of the clamps. Then, as Garret began his ministrations, all Scarrow could do was scream.
*..........................................*
*Bows* Sorry this one's a little bit longer. I suppose I just wanted to show I can write something a little darker than what seems to have been light 'Beer and skittles' up until now.
For those wondering about the change coming over Malek....
Link
Link
For those wondering to what the Baron was talking to...
Link
*Bows* Again, thank you for reading. I hope my words are being entertaining.
Yes, Mellani likes playing games....some things don't change, only the scale and scope....
Lilly and Min strolled casually through the narrow town streets. Lilly (Ysillith) found the chatter from Min to be informative and seemingly inexhaustible. As the morning mist had been burnt away by the rising spring sunshine they'd doffed their coats and left them in the care of an obliging business folk-the shop owner had reassured her by offering a valuable token to safeguard the keeping -over Min's supposed reassurances of where to keep their gear.
While Min (Mellani) entertained her new guest with fervour and gusto, she constantly watched and listened to her as well. Mellanis' grin and cheer were real and honest for, while she thoroughly enjoyed playing the role of 'Back water hustler'. Her time in and around Corvis University giving her a lot of the experience she was using to play the part. She was positive 'Lilly' was not who or what she claimed to be either.
Lilly's style of dress could pass for landed gentry. Her great coat had definitely held the lingering scent of farm to it. The quality of her blouse, shirt and pants had a 'late fashion' city cut to them. The boots she wore were impressive though. Tall, well-kept, well-worn practically tooled black leather, Mellani was sure they were made of Dracodile skin. The buckles were some type of chromed metal, and plentiful. There was no hint of spurs marks or other riding marks on them, and the heels!
Mellani adjusted her blouse unconsciously as she wondered how Lilly maintained her 'support'. She hadn't seen a figure so full since a certain street in Corvis. Not that there wasn't such a building here. It's was just that the local ladies certainly wouldn't be able to compete with such a cosmopolitan city, and those city women sure as shot weren't going to be competing with Lilly, if she thought of putting her mind, and 'assets', to the task. Mellani blinked as the light again played tricks with the beautifully died scarf Lilly wore to 'control' her mane of hair, creating a weird glimmering sparkle across the silk caught from the corner of the eye. That was something else Mellani was envious of. When she let her hair go beyond a certain length, the d@mn stuff suddenly decided it wanted to be everywhere it was so fine. Lilly's looked silkier still and yet it flowed and moved almost like a single black cascade of water. If nothing else, she was going to befriend this strapping fine lass and plunder her beauty secrets!
Having seen Sunset and other, similar professionals, Mellani could see the fluid grace of a fighter in Lilly's movements. Every new person Lilly met was sized up as a potential threat first; smiles and handshakes coming moments later. Her accent shifted slightly every now and then as well. Occasionally a turn of phrase or drawl would hint at a background further a-field than perhaps Lilly had implied. But then again, she was from a port city, so a smearing of accents would happen, wouldn't it?
Mellani winced to herself as she kept track of the 'favours' she was racking up. Slipping ahead to get the scam rolling had been easy, especially with Penelope's help. The shop keeps and other folk had been eager to play along at with the jape at the 'city slickers' expense. 'Spreading' the joke was a lot more work, but the tingle of a jest well played kept driving her on.
Ysillith's eyes lit up when Min pointed out the new warehouses built by some Baron or other. She nodded politely, half listening, as Min described a tale of fire, loss and woe. Noting the pleasantly close distance of the ferry as well as the commanding position the building occupied. She felt the thrum of the coming raid rise up again.
A knot of men came out of one side door. Ysilliths' instincts made her reach for a sword she wasn't carrying at the first glance at their leader, who turned upon seeing the pair of them, stopped and stepped into the middle of the street even as the rest of the group bustled and hurried away.
"Hello, Princes." He said with a smile, but a rumbled threat lurked beneath it. His attention focussed on Min, though when he glanced at Ysillith, she didn't know whether the lust rising up inside her wanted to 'mount' or murder the c@cky and arrogantly standing b@stard.
"So, new friend then, have we?" When his brown eyes did focus on Ysillith, she knew for certain that it was murder. Feeling the hackles on the back of her neck rise, all she could do was grit her teeth and marshal her self control to smile 'demurely' at him.
"Yeah, Malek. 'Tis some thin' you should try. Get out from under yer boss occasionally." Mins' voice was chirpy still, yet Ysillith could hear the baiting tone underlying the words. She saw the naked urge to kill flash across the man's face, he actually stepped forward a pace in rage before bringing himself under control. For a brief moment, Ysillith wondered if the twist to his features snarl had been more than a shifting of the light.
Min didn't flinch, just shifted her stance to emphasise the blade upon her hip and the hand casually resting on the hilt.
"Go ahead. You know the Captain's just waiting for an excuse. Go ahead an' take yer best swing." Mins' voice shifting lower and gained an edge, all trace of humour and playfulness' gone, "Ye couldn't the first day ye made that mistake and this time, I've got witnesses." Ysillith was impressed by the slip of a girl facing down this cultivated brute.
Malek just grinned in return, an air of smugness about him.
"Whatever you say, Princess. I've work to do...not that passing the time of day in such august company isn't without its entertainment value." He gave a deep chuckle, then added, "I'm just soo glade that you and yours made it through another dreadful mountain winter." His smile was all malice around the faux honey of his words.
Ysillith was surprised and impressed, if she hadn't seen the shift in stance she wasn't sure if she could have grabbed the girls' arm in time to stop the sword from flying free. It was only Ysilliths' greater strength that held the blade in check. With a knowing grin/leer Malek nodded to them and swaggered off. Min quickly regained her composure.
"Thank ye." She said simply in way of reply and Ysillith let her go as she felt the tension leave the girls arm. The pair walking away in the opposite direction.
"I think I owe you lunch for that," Mins' attitude flicked back to brightness again, "And I know just the place." She finished with what Ysillith was becoming to think of as a 'trademark' impish grin as she led the way.
*....................................*
Garret Blackwell stood in his study. He frowned at the patterns hinted at in the paper work arrayed before him upon the great mahogany desk. He sighed and made yet more notes - most of which were little more than a detailing of names and addresses - as he sought resolutions. He hated being so heavy handed, but the coming chaos had to be taken advantage of and filling in the developing list with such people would shift one level of the playing field well into his favour.
At the soft chime of crystal being struck he looked up to find Malek taking down a glass and his favourite brandy snifter. Glancing to the entrance he noted the door to his study had been silently opened and closed and locked.
"I admit to being often impressed by how a man of your size can move so quietly." Garret commented.
"Consider it a minor talent amongst my many other virtues." Malek rumbled, amiably waiving the now half-filled glass.
"You are also late. Another of you virtues?" Garret shot back, an eyebrow raised.
Malek grimaced at Garret's comment "A minor run in with Mellani Rystell." He downed the fine liquor in one gulp, "Showing some country bumpkin about town, I think it was a Brinkle by her 'perfume'."
Garret's frown deepened to a semi-scowl "Another group to add to my lists. I grow weary of having such a nest of cuckoos nesting so close."
"It'll have to be something special. Those buildings are a series of fortresses. I dare say, living out there amongst the woods, they're well equipped to deal with said 'dangerous forest beasts'."
"And what of the Bravo?" Garret inquired, an edge to his voice that evoked a slight wince from Malek under the lash.
Malek's grin, however, was untroubled, "Seems your little 'snit' did something right for a change. Him sidling up to that guns-linger the other night and then what with that ghost turning up, had old Standborough all over her. The Captain's bundled her off, probably entertaining her 'personally' up at the family manor. Least that's the only reasonable place they could be taking her. Watched her and that big black horsy get on the ferry myself. You have no idea how much safer I find it walking the streets." There was dark humour in his voice.
"Really? Well, the good Captain never ceases to amaze at what wonderful turns he does. Of course having a lot of eggs in one basket would have been more convenient," Garret shrugged, "Still, one deals with what one can. IF he tries to bring her back into town?" The implication hung in the air, even as Garret moved paper work about to reflect the change happening around him.
Maleks' smile easily and naturally shifted to malice again, "Taken care of. Got some one lined up, all ready for a little 'match' plus insurance, of course." He nodded with a conspiratorial wink.
Garret nodded absently, almost dismissively, in reply walking over to the great book covered wall. He reached out and pulled one out of place and was rewarded by a soft 'click'. Malek put his glass aside and stretched, showing his boredom at Garret's antics.
"That is so cliché." He commented as Garret pulled a second book that released a panel of the shelving to swing aside. Garret grinned over his shoulder as they descended the narrow staircase hidden behind the concealed doorway and down into the wine cellar below.
"Yes, but it is 'fun'." Garret replied with a grin over his shoulder as he sidled in between two large tuns, which smelled strongly of fermenting Mead. He was amused further by Malek having to squeeze sideways into the narrow space. With a press of one particular stone a section of wall recessed smoothly and then slid to one side. They entered an small, austere tiled antechamber between the outer secret panel and the inner metal slab'd portal and both began to disrobe. The pair carefully folding there clothes and placing them in a steel basket. Garret noted a fine scar on Maleks' arm and another almost at his waist, just under his ribs.
"I really thought things like that were supposed to heal up better?" He voiced his thoughts while draping a large leather apron about his naked form.
Malek glowered, twisting to look down at the scar, as he waited for Garret to finish raising the outer spell-wards and thence open the inner portal.
"That bloody sticker of hers has some kind of 'taint'. No matter what I try, these just won't fade." He stretched gracefully, muscles bunching and rippling under Garrets now open gaze. "Still I suppose, given the type of life style I lead, having so few [real] scars is a bonus." Malek commented tracing the mark running along his side while the inner door swung open soundlessly upon great hinges and they both padded through, Garret now carrying the basket of clothes.
The room within was tiled, wall, floor and ceiling. The white gloss or their enamel still not throwing back enough light from the single arcano-bulb hanging from the ceiling to fully illuminate the corners of the space. A sink, almost large enough to function as a bath, occupied one wall. A large glass fronted cabinet dominated the other. From within came the glint of silver flickering from the myriad instruments suspended on the red velvet backing.
A complicated, articulated frame/table dominated the middle of the room, where upon the emaciated figure of Paul Scarrow lay strapped securely by well-padded clamps affixed to its top. By the table's side a gaunt, pale form draped in robes and cloth of pit black hues looked down at the gagged and whimpering form dispassionately.
"Well?" Garret asked impatiently of the figure even as he stalked across the room.
"This one truly has lost that which you seek." The replying voice contained weird harmonics and Garret could see Malek wince at the sound out of the corner of his eye. Stepping up to the table he brushed the sweat-slicked hair on Scarrow's head, though his gaze was locked upon the gaunt form and, other than to touch, it seemed as if Garret ignored the shivering, whimpering form between them.
"That's the best you can do?" He glared at the Inquisitor, noting the small bulbous creature nestled in the crook of one arm. "I know this idiot 'lost it'! Where did he lose it? Where is it now?" The strange eyes of the creature standing on the other side of the table looked dispassionately back at Garret.
"I cannot inquire further or this one may incur....damage and that I was instructed specifically not to do."
"Yes, yes." Garret replied impatiently "Still, a name? A lead? Something?"
"A name was forthcoming, but tracking the owner will be.....arduous." The Inquisitor replied, sounding almost simpering and coy.
"Right, fine." Garret quickly turned and grabbed some tongs from the cabinet then stalked over to the basket of clothes, pulling an envelope from his folded jacket.
"I think you will find the task detailed here in will provide enough recompense to find and talk to one other name owner," He jerked the missive back from grasping fingers, "No errors this time, either." Garret warned with a growl and saw the figure flinch in response.
"That incident.. is long in the past. Those involved have been...chastised." The dark robed figure bowed in supplication.
"Not long enough in the past that I'm likely to let you forget the mistake." Garret dropped the letters into the Inquisitors' clutches. It bowed formally then and simply stepped back 'into' the shadows which looked as if they folded around the creature, allowing it to literally disappear, the lighting in the room rising back to normal with its eldritch departure. Garret looked down at Scarrow finally and smiled without warmth or humour.
In the corner, near the sink, Malek took up a large chain and checked its mooring points where it attached to the wall. The thick metal ovals such that the shapes made no real noise as the inch thick bands rubbed against each other. Satisfied that the great bolts were holding fast, he proceeded to place and lock the large, padded collar at the chains other end about his neck. The wide collar resting on his shoulders. Lifting and flicking his dark hair free he turned to watch, a dark hunger and.. something [more] now growing in the powerfully built man's eyes.
"Didn't you understand the warnings I gave you Paul?" Garret spoke softly down at Scarrow, then turned and wheeled over a small table with an assortment of glittering utensils arrayed upon its surface. Taken form their place on the cabinet racks.
"Surely the finality of the disappearances of certain figures must have piqued your interest?" Garret adjusted the tables' inclination so that Scarrow 's head rose with the incline, such that he could now see Malek who stood, calm and relaxed, wearing nothing more than the great metal collar and chain. Though possibly hunched under the weight of his strange restraint
"I know it did. The effort you took to look for..." Garret clicked his fingers in thought
"Ghent, Ronn Ghent." Malek softly rumbled as he supplied the answer, the tiles seeming to add a faint, deeper reverberation to the big man's voice.
"Ah yes, Mr. Ghent. Silly man thought he could 'play both sides'. He realised far too late, there is only one side." Garret said as he finished his adjustments and removed the gag.
Paul Scarrow was still partially dazed from the cold 'clinically' and air of unreality of the situation, as he shifted and moved against his restraints. A back alley thumping, that he could understand, having been the instigator of many. This situation, the things he'd seen crawling at the edges of his vision. The weird voices that he'd heard -but maybe not heard. He whimpered and mumbled to Garret around a fear-thickened tongue that, even as the man padded over to one wall and adjusted the brass wheel mounted there, watching as the floating gauges of a thermometer bobbed and settled.
As the temperature within the austere, white room began to drop, Garret calmly walked back to Scarrow's side, lifting a wickedly sharp looking instrument from the tray and holding it up to the light to watch the light play across the silver sheen of the blade. Paul Scarrow however was far more captivated by the change now more obviously coming over Malek and, as the realisation dawned on him of what Garret intended to do with the chirurgon's knife and tourniquet, he redoubled his efforts against the straps, struggling in the grip of the clamps. Then, as Garret began his ministrations, all Scarrow could do was scream.
*..........................................*
*Bows* Sorry this one's a little bit longer. I suppose I just wanted to show I can write something a little darker than what seems to have been light 'Beer and skittles' up until now.
For those wondering about the change coming over Malek....
Link
Link
For those wondering to what the Baron was talking to...
Link
*Bows* Again, thank you for reading. I hope my words are being entertaining.
Yes, Mellani likes playing games....some things don't change, only the scale and scope....
Re: Hunters, Hunted. (An Iron Kingdoms Story)
What a thick plot around this little town.
Infernalist Nobles, IronLich army, PistolWraith duels, and the 'heros' trying to build a few Jacks to keep themselves alive.
Infernalist Nobles, IronLich army, PistolWraith duels, and the 'heros' trying to build a few Jacks to keep themselves alive.
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
Re: Hunters, Hunted. (An Iron Kingdoms Story)
*..............*
Ysillith sauntered hurriedly through the afternoon sunshine. She'd stood on the d@mn ferry dock and smiled -waiving happily after Min -just to make sure the probably very nice, but devious, little street rat had headed off to her farm or whatever it was she called 'home'. Then a bee line for the stables and a butt-numbing canter out of town. She'd slipped off the beast's back and slapped it free. If it had any luck, it'd work out which way was home before it got eaten by whatever beasties roamed the woods.
She'd quickly changed into her full rig of weapons. Adjusted her scarf, the d@mn thing had started to bunch up her hair around her horns annoyingly. Quaffed a potion and pelted back into town over the dirt mound, damn near twisting an ankle on the filled in Skegg holes. All so that she could get back into the 'shadows' before the invisibility of the potion wore off.
Ducking through back allies and side streets, she'd quickly learnt that there seemed neither rhyme nor reason to the way the rabbit warren was set out. After having to double back a half dozen times, she eventually came to the address that the Lich had supplied, noting some similarity in its architecture with the warehouses she still had in her minds eye.
As she vaulted up the steps to the servants' entrance, she felt a tingle up her spine. Dismissing it simply as 'anticipation' she knocked on the door, grinning while she glanced about quickly for any possible witnesses for what was to come.
"Yes?" The tall thin butler still managed to look down his nose at her even though Ysillith topped him by an inch, without her horns showing. With three quick powerful strides, she'd whipped off her scarf, grabbed him by the throat and picked him up to carry him across the room to hang him from a coat hook.
Leaning closer she huffed in disappointment, the silly twit had feinted. Cocking her head she listened carefully, her great blade leaving the scabbard and swinging in an arc noiselessly. The maidservant dropped with out a squeak from a quick 'clock' to the head. Stepping calmly over the prone figure, her spike-heeled boots making nary a sound, she began prowling through the household -her eyes needing to additional light by virtue of her monstrous Satyxian nature.
With the naked point of her sabre leading the way, Ysillith came stalking into the great hall of this Baron's mansion. Even as her mind unconsciously catalogued items of wealth, her eyes and ears searched for movement and sound. From somewhere close-by she heard a faint click to which her sword and eyes turned instinctively towards the noise. A large sturdy door stood slightly ajar, expensive artwork loitering to either side.
Advancing cautiously, she pushed the door open with her sword tip, then came stepping slowly into the room following her blade. Though even her eyes began blinking in the chambers shifting of its light as if now coming into deeper twilight. A fellow in naught but an open robe stood looking down at a huge paper strewn desk. The lust bloomed in her without warning and she threw her charm, with the man's reaction being....nothing. Ysillith stepped closer, just making out his lower torso over the desk's top, and there wasn't a hint of a twitch or reaction. She frowned, slightly puzzled, and looked at him through narrowed eyes.
"Were a contact of mine to stop sending missives, I would be less tardy in saying 'Hello'." He responded, acknowledging her presence without looking up from whatever amongst the paperwork that was absorbing his attention. Ysillith stood tall and haughty,
"Ye'll be talkin' a different tune after me an' mine go through here." She smirked, relaxing and shifted her weight casually, arching a hip and setting a fist upon her waist.
"Tell ye what, you offer me a little somthin' fer me troubles now, an' I might even leave ye with a decent somethin' when my raid blows through."
The snort of derision she received in reply sounded more bored than anything else.
