Eisenhorn

Torchlight (based off of Darkest Dungeons)

Still living the dream, best I can mate, yourself?

Unheroic: The Fish and The Falls [Closed]

Heirlooms Safely Reclaimed, and Recognition Realized...

Jericho had quickly retrieved his pipe, relieved to have his lucky pipe, taking it out of the box and pocketed it in the meantime. Sure, he never had carried it in that nice of a case, but now that he had it in hand, he started checking his pockets, seeing if they had stolen his tobacco too. Then he would need a light as well then, but all one step at a time. Matches were easy to get a hold of, usually, and they had the torches still so he could carefully do something with one of those if he needed to. However, he quickly noticed the shift in the demeanor of the fellow in front of him, seeming to get more excited and less jaded than before while several others behind him seemed to figure out the concept of a anchor and fled to apparently work on those as well. He was asked after who had freed him, needing to shake their hand, and he kept an easy, relaxed expression and stance while he held his pipe as a matter of comfort and habit, since his tobacco was missing as well. At this rate, he should be relieved he woke up with his clothes on. "Ain' jus' the two o' us eit'er, handful o' us in the next room over. Our 'elper is recouping o'er t'ere. T'ey may be a touc' jumpy rig't now, given t'e trouble we ran int' gettin' t'is far."

Of course, given how fast the sodding anchor was built for the drowned lass, it did remind him that he was going to have to be armed as well, given the violent breakout. Returning his pipe to his pocket, and letting his hands rest there, he looked at the steady craftsmanship on the anchor, as the salamanders began writing strange, foreign symbols along the crest of the war anchor. He had to tack on war to the beginning of that, since it did not look like something you would put on a ship to use conventionally. Turning to look back at the foreman, leader fellow, he resumed talking. "Aye, t'e more we know, t'e better. An I reckon a'll need a sword an dagger t' get stuck in. E'en if s'e's got a sodding anc'or as a weapon..."

Torchlight (based off of Darkest Dungeons)

I am here as well, sure as sure.

Unheroic: The Fish and The Falls [Closed]

Items Found, Yet Far from Grasp...

Jericho cocked an eyebrow at the remark of cracking it over a knee and tossing it into the sewer, though he kept his temper since that, despite wanting to jump to conclusions, was unlikely. He also made damn sure that he didn't make a remark on the girlfriend bit, as he did not even want to begin to imagine the logistics behind how that would even work. Given she was a good several inches taller, and had nearly slapped his face clean off already, that would be a very strange relationship indeed. Of course, the lack of a pulse might complicate things, but devil was always in the details. When she asked over her own equipment, an anchor and armor, he couldn't help but glance over at her, cocking an eyebrow. A sodding anchor? Thing used to hold ships in place? Given the manner she had fought so far, well, he couldn't say it was a complete surprise, but he still was not expecting her to just pick up a sodding anchor when she had a perfectly serviceable mace. "A soddin' anchor, lass? T' each t'eir own, a' s'pose. Also watc' t'em 'ands, savvy? Near took my nose clean off." Though the questioning of whether the war was done or not, what with all the bastard was dragging back, probably alluded to Kazzok, though he didn't speak the name out loud. "Can't say, mate, far as a' know,'e's still at it all t'e same. Mentioned somet'in' 'bout an ol' king, bless 'is soul?" Might as well gather information while he was here, not like he was going to likely get answers from much else right now. Their rescuer could barely speak, having to use stolen words to try to communicate, so that left a lot to be desired in terms of information.

A crooked grin appeared on Jericho's face when his old pipe was revealed to him, settled in a nice wooden box in red velvet. Someone thought it was bloody important, and given the faded niceties and engravings, one might even think it was an old item of some import. Shame it was just a lucky hand me down, but he had been rather ticked his pipe was missing up until now. Who steals a mans pipe? "Aye, t'at would be it. Good t'ing we stopped on by 'fore it got packed away, e'?" That latter bit was a general remark, though one could understandably see it directed at whoever wanted to take it as such.

Unheroic: The Fish and The Falls [Closed]

Heirlooms Hinted At, and Focus Reestablished...

