Rogueport


Sera didn't bother to try and hide her confusion. "Four--gods?"

She gave Audra an utterly blank stare. "um. What?"


____

Tsuminar

Larent's eyes glittered in dark amusement. She was going to be an interesting woman to work with. He caught the attention of a waitress, ignoring the woman's confusion as she looked to his previous table, and then to his table. A hand-signal later and tea was soon to be delivered for he as well.

After the momentary stall, his eyes glanced up to his contact, "You're rather good looking yourself. But I'd much rather get to know you first before we "go to town" on each other." He replied with a slender smile. "We should do a job together."


____


Stamarian 7th Armored Legion. Cher Plek Roadways



It was perhaps early morning, the convoy of Stamarian vehicles having not stopped during the night, continuing their homewards journey. In Terrel's truck, near the back third of the convoy. The trooper nearest her spoke up. "Uh--Girl. Terren?"

One of the half-sleeping soldiers next to him kicked the young man in the shin. "It's "Terrel", idiot. get it right." The second man muttered before closing his eyes again.

The first soldier grimaced, rubbing his shin. "Terrel," he repeated, louder this time in case she hadn't heard the commotion.

Aleina covered a smile in part by raising her teacup to her mouth, though her eyes still gleamed over the rim. "Should we?" she replied conversationally, as if she were just now thinking of the prospect. "We could be a good pair, you and me. Maybe too good. It's almost..." she paused, frowning in fake thought, "almost as if someone wanted us to meet here, hm? Crazy world we live in, that."

---

Terrel kept her eyes shut when the man butchered her name the first time. A couple of months ago, she wouldn't have thought twice about it. She had played the game, but it wasn't her real life... but that wasn't the case anymore. Now those two worlds were converging again, and it burned inside of her. Who was she, anymore? Just Terrel? When the guy got her name right the second time, she decided she couldn't fake sleeping forever.

"Mmm, what?" she said groggily with a jump, pretending as if she'd just been woken. "Sorry," she mumbled. "Do you need me to move?" She'd be meek with the Stamarians, if that's what it took. The last time she had been too brazen to do it, and the memory still churned painfully.

Tsuminar



"Bloody insane, really." He replied easily. "But then, we do so enjoy the insanity."


____



Stamarian 7th Armored Legion. Cher Plek Roadways


The soldier shook his head, his own eyes a bit droopy. His dark fatigues rumpled and dusty, the gun at his side coated in twigs and leaves to blend in better with the jungle. Behind the scruffy five'o'clock shadow, he appeared quite young. Maybe early twenties, at best. "Uh---no." He muttered a bit awkwardly. "We got you some food. If you want. Do you like--potatoes?" He ended lamely. Proffering a steaming tin bowl of something that resembled potato soup and emanated a delicious smell.

Edited by Ajax on January 17, 2015 at 4:35:08

"Her naiveté is adorable, isn't it?" Audra remarked to Fille.

"Don't tease her," Fille admonished back, her expression flat. "I wouldn't have known all of the big names in this world either, if not for other people's help."

"Fair enough," Audra said noncommittally. She sat up in her seat and leaned into the table to explain to Sera. "There's a team of Korin-aligned players out there--they're all from South America or something like that--and they've pretty much been beating the snot out of every enemy they've come across with their bare fists even though they're mages."

"They call themselves the Four Gods of the Earth," Fille continued for her, glancing momentarily at the others in the bar. "They're all really, really powerful players. Some think they'd give the White Devil a run for his money. They're not people you want to be on the bad side of and they don't like being manipulated." She said that one while glancing pointedly at Audra, who ignored it.

"Hasn't stopped people from manipulating them," she remarked. "And hell, what's to say they wouldn't want Liam gone?"

Rogueport



"Well . . ." Sera began, distaste in her tone at even voicing such thoughts. "They're Korin. He's renowned for killing Korin. And he's Stamarian. And he's in Cher Plek. So . . .of course they'd want him dead. right?"

Audra picked up her drink and sipped at it, staring over the rim at Sera for a bit without saying anything. Finally, she set the glass back down and spoke. "Well, I suppose it'd depend on what Stamarian is in what area. Now, if I were in the Korin--I'm not--but if I were, I think I'd want a Stamarian commander who was completely incompetent running the show somewhere. It wouldn't do if the Korin killed an enemy who was useless and got someone competent to deal with as a result, right?"

"You think that Liam guy is incompetent?" Fille prodded, thinking she saw where her friend was going with this line of thought.

"Mm, it's possible. He attacked Rogueport, which is one of the dumbest things you could ever do in this neck of the woods. But... we'll see how good he is."

"Do we now?" Aleina replied dryly, her answer not holding the least bit of a question as her amused smile slipped into something with less mirth. Elle'n had mentioned he liked to stall, but Aleina was a woman who could make that sort of judgment for herself. So far, though, she was mostly reminded why she tried to avoid doing business with Stamarians, of whom Elle'n was the worst. The ones with character rarely got promoted.

