An unofficial and uninvited member of the bat family since '82, Stephanie's entire teenage life has been spent honing her vigilante skills. Her younger years were spent mastering the physical aspect; training with Robin, Nightwing, and Batman for months on end before she was permitted into the field. The mental training she found much more difficult, but through time spent with Batman and knowledge imparted from both her fathers she did eventually develop a keen investigative mind, though she remains too impatient and reckless to be considered fitting of a world-renowned detective.
While trained in the use of most modern armaments, she favours a collapsible bo-staff. She wears a self crafted bat-suit made with the same Waynetech dura-fiber used in The Batsuit, and of course an over-prepared utility belt to match. On the belt she stores a host of batarangs, two pagers, a minimalist crime scene kit, a grappling hook, lock picks, flash bombs, handcuffs, a deployable rebreather, a deployable net, smoke bombs, and a small first-aid kit. Her cowl is programmed with the ability to receive short-rage communication from accepted Wayne-tech devices, alongside also having night vision, infra-red vision, and satellite navigation functions.
A parting gift before leaving Gotham, Steph's motorcycle is really a hand-me-down of Tim's old Robin bike. Fondly nicknamed 'Raven', the bike has the typical gyroscopic handling shared with all bat-cycles, along with the standard hefty towing and carrying capacity. Deployable road spikes, nets, and a pressurized water cannon all come included. The bike's antennae can serve as an internet and cell tower, while the power source can act as a generator; and all interfaceable with her devices.
Character Synopsis
Stephanie Brown never had much of a chance at a normal life, even if she was able to keep herself out of trouble. Her father was put away for the first time when she was 6 years old, resulting in a quick divorce. A sad beginning, but one not at all uncommon for struggling Gotham homes. During the case, Steph's mother would be introduced to Detective James Gordon. Their relationship grew quickly, until the two were married by Steph's tenth birthday; barely before her father would be released from prison for the first time.
Whether it was the loss of his wife, the absence of his daughter, or his treatment in lock-up; the time away had not been kind to Arthur Brown. No sooner was he put on probation than he began to lose it. Stephanie attempted to visit, only to find the man muttering to himself and tinkering with things the young girl didn't recognize. Until she saw one of the devices on the news. A bomb delivered by one Cluemaster to the Gotham Knight's stadium. She brought her concerns to her then Police Sergeant step-father, and while he respected her intuition enough to listen, was unconvinced there was enough evidence to go after his wife's ex-husband without it looking like an abuse of power. So, Stephanie took matters into her own hands.
Aware of Gordon's 'personal' relation with the bat, Steph donned her own purple out-fit and hid in the shadows of the Gotham PD roof for the better part of the night, waiting for Batman to arrive. He never did. Instead, a scrawny teenager dressed in the red and green turned up and exchanged a few brief words with Gordon before leaving; while Steph silently followed.
Thus began a strained relationship between Stephanie Brown and the Bat Family, and a tumultuous relationship between herself and the Robin at the time; Tim Drake. After months of training and butting heads with Batman, Cluemaster was sent away to Arkham and 'Spoiler' had become a respected ally to the Family. For nearly four years, Steph was able to hone her skills with the best of the best: Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake, and Richard Greyson.
Until Tim Drake unexpectedly retired from the caped-crusading business his senior year of high school; up and leaving Gotham overnight with barely a goodbye sent Stephanie's way. Whatever his reasons, the spot of Batman's Kid-Wonder was vacant, and Steph wasted no time volunteering for the position, only to be met with disappointment. Bruce had no desire to take on another ward, least of all her: she had a family already, and her proximity to Gordon posed too much a risk. With Dick brooding in Bludhaven, Tim nowhere to be found, and her parents obsessing over her 7-year-old prodigy half-sister, Barbra, Steph found herself rather alone and feeling abandoned.
So once again she set out on her own. Convincing her mother to allow her to spend the year in New York with her newly-released criminal father wasn't about to fly, so instead she spun the lie of an early acceptance to the NYU Tech program, official-looking acceptance letter and all. In truth, Stephanie's prospects look rather bleak, but New York City promises a fresh start to make a name of her own, and an easy way to ensure dear'ol'dad wasn't slipping back into bad habits.
Makenna's first call was to her father. It was well overdue; with her hearing taking nearly three days to fully return. Through-out the recovery persisted the suffocating presence of Officer Haynes, repeating the same amendment to the Connecticut constitution each time she asked**. He recited the passage with such monotonous detail as to trigger a flare up in her still-lingering tinnitus with a subsequent migraine. Still, a phone did come after four cycles of sleep spent in the sterile, windowless, hype-proof cell.
It was old-fashioned, lacking even a touch-screen. Nothing but a keypad to dial the two numbers provided to her on a notepad.
The first call was to her father, but it was her grandmother who answered. The call had gone poorly from that moment onward. Rose Coultier had never liked Makenna's mother, from her first arrival in Lafayette; claiming she could sense the white woman's bad energies. Jaida's flight shortly after her daughter's birth had done nothing to help the old woman's superstitions. Makenna had hardly finished explaining where she was before the line went dead.
She sat in stunned silence, listening to the dead tone for some time before promptly pushing the interaction out of her mind and punching in the second number provided. Carson. As loathe as she was to even let him know what happened, he was the only person in a position to give her any real support.
"Ken? Are you okay?" She'd hardly heard the phone ring before it was answered. Carson was on the other line, worried for her, but patiently listening as she carefully explained the events of the past few days to him: The bachelorette party, the karaoke, the event and the following fog.
"Hold tight Kenna," and then his final words to her: "We'll figure this out". Over the phone he sounded just confident enough for a small part of Makenna to believe him.
Location:Pacific Royal Collegiate & University, - Dundas Islands, Pacific Ocean
Another PCRU afternoon, another ceremony. Makenna wondered if they'd decided to hold this particular one in the stadium incase Cassander's body hadn't quite made it past the horizon in time. A burning corpse visible from the field sure would have been a mood-killer. Dead, gone, and mourned; the faculty had clearly decided Cassander's time was over and they'd all better get back to the ever-important campus traditions.
