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"I'll keep an eye on things outside with Dash," Zohra said, feeling that it made more sense for her untouched BattleMech to remain in play.

"Be safe!" She added cheerfully as she gracefully turned her BattleMech around. Scanning her radar, Sohra moved her throttle casually forward until her Raven was moving at its still respectable cruising speed.

Feeling mercifully cool, with the shooting finally ended, she breathed slowly, willing the post battle weariness from her eyes. She had a job to do. She had a task to accomplish. Her instructors has always said soon after a victory was a deadly time and a place for an ambush.

@Lurking Krog @XxFellsingxX @Guardian Angel Haruki

Mariel moved confidently through the crowd, showing nothing would betray the worry that tugged at her heart. To show weakness, would drawn attention, and was the surest way to invite predation, especially in Sigil.

Her home was gone. Alundal was missing. But there was no time for sadness. Grief would have to wait. She still had hope. She believed that there was a way. A way to make things right again. And a way to get home. The spirit within her spoke to her of the importance of caution and the value of patience. Difficult responses that she struggled to enact with emotion thundering with each of her heartbeats.

Merchants carefully ignored her, seeing the frown set over her lips. The wandering customers gave her a wide berth, noticing the wildness about her person. Mariel did not mind the city. It was a different sort of forest. However, her fondness for the cities that had sprouted up and grown across all of the multiverse, did not change that she was no creature tamed and collared.

Mariel needed no sharp eyes to spot the tall woman standing at the entrance to the Bazaar. Lissandra had asked for her aid. She had offered information. And most importantly she had told Mariel about the portal disrupting the carefully calibrated scales of the Bazaar.

"I greet you, gatekeeper," Mariel said, eyeing Lissandra and her two companions, "Forgive me for my late arrival."

"I was delayed," The druid added, offering no explanation beyond a shrug as she rubbed the toe of her right boot against the ground, removing a spattering of blood that she had noticed too late.

She could not name the goliath, well-armed and well-armored, standing patiently next to Lissandra, but seeing the amulet he wore around his neck, Mariel pulled out her own treasured emblem to show him. The symbol that Alundal had carved for her and given her. It was good to see one of her own. It was good to know there was someone she could trust. She nodded to the other plane-tender, fighting the urge to speak telepathically with her fellow plane-tender, but she knew that some found such gestures threatening if not forewarned.

"Your presence is heartening, fellow caretaker," Mariel instead said to the Goliath.

The other person that Lissandra had gathered, likely the woman that she had wanted Mariel to help, was a familiar face, and returned a measure of happiness to Mariel's ashen face. The traveler was a welcome reminder of happier times. Aaliyah, Mariel remembered, recalling her journey to the Elemental Plane of Air. The generosity and kindness of her master, the Noble Djinni, Ishaan, had been a great boon to the traveling plane-tender. He had seen her fed, more than well. She had rested in his great palace. A creation built with solid ground, a rarity in the zephyr realm, and structure worthy of the storied artifacts the genie had collected over the eons.

"I greet you, Aaliyah, of the Elemental Plane of Air... it has been some time since our last meeting. What brings you away from the realm of your master?"
Aight, so Abstract Proxy has been absent for three days and they haven't responded to my PMs. I'm gonna finish writing this post today and get it up. They still have a little time to get their intro in before Lissandra moves Beigeiros and Aaliyah anyhow.

Sorry about that! Caught the flu and was lost for a bit, will drop a post today and toss Mariel into the mix.

And posted!

From the shadows, Galina let out a low hiss of irritation. A bad situation had taken a turn for the worse. It was no matter. It was not her problem. What was a little robbery? It was common. It was the way of the post-war world. The cramped lower class quarters of the Green Horizon were no exception. She didn’t care about the bounding islanders salvaged helmet…or his life. The line between life and death in the post-war world was sharp, razor sharp, and a small mistake could be fatal.

She didn’t care about the fight unfolding in front of her. She didn’t care until the Super Mutant strode into the fight like some crazed cowboy, some insane shootist waving his supersized weapon at the gathered thugs.

Shooting was no good on a ship. Ricochets were unavoidable if people started shooting in the people lined cabins. Worse she knew was fire, fire on a ship was feared by every sailor for a reason.