"So what next, then?" she prodded. According to Elle'n, this man knew next to nothing about her or her skills, so she'd imagine he would want to know about that before trying to employ her on some heist. Then, of course, was the matter of the heist itself. All Aleina had been told up to this point was "Robbing the Stamarians" which sounded both dangerous and satisfying. Even if it was the death of her someday, she'd never give up the chance to rake them through the coals.

---

Terrel released a small, quietly-held sigh of relief at the mention of food instead of torture, imprisonment, or something else that these men probably specialized in. She didn't need to eat, necessarily. Players had complained a long time ago that having a character who needed sleep and food like a normal person got taxing after a while. NPCs, on the other hand, fed and pissed and slept like any normal person would. The more time she'd spent as a Theta, though, the harder it was becoming to not slip into that--to even remember that this body wasn't her actual one.

Besides, though, if she could come across as an NPC? It'd be a whole lot better than being a player. An NPC could say with much more conviction than a player ever could that a place like Kallagulia or a nation like Stamaria was home for them, and that's who she needed to be right now.

"Yeah, food'd be great," she said after a moment, nodding eagerly.

---

Sarah:

I've got a bead on something interesting, if you're still taking jobs. No payer, yet, just a rumor for something--or someone, who knows--that might be valuable. Some guy is set to go big in Minervum in a couple of days about these things called the 'Arcanum Relics' which, maybe you've heard of them, are supposed to be these all-powerful toys. Don't know if I buy it yet, but he's not the only one on the trail, and for good reason. In the last week alone I've been flooded with intel that all trace back to these things, one way or the other. Something's changing--no one knows what, but when this Oracle guy starts talking, it's going to hit the fan. But anyway, I'll get to the point.

There's a lead on one early, up north in Kouchi. If you head for it now, you can probably get there in three, maybe four days and get a good jump before the rest of these 'adventurers' get all excited. Not sure what you're flying, these days, but I've got a Tsuminar craft you can borrow that should get you there quick.

Well... actually, you can have it. It's pretty ancient, so I might not count on it to get you back. I think it'll be worth the trip.

Right, though, about that. You've heard of the Great Wall, I'm guessing. Huge palisade, dug into the permafrost, about a thousand miles long on the edge of the wasteland? Yeah, you've heard of it. They say half the world's monster kills are creatures ramming themselves into the darn thing, trying to push through. Every few dozen miles, though, there're villages and cities who've protected the Wall since this whole place got spinning. Sure, they've got lookouts and towers and beacons and the whole lot, but mostly they're just tough as nails. Takes a special something to survive up there, I bet.

Okay, but really, this is where I'm going. One of these villages--Thimbelatch, they call it--has got something. Maybe it's information or even one of those shining relics; I've got no idea, but I trust my source. Last time I heard from this guy, it was big, and this makes it sound like it's even bigger.

So check it out, maybe? I'm almost positive I'm one of the first ones on this, and it sounds right up your alley. I've attached the coordinates to this voicemail, but I've gotta run now.

Whatever you do, though, keep safe up there--all right?

Victor: out.

Edited by Ribitta on January 17, 2015 at 19:04:03

That had been the message, at any rate. For all of Victor's rambling, he'd made the job sound easy. Fly off to the Wall and track down some information in a backwater in the middle of nowhere? She had doubted there would be any real viable info to glean, but certainly an easy mission.

Why do I do this to myself? she bemoaned in her head. She should've known better. Staring at the wreckage of the vessel he'd loaned her, feeling the rising chill of the mountainside where it crashed, Atalanta couldn't help but feel like the region was already out to get her.

Most of the machine was intact--scant blessing as it was--but there was no way it was going to fly again any time soon. Both flight units had been shorn off in the crash when the reactor had given out, and the nose of the craft was a crumpled mess buried in snow and icy rock. Perhaps she should be grateful for that snow--simplified putting out the fire that had charred the back end. Still, black smoke was billowing out into a gray, overcast sky.

Wrapping the faded brown cloak closer around her, Atalanta turned and gazed out down the mountain. "At least it's in range," she sighed, looking at what she hoped was the village of Thimbelatch. It was pretty far off from here, not counting the trek down to the mountain. Perhaps someone had seen the crash--the smoke coming from it would certainly be visible to them even across this distance--and would meet her halfway.

She snorted. "Not bloody likely," came her bitter murmur. The wind was picking up, and stinging at her face. So here she was, stranded on a mountain, most of her purchased gear destroyed, and her only easy way out of here a derelict wreck.

Yeah. Definitely the kind of lead Victor would give her.

Rogueport



Sera had to resist the urge to stick her tongue between her teeth as she thought about the situation. Her mother had hated the expression she made, cheeks puffing out and tip of the tongue barely seen between her lips. "Not befitting a singer." Her mother had said.