"Please, spare me. I think you will find the locals here have far more backbone than the flotsam fisher-folk you are used to dealing with." At his attitude something sparked a suspicion in Ysillith's mind.
"Ye lyin' rat b@stard! Ye've sold us OUT!" She spat even as her rage flashed into being she froze, aware of the great serpentine blade that suddenly materialised and alighted on her shoulder with a feather touch.
"While I have been accused of many things. My pedigree is without question. As for 'Selling out'? How hard is it NOT to notice an army? Actually I have kept my end of the bargain and helped obfuscate your groups actions in the woods, but even I cannot work 'miracles' with hordes of creatures gambolling about in the underbrush." He shrugged languidly and Ysillith again felt an irrational 'pang' as she her gaze ogled his physique.
"Why do you Cyrxians always assume those you come to kill are idiots?" His tone changed, becoming glacial, "Let us end this conversation. You have something your Lich master wants delivered?" He looked at her finally, his pale brown eyes locking straight onto hers. Ysillith nodded slowly and pulled a ribbon wrapped bundle from an inner coat pocket carefully, still aware of the great blade hovering beside her neck. She tossed it with a casual flick of her wrist over onto the desk in such a way so as to smear a trough through the bastards' careful paperwork.
"Wonderful. You may leave. There is no other business I wish to continue with. Oh, and if you wish to take umbrage? Ask your Lich Master for recompense." His smile turned feral as he continued his taunting, "He is more than welcome to try and seek some form of repatriation for whatever price you place upon such a wounded pride. Of course someone has to deliver my intentions, this is the only reason you get to walk away. You may go." He said with a final dismissive tone, even as his gaze and attention returned back to the straightening and sorting the now dishevelled documents. He reached out and lifted the delivered satchel with a pair of tongs drawn from a robe pocket and absently placed it to one side.
Seeing the blade over her shoulder lift slightly, Ysillith turned slowly and glared at the person that threatened her. The female-shaped figure stared back impassively, mauve-eyed gaze to olive glare. She cautiously circled the creature and backed out into the hall. The unearthly warrior woman simply 'faded' back into the shadows of the room in turn. Leaving Ysillith to grind her teeth, but she could still feel its presence -all the way back to the side door -like some malignant haze.
As Ysillith adjusted the scarf that hid her horns under the illusion of being 'not there', she took closer note about the 'feel' of the tingle as she left. This time recognising it for the magical wards it must be. As she stalked towards the dirt wall and the coming dusk, she contemplated the revenge she'd enact on the devious b@stard's property, remembering back to Min's talk of 'Vendettas' and certain new stone warehouses, before finally quaffing a potion and 'disappearing' again into the lengthening shadows of the dying day herself.
*..............................*
The Evening
Ixarvexius stood on a low rise, just inside the forest's tree line, watching the town's Southern entryway. The twilight of evening was deepened gradually into dusk. Bane Thralls moved amongst the ranks of their lesser kind, ordering them about in their hissing click of 'Thrall speak'. The Lich had ordered its Scarlock and an assortment of forces to make a foray against the eastern entrance. Ysillith had chosen this group for her crew to join. The Lich knew the Satyxis would give the Scarlock's assault valuable flexibility with her advice, It might have smiled as it completed the thought, or she'd smash the risen and try and take control herself.
The Lich turned and stalked towards the rear of its forces, past a large collection of Mechanika Thralls, to where a group of Necrotechs and TechThralls completed the tasks of bringing the Hell and Bone Jacks to full 'life'. Ixarvexious reached out and stroked the armour hull of one 'Jack with its own black steel talons.
"All are prepared." One Necrotech purred, indicating the glowing furnaces of the looming constructs. Ixarvexious nodded, turned and stalked back to its vantage- point. It began to draw on the power contained within the cages about its form.
"........................................................"
Ysillith leant against a tree, trying not to let the thrill of the coming battle that thrummed through her show. Here and there her 'Gals' whispered or warmed up, some stretching and flexing, others sparring with sticks and staves. She wiggled in her armor, adjusting buckles and straps, snuggling her scabbards tighter. Most of the Satyxis raiders stood about with the two curving hilts rearing over either shoulder, the sword blades curving across their backs, leaving hips free for pistol holsters.
Ysillith, however, carried a larger 'two-handed' version. Its blade sweeping down across her back, the scabbard tip nudging out over her thigh. The hilt's sinuous double curve rearing high above her shoulder. Most of her crew had an extra pistol tucked into a boot top or waist holster. She looked over to Teshka, who knelt in the forest loam adjusting the buckles on a holster at the ankle of her boot.
The Raid Captain shook her head; Teshka was the youngest 'Gel' and was developing quite a gun fetish. Almost countless hold out pistols peaked out from her cuirass, bracers, girdle, boots, and other places on her person. There were even a cluster forming almost a 'bustle' in the middle of the slight Satyxi's back. Most she'd taken because the rest of the crew had discarded them as being 'to small' when taking their share of their first spoils. Some she'd probably bought, but Ysillith still wondered a little in regards to her acquiring of the rest of them. The fashion of wearing her hair in 'twin Braids' gathered to either side of her head was also a custom Teshka had picked up from somewhere or other on the mainland.
Ysillith looked to the undead and their preparations. The Scarlock hiss clacked its orders to bane Thralls and Necrotechs alike, deftly putting the finishing touch upon its allotment of destruction.
Down from the hills a fog rolled silently through the forest and as it's damp have moved past them Ysillith called her crew to order, then sauntered over to the Scarlock.
"Er's the signal. Time t' start the party!" She said with all the thrill she felt.
The Scarlock nodded and gabbled to its troops, information relayed by the Bane Thralls who issued louder versions to begin the move of their formations froward towards the towns open 'East Way'. By Ysilliths side a Necrotech purred,
"The masters plan begins, first group move out." It translated for Ysillith's benefit.
"Beats me 'ow ye get so much out've so little." Ysillith muttered.
"I find the language soothing, actually. As well as far more precise compared to that of the living." The Necrotech replied.
Ysillith actually 'looked' at the Necrotech and realised cold grey eyes looked back. She noted the symmetry and aesthetics of the creature.
"The master seems to enjoy a reasonable amount of autonomy in we servants." It explained simply, noting Ysilliths interest
"Ye remember yer life? Yer death?" Ysillith asked, slightly incredulously.
"Some, fragments. It is all very 'confused' and 'detached'. There are images of soldiering, scenes of places in Cygnar." There came a complicated multi amred, articulated shrug.
"The master likes 'versatility' in its servants. I'm able to draw upon some of that knowledge and information." As the formations of Thralls shambled towards the town, the Necrotech took charge of a small group lagging behind and issued them orders.
"......................."
On the breast works at the top of the fosse a young, raw recruit watched the fog sweep down out of the tree line and wash against the outer wall like some silver-grey gossamer tide.
"Looks like the Sergeant was right." He whispered to Denby.
"B@stard Stand is always right. Go, git t' your position!" She gave him a reassuring thump and then herself scuttled to a revetment scalloped into the reverse of the fosse's top -behind the low rough stone slabs that de-marked its apex. A feral grin on her features greeting the small knot of scouts huddling there.
"Well boys! Ready t' earn yer hazard pay?" She asked as she grabbed the rifle that was thrust at her.
"I swear Denby. One of those things get me an' I'm makin' sure t' come back and haunt ye." Private Boggs cursed her.
"Aye, well look on the bright side then," She answered with a grin, "It'll be bound t' be doin' yer thinking a world of good!" She threw back as she settled to the fore and sighted down the barrel into the mists below. From the church tower some where within the town a bell began to sound.
*...............*
*Bows to LadyTevar*
"What a tangled plot we weave, when first we practice to deceive..."
Other than reading something similar in a Phoglio comic many moons ago, I have no idea where said phrase comes from originally, Shakespeare? ...
I could have written something about a nice peaceful little place some where out it the country....but i think it would have been a lot shorter...
And so the more Warmachine side of the story prepares to unfold.
"Cry HAVOC! And let slip the dogs of war."
*Bows*
EDIT: On a side note, it is a fickle fate that makes me post this today and prevents me posting anything on the turning of the morrow...having a post on the 11-10--11 would have been sweet/fun...
Ysillith sauntered hurriedly through the afternoon sunshine. She'd stood on the d@mn ferry dock and smiled -waiving happily after Min -just to make sure the probably very nice, but devious, little street rat had headed off to her farm or whatever it was she called 'home'. Then a bee line for the stables and a butt-numbing canter out of town. She'd slipped off the beast's back and slapped it free. If it had any luck, it'd work out which way was home before it got eaten by whatever beasties roamed the woods.
She'd quickly changed into her full rig of weapons. Adjusted her scarf, the d@mn thing had started to bunch up her hair around her horns annoyingly. Quaffed a potion and pelted back into town over the dirt mound, damn near twisting an ankle on the filled in Skegg holes. All so that she could get back into the 'shadows' before the invisibility of the potion wore off.
Ducking through back allies and side streets, she'd quickly learnt that there seemed neither rhyme nor reason to the way the rabbit warren was set out. After having to double back a half dozen times, she eventually came to the address that the Lich had supplied, noting some similarity in its architecture with the warehouses she still had in her minds eye.
As she vaulted up the steps to the servants' entrance, she felt a tingle up her spine. Dismissing it simply as 'anticipation' she knocked on the door, grinning while she glanced about quickly for any possible witnesses for what was to come.
"Yes?" The tall thin butler still managed to look down his nose at her even though Ysillith topped him by an inch, without her horns showing. With three quick powerful strides, she'd whipped off her scarf, grabbed him by the throat and picked him up to carry him across the room to hang him from a coat hook.
Leaning closer she huffed in disappointment, the silly twit had feinted. Cocking her head she listened carefully, her great blade leaving the scabbard and swinging in an arc noiselessly. The maidservant dropped with out a squeak from a quick 'clock' to the head. Stepping calmly over the prone figure, her spike-heeled boots making nary a sound, she began prowling through the household -her eyes needing to additional light by virtue of her monstrous Satyxian nature.
With the naked point of her sabre leading the way, Ysillith came stalking into the great hall of this Baron's mansion. Even as her mind unconsciously catalogued items of wealth, her eyes and ears searched for movement and sound. From somewhere close-by she heard a faint click to which her sword and eyes turned instinctively towards the noise. A large sturdy door stood slightly ajar, expensive artwork loitering to either side.
Advancing cautiously, she pushed the door open with her sword tip, then came stepping slowly into the room following her blade. Though even her eyes began blinking in the chambers shifting of its light as if now coming into deeper twilight. A fellow in naught but an open robe stood looking down at a huge paper strewn desk. The lust bloomed in her without warning and she threw her charm, with the man's reaction being....nothing. Ysillith stepped closer, just making out his lower torso over the desk's top, and there wasn't a hint of a twitch or reaction. She frowned, slightly puzzled, and looked at him through narrowed eyes.
"Were a contact of mine to stop sending missives, I would be less tardy in saying 'Hello'." He responded, acknowledging her presence without looking up from whatever amongst the paperwork that was absorbing his attention. Ysillith stood tall and haughty,
"Ye'll be talkin' a different tune after me an' mine go through here." She smirked, relaxing and shifted her weight casually, arching a hip and setting a fist upon her waist.
"Tell ye what, you offer me a little somthin' fer me troubles now, an' I might even leave ye with a decent somethin' when my raid blows through."
The snort of derision she received in reply sounded more bored than anything else.
"Please, spare me. I think you will find the locals here have far more backbone than the flotsam fisher-folk you are used to dealing with." At his attitude something sparked a suspicion in Ysillith's mind.
"Ye lyin' rat b@stard! Ye've sold us OUT!" She spat even as her rage flashed into being she froze, aware of the great serpentine blade that suddenly materialised and alighted on her shoulder with a feather touch.
"While I have been accused of many things. My pedigree is without question. As for 'Selling out'? How hard is it NOT to notice an army? Actually I have kept my end of the bargain and helped obfuscate your groups actions in the woods, but even I cannot work 'miracles' with hordes of creatures gambolling about in the underbrush." He shrugged languidly and Ysillith again felt an irrational 'pang' as she her gaze ogled his physique.
"Why do you Cyrxians always assume those you come to kill are idiots?" His tone changed, becoming glacial, "Let us end this conversation. You have something your Lich master wants delivered?" He looked at her finally, his pale brown eyes locking straight onto hers. Ysillith nodded slowly and pulled a ribbon wrapped bundle from an inner coat pocket carefully, still aware of the great blade hovering beside her neck. She tossed it with a casual flick of her wrist over onto the desk in such a way so as to smear a trough through the bastards' careful paperwork.
"Wonderful. You may leave. There is no other business I wish to continue with. Oh, and if you wish to take umbrage? Ask your Lich Master for recompense." His smile turned feral as he continued his taunting, "He is more than welcome to try and seek some form of repatriation for whatever price you place upon such a wounded pride. Of course someone has to deliver my intentions, this is the only reason you get to walk away. You may go." He said with a final dismissive tone, even as his gaze and attention returned back to the straightening and sorting the now dishevelled documents. He reached out and lifted the delivered satchel with a pair of tongs drawn from a robe pocket and absently placed it to one side.
Seeing the blade over her shoulder lift slightly, Ysillith turned slowly and glared at the person that threatened her. The female-shaped figure stared back impassively, mauve-eyed gaze to olive glare. She cautiously circled the creature and backed out into the hall. The unearthly warrior woman simply 'faded' back into the shadows of the room in turn. Leaving Ysillith to grind her teeth, but she could still feel its presence -all the way back to the side door -like some malignant haze.
As Ysillith adjusted the scarf that hid her horns under the illusion of being 'not there', she took closer note about the 'feel' of the tingle as she left. This time recognising it for the magical wards it must be. As she stalked towards the dirt wall and the coming dusk, she contemplated the revenge she'd enact on the devious b@stard's property, remembering back to Min's talk of 'Vendettas' and certain new stone warehouses, before finally quaffing a potion and 'disappearing' again into the lengthening shadows of the dying day herself.
*..............................*
The Evening
Ixarvexius stood on a low rise, just inside the forest's tree line, watching the town's Southern entryway. The twilight of evening was deepened gradually into dusk. Bane Thralls moved amongst the ranks of their lesser kind, ordering them about in their hissing click of 'Thrall speak'. The Lich had ordered its Scarlock and an assortment of forces to make a foray against the eastern entrance. Ysillith had chosen this group for her crew to join. The Lich knew the Satyxis would give the Scarlock's assault valuable flexibility with her advice, It might have smiled as it completed the thought, or she'd smash the risen and try and take control herself.
The Lich turned and stalked towards the rear of its forces, past a large collection of Mechanika Thralls, to where a group of Necrotechs and TechThralls completed the tasks of bringing the Hell and Bone Jacks to full 'life'. Ixarvexious reached out and stroked the armour hull of one 'Jack with its own black steel talons.
"All are prepared." One Necrotech purred, indicating the glowing furnaces of the looming constructs. Ixarvexious nodded, turned and stalked back to its vantage- point. It began to draw on the power contained within the cages about its form.
"........................................................"
Ysillith leant against a tree, trying not to let the thrill of the coming battle that thrummed through her show. Here and there her 'Gals' whispered or warmed up, some stretching and flexing, others sparring with sticks and staves. She wiggled in her armor, adjusting buckles and straps, snuggling her scabbards tighter. Most of the Satyxis raiders stood about with the two curving hilts rearing over either shoulder, the sword blades curving across their backs, leaving hips free for pistol holsters.
Ysillith, however, carried a larger 'two-handed' version. Its blade sweeping down across her back, the scabbard tip nudging out over her thigh. The hilt's sinuous double curve rearing high above her shoulder. Most of her crew had an extra pistol tucked into a boot top or waist holster. She looked over to Teshka, who knelt in the forest loam adjusting the buckles on a holster at the ankle of her boot.
The Raid Captain shook her head; Teshka was the youngest 'Gel' and was developing quite a gun fetish. Almost countless hold out pistols peaked out from her cuirass, bracers, girdle, boots, and other places on her person. There were even a cluster forming almost a 'bustle' in the middle of the slight Satyxi's back. Most she'd taken because the rest of the crew had discarded them as being 'to small' when taking their share of their first spoils. Some she'd probably bought, but Ysillith still wondered a little in regards to her acquiring of the rest of them. The fashion of wearing her hair in 'twin Braids' gathered to either side of her head was also a custom Teshka had picked up from somewhere or other on the mainland.
Ysillith looked to the undead and their preparations. The Scarlock hiss clacked its orders to bane Thralls and Necrotechs alike, deftly putting the finishing touch upon its allotment of destruction.
Down from the hills a fog rolled silently through the forest and as it's damp have moved past them Ysillith called her crew to order, then sauntered over to the Scarlock.
"Er's the signal. Time t' start the party!" She said with all the thrill she felt.
The Scarlock nodded and gabbled to its troops, information relayed by the Bane Thralls who issued louder versions to begin the move of their formations froward towards the towns open 'East Way'. By Ysilliths side a Necrotech purred,
"The masters plan begins, first group move out." It translated for Ysillith's benefit.
"Beats me 'ow ye get so much out've so little." Ysillith muttered.
"I find the language soothing, actually. As well as far more precise compared to that of the living." The Necrotech replied.
Ysillith actually 'looked' at the Necrotech and realised cold grey eyes looked back. She noted the symmetry and aesthetics of the creature.
"The master seems to enjoy a reasonable amount of autonomy in we servants." It explained simply, noting Ysilliths interest
"Ye remember yer life? Yer death?" Ysillith asked, slightly incredulously.
"Some, fragments. It is all very 'confused' and 'detached'. There are images of soldiering, scenes of places in Cygnar." There came a complicated multi amred, articulated shrug.
"The master likes 'versatility' in its servants. I'm able to draw upon some of that knowledge and information." As the formations of Thralls shambled towards the town, the Necrotech took charge of a small group lagging behind and issued them orders.
"......................."
On the breast works at the top of the fosse a young, raw recruit watched the fog sweep down out of the tree line and wash against the outer wall like some silver-grey gossamer tide.
"Looks like the Sergeant was right." He whispered to Denby.
"B@stard Stand is always right. Go, git t' your position!" She gave him a reassuring thump and then herself scuttled to a revetment scalloped into the reverse of the fosse's top -behind the low rough stone slabs that de-marked its apex. A feral grin on her features greeting the small knot of scouts huddling there.
"Well boys! Ready t' earn yer hazard pay?" She asked as she grabbed the rifle that was thrust at her.
"I swear Denby. One of those things get me an' I'm makin' sure t' come back and haunt ye." Private Boggs cursed her.
