Breaking the window was harder than Gant had anticipated. The glass was wafer thin and the window frame was almost completely rotten but there was such a layer of grime and dirt encrusted on both sides of the window that whole thing managed to hold itself together for far longer than it had any right to. However, eventually the entire window gave way, as did the other two windows on the front of the building, and within a matter of moments even more orange smoke was billowing out onto the street. He didn't know if it would make a difference for Xyon and the others inside, as far as he could see the smoke seemed to be thick as ever, but it was all he could do.
Well, it was all he was prepared to do at least.
"GANT! What 'n hell 's happenin', an' why am I here instead o' finishin' me book?"
Gant had taken a moment to step back and admire his handiwork but upon hearing this he'd almost jumped out of his skin. Quickly Gant turned and saw they very thing that he'd attributed most of that night’s bravado to:
Giant blue balls.
Then his eyes stopped watering from the smoke and he realised there was only one of them.
"Why ain't you finishing your book?" Gant retorted "Well I'd guess you came across some word or concept you didn't quite understand. Maybe something like "tact" or the idea of not rolling up behind someone and bellowing in their god damn ear!"
It wasn't that Gant didn't like Gizmo, after all Gant didn't like anyone, but it was just the sheer inhuman quality of the thing that put him on edge. Normally he would have would have heard Gizmo coming form a mile off, probably could have seen the unsightly blue monstrosity a mile off and all, but all the commotion he'd missed it. This was pity as if Gant had seen him earlier he could have run back into the lab because even though in there was an unspeakable creature of death and destruction inside out here there was Gizmo, a very speakable creature of death, destruction and irritation.
But of course that was overreacting slightly, Gizmo might be bad but if Gant was in the lab fighting that monster he wouldn’t even give Gizmo a second thou-
"Theo! That had better not be Gizmo!"
"Prioritise dammit!" Gant shouted back into the lab.
Gant pinched the bridge of his nose, both due to exasperation and in an attempt to dislodge whatever residue the smoke had left in the corner of his eyes, and turned back to Gizmo.
"What's going on?" said Gant as he gestured to the scene in general with his other hand "Well we got some orange smoke coming out of what we think is an alchemists lab and inside that lab are two angry giants, one bad and one... alright. On top of that there are also about five other guardsmen in there doing gods know wha- oi, Tandy!”
Out of the corner of his eye Gant had caught sight of the one of the said Guardsmen, Thaendin, gingerly climbing out one of the windows Gant had so recently smashed. Being a half elf Thaendin was one of the more spritely guardsmen and thus it wasn't that surprising that'd he'd joined the chase. What was surprising was that it had taken Thaendin this long to remember he was absolutely rubbish with anything that wasn’t a crossbow. It seemed like he'd only just recalled this fact and had now decided that his talents would be best used elsewhere. However, upon hearing Gant's shout he went pale. Apparently he wasn't as good as Gant at classing sensible and logical action as something other than cowardice.
"Run to the fire house and tell them we got a...whatever this is!" Gant instructed as he once again made a vague all encompassing gesture with his hand.
In all likelihood they would have seen the smoke by now but generally Gant believed that every service, institution and, to a certain degree person, in Marn was a useless incompetent and the people at the Fire Hall were likely to be no different. He waited for Tandy to reply, he waited for him to point out that not only did Gant have no authority but he also had two legs perfectly capable of dragging him towards the fire house, but a reply never came. Perhaps it was due to shame or perhaps Gant was the great leader of men that he’d always suspected he was but either Tandy started running in the direction of the Firehall and for this Thelonius Gant was almost grateful.
"Oh pick up the pace! It'd be nice if you got there today, Tandy!"
Almost grateful.
"So yeah, that's what's happening.” Said Gant as he turned his attention back to Gizmo “Right now I'm basically out here telling people to stay the hell back, because Maranians gravitate towards disaster like moths to a flame, and while I know you ain't a person or nothing but I’m just going to say it. Stay the hell back.”
Although Thelonius would have admitted that advice was given more out of concern for his own mental well being than Gizmo’s safety.
The hunt
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Thelonius Gant
- Guardsman
- Posts: 62
- Joined: Sat Feb 16, 2008 5:47 pm
- Name: Thelonius Gant
- Race: Human
Re: The hunt
You can't kill me, I'm immoral.
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Daq Bekkar
- Citizen
- Posts: 369
- Joined: Wed Oct 17, 2007 8:49 pm
- Name: Daq Bekkar
- Race: Humanoid Construct
Re: The hunt
Daq nodded in acknowledgment of Pagusel, but his focus remained elsewhere. He had noticed a slight lag, a disconnect between his thoughts and actions, that reminded him of being drunk. It seemed that he was only making vague suggestions of how he should move and watching the results.
I should arm myself. His left hand drew the old, rusty knife from his belt.
I should proceed forward. His legs took over, moving him around the corner. His eyes registered each bob as he stepped.
Daq caught a glimpse of himself in a window as he passed. There was something strange about the way he moved with the knife drawn. It looked too practiced, as if he, for once, knew how to use a blade as a weapon. There was something else about it, but he couldn't name it.
In an effort to catch it, he retreated into himself, beginning to ignore the way he moved. The most important things are ineffable, he thought. They refuse to be pinned down with words, like an insect on a page. But if I can't pin them down, how can they be dissected?
He hardly noticed the man until he was almost upon him. Smoke poured from the windows of his lab, and even before he understood what the man had done, his narrow thoughts were consumed by a boundless ocean of rage. Every nerve in his body tingled with the urge to punish him, to gouge ruts into his skin, to skewer his eyes, to flay even the gristle from his bones.
The feeling passed quickly, and left Daq feeling slightly nauseous and completely drained, his mind an empty pit that soon began to fill with a deluge of questions and a tide of reluctant answers. There was something near the man, but Daq could not even pause to consider the form. He was swept up in the current of his actions. He could only press on.
He swept past and felt himself make an impressive leap into the window. He landed deftly on the balls of his feet, one hand's fingertips just grazing the floor. By the time he had stalked through the thinning smoke to the top of the stairwell, he had pinned down that other, elusive quality of his movements.
Feral.
He'd just begun to dissect the idea when he caught sight of something that made his heart stop. Two red eyes, glittering like jewels, darting suspended in the still-thick smoke. He had to have them. Needed them more than ever.
But that would have to wait. Avoiding the skirmish, he began to move carefully about his lab, collecting vials. There was work to be done.
I should arm myself. His left hand drew the old, rusty knife from his belt.
I should proceed forward. His legs took over, moving him around the corner. His eyes registered each bob as he stepped.
Daq caught a glimpse of himself in a window as he passed. There was something strange about the way he moved with the knife drawn. It looked too practiced, as if he, for once, knew how to use a blade as a weapon. There was something else about it, but he couldn't name it.
In an effort to catch it, he retreated into himself, beginning to ignore the way he moved. The most important things are ineffable, he thought. They refuse to be pinned down with words, like an insect on a page. But if I can't pin them down, how can they be dissected?
He hardly noticed the man until he was almost upon him. Smoke poured from the windows of his lab, and even before he understood what the man had done, his narrow thoughts were consumed by a boundless ocean of rage. Every nerve in his body tingled with the urge to punish him, to gouge ruts into his skin, to skewer his eyes, to flay even the gristle from his bones.
The feeling passed quickly, and left Daq feeling slightly nauseous and completely drained, his mind an empty pit that soon began to fill with a deluge of questions and a tide of reluctant answers. There was something near the man, but Daq could not even pause to consider the form. He was swept up in the current of his actions. He could only press on.
He swept past and felt himself make an impressive leap into the window. He landed deftly on the balls of his feet, one hand's fingertips just grazing the floor. By the time he had stalked through the thinning smoke to the top of the stairwell, he had pinned down that other, elusive quality of his movements.
Feral.
He'd just begun to dissect the idea when he caught sight of something that made his heart stop. Two red eyes, glittering like jewels, darting suspended in the still-thick smoke. He had to have them. Needed them more than ever.
But that would have to wait. Avoiding the skirmish, he began to move carefully about his lab, collecting vials. There was work to be done.
...
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Xyon_of_Calhoun
- Guardsman
- Posts: 549
- Joined: Wed Sep 20, 2006 11:17 am
- Name: Xyon
- Race: Xenetian
Re: The hunt
(( This is a combined post as Zebren and Xyon ))
There was a lot of commotion going on outside. Xyon could hear it, and this baffled him, because surely all the action should have been happening inside at the moment. He almost shrugged, but thought better of it, as the Danteri that was only winded started to pick himself off the wall and bear menacingly down on his prey.
Xyon failed to be intimidated. There's nothing particularly scary about being borne down on by a manaical, seven foot tall, muscle bound freak with glowing eyes if you in fact are also a manaical, seven foot tall, muscle bound freak with glowing eyes. He held his gaze level, and with his mind working half as fast again as it normally did, he realised what Zebren would be expecting.
And so he did the opposite. He stepped back, out into the corridor, forcing the Danteri to follow him through the doorway. The smoke, which had now finally cleared to hte point where it was barely noticable in here, drifted lazily between the pair, as they faced off, for want of a better phrase, in the remnants of a broken doorway.
