It was an interesting and logical observation that the Chanteuse had made. She was a talented singer, he had proven knowledge of literacy and anatomy. Titian was indeed male. (hence he Mr.) The titles didn't seem to lie, persay, but he couldn't help but think that they could be misleading somehow. Or that one or more of the given titles was a red herring of some kind, meant to intentionally lead the others astray. Was Penance a lady of the cloth? Moss a military or seafaring type? Swamp could only guess. It was a thing that bore more consideration, and the implications thereof. A hint to understanding the motives of some of the guests, perhaps, if such a thing could be sussed out from their behavior, much of which went to the erratic.
"I likewise wonder, Chanteuse. Though I debate the relevance of profession versus the threat they might pose. Sadly, this is foremost on my mind, so far as they are concerned. I believe I might have bias... Yes, likely." Getting attacked and subsequently shot would do that to someone. Moreover, what of the identity of their blackmailer? The more Swamp saw, the more he could rule out certain people. Though one question began to nag at him. He had asked this before, but never quite followed up on it. "I do think it would be prudent to find out whose laboratory this is, specifically. I believe it might help in fining out who our collective blackmailer might be, or, having seen the amassing of knowledge in the other room, rule out one or two people."
Character current location: Shadowell Manor, Attic (Laboratory) Characters attempted actions: Pick up on clues as to the owner of the lab Any and all skills being used: Intelligence Why each skill is being called: To discern from clues present in the lab and things remembered from conversation, details he picked up earlier, etc, who the master of this Laboratory is. Desired location of the character: N/A
Location: Gretna Green, Church Skills:Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English
Yes, the blade of The Great Bazhooli most certainly found its mark, as was expected. It was not the telling blow that Vladimir might have hoped, as it might have been were he facing a human opponent, though it was a rarer event in his life that he engage the skills of his ancestors against another living person. He has to stop the current thought in his head as immaterial, that being the urge to mentally speak the word 'Π±Π΅Π·Π΄ΡΡΠ½ΡΠΉ' (pronounced: bezdushnyy), or Soulless in the tongue of the land. He looked into the thing's soul. It existed. It was an inversion, a twisted thing that might have been a living being's soul before it was pulled inside-out, but it was there. Maybe it needed to be cleansed. Maybe it needed to be destroyed. Both? Who knew. Battle had been joined. The truth of the matter would more than likely be resolved with blood.
He heard the snatches of conversation that came after the vision of his associate, Constantin. A vision in battle? Uncommon, dangerous things in a fight, but this served a purpose. Well, as they all do. This one vision, or what he described of it, had something to do with the altar in the front of the room and... prayer? Vladimir wore a gold crucifix around his neck, a gift from one special to him which was in turn a gift from someone special to them. He was, technically, a member of his Empire's Orthodox Church, though he'd bet a shiny kopek or two that the different variants all prayed to the same God anyway. But a holy man he was not. Cultural observances and Rusyn Gypsy traditions often meant that the straight and narrow got pretty damned crooked and wide as the occasion called for it. This was a time that he lamented the loss of the Π‘ΡΡΠ°ΡΠ½Π°Ρ ΠΠ°ΡΠΎΠ»ΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠ°Ρ ΠΠ΅Π²ΡΡΠΊΠ°, Sister Mary. This was further proof that the all had to stand together or be ripped to pieces. The loss of the representative from the Church weakened them all against this thing.
The Great Bazhooli was no priest. Dear and shiny Lord, he was no priest. But he might be able to get the creature to the altar. It had a soul, which meant it had feelings. It understood him when he addressed it directly, or it seemed to based upon the reaction. He had a plan. Or part of a plan. Like, maybe 12% of a plan, which Vladimir reasoned was at least better than 11% of a plan. Yes, The Great Bazhooli was going to piss it off. Nothing bad could come of that, right? And if he goes down in flames? So be it!
Characters current location - Gretna Green, Church Characters attempted actions - To taunt and harass the beast, hopefully to get it to follow him Any and all skills being used - Mamushka, Thrown Weapons Why each skill is being called - Mamushka - to move with spiffy pace over to the altar with his head intact, action. Thrown Weapons - to scoop up a chunk or two of broken pew and hurl it at the thing. Who knows? Maybe someone blessed it. Desired location of the character - N/A
Location: Tunnels (Cairo, Egypt: October 6th, 1924) Skills: Peccary Form
At the acceptance of the offer, James gave a slow smile. He didn't get the opportunity to use this form very often, but it did have some amazing advantages to his human physique. It was rather a point of irony that, in life, he was famous for hunting these creatures, and now? Now he had the ability to become a particularly impressive specimen of one. Death certainly had a sense of humor sometimes.