Upon entering the storeroom, or what had appeared to be a store room, he was quickly confronted with some short, newt looking abomination clad in leather, but he kept his face even upon sighting an all too familiar sight. His pipe, no, not his pipe, but a replica of it. Someone had either shown it to this thing, or it had seen his pipe closely enough to make a near flawless replica of it. Given how new it looked, either it had not been too long since it had been replicated, or it did not see that much wear and tear in the hands of this newt thing. Smirking faintly at the accented barks, using the back of his heel to push the door shut, better to stay on this things good side until he could get his hands back on that pipe. Besides, if things went south, that was what the drowned lass was for. Between her brute force and the two handed mace, he would barely be needed at all. Convenient she decided to come along then, and all the more reason he had made sure to bring an extra pair of hands just in case, no telling what these things could be capable of if they got violent.

"I'll save th' checkin' out of yer tits for another time, mate. Clever replica o' a pipe ye got t'ere, w'at happened t' the original? Just mig't be interested in gettin' my 'ands on it, aye?" While waiting for an answer, he could see others poking there heads out, muttering and otherwise watching the sudden shouting and the two newcomers to their area. This could get nasty if the foreman wanted it to be loud and nasty, but as far as Jericho was concerned, he was sure they could to some sort of arrangement. Business was business, wherever you went, and from the looks of things, this was just another one of those businesses. Sure, the face was different, but he could work with this. Wasn't foreign to seedy dives and sketchy dealers in artifice of unknown quality. For now, he would keep a sharp eye on his surroundings, and if things went south, hell, he could always take cover behind the drowned lass as she went rampaging. Or she was going to go rampaging anyways, and he would have to extract the answers out of any survivors he could get his hands on. Preferably that wouldn't be the case, at least not as a first resort.

Unheroic: The Fish and The Falls [Closed]

A Moment's Respite, Newcomers and Questions Abound.

Finally, they were getting clear of their initial holding cells, though the fact their rescuer was capable of reanimating the abomination that they had so recently slain was disconcerting, at best. He kept an eye on the man who took the longsword though, at least he seemed better qualified to wield it than Jericho was. Now, Jericho could certainly have handled it, but he was better off with a hand free, or at least a separate weapon in each hand, instead of committing both hands to one weapon. Too easy for one arm to get crippled, and leave you less than capable in comparison to someone who needed only one hand for their weapon of choice. Then again, it had its strengths, so he left it to personal choice. They got moving though, eventually coming into a sort of bunk room of sorts, though it reeked of blood. Like a slaughterhouse, or some of the torture dens that certain groups had run back in Istvargrad. However, before he could give it more thought, two more former prisoners caught up with them, one complaining about being forgotten and the other, bird masked thing barely catching up under his own power, begging to be brought along. Tin lass jumped in to help the barely moving man, and the one bird woman suggested taking a moment to catch their breath and try to wait for whatever was suppressing their powers to wear off some. Well, if Jericho had any unnatural powers to lay claim to, maybe, but it did give them time to sniff around and figure things out.

The one winged lass wondered about them not being possibly the only ones taken, further curious if others from Ferrivell, assuming that was her home, were taken to. "Cells look deep 'nough bird lass, hold entire ways o' life down 'ere. Real question, why? E'en as trophies, lot o' work and resources in maintainin' a prison able to 'old folks like you lot..." That is what didn't add up, you kept prisoners for a variety of reasons. Leverage, mainly, though also information, intimidation, even trophies like he mentioned. But this Kazzok and his legions, at least in as much as Jericho had faced them, had never seemed terribly interested in claiming anything. Well, maybe they were, and the fact he and his own had torched anything they couldn't carry made this Kazzok want to inflict some sort of punishment? Hard to say, too little information, too many questions. Turning his attention back to the current surroundings, and the fact it seemed they would be pausing here for now, he found himself giving out, technically speaking, suggestions for what to do while they were here.

"W'oever's useful in stitchin' up a fella, might wan' t' give th' fellow a look over, see if 'e can get moving soon. We'll want someone on t'e watch, keepin' a' eye fer more trouble, aye?" Jericho was not fond of the idea of stopping for too long, he suspected that this whole place was cursed and it wasn't just them individually being affected, that was far too inefficient for a jail that could suppress unnatural beings powers. Looking at the deeper recess, which gave him the idea it could be some sort of storeroom, he glanced at those present, before turning his gaze back to the potential storeroom. "A few o' us should check tha' room, see if we can arm more o' of us, 'opefully. W'o's wit' me?"

Unheroic: The Fish and The Falls [Closed]

Abomination felled, More on their way, a choice of flight or fight is made...

