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Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

Henri reached the dead giant while the bear was curled and nursing his battered groin. The lumbering creature probably wouldn't stay down long, so he worked fast-- once more searing off the steel helmet and pauldrons, filling the air with the acrid stench of burned meat. He could not smell it himself, having long ago lost that sense-- but he remembered well enough. The heavy plume coming off the giant would have risen a stench to heaven.

As the metal flowed into him, he felt his legs begin to work, and the damage to his chest subside from the metal sealing the gaps between the cracks, and filling the shattered empty voids. He looked like an irregular jigsaw puzzle, of broken white shards and dark grey bands between them where the iron had solidified.

He chuckled, then staggered up onto his feet. The repairs were not that great; Iron was tough, but lacked the hardness and strength of the ceramic, and was much heavier. His legs threatened to bend in ways that were not conducive to walking with each step, but at least he was upright.

Yvonne looked spent, clutching her arms against her body with a grimace of her own. He waved at her and smiled. She only looked at him for a moment as the hairy brute stood up and once more started to lunge, a thick trickle of blood going down its rear legs, matting the fur.

He crouched, then propelled himself forward by skating on the sandy ground, to dart between those legs, before turning over, and reaching up with both hands to grasp the breast plate in a bear hug. The bear had the metal he needed, and he intended to have it.

The bear tumbled from the sudden increase in mass on his chest, and fell forward on top of henri-- an event he made full use of, despite several hundred pounds of usine bulk crushing him into the sandy floor. The beast bellowed, then tore at Henri's back with its clawed hands, but to no avail-- he had fused himself with the breastplate, and the center of it glowed red hot as it flowed around him like a shell, leaving the corners pristine and shiny, with an ugly blue, purple, and orange banding pattern surrounding where he had stuck himself fast to his opponent.

He looked like a crucified man, stretched out over the beast's chest.

"GET OFF GET OFF GET OFF!!!" roared the creature, as it rolled and tossed while tugging at the straps of the breastplate.

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

Henri grimaced from the impact. It wasn't like he felt pain-- More, his jaw was jammed into the top of his head from the impact, causing him to make a face that resembled a grimace, before he fell to the ground with a thud.

Thankfully that overdressed fool of a samurai was taking the heat off him. He'd be thankful, if he felt it would do any good.

Instead, he started crawling as fast as he could toward the next bit of armor he could absorb, while repairing himself as best he could. The short noble woman was busy playing tag with an enormous bear-man that could well have been cedar's angrier, (and probably stupider, despite initial appearances of the young bear he had met the day before) and more physical older brother. The shimmer of a lovely steel breastplate caught his eye, and he decided he wanted it.

Yvonne switched her tactic into a full on crotch-assault-- a thing that he was glad he was no longer vulnerable to in any capacity, given the intensity with which the woman went for it-- while he closed in on the dead giant, and his extremely useful steel helmet and pauldron...

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

Cedar's stomach rumbled furiously at him. He actually felt rather drained, from not eating much of anything over the past week. In all honesty, the smell of blood and intrails was actually welcome, in terms of appetite-- not so much in terms of the instinctual impulses it was causing to throb in the back of his head. He was finding it very difficult to avoid just straight up stealing one of the bins the man had there, and running off with it.

"heh--- Ya could says I is--" he mused, trying to diffuse his internal tensions with light humor. "--Big AN' Hungry. Long walk from Rascade ya know. --Whatcha got for sale tuday?"

His stomach made a loud gurgle, and he was glad to be leaning on his walking stick.

"Dun suppose ya gots an 'all yer can eats' special tuday does ya?"

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

Henri had slowly been moving toward the tattered remains of the ruined net that had been dropped on him, and the steel helm and pauldrons his assailant had been wearing, after stuffing his dislodged eye into his mouth for safe keeping. With only one arm, and barely functioning legs, movement toward the much needed raw materials had been tedious, slow, and beyond enraging.

If he somehow remained "alive" after this, he would have the singularly most corrosive discourse with that elf woman she had ever had, he guaranteed it.

He had just closed in on the head of the fallen lout, when the gates opened, the announcers barked even more bullshit, then released yet more attackers into the ring.

Would they have to exhaust the entire gladiatorial compliment to get out of this? No-- An acidic discussion would not be sufficient. He would send her the repair bills too. The costs to restore his shell to proper function after this much abuse, just for the raw materials alone, would not be cheap. "Wreckless endangerment of a royal courtier" seemed a suitable charge to make the demand hold bite.