It also came as no surprise to Xyon, having worked with Theo for a while, that he was outside. A real servant to the public cause, that one, wherever there was trouble to be found, Theo could usually be found several hundred meters away, warning people about it. Heartwarming.
He snapped out of it, forced himself to focus on what was going on. He couldn't step back any further; there was a wall there, and he'd just be backing himself up against it. Stepping forward meant engaging, which wasn't much of an issue, but he would have liked a few more options.
There weren't any, really. He took a breath, darted his glance over to the door to see if Gizmo was coming, and then lunged for Zebren before he'd turned his head back.
They clashed, as Zebren had seen his move before he'd made it. Predictable fool, Zebren's mind taunted. He ignored it, as usual, and focussed on beating seven kinds of shit out of him.
Their fight was a short one, really. In terms of giants fighting giants, it all usually comes down to who makes the first mistake. And Xyon had made his. As he lunged, Zebren darted backwards and to the side, allowing him to pass harmlessly by, and drove Jeren's pommel into the back of his head. Xyon sprawled to the floor, dazed but still conscious, and struggled to get to his feet. This was made more of a struggle by Zebren stamping on his head, because it made it a little more difficult to organise his movements. Skull fractures are not inherently conducive to organisation.
He rolled, allowing Zebren's second stamp to pass harmlessly by and rattle the glass remaining in the window, and swung out at his ankles with Inohen. Zebren jumped immediately, allowing the sword to pass unhindered, and flung himself into a cleave with Jeren. Inohen managed to get back to the right place with less than seconds to spare, parrying the cleave and diverting it away, to the floor.
Zebren roared in irritation and swung again, and again Xyon parried, letting the natural deflection save having to use excessive strength. He flung himself upwards, into a sort of cartwheel, and slammed a boot home into Zebren's face, braking his nose. As the Danteri spat out blood, Xyon sneered at him.
"Now we're even." he spat, and before he'd even finished, was on him again, cleaving at Zebren's head with Inhoen's wonderously unnotched blade.
Jeren was there in an instant, parrying and deflecting the stroke wide, and whilst Xyon still held Inohen out wide, struggling a little to bring her weight back around quickly, struck home between Xyon's armour, at the armpit. Black blood surged forth, as Jeren dug in deeper, the manaical grin on Zebren's face urging the serrated sword to rend the Xenetian's arm off. Which was exactly what it was trying to do.
And then it all went black. Xyon had the vague sensation of floating, which annoyed him, but it didn't hurt anymore, so really he was more relieved about that. His purple eyes failed to light up the darkness; indeed, he held a hand up to his face to see if the glow was actually still there.
It wasn't. Shit.
And yet, inherently, he knew he wasn't dead. Blood loss was all well and good, but it takes more than that to kill a Xenetian. Still... where was he? What was happening now? Inky blackness coated his every sense, revealing nothing, and then... everything.
He saw Zebren, frozen in place directly in front of him, saw through him, saw his mind, and his twisted core, saw the whip lashes, and the pain, and the torture. He saw, and he understood. He even felt compassion for the creature, which faded as he saw Jeren, embedded in his own armpit. His mind instantly forgot about Zebren as he saw the sword, saw inside it, saw the blood of a Danteri flowing, powering it's actions, and knew. Understood that it was not his own. Felt it mingling with his, the raw power that this yielded supercharging his own tired muscles.
And then forgot, as he looked the other way. He saw Thelonious, recognised him as a sort of friend, and a colleague. He saw his mind, saw the way he percieved the world, and finally understood why he was stood outside. He knew instinctively that it wasn't cowardice, it was logical, and then forgot instantly as he saw Gizmo.
He saw it, fuzzy blue, and saw through it, saw mechanics, metal, and understood. He saw how it functioned, saw that occasionally the plates that made up it's surface must eventually hit each other, saw what it functioned with gyroscopes to keep it balanced, so that the gnomes he saw inside didn't vomit. He saw them, knew their names, all at once saw their design, and knew that they had forgotten to build a way out.
And then forgot.
He saw Inohen, lying on the ground, where he'd dropped her moments before, frozen in place trying to lift herself off the floor as the strength of her owner trailed away. He saw his own black blood, flowing through her, powering her, and saw it fading, leaking out of his own armpit. He understood, instantly, that if he died, she would too, and she would just be a greatsword.
He forgot. And saw himself.
In an instant, he was no longer looking from his own body, but stood outside it. He saw the pain in his own face, saw the scar from the last encounter with Zebren, understood. Instinctively, he knew why Zebren had been fighting then, and why he was now. He saw through, saw the blood flowing out of him, onto the floor, knew that it wasn't a life-threatning injury, knew that he'd survive. He saw his own whip marks, remembered, and knew the pain once again, like never before, realised why they had whipped him, and then forgot.
And then he could move, around himself. He took in all angles, and eventually knew that he could change it. But quite how, the actual method it was going to take, escaped him, he could not see that far.
He reached out, to touch the sword, and felt his power, felt the energy contained within the weapon, and the stroke it was frozen in, and knew that he could move it. He did so, pushing it down with his fingers, and understood why it didn't cut him.
And the injury... he saw it, bleeding steadily. Saw once again that it wasn't life-threatning. He reached out to heal it, to touch it with his fingers, pour energy into it, and make it good.
He never got there. The black swept back in like a curtain pulled by a man posessed, and he saw no more. He felt himself drop to his knees, felt the sword by his neck. Heard the battlecry as the creature pulled back to decapitate him.
And accepted it.
There was a lot of commotion going on outside. Xyon could hear it, and this baffled him, because surely all the action should have been happening inside at the moment. He almost shrugged, but thought better of it, as the Danteri that was only winded started to pick himself off the wall and bear menacingly down on his prey.
Xyon failed to be intimidated. There's nothing particularly scary about being borne down on by a manaical, seven foot tall, muscle bound freak with glowing eyes if you in fact are also a manaical, seven foot tall, muscle bound freak with glowing eyes. He held his gaze level, and with his mind working half as fast again as it normally did, he realised what Zebren would be expecting.
And so he did the opposite. He stepped back, out into the corridor, forcing the Danteri to follow him through the doorway. The smoke, which had now finally cleared to hte point where it was barely noticable in here, drifted lazily between the pair, as they faced off, for want of a better phrase, in the remnants of a broken doorway.
Charming Theo. He was right though, really. A man needs not to worry about one giant fuzzy blue ball when there is a creature in front of him that would dearly love to rend his own from him and make an example out of him."Prioritise dammit!"
It also came as no surprise to Xyon, having worked with Theo for a while, that he was outside. A real servant to the public cause, that one, wherever there was trouble to be found, Theo could usually be found several hundred meters away, warning people about it. Heartwarming.
He snapped out of it, forced himself to focus on what was going on. He couldn't step back any further; there was a wall there, and he'd just be backing himself up against it. Stepping forward meant engaging, which wasn't much of an issue, but he would have liked a few more options.
There weren't any, really. He took a breath, darted his glance over to the door to see if Gizmo was coming, and then lunged for Zebren before he'd turned his head back.
They clashed, as Zebren had seen his move before he'd made it. Predictable fool, Zebren's mind taunted. He ignored it, as usual, and focussed on beating seven kinds of shit out of him.
Their fight was a short one, really. In terms of giants fighting giants, it all usually comes down to who makes the first mistake. And Xyon had made his. As he lunged, Zebren darted backwards and to the side, allowing him to pass harmlessly by, and drove Jeren's pommel into the back of his head. Xyon sprawled to the floor, dazed but still conscious, and struggled to get to his feet. This was made more of a struggle by Zebren stamping on his head, because it made it a little more difficult to organise his movements. Skull fractures are not inherently conducive to organisation.
He rolled, allowing Zebren's second stamp to pass harmlessly by and rattle the glass remaining in the window, and swung out at his ankles with Inohen. Zebren jumped immediately, allowing the sword to pass unhindered, and flung himself into a cleave with Jeren. Inohen managed to get back to the right place with less than seconds to spare, parrying the cleave and diverting it away, to the floor.
Zebren roared in irritation and swung again, and again Xyon parried, letting the natural deflection save having to use excessive strength. He flung himself upwards, into a sort of cartwheel, and slammed a boot home into Zebren's face, braking his nose. As the Danteri spat out blood, Xyon sneered at him.
"Now we're even." he spat, and before he'd even finished, was on him again, cleaving at Zebren's head with Inhoen's wonderously unnotched blade.
Jeren was there in an instant, parrying and deflecting the stroke wide, and whilst Xyon still held Inohen out wide, struggling a little to bring her weight back around quickly, struck home between Xyon's armour, at the armpit. Black blood surged forth, as Jeren dug in deeper, the manaical grin on Zebren's face urging the serrated sword to rend the Xenetian's arm off. Which was exactly what it was trying to do.
And then it all went black. Xyon had the vague sensation of floating, which annoyed him, but it didn't hurt anymore, so really he was more relieved about that. His purple eyes failed to light up the darkness; indeed, he held a hand up to his face to see if the glow was actually still there.
It wasn't. Shit.
And yet, inherently, he knew he wasn't dead. Blood loss was all well and good, but it takes more than that to kill a Xenetian. Still... where was he? What was happening now? Inky blackness coated his every sense, revealing nothing, and then... everything.