The commotion had attracted a crowd. A crowd scattered at a respectful distance. Eyes watching cautiously. Hands not ready to act, but bodies ready to dive for cover, and feet ready to run. Galina sensed an opportunity. A chance to profit. Fighting was risky. Fighting within the claustrophobic confines of a ship was riskier still. Things were getting out of hand. They had to be cooled down before some real damage was done to the ship.

Moving silently, imperceptibly forward, Galina ducked behind the makeshift counter of some wannabe rich man trader who stood mouth agape staring at the growing scuffle. She found his coin purse quickly. Tasteful. A simple leather bag tied with a simple enough string. It was heavy, but she didn’t bother counting. Slipping away as quickly as she had arrived, she returned her attentions to her unwelcome problem.

"Mawrons! Yeah, yous guys throwing hands over some fucking helmet! Settle down! All of you!" Galina shouted, kicking a nearby crate aside as she strode confidently towards the brawl.

"You smell that boys? That’s land. We’re close. And you idiots want to fight? Big man ovah there is gonna turn you into a fine mist and then put a hole in the boat with his cannon. So shut up. Be smaht, take these caps and fuck off, before the rest of us throw you overboard. Don’t need to waste bullets to feed schmucks like you to the shawks."

She tossed the bag of caps she had liberated from the distracted merchant in front of the ringleader of the tattered criminals. It would be a useful distraction if nothing else. The next step was violence. And a lot of it.
Awesome posts, I will try to post tomorrow or Friday!
Yeah, you gotta have fun as GM too, if you are jonesing to write a PC, then do it, lol.
Posted my "Sariel does necromancer things" post, hopefully it's readable, this cold is being annoying, will do an edit at some point tomorrow (spelling/grammar/flow, substance of post will remain the same).

Surrounded by the newly dead, Sariel felt a welcome chill, the cold winds of death brushing against her. They were alive. Largely untouched. And seemingly no worse for wear. It was a fortuitous beginning, as far as ambushes went.

She was unsure of what to make of the scarred man’s words. Holy magic, especially the sort hammered into the strange amulets, like that which the ogre had so quickly claimed from the dead leader of the Sulfreyan knights, was best approached cautiously. It was possible a message had been sent, beyond the purifying light that swept across the plains and smashed the pyromancer’s wall of fire. It was equally possible that it had not. Regardless, Sariel did not doubt that the blindingly bright light had stretched to the very edges of the horizon. Time was rapidly sliding down from the top bulb of the upturned hourglass.

Stepping over a shattered body, Sariel nodded cheerfully at the wizard animating the dead barbarians and a scattering of knights. It was good to see another practitioner of the old arts, the dark arts so maligned by the ignorant. She stopped and knelt down to the commander of the knights, gently removing the dagger from his face, her delicate hands causing little damage to the pierced eye.

Whispering ancient words, Sariel placed her gloved right hand over the face of the brave captain. Ethereal pale blue light traveled over her covered skeletal arm, enveloping the reposing figure in a dreadful layer of faded color. Shuddering and then shaking, the dead knight commander sat up with a sudden lurch, letting out a painful, gasping rasp as he breathed in air he no longer needed to breathe.

"No," the Sulfreyan knight said, desperation obvious in his voice, "No, why am I here? What happened? I am supposed to be sitting next to… NO! You! Vile sorcerer! Witch! Begone!"

"I don’t think so," Sariel replied, rising slowly as she gestured with her hand for the undead knight to do the same. Shaking as he fought against her compulsion, the knight stood at last, staring with horror at his own limbs that had moved against him, shifting at the whims of the necromancer.

"What have you done to me!?"

"I have brought you back. I have restored you. And now, I offer you a choice."

"Choice! I have no choice. You have cursed me, you have damned my very soul!"

"Pah. Do not be so dramatic. Death is death. This is life…or something like it. Calm yourself. And tell me, what is your name?"

"Thuk Meuch-Tok," the Sulfreyan knight commander hissed, fighting still against Sariel's magic.

"Delightful," Sariel answered with only honesty in her heart.

"Why do you torment me?"

"I do not. I simply wish for you to answer some questions. And then, you may return to your rest if you so choose."