"Aye, well look on the bright side then," She answered with a grin, "It'll be bound t' be doin' yer thinking a world of good!" She threw back as she settled to the fore and sighted down the barrel into the mists below. From the church tower some where within the town a bell began to sound.
*...............*
*Bows to LadyTevar*
"What a tangled plot we weave, when first we practice to deceive..."
Other than reading something similar in a Phoglio comic many moons ago, I have no idea where said phrase comes from originally, Shakespeare? ...
I could have written something about a nice peaceful little place some where out it the country....but i think it would have been a lot shorter...
And so the more Warmachine side of the story prepares to unfold.
"Cry HAVOC! And let slip the dogs of war."
*Bows*
EDIT: On a side note, it is a fickle fate that makes me post this today and prevents me posting anything on the turning of the morrow...having a post on the 11-10--11 would have been sweet/fun...
Re: Hunters, Hunted. (An Iron Kingdoms Story)
And now it starts.
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
Re: Hunters, Hunted. (An Iron Kingdoms Story)
*.............................................*
Sergeant Standborough shouted orders into the organised chaos that was his mustering hall as troopers kitted and geared up. Getting a nod from his senior troops he left the tumult in their hands and stormed out into the evening streets. Leaving the noise behind him he dodged passed various groups of defenders moving barricades and blockades into position through out the town. Wending his way through the streets and alleys he emerged into the inner space of the 'Green Gate' way. A low hedge of mist swirling through the open gap facing the forest. Troopers began to jog into the area and move into lines.
"Form up! Form up! Get th' barricades set!" He turned on the youngest troopers hauling boxes.
"You powder monkeys! Start crackin' them cases and settin' bundles aside. Once the fun starts ye won't be havin' time t' scratch yer selves!"
The soldiers quickly formed three ranks facing the opening. The first rank dropped to one knee and took up their ready firing position. The two ranks behind standing ready.
"Right! You know the drill! By th' numbers! Regan, keep the rhythm smooth! On my ordDAH!!" Sergeant Standborough cried as the crack of rifle fire began to sound from the ramparts.
*...................................................*
Jonathann stood in the 'Jackwerks' as around him mechanics hustled and bustled about. Going through the actions necessary in firing up and kitting out Smith and Wesson. Fire boxes roared, stacks belched, boilers vented. The mechanics put the finishing touches to ammo hoppers and breach blocks. Other fitters helped the 'Jack 'Wranglers' in their final tasks of strapping in and belting on their gear that would allow them to control the large constructs. Their commands passed through the arcano relays in gauntlets, belts and goggles; allowing them to pass fine precise movements, as well other orders, that had to be given to the hulking machines to make them truly effective in combat. The mechanika allowing the handlers to 'Marshal' the jacks almost with the same level of skill as a proper War-Caster might.
Gimbert fussed over the mechanika now fixed to Jonathanns' side. Where before the prosthetic had mimicked what he'd lost, this construct bespoke utility and functionality, almost brutality. A bunch of cables and hoses snaked down the back of his partial plate to a small boiler and turbine mounted on the small of his back.
"Now don't go getting' fancy with the d@mn thing!" Gimbert called over the noise, "It'll keep yer sword in yer mit and has the full range of movement you wanted. Why you insisted on them party tricks is beyond me!" Myrtell finished with a grumble.
"You know me Uncle! I don't ask for what I don't need!" Jonathann called back, a joking tone in his voice.
The first Stalwart 'jack revved up and stomped out, under the command of the wrangler jogging along beside it.
"Aye! Its yer penchant fer trouble what concerns me!" Gimbert hollered back sourly, as the second machine steamed up and stormed out.
"Who? Me?" Jon looked at his elder innocently.
"Yer a bl@@dy Rystell! You may hide it better'n your sister, but yer both the bl@@dy same!" He finished his checks to his satisfaction and thumped Jonathann on the back.
"Get out there and make an old man proud!" Jon saluted and jogged out into the night.
"Well? What in Thamars cr@tch are you lot gawkin' at? We've got 'Jacks to finish!" He bawled at his grew then turned and stalked over to a large cabinet. Opening it to reveal an old suit of armor.
"Talbot! Get yer @rse over here an' help me get geared up!"
*.........................................*
Mellani was curled up on her bed, a book open on her pillow under an arcano-lamp when she saw the flash of a signal flare through her window. She started cursing under her breath. All of the words she used would have shocked Jonathann, and some would even have surprised Ysillith, as she hurriedly began changing into the clothes laid out upon her dressing table. Eventually, still adjusting things with one hand and casually carrying Sunsets hat in the other, she descended the main stairs and entered the organised confusion that had taken over the grand hall. A young child came tearing through the throng calling and giggling.
"There's flares and fire works all over town! All the manor's is lit up! It's just like Ascension Day!" She squealed with delight, tugging on Mellanis' great coat.
Mellani smiled and nodded distractedly, as she looked for Rushtonn, the elderly house warden. She spotted him just as a matron with a gaggle of other children surged up and corralled the enthusiastic youngster, smiled at Mellani, then proceeded to marshal the group towards the safety of the manors bunker.
"Awww! But I wanna help shoot things!" The child's disappointed cry carried back to Mellani.
"You knew!" She accused Rushtonn. "Jonathann knew, you knew and nobody told me!" Mellani called over the noise, storming up to him.
"Yes, Ma'am." Rushtonn replied semi-distracted with organising the 'House-Carl's' in their duties of preparing the manor for defence while tugging on the straps of an old helmet he was wearing. Men and women bustled about gearing themselves and the building up for possible conflict. Rushtonn glanced down at Mellani, then gaped with a double take.
"But, but the ferry'll be locked down! You can't be serious! It's going to be a war down there!" And he realised he'd blurted out too much, as Mellanis' resolve hardened before his eyes. The House-Carl's sergeant cursed his pomposity and took greater charge of organising the defenders.
Mellani dragged Rushtonn off by the elbow
"Right, help me get some things out of the armoury." Mellani instructed him.
"But, the ferry? You can't cross the river." Rushtonn stammered.
"Oh, that's all right. I found Grandpas' old flying fox, how do you think I got into town the last time I was grounded?" She commented absently, jostling their way through the soldiers. Rushtonn blanched at the thought.
"But...but..." He stuttered.
Mellani rounded on him suddenly. "Look at it this way. You know what Jonathann will do to you when he finds out what I'm planning. You have no idea what I'm likely to do to you, if you thwart me." She warned.
Rushtonn shuddered at the look on Mellanis' face. He remembered her youthful pranks and he suddenly had no intentions of facing an adult Mellanis' thoughtfully planned shenanigans.
"Yes, Ma'am." He sighed resignedly, fumbling at his belt for the keys to some of the older vaults.
*...................................*
Ysillith was impressed by the Necrothechs remembered grasp of 'tactics'. Under the cover of the fog, to either side of the road, hasty 'pit revetments' had been dug and thrown up. As the Thralls had staggered and lurched towards the town, from the top of the fosse, rifles cracked and Thralls sporadically twitched, shuddered and collapsed. She grinned, that smattering of fire wouldn't stem the tide of undead, but as she and her 'Gals' took cover, she knew the rounds would ruin her evenings amount of fun, should any of the shots hit Satyxis flesh.
*....................................*
Standborough waited until the first line of 'invaders' had reached the lamp lit 'Entry Way'. The shapes coming shambling out of the fog
"By the numbers! Leaders by ROTE! VOLLEY FIRE!" he cried.
The first row of kneeling troopers fired in unison then stood, turned and wheeled to the rear. While breaking open the breaches on their rifles. The second line stepped forward, dropped to one knee, braced and on command fired, standing and wheeling to the rear. The former first rank were almost done reloading as they were efficiently cycled back to the fore, locking their breeches shut as the third line fired, stood and wheeled back past them. The shot bearers raced up and down the back line efficiently handing out rounds. Grant could just hear the distant sounds of volley fire starting up at the 'East Way' and grinned to him-self momentarily, before once again bawling orders to the troops around him.
*.......................*
Ysillith winced and ducked as the fusillade resounded from the town.
'BY my mothers' HORNS!" She cried, "No one said anything about them havin' mechanika guns!" The Necrotech folded down beside her and the small cluster of Satyxis sheltering with her from stray rounds.
"This is 'Volley Fire'. Hmm, it would seem our adversary has an old manual. This is how Cygnaran gunners used to fire, before wheel guns came about." It commented calmly, whilst giving instructions to the scuttling constructs that were dragging parts of the fallen back for re-use.
"I don't give a rats' @rse WHAT it is! Me an mine ain't stickin' our horns into no MEAT GRINDER!" Her eyes scanned the field as she risked a quick glance over the top of the mound of dirt they sheltered behind, the wall spaking and throwing up divots as the action attracted attention from the wall.
"RIGHT! You lot! On me! Keep it low an' keep it fast! Teshka! You're the runt. Stay low an' gather every one else on the hole I end up in!" And with that, she charged across the open terrain to drop down into the still forming hole around the Scarlock, most of her crew tumbling in behind her. The Necrotech folded down into the pit at a leisurely pace, a couple of new wounds leaking fluid.
"RIGHT! Y' skinny @rsed construct. What's the plan for getting' through THAT!" Ysillith snarled while waving at the hail of fire resounding from the open end of the street almost facing directly at them.
"Hiss, click, Chortle, clack."
"The master thought that the hill would be of no concern?" The Necrotech translated.
"Yeah? Well p#ss on anything the Master thinks! These todgers have pulled one trick out of their hats an' I'm sure as Toruks' fat, leathery @rse am not goin' t' risk my raid on them pullin' any more!"
"Click, grottle." And, as a Bane Thrall jogged back towards the rear lines, the Necrotech translated.
"Now would be an opportune time to test one of the masters 'Jacks."
Ysillith 'Huffed' and hunkered down in the bottom of the forming pit.
*........................*
Sergeant Hogart hollered orders over the tumult of gunfire. The fusillade was stemming the march of the undead, but Hogart wanted to be up on the wall with his troops and here he was covering for Captain Rystell. He felt the heavy tread before he heard the belch of the 'Jack's pistons. Captain Jonathann Rystell came jogging around the final corner of a building into the storm of noise and smoke that surrounded the 'East gate' defenders. Hot on his heals followed the Jack-wrangler and the Stalwart Jack 'Smith'. Jon grinned at Rikard.
"Thank you sergeant! Job well done!" Jonathann called over the noise, "I'm sure you want to join your people on the wall," He thumped him reassuringly on the back with his left hand, "Off you go! Good hunting, have fun!" Jonathann acknowledged Hogart's salute and seamlessly took over command of the troops, telling the Wrangler to hold the left flank.
"Hold fire on Smith until I give the order!" He yelled to the Wrangler, who nodded back and settled the machine into its 'Firing Stance', cannon shield out, barrel forward and braced by its right arm, feet staggered, bend and braced. Jonathanns' orders tightened the volley fire lines and smoothed out the change over, helping to quicken the tempo in the rate of fire.
"......................."
At the 'Green gate' his allotted Jack-wrangler and the Stalwart War-jack 'Wesson' finally greeted Standborough.
"Yer LATE!" He yelled then blinked, "Don't tell me that's the sign-age from Waltsonns' bakery?"
The Wrangler grinned sheepishly. "Aye, sorry Sarge, didn't factor in the turnin' circle at speed."
Standborough growled something then gave orders for the Jack to take up its position.
"I just hope ye can shoot better'n ye run! Only fire when I call an' at what I call. You got that?"
"Aye Sarge!" The Wrangler saluted back, the Jack mimicking the movements, shifting the collection of white wooden sign-age depicting various cakes and pastries draped atop its hull. As the machine settled into its firing position, its leg actuators gave a loud groan and *CLUNK*. The Wrangler immediately began to swear and go at the stubborn machine with a will and their wrench. Standborough rolled his eyes, resuming his bellow orders; now issued in part to 'cover' the recalcitrant machine.
*.....................*
Sergeant Standborough shouted orders into the organised chaos that was his mustering hall as troopers kitted and geared up. Getting a nod from his senior troops he left the tumult in their hands and stormed out into the evening streets. Leaving the noise behind him he dodged passed various groups of defenders moving barricades and blockades into position through out the town. Wending his way through the streets and alleys he emerged into the inner space of the 'Green Gate' way. A low hedge of mist swirling through the open gap facing the forest. Troopers began to jog into the area and move into lines.
"Form up! Form up! Get th' barricades set!" He turned on the youngest troopers hauling boxes.
"You powder monkeys! Start crackin' them cases and settin' bundles aside. Once the fun starts ye won't be havin' time t' scratch yer selves!"
The soldiers quickly formed three ranks facing the opening. The first rank dropped to one knee and took up their ready firing position. The two ranks behind standing ready.
"Right! You know the drill! By th' numbers! Regan, keep the rhythm smooth! On my ordDAH!!" Sergeant Standborough cried as the crack of rifle fire began to sound from the ramparts.
*...................................................*
Jonathann stood in the 'Jackwerks' as around him mechanics hustled and bustled about. Going through the actions necessary in firing up and kitting out Smith and Wesson. Fire boxes roared, stacks belched, boilers vented. The mechanics put the finishing touches to ammo hoppers and breach blocks. Other fitters helped the 'Jack 'Wranglers' in their final tasks of strapping in and belting on their gear that would allow them to control the large constructs. Their commands passed through the arcano relays in gauntlets, belts and goggles; allowing them to pass fine precise movements, as well other orders, that had to be given to the hulking machines to make them truly effective in combat. The mechanika allowing the handlers to 'Marshal' the jacks almost with the same level of skill as a proper War-Caster might.
Gimbert fussed over the mechanika now fixed to Jonathanns' side. Where before the prosthetic had mimicked what he'd lost, this construct bespoke utility and functionality, almost brutality. A bunch of cables and hoses snaked down the back of his partial plate to a small boiler and turbine mounted on the small of his back.
"Now don't go getting' fancy with the d@mn thing!" Gimbert called over the noise, "It'll keep yer sword in yer mit and has the full range of movement you wanted. Why you insisted on them party tricks is beyond me!" Myrtell finished with a grumble.
"You know me Uncle! I don't ask for what I don't need!" Jonathann called back, a joking tone in his voice.
The first Stalwart 'jack revved up and stomped out, under the command of the wrangler jogging along beside it.
"Aye! Its yer penchant fer trouble what concerns me!" Gimbert hollered back sourly, as the second machine steamed up and stormed out.
"Who? Me?" Jon looked at his elder innocently.
"Yer a bl@@dy Rystell! You may hide it better'n your sister, but yer both the bl@@dy same!" He finished his checks to his satisfaction and thumped Jonathann on the back.
"Get out there and make an old man proud!" Jon saluted and jogged out into the night.
"Well? What in Thamars cr@tch are you lot gawkin' at? We've got 'Jacks to finish!" He bawled at his grew then turned and stalked over to a large cabinet. Opening it to reveal an old suit of armor.
"Talbot! Get yer @rse over here an' help me get geared up!"
*.........................................*
Mellani was curled up on her bed, a book open on her pillow under an arcano-lamp when she saw the flash of a signal flare through her window. She started cursing under her breath. All of the words she used would have shocked Jonathann, and some would even have surprised Ysillith, as she hurriedly began changing into the clothes laid out upon her dressing table. Eventually, still adjusting things with one hand and casually carrying Sunsets hat in the other, she descended the main stairs and entered the organised confusion that had taken over the grand hall. A young child came tearing through the throng calling and giggling.
"There's flares and fire works all over town! All the manor's is lit up! It's just like Ascension Day!" She squealed with delight, tugging on Mellanis' great coat.
Mellani smiled and nodded distractedly, as she looked for Rushtonn, the elderly house warden. She spotted him just as a matron with a gaggle of other children surged up and corralled the enthusiastic youngster, smiled at Mellani, then proceeded to marshal the group towards the safety of the manors bunker.
"Awww! But I wanna help shoot things!" The child's disappointed cry carried back to Mellani.
"You knew!" She accused Rushtonn. "Jonathann knew, you knew and nobody told me!" Mellani called over the noise, storming up to him.
"Yes, Ma'am." Rushtonn replied semi-distracted with organising the 'House-Carl's' in their duties of preparing the manor for defence while tugging on the straps of an old helmet he was wearing. Men and women bustled about gearing themselves and the building up for possible conflict. Rushtonn glanced down at Mellani, then gaped with a double take.
"But, but the ferry'll be locked down! You can't be serious! It's going to be a war down there!" And he realised he'd blurted out too much, as Mellanis' resolve hardened before his eyes. The House-Carl's sergeant cursed his pomposity and took greater charge of organising the defenders.
Mellani dragged Rushtonn off by the elbow
"Right, help me get some things out of the armoury." Mellani instructed him.
"But, the ferry? You can't cross the river." Rushtonn stammered.
"Oh, that's all right. I found Grandpas' old flying fox, how do you think I got into town the last time I was grounded?" She commented absently, jostling their way through the soldiers. Rushtonn blanched at the thought.
"But...but..." He stuttered.
Mellani rounded on him suddenly. "Look at it this way. You know what Jonathann will do to you when he finds out what I'm planning. You have no idea what I'm likely to do to you, if you thwart me." She warned.
Rushtonn shuddered at the look on Mellanis' face. He remembered her youthful pranks and he suddenly had no intentions of facing an adult Mellanis' thoughtfully planned shenanigans.
"Yes, Ma'am." He sighed resignedly, fumbling at his belt for the keys to some of the older vaults.
*...................................*
Ysillith was impressed by the Necrothechs remembered grasp of 'tactics'. Under the cover of the fog, to either side of the road, hasty 'pit revetments' had been dug and thrown up. As the Thralls had staggered and lurched towards the town, from the top of the fosse, rifles cracked and Thralls sporadically twitched, shuddered and collapsed. She grinned, that smattering of fire wouldn't stem the tide of undead, but as she and her 'Gals' took cover, she knew the rounds would ruin her evenings amount of fun, should any of the shots hit Satyxis flesh.
*....................................*
Standborough waited until the first line of 'invaders' had reached the lamp lit 'Entry Way'. The shapes coming shambling out of the fog
"By the numbers! Leaders by ROTE! VOLLEY FIRE!" he cried.
The first row of kneeling troopers fired in unison then stood, turned and wheeled to the rear. While breaking open the breaches on their rifles. The second line stepped forward, dropped to one knee, braced and on command fired, standing and wheeling to the rear. The former first rank were almost done reloading as they were efficiently cycled back to the fore, locking their breeches shut as the third line fired, stood and wheeled back past them. The shot bearers raced up and down the back line efficiently handing out rounds. Grant could just hear the distant sounds of volley fire starting up at the 'East Way' and grinned to him-self momentarily, before once again bawling orders to the troops around him.
