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Collab with Muttonhawk, Corneredbliss, and Ihinka.

There were some moments of peace and quiet as the team milled about in Síofra's whereabouts, with only the metallic hum of cool ventilation and occasional stomping from the above floor taking up the usual noise. Moments to savor in this line of work. Ones without gunfire raining overhead or ever-staring cameras. And as these moments started to pass, Jack had herself a load off. She sat herself at the dinnerside table, arms and legs crossed, shoulders relaxed. As the whole scene with her colleague's family took place, she mostly kept her eyes forward at the wall, paying no mind as she munched on a heavily processed nutrition bar that tasted more like coal than the apple shortcake it was made out to be. Not like she could taste much anyway.

"Looks like you got a real Stepford situation here," she said before Síofra would leave the room, easing herself back into the chair and crinkling the used wrapper into a finely squashed ball, "I wonder how much meat you had to grind to get it."

"Probably not as much as you would like to imagine, Jack." Siofra answered on her way to the lab.

Serge entered the dining area with his back a fraction straighter than before. He tugged at his grey lapels and lifted an eyebrow at Jack where she sat. "I would have thought the whole Stepford thing would be a step up from the shit we generally deal with."

For the moment, Serge was content to take a step to the side and lean against the doorway with his arms crossed. He gave Andi and Jack each a high-browed glance. "So, we got a lot of blank space to fill. A week's gonna be a fun timetable, but I got one or two acquaintances who might be able to give us a starting point. What about you two?" He craned his head to look to the messy workshop. "Looks like Siofra's already doing her thing."

Andromeda looked up from Hayes's reply at Serge's inquiry, lifting her phone in the air and shaking it playfully at him. "I've already got something in the works," she answered, slipping her phone back into her pocket and pushing away from the couch as she did so. "An old client of mine, back in the Sinsek days. Darwin Hayes, one of Hosaka's note-lackeys. Should be able to give us something useful; just have to flash him a little ass." She had moved over to the mirror above a small decorative drawer and was already looking over her face, wiping away at her lower lash line in case there was any hint of stray mascara. "Hopefully won't have to be out the whole night. He was always very quick to finish." A mischievous smirk grew on her lips as her gaze floated to the right-hand corner of the mirror, where she could see Serge and Jack in the dining area. "And what about you two?"

Serge sniffed and nodded to one side with his brow raised. Andi certainly didn't have the worst ways to get information.

"I'm gonna lay down a few next steps for what to be looking for, then I plan to do the rounds in the area around the branch. A whole lot can go on in front of innocent eyes that don't make talk in the matrix or the corporate intranets." Serge pulled his cuff to check the device on his wrist. "I might also know a guy who likes to keep his ear to the ground around these parts. If I can get him to loosen up, he might have a thing or two to tell me."

After pushing off the door frame, Serge unfolded his arms and made a few gestures to bring up contacts on his wrist device. "We wanna know anything about this asset, anything about the branch, anything about how to either get into the branch or stop the truck, and anything that could give us an edge. Anyone unclear?"

"Well," Jack started, legs uncrossing, "Somebody's got alone time with skin, somebody with bolts, I might as well tag along with Serge here as long as he's being social. Dangerous job, that." The chrome woman stood, her arms unfolding from each other as she pushed a sleeve aside to reveal a panel on the back of her forearm. With a press of her thumb, the metal sheet slid up to unveil a slightly crackling screen with subtle fissures on its surface. She tapped through some numbers then glanced back up to the others in the room. "My guys won't be too helpful 'til we know how we're doing this, so I'll stick around with him in case some of his friends need a little 'push'."

Andromeda, finally satisfied with her appearance, chuckled under her breath at Serge’s little show of taking the reins. “All clear, Captain,” she purred, a little overly compliant, as she began to back out toward the door again. “I’ll send word once I’m finished with him. Don’t wait up.” With an impish wink, she turned on her heel and disappeared back into the tunnels.

Serge gave Jack an upward nod. "Fine by me," he droned. "Just so long as you don't shank anyone who likes pineapple pizza or some shit."