And yet, it always threw her off when she had to catch herself from doing it. Thus, there was a noticeable pause between Audra's words and Sera's addition. "Are these four gods . . .are they Theta's? I mean. If they're not. they pretty much win the fight hands down. they can just respawn."


____

Tsuminar


Larent smiled as he poured a cup of tea for himself. The expression surprisingly genuine. She didn't seem terribly fond of small-talk. Perhaps best to cut to the chase. "That depends. Is your afternoon free?" He questioned over the steaming liquid.


____

Stamarian 7th Armored Legion. Cher Plek Roadways


The soldier nodded, kneeling and slipping the plate into her hands. "We're almost to the Exclusion Zone. 'Nother hour or two, maybe. Then an hour to get into the central compound." He leaned back, resting his rifle against the rattling side of the truck as they bumped and trundled over the uneven Cher Plek roads. "Figure we can get you on an airship for home in--oh, six hours?"

Thimbelatch erupted with commotion. A meteor? Dark forces gathering? Outsiders come to stick their nose in, where they could not handle the cold? No one knew for sure. Just as surely as no one knew, though, no one planned on keeping it that way. Within minutes of the first sighting, a dozen rough-faced men were strapping on their armor and belting their swords before pulling up their cloaks. Whatever that thing was, be it a device from the Enemy or mere happenstance, they would get to the bottom of it. That meant going into the Waste, though, and that meant being prepared. As much as no man wished to wait a minute longer, patience meant life right now.

A handful at a time, armored men trotted into the village square, looking left and right to see which others were on there way. Before long, any man who had been into the Waste before was ready to go, though that number was only fourteen or fifteen men, depending on who you counted. One of them in particular, though, with battered, dark-green armor trimmed with gold color, looked around searchingly.

"Where is Shemram?" he said under his breath, though the man near him caught it.

"There," the other said, pointing to an older man just now emerging from the town hall. The man in the green armor blinked in surprise. Shemram was there, all right, but he wore a cloak and no armor. Even the sword was missing from his hip, and that man sometimes even forgot to take it off for meals.

"What delay?" he asked, dutiful impatience in his voice. "Any longer, and there's no telling..." He trailed off as the older man raised a hand.

"Calm yourself, John, there is no delay. You will lead this excursion--the timing is right," Shemram was saying, and the other men murmured thoughtfully. Truthfully, they had every right to murmur. John was an outsider, though they had accepted him as one of them shortly. He didn't remember the outside--only duty. It had been an easy bond.

He opened his mouth to protest, more out of principle than anything, but he closed it again. It was Shemram's choice to make, and they could waste no time. "We'll talk of this when we return," he said at last, and the men around him nodded as well. In a month's time, he had earned enough respect with them to lead an excursion, but more than anything they were interested in being on with it. So was he.

"Oh, we will talk," the man said knowingly. Then, turning his eyes to the mountain, commented thoughtfully, "I suspect it is an outsider. Supposing it is no friend of the enemy, it will take you two or three hours to get there. Well, what are you waiting for? Go!"

---

Aleina leaned back easily, regaining some of her mirth. This would be too painful if she couldn't keep a good sense of humor through the whole thing. "Oh, I've cancelled all my appointments, just for you. Even took my pill, just in-case," she said with a smirk, giving him a wink as she did it. "Any special plans for our lovely afternoon together?"

---

Terrel took the plate, trying to look eager at the prospect of food. It looked like typical army grub, but who cared? This was about survival now--how fitting. As she was about to take a bite, though, she caught one of the words he said and dropped her utensil loudly, cursing as she did it.

"Compound?" she said, questioningly, though she immediately regretted losing her calmness. That word, though... Something about it made her feel nervous. Very nervous.

"I haven't heard of them being confirmed as Thetas," Fille admitted, though she sounded doubtful. Which was obvious, after all--she tried to stay away from monsters like the Four Gods. Their status as Thetas or not mattered little to her. Instead, she glanced back over to Audra, her expression asking the same question that Sera had spoken.

The thief shrugged and took another sip of her drink. "Dunno. Hasn't exactly been our priority to check who's Thetas and who ain't. Not until you two came in and got Liam's panties in a knot," she remarked. "Chances are, though, if Stamarians find the Four Gods marching down their doorstep they'll just bring in the Paragon to counter 'em."

Fille blanched. A showdown between the Paragon and the Four Gods of the Earth could get ugly in a real hurry. The White Devil was the strongest amongst the Paragon, and, she admitted to herself, probably superior to any one of the Four Gods in a one-on-one match. But against the full team? Who knew how that would go?

"So you're just better off not getting the Four Gods involved at all," she concluded for Audra, who nodded.

"It's in our best interests, I think," she agreed.