He did not have long to consider just how exactly, he would get the elf woman to pay for the damages her mad scheming had caused him before a large hairy oaf with shaggy fur came barreling toward him.

Working with a little more expediency, he melted the steel off the corpse of the fallen freak of nature, burning the face to an unrecognizable charred husk in the process as the steel turned white-orange and liquid, then swirled up into his broken shell, taking new shape as more make-shift replacements for the shattered ceramic of his face, shoulder and arm. His torso was still damaged, so he fused the shield on his back to himself for added reinforcement, before the remaining bits of his clothes burst into flames.

He could not really fight in this condition, but he could make it very unpleasant for this fool to try and grapple him at least-- He heated his body up to a searing high temperature, but not enough to soften his structures. With any luck, it would buy him time while he continued his crawl toward more raw materials.

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

THUD

A very heavy metal cleaver on the end of a dark wooden pole came down hard on his shoulder, shattering his shell, and threatening to dislodge his entire left arm. Henri was livid.

His eyes glowed brilliant crimson, as did the blade under the intense heat Henri subjected it to. The steel melted, and burned through his coat, then integrated with the damaged arm, forming a make-shift repair-- destroying the enemy's weapon in the process. The gladiator drew back a smoking and charred shaft in confusion, as Henri grasped the axe over his right shoulder with both hands, sending the hot iron back to a dull shade of red. The tension of the net pulled the rope down over the blade, and the combination ignited it, making it fall off him with a pop.

Not missing a beat, the angry tutor decided to help these gentlemen get "A head" of the class, and swung the massive metal instrument right into his attacker's neck.

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

Henri followed the trail of blood, bodies, and debris that started at the unguarded large door, hanging ajar at the end of a disused looking alleyway, then moved further in. Another door hung ajar, this one made of sturdy iron. There were two dead bodies inside-- clearly slaves, given the leg irons-- who had been killed by some kind of sharp weapon. One had a nasty wound to the center of its head, and another had bled out on the floor from a nasty gash through its neck. Many empty cages and leg irons remained, either sprung open, or laying chained to the wall, but unshackled.
He followed the trail of carnage with his eyes, and out another door to the side, where he saw familiar faces, and the sounds of a jeering crowd. What was this, some kind of arena?

The realization that he had come here with no weapons at all irritated him, and made him seethe. He looked at the slaves in the pen again. His anger only got worse. Who in their right mind murders innocent people like that? Angrily, he touched the iron of their bondings and chains, willing them to come unraveled, then form a pool of red hot 'goo' at his feet, along with the door, then willed it into a new shape to go with the kite shield he had over his back: A rather large, and frightening double bladed broad axe, with deep beards.

His eyes glowed a dull red from the combination of using his powers and being angry enough to rip this place down himself. If this was Jazdia's work, he would have choice words with her about this.

Another door, with the peep window opened, was near to the one that had been left ajar, unopened. He could feel magic subtly humming inside, but not from the walls. He rocked up on the balls of his boots, and looked through the slit. A very young girl was inside, chained up, with her head tilted to the side, extolling a drug-dazed expresion from behind a blindfold into the otherwise empty room. Further, enraged, he considered his options. Trying to save her now would cost valuable time-- He wondered if that was why the group had not released her-- but the corpses in the prior room still bothered him. Perhaps it was GOOD that the door had not been opened?

A loud baritone voice like a pit-boss announcer bellowed from the empty hallway.

"There she is! Fiesty lady and her companions! Welcome! Welcome. I see that you are very eager to start! A shame that you are a bit late! Today's match should have been done-and-done! We had seen plundering! Crazy battles! Tight escapes and desperate chases! But fret not! It seems the fight is far from over Ladies and Gentlemen."

FUCK. There was not any time left, it looked like those bumbling fools had gotten themselves ensnared in the arena-- He closed on the gate at the end of the hall. The portcullis gate had slammed down, but it lifted easily. A quick examination showed that the locks had been destroyed. What the fuck? Were they in there ON PURPOSE?

He didn't give a shit, he would get his answers soon enough. Shouldering the still blistering hot axe over his shoulder, where it sent small tendrils of smoke from contact with his coat, he stomped toward the open arena door.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?!" he demanded angrily as he stormed in, the gate crashing down again behind him. He felt an odd tingle as he passed through the doorway, which sent a momentary flutter through his core....

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

Henri left the constabulary office of the Delving estate, with the crates of aged liquor in tow. He HAD intended to sell them for a tidy profit, but the lack of leads on where to meet his associates had left him with a different use for the aged liquor products.