To Andi, Serge gave a 'hmph' before stepping out of her way. "That's a good point, actually," he said. He brought one hand up to his mouth and raised his voice just enough to be clear in the next room without shouting. "Síofra! Expect us back in four to five hours." His eyes shifted to Jack again. "Let's not waste time."

Before long, Serge and Jack were headed out of the tunnels. Serge kept a thumb in his pocket while he spoke. "The target's in the Primary Industrial Zone blocks. More'n a few free spirits like to camp under the roadways there. They'd do anything for scraps, but that don't mean they won't be slipped a few creds to keep quiet, so you'll definitely be pulling your weight. Let's just hope the armed street sweepers haven't driven them off recently."

"What?" Jack said, sounding rather serious. She stepped in front of Serge, holding her frame solid, and gave a stern glower. Her jaw held firm, tightened with irritation. Silvery eyes were dead-set upon his, as if searching for the nerve within him. "You got a problem with pineapple pizza?" she rasped, seemingly dead serious. The tension held for a silent moment, without Serge's reciprocation and with Jack standing her ground. And just as he opened his mouth to speak, she broke the stare with a snort. Her lips curled into a smirk as her hardened stance shifted to a casual slouch. Without more word, she stepped out into the dank tunnels, thoroughly amused with herself.

The screen-laced goggles about Síofra's eyes pinged a few times as she tidied up the massive mess that was made of her lab; Lilly might've needed a month after all this. Most of the messages were random forum chatter, trashing the quality of Hosaka programming, a few of the more extreme members suggesting that it'd be better to demolish the facility, and a couple ill-advised sexual expletives. Síofra would surely pay them no mind, or casually chew them out for wasting her time. It was about a half-hour of cleaning before the display gleamed with the notification of an encrypted private message. Myrtle made short work of it, and the cracked message displayed before her.

It came from an anonymous user by the alias of Deck-Breaker, with some numbers for letters for good measure. Seems they'd come across an underground cyberterrorist of sorts out by the northward slum docks, and would be willing to set up a meeting for tomorrow night, but couldn't give any promises about how friendly the contact would be. The message came attached with a photo of a moored ship with a large blast hole in the side of it, and mentioned that it'd be the meeting place, in a downcast neighborhood called Little Heoi.

"Probably not as much as you would like to imagine, Jack." Siofra answered on her way to the lab. Octa was splayed in the middle of the room, idle. The tech sighed. Lilly wasn't allowed to operate Octa. Blinker, or Blinky as her sister had dubbed him, was one thing. Operating him was pretty straightforward. But Octa with her octaped frame required quite a bit of experience and a fair amount of artistry. Both of which Lilly lacked. Which is why she wasn't allowed to jockey Octa. The ex-soldier sighed again. I should have given her two weeks.

As Siofra continued working on cleaning and tidying up, answers to her add began rolling in, pinging her goggles each time, showing the content on the display. Most were trash as she'd expected. Just fed up people venting steam. Some were more creative than others in their vernacular. The tech had mostly finished picking up after Lilly and was about to begin servicing Octa, which would take up almost all of the night, when her goggles pinged with a private message on her add. This was what she was waiting for. The anon was vague in their info on this cyber terrorist, but that was to be expected. Risk was part of the job and they needed the intel so she'd have to go and see what this person had to offer.

Siofra strode to Myrtle to compose an answer. "Interested. Set up a meet." Again she encrypted the message as tight as she knew how and sent it. Now to see how badly Lilly messed up poor Octa. Another sigh dislodged itself from the tech's lips. Having kids to take care of was hard. But she wouldn't give it up for anything. She already adored the little brat beyond measure. And even if she didn't, she'd still give her all to help her move past what she'd endured at TVP's instalation.

Síofra's goggles pinged again a few minutes later, just as she was breaking into the tangled mess of steel and aluminium that was made of her precious drone. Myrtle's sifter let it through, as a clip of a computer programming newspaper fizzled into the corner of the display, sent in from her request thread. The clipped image is a close-up of an article headline of an upcoming Hosaka product.