He saw Zebren, frozen in place directly in front of him, saw through him, saw his mind, and his twisted core, saw the whip lashes, and the pain, and the torture. He saw, and he understood. He even felt compassion for the creature, which faded as he saw Jeren, embedded in his own armpit. His mind instantly forgot about Zebren as he saw the sword, saw inside it, saw the blood of a Danteri flowing, powering it's actions, and knew. Understood that it was not his own. Felt it mingling with his, the raw power that this yielded supercharging his own tired muscles.
And then forgot, as he looked the other way. He saw Thelonious, recognised him as a sort of friend, and a colleague. He saw his mind, saw the way he percieved the world, and finally understood why he was stood outside. He knew instinctively that it wasn't cowardice, it was logical, and then forgot instantly as he saw Gizmo.
He saw it, fuzzy blue, and saw through it, saw mechanics, metal, and understood. He saw how it functioned, saw that occasionally the plates that made up it's surface must eventually hit each other, saw what it functioned with gyroscopes to keep it balanced, so that the gnomes he saw inside didn't vomit. He saw them, knew their names, all at once saw their design, and knew that they had forgotten to build a way out.
And then forgot.
He saw Inohen, lying on the ground, where he'd dropped her moments before, frozen in place trying to lift herself off the floor as the strength of her owner trailed away. He saw his own black blood, flowing through her, powering her, and saw it fading, leaking out of his own armpit. He understood, instantly, that if he died, she would too, and she would just be a greatsword.
He forgot. And saw himself.
In an instant, he was no longer looking from his own body, but stood outside it. He saw the pain in his own face, saw the scar from the last encounter with Zebren, understood. Instinctively, he knew why Zebren had been fighting then, and why he was now. He saw through, saw the blood flowing out of him, onto the floor, knew that it wasn't a life-threatning injury, knew that he'd survive. He saw his own whip marks, remembered, and knew the pain once again, like never before, realised why they had whipped him, and then forgot.
And then he could move, around himself. He took in all angles, and eventually knew that he could change it. But quite how, the actual method it was going to take, escaped him, he could not see that far.
He reached out, to touch the sword, and felt his power, felt the energy contained within the weapon, and the stroke it was frozen in, and knew that he could move it. He did so, pushing it down with his fingers, and understood why it didn't cut him.
And the injury... he saw it, bleeding steadily. Saw once again that it wasn't life-threatning. He reached out to heal it, to touch it with his fingers, pour energy into it, and make it good.
He never got there. The black swept back in like a curtain pulled by a man posessed, and he saw no more. He felt himself drop to his knees, felt the sword by his neck. Heard the battlecry as the creature pulled back to decapitate him.
And accepted it.
I have to jump.
For even if I fall, for a moment, I will fly.
For even if I fall, for a moment, I will fly.
Re: The hunt
Regibald Pockbert, stethoscope pressed to the side of Gizmo's inner wall, smiled at Gant's retorts, in spite of himself. The lad had more guts that the other guards gave him credit for, that much was certain. All one had to do was press the right buttons... Switching off his megaphone, he growled into the aluminum tubing at the other two Pockberts: "Right, men, Gant says stay the hell back. Ye know that means go the hell for'erd."
Quasar immediately began giving out orders. "Paps, fire up them ratchets, Junior, start loadin' bolts. Use the padded covers, we ain't lookin' te kill nuttin' yet. An' check the damn plates while yer at it." He had his eye to his center plate, a wide-angle periscope thrust covertly out the opening. It was then, through a crevice of fallen timbers and orange smoke, that he saw the two giants, and recognized one of them as Xyon. "Quick men, there ain't no innocents in the way now. Just a bloody guard about te get 'is noggin lobbed off. Gramps, pop us eight degrees left an' give 'er full speed. We's goin' right through the wall. The damn buildin's fallin' apart anyhow."
Regibald shouted quickly through the megaphone at Gant as he cranked the engine viciously: "Right mate, we're goin' in full throttle. Yer pal's aboot ta lose 'is dome."
Junior, who had been scrambling about tapping plates with what looked like a combination stethoscope/hammer, leapt up to his section and loaded a thick, hefty steel-alloy bolt into a fuzzy blue casing with a soft front built for stunning its target. As he did so, the wall in front of him swung forward. To help it along, he released the lock on his engine ratchet with one hand and gave it a crank in high gear as he released the bolt latch on his ballista. Some equipment within Gizmo shuddered as they hit the wall, and Junior had to scramble for his falling wrench as his platform rose swiftly up to the ceiling, but the weakened wood gave no resistance to the machine's outer bulk. It was therefore a very fortunate thing that the ceiling above Gizmo was built approximately eleven feet high, and suffered not Gizmo's ten-foot wrath. Junior only prayed the building didn't have a basement...
After they hit the wall, Quasar extended his scythe, and fired up the heat on the armour plates, keeping one eye on the outside until he had to retract the periscope. The blade twirled with machine precision a foot above the ground, six feet to Gizmo's left, as Quasar cranked the torque-driven pipes, and bent their angle forward ever so slightly. Rocks and rubble flew up wildly as the scythe whipped the ground, spinning into a blurry circle. After only a second of this distracting maneuver, he withdrew the blade and closed off his section, cursing at the grinding of plates. Surely he would have time to fix it; it was at the bottom, soon to roll up at Gizmo's backside, and the clouds of concrete were overpowering even the orange smog.
Junior, whose section had begun to roll forward and down from its kingly position within Gizmo, quickly took aim and fired at the only standing figure in the room, the giant Zebren. Everything was happening too quickly for the gnomes to notice or react to much more than the basic priorities, and none of them had laid mark to the other party-crasher: The man with the knife and the steely look about him, stalking swiftly down a parallel corridor had thus far escaped their attention...
Quasar immediately began giving out orders. "Paps, fire up them ratchets, Junior, start loadin' bolts. Use the padded covers, we ain't lookin' te kill nuttin' yet. An' check the damn plates while yer at it." He had his eye to his center plate, a wide-angle periscope thrust covertly out the opening. It was then, through a crevice of fallen timbers and orange smoke, that he saw the two giants, and recognized one of them as Xyon. "Quick men, there ain't no innocents in the way now. Just a bloody guard about te get 'is noggin lobbed off. Gramps, pop us eight degrees left an' give 'er full speed. We's goin' right through the wall. The damn buildin's fallin' apart anyhow."
Regibald shouted quickly through the megaphone at Gant as he cranked the engine viciously: "Right mate, we're goin' in full throttle. Yer pal's aboot ta lose 'is dome."
Junior, who had been scrambling about tapping plates with what looked like a combination stethoscope/hammer, leapt up to his section and loaded a thick, hefty steel-alloy bolt into a fuzzy blue casing with a soft front built for stunning its target. As he did so, the wall in front of him swung forward. To help it along, he released the lock on his engine ratchet with one hand and gave it a crank in high gear as he released the bolt latch on his ballista. Some equipment within Gizmo shuddered as they hit the wall, and Junior had to scramble for his falling wrench as his platform rose swiftly up to the ceiling, but the weakened wood gave no resistance to the machine's outer bulk. It was therefore a very fortunate thing that the ceiling above Gizmo was built approximately eleven feet high, and suffered not Gizmo's ten-foot wrath. Junior only prayed the building didn't have a basement...
After they hit the wall, Quasar extended his scythe, and fired up the heat on the armour plates, keeping one eye on the outside until he had to retract the periscope. The blade twirled with machine precision a foot above the ground, six feet to Gizmo's left, as Quasar cranked the torque-driven pipes, and bent their angle forward ever so slightly. Rocks and rubble flew up wildly as the scythe whipped the ground, spinning into a blurry circle. After only a second of this distracting maneuver, he withdrew the blade and closed off his section, cursing at the grinding of plates. Surely he would have time to fix it; it was at the bottom, soon to roll up at Gizmo's backside, and the clouds of concrete were overpowering even the orange smog.
Junior, whose section had begun to roll forward and down from its kingly position within Gizmo, quickly took aim and fired at the only standing figure in the room, the giant Zebren. Everything was happening too quickly for the gnomes to notice or react to much more than the basic priorities, and none of them had laid mark to the other party-crasher: The man with the knife and the steely look about him, stalking swiftly down a parallel corridor had thus far escaped their attention...
You just got blue-balled
Re: The hunt
Two vague words seemed to bob around in the chemical smoke surrounding Pagusel. One was "amiss" and the other was "fine." Cacophony raged around the corner and beyond the walls beside her.
Pagusel squinted at the puddle as if trying to make a sensible picture out of a poorly focused image on a screen. It was no use, for presently the force causing the vibrations in the ground that rippled the puddle made itself known as a flash of vivid blue eclipsing the orange-stained water. Pagusel's eyes widened, her mouth opened in a fishlike "o" of surprise, and she conceded to peer around the corner after all to see what it was.