The slow smile began to show a pair of enlarged lower teeth on either side of his mouth, which began to elongate and thicken. His eyes remained more or less human seeming, but the rest of him warped and buckled. Limbs grew shorter and more specialized, bones shifted and thickened to accommodate layers of denser, differently shaped muscle. Clothing seemed to disappear entirely, simultaneously being absorbed into his body while thick, dark grey fur grew back out. Boots and hands became rock hard hooves with the slight but necessary flexibility of horn, and his human voice was lost in the more primitive sounds of a great, wild boar. His tusks lengthened and reinforced to the degree of deadly weapons, and lastly a mane-like collar of thick, white fur covered his neck and stretched down he front of him. He was an impressive specimen of wild boar.
James stopped and shook his thick collar of fur out, leaning to one side so that Andromeda could more easily climb aboard. He slowly, deliberately chuffed twice, followed by a noteworthy sneeze that blasted from his protruding, piggy nostrils with substantial force and sent a shiver down his spine. Ok, now he was good to receive a rider. She had plenty of handholds and, James bet, he could probably still get up some damn respectable speed if she lay forward and held with her knees. Well, they'd figure out the particulars later. Right now, they had someplace to be. When Andromeda was comfortably on board, James took back off at a trot, as not to zoom past the others with his lower center of gravity and ability to run with the power of Pork compelling him.
And if no one else did before he got his voice back, James was going to have to make some goodnatured comment about Andromeda "Riding the Wild Hog". Provided he felt the situation out and didn't think he was in danger of getting electrocuted or swept away by a highly localized El NiΓ±o. These things were important.
Character's current location: Tunnel Character's attempted actions: To detect what he can. Skills Used: Peccary Form, Observation Why each skill is being called: Utilizing his new and improved Boar senses, in tandem with his Human intellect Desired location of the character: N/A
Gilbert Summers
Location: Tunnels (Cairo, Egypt: October 6th, 1924) Skills: History, Observation
"Well, certainly there will be enough to go around." stated Gilbert, supporting his fellow Emendator's statements. "It is an Armory. The very nature of it implies that there will be enough for a handful of people and much to spare." Gil gave a moderately contented smile, seeing that the old lighting system in the tunnels still functioned. This was definitely a "don't make them like they used to" moment, and he was still a little marveled at the idea. The ancients knew what they were doing. But to get back to the matter at hand, "My concern is based around the necessity of having to give a crash tutorial on firearms for those who have never had the ability to use them, or have forgotten how since becoming a Paradox. They rather randomly re-acquired abilities to begin with." He shrugged. It really wasn't anyone's fault, persay. Just the way that the dice landed, both literally and figuratively.
He caught the tiny bit of joking from Sophia and gave her a smile. It wasn't the first time something he did brought up a reference from Genesis (the book, not the band), though this probably didn't count as miraculous. Nevertheless, he responded with an almost mirthful, "...and there was light. And I saw the light, and it was good." He shook his head and sighed, "I do regret not meeting the man. We might have had such interesting conversations." He even sounded a bit wistful.
Gilbert did cock an eyebrow at his star pupil's newly acquired method of transportation. Yeah... Looking at it from a mostly objective point of view, it made sense. James could get in more practice with his alternate form as a great, tusked boar, and Andromeda could partly take her mind off of their surroundings, thus making less likely she accidentally discharges lightning or summons a tornado underground. That would be monumentally bad. So if this worked, he might suggest a team up for similar circumstances. Or just because it might strike serious fear in the hearts of evildoers everywhere and/or start a minor religious movement, depending on how effective the combo might be.
After a while, Gil announced, "The good news is that we are halfway there. The bad news, I suppose, is that we are only halfway there. But we are on the right track, I am sure of it."
Having completed the monologue of a tired, battle-tossed soldier, Reginald looked forward to the area in front of them, now representing the only recourse of travel open to the group. Things seemed increasingly tense, which made perfect sense considering that this cheerful little side quest of their happy, adventurous boatride up the Nile had probably just damned them, even after it might have just claimed the life of their guide. Reginald did not like the explanation given for any of these phenomena, though at present was willing to go along with things as the were because of a continued lack of anything other pertinent to do.
That was when the smell finally came to him, or rather, back to him after the big change to their surroundings. A thing well known to him from his decades and decades fighting for the Crown an on behalf of the Empire. It was the price for the glory of battle, such as glory could be pulled from a battle in most instances; recently become more prevalent because of the use of poison gasses bearing certain chemical compounds derived from or containing it. It and the sickly pallor of the ill and soon to expire. It was the odor of war and old death, of burning sulphur dioxide in a rich stew of other irritants and sickly concoctions. "Brimstone..." he mused aloud. There were other people to worry about down here, rather than just himself. "We must get a move on, and quickly." Perhaps an understatement. Definitely on everyone's mind. Still needed to be vocalized.
Characters current location: Athribis, Underground Characters attempted actions: Remaining alert Any and all skills being used: Observation Why each skill is being called: Dangerous situation, keeping eyes and ears open Desired location: Along for the ride.
