Tempest — Roleplayer Guild

Georgia -- South-East Block

Georgia fidgets and tenses when James suggests that they should wait where they were. “NO!” she shouts out at him abruptly, whirling on him in a fit, “No, we're not staying put here, waiting for an evac!” She points her gun outside, directed at the Gol-eye-ith and the puddle of the other mutant, “We don't know what they're capable of. But I know if we stay still right here, we're dead!” Her eyes are wild as she looks over at Morai, perhaps he had hesitated and was already to come back after James' words, yet, “Mister Morai, please, don't go. We need you... Cara, James and I can't do this ourselves.” Her eyes flicker fearfully to the survivors here with them, that she was now sharing equal parts in having to care for.

Carolyn lifts her rifle and taps the cartridge. "I've tried unjamming it multiple times. It's done." Antov looks at the rest of the now panicked looking survivors. "I don't even have a gun and I have more spine than the rest of you." Carolyn shakes her head and then looks at James. "It isn't a bad plan to call for evac."

Morai frowns and sighs as he had hesitated in the doorway when James spoke to him. The look in Georgia's eyes however sealed the deal as he took a glance at the puddle mutant. He seemed to weigh his options before looking over his pistol. He then looks at the survivors, most of whom seemed quite ready to simply give up and die at the thought of facing the Goleyeith again. He chews his lip before looking up the stairs. "Carolyn, there are walkways on the rooftops yes? Set up ages ago?" Carolyn nods. "Yes, but I don't see--" Morai interrupts her as he looks at James. "Your call for evac was good but we're a vastly inferior group facing a vastly superior force. We don't get the courtesy of the enemy waiting politely for evac to take us home. The Goleyeith has a lot of eyes... But even it cannot see through walls. On the roof, four floors above us, we should have some cover from its sight, and have the height advantage, while we wait for evac. We can also cross the rooftops should we find our position being compromised." Carolyn looked confused. "I don't think there's a way to the roof, sergeant." Morai grins as he nudges his shotgun. "I can make one."

She relaxes some and nods, unslinging her rifle and passing it to Carolyn before drawing her pistol, checking that it was clear and ready to go before passing it to Antov and grabbing her own tactical axe, “I'm not good with those... Too...” she shudders, “Too much bang.” She offers a wry smile, checking the weight, figures going through her head of how force, the axis and all manners of such worked to deal the most damage. She was faster too, if they needed something to be taken down fast and quiet maybe she could help, though the thought of killing another living thing turned her stomach, “Thank you, Mister Morai... Cara, if it gets too bad, maybe you and I can work out something to blast a hole, if Mister Morai's boomstick doesn't work...” Her eyes flit around the group and injured, “We should move somewhere better, if we need eyes out there... I can cover it for a few seconds if I know where Achilles' Heel is, but I'll need someone to make sure no nasties get at me right then... Anyone who needs to be patched up, we'll stop a little higher up, maybe. I have something left in my med-kit and James' kit is somewhere around here.”

Rayvon Krayvitch – Town Square
Defender, Adrenaline, Fortitude – Divine Martyr, Orthodoxy Awareness

“Vis a laurus...” Rayvon murmurs beneath her breath, thumb idly caressing over the worn smooth cross as she clutches it over her heart. With her next breath, she utters the next phrase, “Laurus a juris...” She takes a deep breath, staring ahead as she raises her head to survey the motley assortment about her. She tenses, picking up on some of their races. Her eyes linger on the group of drow before looking away, lips curling up in disgust. They were known as a treacherous race. So far from the light, it was no doubt, they could be nothing but trouble. She squares her shoulders and raises her head proudly, trying to ignore the ache in her limbs at having walked so far in full suit. The cloak, drawn over her eyes and wrapped about her frame in an attempt to suppress her own light and hide the glow of her eyes did not seem to help much either. The heat of mid-day blaring down upon the dark fabric, overtop plate, chain and leather... It was growing rather hot inside. Swallowing and trying to loosen the tie of her cloak ever so slightly, hoping the breeze caught and would flow through refreshingly, she resumes her recitation with her footfalls. “Otii evenio... a pura et pia... Et vigilo evenio... a trumphare et gloriae... At me redimo... culpae de mi majoris... Insisto transduco vitium... Et redimire... me candor...”