She saw Daq as he went in the window, seeming very unlike the very nervous figure he had portrayed in the woods. A rumble that tore out of the ground could have been a growl from Daq himself, but it was probably that blue monstrosity, which Pagusel had yet to catch a clear sight of. Indeed, the sounds surrounding--all the shouts, the crashes, the creaks, the roars--didn't seem to match clearly with their sources, visually. She hadn't seen it all, there were strange things occurring inside, but another word, "amiss," floated through the smoke and into Pagusel's mouth as she inhaled.
The reality of the breathable air being replaced with acrid smoke would seem to count as "amiss." The air quality was addling her sense and her perception. But Pagusel would be "fine."
She placed her palms against the side of the building, around the corner from where the shouting seemed to come. Pagusel left a very brief absence of smoke when her figure shrank rapidly against the wall. The cockroach tumbled head over thorax for a few feet before it caught onto the side of the outer wall and proceeded upward. The smoke did not impede its breathing, for its spiracles were not delicate in the way of the fine mucus membranes of the human Pagusel.
Eventually, the cockroach reached the eaves of the roof where it slipped into a roughly constructed gutter. It proceeded to follow the horizontal path of the gutter around the corner, in the eaves above the action. The rumbles and screams beneath, in the building, gave the insect no pause. In a few moments Pagusel would finish passing almost directly through the action, to the opposite side of the roof where things seemed a bit calmer and windows seemed more intact.
Pagusel squinted at the puddle as if trying to make a sensible picture out of a poorly focused image on a screen. It was no use, for presently the force causing the vibrations in the ground that rippled the puddle made itself known as a flash of vivid blue eclipsing the orange-stained water. Pagusel's eyes widened, her mouth opened in a fishlike "o" of surprise, and she conceded to peer around the corner after all to see what it was.
She saw Daq as he went in the window, seeming very unlike the very nervous figure he had portrayed in the woods. A rumble that tore out of the ground could have been a growl from Daq himself, but it was probably that blue monstrosity, which Pagusel had yet to catch a clear sight of. Indeed, the sounds surrounding--all the shouts, the crashes, the creaks, the roars--didn't seem to match clearly with their sources, visually. She hadn't seen it all, there were strange things occurring inside, but another word, "amiss," floated through the smoke and into Pagusel's mouth as she inhaled.
The reality of the breathable air being replaced with acrid smoke would seem to count as "amiss." The air quality was addling her sense and her perception. But Pagusel would be "fine."
She placed her palms against the side of the building, around the corner from where the shouting seemed to come. Pagusel left a very brief absence of smoke when her figure shrank rapidly against the wall. The cockroach tumbled head over thorax for a few feet before it caught onto the side of the outer wall and proceeded upward. The smoke did not impede its breathing, for its spiracles were not delicate in the way of the fine mucus membranes of the human Pagusel.
Eventually, the cockroach reached the eaves of the roof where it slipped into a roughly constructed gutter. It proceeded to follow the horizontal path of the gutter around the corner, in the eaves above the action. The rumbles and screams beneath, in the building, gave the insect no pause. In a few moments Pagusel would finish passing almost directly through the action, to the opposite side of the roof where things seemed a bit calmer and windows seemed more intact.
-
Daq Bekkar
- Citizen
- Posts: 369
- Joined: Wed Oct 17, 2007 8:49 pm
- Name: Daq Bekkar
- Race: Humanoid Construct
Re: The hunt
Daq wanted to look back at the fighting going on, especially after the strange crunching and scraping noises he heard coming from behind him, but he found it impossible to pry himself away from his work. He set the clean vials he had found into a rack, and stared at them. The smoke was thinning, and he knew he needed to act quickly--when the concentration of reagents in the air became too depleted, the reaction would jerk forward again, except more violently because of the byproducts of the first stage. All of the open windows and, he assumed now, broken walls had made things very difficult. There would be no way to stop the reaction naturally. He'd have to write on the vials, but he had no grease pencil. Scanning the room, he couldn't see one. When he looked down, he saw himself holding a vial in his hand scratching lines into it with his thumbnail that had grown surprisingly long and sharp.
He set it back into the rack and picked up the next. He was muttering something, but he couldn't decipher the tangle of its hard sounds. What? he tried to say, but he couldn't vocalize it. He tried to take stock of his surroundings, he was feeling lost, but he couldn't move. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say he couldn't direct his movements. While he struggled with himself, his hands darted from one vial to the next, marking and arranging them. By the time he had returned his attention to them, the work was finished.
After setting the last vial into place, Daq smiled, finished muttering, and lowered his goggles. The vials in the rack began to glow. Any change was minimal at first, but residues soon began to settle in them. The smoke thickened as it was drawn to the site of the anti-reaction, eventually growing more dense than it had been at any previous stage of the reaction. At this point, even if he still wanted to look back at the fight he wouldn't have been able to. All he could see were eddies of strange, orange smoke as it threaded and danced around him, breaking apart into its components to descend into the appropriate vials.
Besides, he knew better than to try looking back anyway. He had gone from feeling lost to knowing he was lost.
He set it back into the rack and picked up the next. He was muttering something, but he couldn't decipher the tangle of its hard sounds. What? he tried to say, but he couldn't vocalize it. He tried to take stock of his surroundings, he was feeling lost, but he couldn't move. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say he couldn't direct his movements. While he struggled with himself, his hands darted from one vial to the next, marking and arranging them. By the time he had returned his attention to them, the work was finished.
After setting the last vial into place, Daq smiled, finished muttering, and lowered his goggles. The vials in the rack began to glow. Any change was minimal at first, but residues soon began to settle in them. The smoke thickened as it was drawn to the site of the anti-reaction, eventually growing more dense than it had been at any previous stage of the reaction. At this point, even if he still wanted to look back at the fight he wouldn't have been able to. All he could see were eddies of strange, orange smoke as it threaded and danced around him, breaking apart into its components to descend into the appropriate vials.
Besides, he knew better than to try looking back anyway. He had gone from feeling lost to knowing he was lost.
...
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Xyon_of_Calhoun
- Guardsman
- Posts: 549
- Joined: Wed Sep 20, 2006 11:17 am
- Name: Xyon
- Race: Xenetian
Re: The hunt
((OOC: This is a combined post as Xyon and Zebren. This will also be my last post in this thread.))
Red light screamed out of Jeren as thick orange smoke engulfed the area once more. It lit it up, crackling scarlet light igniting the edges of the cloud of smoke, as the blade soared through the air to cleave Xyon's head from his shoulders.
Xyon knew it was coming. He had felt it, known it to be his final breath, and even as he had taken it, he had accepted this fact. He was going to die, and there was no other option. No two ways about it, no middle ground, no escape. This was it.
Inohen, meanwhile, had other ideas. The sword lay, trailing black blood the same as that which was flowing steadily out of the Xenetian, her strength and his fading, leaving with it. Yet she summoned up what she could, and leapt into the smoke, using a sensing method other than eyes.
Steel met steel as the sentient weapon parried it's adversary, a quarter of an inch from Xyon's exposed neck. Sparks flew from the contact, burning into Xyon's flesh, as unimaginable amounts of energy dissipated into the atmosphere and burned into the strange orange smoke surrounding them. The pain brought some life back to Xyon, snapping his mind back to the present and forcing it to focus on here, now.
The blackness faded, and was replaced by orange. At first, Xyon couldn't distinguish, until he suddenly realised that the smoke was back, and this was why he was also finding it difficult to breathe. He saw, glow racing back into his purple eyes, and realised the Danteri. Realised that he was not dead.
Jeren howled with rage, and oddly, the sound carried into the realm of Xyon's hearing. This wasn't possible, so he disregarded it, and as he felt the Danteri weapon swing back around to finish the job, he perceived Inohen, and his chance.
He took it, grabbing Inhoen by the hilt and ramming her into Zebren's chest, straight through his plate armour as if it were but paper, into his left heart. Instantly, he swung her to the right, and sliced apart the Danteri's other heart, then drew her back, parrying Jeren's unabated swing. Red blood poured from the Danteri, mixing with the black on the floor as the creature sunk to his knees, struggling not only to breathe, but to understand why it was difficult.
Something furry and blue came whistling out of the smoke and thudded into the wall, travelling through the air that had moments before been occupied by Zebren's head. Xyon ignored it, as he swept Inohen back around, and plunged her blood-streaked steel point into the Danteri's throat, his full weight forcing the sword through the spinal bones and the sinew and flesh beyond, before he pulled the weapon from his foe, using his boot to aid this, and stopped short.
A terrible sound met his ears. It carried more than audio, crashing waves of pain and suffering over him, the grief of something which had killed far too many. He sank to his knees again, as if it brought with it physical weight, and finally recognised the sound for what it was.
Inohen was screaming.
He stared at the blade, struggling to focus on it as the pain he was sharing with the weapon threatened to knock him out, and then sobered instantly as he saw his sword. The steel was stained with blood, both red and black, which wasn't abnormal, but along the fuller of the blade, something new was happening. A hairline fracture, the total length of the blade, had seemingly opened in the metal, and black blood seeped forth, dripping from the hand guard as he held her at a slight angle.
The sword suddenly felt heavy, as it had never done, since she were forged. She felt unwieldy, unbalanced, and impractical. No longer a part of him, or the arm that held her, she felt like another sword, a different, unblooded weapon. Xyon found a last flash of insight, and realised the truth, suddenly clearing away the confusion.