She hated conditions like these. Hated them. There were two predominant sounds on the mountain she was stranded on--the sharp howl of the wind racing through crags and old trees, and the crunch of snow trod upon by the metal of her boots. Her eyes continually watered as, try as she might with the paths she took, the wind whipped back into her face, reddening her face from the cold of it. Her helmet was still on her, but wrecked in the crash--one of the few things she was able to salvage.

The rest of her outfit had some thermal regulating in it, but surprise, surprise, that was busted too. She needed some proper tools before she could get that working again. She only had enough cloak for her body or her face, and she couldn't keep one covered adequately without exposing something else to the frigid conditions.

Not for the first time, she swore she'd kill Victor for this farce.

She was a player, so she decided her body--and the gear covering it--was the priority for keeping out of the cold. Her face could survive, so long as she didn't find anything too threatening out here. And if there was, well, the piece of equipment weighing down her right arm would handle that well enough. A heavy, rounded panel encased the top of her arm, but as the barrel barely extended out to the reach of a pistol, she could use it easily with one hand if need be. The grip had another smaller plate attached along the underside, from the side of her hand down towards her elbow, almost concealing her arm and giving the impression she'd replaced one arm with a big gun. A few wires wove around it as well as through it, giving off a faint blue glow.

Granted, right now it was all she had, and she hadn't really had time to give it a few test shots. She had no idea if it wasn't damaged in the crash. She hoped not--her luck with these kind of screwed-up leads wasn't that bad.

"Just keep telling yourself that, Atalanta," she muttered to herself, barely discernible even to her own ears over the wind.

Judging by this pace, she had at least another hour before she reached the bottom of the mountain and got out of the worst of the weather. Now all she needed to do was make sure the steady crunch of snow underneath her feet didn't drive her mad.

The men trudged through the Waste, ignoring the biting cold as best as anyone could manage. This was, people said, the most dangerous part of the world, and it only got worse the further north you went. Supposedly there were places in Kemei or Cher Plek that got close, but John could not imagine how a place could match the Waste without matching the cold. It tore through you, picked you apart and shredded your marrow, and it ensured that nothing healthy survived very far. The only creatures that lived up here feasted on death, bred into the frozen darkness. Some even, such as the golems, felt no weather at all.

Even with the village in the near distance, it was still dangerous beyond the Great Wall. Wolves would spring up from seemingly nowhere, and the worms would rustle if you disturbed the ground for too long. The golems were further north, but every once and a while one wandered down and killed four or five warriors. The sooner they were in and out, the better.

Shemram's words had challenged them, and they'd reached the foot of the mountain in little under an hour, all but running the distance despite their heavy armor. Their was no point being stealthy out here; anything that could kill you could smell you already. John only hoped it wasn't too late, though he didn't really know what it was yet.

As they reached the base, though, and the ground began sloping up much steeper, John held his hand up to halt the group, taking a moment for breath and wariness. Ahead of them, the mountain arched up dramatically, a mass of craggy cliffs and slippery slopes that would be challenging enough to climb were it a warm summer day. Their goal was a ways yet, but their resolve was a foregone conclusion. Whatever it took--that was there way.

Slowly but surely, Atalanta could hear it. The sounds of something else out in the wilderness with her. Didn't sound like it was solitary either--whatever was nearby, there was more than one. They weren't making much of an effort to keep hidden, either. Did that take native predators off of the list? She wasn't sure.

Glancing down at the gunmetal frame of her firarm, she made sure the safety was off and the thing ready to fire. Which could mean it might explode and blow her arm off, for all she knew. "Blasted crash," she whispered in irritation.

Satisfied with the check, she nodded once and headed towards the sounds--wherever they were, it was towards the base of the mountain, so she'd have to deal with it sooner or later.

She slipped quietly around and under branches of dormant trees, past large boulders covered in a frozen sheen, headed downward. It was hard to minimize the amount of noise she made, but she was upwind and that wind was loud. It seemed unlikely that they heard her approach.

"They" proved to be a band of humans in armor and cloaks, swords in their hands and on the hunt. For her, most likely. She found them coming through a rocky pass, wary of ambush. For all of the low quality of gear, these guys looked pretty hardened--they've been through here before, and probably killed their way through here.

Maybe that's why she hadn't encountered anything, she considered as she hunkered down. Eying the one in the green armor, she considered her options, then decided on a course of action. She stood up to let herself be seen, brought a black-clad hand to her lips, and whistled sharply over the howl of the wind.

What a sight I must be to them, Atalanta thought. Here she stood above them, clad in a bodysuit of black and stained gunmetal. Tiny hexagonal pattern covered the stretchy interface fabric at her fingers and waist and the joints of her limbs. Metal plates were fitted tightly around her boots and her thighs, and yet more plating visible around her forearms and the back of her left hand. The right, carrying a heavy blaster of sorts, and the rest of her body... covered by a billowing leather cloak torn at the edges. The cloak whipped about in the wind like her hair, a bright blonde mane, dirtied by soot and pulled back into a ponytail. Her mouth wasn't visible to them, not at this angle and not with the cloak in the way. The distance was too great for them to see the sharp blue eyes watching them.