Haring Reddish
Location: Benha (Sun Deck) Skills: N/A
Again, only marginally satisfied that the boat remained untampered with while the entire world around them was changing, Reddish's mind went back to his primary training as a soldier. It was a default, granted; a sort of security blanket for when things began to get unpredictable and dangerous. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing, granted, as there were very few security blankets that trained one in close quarters combat and the use of repeating rifles, let alone gave him experiences that had fractured and re-mended bits of his sanity enough that horrifying, sweeping changes to his environment and/or the wanton desecration of the human body (by bullet, blade, artillery, explosion, or the ravages of scavengers and decomposition) so that when terror-inspiring things did occur around him, his psyche had become desensitized enough to have formed a callous against it all. The nightmares and occasional bits of social anxiety were (albeit arguably) worth it, as he was less fazed than those with whom he kept company.
But to point, the last time all hell was breaking loose around him, he had options. None of them were very good options, but you did what you had to do. Here, there were actually fewer options available than when he was in the Great War. He took in a deep breath, blew it out, and spoke. "Ladies, if I may?" he began sweetly, beaming a little smile that looked just a little bit like he was holding back a torrent of some unpredictable emotional state, "Let us review. Hmm... Whilst off doing our part to continue the archaeological pursuit and follow up of what's been about with our collective missing goods, things start a'glowing on your bodies, yes? Yes. Now, just as soon a that happens everything changes, like it's years gone by, one direction or another, and a lost bloody city up and magics itself out of the desert." He shrugs, giving a goofy little smile and a head bob, like he was a puppet trying to entertain an easily amused toddler. "Bear with now, please - and shadows are coming out from it, regardless of where the sun is in the bloody sky NOW I can't be the only one who's thinking we ought to prepare for the worst, before whatever is there comes here."
"Though so long as we're asking what that smell is, I'd say it's someone ripping profound arse..." He'd gotten a little caught up in the moment, and just realized that he'd made a rather lowbrow reference to someone expelling post-digestive gasses without an ounce of shame. He quickly tried to recover, "Hoooo. Um, a, ah... arse-enal! Yes, a profound arsenal of sulphur, I'd wager." Yes, smashing. Quick, to change the subject: "And no, I've no recollection of any of the staff of this fine, fine vessel on our way back. P'raps it's just the soldier in me talking, but I say we get to personal stores and our provisioning in Cargo and equip ourselves for every conceivable eventuality. It could just be the four of us left, and we must look out for one another, wot bloody wot."
That last part probably went too far. Further, Reddish knew full well that he being more assertive than his social status should politely allow in the circumstances, for the people he was with. "I sincerely apologize for speaking out of turn, and among my betters, but I shan't have opportunity to apologize and flog myself for my transgressions if we're all done in by forces unnatural."
Location: Grimm, Indiana (Outside of El Asilo/The Nuthouse!) Skills: N/A Skills: N/A
The older Mexican heard the remarkably calm words of his daughter, and while he found the tone perplexing, he could not help but growl approvingly at the sentiment expressed by Alicia in the form of "bombs are good". He even nodded a little along with it. Bombs weren't his favorite way of handling things, being as he was really more of a hack and slice kind of guy, but even he had to admit that a well placed explosive, given the proper amount of legitimate artistry involved and the number of discernible pieces the bad guys separated into, was kind of pretty in its own way. Or to put it differently, in the recent words of his formerly deceased daughter, Bombs are indeed Good.
Communications concerning what Keystone assumed was an assessment of the works of a physicist that he was just barely aware of, let alone versed in the works thereof, were even less fruitful. be that as it may, the discussion of it, or at least commentary, served as a focal point for the large man's brain as a defense mechanism against the utter wrongness of what he was watching, that being the partial destruction of an exterior brick wall from the inside by something best kept in a horror movie. All the same, it still sounded like Alicia was speaking gibberish; that or talking from a point of view of the world's most inside joke ever. "Bloody 'ell that, Schrody? Pet-name-basis with dead blokes then, 'ave you?"
Though his words were aimed at Alicia, his eyes were rooted to the monster that had chased them out of the Asylum just earlier, that he was still pretty sure they should be hauling ass away from in the SUV that very second, but for whatever reason they decided to abandon logic and join the ranks of the nigh suicidal. Keystone looked to his senior partner in this endeavor with immense curiosity as to how he was taking this all so well. Then again, this was the guy who, if stories served to be accurate, killed someone by using their intestines as rappelling line, simultaneously escaping gunfire and getting to the next floor down in a crowded building. Something that looked a little Ancient God-ish wasn't as mind-throwing to a guy with a serious callous for mayhem.