Inohen had saved his life. But the sword was weakened, battered, and drained. At the point where she had parried Jeren, she had not had the energy left to turn, to parry on the ideal surface of her blade, and had instead taken all that energy on the blade, notching it, a notch Xyon ran his finger over now, staring in disbelief at his weapon.
"Inhoen..." He all but whispered. There was no reply. The sword lay motionless, devoid of the intelligence and personality that she had once displayed, and that certain bitchiness that Xyon had come to depend on. He called her again, stronger and louder this time, but in vain.
Without warning, the blade split, straight down the centre line, and shattered into six pieces, each one dripping blood from it. They clattered to the floor in a crescendo of noise that echoed around Xyon's mind long after it had faded from the room itself.
Inhoen was dead.
He stayed there for a good long time, staring at the shards of his sword, as the chaos went on around him. He ignored it, unable to process anything, still struggling to come to terms with the sudden loss. Then, he suddenly scooped up the pieces of his sword... friend, he corrected himself, She was my friend... and, carrying them solemnly forth, left the building, looking for a forge.
Marn did not hold the right metal. And so it was that Xyon left the city, left even Thar Shaddin, and headed home, still carrying the shards of metal that he had come to love in the years they had been together.
He swore to return, swore it on her, a promise he would not break. Yet even as he uttered the words, and turned away from the city of Marn, he knew it would be a long, long time.
Red light screamed out of Jeren as thick orange smoke engulfed the area once more. It lit it up, crackling scarlet light igniting the edges of the cloud of smoke, as the blade soared through the air to cleave Xyon's head from his shoulders.
Xyon knew it was coming. He had felt it, known it to be his final breath, and even as he had taken it, he had accepted this fact. He was going to die, and there was no other option. No two ways about it, no middle ground, no escape. This was it.
Inohen, meanwhile, had other ideas. The sword lay, trailing black blood the same as that which was flowing steadily out of the Xenetian, her strength and his fading, leaving with it. Yet she summoned up what she could, and leapt into the smoke, using a sensing method other than eyes.
Steel met steel as the sentient weapon parried it's adversary, a quarter of an inch from Xyon's exposed neck. Sparks flew from the contact, burning into Xyon's flesh, as unimaginable amounts of energy dissipated into the atmosphere and burned into the strange orange smoke surrounding them. The pain brought some life back to Xyon, snapping his mind back to the present and forcing it to focus on here, now.
The blackness faded, and was replaced by orange. At first, Xyon couldn't distinguish, until he suddenly realised that the smoke was back, and this was why he was also finding it difficult to breathe. He saw, glow racing back into his purple eyes, and realised the Danteri. Realised that he was not dead.
Jeren howled with rage, and oddly, the sound carried into the realm of Xyon's hearing. This wasn't possible, so he disregarded it, and as he felt the Danteri weapon swing back around to finish the job, he perceived Inohen, and his chance.
He took it, grabbing Inhoen by the hilt and ramming her into Zebren's chest, straight through his plate armour as if it were but paper, into his left heart. Instantly, he swung her to the right, and sliced apart the Danteri's other heart, then drew her back, parrying Jeren's unabated swing. Red blood poured from the Danteri, mixing with the black on the floor as the creature sunk to his knees, struggling not only to breathe, but to understand why it was difficult.
Something furry and blue came whistling out of the smoke and thudded into the wall, travelling through the air that had moments before been occupied by Zebren's head. Xyon ignored it, as he swept Inohen back around, and plunged her blood-streaked steel point into the Danteri's throat, his full weight forcing the sword through the spinal bones and the sinew and flesh beyond, before he pulled the weapon from his foe, using his boot to aid this, and stopped short.
A terrible sound met his ears. It carried more than audio, crashing waves of pain and suffering over him, the grief of something which had killed far too many. He sank to his knees again, as if it brought with it physical weight, and finally recognised the sound for what it was.
Inohen was screaming.
He stared at the blade, struggling to focus on it as the pain he was sharing with the weapon threatened to knock him out, and then sobered instantly as he saw his sword. The steel was stained with blood, both red and black, which wasn't abnormal, but along the fuller of the blade, something new was happening. A hairline fracture, the total length of the blade, had seemingly opened in the metal, and black blood seeped forth, dripping from the hand guard as he held her at a slight angle.
The sword suddenly felt heavy, as it had never done, since she were forged. She felt unwieldy, unbalanced, and impractical. No longer a part of him, or the arm that held her, she felt like another sword, a different, unblooded weapon. Xyon found a last flash of insight, and realised the truth, suddenly clearing away the confusion.
Inohen had saved his life. But the sword was weakened, battered, and drained. At the point where she had parried Jeren, she had not had the energy left to turn, to parry on the ideal surface of her blade, and had instead taken all that energy on the blade, notching it, a notch Xyon ran his finger over now, staring in disbelief at his weapon.
"Inhoen..." He all but whispered. There was no reply. The sword lay motionless, devoid of the intelligence and personality that she had once displayed, and that certain bitchiness that Xyon had come to depend on. He called her again, stronger and louder this time, but in vain.
Without warning, the blade split, straight down the centre line, and shattered into six pieces, each one dripping blood from it. They clattered to the floor in a crescendo of noise that echoed around Xyon's mind long after it had faded from the room itself.
Inhoen was dead.
He stayed there for a good long time, staring at the shards of his sword, as the chaos went on around him. He ignored it, unable to process anything, still struggling to come to terms with the sudden loss. Then, he suddenly scooped up the pieces of his sword... friend, he corrected himself, She was my friend... and, carrying them solemnly forth, left the building, looking for a forge.
Marn did not hold the right metal. And so it was that Xyon left the city, left even Thar Shaddin, and headed home, still carrying the shards of metal that he had come to love in the years they had been together.
He swore to return, swore it on her, a promise he would not break. Yet even as he uttered the words, and turned away from the city of Marn, he knew it would be a long, long time.
I have to jump.
For even if I fall, for a moment, I will fly.
For even if I fall, for a moment, I will fly.
Re: The hunt
As the first bolt thudded into the wall, Regibald took it upon himself to peek outside. "Fall back, men. The bad 'un jes' took a whallopin'." Turning on his megaphone, he let out a deep, animal roar appropriate for the circumstances. They had an image to maintain, after all.
The other two, priming their gears with practiced hands, effected a slow reversal of Gizmo's direction, and the gargantuan sphere retracted its plates and began rolling back through the wreckage that had once been a wall. It was Junior that broke the studious silence: "D'ye figure the boss'll be mad about th' wall?"
Quasar pursed his lips to the side, causing the bristle over his lip to stretch out like a dog in morning. "Nae, no' when one a' his best men's 'ead was at stake. Wood kin be replaced. Giant flesh is summat else. Careful comin' outta here, men. There's folk wand'rin about 'ere."
Regibald played the eyes of Gizmo as the other two guided the beast gently and slowly out of the building. He was muttering, as usual. "Finally, I kin get back t'me book." He turned on his voice apparatus and shouted at Xyon: "Bloody nice sword work, fella." The giant did not seem to pay attention, but Regibald's attention had already been drawn elsewhere. There was a civilian on the scene.
As Gizmo was halfway out of the building, Regibald shouted to the others to halt, and then switched on his megaphone and shouted at Daq as the man toyed with some odd chemicals. "OY! Get outta here, pal! This 'ere is a crime scene!" Regibald could not have known the importance of Daq's presence in the building...
The other two, priming their gears with practiced hands, effected a slow reversal of Gizmo's direction, and the gargantuan sphere retracted its plates and began rolling back through the wreckage that had once been a wall. It was Junior that broke the studious silence: "D'ye figure the boss'll be mad about th' wall?"
Quasar pursed his lips to the side, causing the bristle over his lip to stretch out like a dog in morning. "Nae, no' when one a' his best men's 'ead was at stake. Wood kin be replaced. Giant flesh is summat else. Careful comin' outta here, men. There's folk wand'rin about 'ere."
Regibald played the eyes of Gizmo as the other two guided the beast gently and slowly out of the building. He was muttering, as usual. "Finally, I kin get back t'me book." He turned on his voice apparatus and shouted at Xyon: "Bloody nice sword work, fella." The giant did not seem to pay attention, but Regibald's attention had already been drawn elsewhere. There was a civilian on the scene.
As Gizmo was halfway out of the building, Regibald shouted to the others to halt, and then switched on his megaphone and shouted at Daq as the man toyed with some odd chemicals. "OY! Get outta here, pal! This 'ere is a crime scene!" Regibald could not have known the importance of Daq's presence in the building...
You just got blue-balled
Re: The hunt
The cockroach that was Pagusel met another cockroach briefly, a smaller, darker imp. They brushed antennae and Pagusel broke away at a sharp angle to scurry off; it seemed as if the encounter was uncomfortable or frightening, if human motives could be applied to the insect situation.
A few seconds later, the cockroach reached a grimy, unbroken window pane. The glass was frosted with particulate dirt and the residue of airborne impurities. The frame was well-constructed, but warped ever so slightly so that it bowed out from the pane: the gap would not be obvious to the human eye, but the cockroach found it. She ducked through to find herself on the inside of the building.