Starting a circular path from the city's edge, around its perimeter, then moving inward on each pass, he would eventually cover the entire city. If somebody was foolish enough to try and jump him for his cargo, they would certainly regret it, and most likely, not live to tell about it. Thankfully, this proved to not be the case.

The plan was simple-- Ask about the one thing he knew about with certainty. A young elf woman with blue eyes, and prematurely graying blonde hair, who was a retired adventurer, and was connected with the events at the mausoleum earlier that day, going by the name of "Jazdia." Public houses were a likely good place to dig for such a lead, as drunken men were often quite eager to part with what they knew-- or thought they knew-- in exchange for yet another round. In the cases where the patrons were probably not suitable to ask, the proprietor of the establishment could likely be 'convinced' to part with what they knew for the right price. Given the extreme age of the liquor he was hauling-- and thus worth a small fortune for each bottle-- such persons would likely talk once they saw the contents.

Nearly every place he went to either had no useful leads, incoherent or inconsistent information, or knew nothing at all, much to his frustration. The sun was very red and low in the sky by the time he sauntered into sight of the Black Swan-- a mixed class 'dive', from what he could tell-- and showing signs of many drunken brawls, openly displayed gambling, and even more shameless displays of public drunkenness. He initially just milled about within the establishment, tuning his hearing for any and all of the latest gossip. Apparently, 3 men were enraged about a 'rat of a nobleman' who had cheated them at cards. Others were furtively questioning if the perp had gone off with the part owner of The Angel's Share, and some even questioned if she had been involved in the disturbance at the royal mausoleum later that day. Rather than risk causing a brawl over high priced liquor, he had taken the time to unbox a single bottle of the fine "Delving Family" whiskey, and secreted it in the deep inner pocket of his coat before entering. After a 'discrete' conversation and exchange with the owner, he finally got a solid lead on where Jazdia might be. A rather posh and prim little flophouse near the city's central square, called "The Angel's Share." Apparently, she was an "Angel Investor", who had bought into the nearly insolvent business, and had started enacting changes that were not very welcome at the Swan, as it had started drawing away some of the Swan's customers. Henri thanked the man, and exchanged him the agreed to bottle of prize liquor as payment, then headed out into the street, to make for the city's center. He remembered thinking that he had recognized her, since he owned property in that neighborhood, and he kicked himself for not acting on the hunch sooner.

The sun had already set by the time he left the Swan, but he hoped that perhaps he could catch up to the other team there, if they had stayed for the night. If she was a partial owner of the establishment, it would make sense for her to board her crew there, and avoid paying and having room ledger paperwork that could be confiscated and investigated by corrupt officials.

He had made it about halfway down the nearest avenue leading toward the square, when a loud explosion rocked the streets, followed by furtive cries and screaming. Ducking into an alleyway, and temporarily hiding his burdens there, he carefully climbed up the wall and onto the nearest building to get a good view of the city's rooftops. Fire could be seen clearly in the gloom of the skyline at night, and shortly thereafter, another explosion, and finger of orange glare popped up quite some distance away... Then a third.

This was a highly irregular series of events, and with the city locked down, the odds of it being somehow connected with the abduction of the prince and the failed assassination of King Frederick, seemed more than just "highly probable." Sliding down the wall with a loud scraping, and landing with a cross between a thud and a clang, he threw his coat over the hidden chests to hide them further, then skated as quickly as he could to the site of the nearest explosion.

The city guard was all over it like flies on a dead horse, as were the fire brigade, and several angry but well dressed men with stern, stony, and scowling faces. They had gathered at the demarcation line set by the guard commanders and the fire brigades to keep townsfolk and gawkers out of the scene, while the buildings were extinguished and investigated. Henri made discrete inquiries with the guards about the attacks, who owned the warehouse, and what was stored there.

He discretely left the scene of the first warehouse, then once more hightailed it to the next-- repeating his discrete investigatory inquiries, then moved on to the third.

Nothing seemed to indicate a real motive, but a pattern in ownership did present itself. All of the warehouses belonged to a group known locally as "The Black Serpent Guild". They apparently dealt with just about any and all classes of merchandise, in addition to a number of shady and ethically dubious services, but sufficiently 'above board' to be able to operate in the open. The cause of the explosions were believed to be foul play, as none of the warehouses really contained explosive materials that could spontaneously detonate, but many did contain flammable trade goods, such as wax, bottled oil, and bundled fabric yardgoods. No evidence of how the warehouses were bombed was readily apparent to the initial investigators however. Whoever was responsible, had chosen a very discrete method, but the police lieutenant believed there was magic involved, due to the lack of material evidence.