Meanwhile, Caesar's thoughts were on (aside from the obvious, anyway) the comment that she made about the voice in Russian coming from inside of the asylum, as if she knew the person to whom it belonged and seemed pleased with the fact that said person sounded like she was getting the business end of something electrified. Well, for one reason or another, he wasn't going in there after this mystery person. Besides, the main threat was that big, ugly thing ripping apart the wall. So... fine. If nobody had any objections, he was going to open fire at it. It seemed fitting, considering all the trouble that it went through to be menacing and everything. And his junior partner, Keystone - what was he going to do, punch it? Caesar seemed to weigh this for a while. The guy was actually really good at that. Could be something there. Nah, shooting is better. He wanted to keep the big guy alive for his own interests anyway.
"Stone!" he called, chambering a round in his Mossberg, "You want to help slow it down?" It was less of a question than it was an order.
"Yeah, on it, Boss," he said, a hint of confusion and moderate amount of terror streaking through his words. In truth, he was glad someone else was calling the shots until his brain could fully process the moment. He raised his fifty-cal pistol and aimed it at the hole.
Both men seemed to be covering the all-female improvised demolition team, readily flowing into a supporting role. Though they began their careers as other things, they were private contractors now. This was kind of what they signed up for. Except the part about international conspiracy. And ancient, secret societies. And people coming back from the dead. And fending off demons. Okay, absolutely none of this is what they signed up for. Caesar should have retired a while ago and Keystone would have been happier playing Cockney Batman, beating up drug dealers and performing bodyguard work in London, like usual. But here they were.
Characters current location: Grimm, Indiana - Exterior Asylum Characters attempted actions: Shoot the bad guy Any and all skills being used: Shotguns Why each skill is being called: Proper operation of the pump-action shotgun, hopefully to insert a slug into the previously mentioned bad guy. Desired location: N/A
Characters current location: Grimm, Indiana - Exterior Asylum Characters attempted actions: Shoot the bad guy Any and all skills being used: Pistols Why each skill is being called: Proper operation of the .50 pistol, also hopefully to insert ammunition into the bad guy. Desired location: N/A
Speaking with Tatiana was a troublesome and painful process to get out. Certain truths had to be spoken in confidence, and things of a highly personal nature had to be risked on his part. It was with a huge, massive amount of relief that Tatiana understood him, and was willing to speak with Jack on the matter as well. That would be another hurdle to overcome. Luckily, she was helping him jump it. "Π‘ΠΏΠ°ΡΠΈΠ±ΠΎ, Π’Π°ΡΡΡΠ½Π°." he said, expressing his gratitude simply and in her native language. It meant a great deal that he could still count her among his adoptive family, even if their relationship dynamic had changed somewhat. When Tatiana embraced Ash, he hugged back with genuine, lasting depth of feeling. Ash was horrible at expressing himself a lot of the time. He gave the oft frightening ballerina a small smile, breathed a sigh of relief, and moved to rejoin Thana.
Ash didn't quite make it back to Thana before she stood and moved to the front of the room. It looked very much like the big moment had arrived. This meant official. This meant that he had zero right to stand next to her right now, lest the people around assume anything of him and/or he get escorted away by the people with guns. And it was a good thing, too. Full info dump, like ripping off a name brand adhesive bandage. This speech confirmed bits and pieces of things that had been mentioned or assumed over the past week, plus a whole lot more. When Thana got to the part about the military aspect of CMB, Ash couldn't help but notice that she looked to him. Yeah, he was a commissioned officer, once upon a time. If he wanted to be one again, here, then he had to prove himself. Fine. He was ready to do just that. Ash was experienced and talented, and if they wanted to make sure of that before they trusted him with weapons and people, then that made perfect sense to him. The bottom line was that he could have a life again, with Thana. It would be well worth going through the same trials that she did upon returning here.
When he got the paperwork, he took the time to look it over. Like many things of a militant nature, it seemed to work in redundancy, occasionally stating the same facts or procedures about several different things. It allowed no discernible room for misinterpretation that he could tell. And it boiled down to "don't fuck up, stick to your schedule and areas unless allowed otherwise". Okay. Therapy recommended, but not required. Also okay. Required or not, it would be good for him, set a good example for others, and show the Senior Officers of Camp Mexico Beach that he was willing to assimilate into their community openly. It could only help. Ash took a pen and signed in the dotted line. He was in.
He was actually smiling a little when he handed the paper over to Thana. Unless something unforeseen had occurred and he was getting the boot, he was very much onboard with CMB.
Their table-side conversation was put on intermission for a bit, it looked like, when Thana stood and began to address the whole of them in Quarantine. It didn't take very long before Thalia realized that this wasn't some quick public notice, but the gearing up for the main event of the day, so to speak. This was a LOT to process, especially for the human equivalent of a once feral dog like Thalia. Rules. Upon rules. Upon rules. Most of these things telling you what you couldn't do, where you couldn't go, and reminding you that you're not special in the least. Fine, she could get that. Also, something about mandatory recreation time? Not being able to leave? She must not have heard that right. It was one of the few feelings of total freedom that she had for the longest time, being able to climb a tree and sleep the day away in its branches or running off to find lunch with a pointed stick; one of the most profound centering activities to set a fire in an earthen hole and watch the flames dance for hours.