The insect waved inquisitive antennae. The smoke had thinned to trace levels, and even that amount seemed to be rapidly pulling away towards some epicenter. A few moments passed, and another shiver of the antennae detected none of the pollutant at all in this sector.
Presently, the human Pagusel stood inside, with her hands pressed to the window. A shiver pased from her temples down her spine, and she looked over her shoulder to see Daq hunched over his table. The booming of Gizmo's voice was also not lost on her, but the fact that this was a crime scene did not strike her as being particularly noteworthy. That much was obvious, and why anyone was making a fuss over it was beyond her caring.
She was looking over her left shoulder, and she turned her chin 180 degrees to look over her right shoulder. Her nose brushed the grime of the window as she did. She squinted to see the large blue source of that funny voice, and the departing figure of a very large, odd-looking man.
Pagusel stepped back from the wall, lastly letting her fingertips lose contact with the glass. She turned around and took a hesitant step towards Daq's table. She paused in mid-step to turn a wary eye on Gizmo.
"It's over, then?" she said to Daq's back. Her voice was hoarse as a result of her prior smoke inhalation, but she afforded him a louder timbre than usual so as to be heard.
The declaration of a crime scene usually was indication that the interesting portion of the action had wrapped up.
A few seconds later, the cockroach reached a grimy, unbroken window pane. The glass was frosted with particulate dirt and the residue of airborne impurities. The frame was well-constructed, but warped ever so slightly so that it bowed out from the pane: the gap would not be obvious to the human eye, but the cockroach found it. She ducked through to find herself on the inside of the building.
The insect waved inquisitive antennae. The smoke had thinned to trace levels, and even that amount seemed to be rapidly pulling away towards some epicenter. A few moments passed, and another shiver of the antennae detected none of the pollutant at all in this sector.
Presently, the human Pagusel stood inside, with her hands pressed to the window. A shiver pased from her temples down her spine, and she looked over her shoulder to see Daq hunched over his table. The booming of Gizmo's voice was also not lost on her, but the fact that this was a crime scene did not strike her as being particularly noteworthy. That much was obvious, and why anyone was making a fuss over it was beyond her caring.
She was looking over her left shoulder, and she turned her chin 180 degrees to look over her right shoulder. Her nose brushed the grime of the window as she did. She squinted to see the large blue source of that funny voice, and the departing figure of a very large, odd-looking man.
Pagusel stepped back from the wall, lastly letting her fingertips lose contact with the glass. She turned around and took a hesitant step towards Daq's table. She paused in mid-step to turn a wary eye on Gizmo.
"It's over, then?" she said to Daq's back. Her voice was hoarse as a result of her prior smoke inhalation, but she afforded him a louder timbre than usual so as to be heard.
The declaration of a crime scene usually was indication that the interesting portion of the action had wrapped up.
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Thelonius Gant
- Guardsman
- Posts: 62
- Joined: Sat Feb 16, 2008 5:47 pm
- Name: Thelonius Gant
- Race: Human
Re: The hunt
Gant was not a people person, he was even less a giant blue orb person, but even so he had a pretty good idea of how this was going to work. At first it had only been a sneaking suspicion but within a few seconds it was barging around through Gant's head because once he had stopped talking he very definitely wasn't drowned in a barrage of incomprehensible insults.
Thelonius didn't know what Gizmo was, beyond a pain in the neck at least, but he did know that things went one inside that blue monstrosity. What sort of things Gant didn't know but he did know a vast majority of them took place one those rare and treasured occasions when Gizmo was silent. He'd told Gizmo to stay back, something akin to asking the tide to hold off for a while, and he knew what was coming next.
"Right mate, we're goin' in full throttle. Yer pal's aboot ta lose 'is dome."
Two things struck Gant at this moment. Firstly, since Xyon could barely fit in that door the chances of Gizmo fitting in were slim to nil. However, this thought was almost immediatly irrelevant as the the second thing to strike him Thenolonius Gant was several shards of masonry caused by the blue orb as it smashed through the wall of the building.
Now Gant was no architect, which probably put him on equal footing with whoever had built the boarding house, but he was fairly certain that the majority of Marian constructs relied quite heavily on there being four walls to each building. Unfortunately this one now had three and half walls that was probably not a good thing.
"Get out of there!" Gant had bellowed as soon as Gizmo plunged forward into the wall but this was hardly necessary.
The other five guardsmen, those brave souls who'd accompanied Xyon into the building and then presumably stood around and felt awkward, had almost instantly evacuated the building, their rat like sensibilities finally reasserting themselves and suggesting the appropriate actions to be taken in regards to this sinking ship.
However once of the chunks of masonry from Gizmo's dramatic entrance settled all that had really happened was the building now had a new, much larger doorway. There was no creaking, groaning or anything else that would suggest that the building was about to cave in on itself but Gant wasn't convinced. It was best to wait till the fire house crew got here, after all they were paid to do that sort of thing. Tecnically Gant was too but but he wasn't paid nearly enough to actually do it.
He could hear a lot of noise coming from inside the building but he couldn't make any of it it. This wasn't surprising, he could barely understand what Gizmo when he was right in front of him, but it was a tad aggravating. No, he didn't want to go inside but he had no objection to knowing what was going on in there. In fact for the first time in years Thelonius was extremely interested in something extremely dangerous and so when Xyon eventually emerged from the building Gant didn't waste any time.
"What just happened in there?" Gant asked only to have the Giant brush right past him "...Xyon?"
Xyon wasn't slowing down. He seemed to be holding what looked like the shattered remains of a sword in his hands and considering the rather unsettling attachment he had to that sword Gant could understand if he was sulking. However, understanding is not the same as accepting.
"Oh right, thanks a lot!" Gant shouted after him as he waved his arms in the air "Yeah just leave the mess to me! I'll just go fetch a broom shall I!?"
Xyon didn't stop, Gant wouldn't have known what to do if he had.
Gant muttered to himself as Xyon trudged off and he half considered going into the lab himself to look around, as the death of the evil giant inside would have done wonders for the buildings structural integrity. However, Gant didn't even get into the building as when he drew close the enormous bulk of Gizmo appeared and completely blocked the entrance.
"Oi Gizzard!" said Gant "What the hell just happened in here?"
Thelonius didn't know what Gizmo was, beyond a pain in the neck at least, but he did know that things went one inside that blue monstrosity. What sort of things Gant didn't know but he did know a vast majority of them took place one those rare and treasured occasions when Gizmo was silent. He'd told Gizmo to stay back, something akin to asking the tide to hold off for a while, and he knew what was coming next.
"Right mate, we're goin' in full throttle. Yer pal's aboot ta lose 'is dome."
Two things struck Gant at this moment. Firstly, since Xyon could barely fit in that door the chances of Gizmo fitting in were slim to nil. However, this thought was almost immediatly irrelevant as the the second thing to strike him Thenolonius Gant was several shards of masonry caused by the blue orb as it smashed through the wall of the building.
Now Gant was no architect, which probably put him on equal footing with whoever had built the boarding house, but he was fairly certain that the majority of Marian constructs relied quite heavily on there being four walls to each building. Unfortunately this one now had three and half walls that was probably not a good thing.
"Get out of there!" Gant had bellowed as soon as Gizmo plunged forward into the wall but this was hardly necessary.
The other five guardsmen, those brave souls who'd accompanied Xyon into the building and then presumably stood around and felt awkward, had almost instantly evacuated the building, their rat like sensibilities finally reasserting themselves and suggesting the appropriate actions to be taken in regards to this sinking ship.
However once of the chunks of masonry from Gizmo's dramatic entrance settled all that had really happened was the building now had a new, much larger doorway. There was no creaking, groaning or anything else that would suggest that the building was about to cave in on itself but Gant wasn't convinced. It was best to wait till the fire house crew got here, after all they were paid to do that sort of thing. Tecnically Gant was too but but he wasn't paid nearly enough to actually do it.
He could hear a lot of noise coming from inside the building but he couldn't make any of it it. This wasn't surprising, he could barely understand what Gizmo when he was right in front of him, but it was a tad aggravating. No, he didn't want to go inside but he had no objection to knowing what was going on in there. In fact for the first time in years Thelonius was extremely interested in something extremely dangerous and so when Xyon eventually emerged from the building Gant didn't waste any time.
"What just happened in there?" Gant asked only to have the Giant brush right past him "...Xyon?"
Xyon wasn't slowing down. He seemed to be holding what looked like the shattered remains of a sword in his hands and considering the rather unsettling attachment he had to that sword Gant could understand if he was sulking. However, understanding is not the same as accepting.
"Oh right, thanks a lot!" Gant shouted after him as he waved his arms in the air "Yeah just leave the mess to me! I'll just go fetch a broom shall I!?"
Xyon didn't stop, Gant wouldn't have known what to do if he had.
Gant muttered to himself as Xyon trudged off and he half considered going into the lab himself to look around, as the death of the evil giant inside would have done wonders for the buildings structural integrity. However, Gant didn't even get into the building as when he drew close the enormous bulk of Gizmo appeared and completely blocked the entrance.
"Oi Gizzard!" said Gant "What the hell just happened in here?"
You can't kill me, I'm immoral.