"You would release me from this curse?"

"I would, if you answer me truthfully."

"How would you know?"

Sariel smiled a knowing smile, "I have many ways. This spell for one. You are bound to me. You are chained to my will. Power far beyond what you could even hope to imagine was channeled in this spell. It would be best, if you were honest. I take no joy in cruelty, but matters require a steady hand."

"Ask you questions, witch," the undead Sulfreyan spat, trying and failing to mutter a prayer.

"The light. Your holy amulet. Was there a signal…a message sent when you activated the underlying spell?"

"Yes…it was a call for aid. I was told only to use it in the most dire of circumstances. We did not wish to disturb Him unnecessarily."

"Ah, that is unfortunate. I had hoped we might elude detection for some time. Oh well, there is little to be done about that now. Suppose we wished to travel to Malasta, how would we get there from here?"

"You could take the roads," the Sulfreyan began, gesturing towards the close enough roads, visible near the horizon, "You would be safe from any other easterlings."

"Perhaps, something a bit more discrete?" Sariel inquired, nodding pleasantly.

The undead knight shrugged, "If you stay in the wilderness, you will be harder to track, and harder still to spot. Eastwards, for three days, and then north for two more, will see you reach the Unsin River. You can follow the Unsin river for a day or so and then you will arrive at lake Unkar. Malasta, and Sulfrey, blessed Sulfrey, is on the other side of the lake."

"I see, that is quite helpful. I expect there are ferries to transport weary travelers to the city?"

"Of course."

"Wonderful, I have little desire to swim. Now as to the city. Were we to seek entry in Malasta, do you or any of your men possess the proper papers to see us admitted without any unwelcome questions or pointless violence? Would your company secure us a peaceful entry?"

"No," the Sulfreyan said, and Sariel knew with full certainty that he spoke true. "My knights and I belong to the fort at Bal-Atak, we have no business in Malasta. Our presence would raise many questions. You would not go unchallenged even if you were escorted by my full retinue"

"I see, we shall have to do something else then," Sariel mused, shifting her thoughts. "Where might one acquire official documents of transit and entry?"

"Outside of Sulfrey?"


"I do not know. Such documents are issued only by appointed scribes. You might find such an official in one of the villages around Malasta, but I do not know."

Will, strengthened by time, began to buffet back against Sariel. Soon, she would have to make a choice. She knew she could keep the knight. He would be a useful servant. A powerful geas would bind him…and would protect her.

"Alright then, that’s enough. Brave sir knight, it is time for you to make a choice."

"A choice? What choice do I have? Your foul magic has corrupted me and forced me to betray my country and my master."

"Poor man, I did but set the wheel in motion. You had a choice. You always did. I offered it to you. And you have it still."

Sariel grinned, sensing a faint new wave of emotion. Not anger. Not fear. And not hatred. Hesitation. Beautiful, sweet hesitation. The newly dead were not so far from life. They still remembered. They still sensed all the feelings of life just beyond their grasp. The afterlife might beckon, but life…life was harder to let go of.

"What do you offer me?"

"Life…or death," Sariel said, laughing pleasantly, a sudden warmth in her voice, a soft smile that seemed more gentle than the cold mask that she wore.

"You mock me!"

"Never," Sariel replied, joy still tugging at her features.

"Then what do you mean?" the undead knight desperately said, his hands shaking with trepidation.

"If you wish, I will release you, you will be dead, you will return to the silence of the grave, and your master, perhaps, I do not claim to know the nature of any afterlife. Or…"


"You choose to live. You choose this life. A new life. A different life. You would serve me. Until my current task is completed. Then you can be free. Truly free. And you may do what you wish with your new life."

The Sulfreyan knight’s eyes grew wide, his chest moved with heavy breaths that verged on panic. Sariel watched as the knight reached for his sword that lay carelessly nearby. Raising his sword, the knight pointed it at Sariel, and then laid the blade flat on his open palm. Bending down to one knee, he lowered his eyes to the ground, defeat palatable in his entire being, "I offer you my sword and my loyal service, my lady."

Regal in her bearings, Sariel approached, and placed a hand gently on his shoulder, "I accept you into my service and recognize your most honorable oath."