But she had made up her mind about something already. Much in the same way that Thalia had to learn from others to be able to do those things that gave her that freedom and kept her from dying, she had to learn the lessons of these people as well. She was weaker than she needed to be. They could help fix it. Thalia's brow perked when Thana talked about becoming part of the CMB military. That was what she was talking about, at least she thought. But there seemed to be a caveat involved: Those with prior military experience, specifically. The wording of it was such that joining up with that aspect of CMB might be open to former soldiers only. It was something to ask about later; it was the reason she initially wanted to stay, period. Other factors came into play, but... It might not matter anyway. What little Thalia knew of the military, she understood that people with college education could become officers. Well, she had one of those. Problem was, she was never military, persay. Nor had she ever wanted to be the unquestioned leader of anything. She worked for a security firm, dealing with electronics and training raw recruits how to not get their asses kicked. Or how to get their asses kicked with dignity, at the very least. She had an office, so that was fun, and she went through basic training with an aspect of security procedures like everyone else employed by the company; but doing the job that she did - were she in the military - might have made her a ranking noncom. Nothing like Navy Girl Thana, nothing like the Army Captain that her cousin used to get frisky with, and certainly not like the old man who ran this place.
Oh, but this wasn't ideal. It was something, though. And it was her best chance at getting stronger. Thalia wouldn't be ready to survive out there like she used to for a while, this she knew. Best chance. Thalia signed her paper for that best chance, though she looked at the paper for a long time before walking it up. Plus, it was kind of fun to watch her sign, manually closing her prosthetic around the pen and holding it like a dagger, underhanded, while the helped guide the damned thing with her left hand. This was something to work on.
The other two men entered Quarantine, one giving Thalia a goofy smile before taking position with Thana. Thalia raised an eyebrow at the man, then shook her head slowly. She took on a serious look after that though, and leaned over to Beatrice, speaking quietly. "One day, I need to find out exactly what happened with my father's people in Monterrey. I gaht reasons why I can't now, and you know why I gahtta stay here. One day, Bea. World'll probably still be shit then, too. If I had a rebar-tough bitch watching my back out there I'd feel better about it." She nodded solemnly, looking to her friend, "But I undahstand. It's okay. Anything was different, I woudn't've signed. So no mattah what, we're good, k? You don't owe me a thing. Anything, I still owe you." She waved her metal arm as reminder; she spent a while looking after her and keeping her alive during that time. "Anyways..." she stood, staring at her papers for a moment longer, then nodded in the direction of the toothy-grinned Latino by Thana, "Ese es mi hermano.1 I'll introduce ya, if you like." she whispered, giving a little wink.
Thalia walked up and gave Thana her paper, giving her a long look that seemed to say, "I trust you," or more specifically, "I trust you despite uncertainty about almost everything else." But there it was. She was willing.
Meanwhile, the motivations of Hanktholomew Patrick Wright were much less complicated and much more direct. He was still watching the people in Quarantine, taking mental notes, but was mostly "off the clock", one could say. Even the people that he had his concerns about had their attention focused elsewhere, and soon, everyone had their attention focused on Thana and her amazing stacks of ...paperwork. Yes, paperwork. Hank wasn't even going to think anything untoward while Captain America was lurking about like a protective monolith, casting his disapproving gaze upon those who would view his lady love in a manner to which he took offense. Not like he was going to say anything. Hank was along for the ride on this one.
The only thing he did raise an eyebrow at, or more specifically get a belly laugh rolling over, was his psych status. Apparently, having started this Apocalypse in a nuthouse wasn't in and of itself a red flag that he probably needed more looking after, so far as making sure that his cheese was still deftly atop his cracker, in all of the ways that made sense. Well, it's not like he was getting any younger staring at the papers. He signed, shrugged, and walked his papers up to Thana for proper filing, because filing was still alive and well here at the End of the World as We Know It, and he felt fine.
So, papers turned in. Hank walked back to his most recent favorite sitting spot, and began to look in earnest at what was going on around him. Something was up, he knew that much. Now to see if that something was going to turn into something difficult. For the sake of everyone involved, deep down, he did hope that this got handled in a quiet, humane manner. But when was the last time anything in this world got handled quietly?
There was this utter treasure trove of knowledge sitting here, just sitting here with no one else who might appreciate it as much as he might, and no one had told him. Not that anyone associated with the house might have, given the nature of their arrival. And, of course, the events which had transpired after said arrival. So no, it was little wonder that the masters of the house wold not sit them down and trot out all of the best finery and key speaking points to the secret valuables of the house. Swamp was still reading the contents of the tome in his hands as Amaranthine spoke. He agreed with her on her first statement, giving a wistful, "Yes, indeed..." when she discussed what might be within the volumes. Then he understood her context, following up with, "Ah, my apologies. I am, ah, drawn to things of knowledge, regardless of source. It is joyous, though now that you mention it surely must have come at ...quite a cost in morality."