NEW NON-LETHAL BLACK ICE PROGRAM BY HOSAKA ELECTRONICS IN DEVELOPMENT

Evidently, the company was in development of a new line of 'direct matrix security measures', a prospect that they haven't ventured into much in the past. The user that uploaded the clip mentions that they seemed rather confident and secretive in the announcement, suggesting some new breakthrough in development. Some discussion occurred about what, whether it's new talent or new hardware that allowed for the breakthrough. One user heavily suggested that they could be secreting some new AI. From there, rumor came up about the target, that one user related to a Hosaka employee heard about an armored truck leaving in the coming week some time in the morning, headed to an underground facility somewhere, traveling beneath the interstate highway through some familiar slums.

After the sweaty mitt of the client retracted from Serge's hand, he wobbled out of the noodle shop with a smug sense of self-importance, his goons slinking behind him like a messy shadow. "Pleasure to do business with you," he had said with a throaty chuckle. The patrons all watched as they pushed out the front door. A child sat up and pointed, before being quickly hushed down by their mother. After the doors clacked shut, there was but a moment's pause before the place's atmosphere kicked back up in full swing, as if nothing had ever happened, with only a few wary eyes still lending frequent sidelong glances to the team's table. Just another Tuesday here.

And just as apathy set in to her surroundings, Jack simply leaned back in her seat nonchalance, arm hooked over the back rest. "I guess that didn't go down too well, did it?" she said, even-toned, while in one hand she fiddled with the knife that she had threatened the man with. She acted unfazed, calloused. The boot-heel to her toes barely elicited a response as Síofra's stomp thudded off her dermal plating. The words of caution from the others mostly were replied with a clench of the jaw. She knew she was trouble, and she made it very clear then that she didn't care.

"Oh great," she rasped, pulling the bill from the edge of the table, placed there by the nervous newbie waiter, "Looks like the bastard left us with his check."



Rapid drips of mud-sogged water formed a dirty puddle in the concrete labyrinth, showing the darkened reflections of the team as they stepped through the dank tunnels to Síofra's hideaway. There were occasional sounds of skittering rats in the darkness, all amplified by the echoing of this underground chamber. People passed, few and far between, going about their own business. Some seemed like obvious criminals moving about unseen, and some seemed like normies getting from point A to B. Either way, everybody kept to their own business. As long as everyone here had something to hide, nobody was going to blow any whistles.

After the ocular haze of security scanning, the blunt and metallic thud of heavy door bolts, and the wheezing hiss of admittance, the team were at their base for the night. The awkward scene of Síofra and company played out in the team's brief silence, leaving Jack with crossed arms and Serge with a burning question. "Isn't it obvious by the animosity, Clean?" Jack cut in, stepping through the vault hatch with the appearance of a door, "They're family."

The interior of the was spacious and well-furnished despite the steamy pipes all over the walls and the boiler in the corner. No apartment was exactly beyond prying eyes, and anything but a ground floor certainly couldn't handle the octoped's heft, or link straight into the abandoned subway. And so there was one real choice, an apartment complex basement. Ms Cheong, the swarthy and elderly landlady, kept her mouth shut so long as the rent was paid and they kept the pipes running. Though, for the most part, the place was rather livable.

And Lilly did indeed play the polite little hostess for these well-armed and well-cybered strangers. The teen invited these street agents in, pulled out chairs out by the dinner table, and offered to take their coats. And when she did she hung them all right over the trigger to Síofra's shop. Suddenly, it seemed as if maybe the girl was being a little too polite. And, indeed, Lilly was trying to distract from and hide the shop, because it was a disaster in there. Gear broken and scattered across the floor, tool boxes completely spilled, and stores of spare parts turned to scrap. In the middle of it all lay Octy in a splayed pile, chrome tendrils spanning much of the room, and its controller dropped to the ground in the corner. It seemed like Lilly had herself an accident while playing around with the big girl toys.