She hoped they couldn't see her eyes, at least.

At the whistle, John and the other men shifted fluidly, many of their eyes darting to the woman ahead and above them, but just as many flitting to the rocks and crags that surrounded them. Was the whistle for peace, or to call in some creature of the Enemy? There was no way to know. In a moment, the man in green gathered himself, forming a focused tranquility in his mind that ran on the wheels of adrenaline, and made a decision.

"Slake, Tarmud," he muttered, as he raised a hand and flicked it to the left. The two men disappeared into the rocks almost with a breath. "Beynor, Greyfan," he continued, flicking his hand to the right as the two figures melded into shadow, almost impossible to follow with the way the wind stung at your eyes. "Dismin, Reilik," he breathed, forming a fist and raising it to back behind his shoulder. Those two men slipped into the background, ready to take the rear guard for fear of ambush. That left John with seven other men at his back, though; hopefully enough for whatever was before them.

Carefully, he took a step forward, locking his eyes on the outsider ahead of them. He--or perhaps she judging by that hair, though the armor made it hard to tell--wanted to be seen. To John, that either meant friend or trap, and he wasn't yet ready to assume the second and risk killing the first. Resting a hand on the hilt of a his still-sheathed sword, he raised his other hand again, open with his palm facing her, as a sign of non-aggression.

"Hail," he cried out, his voice not a yell but his words holding enough weight so as not to be swallowed up by the wind. "Name yourself, and your purpose, and we will do the same."

"Call me Atalanta," she called back. Her voice was young to them--someone in their mid-twenties. She focused on the green-clad one, who she thought was the leader, but she made quick glances at the other men present. Yes, Victor was right, these guys did look hard as nails. Even with their antiquated gear, they'd hold their own if they proved hostile. Though, tough as they looked, they didn't seem to be armed with any ranged weaponry, and she had both the high ground and her cannon.

Still, no need to jump to that conclusion. She made sure that her weapon, visible to them, remained pointed at the ground beneath her feet. "You guys from Thimbelatch?" she asked after a moment, nodding towards the direction of the village.

John eyed her closely, keeping his gaze on her whole figure and trying not to examine the weapon too much. Whatever it was, he didn't recognize it, but it looked like it could attack them from here and that was all he needed to know. Vaguely, he wondered how long it would take his men to reach her on their side-long routes, but they wouldn't attack unless she did so first.

"We are," he replied slowly, forcing himself to ease where he stood. Again he returned back to his dilemma. If she wanted them to see her, that either meant friend or ambush, and he needed to find out quickly. These mountain paths were quiet, for now, but they could draw danger at any time.

"Your purpose?" he repeated, sticking to his original question of which she had only answered half. Perhaps all would be civil and they would laugh about it later. There would be considerably less laughing, though, if the wolves showed up because one of them stalled for too long.

Having the desired answer, Atalanta smiled at the man--not that he could see it. "Ah, great. I was planning on stopping by Thimbelatch, hoped to find something."

Hopefully that wasn't forbidden. Who knew what rules there were this far out from the main civilizations in the game? "I don't suppose you have a tech shop in town, by any chance, would you?"

Before John could reply, the man on his right--Gorn--replied with a heat that seemed odd when everything else was so cold, "We fight with our hearts and swords, Atalanta! We need no more, yet we defend the Great Wall like no outsider ever could!" A few men murmured in agreement, but John sighed. Perhaps it was just because his blood may not have been from here, or perhaps it was just the circumstances, but it seemed neither the time nor the place to proclaim their honor.

"Peace, man," he cut in quickly, not wanting to cause a feud. "What you see is what we have, Atalanta," he replied, in answer to her question, "but Thimbelatch is a distance yet, and neither of us should stay in this place longer than needed. Can we agree to this much?"

Rogueport


Sera sighed. "So maybe just leave him alone?" She finally suggested. Noting Fille's expression. "It sounds like these five players would wreck more than the few buildings the Warlord's guys torched." She paused, suddenly unsure why she was even conversing with them on this. She didn't know anything about how a criminal organization worked, besides what she'd read in novels.

"Not like I know anything about running a city. Maybe you can't. But the man seems to have left you all alone. And sounds far too much trouble to try and manipulate." She look around awkwardly at the other two. Her smile not so much absent as dimmed with concern.

____


Tsuminar

Larent set the teapot down on it's pad with a soft rustle, picking up his tea-cup a moment later. "Breaking into the Intelligence mainframe and fooling around in a more technical sense." He brough the tea-cup to his lips and sipped the liquid. The taste was savory, hot, with just a touch of something exciting at the edge. Maybe a hint of cinnamon?