It took some effort, but he finally relented. Swamp closed the book that he was reading, but he did so in a manner respectful of the thing which held the fruits of scientific endeavors. He gave the room a long look before stepping back out of it, as if he might be able to simply absorb the contents of the books through sheer force of will alone, set the book back where it was procured, and left with a pang of regret. "You are quite right, of course. This is a dangerous line to walk, especially as we were not intended to gain entry to this room in the first place. In my condition especially, I am in no place to openly challenge any of the housemasters' wishes." He referred to his injuries, of course.
Swamp closed the door to the Library behind him and breathed a heavy sigh. He took a second, seeming to regard an issue, then initiated something wholly unrelated to their most recent minor adventure, "Ah, Chanteuse? If I may, I have a advantage in knowing a bit about you, on account of your more public lifestyle. In an effort toward leveling things," he leaned in closer, and in a clear but quiet whisper intoned his full, given, and proper name to the woman. He paused, looking rather sheepish for a second, and gave an understanding, "Dr. Swamp is perfectly fine in the interim, for obvious reasons. I just thought you should know."
Location: Gretna Green, Church Skills:Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English
As unbelievable as it might seem, this was not Vladimir's first time being thrown halfway across a church. Time seemed to slow down as he hurtled back through the air, courtesy of the telling, sternum-staving blow that propelled him. It gave him time to think. Oh sure, the landing was going to be the least fun part of this while experience, but who gets to see stained glass from the inside hurtle by at 47 miles per hour? Really, it was an experience. Sure, he might die; but today, he was really living. Just before he made epic landfall, the last thing to cross his mind was a question: If he really did die, which of his people would be bestowed the mantle of The Great Bazhooli? It had to be embraced by an Alexandrov, and there were certain requirements besides. His eldest boy had the skills, but honestly (as this was a moment for honesty, if nothing else), did he possess the depth of character? Of intensity? Did he have enough panache to become Vladmir's successor?
The entire line of thought was rendered moot in one shattering nanosecond, as his body impacted with the heavy, wooden church pew. It broke into several pieces, partially burying the valiant Russian underneath its debris as it continued collapsing on top of him. A thin cloud of dust rose, and for too many heartbeats, the destruction lay still.
Suddenly, a great clattering of wooden shrapnel could be heard as pieces exploded up and away from the site of impact. Vladimir kicked himself into a standing position with a great bellow of, "HAAA!" His hands still contained balanced, sharpened steel, and he appeared absolutely uninjured by the crash, as if an invisible shield made of pure intestinal fortitude and refined, weapons-grade histrionics surrounded him, protecting him from harms both supernatural and mundane. Vladimir leaned his head to either side, resulting in audible popping sounds from the bones of his neck, and then reiterated the concept of who he was and what he did with a raspy, accented roar of, "Fal'shbort, bitches! RAAHHH!" Seemingly, absolutely zero the worse for wear, Vladimir strode purposefully toward the inversely soulled creature, kicking the scraps of church pew from his boots in the process.
He paused, reaching a hand up to his forehead. There indeed had been a casualty of the attack upon his person, as a single lock of dark chestnut had pulled free from the rest of his marvellously groomed, oiled pate of thick, luxurious hair. It hung forward, swaying back and forth as he walked just at the top of his vision, until he lifted a finger from the handle of his knife and pushed it back. But it looked like it might fall free again. "You!" he yelled accusingly to the beast, "You disturb follicles (is right, follicles? Da? Da, okay) follicles, of The Great Bazhooli!" He nodded, a building of drama and rage noteworthy in his eyes. "Vill not go unanswered," he promised. Having made his way to the tapestry left unattended and unstrung by the acquisition of the cord as a weapon component, Vladimir tossed one end of it over a wall candelabra and pierced the other end with one of his knives. If all else fails, try burning.
"NOW," he boomed, "let us try the same trick ...ON FIRE!"
Character current location: Gretna Green, Church Characters attempted actions: To hurl a sharp projectile trailing a flaming tapestry into the creature Any and all skills being used: Thrown Weapons Why each skill is being called: Because he isn't saying it with flowers Desired location of the character: N/A
Location: Tunnels (Cairo, Egypt: October 6th, 1924) Skills: Observation
In the midst of the changing levels of light and shadow, James was walking fairly contentedly ad nigh effortlessly. He seemed to have a good handle on himself and his environment, enough so that he was able to give warning and/or assistance to others who were not as momentarily perceptive as himself. Amid his success in this arena, he couldn't help but notice that he would quite possibly have an even easier time of it were he to open himself up to the natural abilities accessible by using his chief Paradox power. That is to say, James was a sort of Wereboar, kinda. Perhaps it was time to have that do some good. Just having those senses available and access to survival instincts of his animal form might be helpful in their situation, too. It might be a good idea.