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Daq Bekkar
- Citizen
- Posts: 369
- Joined: Wed Oct 17, 2007 8:49 pm
- Name: Daq Bekkar
- Race: Humanoid Construct
Re: The hunt
Daq was a little more than surprised at all of the strange voices that were shouting at him from behind his back, but he was no longer in control. He watched as he stood still and finished his work, capping each of the vials as the last of the smoke swept in and decomposed. He put them in his bag before turning around slowly to answer the calls.
"Not just yet, my sweet," he heard himself say. His voice sounded deeper and softer than usual. Inwardly, he cringed at the choice of words. He wondered if they were meant to offend Pagusel. "There's still a little work to be done."
He picked up the knife that he had put on a side table and put it in his pocket. After some searching, he found a small jar on a nearby bench, filled with a yellowish liquid. He took it and went over to the fallen giant. Careful not to slip on the blood that had just stopped gushing from Zebren's chest, he stooped down and straddled his nearly severed neck.
Daq withdrew the knife and traced a few light practice marks on Zebren's battered face. He tried to urge himself to leave the scene as the giant blue.. thing had told him, but the fruit of his efforts was less compliant.
Beginning to make a large gash in Zebren's cheek, he spoke without turning to look at the guardsman who had ordered him to leave.
"I don't see a crime scene. What I see is an intruder who damaged my property. This intruder lies dead on the floor before me, thanks to the efforts of the guard. Your work is done. You may leave before any more of my property is damaged by bumbling hands."
"Not just yet, my sweet," he heard himself say. His voice sounded deeper and softer than usual. Inwardly, he cringed at the choice of words. He wondered if they were meant to offend Pagusel. "There's still a little work to be done."
He picked up the knife that he had put on a side table and put it in his pocket. After some searching, he found a small jar on a nearby bench, filled with a yellowish liquid. He took it and went over to the fallen giant. Careful not to slip on the blood that had just stopped gushing from Zebren's chest, he stooped down and straddled his nearly severed neck.
Daq withdrew the knife and traced a few light practice marks on Zebren's battered face. He tried to urge himself to leave the scene as the giant blue.. thing had told him, but the fruit of his efforts was less compliant.
Beginning to make a large gash in Zebren's cheek, he spoke without turning to look at the guardsman who had ordered him to leave.
"I don't see a crime scene. What I see is an intruder who damaged my property. This intruder lies dead on the floor before me, thanks to the efforts of the guard. Your work is done. You may leave before any more of my property is damaged by bumbling hands."
...
Re: The hunt
Regibald had not bothered switching apparatuses in order to hear Daq's cold response. Gizmo was rolling out of the building, feeling mightily pleased with its collective self. When Thelonius asked Gizmo what happened, it was sheer luck that Junior was fixing a plate, and happened to have a stethoscope pressed against it. The youngest of the gnome family spoke through the aluminum horn connecting the three platforms audially."I don't see a crime scene. What I see is an intruder who damaged my property. This intruder lies dead on the floor before me, thanks to the efforts of the guard. Your work is done. You may leave before any more of my property is damaged by bumbling hands."
"Oi, gramps. Thet Gant feller's wunnerin' whut happened."
Regibald, who had just sat down on his platform with a novel about a disillusioned goose and her friendship with a wad of fleece, grumbled even more loudly than usual as he wrenched open the megaphone valve. "If ye'd been in thur yerself, ye'd know, wouldn'tcha? Golsurn, ye tick me off, Gant. Now lemme be, I gotta find out if Phyllis an' the beaver manage to get the thorn out o' Fuzzy's side. Fiction es much preferred te yew lot prancin' about wit' swords 'n' funny ideas."
With that, Gizmo was rolling off precariously down the road out of town, her bowels filled with inaudible curses and bickerings that the world would (hopefully) never know of.
You just got blue-balled
Re: The hunt
Pagusel shifted her weight onto the balls of her feet and sidestepped an ooze of blood. She remained paused there, her sinewy feet balanced upright in aged sandals, her arms held out from her body just a bit for balance so that her fur cloak tented out to the sides and her fingertips dangled just below its hem. The disembodied voice drew her attention once more to Gizmo. She balanced there on her tiptoes, her head tipped curiously as this creaking thing as it departed.
The symphony of Gizmo's rhythmic whirring and rolling served as an eerie soundtrack to the scene. Pagusel was close to Daq and could see his grisly act. The creature was dead, so the flow of blood was acted on by no force other than gravity. Nonetheless, the floor was receiving a fair treatment of the morbid ink.
Pagusel raised her eyebrows in reaction to this sight. She noticed the suede wrapping on Daq's foot, and her brow dropped. As if attached by a line, her heels dropped as well, and her arms fell to her sides.
The woman looked again to see how far Gizmo had gone, and only now found Gant. Before, this man had been out of view. Her eyes traveled from his boots to his face to meet his gaze before the twinge of a frown marked her chin.
With a careful backwards step, Pagusel drew nearer to Daq. As gruesome as his course of action was, his words to her--"my sweet"--had been an even more unfortunate choice. She wouldn't look at him, but kept her gaze warily on Gant.
"Mister Bekkar, I would like my shirt back now," she said. The tenseness in her throat and stiffness of her jaw was audible in her voice.
The symphony of Gizmo's rhythmic whirring and rolling served as an eerie soundtrack to the scene. Pagusel was close to Daq and could see his grisly act. The creature was dead, so the flow of blood was acted on by no force other than gravity. Nonetheless, the floor was receiving a fair treatment of the morbid ink.
Pagusel raised her eyebrows in reaction to this sight. She noticed the suede wrapping on Daq's foot, and her brow dropped. As if attached by a line, her heels dropped as well, and her arms fell to her sides.
The woman looked again to see how far Gizmo had gone, and only now found Gant. Before, this man had been out of view. Her eyes traveled from his boots to his face to meet his gaze before the twinge of a frown marked her chin.
With a careful backwards step, Pagusel drew nearer to Daq. As gruesome as his course of action was, his words to her--"my sweet"--had been an even more unfortunate choice. She wouldn't look at him, but kept her gaze warily on Gant.
"Mister Bekkar, I would like my shirt back now," she said. The tenseness in her throat and stiffness of her jaw was audible in her voice.
-
Thelonius Gant
- Guardsman
- Posts: 62
- Joined: Sat Feb 16, 2008 5:47 pm
- Name: Thelonius Gant
- Race: Human
Re: The hunt
"If ye'd been in thur yerself, ye'd know, wouldn'tcha? Golsurn, ye tick me off, Gant. Now lemme be, I gotta find out if Phyllis an' the beaver manage to get the thorn out o' Fuzzy's side. Fiction es much preferred te yew lot prancin' about wit' swords 'n' funny ideas."
For a moment Gant just stared, a look of complete and utter bafflement on his face, but once it became apparent that Gizmo had no intention of hanging around for a response he quickly pulled himself back together.
"...what!? Get back here! Half of that wasn't even words!" Gant shouted indignantly after the rapidly retreating Gizmo "What the hell is a goalsworn!? Gizmo!"
Foolishly Gant had a assumed things would get easier once the whole giant slaying aspect of the night had been dealt with but apparently the giant slaying was the only thing that had been keeping the interest of the freak contingent. So now Gant was left with a crumbling ruin which was probably filled with all manner of toxic chemicals and the duty of explaining what had happened to anyone who asked, which was probably going to be quite a number of people considering their crime scene had been pumping out torrents of orange smog not five minutes ago. Of course Gant could do this, he was a dependable fellow after all, but since he himself had absolutely no idea what had happened in the building he would be forced to improvise an account, an account which would no doubt sideline the involvement of anyone who wasn't him when it came to the actual giant slaying.
"Gizmo!"
Unfortunately doing that would entail actually writing the report and Gant never wrote reports. Writing a report meant that you had taken responsibility for something and considering most nights Gant wouldn't even take responsibility for his own actions it was more than unlikely he'd feel the urge to step up when came to property damages and a 300 pound corpse. Admittedly it would have been nice to have been hailed as the all conquering defiant hero but the reality was that the adulation would last all of five minutes while the paperwork would follow him to the grave. No, it was best to let one of the other guardsmen take responsibility for this, after all they had been inside the building even if they had nothing to show for it beyond a strange orange complexion.
However, even though he fully intended to wash his hands of the matter Gant couldn't resist having a brief look around the ruined laboratory, as even though he was loath to take any official responsibility it would almost certainly become a prize anecdote. This was a decision he would later come to both regret and appreciate.
"Mister Bekkar, I would like my shirt back now,"
For a moment Gant just stared, it seemed like the right thing to do. However, eventually Gant decided he’s better say something to the two people who had somehow just appeared in wreckage.
"...look, it’s too late to be getting into all this." said Gant finally "You got five minutes and if you’re still here after that you’ll be spending a night in the cells."
Scavengers, more often than not the beat the guardsmen to a crime scene and if not they were never far behind. No tragedy in Marn was complete without people seeing how they could profit from it, it was the Marnian spirit really. He should have cleared them away, he should have arrested them there and then, but Gant’s shift was over now and overtime was a concept neither embraced nor recognised by guardsmen.