____


Stamarian 7th Armored Legion. Cher Plek Roadways


The trooper shook his head, laughing softly at her discomfort. Civilians were always so nervous when they ran into military jargon. Then realizing that the laughter most likely wasn't comforting, he stopped abruptly, a mortified look on his face. "Oh hell-- . .I mean. oops. Sorry." He stammered apologetically. "Compound. Our main base. Houses the Warlord's legions when we're not kicking the Korin's ass's." He tried to smile reassuringly, hoping it did the trick.

He knelt a moment later, reaching for her utensil. "Nothing to worry about, really. Just a big base. Lot's of Stamarian soldiers." He said quickly, trying to reassure her it'd be safe. "The damned Korin can't get to you there. We'd turn them into jelly at a few thousand yards."

Audra sighed with an awkward half-grimace at Sera's remark. "That's usually how it is in this world, yeah," she admitted. "Something'll get figured out with Liam, though. Even if he's only useful as a meat shield, we'll get it sorted out."

For a moment, the three of them let the sounds of the tavern wash over them, the voices of the current entertainment competing with the crowd of customers drowning themselves in spirits.

It wasn't long before Audra started to speak again, looking over at Fille. "So, you gonna help Sera with the entertainment tonight? Do a little dance, perhaps?"

Fille looked away, her expression clearly annoyed at the question. "Not in a dump like this, no," she stated.

"... the tavern or the town?"

"Pick one."

She could only sigh at that, and she wasn't sure for which--the hotblooded, decidedly macho rebuke to her question, or that there wasn't any tech shop she could make use of. That'd make fixing her salvaged gear that much more difficult. She noted that the man in green armor sighed in a similar manner.

She shifted her weight onto one foot, setting her empty left hand on her hip as she regarded the men while the green one--who she was certain was the leader of this bunch--made his proposal. "Sounds good to me. You got a name?"

"John," he replied calmly, though he didn't bother to introduce the other men; there could be time for pleasantries when they were back behind the Wall.

Up where Atalanta stood, two figures slid from the rocks near her, though they regarded her lightly, intent on the surroundings now that they knew she was no threat. John felt it too, even where he stood: an unease was settling all around them, even though he couldn't put his finger on what exactly it was.

"Come on," he said, "we've wasted enough time here as it is." Slake and Beynor slipped past the armored woman, taking to the path down at once to test the footing and lead the way.

---

Despite herself, Aleina's mouth tugged into a good-humored grin at his subtle humor. It was a small thing, but more than she expected for a Stamarian. Perhaps he wouldn't be so bad after all; he was still cute, anyway.

"Sounds promising," she said, and she meant it. Get caught in a place like that and you just disappeared, likely. "What do you need from me?" She knew Elle'n intended her to be one of three or four, with Larent presumably another one as well, but that was hardly specific.

---

Terrel put on a good-natured grin at that, only having to fake it in small part. If the Korin owned anything valuable at all, she would probably have been on their blacklist as well. But they didn't. While the Korin could be as obnoxiously zealous as any Stamarian, they also proceeded to have nothing to show for it except the armpit of the world and grubby little hovels. She had no problem picking sides against them, in the grand scheme of things.

"Good," she said, gingerly taking the utensil back and wiping it off haphazardly against her leg before sticking it back into the food. "Few hours or a few days, I'm lucky to have found you guys." That much was true, except for the part that could leave her in a body bag if things went bad. Really, though, the journey north would've taken months for her on her own, but now she actually had a chance.

Edited by Ribitta on January 20, 2015 at 20:39:38

“Well, boil me a pickle and call me a cucumber! You is human, isn’t you?” Squinty-eyes hoisted his enormous gun over his shoulder and grinned. “Yippy doo-da, what’chu doing here, girly? Dontcha know this is creepy-place?”


Branwyn started stepping forward, but a little arm stopped her. She looked down, frowning in annoyance- was the imp worried she’d renege on their deal? Good! The little creep would have it coming- wait, what? They can’t protect her? From what, from it? Was the thing threatening her? No- it was weird, and she was sure she was hearing the imp wrong, but its voice sounded almost… soft. Was that regret she heard? But what? Why? This made no sense.


Then the sand started to bubble, and Branwyn’s heart didn’t even have the heart to drop as she realized that Thebas had followed her out into the dunes. She wasn’t safe- maybe she would never be safe. Fear scratched at her throat, and she realized that Thebas would never let her go. She would live out eternity in the undead city, or maybe she would die for real, who knew? Whatever happened, she wouldn’t be leaving Thebas alive. She pulled the mask down over her face and stepped back, away from the confused men who didn’t realize the danger they were in. She didn’t even have the strength to raise her finger and point.


“What- what do we do?” The question was quiet and haltering, and she realized that she was putting her trust in this imp. How stupid she was. And yet, part of her had given up so completely that she didn’t even care anymore. Let them come.