Two armbands and an envelope. Makenna wasted no time removing the piece of fabric already attached to her arm. While far from certain about what her final choice would be, Makenna wasn't one to chose a losing team. One team member in the hospital, another dead, and the rest eager to follow; Blackjack wasn't looking much like a group of winners.
Which left her with Firebird or Eclipse. She took the time to further evaluate each group as the introductions and speeches droned on in the background.
Firebird seemed obvious. They'd withstood the attack without a single soul lost or turned, but that kind of unity was a obstacle in itself. In Firebird she'd be the outsider; a mismatched piece from her own team seeking refuge in another. Eclipse, however... she looked to the much smaller group sporting the crescent band. There were so few left. Those remaining had felt betrayal, and were no doubt lost; confused. Barely a team really, but it could be the start of one; one which Makenna had the chance to play a pivotal role in shaping.
A roaring of cheers finally drew her out from her thoughts. She looked up to see Trace, the first of Blackjack to step forward and make her intentions known. It made sense, she supposed. They'd been the first to bolt at the campfire after all. She stepped forward with Trace, face perfectly fixed with a self-assured smile, as blackjack's armband fell to the ground. Firebird's remained tightly balled in Makenna's left hand, while Eclipse's waved freely in her right.
"Don't worry about me, I heard the rules," She said in a sickeningly sweet tone to the transfer student offering up unsought opinions. "I know what I'm doing."
Location:Pacific Royal Collegiate & University, - Dundas Islands, Pacific Ocean
First Class #2.21:Fine (II)
Interaction(s):
Previously:N/A
Makenna folded her arms and glowered at her surrounding classmates. So much for turning the conversation to less volatile topics. She gave a few moments for the others to speak and reign in her own emotions before letting out a long sigh and eye-roll following Luce's departure.
"All well and good for the immortal girl to go chasing death." Makenna said as Luce walked away, only for Haleighto push herself after her. "Or the one too powerful to even stand near us." She did nothing to hide her eye-rolling condescension now; exhaustion had extinguished her usual ability to mask her nastier emotions.
"I don't know what the rest of you saw last week. But to me it looked like a bunch of scared, unprepared kids way out of their league, and one of us was killed for it."
With that, she too stood up to leave. If they all wanted to get into trouble with both Hyperion and the school that was their problem, but she wasn't putting herself at risk further by witnessing it. Distantly, she was aware of the vibrating message notification in her pocket.
"I, for one, will do everything in my power to prepare and not be the next body we send floating down. Hope the rest of you can manage the same" She pointed to the horizon where Cassander's flaming boat had disappeared some time ago, before turning to leave the group in search of her dorms.
Location:Pacific Royal Collegiate & University, - Dundas Islands, Pacific Ocean
First Class #2.15:Fine
Interaction(s):
Previously:N/A
03:11
Makenna's phone nearly blinded her with the familiar home-screen. Herself and Carson, smiling and dressed to the nines; proudly posing, arms extended to flaunt the shining ring on her hand. Some other student had woken with enough of a start to disturb her trance for what felt like the fifth time that night. With an over-dramatic sigh, she fell back down onto her pillow. She'd always been grateful for her own absence of nightmares; but ever since the trails... Well, at least the others had something to wake from.
A week since she'd been able to rest; the comfort of the installed tent mattress and soothing rain splattering outside, only to be ripped awake and thrown out into the harsh winds. If only the cold had been the worst of it.
She shut off her phone again and willed herself to close her eyes and sleep, to no avail. Tired as she was, her heart-rate increased, and her slow deep breaths turned shallow and rapid as the feeling of an immense weight began pressing on her chest.
It wasn't real, she knew- a figment of a memory: her own voice being choked out mid-scream.
Unable to bear it any further, she opened her eyes and waited for them to adjust to the darkness once more. Another night was spent tracing the invisible panels in the ceiling as Makenna did her best to regulate her thoughts and emotions.
07:00
Barely two notes of an alarm played before Makenna had shut off the device and was out of bed. Careful to reduce the amount of noise she made in the shared room; she picked through her belongings for the essentials before slipping into the bathroom. As painfully exhausted as she was, daytime was a hundred time better than night. Getting assigned to infirmary duty was unfortunate timing; but at least it was something to occupy her mind and time. The silent darkness of night had become oppressive - the absence of activity leaving her mind nothing to do but wander and inevitably replay the events of the camping trip cut short.
Lacking any real nurse training, Makenna was relegated to glorified maintenance duties: Restocking gauze and swabs, transporting monitors and clipboards to wherever they were needed. She was strictly prohibited to enter the rooms of her injured team-mates. Not that she had much anything to say to them if she had the chance, but the brief glimpses she caught through windows; bodies of mostly bandages, with the only bits of flesh exposed unrecognizably dark and swollen, were more than enough to deter her.
14:42
The vibration of the phone in her pocket made Makenna jump. She'd silenced most of her notifications for the past few days. Carson had been the one flooding her inbox for once, and yet she couldn't bring herself to so much as read his messages. Hyperion and the boy she'd never know were all she could think about, and she wasn't so stupid as to believe her communications weren't monitored. She'd been watching the news, or lack there of. Who knew the repercussions of letting out what happened. Once they were done with the funeral, it would be as though Cassander Charon never existed.
"...You there Kenna?" Carson's voice came through.
She'd answered the call without saying anything. "Mhm, here. Sorry, just been a bit distracted"
"Oh, thank god," He actually sounded relieved. "You've been ignoring my messages and I was getting worried."
Rational, balanced Makenna would have held onto the fact it had taken him an entire week to be worried enough to call- But she was neither; only sleep-deprived, stressed, and stupidly grateful there was someone out there who would miss her. She held the phone at arm's length as she muffled a sob in a handful of tissue.