As the necromancer spoke, she could feel the geas binding the undead knight. It was an old trick. It was an ancient spell. One the wizened liches had taught her in their hidden tombs scattered in the distant east.

"Now rise, Thuk, we have many things to do, and I must share what I have learned with my companions. But first, let us see your steed. For what is a knight without his loyal mount?"

Animating a small animal was a simple thing. Animating a bigger animal was a task for novice necromancers. However, animating a great beast, a cousin to dragons, now that, that was a task for a true master of the necromantic arts.

Following the directions of her new servant, Sariel stopped at the bruised and battered form of his slain wyvern. The body was in adequate condition, she could perform her work. Whispering words older than the remembered years, Sariel raised the creature with a gentle brush of her hand over the head of the monster, as if she was petting a particularly large cat.

Standing with a sudden roar, the creature seemed uncertain, settling only when it saw its rider standing protectively nearby the necromancer.

Smiling, Sariel left the knight to attend to his revived steed and strode towards her companions as they picked the corpses that now surrounded them.

"My new retainer has told me many things. Unfortunately it would seem the amulet contained not simply a powerful defensive spell, but also an arcane message, a call for aid sent to our very target."

Relaying the rest of what the Sulfreyan knight had said, Sariel concluded her thoughts, "It would be best if we moved quickly, before more Sulfreyans arrive. East along the forest or North to the hidden treasures of our fiery friend, it matters not to me, but we have little time to decide."

Practically purring like a cat, Wildfire gracefully bounded out of the tattered bus. She was tired of the jet. She was tired of sitting still. She was tired of being sober. She could feel an itch, a gnawing, frustrating feeling, that coursed through her. Beginning at her fingertips, traveling up her arms, racing over her shoulders until it crashed into her spine, and rocketed all the way up her superhighway-ed spinal nerves. Standing in the midday sunlight, she stretched, yawning loudly as she shook the weariness out of her head. It was go time, not sleep time. She’d sleep later. A couple of minutes and some novacoke and she’d be burning chrome for the next 24 hours.

Slapping Frost cheerfully on the shoulder, Wildfire breathed in the air. She loved cities. She loved the smell of asphalt. She loved the uncountable scents that attacked her nose all at once and threatened to overwhelm her senses. She loved the noise that surrounded them and the bustle that caused it.

Wildfire felt alive. She felt awake. The hunt was on. It didn’t matter. She’d find the girl. She had Frost. She had Whetstone. She knew them. She trusted Frost with her life. She trusted Whetstone to be a professional. She liked Captcha already. The technomancer danced with danger and the warnings that burned at Wildfire only raised her interest. Captcha would not be boring and that was often all that mattered.

The mystic adept seemed to be a live wire, which always meant trouble. But some magical artillery was always worth it. A little bit of idealism never killed anyone that didn’t have it coming. Maybe he’d learn. Maybe he wouldn’t. She’d be chill as long as he did his job.

Wildfire had already forgotten Johnson. He was just another fixer. Another puppet convinced he was the puppeteer. Probably a dime a dozen. Not that it mattered. The Shaman seemed solid, Wildfire thought. Although she had never cared much for the spirits. They were too fickle. They were too demanding. She had herself, she had her magic, and she had her claws.

She studied the figure waiting at the door with a smirk she made absolutely no effort to hide. She didn’t know much about religion. But she could clock a robe with the best of them. She wasn’t sure if the mage was trying to make some joke or if the Johnson had actually found them a dyed-in-the-wool member of the clergy to join the team. She revealed her earlier judgments of the fixer and decided he was some sort of comedian. That or he was insane, but she hoped she was a joker. Laughing was better than crying even in the mud.

"Chercheur?" Wildfire said, knowing the answer already, a smile halfway between a friendly greeting and a challenge played over her lips, "What’s the good word in Lisbon? You're been our man on the ground...for I don't know...some time...Any sweet data you have to share with the rest of us?"
Back again, I'll toss up a post tonight with Sariel following Viktor's strategy and bringing back some of the unfortunate Sulfreyans, particularly the leader.

Edit: Post mostly done, just gotta see what our GM says the undead knight commander will say (will put that in my post so it flows nicely).
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