He was about to voice just that idea to the person nearest him, who happened to he Andromeda, when he noticed a level of alarm on her face. Perhaps not alarm, persay, but a look of personal foreboding. Though it was buried under a stack of other memories, James seemed to recall a mention in passing about her dislike of ...exactly the conditions present for them. Perhaps she needed something to help take her mind off of it. Aside from the threat of imminent demise from a powerful and scary supernatural force, anyway. That might seem to exacerbate the situation. "Hey, Miss Andy? You wanna piggy back ride?" The question seemed out of nowhere. Likewise, the astute and mildly sarcastic observer might surmise that the statement could mean a couple of things, coming from James. "You know, take a load offa your feet, go adventurin' in style. If'n I need ya off, I'll do me a little shimmy. A'ight?" He gave a broad, possibly disarming smile, were it not for the fact that he had a history of mildly inappropriate sarcasm. "K, here we go..."
Characters current location - Tunnels Characters attempted actions - Shift Forms Any and all skills being used - Peccary Form Why each skill is being called - To become one with the Bacon (ahem) - To utilize the abilities and senses of the Great Wereboar to better interact with the environment Desired location of the character - N/A
Gilbert Summers
Location: Tunnels (Cairo, Egypt: October 6th, 1924) Skills: History, Observation
Another glimpse of the surface from below, another shaft of light, be it obscured by this unnatural haze. Gilbert utilized what he remembered about this network of passages, along with cues from above, to pinpoint their location relative to the building that now stood as the Qasr El Nil barracks. Of course, the problem being that, now that they were making some real headway into the tunnels, their sources of light were getting less and less. The Paradoxes had their own means and suggestions on how to fix that, and while he didn't want to stifle their problem-solving capabilities, Gilbert knew that there was a possibility of existing illumination, if they could just reach it. Their opportunities for light were leaving them.
As the discussion turned toward the construction of torches to combat the dying light, Gilbert raised a hand and bid the group, "Wait, just a moment, please." He stepped toward the wall and laid his hand upon an outcropping, curious to figure out if this was part of what he had been searching for, since coming down here. No, not the armory. The possible light source. Gil was just about to ask Peter to use his Paradoxical gift to assist, but remembered that he did, in fact, have a mundane solution on deck. "Let us save the impromptu torches for a while. I believe we may have something here."
The tall Emendator drew from his experience in using pocket-sized flame producing devices, and let his thumb pass over the striker wheel, applying a bit of specific pressure to ignite the wick thereupon, with the hopes of using this marvel of modern man to kickstart the miracle of ancient man out if its slumber. If this happened to fail, well, there was a charming British fellow who had a knack for lighting things ablaze.
Characters current location - Tunnels Characters attempted actions - Using a cigarette lighter to get the oil system lit Any and all skills being used - N/A Why each skill is being called - Really, it's more of an action declaration that a roll request. But it needed to go somewhere. Desired location of the character - N/A
The supernatural oddities playing about with their environment aside, Reginald was just then giving serious consideration to the possibility that he was suffering through the more colorful parts of senility, or the senseless slaughter to which he was party for the vast majority of his life that was tinted by colorful wrappings of glory and honor had finally caught up with him in the form of a mindbending brain cramp. The only thing that he was able to distinguish for certain from his feelings on the extremely malleable reality in whic he stood was that he was, oddly, ever so slightly disappointed that there wasn't a big scary monster lurking there, ready to devour them. If fact, the initial contribution he gave to the new and exciting setting was a lightly exasperated, "Really?" followed by a heavy, aristocratic sigh and a follow up of, "Quite." On the other hand, this was turning out to be quite the chaotic piece of events.
The explanation that Gene began to give them all did, despite the wonder of the environment refurbishing around them, cause the Lord Major to turn his head with his mouth slightly agape. Truly, he was taking in the flow and nuance of words coming from her mouth, each phrase more incredible than the last as offered explanation. It was capped off by the abrupt drop of assertion that their guide, Bella, was actually a witch. He leaned in a little closer, and in an avuncular, concerned voice, inquired, "Ah, Miss Benaszewki? I'd not arrive at this point of discussion without import assigned thusly, but: Do your dear parents know you're smoking that?"
Yes, very strange things were afoot. The explanations were running even in terms of strangeness with the events, and Reginald was not amused. He looked back at the group, "Perhaps we've all been tending to our vices a bit much lately. I have seen and experienced too much in our past few days, you see. Too many people have died without purpose or meaning, seemingly for the entertainment of some childish celestial entity that looks to us as ants to be dispatched by magnifying glass. I tire of it. All of it, and quite rightly so. Let us continue on the only path that is set before us, for whatever good or ill it shall bestow." He looked to Nora, "At your direction, Miss Kingston." He remained as ready as he could be for whatever trouble was to assail them next, sticking close to the front of the group. Maybe if he was lucky, this would all have been on account of bad booze. He held little hope for this.