"God Carson, I'm so..." What could she say? "It's so good to hear your voice." She finally managed to choke out before another hiccup of tears came; beginning an outpouring of liquid from her eyes and nose.
"What the hell has been going on, Ken? You sound awful."
"Nothing - nothing." She muttered before placing the phone on the bed in front of her to use both hands to staunch the flow of snot and tears. "I've just been so fucking lonely." The confession was so honest it shocked her into silence again. Exhaustion really had turned her stupid.
The silence was reciprocated on the other line for a few painful seconds. "Is there anything I can do? Anything you need?"
Makenna sighed and looked down to her left hand, ring glinting between balls of used tissue. "I need you here" She finally breathed. "I'm so tired of all this dancing in circles Carson. "All I want is to see you"
"The semester just started, Ken, and there are interviews for the paper-" She'd been determined not to interrupt his excuse, but couldn't help a sharp intake of breath that gave them both pause. "I'll look at my schedule and call you tomorrow."
The last thing she wanted was for him to hang up, but she'd behaved pitifully enough for one phone call without resorting to begging him not to go. "I love you"
"You too" Was his short reply before promptly hanging up.
She held the phone to her ear as the dial tone played. Eventually, she stood to scrub the evidence of the outburst from her face; she could hardly go into her psych appointment puffy-eyed and red-faced.
17:34
It was too early to be expecting a response, never mind confirmation; but the entire funeral service, Makenna had been only be able to think about Carson and what a visit from him might entail. So much between them remained uncertain and unsaid. She worried pushing him too hard too fast would force him to the wrong decision; but in a moment of weakness, that was exactly what she'd done. She pocketed her phone again, and surveyed the courtyard for her classmates.
Multiple teams were there, the intended 'opponents' of the trials. As though competing in dodgeball would ever have been enough to prepare them for something like Hyperion. Trevor stuck out as a familiar face, as did the grouping of Rory, Trace, and Haleigh.
"Lovely service" She murmured on approach to the latter bunch, plastered smile friendly enough to appear oblivious to their prior conversation. "Sad as it is none of us really got to know him," She added, right hand moving to twist the ring on her left before nodding towards Rory. "Your speech was very touching anyway."
Makenna's eyes told her as much. The blinding lights of police cars, ambulences, and firetrucks should have come with whailing sirens. The flapping mouths talking at her should have sounded words. Instead there was nothing but a high-pitched ringing that threatened to split her head in two. Somewhere between drunk and hungover - Makenna wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. But a pair of prodding hands kept her from doing so each time her eyes began to drift shut.
Vaguely, she was aware of their fingers silently snapping inches from her face. Willing herself to focus, Makenna looked up to the face of a middle-aged man staring down at her, mouth opening and closing. She reached up to her own head, hand brushing against dried blood crusted into her hair and on her neck.
"I can't..." Her throat hurt as she tried to force the words out, and she faltered after only a few syllables before coking into a fit of coughing that only ended when a styrofoam cup of ice water was placed in her hand. There'd been a bar. Her bachelorette, all her friends had been- A wave of adrenaline hit Makenna as the context of emergency vehicles changed. Her previously blurry vision zero'd in on the non-uniformed civilians and the handful of filled stretchers.
A firm hand gripped her forearm the second she made to move from here seated position on the curb. She looked up to see the ever-present staring face of the officer. He spoke his words slowly and with enunciation, enuh so she could understand them from the mere movements of his lips. "You're not going anywhere."
Location:Pacific Royal Collegiate & University, - Dundas Islands, Pacific Ocean
The Homecoming Trials #1.100:Don't Look Any Further II
Interaction(s):
Previously:N/A
The wheel-chaired girl followed up, with such candid vulnerability it nearly made Makenna wince. Perhaps she should have gone into further detail with her own introduction, at least given the illusion of opening up. But about what? Carson and her family were too much of unknowns for her to parse through even with the provided phycologist. She blinked black her own thoughts and made to at least look like she was listening intently to each heart-felt outpouring. First from Haleigh, Rory, and even Banjo.
Calliope of course ensured the topic of conversation didn't stray from her long. Makenna managed to hold back an eye-roll as the pretty blonde girl told her harrowing journey of growing up with silver spoon, only to collapse under the perfection of it all. Worse still was the image of every person in the group eating it up like it wasn't absolute horseshit. Even as Luce began speaking her piece, Makenna's eyes remained on Calliope a moment too long, a brief grimace of disgust breaking through her maintained friendly expression at the notice of her blonde pet's arm around the shoulder. She'd really wasted no time sinking her teeth into that one.
Makenna forced herself to listen to Luce, despite it mostly being a rerun of their earlier talk. At least she managed to hold herself from showing all her scars this time around. Makenna inched closer to her as she finished her piece, eager to repair whatever damage she'd done by ditching so suddenly before. She reached in the left pocket of her jacked and pulled out a pack of gum, offering one to Luce as Iñigo was waved over.
"Sorry for bailing," she half-whispered with a bashful smile, "False alarm, but I thought it was an emergency." After a moment she pocketed the gum again and surveyed the circle while Iñigo made his own presence known.
"Oh, don't worry Iñigo" She quickly spoke up, unprompted. "We're all opening up here, no more secrets. Share with the class." Her tone and smile were pure affability, internally she was desperate for something to end the circle of trauma dumping, and whatever petty drama had involved Calliope's new boy toy seemed a wonderful distraction.
The people of Tagayungri never trusted Nikolai, despite his near decade living there. He ate with them, worked with them, and at times even laughed with them. But his true heritage was never to be forgotten: He was a foreigner forced upon them first and foremost, neighbour and comrade far behind. Not that it stopped the villagers from taking advantage of his freely-offered talent in the gift whenever a child fell ill, or their crop began showing signs of blight. It had been Nikolai’s magic that had saved the first harvest after an unexpected frost, and it was his efforts again that ensured each of the evacuees made it to the safe harbor of the mountains.