Jericho danced back after plunging a torch into its neck cavity, the thrashing, sizzling, and oozing of black ichor, not wanting the foul smelling stuff on him if at all possible. He hadn't expected things to go so smoothly, then again, he never had a being capable of lifting and smashing down one of these things in his ranks. There was this one giant fellow, had carried an axe with a haft of thick oak and hammered, crude looking iron work for a head. Gods have mercy on whomever got in its way though, he recalled fondly, though he was already giving the one longsword an experimental lift, having kicked it clear of the thrashing corpse. Too unwieldy for his tastes, even if longswords were agile in the right hands, his were not the right hands. Arming swords, daggers, anything that didn't occupy both hands at once was his preference. "'ere, grab 'is kit 'fore we leave. Better some o' us are armed than none o' us."

Offering the longsword to whomever wished to take up the two handed blade, and if no one took it from him he would hang on to it since it was better to be armed than unarmed, he would look at the tin lass as she had questioned brute force, the curious gaze lingering just long enough. What, had her creator not given her due strength to protect her master and break them apart bare handed if needed? Gods damned waste, that, but he wasn't some creator of mechanical....things, so he instead turned his attention to the lifted spell, and the mimed action of a running stance by the thing that saved them. Accurate, it was time to go, even if they didn't precisely know where to go, so the one that sprung them from these cells would be the one leading the way, or they'd just be running blind. "'e's right, time t' get scarce. Find someplace t' 'unker down, we can sort t'ings out proper there."

Unheroic: The Fish and The Falls [Closed]

Among Peculiar Beings, a Stranger in an even stranger Land...

Jericho noted the drowned corpse having figured out that the torches in the wall sconces lit themselves upon being held, and while he kept his expression neutral, his gut was not fond of being so casually surrounded by Magician tricks. Of course, he had to conceded that these may very well not be the tricks of Magicians of his home, as he was presented with too many varied, disparate beings and people to even remotely stand a chance of still being locked up in some prison in Istvargrad. Hell, any ring leader worth his name knew the prisons of Istvargrad, usually through personal experience in breaking themselves out or being broken out by their associates. This....this was not a prison of Istvargrad, the magic alone showed that, which meant he was not in Istvargrad anymore. Which begged the question, where in the eleven hells did he end up this time? Disrupting his train of thought was the curse, brief remark by another person to walk out of there cell, and despite the grime and less than sterling state of his equipment, there was a steel and focus to his stance and movements. This man was more than he seemed at first glance, and while Jericho couldn't place a finger on it yet, he would keep an eye out.

Of course, any jailbreak that spent this long just lingering ran into a guard doing its rounds. He mentioned it, since the amalgamation of flesh, armor, and weaponry that lumbered into their lives was, well, he'd only seen things like it when Kazzok invaded his home. Looked like it was repurposed from line breaking abominations, four 'legged' things flailing about with two handed weapons, using mass and sheer violence to shatter through organized defensive formations. Least that is what the damn thing reminded him of, but its charge was brought short by their rescuer's....spell? Whatever field the thing was maintaining, had frozen part of the abomination in place, and then it proved itself capable of speech, gurgling on about finding and barking for its master. A quick glance at the state of the group pretty much said for itself their odds if this thing's master heard and came running. Of course, hearing his own voice flawlessly spoken back to him, asking for help with the abomination, was disconcerting, but he would have time for nervous break downs or freaking out later.

The one winged woman introduced herself, armed herself with a torch, but other then that, stood around rather uselessly while composing herself or whatever. Great, that helps, Jericho considered while grabbing one of the self lighting torches for himself. Then the drowned lass promptly charged the thing and, after jamming a torch into the base of where those arms came from, did her damndest to pick the thing up and slam it down behind her. Figured the dead wouldn't be restricted in strength, and he barked out plain enough orders to the rest that were still sort of just milling about, especially the one looking to flee. "Ain' no runnin' with that thing on our 'eels. Watch th' weapons an' arms, surround it, an' stick it with fire wherever ye' can, openings, gaps, anywhere. Disarm it if th' chance arises!" Jericho lunged forward, a practiced fener's thrust, just with a torch instead of a sword, aiming for that hole where the thing had drawn weapons from. Kept him clear of flailing arms, best it could at any rate, but still he had to stay light on his feet depending on how the thing responded.

Unheroic: The Fish and The Falls [Closed]

Another Time, At the End of Things...