*.......................*
Ysillith winced and ducked as the fusillade resounded from the town.
'BY my mothers' HORNS!" She cried, "No one said anything about them havin' mechanika guns!" The Necrotech folded down beside her and the small cluster of Satyxis sheltering with her from stray rounds.
"This is 'Volley Fire'. Hmm, it would seem our adversary has an old manual. This is how Cygnaran gunners used to fire, before wheel guns came about." It commented calmly, whilst giving instructions to the scuttling constructs that were dragging parts of the fallen back for re-use.
"I don't give a rats' @rse WHAT it is! Me an mine ain't stickin' our horns into no MEAT GRINDER!" Her eyes scanned the field as she risked a quick glance over the top of the mound of dirt they sheltered behind, the wall spaking and throwing up divots as the action attracted attention from the wall.
"RIGHT! You lot! On me! Keep it low an' keep it fast! Teshka! You're the runt. Stay low an' gather every one else on the hole I end up in!" And with that, she charged across the open terrain to drop down into the still forming hole around the Scarlock, most of her crew tumbling in behind her. The Necrotech folded down into the pit at a leisurely pace, a couple of new wounds leaking fluid.
"RIGHT! Y' skinny @rsed construct. What's the plan for getting' through THAT!" Ysillith snarled while waving at the hail of fire resounding from the open end of the street almost facing directly at them.
"Hiss, click, Chortle, clack."
"The master thought that the hill would be of no concern?" The Necrotech translated.
"Yeah? Well p#ss on anything the Master thinks! These todgers have pulled one trick out of their hats an' I'm sure as Toruks' fat, leathery @rse am not goin' t' risk my raid on them pullin' any more!"
"Click, grottle." And, as a Bane Thrall jogged back towards the rear lines, the Necrotech translated.
"Now would be an opportune time to test one of the masters 'Jacks."
Ysillith 'Huffed' and hunkered down in the bottom of the forming pit.
*........................*
Sergeant Hogart hollered orders over the tumult of gunfire. The fusillade was stemming the march of the undead, but Hogart wanted to be up on the wall with his troops and here he was covering for Captain Rystell. He felt the heavy tread before he heard the belch of the 'Jack's pistons. Captain Jonathann Rystell came jogging around the final corner of a building into the storm of noise and smoke that surrounded the 'East gate' defenders. Hot on his heals followed the Jack-wrangler and the Stalwart Jack 'Smith'. Jon grinned at Rikard.
"Thank you sergeant! Job well done!" Jonathann called over the noise, "I'm sure you want to join your people on the wall," He thumped him reassuringly on the back with his left hand, "Off you go! Good hunting, have fun!" Jonathann acknowledged Hogart's salute and seamlessly took over command of the troops, telling the Wrangler to hold the left flank.
"Hold fire on Smith until I give the order!" He yelled to the Wrangler, who nodded back and settled the machine into its 'Firing Stance', cannon shield out, barrel forward and braced by its right arm, feet staggered, bend and braced. Jonathanns' orders tightened the volley fire lines and smoothed out the change over, helping to quicken the tempo in the rate of fire.
"......................."
At the 'Green gate' his allotted Jack-wrangler and the Stalwart War-jack 'Wesson' finally greeted Standborough.
"Yer LATE!" He yelled then blinked, "Don't tell me that's the sign-age from Waltsonns' bakery?"
The Wrangler grinned sheepishly. "Aye, sorry Sarge, didn't factor in the turnin' circle at speed."
Standborough growled something then gave orders for the Jack to take up its position.
"I just hope ye can shoot better'n ye run! Only fire when I call an' at what I call. You got that?"
"Aye Sarge!" The Wrangler saluted back, the Jack mimicking the movements, shifting the collection of white wooden sign-age depicting various cakes and pastries draped atop its hull. As the machine settled into its firing position, its leg actuators gave a loud groan and *CLUNK*. The Wrangler immediately began to swear and go at the stubborn machine with a will and their wrench. Standborough rolled his eyes, resuming his bellow orders; now issued in part to 'cover' the recalcitrant machine.
*.....................*
Re: Hunters, Hunted. (An Iron Kingdoms Story)
Volley-fire, wonderful invention. Great tactics as well.
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
Re: Hunters, Hunted. (An Iron Kingdoms Story)
Ysillith squatted, along with the rest of her 'Raid', unhappily in the bottom of the makeshift 'revetment'; She'd heard the Necrotech call the glorified hole in the ground. The creature had used its small allotment of thralls to dig, shore and work on the structure. Easily fifteen feet across and eight to ten feet deep at its 'front' edge. The mound of dirt thrown forward now being bolstered by timber dragged back from the forest and mortared with parts deemed too damaged to be reprocessed into new thralls. The work had attracted the shooters on the wall tops and sporadic rifle fire peppered the area. Not enough to stop the un-dead, but enough that Ysillith and her 'Gels' did not like the idea of storming the wall.
Suddenly there was a collective "YELP!" from the cluster of Satyxis as a rounded black armored form surged from the ground. The Helldiver Bone-Jack shook the streaming dirt clear from its hull to the howls of protest from the warrior women caught in the surrounding shower of soil.
"Ya stinkin' piece of CR@P!" Ysillith screamed as she let the construct have a good swift kick in the carapace, hopping back immediately into a ready stance, as the 'Jack spun on her, stacks belching and jaws agape.
"CLICK! Clack chottle!" The Scarlock strode in between the pair and placed a withered palm upon the Helldiver's hull. The machine immediately quieted, as the Satyxis brushed dirt from themselves and cursed quietly, except for Ysillith, who continued to vent at the Scarlock.
"This is IT?" She yelled accusingly, "One bloody dirt bug? What's it s'posed t'DO?"
"Gabble, chock, hiss, click, CLACK."
"The Helldiver shall be the distraction you living troops need that will interrupt the shooters on the wall. A wave of Death-Rippers shall proceed you as a further.. distracting screen. The Master is...thoughtful." The Necrotech translated.
*...........................*
Ixarvexious sighed. The gunfire from the gateways was constant and devastating in the narrow field created by the entrances earthworks and buildings. It gave orders and the Bane Thralls began marching its collection of Mechanika Thralls forward. It turned to the Necrotechs and Techthralls.
**Move the 'Jacks forward** They nodded and scampered off to comply. The Lich expended a small amount more energy to thicken the raised fog, then turned to a shape awaiting in -itself seeming almost as a part of -the darkness.
**Follow the Mech-thralls** At this order the shape nodded and moved off towards the town.
*.........................................................................*
Standborough continued to co-ordinate his troops fire and re-supply to the constantly changing line of shooters. At his left the Wrangler continued to bang, thump and sporadiaclly swear at the immobile 'Jack. Standborough shifted over towards the pair.
"You!" bang "Will!" bang "Not!" bang "Make!" bang "A!" bang "Todger!" bang "Outta!" bang "ME!" BRRAANNGG! The construct shifted with a groan of protesting metal "YES!"
"Great!" Called Standborough, "Now get its metal @rse in..." His voice trailing off as he heard a change in the sounds coming from the entryway. No longer were there just the sounds of tearing, rotten, flesh and the splintering of bone. Amongst the noise of impacting bullets came the whine and ping as lead ricocheted off metal. Staggering out of the roiling mists came horrific amalgamations of corruption and steel.
"Get that bl@@dy machine workin' NOW!" Standborough bawled.
"Target, Sarge?" The Wrangler called back, distracted by shifting Wesson completely into 'Fire' mode. A semi crouch, with cannon raised and braced.
"Fire! Fire now! Take out the bl@@dy dead mechs!" Standborough shouted and jumped back to the constantly shifting line of rifleers. Adding his own rifle fire to the mix. Timing his shots to theirs.
The Mechanika Thralls more armoured forms were easily shrugging off or ignoring rounds that had been tearing the standard Thralls to shreds. The tide of shambling un-dead began to close on the defenders. In the distance Standborough heard the sound of the other 'Jacks cannon firing. He risked a quick look at Wesson, in time to see it send a round punching into the still closing ranks of mechankially melded nightmares of machine and mortis.
*..............................................................*
The Scarlock motioned the Satyxis out of the way and set the Helldiver at the front, deeper pit, of the revetment. Kneeling down by its 'head', the instructions given to the machine were drowned out by the combat around them. Suddenly, with a jet of dirt, the construct sank into the ground. The torrent continued for a minute before subsiding with a sigh of wet earth.
"Clack, chrottle, grack, click."
"Now.. we wait for the screams." Translated the Necrotech.
Some of the Satyxis gathered around the depression, curiously inspecting the new tilled soil.
"That's enough gawking! Get yer kit t'gether an' get ready t' cover that distance!" Ysillith hollered. The Satyxis moved to gathered near the forward slope of the dug out and waited, giving final adjustments to their gear. Ysillith loomed next to the Scarlock, the attendant Necrotech hovering nearby. Ysillith leaned in close to the withered, rune stained undead.
"An if this plan doesn't work?" She crossed her arms.
"Click?" Was the Scarlocks quiet response. The Necrotech looked from one to the other.
"What if there's som'at else waitin' like this valley fire sh#t?" Ysillith leaned in menacingly.
The Scarlock just stood motionless and silent, eventually the Necrotech shrugged.
"Riiiight." Ysillith purred menacingly.
*.........................................................*
Sergeant Hogart joined one group of scouts in their sunken revetment. They were clustered on the left side of the depression. A couple firing rifles, then handing them back in exchange for reloaded guns prepared by the others. He dropped down besides Denby, who took a fraction of time to acknowledge him between shots.
"Doesn't look good, Sarge." She spoke between shots, explaining the situation.
"We got stagin' pits all up the way.." Crack! toss, grab.
"There's a big pit over that way.." Crack! toss, grab.
"We were getting' good coverage, afore the fog thickened.." Crack! toss, grab.
"Now they're sick of us shootin' up their skin sacks.." Crack! toss, grab.
"We got metal sods comin' down the road, an'.." Crack! Toss, grab.
"Frankly Sarge, our rounds aren't slowen' 'em much." Crack! toss, grab.
Rikard nodded at Denby's report, he could see machine enhanced un-dead now beginning to stagger into the open entrance of the 'East Way'.
"Right, Boggs. Grab some guys, take some poppers and start dropping them into the entry way! Versk, get over to the southern 'Green Gate' and set up the same trick!" As the troopers scurried off, some lugging boxes Denby growled,
"Not a good idea Sarge, kind of leaves us a bit short."
I'd rather not have to fight the buggers in town!" Hogart replied. "Hitch?"
"Yes,sir?"
"Break open those long crates. Lets get ready to test some of Myrtells new toys." All the scouts around him smiled grimly.
*...........................................................*
The Helldiver powered through the earth. As it burrowed, its Necro-cortrex monitored various factors such as time passed, estimated distance travelled, hull inclination. Tunnelling along, all these factors were compared to its current instructions.
*............................................................*
Jonathann bolstered the troopers under his command. The sustained rifle fire was whittling away at the Mechanika Thralls and the cannon fire from 'Smith' removed large groups of the advancing foe, but still they drew closer.
*............................................................*
At 'Green Gate', Grant's line also continued to pour fire at the staggering mob bearing down on them.
"Keep at 'em boys! We got more rounds than they've got shamblers!"
Suddenly from Wesson came a resounding 'BOOM!' and the angry scream of venting steam. The Wrangler yelled something that was lost in the noise and again went at the machine with a will and their wrench.
"Oh, sh#t." Standborough said quietly, then stepping forwards slightly, acted as an example as he continued to reload, aim and fire at the nearing menace. The soldiers followed his example and 'kept to their guns' and volley fire.
*........................................................*
Jonathann gauged the distance between the Mechanika Thralls and the troopers. He pulled his sword and moved to the Wrangler behind the War jack.
"Time to get close and personal." He called to the operator with a grin. Who nodded and stepped back, adjusting his controls as well. The 'Jack shifted its stance, the cannon dropping down as the shield face was swung out and forward. With its right arm it reached back and drew the great battle blade from the harness on its back. Jonathann signalled to the soldiers, whose commanders acknowledged his change in tactics.
*..........................................................*
The Helldiver 'thumped' into [something]. Its tremor sense registering a large cylinder, the residual 'echoes' showing a great 'lattice' structure ahead of it. It ticked over, searching its instructions and information lists. Then, finding an order, started tunneling to its right. 'Feeling' for a way past the lattice of trees buried inside the earthen wall of the fosse.
*........................................................*
Standborough calmly continued to load and shoot, the Mechani-thalls so close, that aiming wasn't needed. He could see the creatures' arms reaching for him.
'WHUMP!' The great battle blade cleaving so close, Grant realised he hadn't attached his bayonet.
Wesson waded into the Mechanika Thralls. Bracing, swinging, slicing, stomping and backhanding into the fray. Standborough was momentarily stunned by the power and grace exhibited by the 'Jack. Within seconds the Thralls had been pushed, stomped or thrown back half the distance to the opening facing the forest. Grant shifted his rifle and began fixing his bayonet.
"Right! Fix stickers!" He yelled and the riflemen followed suit.
"Pick yer targets! Support fire on the 'Jack!" And the troopers proceeded to hammer away at the monstrosities now doing there best to swarm Wesson under.
*.....................................................*
Jonathann grinned. With the turbine's power running into the armature, the response made him feel 'whole'. The mechanika construct responding in such a way that 'it' felt like 'him'. Swing, cut, chop, parry, dodge, reposte, as he danced across the front of the crowd of Mechana-thralls, the Warjack Smith lumbered along cleaving and crushing. Suddenly, at the 'rear' of the crowd, explosions rang out and Jonathann glanced up to the 'warehouse' roofs to see Hogart's scouts priming hand-grenades and lobbing them down into the rear of the mob. Jonathann laughed.
*...................................................*
In the large dug out revetment, Ysillith and the group waited. As the rifle fire gave way to cannon fire and then other sporadic explosions, Ysillith could see the glow from signal flares above the mists.
"Well? Where be this screaming?" She snarled. Again the Scarlock was silent and eventually the Necrotehc just shrugged. Ysilliths' hand shot out and grabbed a bony clavicle.
"Listen up, ye skinny @rsed bag of bones! This assault changes NOW!" There came the creak of bone under tension, easily heard by those standing nearby.
"I know ye don't feel pain, but there's nothin' stoppin' me from handin' ye back t' the Lich as a box of POWDER!" Ysillith threatened.
The Scarlock 'hissed' back and the Necrotech didn't need to translate its menace. Ysillith quickly flipped a pistol out and pointed it at one of the Scarlocks' glowing cages.
"Or....I could blow a hole in one of yer bottles here and listen to ye click an' chatter yer way out of the anger of yer boss?" Now it was Ysilliths turn to exude menace. The Scarlock's jaw popped open in surprise and after a few moments thought, it nodded in agreement.
"Right! Now that we're back in business! Lets get this raid HAPPENIN"!" Ysillith yelled to the cheers of the other Satyxis.
"Get them Bone Jacks up here. You!" She pointed to a Techthrall, "Get t' Ix an' tell him t' get rid of this 'fluff'. I want to see who I'm goin' t' be shootin' at!" The construct nodded, after the Scarlock had clicked at it, and hurried away.
*...............................................................*
Standborough was smiling, Wesson was actually holding its own. The combined rifle fire and grenades were demolishing or crippling the creatures that the 'Jack couldn't reach or was too slow to catch. He looked over at the Wrangler who was completely absorbed in directing the machine. Glancing at his troops, he could see their grins mirroring his own.
"Don't get c@cky!" He yelled, "Focus! Focus! You get just one o' them things breaking through and chewing on ya, it'll ruin yer whole evening!" The soldiers 'squared up' and continued shooting at the slowly lessening numbers of un-dead.
Suddenly a shape swirled out of the night, almost seeming to be made of the fog itself. A great black apparition, the shadow of darkness being the nightmare of some machinists fevered dreams. With a howl of triumph it engulfed Wesson and vanished. The 'Jack shuddered and groaned to a halt. One person whispered with horror,
"Machine Wraith."
Standborough quickly called for all guns to finish the Mechanic Thralls.
"Bugger reloads! Charge! Finish 'em! FINISH 'EM!" All the troopers and even the Wrangler surged forward to the 'Jacks side. They could see the hearth fire's colour shifting, the 'Jack starting to twitch spastic-ally. Frenetically they hacked away at the un-dead straggling over the machine to clear them away for the Wrangler to get in closer.
Penelope tore the arcano-goggles from her head, tears on her cheeks. Shifting her wrench into a two handed grip, she rammed it deep into the back of Wesson. As the vision plates changed to a sickly green and the possessed 'Jack began to stir, she pulled with all her might, tearing through control conduits and relay systems. Slowly, with a staggering lurch, Wesson's bulk began to stumble forward, as Penelope ripped higher control of the leg actuators away from the possessed cortex by way of jamming her wrench into a position to keep the motive relays tripping over. Making a tortured metal howl, the 'Jack began to stagger drunkenly out into the night, the possessing wraith unable to do more than thrash the possesed 'Jack's arms in frustration. The troopers reformed their line and resumed volley firing into the darkness and swirling mist.
"We're scr*wed if'n they throw something with substance at us now." Grant commented quietly.
"Oh, no! They have no idea at how p#ssed I am!" Penelope hissed vehemently, while quickly thinking ahead, "Can you hold without support?" She glanced at Standborough, who shrugged.
"You've got ten minutes lass, maybe double, afore they take advantage of our situation. Least that's how long it'd take me t' come stormin' in." Penelope nodded, turned and ran. Grant sighed, watching her go..
"Right! Send up th' gold flare!" He Hollered to his signallers.
*.............................................*
Volley-fire is mentioned in the fluff scattered through the Iron Kingdom and Warmachine books.
*Bows* As both sides go at each other, the intricacies of the Warmachine realm get brought to the fore.
Machine Wraith
Something Similar
And yes, I do apologise for the use for my portrayal of the temperament of red-heads.
Suddenly there was a collective "YELP!" from the cluster of Satyxis as a rounded black armored form surged from the ground. The Helldiver Bone-Jack shook the streaming dirt clear from its hull to the howls of protest from the warrior women caught in the surrounding shower of soil.
"Ya stinkin' piece of CR@P!" Ysillith screamed as she let the construct have a good swift kick in the carapace, hopping back immediately into a ready stance, as the 'Jack spun on her, stacks belching and jaws agape.