The last man out, despite being in good health, stumbled and twisted his ankle in his mad dash to safety. Nikolai lent the man his shoulder as they hurried towards the shelter of the mountains, his gift rushing through the wound with each further step until he was nearly able to bear his own weight and they’d reached safety. The tremors of the oncoming Begemot could still be perceived even in the mountains. Now and then, loose pebbles would fall tumble from the high walls; reminders of their precarious situation. Uneasy whispers echoed off back, slowly escalating to panic, forcing Nikolai to abruptly gather the group’s attention with a sharp clap.
“Friends! Remain quiet and calm. The visitors and I will ensure the threat is removed-” Any further remarks were cut short by another thundering shockwave that sent Nikolai staggering to the nearest wall for support. There was no longer time to waste. He pushed past the grasping hands and the questioning voices until he was overlooking the steppe once more.
The Constansian students might well not have existed. The full view of the Begemot lay before Nikolai; her front rearing upwards to the darkening sky, trunk and horns reaching high enough to pierce the low fogging clouds of the upper steppe. Legs wider than any tree Nikolai had ever seen kicked in the air as she drew in an enormous breath; large enough he was able to feel it from his distant position.
“Get DOWN!” He barely had time to shout to the few that had followed him so far, as the monster let out a bellowing trumpet-scream in frustration. The aftershocks, sent the dead grass of the steppe rolling outwards from te Begemot in every direction.
Nikolai was prepared, and as those around him cowered, he braced to absorb the full impact of the force and sound as it reached them. With practised efficiency the Vissoaryian mage harnessed the tremendous kinetic energy, and reversing the force, shot himself through the air towards the monster and helpless students.
The earth at his landing spot was all but destroyed; ankles sinking deep in the mud the moment he landed. Half of the young foreigners had been knocked on their backs, and the familiar probing of healing magic hummed for targets as they recovered themselves.
The Begemot’s display of frustration had only sunk her deeper into the ground, but her strength proved the greater force as she slogged forward; at least now, she was only walking. A few of the students scrambled to pull on her momentum. Stubbornly though, she pressed forward with impossibly long strides that pulled on the ground under her, threatening to turn the mess of earth into a sinkhole. So that is where Nikolai sent his energy; doing his best to convert the mud to stone. The Begemot was too strong; shattering what little rock he managed to produce between her movements. Suddenly though, she stopped entirely. The sheer impossibility of it had Nikolai searching to find the source. He saw the largest of the students mounted atop one of Dastan’s horses, turned away from the direction he was meant to be going and hand outstretched towards the Begemot. A brief tableaux, before the begemot’s student stop piled the earth around the boy enough to engulf him completely in mud.
Whatever the young man had done was enough to halt the beast, and that was enough opportunity for Nikolai. He scrambled through the mud from his position to reach the Begemot - still but very much alive. Her tusks, trunk, and most of her front torso sunken further still into the ground. He stopped as close as he dared to tread near her, and reached down to spread his magic throughout the muck in another attempt to encase the Begemot in stone.
“Get your friend out!” He shouted to the closest body; the blonde boy, dressed in fine clothes ruined well beyond repair, and gestured to the area he’d seen Sven buried as best he could with his hands in the ground.
He looked around to the rest of the group wildly. Already he could sense the slowed heartbeat of the monster quickening again. “You need to decide what to do. Now.” He demanded of the biros.
They’d been riding less than five minutes before something went wrong. Ilvir didn’t know what the first happening was, but one of the two that were meant to follow him had turned to stay behind- or if they were really that stupid, to face the Begemot head on. She would crush him, but giving him more warning would only put the others at risk again. Not that Ilvir had a language to communicate he would understand. The dark tall one had taken the second horse, another partner that was useless as deaf. Ilvir did his best to signal Nazih to follow at a good distance using his hands, but the older boy failed to understand, or didn’t care enough to listen.
Another low thundering sound broke across the steppe. Quieter than the trumpeting of the mature begemot’s rage they’d heard from behind seconds ago. The second was fainter, almost an echo; emitted from ahead, the direction they were galloping towards at full speed.
“Ucha!” He shouted backwards, just in time to see the stupid long-foot ruining their hastily crafted lure. Half a carcass shining with ruce-seed oil broke off disappearing in the steppe grasses behind them.
Deadline for next post is Friday May 12, 12PM EST.
Your post should include:
What you did to prepare for the Begemot fight Your reaction to the Begemot arrival, was your character one of the ones knocked down? How you initially tried to slow/stop the Begemot What you intend to do during these precious few seconds it is incapacitated
If you require reactions from an NPC, or intend to do something directly to the Begemot please DM or ping me on the discord, I’m always available to help.
Location:Pacific Royal Collegiate & University, - Dundas Islands, Pacific Ocean
The Homecoming Trials #1.78:Don't Look Any Further
Interaction(s):
Previously:N/A
It wasn’t Carson messaging her at all. That sent Makenna pacing for a few moments, rapidly slapping her phone against her palm in frustration before eventually making it back to her pitched tent.
Inside, she fell backwards onto the mattress again and raised the device to read the two words a few dozen more times.
Behaving yourself? - Unknown Number
A few dozen more waves of nausea hit. Each lesser at least, there was a chance she’d even have an appetite for dinner. Makenna didn’t need to know the number to know the sender. Detective Haynes of the Hartford police department wasn’t meant to have contact with Makenna beyond her initial arrest and interrogation. Not that it has stopped him, even before the promotion from regular beat cop.
She deleted the message from her phone and her mind. The man had never been more than a nuisance, and for as long as she was at PRCU, she was untouchable. Makenna focused her attention to the contacts list.
Three rings before Carson’s infuriatingly cheerful voicemail greeted her. She sighed and tossed the phone to the bed. It’d commanded enough of her attention on what should have been a full first day making connections.
Makenna exited the tent to find the group already convening around a started fire and, infuriatingly, Calliope.
”Oh thanks,” She replied with forced friendliness as she was directed to the kebabs, took none, and sat herself down in an empty spot.