Characters current location: Athribis, Underground Characters attempted actions: Remaining alert Any and all skills being used: Observation Why each skill is being called: Dangerous situation, keeping eyes and ears open Desired location: Along for the ride.
Haring Reddish
Location: Benha (Elite Deck -> Sun Deck) Skills: N/A
In truth, Haring did feel a little left out, not being part of the grand high preternatural aspect of this journey thusfar. And also in truth, he still wasn't, any more than anyone else on the boat. First Josephine, then Vera, exhibiting these glowy bits on them, be they scars or jewelry passing off light that they ought not be. Fully on the Sun Deck, the idea of holding to the cover story they were using as an excuse to traipse around the ship fell away right then. A lot seemed to fall away from the Corporal. Sharp eyes scanned the Nile's edge, witnessing the change occurring across the land. He might not have understood that this was what Egypt looked like long, long ago, but he did have the presence of mind to realize that something powerful and unnatural was occurring. As it turned out though, it wasn't happening to the ship, directly. This was good. Well, it was satisfactory, considering.
He spoke up in a slightly more subdued, cultured voice, expressing his earlier thought. "Whatever this is, Lady Munn, Miss Clarke; the riverboat appears largely unaffected. Likewise, we are supplied and provisioned in redundancy for an expedition." Though he said nothing in the meantime about it, Reddish's biggest worry at that time was the well-being of the people ashore. Vera and Josephine were safe on board. Apparently, so was the lady in their group that insisted on going into the flower garden by herself instead of track down one of their leads. But if asked, Reddish would stick to the story provided. If asked. In the absence of further direct order from the Lord Major, his duty lay in seeing to the safety and convenience of the members of the Fellowship, who accepted his presence. "Oh, let us not show the Doctor what's about just yet," mentioned Reddish, his ordinary sense of jocularity returning to his voice. "Fellow might have himself a conniption, hmm?"
[hider=Lady Absinthia's GM Awards]
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[*] Save Another from LLA Card
[*] Kill Any NPC in LAU Card
[*] Plot Insight Card
[*] Single Day Extension Card
[*] Single Day Extension Card
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[/list]
[/hider]
[hider=Death Scenes]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3622266]Dexter's Death (or Hammertime!)[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3837944]The UnBEARable Case of Lawrence Long[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4020657]Malfunctioning Space Toilet[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4557122]Rube Goldberg Decapitation[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4569229]Shitter's Full[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4602115]Dirigible (warning, SAD)[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4538295]After "The Last Barbecue"[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4723699]Detoxing Pilot[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4745239]Girls Stick Together[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4749807]Oops[/url]
[/hider]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3214659]"Character Flaw"[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/2968914]Keystone's Daydream[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3040161]Checking for Mental Intrusion[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3594115]The Power Of Pain Compels You[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4670484]The Greater Good[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5134610]Burial & Origin of James Mandingo Grady[/url]
[hider=Signature Images]
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[center][img]https://image.ibb.co/jVrOhp/Scythefalling.gif[/img][/center]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Lady Absinthia's GM Awards">Lady Absinthia's GM Awards [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><ul class="bb-list" style="white-space: normal;"><li></li><li>Save Another from LLA Card</li><li>Kill Any NPC in LAU Card</li><li>Plot Insight Card</li><li>Single Day Extension Card</li><li>Single Day Extension Card</li><li></li></ul></div></div><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Death Scenes">Death Scenes [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3622266">Dexter's Death (or Hammertime!)</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3837944">The UnBEARable Case of Lawrence Long</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4020657">Malfunctioning Space Toilet</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4557122">Rube Goldberg Decapitation</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4569229">Shitter's Full</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4602115">Dirigible (warning, SAD)</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4538295">After "The Last Barbecue"</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4723699">Detoxing Pilot</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4745239">Girls Stick Together</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4749807">Oops</a></div></div><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3214659">"Character Flaw"</a><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/2968914">Keystone's Daydream</a><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3040161">Checking for Mental Intrusion</a> <br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3594115">The Power Of Pain Compels You</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4670484">The Greater Good</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5134610">Burial & Origin of James Mandingo Grady</a><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Signature Images">Signature Images [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://media.giphy.com/media/xT0GqpswuzhOqHP6gM/giphy-downsized-large.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://media.giphy.com/media/iMnyx7HWjZgPu/giphy.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/wUTjLTf.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-K04tQV9pRE8/UCFQiE8aoVI/AAAAAAAATJk/hIK7mzvvYpk/s430/99.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/rigeWJc.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://uproxx.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/throughthedoor.gif?w=650" /></div></div></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://image.ibb.co/jVrOhp/Scythefalling.gif" /></div></div>
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