Atalanta gave the others a brief look as they appeared around her, unsurprised. She had heard their approach, but only at the last minute, and given how quick they had gotten there said much about their ability. My, but these guys were good at what they did. Perhaps that hotblooded fellow from before was on to something.

"Well, lead the way, boys," she said, turning to follow them down the mountain. Thanks to the good traction on her armored boots, worn as they were, she didn't worry nearly as much about her footing.

As the screams began, Skild turned away, glancing to the left and the right--he had counted on that tricky mask getting her by, but now he wasn't sure if that would work. Leave it to the stupid human to mess everything up! Skild would have to fix things, like usual...

"Put it back on," he hissed, and he felt a pang of regret as he said it. Right there... so easy for him to get. But he had made a promise, even if it was a stupid one, and he'd die again before that could change. Stupid. With a sigh, he collected himself, deciding on a path.

"Keep up," he demanded after a moment, taking one last look before breaking away from the door at a pace he hoped even she could follow. With fools as a distraction, they should be able to make it to the shadow of a large rock he had his eyes on, about a hundred feet away. From there, they could plan their next course.

---

John pierced the air with a whistle of his own, just sharp enough to rise above the murmur of the wind. After a moment, two returned, and he gave a satisfied nod. His two men would stay in the rocks as a side-guard until they reached the foot of the mountain again.

Waiting for the other three to descend, John watched the armored woman descend with a sure-footed confidence. It was the first outsider he had run into, since coming to Thimbelatch, though the stories were common enough between the neighboring villages. Sometimes they were brash, and other times they were just curious. Usually they were dangerous, though, to have survived even up to the wall. The conditions were not kind for miles, even to the south.

When Slake and Beynor reached the bottom, John turned to leave at once. He had plenty of questions for this woman, but they could wait until the village.

Rogueport


Sera turned and beamed to Fille, her eyes wide in interest. "Oh, do you dance?" She asked with excitement. "I tried picking it up. But had to focus more on singing, so never got very far." She ended with a tinge of regret. Her mother had always put a focus on dancing, but she'd always wanted to sing first-and once the career had started off . . . well, that hadn't left much time for dancing.


_____



Tsuminar


"There's the rub." He said after another sip. "Elle'n failed to mention what you'd be helping with." He glanced around casually at the rest of the tea-house, idly
checking for other Stamarian agents. Generally they stuck out like sore thumbs. And his man outside was keeping an eye on both the entrance and the comm channels. That plus a few distractions placed in the intelligence community should ensure that they were left alone for the day.

"Care to tell me about your skill set or shall I set you on "cut all the wires" detail?" He questioned with just a touch of humor.

_____




Stamarian 7th Armored Legion. Cher Plek Roadways


The trooper nodded, sitting down what he deemed a polite space away from her. Shifting to get comfortable on the potatoes. "So . . uh, You're Terrel. I'm trooper Willis." He stated conversationally. eliciting a groan from the nearby soldiers.

"Don't encourage him." One of them mumbled sleepily. "Tell the newb to eat his potatoes and shut up. He's terrible with girls."

This sentiment was met with a chorus of mumbled, yawning agreements from the rest and a reddening of Willis' cheeks. "I was only being polite." He snapped back awkwardly.


_____




Game-World Research Station 6, Valtheran expanse.


It wasn' logical in the slightest, Gillian thought as she stared at the readouts. They'd only sent the message a little while ago. Obviously the player couldn't get away from the Warlord's soldiers that fast without arousing suspicion. But it was equal parts dreadfully boring and nerve-wracking waiting for something to happen with a player's life possibly on the line.

"We could send the guardian after her." Her husband mused thoughtfully.

At that suggestion Gillian felt like coughing up a lung, she wanted to laugh so hard. "The--The guardian?" She giggled, half-mad from sleep deprivation. "I still can't believe you kept those programs. But unleashing that thing---he could kill her just as soon as save her. Let's let sleeping demons lie. Yes?"

Her husband smiled at that. Nodding tiredly. "So we---wait." He finally said in resignation.

Edited by Ajax on January 21, 2015 at 5:05:49

"... my mother got me into it," Fille admitted, turning back to Sera, her lilting voice calming down. "I haven't had much formal training for it, but I'm good at it, I think. Still not going to dance here, though."

Audra grinned. "Aw, I bet you'd dance if your boyfriend asked you--"

"He's not my boyfriend," Fille growled crossly, glaring daggers at Audra, who only rolled her eyes at her friend's anger.

"Well, if you feel that strongly about it, I won't press the issue," the thief relented.

"I'm not even sure I know a dance that would go well with Sera's songs anyway," Fille told the two girls. "I'd need time to figure out a routine, which we don't have before her turn's up."

If one thing was for certain, it was that this lot was a quiet bunch. She wasn't sure if it was because they were normally like that, or if because they just didn't talk much when traveling in this barren, frozen wasteland, or if it was because they simply didn't trust her.