While Serge went on with his inquiries, the Wu leaned back in his chair, relaxed. He didn't seem to be so much listening as he was paying attention to anything suspicious and mentally discarding the rest. He rested his interlocked hands on his gut, just below the chest, as he said, "Now, you don't seem like the inexperienced type, so I hoped I wouldn't have to say this. And now I have to say, I'm afraid that isn't how this works. Once you get the asset, we'll arrange for a meet on our terms. That's all you need to know. Do we have a de--"

A metallic click onto the table cut the client's sentence short, as eyes turned toward Jack. A mechanical hand gripped at one of her sinister-looking knives, pressing it to the table in the Wu's direction. "I believe my partner here asked you a simple set of questions," she said in her low metallic rasp, with cold eyes piercing straight through the man's gaze. Her fingers dragged across the plastic top of the table in a barely audible scrape as she gripped the threatening blade tighter in readiness.

His reply: a laugh. It bubbled up slowly after a moment of his intense stare upon the cybered woman, quickly rising to a hearty chortle. When she opened her mouth to speak, his right hand snapped upward, flat, and level with his head. In that motion, several bodies in black clothes rose from their seats among the restaurant, and two more stepped in through the front door. Each one sported varying levels of chrome and muscle, but each wore a hefty chip on their shoulder and directed threatening stares toward the team.

"No, please, do continue on. I'm all ears, Miss," he prodded with a shit-eating grin pasted onto his face. The moment after drew too long, as patrons started to notice and get chillingly quiet. All eyes were on their table and the goons set up all around them. Jack's jaw clenched. She wasn't one to back down from a threat. Especially not from a scum-sucking lowlife like this. But eventually, whether her team pleaded her to or not, she swallowed her pride. She turned the blade around on her palm and tucked it back into her sleeve, easing back into her chair and acting like it never happened.

"A wise decision there," the Wu sniggered to himself as he lowered his arm. The goons retracted just as soon, but remained very attentive to the conversation. Some of the patrons went back to their business, though going a bit faster with their food than before. A couple tables of people slipped away about as soon as the muscle relaxed, not at all willing to risk another upstart like that. As people shuffled out, the Wu leaned over the table and extended an open hand to Serge. "I think that means we have a deal then, don't we?" he said, that irritating grin still played across his face.


The others kept up their precautions for the weather, but Jack came into the shop dripping. She didn't have the kind of 'ware to rust, and she liked to feel the rain on her face. Boot-heels made unsubtle thuds on her way to the client, and some wary heads turned as it was clear quick that she didn't belong. Luckily she was smart enough to keep the chrome off display, so most of the eyes didn't linger for too long. She sat herself as the Wu exchanged handshakes with the others, but made no introduction herself. He knew what he was getting into in hiring her; there was no need for pleasantries.

The client gave a hearty chuckle at Serge as he firmly shook the hand of the broad-shouldered professional. "You can certainly say they have ways of getting people hooked," he replied as he continued with the greetings, stopping at Jack and giving her a knowing nod, "Yes, I am he. And as you know, I have a pressing business proposition for you four. Now... He cleared his throat, wiping his hands off with his used napkin. Once the cloth was discarded into the twin bowls at his flank, he knitted his chubby fingers together before him, keeping stern eye contact with the team. "The task we have for you is a simple retrieval service," the man spoke calmly through his husky tone and professionally-groomed accent, "Hosaka Electronics has a branch here in the city, and a week from now they're transferring an important asset to an unknown location."

An exhausted looking waiter troddled to the edge of the table, stains all over his apron. He held a notepad in a hand adorned with several junky cybernetic digits, with clear signs of rusting and wear. He took orders in a heavy accent and broken English, making the immediate assumption that the team couldn't speak Cantonese. The Wu gave pause in the boy's immediate presence, unwilling to let too much on among uninvited ears.

Once the young waiter shuffled off with their orders, the Wu spoke up again, "The transfer is by armored truck, so the extraction should be precise and potent. There will be armed guards aboard the truck and in the Hosaka facility. You can either infiltrate the facility and extract the asset before it is loaded onto the truck, or find a way to corner it during transit. However you decide to do it," he leans in and speaks intently to make the point abundantly clear, "The asset must not be harmed, and must not reach its destination. I'm sure professionals like you can understand these terms."