With the last few words, she steps off awkwardly, the muscles of her back clenching as if to readjust to her corrections. The correction does not come as she remembers yet again what was taken from her. She stumbles and struggles to get her feet back beneath her as she releases her cross. Rayvon's hands shoot up to clutch the hood of her cloak, drawing it further down to hide the flushing of her cheeks at this embarrassment. As she recovers her balance, she attempts to act as if nothing had happened, gaze cast away from any of the other Blades as if nothing had happened. None of them were staring upon her, certainly. She did not feel their red-hot gaze upon her back. It was just the heat of the day getting to her. Surely.

In her own concentration upon the decretum, she was at a loss to have noticed the spymaster arrive. And only when everyone seemed to still and then take off, did she realize that something had happened. She strains her ears, moving forward to listen to the words of Dean. She perks up, to hear her time of service was finally upon them. It was her chance to prove herself. However, she was not as ready to run at break-neck speeds as many were. Still, picking up her pace, she follows the trail clear into the town square and takes note of the panic of the town and takes a deep breath as she raises her head, hood falling back and murmurs, “Though corruption surround me, I will not fall. I will persevere through shadow and temptation.” Her senses spread out and a chill runs down through her spine as she looks around wildly. The entire area felt blanketed with the fallen, a thick oppressive fog, but there was something... More notable.

Quickly, she raises a hand back and withdraws her blade, cloak slipping back and revealing her faint glow as she calls out her challenge, “Fiend, while you may hide, the devout will triumph yet! You merely prolong the inevitable for your crimes. Step forth and challenge me, foul one, and I shall issue you a swift and painless death!”

Maevan Lucre – West Watch Tower
Heavy Hitter, Endurance Training, Sharp – Mechanist Matron, The Only Real Power is Firepower

Fafnir walked, standing taller than most of the mortals about him... Save the equestrian and bovine warriors. A jet of stream drifts from his nostrils as he fumes over that simple fact. This diminutive form took from his glory. Perhaps if he were to rear upon his hind quarters, though, and attempt to walk like the lesser creatures he may overshadow them. A low grinding runs through his body as his wings shift in agitation and he works his jaw, gnashing his fangs. Of course, he was under explicit orders from the little deceiver upon his back. It infuriated him to no end, being lumped in with a common mule, and he could tell from the way she slumped forward upon his form that she was indeed being so lethargic as to drift in and out of consciousness. Of course, she had instructed him to allow her to ride upon his back and he was bound to listen to the descendant of the original green-haired morsel. Yet, that was not to stop him from giving her an uncomfortable experience!

With a shifting of his plates, steam begins to work out from an exhaust pipe and floods right against her face and she wakes with a startled yelp, rubbing at her goggles to clear the fog from her vision. Maeven blinks wildly, rubbing her now all too warm face and glaring at the back of Fafnir's head. With a whine, she grips a spine upon his back and hefts her body as she repeatedly kicks his sides in anger, “You jerk! I was sleeping back here!”

A low rumble of metallic laughter peels out from the dragon hoarse and high-pitched as he continues to trail after the group lazily, “I was well aware, small charlatan.”

Maeven huffs and pounds his back with her knuckles, “Well, don't do it again. It's not nice. And what if that steam had been hot?! You could have scalded my face right off! Then I'd look like... Like...” She furrows her brow trying to think of what was comparable... Nothing descriptive enough came to mind. She shakes her head, “If you want me to be all specific, I can Fafnir. But I have some respect for you. So don't make me!”

Fafnir lets out a low peel of metal grinding in high-pitched shrieks as he growls at her, “You will do no such thing, spawn of the swindler!”

Maeven crosses her arms, holding on with her legs, “Just watch me, you big hunk of scrap! I will shut you down so fast that— ” She stops as a flash of movement up ahead catches her gaze. Her jaw drops and she leans forward, climbing up Fafnir's neck as she cranes to get a better look. The dragon looses a static-filled snarl but ultimately does nothing as he watches the woman as well. “What is she saying, Faf?”