Gant hadn't noticed that the women had referred to the man as Bekkar, a name Gant knew belonged to the man who owned the lab and a known associate of the recently departed murdering giant, and he never would. He hadn’t even gotten a good look at the man, understandably he had been looking elsewhere at the time, and even if he’d had noticed the fact that Bekkar was now carving a dead man’s face apart he probably would have assumed it was just a round about way of getting to his fillings. No, the hunt was over now and Gant was not going to go out of his way to notice anything that might change that.
And so Thelonius Gant, giant slayer, turned around and trudged out of the building. He shouted some vague instructions at the first guard he saw and then blissfully ignored anything the man said in response.
This was a problem for the day shift now.
For a moment Gant just stared, a look of complete and utter bafflement on his face, but once it became apparent that Gizmo had no intention of hanging around for a response he quickly pulled himself back together.
"...what!? Get back here! Half of that wasn't even words!" Gant shouted indignantly after the rapidly retreating Gizmo "What the hell is a goalsworn!? Gizmo!"
Foolishly Gant had a assumed things would get easier once the whole giant slaying aspect of the night had been dealt with but apparently the giant slaying was the only thing that had been keeping the interest of the freak contingent. So now Gant was left with a crumbling ruin which was probably filled with all manner of toxic chemicals and the duty of explaining what had happened to anyone who asked, which was probably going to be quite a number of people considering their crime scene had been pumping out torrents of orange smog not five minutes ago. Of course Gant could do this, he was a dependable fellow after all, but since he himself had absolutely no idea what had happened in the building he would be forced to improvise an account, an account which would no doubt sideline the involvement of anyone who wasn't him when it came to the actual giant slaying.
"Gizmo!"
Unfortunately doing that would entail actually writing the report and Gant never wrote reports. Writing a report meant that you had taken responsibility for something and considering most nights Gant wouldn't even take responsibility for his own actions it was more than unlikely he'd feel the urge to step up when came to property damages and a 300 pound corpse. Admittedly it would have been nice to have been hailed as the all conquering defiant hero but the reality was that the adulation would last all of five minutes while the paperwork would follow him to the grave. No, it was best to let one of the other guardsmen take responsibility for this, after all they had been inside the building even if they had nothing to show for it beyond a strange orange complexion.
However, even though he fully intended to wash his hands of the matter Gant couldn't resist having a brief look around the ruined laboratory, as even though he was loath to take any official responsibility it would almost certainly become a prize anecdote. This was a decision he would later come to both regret and appreciate.
"Mister Bekkar, I would like my shirt back now,"
For a moment Gant just stared, it seemed like the right thing to do. However, eventually Gant decided he’s better say something to the two people who had somehow just appeared in wreckage.
"...look, it’s too late to be getting into all this." said Gant finally "You got five minutes and if you’re still here after that you’ll be spending a night in the cells."
Scavengers, more often than not the beat the guardsmen to a crime scene and if not they were never far behind. No tragedy in Marn was complete without people seeing how they could profit from it, it was the Marnian spirit really. He should have cleared them away, he should have arrested them there and then, but Gant’s shift was over now and overtime was a concept neither embraced nor recognised by guardsmen.
Gant hadn't noticed that the women had referred to the man as Bekkar, a name Gant knew belonged to the man who owned the lab and a known associate of the recently departed murdering giant, and he never would. He hadn’t even gotten a good look at the man, understandably he had been looking elsewhere at the time, and even if he’d had noticed the fact that Bekkar was now carving a dead man’s face apart he probably would have assumed it was just a round about way of getting to his fillings. No, the hunt was over now and Gant was not going to go out of his way to notice anything that might change that.
And so Thelonius Gant, giant slayer, turned around and trudged out of the building. He shouted some vague instructions at the first guard he saw and then blissfully ignored anything the man said in response.
This was a problem for the day shift now.
You can't kill me, I'm immoral.
-
Daq Bekkar
- Citizen
- Posts: 369
- Joined: Wed Oct 17, 2007 8:49 pm
- Name: Daq Bekkar
- Race: Humanoid Construct
Re: The hunt
Daq listened to himself grunt rudely in response to Pagusel. He willed his arms to stop their work and untie the suede bandage, but they didn't respond. If he could have sighed at that moment, he would have. Whatever the guardsman had said was similarly lost on him.
Below, his hands deftly traversed the lower part of the giant's battered face, making incision after small incision until the skin could be simply peeled away. With a light tug, most of it was completely detached from the face and thrown to the side, where it landed with what Daq could only assume was a stomach-turning plop, having become inured to what some might call 'gore' over the years and, more importantly, having gradually lost all feeling in his body over the past hour.
The next cuts were less delicate. They dug sharply into the cheeks and were followed by the insertion of fingers between the severed bands of muscle to rip them apart. More violent tugging was required to rip upward and peel the eyelids away. Two small incisions were made to the upper eyelids, which were summarily also ripped apart.
Daq noticed he leaned in closer for the next part. His hand was wiped against his trousers, as it had become slicky with the giant's thick blood. His knife-holding hand became steadier as he exhaled. Gently, the blade slipped into the first eye's socket just above the globe, and with a few light hacks, the eye was freed from the upper musculature anchoring it. A similar maneuver was applied below the eye, and the process was repeated for the next eye.
He stood and went to a cabinet, from which he withdrew four vials. Three were empty, and one was filled with a murky, yellowish liquid. He filled two of the three empty vials with the yellow liquid and replaced it in the cabinet. He withdrew two further vials from the cabinet and poured a mix of the contents of the two in the third empty vial. When he was finished, he replaced what he had taken out. The three vials he had just filled were left in the vial rack on the table near him.
Once again, he straddled the giant. Using his hands in tandem, he dug his fingers in behind the eye, pinched at the optic nerve's connection, and pulled sharply. Both eyes popped out, taking a good portion of the optic nerve with them. He stood and dropped the eyes into the two vials containing the yellow liquid.
Removing the third vial from the rack, he stooped over the giant. With a less gingerly touch than he had employed in the previous operation, he yanked out Zebren's tongue and hacked at its base until it was freed. He dropped the tongue into the brown mixture of liquids. After some fizzing, it dissolved and the liquid turned clear. Daq squirmed mentally as his head tipped back and the vial was put to his lips. As far as he could tell, it went down smoothly, but that wasn't saying much. He walked over to his water basin and rinsed his hands.
Crouching, Daq untied the suede. He coiled it in his left hand as he stood and held it out to Pagusel. From the glimpse he had of it as the bandages came off, Daq noted that the bruises and swelling around his ankle seemed to be fading rapidly.
"Pagusel," he heard himself say. His voice had noticeably filled out and deepened. Based on past experience, he assumed that meant his hair had started to darken from its usual gray to a reddish black. "Your shirt."
He waived it impatiently.
Below, his hands deftly traversed the lower part of the giant's battered face, making incision after small incision until the skin could be simply peeled away. With a light tug, most of it was completely detached from the face and thrown to the side, where it landed with what Daq could only assume was a stomach-turning plop, having become inured to what some might call 'gore' over the years and, more importantly, having gradually lost all feeling in his body over the past hour.
The next cuts were less delicate. They dug sharply into the cheeks and were followed by the insertion of fingers between the severed bands of muscle to rip them apart. More violent tugging was required to rip upward and peel the eyelids away. Two small incisions were made to the upper eyelids, which were summarily also ripped apart.
Daq noticed he leaned in closer for the next part. His hand was wiped against his trousers, as it had become slicky with the giant's thick blood. His knife-holding hand became steadier as he exhaled. Gently, the blade slipped into the first eye's socket just above the globe, and with a few light hacks, the eye was freed from the upper musculature anchoring it. A similar maneuver was applied below the eye, and the process was repeated for the next eye.
He stood and went to a cabinet, from which he withdrew four vials. Three were empty, and one was filled with a murky, yellowish liquid. He filled two of the three empty vials with the yellow liquid and replaced it in the cabinet. He withdrew two further vials from the cabinet and poured a mix of the contents of the two in the third empty vial. When he was finished, he replaced what he had taken out. The three vials he had just filled were left in the vial rack on the table near him.
Once again, he straddled the giant. Using his hands in tandem, he dug his fingers in behind the eye, pinched at the optic nerve's connection, and pulled sharply. Both eyes popped out, taking a good portion of the optic nerve with them. He stood and dropped the eyes into the two vials containing the yellow liquid.
Removing the third vial from the rack, he stooped over the giant. With a less gingerly touch than he had employed in the previous operation, he yanked out Zebren's tongue and hacked at its base until it was freed. He dropped the tongue into the brown mixture of liquids. After some fizzing, it dissolved and the liquid turned clear. Daq squirmed mentally as his head tipped back and the vial was put to his lips. As far as he could tell, it went down smoothly, but that wasn't saying much. He walked over to his water basin and rinsed his hands.
Crouching, Daq untied the suede. He coiled it in his left hand as he stood and held it out to Pagusel. From the glimpse he had of it as the bandages came off, Daq noted that the bruises and swelling around his ankle seemed to be fading rapidly.
"Pagusel," he heard himself say. His voice had noticeably filled out and deepened. Based on past experience, he assumed that meant his hair had started to darken from its usual gray to a reddish black. "Your shirt."
He waived it impatiently.
...