"CLICK! Clack chottle!" The Scarlock strode in between the pair and placed a withered palm upon the Helldiver's hull. The machine immediately quieted, as the Satyxis brushed dirt from themselves and cursed quietly, except for Ysillith, who continued to vent at the Scarlock.
"This is IT?" She yelled accusingly, "One bloody dirt bug? What's it s'posed t'DO?"
"Gabble, chock, hiss, click, CLACK."
"The Helldiver shall be the distraction you living troops need that will interrupt the shooters on the wall. A wave of Death-Rippers shall proceed you as a further.. distracting screen. The Master is...thoughtful." The Necrotech translated.
*...........................*
Ixarvexious sighed. The gunfire from the gateways was constant and devastating in the narrow field created by the entrances earthworks and buildings. It gave orders and the Bane Thralls began marching its collection of Mechanika Thralls forward. It turned to the Necrotechs and Techthralls.
**Move the 'Jacks forward** They nodded and scampered off to comply. The Lich expended a small amount more energy to thicken the raised fog, then turned to a shape awaiting in -itself seeming almost as a part of -the darkness.
**Follow the Mech-thralls** At this order the shape nodded and moved off towards the town.
*.........................................................................*
Standborough continued to co-ordinate his troops fire and re-supply to the constantly changing line of shooters. At his left the Wrangler continued to bang, thump and sporadiaclly swear at the immobile 'Jack. Standborough shifted over towards the pair.
"You!" bang "Will!" bang "Not!" bang "Make!" bang "A!" bang "Todger!" bang "Outta!" bang "ME!" BRRAANNGG! The construct shifted with a groan of protesting metal "YES!"
"Great!" Called Standborough, "Now get its metal @rse in..." His voice trailing off as he heard a change in the sounds coming from the entryway. No longer were there just the sounds of tearing, rotten, flesh and the splintering of bone. Amongst the noise of impacting bullets came the whine and ping as lead ricocheted off metal. Staggering out of the roiling mists came horrific amalgamations of corruption and steel.
"Get that bl@@dy machine workin' NOW!" Standborough bawled.
"Target, Sarge?" The Wrangler called back, distracted by shifting Wesson completely into 'Fire' mode. A semi crouch, with cannon raised and braced.
"Fire! Fire now! Take out the bl@@dy dead mechs!" Standborough shouted and jumped back to the constantly shifting line of rifleers. Adding his own rifle fire to the mix. Timing his shots to theirs.
The Mechanika Thralls more armoured forms were easily shrugging off or ignoring rounds that had been tearing the standard Thralls to shreds. The tide of shambling un-dead began to close on the defenders. In the distance Standborough heard the sound of the other 'Jacks cannon firing. He risked a quick look at Wesson, in time to see it send a round punching into the still closing ranks of mechankially melded nightmares of machine and mortis.
*..............................................................*
The Scarlock motioned the Satyxis out of the way and set the Helldiver at the front, deeper pit, of the revetment. Kneeling down by its 'head', the instructions given to the machine were drowned out by the combat around them. Suddenly, with a jet of dirt, the construct sank into the ground. The torrent continued for a minute before subsiding with a sigh of wet earth.
"Clack, chrottle, grack, click."
"Now.. we wait for the screams." Translated the Necrotech.
Some of the Satyxis gathered around the depression, curiously inspecting the new tilled soil.
"That's enough gawking! Get yer kit t'gether an' get ready t' cover that distance!" Ysillith hollered. The Satyxis moved to gathered near the forward slope of the dug out and waited, giving final adjustments to their gear. Ysillith loomed next to the Scarlock, the attendant Necrotech hovering nearby. Ysillith leaned in close to the withered, rune stained undead.
"An if this plan doesn't work?" She crossed her arms.
"Click?" Was the Scarlocks quiet response. The Necrotech looked from one to the other.
"What if there's som'at else waitin' like this valley fire sh#t?" Ysillith leaned in menacingly.
The Scarlock just stood motionless and silent, eventually the Necrotech shrugged.
"Riiiight." Ysillith purred menacingly.
*.........................................................*
Sergeant Hogart joined one group of scouts in their sunken revetment. They were clustered on the left side of the depression. A couple firing rifles, then handing them back in exchange for reloaded guns prepared by the others. He dropped down besides Denby, who took a fraction of time to acknowledge him between shots.
"Doesn't look good, Sarge." She spoke between shots, explaining the situation.
"We got stagin' pits all up the way.." Crack! toss, grab.
"There's a big pit over that way.." Crack! toss, grab.
"We were getting' good coverage, afore the fog thickened.." Crack! toss, grab.
"Now they're sick of us shootin' up their skin sacks.." Crack! toss, grab.
"We got metal sods comin' down the road, an'.." Crack! Toss, grab.
"Frankly Sarge, our rounds aren't slowen' 'em much." Crack! toss, grab.
Rikard nodded at Denby's report, he could see machine enhanced un-dead now beginning to stagger into the open entrance of the 'East Way'.
"Right, Boggs. Grab some guys, take some poppers and start dropping them into the entry way! Versk, get over to the southern 'Green Gate' and set up the same trick!" As the troopers scurried off, some lugging boxes Denby growled,
"Not a good idea Sarge, kind of leaves us a bit short."
I'd rather not have to fight the buggers in town!" Hogart replied. "Hitch?"
"Yes,sir?"
"Break open those long crates. Lets get ready to test some of Myrtells new toys." All the scouts around him smiled grimly.
*...........................................................*
The Helldiver powered through the earth. As it burrowed, its Necro-cortrex monitored various factors such as time passed, estimated distance travelled, hull inclination. Tunnelling along, all these factors were compared to its current instructions.
*............................................................*
Jonathann bolstered the troopers under his command. The sustained rifle fire was whittling away at the Mechanika Thralls and the cannon fire from 'Smith' removed large groups of the advancing foe, but still they drew closer.
*............................................................*
At 'Green Gate', Grant's line also continued to pour fire at the staggering mob bearing down on them.
"Keep at 'em boys! We got more rounds than they've got shamblers!"
Suddenly from Wesson came a resounding 'BOOM!' and the angry scream of venting steam. The Wrangler yelled something that was lost in the noise and again went at the machine with a will and their wrench.
"Oh, sh#t." Standborough said quietly, then stepping forwards slightly, acted as an example as he continued to reload, aim and fire at the nearing menace. The soldiers followed his example and 'kept to their guns' and volley fire.
*........................................................*
Jonathann gauged the distance between the Mechanika Thralls and the troopers. He pulled his sword and moved to the Wrangler behind the War jack.
"Time to get close and personal." He called to the operator with a grin. Who nodded and stepped back, adjusting his controls as well. The 'Jack shifted its stance, the cannon dropping down as the shield face was swung out and forward. With its right arm it reached back and drew the great battle blade from the harness on its back. Jonathann signalled to the soldiers, whose commanders acknowledged his change in tactics.
*..........................................................*
The Helldiver 'thumped' into [something]. Its tremor sense registering a large cylinder, the residual 'echoes' showing a great 'lattice' structure ahead of it. It ticked over, searching its instructions and information lists. Then, finding an order, started tunneling to its right. 'Feeling' for a way past the lattice of trees buried inside the earthen wall of the fosse.
*........................................................*
Standborough calmly continued to load and shoot, the Mechani-thalls so close, that aiming wasn't needed. He could see the creatures' arms reaching for him.
'WHUMP!' The great battle blade cleaving so close, Grant realised he hadn't attached his bayonet.
Wesson waded into the Mechanika Thralls. Bracing, swinging, slicing, stomping and backhanding into the fray. Standborough was momentarily stunned by the power and grace exhibited by the 'Jack. Within seconds the Thralls had been pushed, stomped or thrown back half the distance to the opening facing the forest. Grant shifted his rifle and began fixing his bayonet.
"Right! Fix stickers!" He yelled and the riflemen followed suit.
"Pick yer targets! Support fire on the 'Jack!" And the troopers proceeded to hammer away at the monstrosities now doing there best to swarm Wesson under.
*.....................................................*
Jonathann grinned. With the turbine's power running into the armature, the response made him feel 'whole'. The mechanika construct responding in such a way that 'it' felt like 'him'. Swing, cut, chop, parry, dodge, reposte, as he danced across the front of the crowd of Mechana-thralls, the Warjack Smith lumbered along cleaving and crushing. Suddenly, at the 'rear' of the crowd, explosions rang out and Jonathann glanced up to the 'warehouse' roofs to see Hogart's scouts priming hand-grenades and lobbing them down into the rear of the mob. Jonathann laughed.
*...................................................*
In the large dug out revetment, Ysillith and the group waited. As the rifle fire gave way to cannon fire and then other sporadic explosions, Ysillith could see the glow from signal flares above the mists.
"Well? Where be this screaming?" She snarled. Again the Scarlock was silent and eventually the Necrotehc just shrugged. Ysilliths' hand shot out and grabbed a bony clavicle.
"Listen up, ye skinny @rsed bag of bones! This assault changes NOW!" There came the creak of bone under tension, easily heard by those standing nearby.
"I know ye don't feel pain, but there's nothin' stoppin' me from handin' ye back t' the Lich as a box of POWDER!" Ysillith threatened.
The Scarlock 'hissed' back and the Necrotech didn't need to translate its menace. Ysillith quickly flipped a pistol out and pointed it at one of the Scarlocks' glowing cages.
"Or....I could blow a hole in one of yer bottles here and listen to ye click an' chatter yer way out of the anger of yer boss?" Now it was Ysilliths turn to exude menace. The Scarlock's jaw popped open in surprise and after a few moments thought, it nodded in agreement.
"Right! Now that we're back in business! Lets get this raid HAPPENIN"!" Ysillith yelled to the cheers of the other Satyxis.
"Get them Bone Jacks up here. You!" She pointed to a Techthrall, "Get t' Ix an' tell him t' get rid of this 'fluff'. I want to see who I'm goin' t' be shootin' at!" The construct nodded, after the Scarlock had clicked at it, and hurried away.
*...............................................................*
Standborough was smiling, Wesson was actually holding its own. The combined rifle fire and grenades were demolishing or crippling the creatures that the 'Jack couldn't reach or was too slow to catch. He looked over at the Wrangler who was completely absorbed in directing the machine. Glancing at his troops, he could see their grins mirroring his own.
"Don't get c@cky!" He yelled, "Focus! Focus! You get just one o' them things breaking through and chewing on ya, it'll ruin yer whole evening!" The soldiers 'squared up' and continued shooting at the slowly lessening numbers of un-dead.
Suddenly a shape swirled out of the night, almost seeming to be made of the fog itself. A great black apparition, the shadow of darkness being the nightmare of some machinists fevered dreams. With a howl of triumph it engulfed Wesson and vanished. The 'Jack shuddered and groaned to a halt. One person whispered with horror,
"Machine Wraith."
Standborough quickly called for all guns to finish the Mechanic Thralls.
"Bugger reloads! Charge! Finish 'em! FINISH 'EM!" All the troopers and even the Wrangler surged forward to the 'Jacks side. They could see the hearth fire's colour shifting, the 'Jack starting to twitch spastic-ally. Frenetically they hacked away at the un-dead straggling over the machine to clear them away for the Wrangler to get in closer.
Penelope tore the arcano-goggles from her head, tears on her cheeks. Shifting her wrench into a two handed grip, she rammed it deep into the back of Wesson. As the vision plates changed to a sickly green and the possessed 'Jack began to stir, she pulled with all her might, tearing through control conduits and relay systems. Slowly, with a staggering lurch, Wesson's bulk began to stumble forward, as Penelope ripped higher control of the leg actuators away from the possessed cortex by way of jamming her wrench into a position to keep the motive relays tripping over. Making a tortured metal howl, the 'Jack began to stagger drunkenly out into the night, the possessing wraith unable to do more than thrash the possesed 'Jack's arms in frustration. The troopers reformed their line and resumed volley firing into the darkness and swirling mist.
"We're scr*wed if'n they throw something with substance at us now." Grant commented quietly.
"Oh, no! They have no idea at how p#ssed I am!" Penelope hissed vehemently, while quickly thinking ahead, "Can you hold without support?" She glanced at Standborough, who shrugged.
"You've got ten minutes lass, maybe double, afore they take advantage of our situation. Least that's how long it'd take me t' come stormin' in." Penelope nodded, turned and ran. Grant sighed, watching her go..
"Right! Send up th' gold flare!" He Hollered to his signallers.
*.............................................*
Volley-fire is mentioned in the fluff scattered through the Iron Kingdom and Warmachine books.
*Bows* As both sides go at each other, the intricacies of the Warmachine realm get brought to the fore.
Machine Wraith
Something Similar
And yes, I do apologise for the use for my portrayal of the temperament of red-heads.
Re: Hunters, Hunted. (An Iron Kingdoms Story)
*.......................................................................*
Ysillith peered into the fog.
"The Rippers are set?"
"Click grottle." Came sullenly from the Scarlock.
"Yes, mistress." The Necrotech translated.
Ysillith grinned.
"GO!" She shouted and, with a single loud command from the Scarlock, a mobbed wave of hunched, two legged forms that were Deathripper Bonejacks sprang forwards into a ground-eating lope, as if hounds released to the prey. Within moments they'd crossed the distance and began scampering up the outward face of the fosse, the sporadic spangs of the defender's rifle fire doing little more than scratch some paint.
*......................................................................*
As the wave of Bonejacks came surging up out of the moon washed silver mists, Hogart had just enough time to yell "Incoming!" and pile into the bottom of the revetment with the rest of his troops.
*.......................................................................*
Ysillith watched on with eager anticipation then was just as suddenly forced to duck back behind the earthworks as the racing swarm of 'Jacks were blown to various states of scrap. At random places a machine's heavy footstep brought annihilation or hull twisting violence.
"M@THER! F@RKERS!" Ysillith screamed into the roiling noise, as the assault was reduced in a wall of thunder, flying dirt and shrapnel to a few badly crippled machines scrabbling weakly at the churned soil. These few mangled survivors were then quickly finished off by renewed, concentrated rifle fire from the rough stonework battlements above.
"Hmmm, It would appear that the easiest way is trapped." The Necrotech commented calmly. Ysillith snarled at it.
*.............................................................................*
Ixarvexious' mechanisms seemed to sigh at the sight of the enemy 'Jack that came staggering back across the open terrain. The possessed machines' torso waiving its arms even as the legs continued to carry it along. Giving orders to the Bane Thralls, motioning for them to finish the wounded 'Jack, Ixarvexious may have laughed at the plight of this minion, but any such noise was drowned out by the un-dead smashing at the unresisting bulk of the machine and the rolling sound as if of thunder. Quickly the Lich coaxed the sulking phantom out of the wreckage and, reinforced its order and sent it back towards the fray. A Techminion came shambling out of the mists. Pulling information directly from its mind, Ixarvexious seemed to sigh again at the information that had been received. With these new details and requests from its Thrall, it made its decision. Giving final instructions to the constructs around it, then turned and moved off into the fog.
*.........................................................................*
At Green Gate, with the threat of invaders only 'imminent', the troops were taking full advantage of the respite. Guns were being checked and cleaned; draughts of water were being downed or splashed. On the warehouse roofs to either side, the scouts entrenched their positions with hastily packed sandbags and empty crates.
"Ye must be short sticked if'n ye think my shooters'll make much of a difference." The lanky figure of Sunset resolved out of a darkened side street, into the lantern lit barricades.
"Nah lass, just thought that since things are goin' so well, I'd give you a signal an' get at least a bit of the captains money's worth out of ye." Grant quipped back. "We've just had a visit from a beastie that looks t' be right up your road. Shame you missed it, Though I'm pretty sure it'll be back soon enough. So get your self set, I'm thinking once the fun starts up again ye won't have time fer much else."
Sunset nodded and stalked out into the avenue of 'The Green Gate' to end up standing almost were the Wesson War-Jack had been stationed.
*..........................................................................*
Jonathann, the 'Jack and Wrangler, the scouts on the rooftops and the rifle fire finished the last of the Mechanika Thralls. One soldier happily approached Jonathann.
"That showed 'em, hey Sir?"
"Sorry to disappoint you," Jonathann looked at the man, "But I'll bet things get a lot worse before the dawn finally comes." He turned to his senior officers. "The strong point redoubts are set? Answering flares form the steadings?" He walked nearer towards the rear of the area, receiving reports and giving more orders. The soldiers caught up on cleaning and checking their guns and taking quick drinks of water, continued to use the lull to their advantage.
*........................................................................*
On the fosse, Rikard quickly re-organized his troops and went about shuffling equipment about.
"So, what d'you think they'll throw next, Sarge? Denby asked. Hogart shrugged.
"You want to know what I bet Strand?" He grinned. Denby just rolled her eyes,
"You still tryin' t' get one up on 'im?' She snorted, "After the first six months here, I learnt th' expensive way about 'im. What'd you decide on this time?" Hogart grinned and hunkered down next to the trooper.
"I'm betting this lot are just a small force. That thing out in the forest the other day? Some kind of field test. The boners are only pushing this far cause we pulled a fast one on 'em. You watch, maybe a 'Jack, at worst a tin Lich pullin' strings." He shrugged, "Nothin' fancy, I'm bettin' they'll maybe try another run up the fosse," They both chuckled, having seen how effective the 'Keg pits' had been. Even now, through spaces inside the fosse the next 'set' was being primed by the ordinance smiths, so that another wave of invaders would face 'fresh' exploding surprises.
"They mustn't have much left. How many skin bags got turned t' paste? Mayhap the owner 'll give us the decency o' standing' up so we can take a shot at 'em, hey?" Denby shifted her rifle at this comment,
"Bring th' b@stard on!" She grinned.
"That's the spirit!" Hogart thumped her on the arm with a shared grin and moved on to cheer up others.
*........................................................................*
Ysillith stalked back and forth, muttering quietly, her arms folded under ample armoured cleavage, as from the fog Ixarvexious loomed the Reaver Captain rounding on the Lich.
"There ye are! What other surprises are these w@nkers gonna pull outta there... HURK!" The tallon'd fist of the metal encased Lich piston'd out and locked around her throat, cutting off her tirade. Instantly all the Satyxis became focused on the Lich's actions, as it casually lifted Ysillith till just her boot tips touched the ground, she struggled in its grasp.
**Enough.** Its voice calm and neutral, but loud enough to carry to all the Satyxii that stood, focused intently, upon the scene -various hands now all resting 'casually' upon on weapon hilts.