One by one, the others in the circle introduced themselves. A redundant process, but she guessed the others were taking the ‘blank slate’ bussness seriously. Makenna tried to listen to each with an open mind, or at least told herself so. In reality, it was rare for her to go back on her snap judgments of people, not when she found herself so often proven right. Trevor seemed a safe act to follow - if at least to save everyone from any further limb puns.
“Makenna, She began her introduction, shining smile at the ready as it came her turn. “Full merit scholarship Yale undergrad, treasurer of the Yale Daily News, and recipient of the Goldfarb Community Service award.” She paused for a moment, wanting so much it could have ended there. “Not that’s what any of you really wanted to hear about me.” She continued, still smiling as she folded her hands together, looking over the group.
“Four delta esoteric expulsive; vocal projection and mimicry. I can sound like whatever or whoever you want,” Her head tilted as she innocently lifted her eyes to the darkening sky above. “Or just a real screamer if it’s called for.”
With a final flash of white teeth, she looked expectantly to her left to continue the chain.
“East coast so...” Makenna leaned over him to look out the window “Not all that different from here honestly.” She leaned back in her seat, she could take a hint and if the boy wasn’t going to bite she wouldn’t throw herself at him. Absently, her fingers pressed the button at the bottom of her phone. No new messages showed on the screen.
Her smile didn’t even flinch, and she hardly missed a beat. “I was studying out there, actually, before getting… offered the H.E.A.T. deal.” It was strange to think some of the students here would volunteer to join this psycho experiment of a program. Still, it seemed the better admission to take than ‘I was court mandated and blackmailed by my absentee mother into enrolment’
“How about you? Seem a bit old to have finished high school too recently. What did you do before enrolling?”
Behind the forced smile, Makenna’s eye twitched. God the girl really was a hopeless. “No need to be so modest,” She encouraged, pulling out her phone and taking a step back to leave the group as quickly as she’d joined it “There was all that unstoppable stuff too, right? Plus you’re from the area and been camping before, you’ve got to have all kind of tips for us.”
From inside its pocket, her phone was already lighting up from tapping. “We’re all here to bond after all- I just need to check one thing, then I’ll catch you all for dinner yeah?” With a wave, she turned and left the group to give her undivided attention to her phone.
It was a snug and cozy fit for all the Biros to stay within the few provided rooms and beds given them. But Qasem was accustomed to lacking accomidations in remote places, and lost little sleep from it. He was the first one out for breakfast, though conversation with the locals in the inns main hall was sparse due to his ignorance of the local dialect and their barely-veild distrust and discomfort of his pressence.
If their prejudice bothered Qasem, he concealed it well. He greeted his fellow students with open arms and welcome words as they descended to join him and got what little information they could from the innkeep before making plans to investigate for the day over their meal.
"I should like to see the ones that accosted us the other day," He finally spoke once Manfred announcied his intentions to head for the barracks first, where the highwaymen were being held. "We never really had the chance for a proper introduction after all."
The Barracks were where they had entered the town, at the base of an old watchtower. Ragged but built to be stout, it seemed to have recently taken a blow but stood strong regardless. A middle-aged man in a raincoat studied the group before opening the door, however Ismet would first get a hand rested on her shoulder. She, unlike the others, would be ordered to rid herself of anything that could be used as a weapon. Qasem got a simple glare, but wasn’t accosted.
Inside, there was a room with a table in the centre and two young constables playing a game of cards. One of them was the female assistant to the man called Leonhardt, and she was playing against a fellow female worker that looked to be just below her twenties. Their coats hung by the entrance and they were relatively plain clothing one would expect from lower merchants/artisans. Except of course for the multiple guns they kept close to their persons and the knives attached to their belts.
“Ah! I knew you’d come!” said the older girl in what sounded close enough to Kerreman, “If you want to talk to the boss, he’ll be back after his patrol. But for now it’s just me, Strigenroth, and loser Baum here.” she informed them before placing a winning card to what seemed to be a very simple game of war.
There were a few doors that led to different, unknown rooms in the building with one of them undoubtedly being a small armoury. The cells were, on the other hand, very much visible from the main lounge they played in. Most of the highwaymen were in trios within the few cells available, along with an extra older fellow that sat in the corner of his cell. Annette was awake but didn’t say a thing, nor did she even look at the group. Her fixation was on her wrist. Cristophe kept his eyes on them, sat on his bed with a wary look, “Do you want to talk to them?” Stigenroth emerged from her seat and adjusted her belt, “They already told us everything. They’ll pay a fine and get back to work soon.” she nodded toward Cristophe, “You will also need to pay a fine for their losses, however.” she brought up, arms crossed in a defensive manner, “The human losses, I mean.”
Whatever surprise Qasem felt upon hearing the guard’s words and commands, was kept carefully concealed behind a veneer of cordial politeness. Whatever strange and sideways looks the small party gave him were readily ignored and returned with polite half-bows upon each introduction.
“We will be only too happy to assist however possible, but first we too will be needing some formal documentation please” As soon as the translation was finished, Qasem turned to his pack and produced a loose-bound notebook; rather official looking, with the embossed seal of the Greyscale Charmine order on the covering leather and written in flawless Inipori script inside.
“Firstly for the Inipori Charmine Order will need full reports on those who threatened the life of a serving brother to be preserved and recorded with the writings Ar'qush.” He flipped some of the pages. "My colleague, being a holy sister of the Pentad, has already gone to give her side of the report to the Quentic authority here, but I'm sure they too would appreciate hearing another account."
“Of course the free city of Ersand’Enise will be needing its own filing for student records. As well, the noble houses of the Marquis Elstrøm von Wentoft, Graf Hohnstein, and not least the Hohenfelter Reichsgrafs require notice of the endangerment of their kin and heirs.” His smile remained as wide and pleasant as ever while he waited for his partners to translate. There was not a trace of insincerity about him, as one by one pages were selected from the back of the book and placed on the card table.