She was inclined to believe it was the last one. Atalanta quickly found herself surrounded by the others among the group when they began to trek back towards Thimbelatch, and the bounty hunter was sure it was because they wanted to make sure she didn't run away from them. She--

Atalanta let out a shuddering breath as a biting wind manage to slip through her cloak and blast against her suit. Yep, thermal regulating is definitely offline. Cheeks flushed from the cold, she shook her head in minor irritation.

This was going to be a long trek to the village, it seemed.

"Mmm," Aleina thought aloud, tilting her teacup idly as she washed the liquid around. "If you're looking for a girl who can hack the Stamarian mainframe, I'm afraid I won't be your gal. Give me a guard to distract, a space to fit through, or something to grab, though..." she trailed off, a grin playing at her lips that suggested she didn't differentiate much.

She raised her teacup to her mouth again, though, before adding, "I'm afraid you'll have to be a little more specific, though, if you want me to do the same."

---

Terrel only smiled at the man awkwardly, dropping her gaze and laughing nervously as the rest made fun of him. She wasn't sure which side she wanted to be on, so she tried to stay out of it completely, returning to her food without adding anything to the conversation.

---

John led the procession down the slope of the mountain at a careful but steady pace, pausing every now and again to listen intently and whistle into the wind again. After only a few minutes had passed, though, that feeling of unease intensified even further, and he came to a quiet stop.

Around him, the men shifted uneasily as well, feeling the same thing he did, though it was impossible to tell what it could be. Before he was willing to take off again, though, he sent his whistle out again to ensure his guards were still on their feet.

At once, a single reply came, and John held his breath. Slowly, he counted to five, then to ten, but the second reply never came. The silence was deafening, and he swallowed hard, exhaling slowly and forcing himself to remain calm. The one response he had gotten had come from the east, which meant Greynor was almost certainly dead.

"Spread out," he ordered, his voice steady, and at once his men broke into a staggered circle, their swords rasping as they came out of their sheaths. He turned the outsider next. "Can you fight?" he asked simply, wondering how much of her armor and weaponry was for show.

Atalanta instantly went on alert when John made the order to his party, looking about. She quickly deduced that the whistle was from a scout of his, and he was expecting more than one. She glanced down at her weapon, wondering if it would work when it came to a fight, only for her gaze to snap back up to John when he spoke to her.

She nodded once. "Yeah, I can fight," she half-lied. She wasn't actually sure if her weapon would fire, but if push came to shove, she could probably club something to death with it. "How many's missing?" she asked, referring to however many scouts he had sent out ahead of time.

Rogueport


Sera's expression grew wistful for a moment, and then morphed into something more morose, the first time her expression had actually fallen. "A boyfriend." She said with a warm smile, tinted with the barest hints of sadness hidden beneath.

Quickly though, she pushed through the sadness and smiled even brighter. "If you want to dance, I can sing to back you up. I had to do it all the time back on stage. Not a problem at all." She gazed around the bar, noting the small raised dais where the performances . . . the magic itself, happened. "Big enough for two."

____


Tsuminar


"An infiltration artist?" He questioned, eyes alight with mischief. "An expert at getting where she shouldn't be?" He could use a skillset like that. Especially with a mind such as hers backing it up. "It just so happens that I don't have many of those on my incredibly depressing payroll."

A pause in his words as he gazed to her once more, noting her playful smile. This one was dangerous, but not obviously so. Perhaps a skill even more important than stated set. "Want to put your skills to the test in---oh, two hours?" He asked finally, a slender smile of his own sliding across his visage.

____


Stamarian 7th Armored Legion. Cher Plek Roadways



The trooper's misfortune was compounded as he took note of even Terrel's laugh, his face turning a bright shade of crimson from embarrassment. "I . . uh . . . hope you like your breakfast." He stammered awkwardly before beating a hasty retreat.

The man who'd previously exchanged a few words with Terrel the evening before, sleepily relaying words between her and the lead scout. Finally sat up a bit more properly, yawning and shaking his head. He seemed a great deal older than the rest of the troopers spread across the truck, easily in his late thirties or early forties. Tawny brown hair and a grizzled, close-trimmed beard. Eyes like oceans of emeralds stared out from under bushy eyebrows as he looked tiredly to Terrel. "You need anything else, miss?" He asked, his voice carrying with it an almost fatherly tone. "You're not a prisoner, if you want to hop out and stretch your legs. These trucks are hellish uncomfortable for civilians."

"I said I'm not dancing here," Fille protested. "Not for these louts. I don't want any of them to try something after tonight."

"Hmm, good point," Audra commented, considering it. "You do have to stay here until Droge coughs up whatever you sent him after. I could probably hasten that, y'know. I'm sure a quick visit will--"

"Audra, the last time you got involved with Droge, he got shot. If he sees you again he'll just run."

"Tch. Spoil my fun, why don't you."