**Calm, temperance.** Ysillith slowed her struggles and Ixarvexious lowered her. The Lich could still see the intent for mayhem in her eyes.
**You see?** Ixarvexious continued, under the glares from Ysilliths' crew, **Had Ysillith been focused on more than simple slaughter, I would not have gotten to with in arms reach of her.** The naked rage on Ysilliths face was slowly replaced with a calculating look of furry. She nodded slightly in the grip of the Lich and the claw released. She rubbed her throat, even as she skipped back, well out of reach and spat at the it again.
"Aye? Well I still think yer primpin' ponce of a turn coat sold us OUT! Every move we've tried's been thrown back in our teeth!" She snarled almost lowering into a crouch, shaking her head and lowering her horns to bear upon the iron necro-construc.
Ixarvexious sighed and shook its head
**The time of testing their defences is over. Now it is they who will feel the force of war**
*.....................................................................*
Sunset stood to one side in the area that was 'Green Gate Way'. Almost at the same spot in the plaza that Wesson had been. Forwards of the barricades that had blocked off the inner space near the town's buildings. Facing the darkness and the beginnings of the road that she'd walked in on. Stretching away from her lay the torn and smashed remains of battle obscured partially by the swirl of mist and powder smoke. Thinking back, she tried to remember how many times she'd come this close to combat in the past. Her normal encounters were more 'personal' -just herself and the other partner in a 'throw down'. Here, looking over the mat of fallen, she felt 'detached', her body relaxing into its 'ready' state.
*......................................................................*
The Machine Wraith floated back towards the town. It reached out with its senses; it wanted a more 'fulfilling' encounter. Its previous possession had been 'damaged'; full control had been denied it. It hissed in anticipation as it passed into the town.
*......................................................................*
As the shape of the Wraith detached from the darkness, Sunset grinned, a part of her mind disappointed at how naïve this mark seemed. She noted how the Wraith's metal 'cowl' twitched and shifted as it 'looked' for a cortex, or worse still perhaps a War caster. Its attention for the 'rest' of the 'solids' around it was minimal, since she supposed they were never a threat to one such as incorporeal itself, a slight feral grin came to her features.
Seeing the Wraith seeking about and all but ignoring her, Sunset felt a mixture of anger and pity. Pulling one pistol, she started walking forwards, simply lifting her arm firing with one hand, while rotating the cylinder for the next shot by stamping on the cocking lever with the other.
The sound of gunfire the Wraith was used to ignoring. The feeling of actual 'things' tearing through its insubstantial form sent the creature into stunned shock. One round actually 'pinged' off the insubstantial metal that was part of its form; the rest tore into the wraith. Emptying one pistol, Sunset smoothly holstered it while drawing the other with fluid grace. The wraith sagged backward, as its wounds leaked steaming green phasm. Wailing in its death throws it sagged and crumpled to the cobblestones, its form solidifying as it faded into final death.
"That'll teach ye t' ignore me." Sunset spoke quietly as she stopped to look over the fallen thing, nudging its inert form with a boot, while already deftly stripping the spent cylinders and replacing them with fresh, fully loaded ones from the deep pockets of her great coat.
"Humph. Y' made that look easy. I've got t' get me some of them rounds." Standborough commented with a tinge of admiration in his voice coming up to also look at the remains.
"I don't think you can afford the price, mate." She replied somewhat absently.
*..................................................................*
Hogart peered over the rough stone battlements, trying to discern what the Cyrixian forces were up to. Through the thinning fog he could just make out the enemies own hasty defensive works. He'd never heard of the critters doing things like this before, it was one of the reasons he was estimating a small scouting force. Why else would a bunch of shambling corpses try and conserve there numbers? He saw a movement through the mists heading towards the 'East Way' and swore, quickly raising a rifle and firing a hasty warning shot, the sound being partially obscured by the shrill scream of steam that came from the direction of the 'Green Gate'.
*..................................................................*
The old line "The easiest way is often mined was the inspiration for the blasting powder traps.
Deathripper Bone-jack
EDIT: Fixed a few things I hadn't noticed before. *Bows to LadyTevar* Both sides still have tricks up their respective sleeves to pull.
Ysillith peered into the fog.
"The Rippers are set?"
"Click grottle." Came sullenly from the Scarlock.
"Yes, mistress." The Necrotech translated.
Ysillith grinned.
"GO!" She shouted and, with a single loud command from the Scarlock, a mobbed wave of hunched, two legged forms that were Deathripper Bonejacks sprang forwards into a ground-eating lope, as if hounds released to the prey. Within moments they'd crossed the distance and began scampering up the outward face of the fosse, the sporadic spangs of the defender's rifle fire doing little more than scratch some paint.
*......................................................................*
As the wave of Bonejacks came surging up out of the moon washed silver mists, Hogart had just enough time to yell "Incoming!" and pile into the bottom of the revetment with the rest of his troops.
*.......................................................................*
Ysillith watched on with eager anticipation then was just as suddenly forced to duck back behind the earthworks as the racing swarm of 'Jacks were blown to various states of scrap. At random places a machine's heavy footstep brought annihilation or hull twisting violence.
"M@THER! F@RKERS!" Ysillith screamed into the roiling noise, as the assault was reduced in a wall of thunder, flying dirt and shrapnel to a few badly crippled machines scrabbling weakly at the churned soil. These few mangled survivors were then quickly finished off by renewed, concentrated rifle fire from the rough stonework battlements above.
"Hmmm, It would appear that the easiest way is trapped." The Necrotech commented calmly. Ysillith snarled at it.
*.............................................................................*
Ixarvexious' mechanisms seemed to sigh at the sight of the enemy 'Jack that came staggering back across the open terrain. The possessed machines' torso waiving its arms even as the legs continued to carry it along. Giving orders to the Bane Thralls, motioning for them to finish the wounded 'Jack, Ixarvexious may have laughed at the plight of this minion, but any such noise was drowned out by the un-dead smashing at the unresisting bulk of the machine and the rolling sound as if of thunder. Quickly the Lich coaxed the sulking phantom out of the wreckage and, reinforced its order and sent it back towards the fray. A Techminion came shambling out of the mists. Pulling information directly from its mind, Ixarvexious seemed to sigh again at the information that had been received. With these new details and requests from its Thrall, it made its decision. Giving final instructions to the constructs around it, then turned and moved off into the fog.
*.........................................................................*
At Green Gate, with the threat of invaders only 'imminent', the troops were taking full advantage of the respite. Guns were being checked and cleaned; draughts of water were being downed or splashed. On the warehouse roofs to either side, the scouts entrenched their positions with hastily packed sandbags and empty crates.
"Ye must be short sticked if'n ye think my shooters'll make much of a difference." The lanky figure of Sunset resolved out of a darkened side street, into the lantern lit barricades.
"Nah lass, just thought that since things are goin' so well, I'd give you a signal an' get at least a bit of the captains money's worth out of ye." Grant quipped back. "We've just had a visit from a beastie that looks t' be right up your road. Shame you missed it, Though I'm pretty sure it'll be back soon enough. So get your self set, I'm thinking once the fun starts up again ye won't have time fer much else."
Sunset nodded and stalked out into the avenue of 'The Green Gate' to end up standing almost were the Wesson War-Jack had been stationed.
*..........................................................................*
Jonathann, the 'Jack and Wrangler, the scouts on the rooftops and the rifle fire finished the last of the Mechanika Thralls. One soldier happily approached Jonathann.
"That showed 'em, hey Sir?"
"Sorry to disappoint you," Jonathann looked at the man, "But I'll bet things get a lot worse before the dawn finally comes." He turned to his senior officers. "The strong point redoubts are set? Answering flares form the steadings?" He walked nearer towards the rear of the area, receiving reports and giving more orders. The soldiers caught up on cleaning and checking their guns and taking quick drinks of water, continued to use the lull to their advantage.
*........................................................................*
On the fosse, Rikard quickly re-organized his troops and went about shuffling equipment about.
"So, what d'you think they'll throw next, Sarge? Denby asked. Hogart shrugged.
"You want to know what I bet Strand?" He grinned. Denby just rolled her eyes,
"You still tryin' t' get one up on 'im?' She snorted, "After the first six months here, I learnt th' expensive way about 'im. What'd you decide on this time?" Hogart grinned and hunkered down next to the trooper.
"I'm betting this lot are just a small force. That thing out in the forest the other day? Some kind of field test. The boners are only pushing this far cause we pulled a fast one on 'em. You watch, maybe a 'Jack, at worst a tin Lich pullin' strings." He shrugged, "Nothin' fancy, I'm bettin' they'll maybe try another run up the fosse," They both chuckled, having seen how effective the 'Keg pits' had been. Even now, through spaces inside the fosse the next 'set' was being primed by the ordinance smiths, so that another wave of invaders would face 'fresh' exploding surprises.
"They mustn't have much left. How many skin bags got turned t' paste? Mayhap the owner 'll give us the decency o' standing' up so we can take a shot at 'em, hey?" Denby shifted her rifle at this comment,
"Bring th' b@stard on!" She grinned.
"That's the spirit!" Hogart thumped her on the arm with a shared grin and moved on to cheer up others.
*........................................................................*
Ysillith stalked back and forth, muttering quietly, her arms folded under ample armoured cleavage, as from the fog Ixarvexious loomed the Reaver Captain rounding on the Lich.
"There ye are! What other surprises are these w@nkers gonna pull outta there... HURK!" The tallon'd fist of the metal encased Lich piston'd out and locked around her throat, cutting off her tirade. Instantly all the Satyxis became focused on the Lich's actions, as it casually lifted Ysillith till just her boot tips touched the ground, she struggled in its grasp.
**Enough.** Its voice calm and neutral, but loud enough to carry to all the Satyxii that stood, focused intently, upon the scene -various hands now all resting 'casually' upon on weapon hilts.
**Calm, temperance.** Ysillith slowed her struggles and Ixarvexious lowered her. The Lich could still see the intent for mayhem in her eyes.
**You see?** Ixarvexious continued, under the glares from Ysilliths' crew, **Had Ysillith been focused on more than simple slaughter, I would not have gotten to with in arms reach of her.** The naked rage on Ysilliths face was slowly replaced with a calculating look of furry. She nodded slightly in the grip of the Lich and the claw released. She rubbed her throat, even as she skipped back, well out of reach and spat at the it again.
"Aye? Well I still think yer primpin' ponce of a turn coat sold us OUT! Every move we've tried's been thrown back in our teeth!" She snarled almost lowering into a crouch, shaking her head and lowering her horns to bear upon the iron necro-construc.
Ixarvexious sighed and shook its head
**The time of testing their defences is over. Now it is they who will feel the force of war**
*.....................................................................*
Sunset stood to one side in the area that was 'Green Gate Way'. Almost at the same spot in the plaza that Wesson had been. Forwards of the barricades that had blocked off the inner space near the town's buildings. Facing the darkness and the beginnings of the road that she'd walked in on. Stretching away from her lay the torn and smashed remains of battle obscured partially by the swirl of mist and powder smoke. Thinking back, she tried to remember how many times she'd come this close to combat in the past. Her normal encounters were more 'personal' -just herself and the other partner in a 'throw down'. Here, looking over the mat of fallen, she felt 'detached', her body relaxing into its 'ready' state.
*......................................................................*
The Machine Wraith floated back towards the town. It reached out with its senses; it wanted a more 'fulfilling' encounter. Its previous possession had been 'damaged'; full control had been denied it. It hissed in anticipation as it passed into the town.
*......................................................................*
As the shape of the Wraith detached from the darkness, Sunset grinned, a part of her mind disappointed at how naïve this mark seemed. She noted how the Wraith's metal 'cowl' twitched and shifted as it 'looked' for a cortex, or worse still perhaps a War caster. Its attention for the 'rest' of the 'solids' around it was minimal, since she supposed they were never a threat to one such as incorporeal itself, a slight feral grin came to her features.
Seeing the Wraith seeking about and all but ignoring her, Sunset felt a mixture of anger and pity. Pulling one pistol, she started walking forwards, simply lifting her arm firing with one hand, while rotating the cylinder for the next shot by stamping on the cocking lever with the other.
The sound of gunfire the Wraith was used to ignoring. The feeling of actual 'things' tearing through its insubstantial form sent the creature into stunned shock. One round actually 'pinged' off the insubstantial metal that was part of its form; the rest tore into the wraith. Emptying one pistol, Sunset smoothly holstered it while drawing the other with fluid grace. The wraith sagged backward, as its wounds leaked steaming green phasm. Wailing in its death throws it sagged and crumpled to the cobblestones, its form solidifying as it faded into final death.
"That'll teach ye t' ignore me." Sunset spoke quietly as she stopped to look over the fallen thing, nudging its inert form with a boot, while already deftly stripping the spent cylinders and replacing them with fresh, fully loaded ones from the deep pockets of her great coat.
"Humph. Y' made that look easy. I've got t' get me some of them rounds." Standborough commented with a tinge of admiration in his voice coming up to also look at the remains.
"I don't think you can afford the price, mate." She replied somewhat absently.
*..................................................................*
Hogart peered over the rough stone battlements, trying to discern what the Cyrixian forces were up to. Through the thinning fog he could just make out the enemies own hasty defensive works. He'd never heard of the critters doing things like this before, it was one of the reasons he was estimating a small scouting force. Why else would a bunch of shambling corpses try and conserve there numbers? He saw a movement through the mists heading towards the 'East Way' and swore, quickly raising a rifle and firing a hasty warning shot, the sound being partially obscured by the shrill scream of steam that came from the direction of the 'Green Gate'.
*..................................................................*
The old line "The easiest way is often mined was the inspiration for the blasting powder traps.
Deathripper Bone-jack
EDIT: Fixed a few things I hadn't noticed before. *Bows to LadyTevar* Both sides still have tricks up their respective sleeves to pull.
Last edited by Peebo-T on 2011-01-29 04:11am, edited 1 time in total.
Re: Hunters, Hunted. (An Iron Kingdoms Story)
GO Sunset!!!!!
Now, how can you stop the *real* army?
Now, how can you stop the *real* army?
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
Re: Hunters, Hunted. (An Iron Kingdoms Story)
*......................................................................*
Instincts caused Sunset to leap at Standborough, driving them both to the ground as multiple steam driven rounds scythed though the space they'd occupied, ripping into the line of troopers standing ready in their volley lines. With long, joint leg'd strides the form of a Leviathan Hell jack stalked into the light of the arcano-lanterns at the opening of the road way, green light shining from its eye plates as it surveyed all before it. Curling wisps of steam drifting from the triple barrels of its spent rotary cannon.
*......................................................................*
Jonathann and the knot of troopers he was relaying orders with were distracted by the distant sounding of the scream whistle, the Wrangler too busy checking systems in Smith. No one immediately noticed the great hulking shape come stalking out of the ragged mist and powder smoke, Hogart's warning round's noise lost in amongst the other shrill echoing sound. The metallic 'plink' of the ricocheting round off its hull not even noticed by the huge, hulking dark form that paused, standing at the entrance to the 'East' Way.
*........................................................................*
Ixarvexious, Ysillith and her crew heard the distant familiar whistling scream. All the Satyxis 'perked' up at the noise and clustered closer around Ysillith. Ixarvexious could see the blood lust rising in the fell women's eyes, it turned and deftly began climbing the sheltering mound of the earth works even as its form shimmering and disappearing from view.
*.......................................................................*
The Leviathan stood on the threshold of the 'Green gate' way. After slowly scanning the area, as sporadic rifle fire and grenades peppered its hull, it elevated its cannon muzzles and proceeded to methodically sweep the warehouse rooftops. The scouts there dropped flat trying to use the buildings intervening structure for cover and finding to their horror that the cannon rounds were terrifyingly efficient at turning the brickwork itself into lethal shrapnel.
Penelope heard the report of the cannon fire and swore in frustration. Quickly flicking switches on her gear, she felt/heard the rig begin to hum in response, she called orders to 'Stall', while changing her gait from 'keep pace lope' to ground eating full tilt. Desperately trying to cover the final street lengths' distance, she came pelting into chaos, some troopers were potting ineffectively at the heavy Hell-jack, others were dragging wounded to safety. She saw the immobile shape of Sergeant Standborough amongst the building rubble and something inside her snapped, flicking switches, her voice became amplified as it was channeled through the machanika harness she wore.
"Hey! Scrap Head!" She yelled, standing alone at the end of the street, surrounded by the dead, dying and wounded. The Leviathan Hell-jacks' vision plates turned and focused, the cannon muzzles dropped and locking on. The machine cycled in a fresh clip of rounds with a loud "K-Chunk!" as its hell furnace glow intensified in its built up of internal steam pressure. Upon its weapon arm the triple barrels again began to spin up to speed.
*.................................................................................................*
Jonathann and his troop heard the sound of grenades and rifle fire as the shrill sound echoing through the town faded. Some of the volley gunners started to shoot haphazardly as they saw the black shape come looming out of the mist and smoke. Jonathann turned to see the great dark shape and eerie green glow of a Slayer Hell jack. Its bulk easily shrugging off the hastily thrown grenades and sporadic rifle fire. The Jack Wrangler adjusted Smiths stance, raised its cannon and fired. To which the Hell jack simply sidestepped the shot with a weird, articulate ease. Then -with a series of quick, graceful lopes from its animistic shaped legs -its pace quickly brought it directly into melee range with the smaller machine. Under the guidance of its controlling Wrangler the Stalwart swung its blade, against which the Slayer sidestepped; the stalwart chopped, the Slayer shifted, leaning away.
As the two metal giants went at it, Jonathann ordered his troops back off into the side streets and gave swift orders to equip with Myrtells' explosive pole arms, quickly yelling instructions to the sergeants on there use. Once they'd nodded understanding he turned and ran to the aid of the Jack wrangler.
Whether swing, lunge or chop the Slayer kept avoiding the sweeping blade as directed by the wrangler. As Jonathann neared the two machines, the Slayer deftly sidestepped again, shifting its stance inside the reach of the great War-Jack sized battle blade, and grabbing the Stalwarts sword arm. With seeming casual ease it then reached out and latched onto the heavy cannon shield with its other claw. With the smaller War-jack now held in its great claws and showing contemptuous grace - using its prey as 'support' -it gave a great kicking stomp with a metal rending, taloned foot, the disembowelling gouge ripping through the mechanical guts of the smaller 'Jack. Leaking oil, venting steam, the Stalwart Smith collapsed onto the cobble stones at the Slayers feet. The Hell-jack's gaze turned from its fallen prey and shifted to focus on the small humans standing before it.