"Get th' last of the women an' children inside! You, you, and you, get th' last o' th' barricades up." Jericho Cross was on the bridge, overlooking as the last surviving wives, daughters, and sons too young to hold weapons shuffled inside. Well, the survivors of those groups that hadn't taken up arms already. Once they were inside, the grand double doors, solid oak with gilding, swung shut again and, if listening closely, one could hear the sounds of barricades and debris being piled up against the door. A handful of the men under his command were getting barricades set up, hastily as one could see the oncoming tide, marching at its own pace. That was ignoring the flying monstrosities, which were lurking outside of archer range, groups of dedicated archers milling about along the windows and openings where they could take cover between volleys of arrows. They had learned, the hard way early on, that the flying beasts could fire back, or whatever rode them into battle.

They were ignoring the fact that most of Istvargrad was burning, or already burnt out for that matter. The smell was, thankfully, rather tame this far from the more recent skirmish sites, considering they had been fighting last ditch stalling efforts up until this point. The makeshift barricades, mostly barriers to huddle behind with pikes and logs cut to sharpened points set up and braced against charges to at least slow and, in theory, funnel the enemy forces into a narrower position. In practice, of course, the larger war beasts could just smash apart the barricades without too much injury, but they did not fit too well on the narrow pathway, thankfully enough for now. No one had much time to complain, or dread their impending doom, as the forces of Kazzok marched ever forward. "Steady yerself lads, and lasses don't give me t'at look. We 'old long enough t' let the rest flee into t' underground. Better t'an burnin with the mansion, eh? Give these things somethin' t' remember of us."

At this point the oncoming tide of enemies reached range of the archers that weren't on the windows and walls, who were already firing in defiance against the tide of flying creatures that darkened the sky, and blotted out the pale moonlight, leaving only fire and torchlight to guide the last standing defenders. Of course, the dedicated archers were busy, but that did not prevent the survivors holding the barricades from unleashing their own, fired at will volleys of arrows. No magicians, though, they had gone down in their own district instead of linking up with the remaining defenders. Last scout reports indicated that there wasn't even burnt out buildings left, reality apparently having collapsed, at least that was what they could gather before the poor sod had drank himself into a coma. Peppering the lighter, fodder troops with arrows and bolts, before long the beleaguered defenders were being swamped in melee, and a proper brawl was not where they excelled. Even the few remaining soldiers, proper soldiers and not the enforcers and thugs of the criminal underground that weren't just color or honor guards for fat, long since dead nobles, were struggling to hold the barricades now.

Jericho was holding his tell tale sword in one hand, a salvaged dagger in his off hand, lashing out in each direction as he slowly found himself getting surrounded, though they stayed out of blades reach. He was quickly cut off as the barricades were destroyed and shoved out of the way and the survivors butchered or pushed back against the gate. A creeping, lingering darkness seemed to seep forward, and he braced himself, blades at the ready. "What, yer resonsible for this?" Nothing, just creeping forward and surrounding him ever more tightly, and despite his lashing out, he could not find his blows connecting with anything, and darkness completely claimed him, despite his better efforts.

---

Current Times, Unshackled but not Free

Being trapped in a loop of his own memories, the last waking moments before his apparent demise did not do Jericho's temper well when he was brought back to the waking realm. The first thing his body did was collapse forward, having been restrained for gods knows how long, bracing himself and coughing up a lung. He had been restrained within his cell, unpleasant as that might have normally been for long duration, though his mind had been kept occupied elsewhere. It took him a minute to gather himself, mentally at least, which any other time back home might have meant a death sentence. Which meant this prison was most certainly not in Istvangrad, and he hadn't been in some drug induced hallucinogenic nightmare trip. Shame about that, he was almost hoping that he had been drugged and bagged by the Church instead of...well, best not think on it too much. Picking himself up, he heard talking and, oddly enough, mimics of the same voices speaking.

Stepping out of his cell, Jericho deliberately made as little noise as possible as he gauged the situation at hand. Masked thing, mimicking the source of the others voices, likely the reason he, and by proxy, the others were free. Robbed of its voice, maybe? Strange curse, reeked of Magician's work, it did. Next to catch his attention was some winged, woman, thing. No such beings existed back in Istvangrad, so he really had no basis on what to think about this woman. Church spiels about their vengeful angels and the like matched her to a vague degree, and he really, really hoped she wasn't there to be some judging force. He'd hate to try and shank an angel over what he did in life. She seemed, at least in tone of voice, to be the more merciful and kind sort, though appearances were far too deceiving for him to trust that from the basis of things, and he turned his attention to the next one.