The dragon quirks his head, as if trying to hear that way, though he had no need to. “Something about Queens and danger, I believe... Do mine eyes decieve me or is that morsel kin of yours?”

Maeven remains silent before tapping his neck with her boot, “Get closer.”

They listen as instructions are issued out, but she was too fascinated with this other woman. She shared many of her characteristics and Fafnir confirmed it. His senses were sharper than hers even in this form. She drapes lazily over his neck as she listens, latching on to every word. So this is the spymaster of Renalta... Interesting... She was about to speak up after the drow departed from her side, but Fafnir interrupts her quickly. “Little one, have you the skills to perhaps engineer myself a superior form befitting of one such as myself?” he demands, lowering head threatening, nearly throwing Maeven off, if not for her clinging to his body, hands grasping tight onto the spines of his neck. Half-dangling upside-down from Fafnir's neck, Maeven looks at Mikan the spymaster and clears her throat, “Who does your hair? I haven't been able to find any dye since coming to these lands..” As if to make a point, she shifts her hair to reveal the green roots. She leans in and hisses to Fafnir, “That is not as close as I meant, you idiot.” A threatening grind comes from Fafnir in response.

"No, sorry little metal head." Mikan giggles and looks to the other. "Hmph... I do my own hair!"

Fafnir looses a puff of cool steam as he inclines his head, “Such a shame, spymaster. It appears I am still bound to the one using me as a tree, then. If you perhaps know of someone else who can do such craft, do tell me. I would kindly work for one not born of a line of snake-tongued liars.” Maeven pouts and shakes her head, “Ignore him. I should have never given him a voice box. He hasn't shut up since.”

"Hmm... How ungrateful! I remember your file now." She stretches out, having caught her breath amidst all the people seeking her attention. In a flirtatious manner she bends over and looks the metal dragon eye to eye. "Besides, there aren't many of my kind alive, and we are some of the only ones who can upgrade you without damaging your soul."

The sockets housing the lights of his eyes flare brighter as Fafnir puffs out cool steam over Mikan's face, mussing her hair contemptuously, “Spymaster, though it may be the case... Why don't you live some years with someone always using you as a common pack mule and guard dog. You will not enjoy it. Especially if it were the result of indentured servitude brought about by deception ages ago.” Maeven reaches out and pats the dragon's jaw softly, “Aww, Faf. It's not like that. You're my best friend!... Just a big, scary, strong one.” At a soft purr of satisfaction at the apparent compliment, Maeven redirects her attention to Mikan, “So, the Queens are in trouble... Need a ride back into town?” Fafnir's plates rattle as he looses in indignant noise, “It would give you a chance to rest your legs and you can hop off if we split ways.”

"Mm... Don't I know more than you could dream." She mutters under her breath, her hand trembling for a moment before she curls it a few times to regain control. "No, no, I think Fafnir would prefer not to be used quite like that. I have a good pair of legs, I can use them." With a soft smile she ushers the pair off. "Now go! Quick! That is a bomb after all, bombs don't wait patiently!"

Fafnir's lights dim as he stairs at the woman before going, with or without consent of the morsel upon his back. “Hey! What's that all about, Faf?!” When he deems himself far enough out of earshot of the woman, his voice a low whisper of air against his normal grinding blast, he answers, “That one, she has an addiction most powerful. That is why she trembled so. I would not trouble her were I you, small rogue.”

They continue on until they reach the Western Tower. Upon arriving, Maeven raises up upon Fafnir, standing in the stirrups as she stares at the scene before her. She shudders and draws her blunderbuss, eying the ravens carefully. “Feeling hungry, Faf?”

“For carrion-feeders? No, I am afraid I must pass.”

Maeven narrows her eyes, still watching the skies. “You can't even taste anything.”

“I still have standards,” he growls, gears whirring and tensing his limbs as he scans the ground diligently.

“You're too stuck up, Faf...” She calls out to the rest of the team warily, looking for anything that appears out of the ordinary, “What's the plan?”

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