"Go!" Jonathann ordered and the gaping wrangler nodded, turned and ran. Jonathann circled the Hell jack as it released the wreckage, its eye plates now swung towards his movement.
"We're going to have to bill you for that." He called indicating the ruins of Smith. With blinding speed the Slayer crouched and snatching up the Stalwarts fallen blade, ripping the other machine's hand off with the force and threw the great length of metal.
*...........................................................................*
Hogart swore at the ineffectiveness of the rifles and grenades and the lack of effect they were having. He was about to shout orders when Denby thumped his side to get his attention.
"Sarge? Somethin' weird goin' on!" She yelled over the combat as she pointed into the tattered mists. From near the large mound and pit the attackers were using as shelter a channel was forming in the earth. There was no plume of dirt; it was simply as if some unseen force pushed the soil aside to create the trench that was bearing towards them. Hogart, Denby and the rest fired at the area around the front of the phenomenon, the rounds not seeming to connect with anything.
"Get the blast lances ready! We're gonna....!" His voice drowned out as the rent in the earth started to climb the fosse and intersect the booby traps of buried kegs of primed blasting powder, packed with their lethal load of shrapnel. As the roiling eruptions of earth and dirt drew closer, some scouts hunkered down in, others scrambled to brace the long, pole arm weapons allotted to them. Hogart tried to peer through the rain of dirt as it showered over him
*Damn powder jockeys laid their presents a bit close* He thought as the last of the kegs at the top of the rise detonated, flinching as pieces of shrapnel pinged off his helmet and shoulder plates. Suddenly he felt 'strange', his limbs growing leaden as his mind felt full of wool fleece. He blinked as the large Iron clad form materialised in before of him. He felt the blast lance batted out of his slackening grasp and a crushing pain in his chest as the steam hissing Lich casually reached out and took hold of him with a talloned fist, then seemed to effortlessly pick him up and lift him closer. Distantly he heard Denbys' rifle sound; he fumbled at his harness as his vision 'tunnelled' and spots began to dance across his sight
*Finally got one over Stand!* He thought with glee, as he shoved a gloved right fist inside the things workings, his last coherent thought was,
*That's a pretty face.*
Ixarvexious unleashed its magic on the hapless defenders at the top of the mound wall, becoming visible as it did doing so. Most dropped immediately, one still fumbling with some sort of mechanika pole arm. Swatting it away it reached out and took a crushing hold of the troopers' chest plate, talloned claws punching into metal and the flesh beneath.
Drawing the dying man close. Ixarvexious could not, for the un-life of it, understand why the idiot was grinning from ear to ear. As the light faded from the man's eyes and his essence began to swirl down towards its soul cages, Ixarvexious' gaze traced down to where the soldiers'
arm was wedged within its torso and the object clutched there.
**Oh...**
BOOOM !
*.................................................................................*
Ysillith and her crew were more than half way along the trench, many still cursing the drizzle of dirt that trickled from the night sky from the Lich arcane workings, when the eldritch blast washed over them. Instinct threw them to the bottom of their cover; Ysillith was the first up glancing at the dissipating swirl of energy where the Lich had been even as she started to charge forward again.
"Don't dawdle!" She yelled, "Go for the breach! Move! Move! MOVE!" In a graceful rush, the Satyxis raiders swarmed up the trench after her. She didn't slow down at the top, just glanced quickly at the devastation as she ran past, drawing her battle blade and leading the way down into the dark town streets before them.
After a few moments the scrabbling talons of Bone jacks issued from out of the trench as the smaller hulled machines were unleashed upon the town now un-opposed. Soon there after Necrotechs and Thralls emerged from the earth wound, the first group to begin claiming their spoils.
*.........................................................................*
As the thrown, 'Jack sized, weapon spun through the air a look of horror crossed Jonathanns' face.
"No!" He cried; reaching after the gyrating span as it smashed into the fleeing Wrangler, sweeping him into the line of Gunners standing in their Volley line, ending in a crushing tangle of bodies. The same death-dealing paw of the Slayer then scything back through the space Jonathann quickly vaulted from.
He glared at the construct, rotating the sword in his metal grip, gauging the machines reach and possible range of motions. The power from the turbine worked into the back-plate of his armour passing through the mechanika limb and into the rune plates of the sword, which activated to cast a shimmering-gleam across the blade's metal. Even as with a series of powerful lunges, swings and swipes the night-hulled machine began to be thrust at Jonathann, seeming to be more playing at making Jonathann evade its attacks. A great black hulled metal cat swatting at a smaller, human sized, mouse.
Focusing on the green glowing eye-plates Jonathann kept the bulk of the machine in his peripheral vision, trying to learn its body/hull language, the better to anticipate its attacks and follow-throughs. Suddenly the Slayer lunged with its long, curved head mounted tusks, immediately followed by driving another powerful scything swipe crossways. Jonathann dodged the first, quickly dropping into a crouch beneath the second.
There came the bell ring of steel on steel as Jonathanns' blade sliced along through the underside of the huge claw that flew over him. He bounced up and away just in time to avoid the second great taloned paw that slammed down into the cobbled streets, its claws creating hissing gouges in the stones as the claws acid tainted blades scratched across the stones.
The Slayer paused, and then stepped back. It opened and closed the scarred fist, a dry *hiss-puck* sounding alongside the actuators movements. The eye-plates looked from the damage back to Jonathann.
"That's right, you over blown grain thrasher! I'm the one that's going to be taking you apart, piece by piece." He grinned wildly with a dark cast to his looks, flicking hissing green bile from his silvery sheathed blade. Now it was the Hell jack that began to circle Jonathann. Feinting and 'pawing' at him like a great metal beast 'batting' that had discovered its toy was a spiky, dangerous plaything. Jonathann heard explosions from the fosse, but had no time to think about them as the hulking machine began to press its reach advantage.
*...............................................................*
Slayer Hell-Jack
Leviathan Hell-Jack
*Bows* The Lady asks, the artists provides.
Instincts caused Sunset to leap at Standborough, driving them both to the ground as multiple steam driven rounds scythed though the space they'd occupied, ripping into the line of troopers standing ready in their volley lines. With long, joint leg'd strides the form of a Leviathan Hell jack stalked into the light of the arcano-lanterns at the opening of the road way, green light shining from its eye plates as it surveyed all before it. Curling wisps of steam drifting from the triple barrels of its spent rotary cannon.
*......................................................................*
Jonathann and the knot of troopers he was relaying orders with were distracted by the distant sounding of the scream whistle, the Wrangler too busy checking systems in Smith. No one immediately noticed the great hulking shape come stalking out of the ragged mist and powder smoke, Hogart's warning round's noise lost in amongst the other shrill echoing sound. The metallic 'plink' of the ricocheting round off its hull not even noticed by the huge, hulking dark form that paused, standing at the entrance to the 'East' Way.
*........................................................................*
Ixarvexious, Ysillith and her crew heard the distant familiar whistling scream. All the Satyxis 'perked' up at the noise and clustered closer around Ysillith. Ixarvexious could see the blood lust rising in the fell women's eyes, it turned and deftly began climbing the sheltering mound of the earth works even as its form shimmering and disappearing from view.
*.......................................................................*
The Leviathan stood on the threshold of the 'Green gate' way. After slowly scanning the area, as sporadic rifle fire and grenades peppered its hull, it elevated its cannon muzzles and proceeded to methodically sweep the warehouse rooftops. The scouts there dropped flat trying to use the buildings intervening structure for cover and finding to their horror that the cannon rounds were terrifyingly efficient at turning the brickwork itself into lethal shrapnel.
Penelope heard the report of the cannon fire and swore in frustration. Quickly flicking switches on her gear, she felt/heard the rig begin to hum in response, she called orders to 'Stall', while changing her gait from 'keep pace lope' to ground eating full tilt. Desperately trying to cover the final street lengths' distance, she came pelting into chaos, some troopers were potting ineffectively at the heavy Hell-jack, others were dragging wounded to safety. She saw the immobile shape of Sergeant Standborough amongst the building rubble and something inside her snapped, flicking switches, her voice became amplified as it was channeled through the machanika harness she wore.
"Hey! Scrap Head!" She yelled, standing alone at the end of the street, surrounded by the dead, dying and wounded. The Leviathan Hell-jacks' vision plates turned and focused, the cannon muzzles dropped and locking on. The machine cycled in a fresh clip of rounds with a loud "K-Chunk!" as its hell furnace glow intensified in its built up of internal steam pressure. Upon its weapon arm the triple barrels again began to spin up to speed.
*.................................................................................................*
Jonathann and his troop heard the sound of grenades and rifle fire as the shrill sound echoing through the town faded. Some of the volley gunners started to shoot haphazardly as they saw the black shape come looming out of the mist and smoke. Jonathann turned to see the great dark shape and eerie green glow of a Slayer Hell jack. Its bulk easily shrugging off the hastily thrown grenades and sporadic rifle fire. The Jack Wrangler adjusted Smiths stance, raised its cannon and fired. To which the Hell jack simply sidestepped the shot with a weird, articulate ease. Then -with a series of quick, graceful lopes from its animistic shaped legs -its pace quickly brought it directly into melee range with the smaller machine. Under the guidance of its controlling Wrangler the Stalwart swung its blade, against which the Slayer sidestepped; the stalwart chopped, the Slayer shifted, leaning away.
As the two metal giants went at it, Jonathann ordered his troops back off into the side streets and gave swift orders to equip with Myrtells' explosive pole arms, quickly yelling instructions to the sergeants on there use. Once they'd nodded understanding he turned and ran to the aid of the Jack wrangler.
Whether swing, lunge or chop the Slayer kept avoiding the sweeping blade as directed by the wrangler. As Jonathann neared the two machines, the Slayer deftly sidestepped again, shifting its stance inside the reach of the great War-Jack sized battle blade, and grabbing the Stalwarts sword arm. With seeming casual ease it then reached out and latched onto the heavy cannon shield with its other claw. With the smaller War-jack now held in its great claws and showing contemptuous grace - using its prey as 'support' -it gave a great kicking stomp with a metal rending, taloned foot, the disembowelling gouge ripping through the mechanical guts of the smaller 'Jack. Leaking oil, venting steam, the Stalwart Smith collapsed onto the cobble stones at the Slayers feet. The Hell-jack's gaze turned from its fallen prey and shifted to focus on the small humans standing before it.
"Go!" Jonathann ordered and the gaping wrangler nodded, turned and ran. Jonathann circled the Hell jack as it released the wreckage, its eye plates now swung towards his movement.
"We're going to have to bill you for that." He called indicating the ruins of Smith. With blinding speed the Slayer crouched and snatching up the Stalwarts fallen blade, ripping the other machine's hand off with the force and threw the great length of metal.
*...........................................................................*
Hogart swore at the ineffectiveness of the rifles and grenades and the lack of effect they were having. He was about to shout orders when Denby thumped his side to get his attention.
"Sarge? Somethin' weird goin' on!" She yelled over the combat as she pointed into the tattered mists. From near the large mound and pit the attackers were using as shelter a channel was forming in the earth. There was no plume of dirt; it was simply as if some unseen force pushed the soil aside to create the trench that was bearing towards them. Hogart, Denby and the rest fired at the area around the front of the phenomenon, the rounds not seeming to connect with anything.
"Get the blast lances ready! We're gonna....!" His voice drowned out as the rent in the earth started to climb the fosse and intersect the booby traps of buried kegs of primed blasting powder, packed with their lethal load of shrapnel. As the roiling eruptions of earth and dirt drew closer, some scouts hunkered down in, others scrambled to brace the long, pole arm weapons allotted to them. Hogart tried to peer through the rain of dirt as it showered over him
*Damn powder jockeys laid their presents a bit close* He thought as the last of the kegs at the top of the rise detonated, flinching as pieces of shrapnel pinged off his helmet and shoulder plates. Suddenly he felt 'strange', his limbs growing leaden as his mind felt full of wool fleece. He blinked as the large Iron clad form materialised in before of him. He felt the blast lance batted out of his slackening grasp and a crushing pain in his chest as the steam hissing Lich casually reached out and took hold of him with a talloned fist, then seemed to effortlessly pick him up and lift him closer. Distantly he heard Denbys' rifle sound; he fumbled at his harness as his vision 'tunnelled' and spots began to dance across his sight
*Finally got one over Stand!* He thought with glee, as he shoved a gloved right fist inside the things workings, his last coherent thought was,
*That's a pretty face.*
Ixarvexious unleashed its magic on the hapless defenders at the top of the mound wall, becoming visible as it did doing so. Most dropped immediately, one still fumbling with some sort of mechanika pole arm. Swatting it away it reached out and took a crushing hold of the troopers' chest plate, talloned claws punching into metal and the flesh beneath.
Drawing the dying man close. Ixarvexious could not, for the un-life of it, understand why the idiot was grinning from ear to ear. As the light faded from the man's eyes and his essence began to swirl down towards its soul cages, Ixarvexious' gaze traced down to where the soldiers'
arm was wedged within its torso and the object clutched there.
**Oh...**
BOOOM !
*.................................................................................*
Ysillith and her crew were more than half way along the trench, many still cursing the drizzle of dirt that trickled from the night sky from the Lich arcane workings, when the eldritch blast washed over them. Instinct threw them to the bottom of their cover; Ysillith was the first up glancing at the dissipating swirl of energy where the Lich had been even as she started to charge forward again.
"Don't dawdle!" She yelled, "Go for the breach! Move! Move! MOVE!" In a graceful rush, the Satyxis raiders swarmed up the trench after her. She didn't slow down at the top, just glanced quickly at the devastation as she ran past, drawing her battle blade and leading the way down into the dark town streets before them.
After a few moments the scrabbling talons of Bone jacks issued from out of the trench as the smaller hulled machines were unleashed upon the town now un-opposed. Soon there after Necrotechs and Thralls emerged from the earth wound, the first group to begin claiming their spoils.
*.........................................................................*
As the thrown, 'Jack sized, weapon spun through the air a look of horror crossed Jonathanns' face.
"No!" He cried; reaching after the gyrating span as it smashed into the fleeing Wrangler, sweeping him into the line of Gunners standing in their Volley line, ending in a crushing tangle of bodies. The same death-dealing paw of the Slayer then scything back through the space Jonathann quickly vaulted from.
He glared at the construct, rotating the sword in his metal grip, gauging the machines reach and possible range of motions. The power from the turbine worked into the back-plate of his armour passing through the mechanika limb and into the rune plates of the sword, which activated to cast a shimmering-gleam across the blade's metal. Even as with a series of powerful lunges, swings and swipes the night-hulled machine began to be thrust at Jonathann, seeming to be more playing at making Jonathann evade its attacks. A great black hulled metal cat swatting at a smaller, human sized, mouse.
Focusing on the green glowing eye-plates Jonathann kept the bulk of the machine in his peripheral vision, trying to learn its body/hull language, the better to anticipate its attacks and follow-throughs. Suddenly the Slayer lunged with its long, curved head mounted tusks, immediately followed by driving another powerful scything swipe crossways. Jonathann dodged the first, quickly dropping into a crouch beneath the second.
There came the bell ring of steel on steel as Jonathanns' blade sliced along through the underside of the huge claw that flew over him. He bounced up and away just in time to avoid the second great taloned paw that slammed down into the cobbled streets, its claws creating hissing gouges in the stones as the claws acid tainted blades scratched across the stones.
The Slayer paused, and then stepped back. It opened and closed the scarred fist, a dry *hiss-puck* sounding alongside the actuators movements. The eye-plates looked from the damage back to Jonathann.
"That's right, you over blown grain thrasher! I'm the one that's going to be taking you apart, piece by piece." He grinned wildly with a dark cast to his looks, flicking hissing green bile from his silvery sheathed blade. Now it was the Hell jack that began to circle Jonathann. Feinting and 'pawing' at him like a great metal beast 'batting' that had discovered its toy was a spiky, dangerous plaything. Jonathann heard explosions from the fosse, but had no time to think about them as the hulking machine began to press its reach advantage.
*...............................................................*
Slayer Hell-Jack
Leviathan Hell-Jack
*Bows* The Lady asks, the artists provides.
Re: Hunters, Hunted. (An Iron Kingdoms Story)
*..................................................................*
With a scream of ejected steam the Leviathan fired its full load of ammunition. Partly drowned out by the soul-dirge shriek came the screech of metal on stone as the Stalwart came hurtling out of the side street to slide into place before Penelope protectively, great shield held forward against the incoming fire.
"WHANG! SPANG! WHINE!" The flying spines of metal ricocheting off or breaking up on the huge, heavy armour plate of the defender's shield.
"YEAH!" Penelope yelled, "Hurt MY people will you?" With her instructions being sent through the relays to the War Jack, the Stalwart smoothly pirouetted in its crouch to bring its cannon muzzle up to bear, gracefully cross bracing the large weapon with its right arm grasping a handle on the shield for just such a purpose.
"K-Blam!” ‘BRANG!’ The cannon fired with a gout of steam pressure, the round being deflected off the hastily raised great metal claw the Leviathan raised. The large black machine shuffled to squat and hunch itself down, legs and claw drawn up tightly together, its eye-plates glaring green at this new threat before it. The Stalwart quickly shifting back into its defensive stance in front of Penelope. This as the Leviathan re-loaded, propped its own tri-barrels around its great claw and fired again.
"SPANG! WHANG! SHRING!" The impacting rounds doing little more than scratch and pockmark the thick armor plate that was the Stalwart’s shield face.
"Think you can steal my machines and get away with it?!", 'Shift' “K-Boom!” ‘BRANGE!’ The Stalwart spun and fired, impacting again into the defensively held metal of the Leviathans wickedly large pincer. Then, again, immediately drop back into its 'armour front' crouching position. Penelope, sheltered behind the 'Jack, glared at the vision of the Cyrixian machine. Seeing the same image that the Stalwart had, peering around the edge of its great shield, since she was looking at the picture its eye-plates being projecting into her arcano-goggles.
In the streets facing into the 'Green Way' troopers tended the wounded and withdrew behind their barricades, now beginning to bristle with blasting pikes and bayoneted rifles. All raised against the potential of the marauding Hell jack should it win the encounter. The soldiers worry partly offset by the fighting attitude being shown by the young Wrangler. The Hell jack hissed as if in frustration, clunking another brace of ammunition into its cannon, it focused and fired.
"Shreeee, SPANG!" And waited.