Another female looking thing, and Jericho said thing because it had some gear sticking out of its back. He settled on she, for now, mainly due to her choice of attire. Mechanical constructs were the domain of some Magicians, so not only was that outside his boundaries of understanding, he automatically distrusted her very presence. Coupled with the potential hostile stance and gaze he could tell from his position and, well, he would be keeping a very close eye on her until he had a reason to look elsewhere. There was little else for him to consider in regards to the key wound woman, so he turned his attention to the next person who was talking, or at least present.

If he was armed, Jericho would have drawn steel at the sight of the next 'woman', if he could call her that. Some drowned corpse given animate life, more bastarding Magician work if he had to reckon. Given her stance, she was also needlessly proud of her condition, or general state of self, and it showed for someone with an eye for people and their attitude. He caught the tail end of her question, however, asking where her stuff was. Stuff, equipment, and he patted his pockets down and frowned. Some thieving bastard swiped his pipe! No, he was not concerned with the loss of sword or bow, at least not nearly as much, as he was with the pipe. That actually held proper sentimental value, damn it, so he would be keeping a sharp eye out for that. Sidetracking thoughts put aside, he would give due thought to the next person he set eyes on.

Young kid, human for all intents and purposes as far as appearances go, though his lack of muscle or even any sort of redeeming physical form meant that one would be inclined to underestimate them. Jericho had no intent of doing so, it was possible this kid was either no show and all results, or had something else up his sleeve to get him stuck with capture instead of death. Common running trend, most likely, since they were all alive and, for the most part so far, literal sodding angels, mechanical oddities, and outright abominations. And some scrawny punk who he expected to be some demi god of some sort, or another, given the current trend of appearances and stature so far.

Next was another winged person, though lacking the stature or grandiose nature of the sodding angel, at least he kept assuming angel of some sort, who was at least pragmatic enough to react appropriately. Jailbreak, time to get the hell out, and he had to agree with that fully. Getting out of one's cell was only one step of, often times, many to get the hell out of custody. Again. Jails were a pain in his arse, mainly since often times he was there for reasons that weren't related to the crimes he committed, which were plenty enough to warrant life sentences in most civilized places. So he would keep his bragging to a minimum, since most likely would be among 'good' company and didn't need their shenanigans. Well, mostly, the undead abomination probably didn't care, being an abomination.

At this point, further discussion was being apparent, and Jericho finally had a chance to chime in, having taken up a leaning position against the wall. The mechanical woman, thing, whatever mentioned not being sure what use she would be in a jailbreak, and it gave him a chance to make a comment. "Brute force, tin girl. You and th'... drowned lass ain' got t' worry 'bout the body givin' out near as soon as some. Speakin' of, where th' 'ell is the exit? Appreciate yer 'elp and all, but the sooner we get out, sooner we ain' sitting 'ere waitin' for the guards to come knockin', aye?"

Neon Skies

Weiland nodded as it was agreed that he would be working for Lotus out here in their own city, remaining silent as he was briefed on District 22. Typical mega city residential area, looked like, which meant a lot of claustrophobic quarters and vertical hostilities to potentially be dealing with. Suited him just fine, really, close quarters was his forte, and he always had a back up for reaching out a bit farther if he had to. Gang known as 'Hive' ran the district pretty much, he would have to ask for more details on them once the brief was at a point he could interject and ask questions. Next up was his mission tasking itself, since he was new and wouldn't be immediately pinned to Lotus, not as easily at any rate. Head to the meet, gather as much info that they have on the Corp if possible, then snag the broker and get them out alive if possible. That part wasn't nearly as much his usual tasking, but he would make it work. Next was pay, and he nodded when it was mentioned he was now 50,000 credits better off, with another 25k plus bonus waiting depending on information quality extracted. Part of that bonus probably also worked with bringing the broker in as well, so he would have to keep that in mind. After Victor informed his daughter of her promotion, he found the opportunity to chime in.

"You want this broker, its going to get messy, odds are they aren't just going to agree to walk out with me. Assuming I will be briefed on this "Hive" group en route, how much do you care about collateral damage? Depending on what I bring, it will get nasty. Local schematics and blueprints for the meeting ground in question as well would be handy to have." If collateral was not a concern, he would be loading flechette, his preferred go to ammunition, as well as a breaching round in the secondary barrel of his modified weapon. A lot of the gory details of how he would get in, and extraction options, would likely be briefed in transit, even if he could expect Frau Hélios and Corp Sec teams as potential reinforcements. He did not want to make a plan just to have a key leg get kicked out. No, he would have to assume he would be on his own for this, even if he was nominally partnered with Frau Hélios for operations outside Lotus Corp territory.