It was well into the earliest hours of the morning by this time, and he was furious that he had essentially wasted hours of precious time chasing after a particularly elusive goose. He returned to the alleyway where he had hidden the cache of old booze, recollected his coat, then headed for The Angel's Share.

It was well into the morning by the time he arrived. While the owner, A gentleman named "Lucas" with more pomp and posh than a man should ever display in public without a license, acknowledged that Jazdia was a partial owner, and had roomed guests for the night, he had no knowledge of where she had gone. Only that she had done so with some degree of practiced expediency, and was expected to return. Henri was pleased that at least she would return here later, and asked the man if he could secure the old, moss-eaten trunks he was carrying. The man initially behaved as if Henri were a deranged beggar man with such a request, but quickly changed his tune after learning of the trunk's contents, and examining them himself. He staunchly refused to hold the merchandise, asserting he would not be responsible for holding stolen goods. Irritably, Henri left the establishment, and secreted the trunks at his own private residence nearby.

Shoppers, merchants, haulers and tradesmen had already taken to the streets and stalls long before, so he took the time to ask about the most conspicuous among them-- the disgustingly overdressed foreign warrior, "Chounan." With smiles and generally pointed fingers, the booth and stall merchants pointed him down the road his quarry had taken, and he moved with haste and purpose.

It did not take too much more time, before he came within earshot of yelling, screaming, and the clashing of weapons. Pausing for a moment, he was SURE he recognized some of the voices.

Gathering up the front of his jacket, he skated as fast as was realistically possible over the uneven cobblestones of the street, and toward the source of the disturbance...

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

Cedar was a bit perturbed by the sudden and brisk desire Matilda had to pack up and move. While this was a rather odorous location, it was also sheltered and defensible. Not every floor was stinky, and in general, it was quite serviceable.

Also, he hadn't finished repairing the tack yet. What, did she want to just abandon this much kit? Leave the horses to starve to death in the winter? Those horses didn't know how to survive in the wild, they were domestic beasts. It would be a slow and debilitating death for them.

But he also did not want to go back to the dungeon, and she really was his only reason for being out of it. Nobody seemed all that interested in a person like him-- aside from negative interest that was. He had been warned about this from his dad, and had felt the sting of it a bit in town, but his stint in the dungeon was like nothing he had ever encountered. The sounds of the inquisitor 'questioning' people still haunted him. He was grateful to have just been beaten, and even that was a rude awakening. His dad had punished him, of course-- but his dad was actually a very kind, loving and gentle man, and the lectures were the worst part of his punishments-- try as he might, his dad's attempts at physical punishment were rather amusing, in hind sight.

He very much wished he could be home right now. At least Solomon had put the poor creature of that reanimated corpse out of its misery. The stench would still take quite awhile to air out though.

Solomon and Anderson seemed more sensible, in their attestations to stay for the night. That would work and suit him fine. He could get these mended by morning, and if the note was any indicator, the delay would not be a big issue.

but GODS was he hungry...

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

"Hey, uhm-- The locals at least filled me in on whats they looked like at least.." ventured Cedar timidly, while working on the leather goods.

"But not like I can just pop in in ya heads like I kin when talkin with other critters... Aint no good at drawin neither. But I does know whats they looks like. The locals right hated 2 o'em too. Shit on one. Theys real proud o that one.-- Not sure it helps none, but if I sees one o'em, I'd know."

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

"Uh think she's 'at elf girl--" muttered Cedar. "Dont look like human talk on the letter there at da end-- Purdy writin though. Bettern mine nohow..."

He accepted the letter, then fumbled terribly trying to fold it up tiny enough to put into the impossibly small capsule on the bird's dainty foot. He had to remove his glove, and use the filed down nub of his claws to do the delicate work, and they lacked any kind of grip. After a comical display, he finally succeeded though, then headed back outside, leaving the pair of saddles on the floor, with the pommel down, and the trees facing outward.

He returned some time later with another pair of saddles, and no bird, repeating the process twice more, before seating himself near the sudden influx of leatherwork and equestrian equipment, before getting out his twine and knife, along with the leatherworking kit, and setting to work on fixing the straps, cleaning the leather, and general maintenance of the kit, while doing his best to ignore the zombie in the room.

And the stench.