"You'll have to do better than THAT! You disjointed, ambulatory excuse of a PIPE ORGAN!" Penelope yelled, her voice amplified by the mechanika built into the War-Jack behind which she stood, and the Stalwart 'shunted' with a sideways motion to be a 'step' closer to the bigger machine.
"Shreeee, SPING!" And the Stalwart 'shunted' closer again in response.
"Shreeee, SPANG!"
'Twist', "K-boom!” ‘BRANG!’ The Stalwart gracefully spun, braced and fired a round that careened off the Hell jacks protectively raised claw, then a 'Twist' back into its 'shield front' defensive pose.
"P#ss off a Myrtell, Huh? BIG mistake boy-o!" Penelope yelled again.
"Ka-CHUNK!" Came the sound, loud even over the venting of boilers and chuffs of venting steam, as the Spiker cannon ammunition magazine was reloaded. The Leviathan crouched, hissing and glowering. It gradually shifted its bulk, slowly unfolding, and turning began to cautiously stalk towards the shield-wielding Stalwart, the triple Spiker cannon muzzles began to ratchet slowly.
*........................................................................*
In the defensive redoubt made of sandbags, metal and wooden bracings at a critical street junction deeper inside the town, Sergeant Muntz listened to the sounds of combat echoing over the town’s rooftops. The cluster of infantry around him bristling out into the dark from behind their strategically positioned barricade. He could hear the civvies in the buildings around them blocking and barricading their doors and windows. The wealthier businesses and residents mounting thick extra brass and copper plates over the heavy wooden planks that every one else had used. His troopers were younger and less experienced than those chosen to hold the entryways but he'd trained them as best he and time had allowed.
"Hissst! Movement Sarge!" One youngster whispered over his shoulder, causing a ripple to spread amongst the pikes and rifles as the soldiers nervously adjusted their grips, all staring intently into the pools of light thrown out by the arcano-lanterns scattered along the streets. Muntz mentally groaned, still he couldn't blame them, this being their first time in a real 'shooting' combat. He peered into the darkness
*P'rolly another bloody cat, most like,* He thought sourly, *Still, haven't seen neither hide nor hair of rats...Eh?* Quickly putting an arcano-tricked out scope to his eye, bringing the gloom into semi clear orange tinted haze. He could make out figures slipping out of one side street, flitting across the road and disappearing down another. His throat bobbed as he gulped nervously, only one creature had adornments and grace like the ones he could see flitting through the gloom.
"Right! Tighten UP! Look lively! If they come, it'll be fast and furious! B Group! Bolster the approach from 'Potters Way'! Don't want any surprises from a flank!"
"Flare Sarge?"
"Aye, one green, one blue." Muntz replied, still scanning the street *D@MN, they're FAST!* were his thoughts as sultry shape after sultry shape slipped passed them through the dark streets.
*.................................*
Jonathann continued to 'spar' with the Hell jack.
"I'll give it to you!" He spoke around the strikes and swings from the big machine, "You're much more fun to play with than a Khardoran hulk!" Jump, shift, deflect, repost. The Slayer's volume of hissing and venting was slowly becoming louder. Its claws, tusks and hull showing a myriad of scores, scratches and slashes from where Jonathanns' arcano-powered sword had struck. Jonathanns' 'Back and breast' plate was similarly acid pitted in return.
"Still, last time I was playing with a 'Jack. It was being run by a PROFESSIONAL!" He suddenly jumped well inside the Hell jacks reach and cleaved at a curved tusk. The construct sweeping him away with a hasty 'backhanded' paw, Jonathann "Uffed!" as he tumbled to the cobblestones and rolled with a clatter as his armour and boiler struck cobblestones. As the great tusk came away from the machines 'skull', the Hell jack stepped back from this attack, shaking its 'head' as it adjusted its balance and assessed the new damage. Jonathann quickly rolled up from where he'd been flung.
"Awww, what's the matter? Can't deal with something that knows how to fight back?" He taunted and chuckled, "C'mon, y' big lug nut! Think of what all you other Hell jack mates 'll say when they hear you've been scrapped..." He was interrupted by the machines renewed flurry of swipes, flails and stomps.
*Great! Perhaps the d@mn thing wants to exercise me to death!* The thoughts ran through his head as he dodged and weaved from the renewed storm of its attacking fury.
*......................................................................*
The Leviathan stalked slowly towards the crouching, shield braced Stalwart. Penelope continued to gauge the gradually narrowing distance between the two machines, through her 'Jack's eye-plates. Suddenly lowering its aim, the Hell jack fired into the cobble stones in front of its prey, using the screen of dust and flying debris to spring forward into the smaller machines space. As it did so, its great claw wrapped around the Stalwarts shield while the tri-barrels of the Spiker cannon whirled up to speed, only to suddenly have its reload system jammed as the Stalwart-instead of bracing further-actually lunged forward in a counter attack of its own.
"WHAT! Ye' expected me to FLINCH? Surprise! I know something you don't know!" Penelope yelled and taunted as the dust cleared to reveal the two machines locked together, limbs entangled. The Leviathans great claw locked around the Stalwarts shield. The Stalwarts' Great Battle blade driven deep into the open ammunition feeder system of the Spiker cannon, who's barrels now spun impotently. Both machines hissed and groaned as they flexed and tensed in each other's grip.
As green eye-plates glowered into red hearth fired eye plates of the Stalwart, the Leviathan slowly shifted its black bulk, it's multiple black legs ticking against the cobbles stones, as it shifted and began to raise one of its heavy spiked forward leg upwards.
*..................*
Teshka slid gracefully after two of her 'raid'. She'd followed the pair after they'd slipped away from the main group. The two had noticed a large complex of buildings that positively screamed 'Secure Valuable Storage' as they'd headed for the warehouses the Boss had picked out. The pair had hung back, then doubled back to check it out for them selves.
The local defenders were scattered in clumps through the town, Teshka couldn't understand the pattern nor reason, and were easily avoided. The problem was it made an even more complicated maze of the rabbit warren of a place. She paused to peer around a final corner, watching Neeras' svelte shape disappear inside the building’s main doors. After a quick glance about, Teshka was across the street and slipping in just as cautiously behind them.
As she glanced at the bodies of the various guards sprawled about she frowned, puzzled by something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Inside, randomly lit by the flickering lights from Arcano-lamps the building’s thick walls cut off the echoing sounds of the surrounding towns' conflict.
Stalking through the corridors she barely noted the coppery tang of spilt blood in the air. Creeping through the gloom with her eyes, ears and pistols flicking to train on anything and every thing, she came to the inner strong rooms -a series of metal doors leading off a central corridor. She frowned,
*Why were all the doors ajar?* She thought as she peered inside one.
*What the...? A cell?* Her curiosity and puzzlement now being tinged with anger at the thought of wasted time and no loot, she blinked as she took in the remains graphically and gruesomely spread around in the next cell she peered into.
*Ookay. Wall-paper effects by psycho and charnel Inc.* Were her thoughts as she carefully stepped around more slumped trooper bodies, the hair on the nape of her neck started to crawl, her puzzled expression clouding further as she noted the other swaths of blood liberally sprayed about. A sudden noise had her spinning, guns and attention locking onto a body slumping further in death. Suddenly the knowledge hit her; all the wounds she could see had the hallmarks of a Satyxian Lacerator, the braided length of serrated steel links a Reaver Witch would normally use when attacking. In quick succession the thoughts rippled through her mind
*Sh#t! Trap! Set Up! Run! Revenge!* She tried to still everything, her movements, her breathing, her racing heart beat. Then she saw Keirran backing slowly around a corner, battle blade raised and poised. Teshka could see the wild look in the other Satyxian's eyes; the blood splattered clothing she wore. It was Kierras stare over Teshka's shoulder, however, that had the youngster ducking and rolling out of the way of a lacerator whip as it ripped through the space she'd been standing in, continuing onwards in its deadly sweep to entangle Keirrans' weapon. Teshka fired into the attacking form even as it dropped the not fouled whip and danced away into the shadows.
"GET! Warn...!" Even as Keirran cleared her sword and shouted the message, Teshka watched a great serpentine blade sprout from Keirran’s armoured chest, as the pale faced figure drove the length of steel through her from the darkness behind. Teshkas' spreading grin was feral as she swapped pistols and fired again.
Oh how she did love a challenge!
*.......................................................................*
With a scream of ejected steam the Leviathan fired its full load of ammunition. Partly drowned out by the soul-dirge shriek came the screech of metal on stone as the Stalwart came hurtling out of the side street to slide into place before Penelope protectively, great shield held forward against the incoming fire.
"WHANG! SPANG! WHINE!" The flying spines of metal ricocheting off or breaking up on the huge, heavy armour plate of the defender's shield.
"YEAH!" Penelope yelled, "Hurt MY people will you?" With her instructions being sent through the relays to the War Jack, the Stalwart smoothly pirouetted in its crouch to bring its cannon muzzle up to bear, gracefully cross bracing the large weapon with its right arm grasping a handle on the shield for just such a purpose.
"K-Blam!” ‘BRANG!’ The cannon fired with a gout of steam pressure, the round being deflected off the hastily raised great metal claw the Leviathan raised. The large black machine shuffled to squat and hunch itself down, legs and claw drawn up tightly together, its eye-plates glaring green at this new threat before it. The Stalwart quickly shifting back into its defensive stance in front of Penelope. This as the Leviathan re-loaded, propped its own tri-barrels around its great claw and fired again.
"SPANG! WHANG! SHRING!" The impacting rounds doing little more than scratch and pockmark the thick armor plate that was the Stalwart’s shield face.
"Think you can steal my machines and get away with it?!", 'Shift' “K-Boom!” ‘BRANGE!’ The Stalwart spun and fired, impacting again into the defensively held metal of the Leviathans wickedly large pincer. Then, again, immediately drop back into its 'armour front' crouching position. Penelope, sheltered behind the 'Jack, glared at the vision of the Cyrixian machine. Seeing the same image that the Stalwart had, peering around the edge of its great shield, since she was looking at the picture its eye-plates being projecting into her arcano-goggles.
In the streets facing into the 'Green Way' troopers tended the wounded and withdrew behind their barricades, now beginning to bristle with blasting pikes and bayoneted rifles. All raised against the potential of the marauding Hell jack should it win the encounter. The soldiers worry partly offset by the fighting attitude being shown by the young Wrangler. The Hell jack hissed as if in frustration, clunking another brace of ammunition into its cannon, it focused and fired.
"Shreeee, SPANG!" And waited.
"You'll have to do better than THAT! You disjointed, ambulatory excuse of a PIPE ORGAN!" Penelope yelled, her voice amplified by the mechanika built into the War-Jack behind which she stood, and the Stalwart 'shunted' with a sideways motion to be a 'step' closer to the bigger machine.
"Shreeee, SPING!" And the Stalwart 'shunted' closer again in response.
"Shreeee, SPANG!"
'Twist', "K-boom!” ‘BRANG!’ The Stalwart gracefully spun, braced and fired a round that careened off the Hell jacks protectively raised claw, then a 'Twist' back into its 'shield front' defensive pose.
"P#ss off a Myrtell, Huh? BIG mistake boy-o!" Penelope yelled again.
"Ka-CHUNK!" Came the sound, loud even over the venting of boilers and chuffs of venting steam, as the Spiker cannon ammunition magazine was reloaded. The Leviathan crouched, hissing and glowering. It gradually shifted its bulk, slowly unfolding, and turning began to cautiously stalk towards the shield-wielding Stalwart, the triple Spiker cannon muzzles began to ratchet slowly.
*........................................................................*
In the defensive redoubt made of sandbags, metal and wooden bracings at a critical street junction deeper inside the town, Sergeant Muntz listened to the sounds of combat echoing over the town’s rooftops. The cluster of infantry around him bristling out into the dark from behind their strategically positioned barricade. He could hear the civvies in the buildings around them blocking and barricading their doors and windows. The wealthier businesses and residents mounting thick extra brass and copper plates over the heavy wooden planks that every one else had used. His troopers were younger and less experienced than those chosen to hold the entryways but he'd trained them as best he and time had allowed.
"Hissst! Movement Sarge!" One youngster whispered over his shoulder, causing a ripple to spread amongst the pikes and rifles as the soldiers nervously adjusted their grips, all staring intently into the pools of light thrown out by the arcano-lanterns scattered along the streets. Muntz mentally groaned, still he couldn't blame them, this being their first time in a real 'shooting' combat. He peered into the darkness
*P'rolly another bloody cat, most like,* He thought sourly, *Still, haven't seen neither hide nor hair of rats...Eh?* Quickly putting an arcano-tricked out scope to his eye, bringing the gloom into semi clear orange tinted haze. He could make out figures slipping out of one side street, flitting across the road and disappearing down another. His throat bobbed as he gulped nervously, only one creature had adornments and grace like the ones he could see flitting through the gloom.
"Right! Tighten UP! Look lively! If they come, it'll be fast and furious! B Group! Bolster the approach from 'Potters Way'! Don't want any surprises from a flank!"
"Flare Sarge?"
"Aye, one green, one blue." Muntz replied, still scanning the street *D@MN, they're FAST!* were his thoughts as sultry shape after sultry shape slipped passed them through the dark streets.
*.................................*
Jonathann continued to 'spar' with the Hell jack.
"I'll give it to you!" He spoke around the strikes and swings from the big machine, "You're much more fun to play with than a Khardoran hulk!" Jump, shift, deflect, repost. The Slayer's volume of hissing and venting was slowly becoming louder. Its claws, tusks and hull showing a myriad of scores, scratches and slashes from where Jonathanns' arcano-powered sword had struck. Jonathanns' 'Back and breast' plate was similarly acid pitted in return.
"Still, last time I was playing with a 'Jack. It was being run by a PROFESSIONAL!" He suddenly jumped well inside the Hell jacks reach and cleaved at a curved tusk. The construct sweeping him away with a hasty 'backhanded' paw, Jonathann "Uffed!" as he tumbled to the cobblestones and rolled with a clatter as his armour and boiler struck cobblestones. As the great tusk came away from the machines 'skull', the Hell jack stepped back from this attack, shaking its 'head' as it adjusted its balance and assessed the new damage. Jonathann quickly rolled up from where he'd been flung.
"Awww, what's the matter? Can't deal with something that knows how to fight back?" He taunted and chuckled, "C'mon, y' big lug nut! Think of what all you other Hell jack mates 'll say when they hear you've been scrapped..." He was interrupted by the machines renewed flurry of swipes, flails and stomps.
*Great! Perhaps the d@mn thing wants to exercise me to death!* The thoughts ran through his head as he dodged and weaved from the renewed storm of its attacking fury.
*......................................................................*
The Leviathan stalked slowly towards the crouching, shield braced Stalwart. Penelope continued to gauge the gradually narrowing distance between the two machines, through her 'Jack's eye-plates. Suddenly lowering its aim, the Hell jack fired into the cobble stones in front of its prey, using the screen of dust and flying debris to spring forward into the smaller machines space. As it did so, its great claw wrapped around the Stalwarts shield while the tri-barrels of the Spiker cannon whirled up to speed, only to suddenly have its reload system jammed as the Stalwart-instead of bracing further-actually lunged forward in a counter attack of its own.
"WHAT! Ye' expected me to FLINCH? Surprise! I know something you don't know!" Penelope yelled and taunted as the dust cleared to reveal the two machines locked together, limbs entangled. The Leviathans great claw locked around the Stalwarts shield. The Stalwarts' Great Battle blade driven deep into the open ammunition feeder system of the Spiker cannon, who's barrels now spun impotently. Both machines hissed and groaned as they flexed and tensed in each other's grip.
As green eye-plates glowered into red hearth fired eye plates of the Stalwart, the Leviathan slowly shifted its black bulk, it's multiple black legs ticking against the cobbles stones, as it shifted and began to raise one of its heavy spiked forward leg upwards.
*..................*
Teshka slid gracefully after two of her 'raid'. She'd followed the pair after they'd slipped away from the main group. The two had noticed a large complex of buildings that positively screamed 'Secure Valuable Storage' as they'd headed for the warehouses the Boss had picked out. The pair had hung back, then doubled back to check it out for them selves.
The local defenders were scattered in clumps through the town, Teshka couldn't understand the pattern nor reason, and were easily avoided. The problem was it made an even more complicated maze of the rabbit warren of a place. She paused to peer around a final corner, watching Neeras' svelte shape disappear inside the building’s main doors. After a quick glance about, Teshka was across the street and slipping in just as cautiously behind them.
As she glanced at the bodies of the various guards sprawled about she frowned, puzzled by something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Inside, randomly lit by the flickering lights from Arcano-lamps the building’s thick walls cut off the echoing sounds of the surrounding towns' conflict.
Stalking through the corridors she barely noted the coppery tang of spilt blood in the air. Creeping through the gloom with her eyes, ears and pistols flicking to train on anything and every thing, she came to the inner strong rooms -a series of metal doors leading off a central corridor. She frowned,
*Why were all the doors ajar?* She thought as she peered inside one.
*What the...? A cell?* Her curiosity and puzzlement now being tinged with anger at the thought of wasted time and no loot, she blinked as she took in the remains graphically and gruesomely spread around in the next cell she peered into.
*Ookay. Wall-paper effects by psycho and charnel Inc.* Were her thoughts as she carefully stepped around more slumped trooper bodies, the hair on the nape of her neck started to crawl, her puzzled expression clouding further as she noted the other swaths of blood liberally sprayed about. A sudden noise had her spinning, guns and attention locking onto a body slumping further in death. Suddenly the knowledge hit her; all the wounds she could see had the hallmarks of a Satyxian Lacerator, the braided length of serrated steel links a Reaver Witch would normally use when attacking. In quick succession the thoughts rippled through her mind
*Sh#t! Trap! Set Up! Run! Revenge!* She tried to still everything, her movements, her breathing, her racing heart beat. Then she saw Keirran backing slowly around a corner, battle blade raised and poised. Teshka could see the wild look in the other Satyxian's eyes; the blood splattered clothing she wore. It was Kierras stare over Teshka's shoulder, however, that had the youngster ducking and rolling out of the way of a lacerator whip as it ripped through the space she'd been standing in, continuing onwards in its deadly sweep to entangle Keirrans' weapon. Teshka fired into the attacking form even as it dropped the not fouled whip and danced away into the shadows.
"GET! Warn...!" Even as Keirran cleared her sword and shouted the message, Teshka watched a great serpentine blade sprout from Keirran’s armoured chest, as the pale faced figure drove the length of steel through her from the darkness behind. Teshkas' spreading grin was feral as she swapped pistols and fired again.
Oh how she did love a challenge!
*.......................................................................*