Tight crowds pushed through the subway terminal. The smell of tram-side cart food gave way to the scent of fresh rainfall as they ascended into the artificially illuminated streets. The sun showed only the faintest glow through the grey-brown clouds as it sunk past the mountainous horizon; a sun that none in the eastside sprawl could see from the shadows cast by the sleekly oppressive towers of the city proper. These buildings only rose only a couple dozen storeys, all littered in bright neon signs begging passersby to peruse. The rainbow glow of hundreds of Cantonese symbols cast over the wet street, as the whirring of thousands of air conditioners, all fighting the sweltering summer heat, polluted the noise of city bustle. The crowd's pace picked up as the rains angled more and more sideways, sweeping the team along with the street's current.

Among these many signs is one in particular that these four hardened professionals needed to find. The sign hung over the corner street, with pink bands of light shining over Cantonese and Vietnamese text. It belonged to a quaint little noodle shop, titled with a pun that translates terribly to English. They broke off from the urban tide to file into the restaurant. The place was cheaply overdecorated. A hideous wallpaper was hidden behind rows of potted plastic plants. Multicolored chairs crowded the floorspace as wire-frame fans oscillated from atop the walls. Quilts hung over the open kitchen area in the back corner, each painted over with various menu items. The sizzling of stir-fry crackled through the talkative atmosphere as nearly the entire place was packed with people. That is, except for one table, where a burly man in a straight-edged suit sat expectantly among empty chairs.

That was their contact. Their soon to be employer. The so-called 'Mr. Wu'. He noticed the team almost immediately as they entered. Not many others here wearing that much chrome. He didn't beckon them over, instead just waiting patiently and quietly for them to come and sit. Once they did, even if just to keep him at ease, it was easier to get a look at him. He was built wide and packed on a lot of pounds, with a few empty bowls stacked at the corner of the table showing his eating habits. The contact was trim, his balding hair kept tidy and his posture measured. He looked like the very image of a corporate mouthpiece, if not for the little bit of ink peaking out from below his high collar.

"Charming little place, isn't it?" the man said in a soft-spoken yet assertive voice.

______________________________________________________________________________________
"The future. Dark, dirty, and dangerous. You're loners, punks, and criminals, marginalized by society by birth, choice, or violence. Parasites, living symbiotic existences in the shadows cast by the arcologies, feeding from the scraps dangled by the megacorporations and then scurrying back to the shadows to avoid their dismissive, destructive gaze. Those vast multinational corporations squat over everything, pulling the strings, controlling the flow of money, information, goods, and people. Governments scamper around their feet, begging for scraps. Hydrophilic lubricious polymers and automated cleaners keep their arcologies shining amidst the grey-brown urban sprawl which surrounds them. Corporate financial muscle pushes people around the city like blood. The megacorporations. Humanity's most successful artificial organism."

This is Tʜᴇ Sᴘʀᴀᴡʟ, a cyberpunk game about rugged and desperate urban operators who work the dirty jobs that the ubiquitous corps find best to sweep under the rug, and their struggle to both make bank and keep their meat and chrome all in one piece. More or less. The system is designed to display a gritty, neon-laden window into the future, shuttle the players into tense situations, and force their characters to make hard decisions. It is based on the Apocalypse World Engine, and thus focuses on wracking up tension and setting up interesting narrative opportunities. In this game, the dice play a greater role than simply determining success or failure. They set up new situations, complicated success, growing stress on the current situation, and always push the narrative forward whether they come up to success or failure. All of this combines to keep the pressure on, set a hard edge to the world, and keep the story going.
______________________________________________________________________________________

The year is 2061, a century after the Iron Curtain that never fell.

A history lesson for those of you fresh off the boat: The Cantonese United Enterprise State is owned by the corps. Literally. A conglomerate of some of the most bloated megacorps declared sovereignty back in the '30s and dropped a not-so-small country's worth of cred on China for the pleasure. Ate up most of the Guangdong province, sacking Hong Kong, Guangzhou, and Macau without a single shot fired. Trained meat's too expensive to lose over a silly war, anyway. The Russians almost tried to take the whole thing down, claiming it as an affront to the USSR. Didn't last long. Enough dirt was dug, assassins hired, and families kidnapped before the whole affair that after threats surfaced, nearly a third the higher-ups in the Russian government were unseated, killed, bought out, or extorted in retaliation by the corps. Including the First Secretary. The lesson here, kids, is don't fuck with the corps, or they'll burn down everything you've got before even considering the mercy of letting lead caps break into your skull.