“Some translation will be necessary,” He continued, almost apologetically, “But I’m sure by the time your captain has finished the paperwork, we will have the requested funds at the ready”
Manfred had been seething, at first, but now, he worked hard to hide a smirk. This Darhannic monk was good: really good. He crossed his arms, translating more or less word for word and adding his own notes and addenda. ”You shall, of course, have our full cooperation so long as we can be assured of yours. Surely, you’ll understand the need for a full report of the attack perpetrated against us for when we forward these expenses to the academy.” He smiled agreeably enough, doing his best to match Qasem’s masterpiece of self-control, before clapping his hands in a businesslike manner. “Well, I hope that settles that. Now, onto other matters.” He adjusted the rifle slung over his shoulder. “I imagine you’ve been briefed as to why we’re here, but first…” He began moving over to where the rifles leaned. “I just need to take a moment to admire this thing.” He focused, in particular, on the older of the two pieces: an aged but magnificent wheellock. “Is this a Koppelman 49?” he wondered.
The wheellock in question was bigger than the rest of the weaponry available, “Ah ja - One of our older ones.” Stigenroth made her way to the weapon and hoisted it up with both her arms. It looked a bit heavy for her, “It’s an old variant, mostly used for Skuggvars. We used to have many lurk in the Teufelssumpf.” she presented the weapon in an inviting manner toward Manfred.
He took and spent a good while inspecting it and talking shop, here to provide muscle, gravitas, and - most importantly - translation if needed, but recognizing how much better cut out Qasem was for this sort of thing. At the very least, he could make a positive impression and see if there were any openings for information gathering that presented themselves. “Skuggs, hmm? They aren’t still a problem? This strikes me as prime turf for the big ugly bastards.”
The girl shook her head, “They were a problem for years but recently …” as Stigenroth got a little chatty, her younger associate flicked her shoulder to snap her out of it, “Ah ja. They migrated, most likely. After a few hunts they must’ve … Lost interest in the territory?” her lying wasn’t great and her shrug was exaggerated. The silent partner sighed from her nose and shot a disappointed stare at the older constable, “But the gun is still good enough to shoot coal toads! Especially the big ones.” she added, cheerfully. Manfred was not fooled for a moment, of course but he appeared to accept the clumsy coverup, and perhaps it was a mutual understanding that they both knew that the other knew and nothing would be said of it for now.
In the meantime, the young associate of the vice-constable had been noting down the translated demands of the Darhannic foreigner with great rigour. And once all the bureaucracy was put on the table, literally, the mousey worker scampered through one of the closed doors, only to emerge with a folder with a couple of papers. The information was tightly compacted, barely readable AND in Kerreman. They were clearly saving on paper, and the information they’d find there would likely be incomplete. “There was no time for a copy. If you want it faster, you can borrow the report if you copy it in here.” proposed Stigentroth, “If you want to interrogate, you may. Constable Leonhardt has allowed it.”
"Thank you," Qasem said to the steward then began providing the documents. He scanned the indecipherable language only briefly before looking to his partner. "We'd appreciate the chance to question them most certainly. But I think first we have some for you. Where is it they will be sent off to work? What is to prevent them from attacking us again? Is it common for Constable Leonhardt to grant access to prisoners?"
Manfred crossed his arms and nodded. He had his suspicions, but they were best not voiced yet. “Are they going to Drachenkopf or somewhere else?” he inquired. The Dragon’s Head was an ancient and notorious prison in the west of Kerremand, not actually that far away. It was the obvious choice and he could likely send a letter that way and check their claims if necessary. It was growing in him. These weren’t necessarily bad people, but they were hiding something. They were up to something.
The younger constable took the lead while Stigenroth tended to the gun Manfred and herself were admiring, “Back to the roads. They’ll pay a bigger fine if they attack you again. Yes, only after a night to sober up and if they’re local. Outsiders stay isolated until interrogated and judged.” she rapidly fired responses after Manfred had translated. Her Kerreman had a thicker regional accent than Stigenroth, and she spoke quickly! But, she was a very understanding mousey little lass and accepted to repeat as much as needed, “They work for us. Why would they go to the big prison? They’re punished with a fine and harsher punishment will come if they continue.” she smiled.
"I see." Qasem said curtly, giving the barest side-look to his companion before closing his own page book. His expression quickly returned to impassive politeness. Foreign as the people and their language might have been, Qasem knew a corrupt bureaucracy when he saw one. Not that this group seemed particularly worried about hiding it.
"And Constable Leonhardt," He pressed the least addressed point. "He answers to your local lord or governance?" A sheepish smile of innocence came to his face as Manfred translated the words. "Please excuse my ignorance as a stranger; unfamiliar with the laws of this place."
Stigenroth was about to say something, but Laura, the meeker constable, spoke up, “Constable Leonhardt will be here soon.” she said, “He will answer that better than we could.” again, she smiled.
Qasem reflected the hollow smile back to the woman before looking at Manfred "Let us interview these... decommissioned guardsmen in the meantime, yes?"
There was a pause and Manfred was less than thrilled with the entire situation. He was beginning to see why this place had required attention, though just what was being hidden, he did not know and was not certain that he could handle. “Yes,” he agreed, already moving. “Let’s.
The cells held the familiar faces of the defeated bandits, most of them recovered from their injuries. Some were sleeping, a couple played cards with one-another, and a female had been giving the group the stink-eye. The red marking around her eyes indicated she had been crying.
Even more familiar were the two heads of the group: Annette, referred to as ‘Haken’ by the Constables and the associates that were Cristophe. She did not glare as intensely as the distressed thug, but she hadn’t let Qasem out of her sight for a moment, as if she was eyeing prey from the bed she sat upon.
Cristophe was playing cards with a male inmate, appearing somewhat disinterested in the presence of those that had captured him. The cells were closed, although they seemed to have access to water, food and even some moonshine.
