[b]Mahora[/b]

Over the school grounds, a meteor flared. It streaked in from the upper atmosphere, catching fire from the friction of reentry. Its shape was impossible to distinguish at a distance, particularly as it was engulfed in flame, but it was closing in on the ground quickly. Like a dropped bomb, it gave a peculiar whistle as it descended. It soon became obvious that it was going to hit the school grounds, by anyone that could see it well enough to judge its trajectory. However, as it closed within seconds of impact, something quite strange happened: a sound like a whirring dynamo roared from the meteor, and the flames enshrouding it suddenly took on a green hue. Not fifty feet from the ground, a burst of emerald fire erupted from the meteor, forcing it back up into the air. It did not fly far, nor well, as it now spun wildly, clipping the corner of a rooftop, and then smacking into the ground.

The impact was considerable, but not as cataclysmic as it would have been without that final burst to slow it. The ground rumbled from the force of the meteor, and it now sat in a smoking crater. Upon closer inspection, the meteor was clearly a metal machine of some sort. It was black in color, even without the soot and dirt that covered it, with a huge, grey face that resembled some sort of idol. A dome-shaped canopy, dark red in color and patterned like a human brain, covered what could potentially be an opening in the machine, potentially for someone or something to enter it.

In the cockpit of the Lazengann, Lordgenome rubbed his head gingerly. His mecha's systems were nominal (shocking, after his emergency landing), but he was sore as hell from hitting the ground that hard. For now, he was content to sit in the darkened cockpit and rest his shell-shocked body before trying to figure out where he was.

[hr]

[b]Roanpur[/b]

The Black Rose stalked through the city streets. This really wasn't her preferred locale; she left the prowling of slums and such to her underlings. Even so, this was a peculiar situation, and it demanded special actions. For the time being, she was on reconnaisance. She needed to know where she was and what the best course of action was at the present moment. From what she could tell, this was a piratical port of some variety. She was out of her element, but this was not unsalvageable.

She had arrived in the ornate dress that she had been wearing when she was last, well, conscious. The quality of her location made it clear that this would not suffice. As to blend in better, she composed a glamour to alter her appearance; simple yet effective. Fine dresses appeared more worn and out of style, priceless gems became costume earrings, and her subtle makeup became a full, plaster-like mask. It bothered her some that she had to resort to disguising herself as a harlot, but there was little that could be done about that.

There was strength in numbers, and she needed underlings promptly. Or at the very least, allies. She had happened upon a tavern of some sort that caught her attention. Magic and power were concentrated in this place, she could tell. Even so, something supremely dark and twisted lurked there. Marchesa prowled the perimeter, eavesdropping where she could, and continuously feeling for the mana of whatever lurked within the tavern.