And to celebrate, or just add insult to injury, the newly-instated CUES decided to build. And build big. Massive towers of synth and steel rose into the sky, taking up a huge sprawl of their new land. Neighborhoods were demolished, homes repossessed, and entire mountains flattened to make room for the rampant construction. Within a few years, what they had built dwarfed the neighboring cities they had already acquired. And when it all went online, the dizzying array of neon lights, holographic displays, and enormous adscreens set up their display of dominance. It wasn't long before the infant city became known as the eastern jewel of international trade. Soon, factories sprung up and people crammed themselves in the outer reaches of the city lines to make new lives for themselves. It was a new land of opportunity, it seemed. Like fucking clockwork, the freshly built slums overfilled. Shantytowns sprung up on the rooftops of public housing centers, with entire communities of the poor setting up scrap metal shelters for themselves. Which all just shows that where there's suffering, there's profit.

Welcome to New Canton, our beloved shithole.
______________________________________________________________________________________
The Player-Corporations

S I N S E K CORP
-Written by corneredbliss

"The enterprise responsible for the many pleasures of the modern world!"

A megacorp that sells flesh for profit via disguised businesses such as bath houses, academies, hotels, and more of the like. Originally created with a targeted group of wealthy, unfaithful corporate men in mind, Sinsek finds the most beautiful and the most resilient to provide with their bodies at these establishments - no matter the noncompliance. Have a fetish that can't be satisfies? No problem! Seeking the company of another male without wanting the ire of the public eye? You've got it! Anything one may want or need is provided, granted the proper payment is made.

In an effort for expansion, Sinsek Corp has recently launched similar services for women, complete with beauty services that include cosmetic redecoration and euphoric stimulant; perfect for dealing with those lonely nights when the husband is still at work.
Mako-Oskarson Logistics & Excavation Corporation [MOLECorp]
-Written by Muttonhawk

Insignia: Three slightly curved mole claws arranged as a stylised 'M'.
"Our deepest value is professionalism!"

The undercity is where the dregs fall to. Far be it for megacorps to ignore the wealth beneath those forgotten folk. That is, if MOLECorp didn't call dibs first.

On the surface, MOLECorp's empire of dirt is based in mining, mineral processing, construction, and high-speed underground transportation. The layers run deeper into public transportation systems (mostly subway networks), seismology, geothermic power, courier networks, and resource transportation (pipes, cables, pumps, you name it). Dig deep enough and you'll find human trafficking, smuggling, holding surface property to ransom under threats of insurance-waived 'earthquakes,' and their own brand of surgical military strikes specialising in striking up at basements and ascending their assaults from there.

As you might have guessed, MOLECorp's business is under terra firma. And if you have business underground, you have business with MOLECorp. Their vast underground transportation network offers them significant advantages to those who can't risk taking air, sea, or overland routes. Their seismic probing equipment virtually guarantees that any unrented digging or trespass too far under the ground is literally undermined and neutralised until the offender pays up. If that was not bad enough, tendency for 'accidental' tunnel collapses has swallowed entire cities where they have had enough threats in them, or so rumours say. They would probably sink more places if their immediate attention wasn't fixated on fighting other mining corps elsewhere in the world.