Seeing as they already had her attention, Qasem moved to stand opposite Annette first. "I'm glad we have an opportunity to try for a less painful introduction," He smiled as he nodded at her reformed hand, willfully ignorant of her obvious disdain.
"My name is Qasem Laghmani," His own right hand reached between the cell bars in greeting "and this is my associate."
“Manfred.” The large Kerreman with the magnificent mustache did not offer his hand or so much as uncross his arms.
"Just so," Qasem continued, "Might we begin by asking why enforcers of the law patrol the area under the guise of highwaymen?"
Annette stared at Qasem’s hand, and then at hers. No response from her, nor from the group locked up behind bars. Cristophe didn’t let this attempt at a conversation interrupt his card game. “Uhm,” Strigenroth’s more timid voice spoke up once it was clear the prisoners weren’t keen on simply cooperating, “they are not actually men and women of the law.” she explained, much to Laura’s annoyance, “They were hired to help keep the roads clear of beast attacks, and to add some additional safety to ease the minds of the townsfol-” as she spoke, Annette chuckled and spoke over her, “You’re not scared of any beast, little girl, it’s just a legend your dead grandparents loved to tell to scare you brats.” she hissed at the young constable but her eyes remained on Qasem, “You want to keep these fucking Affen and other foreigners out. And we agreed, these rats cause only grief to good Kerreman towns and homes.” she then snorted before spitting into an empty cup that once held some moonshine, “Better choo them away before change excites the creatures that don’t take kindly to that.”
“Tell me,” asked Manfred of his partner. “How much harm am I allowed to inflict in order to extract information?” He reached into his cloak and extracted a set of studded brass knuckles. creatures… he pondered. They would not give the information away freely, of course. “W-what?” Stigenroth’s hands started to shake. She looked for comfort in different places, although Laura seemed indifferent to the proposition while everything else evoked more anxiety. Meanwhile, Annette stared down the big moustache, “Continuing what your Affe friend started?” she taunted, “Come in this cell. I’ll give you a good time, child.”
Cristophe lowered his cards and paid attention to what was going on. The Constables were not intervening, likely from a lack of experience, or even care, of such extreme circumstances. It wasn’t often torture was on the table in this quaint little town, or it would be handled by higher forces. Where was Leonhardt? Stigenroth clenched the Quentic pendant, “You cut her hand off and she didn’t tell you anything,” Cristophe spoke up, “you’re going to alienate the few of you that pass as Kerreman by getting so trigger-happy.” He sounded quite eloquent when his native tongue was used. “Why are you giving him advice, Cristophe? Looking for a new son?” scoffed Annette, prompting a glare from the older blonde man. He didn’t add any more.
"Thank you for the clarification," Qasem withdrew his offered hand to nod in thanks towards Strigenroth, but fell quiet again to observe the effect of Manfred's implied threat. "I think enough harm has been done already," He finally spoke, "we came here to help these people after all." His focus turned from the woman to the blonde man. "Your son was one of the ones killed?"
“Nein.” answered Cristophe before pointing at the still weeping dreg of the group, “Her husband.” he uttered in Avincian. And he left it at that.
"I see," Nothing in Qasem's demeanour softened, and he made no effort to comfort or make apologies to the woman, instead continuing the line of questioning. "The device you used on us that silenced magic, where did you get it from?"
“From an Affe’s ass.” answered Annette, seemingly losing interest as she slouched on her creaking bed.
Qasem sighed, "The beast then. Anything you can share about that?" He looked to Annette, then Cristophe, and finally Stigenroth for an answer. "Do you think we could be allowed inside with them?" He asked the guards and gestured to the locked cell door. Laura stood from her seat with the keychain in hand. The cell was opened without a word, giving access to Cristophe’s cell, which contained three other male inmates. They all just stared at Qasem. “Anyone else want in?”
Manfred narrowed his eyes. “The yasoi,” he interjected, shooting Qasem a quick apologetic look, “I understand that things are not so good between you and them as they once were, but I am not from so distant a region myself. Did you not once call them brother? Where does this palpable hatred originate from? What have they done to earn it?” He looked at Annette in particular. “Unless it’s because you’re just a cranky old bitch, of course.” He sneered in her direction before shrugging most unbothered. “That’s always a possibility.”
Annette sneered at the boy, “Courageous words to say to a woman behind bars.” not that she couldn’t do something about them, but it seemed there was a deterrent keeping the more competent mages in check. “The fucking Affe. Heh.” Annette looked away, palpable rage building up inside, “Those animals are far worse if you step into their shitty land. They deserve to be smacked out of our own.” she spat again into her cup, “Now that their home is just so shit, they’re spilling everywhere. Spreading their disgusting habits and degenerate behaviours.” she continued to rant and did not hold back on the strength of her voice, “And before you know it, your lifelong crew’s gotta get in bed with these fucking junkies. Fuck. Them. And fuck these old ‘friends’ too!”
"I can see what you mean," Qasem said solemnly as he stepped into the cell. "That spitting- it's quite similar to the habit of Casii isn't it? The white haired Yasoi this one lost a hand over?" He asked Manfred almost conversationally, and moved to place a hand on Cristophe's shoulder. Cristophe aggressively shrugged his shoulder when he was touched, but he was indeed touched by the Darhannic interrogator.
“What did you say, sand-man?” Annette growled. Stigenroth reached for her baton in anticipation of the worst. As usual, Laura did not give a shit.
Manfred merely grinned, tightened his grip on his weapon, and started to draw, subtly, of course, in the way that magusjaegers were trained to.
"The truth.” Qasem replied coolly, "We’ve come to you in good faith despite being unjustly accosted in your lands, yet your prejudices have made you too blind and stupid to accept help you are clearly in need of.”