MOLECorp's internal military goons are aesthetically recognisable by their oxygen masks, fire-retardent smocks and gloves, hardhats, and night vision goggles. They are used to working underground, making their chromes the dirtiest of them all. Albeit with clay, rocks, and loam more than grease. Explosives of all different kinds join their arsenal of small arms.
TVPCorp
-Written by ihinka

Thule military branch for research and development of Vril-empowered psi soldiers. Officially known as Theoretical Validation of Psychic phenomena. The corporation has deep ties to the ancient German occult societies that were prominent during WWII - Thule and Vril. As per their mandate, the corporation is sending its best assets to seek out children that are reported to possess a strong Vril (an occult force in which the Thule and Vril societies believed and hoped would help them win the war). The children were to be interred within special facilities of the corp where they would undergo various procedures with the intent to amplify their psi abilities. The males would be programmed to become future soldiers for the corp, while the females, in which the Vril was always reported to be much stronger, would be developed until complete maxing out of their talents, to serve as sacrifices for the purposes of harvesting their Vril for the personal use of the Thule and Vril leaders.
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Current Active Street-Agents

First Team
Serge
Andi
Síofra
Jack
E . .ʟ . .ʟ . .. .ɴ . .. .ʀ . .A A. . ɴ. . ɴ ' . ʟ. .. .. . H ...
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The violence vanished faster than it started. In a mere blink, the offending orcs were gone. With no fuel for her pyre, Ellenara returned to her natural state. Very briefly, she looked down and remarked to herself at how even the ash had fled from her feet in this disappearing act. Very tidy.

Seeing that the devouts seemed to have the vital aid well handled, Elle turned to her never-ending pouch once more. Lowering herself to the freshly scorched stone, she sat cross-legged with the crystal ball upon her lap. As the others spoke of their plans, her gaze beseeched the orb of knowledge of this warlord's whereabouts. After the ritual was complete, the orb revealed only fog, its destination unclear. "The orc man seems to be gone," she said in her usually dreamy voice, interrupting the Duke's apologies.

She seemed to give this a moment of contemplation as she stowed the artefact within her bottomless bag. Only then did she seem to recognize that the question of transportation has arose. "I can take us there. The trees rustle with excitement. They want to transport us to the North!" she proclaimed, as if they were to ride upon a cloud of leaves.
Yvah remained silent during the retreat. The dematerializing mass of flesh and plant matter never tainted her vision as she kept her eyes directly forward, unwavering, away from the gruesome remains. Just trying to act as if it never happened.

They pushed on, quickly reaching the floor hatch they had entered through. She helped the others pull the fattened sack of coin over the stairs, the metals inside jangling together with each rough tug. And once everyone had come up to pile into the small study room, they pushed open the door to show armored personnel waiting expectantly in the main entrance, staring at the packed room of misfits.

Yvah's face immediately flattened, her ears angling down until a straight line could be drawn from tip to tip over her head. Knights always have to complicate things, don't they? Yvah went for a backup plan. She reached to her back, playing off the sudden awkwardness by motioning as if to scratch herself. A pick slipped between her fingers, silently transferred up her sleeve. Quickly and smoothly.

While the cherry-haired knight continued on her speach, something Yvah saw all too often with these officers, the feline huntress stepped out into the open. Her hands remained visible and away from her sides to show no obvious signs of threat. "If we go," she said, then nodding her head toward her staff over the shoulder, "can I keep my stick?"
"Right," Yvah trailed off. She receded into herself somewhat at that comment. Maybe she was being too dramatic. Maybe the danger was gone and everyone could be safe, right? No more troubles or complications, just stopping the summoning of an alien death god. Definitely not incredibly dangerous at all. Everything would be fine, totally fine...

She may have looked a little more perturbed at this than she thought, as she caught a couple of the rescued townspeople staring. Looking to them, then back to Ary, Yvah stood straight and puffed up her chest to look big and confident. "Well, you know what they say about us and curiosity," she said, failing at putting on her best smile. Of course, she immediately regretted the joke, and quickly took to following the others after they started poking around behind the throne.

When she turned the corner, the investigation of the brazier had already began. She approached closely, laying her eyes on the gems, and hesitated while Ulor mapped them out. Once he ruled out any sort of pattern and moved on to the brazier itself, Yvah scuttled around the flame to collect the stones. Her belt pouch was nearly bursting at the seams with the stuff afterward. She turned her gaze directly to the flame after its purpose was announced. She considered the thing for a moment before pulling her waterflask free from her person. She took a quick swig from it before dumping the rest onto the flame. Then leaving to draw water from the fountain, she made sure that the pyre's magical presence would be banished.

"So, any more unfinished business?"
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