“And nobody asked for you here, worthless goat-fucker!” Annette hopped off her bed and smacked her palms against the bars, “Lemme outta here, Stigenroth, I’m not gonna kill him. Just set things right.” she began to draw, wordlessly threatening to snap the bars off. “Why do you even care, Haken?” finally, Cristophe interjected, “These aren’t our people. We’re just paid to do this.” he looked tired of it all, enough to tell off his supposed leader. “Why are you defending them? They killed two of-” “Maybe you should pick your fights better, Annette.” the woman was left flustered by that response. Static began to accumulate around all those within the barracks. Harmless but very noticeable static. “And you’ll end up alone like you did half a year ago. Or dead. If you don’t shut your mouth.” in turn, Cristophe pushed back with his own magnetic magic. He essentially sucker punched her with a sudden dose of electricity using her own flexing to finally sedate her. She wasn’t unconscious, just dazed and back to sitting on the bed.
“Let’s make this quick before she wakes up again.” Cristophe spoke to Qasem, his posture straightened and hands on his knees. Stigenroth was shaking in obvious fear, while Laura had been pointing her rifle right at Annette’s head the whole time in the background, finger on the trigger.
Qasem again waited for the drama to play out, quietly observing the reactions of those around. He nodded in thanks to Cristophe before speaking again. “The attacks that caused need for your employment, what can you tell me about them? What were you watching for?”
Cristophe shot a glance toward Stigenroth who didn’t reciprocate, and then to Laura who calmly looked back with eyebrows rising slightly. The highwayman pursed his lips before speaking, “You heard of a beast, yes?” the whole group of inmates were all looking at the lieutenant at this point, “We were to keep a lookout for that thing and ensure travellers wouldn’t fall victims to it.” he explained, actively gesturing with his right hand while squeezing his knee with the other, “We’ve never encountered it, but we’ve heard it. Many times.” again, he looked at Laura and then kept quiet. It definitely looked as though he wanted to add something to that answer, “Annette believes it to be hogwash.”
“We heard… Something on our way here.” Qasem replied, looking to Manfred as memory of the inhuman roar resurfaced with Christophe’s words. “Have people died? What evidence is there of attacks?”
“You should ask the people that live here.” Cristophe answered plainly, arms now crossed, “We get paid by the Lord of this land. Maybe you sh-” a loud, wooden slam shut Cristophe up. It was Laura who practically slammed her rifle onto the table, “Enough of a mess has been made. We should clean things up, before Constable Leonhardt comes back.” she flashed a hollow smile at Qasem. Stigenroth, after gathering her bearing, nodded in agreement, “Maybe we should continue later, ja?” she rubbed her arm that held the baton, her feet pacing anxiously.
“As you say” Qasem nodded to Laura with a tight-lipped smile “We wouldn’t want to cause further trouble.” He offered his hand to Cristophe one final time before leaving the cell. Cristophe did not take it and just stared at the man before him. They were not friends, and these people had still killed two of his own.
“Do you know when the Constable might be returning?” He asked the women. Laura shrugged, “Maybe in five minutes. Maybe an hour. Patrols can take longer when it rains. Or if an animal causes a ruckus in the farms.” she paused and tilted her head, “Not that there’s much there anymore.” having clearly lost interest, Laura relegated herself to cleaning up the small mess made by Annette while Stigenroth kindly escorted the group outside.
Once they were out they’d find the rain had calmed to just droplets with minimal winds. Stigenroth made sure they were far enough to bring something up, “That woman, Annette or Haken or whatever,” she continued to pace toward the town with the two young men, her eyes focused on her dirty boots as she talked, “she used to work with some bigger group that smuggled things through the Irrgarten, causing us grief for a few years. But then …” they were nearing the square where a few merchants had opened shop since the morning, “we just haven't heard from them since, around when our problem started. I’m not sure why they stopped, or why she left to work for Graf Anselm.”
Manfred had gone quiet as the questioning had continued, Qasem clearly being the better of the two at this sort of thing, but now he paused to consider. He’d seen seeming coincidences like this before, and it was almost always misdirection. If Haken - Hook - had been working for smugglers before, and only changed employ around when the problem had stopped, she was almost certainly still part of it. “There some way we can speak with the Graf? As a graf of Meckelin-Thandau, I suppose it would not be too hard to arrange a meeting, even as reclusive as he’s supposed to be.”
Stigenroth panicked a little fumbled her words a little before replying, “Uhhhh,” cheek scratching ensued, maybe a bit too hard as she’d be left with deep, red marks, “you should speak with Herr Dubosque.” she nodded, looking toward Qasem to avoid meeting eyes with the noble young man, “He is the liaison, I think. Yes, liaison. They work together for the town. Thanks to him, the incidents were reduced by a lot!”
"Problems. Incidents." Qasem repeated skeptically, but he'd given up on getting further explanations of those events from her. Directly at least. "How long has Mandelein been your home lieutenant?"
Stigenroth hesitated as if this was some sort of trick question. Qasem could feel her anxiety spike. She probably thought it was her turn to undergo an interrogation, “A-all my life?” she looked at both men expectantly, hoping for validation.
“But of course,” Manfred acknowledged, smiling in her direction. “A charming town in a unique region of our shared country. I want nothing more than to help it flourish, and that means solving what remains of this issue. Even lessened, it will still be enough to prevent a return to Mandelein’s former glory.”
Qasem returned to the inn with Manfred, and watched as the Leutenant continued fuirther down the street and around a corner.
"A dissapoitning endevour, but not enirely fruitless." He confided to his temporary partner. "Shame they weren't more forthcomming, but it seems we'll need to go to higher athorities to get anywehre." He checked the sky for any sign of that drizzle plauging them since stepping through the protal might let up, but found none. "We'll hear what the others learned from the church and the town, then try reaching Garf."
The pair spent the remainder of their afternoon investigations asking the frequenters of the inn and it's owners for whatever information they were willing to provide about the handfull of names they'd managed to gather: Herr Dubosque, Annette Haken, constable Laura, and Graf Anselm.
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the universe is grand, but life is grander
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<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/873000357712765022/1122544468558614632/25185797.gif" /><br><br>the universe is grand, but life is grander</div></div>
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