The terrorists from Briah had been working as a collective referred to as the New Briah Liberation Movement, which had a public office with NBLM painted on the front. This office burnt down a month prior when several of the proto-terrorists thought it clever to construct one of their monstrosities there. These creatures, which had since began to spread throughout the city as independent witches began to conjure them, and the original threats spread from the slums district, had become to be called Smog Ghosts.
Any individual Smog Ghost was a threat due to the nature of its sturdy physiology and its adaptability. It was when they were allowed to congregate and the thick gas that they produced as a byproduct began to develop into sheets of bad air that things worsened. It was a heavy gas, and the steel walls were all that was needed to keep it out, but it was still a rather substantial threat. It caked onto walls, weapons, and the skin in a suffocating manner. When breathed in it caused tumors, swelling, and internal bleeding that spread quickly throughout the body. It was a truly dangerous material. The danger was then amplified with the fact that the Smog Ghosts were smart enough to move around quietly through the understreets, and to congregate in larger numbers while laying traps in their territory.
The slums had been claimed too thoroughly for a recovery mission. A lone terrorist had constructed this particular Smog Ghost using an old diving suit stolen a week ago from Omira’s port docks. The only reason the threat had been secured so quickly was due to scrying efforts on the part of the magistrate, as well as a disruptive pulse of magic that had been laid over the central Banking District to ensure that the Smog Ghost was too confused to replicate.
As the elevator on the quarantine edge was lowered, its inhabitant (@A Man Is No One), could see the Smog Ghost rather clearly. The thick diving suit stood at about six feet tall, and was a mix of bronzework and leatherwork with some additional imported materials. The helmet of the suit had two lenses over where a human wearer’s eyes would be. The lenses let off an eerie orange glow that matched the coloration of the thick fog that was peeling out of the suit’s ventilation points. The fog, as it was in fact orange, could be seen pulling into and being pushed out of the suit as the monster breathed. In its left hand it held the large bloody kitchen knife that was likely used to disembowel the citizens that had been unlucky enough to be caught in the zone when the summoning occurred.
From within its casque all it could feel for the moment was a chaotic confusion. It understood its purpose, and it was prepared to seek it. Every time it turned to orient itself and understand its environment, however, it was left lost. It was being interfered with. It was being disrupted. The best it could do was wait for the confusion to pass, and defend itself until it could pursue its goal.
That screeching of the elevator was unnerving though, and in the dim orange night through its own smoke it saw the individual on the elevator and was made greedy. It needed to remember, to force itself to recall, all that it could be.
As the confusion began to dissipate, the smog thickened. It saw a singular image in the back of its head. A primordial calling. It had wasted bodies by killing the people in the streets and by flipping the car as it had. Perhaps this new humanoid would grant it the opportunity it sought. This wall could be scaled with help. It understood with a clarity in that single moment that striking down this other creature and making it, as it should be, kin would be what enabled its escape from the enclosure. Its thoughts developed along a rather predatory progression.
It retreated to the steps of the federal bank, South, and stooped to an athletic position with its knife held in its left hand. The smog followed it, but remained thin at its position.
Any individual Smog Ghost was a threat due to the nature of its sturdy physiology and its adaptability. It was when they were allowed to congregate and the thick gas that they produced as a byproduct began to develop into sheets of bad air that things worsened. It was a heavy gas, and the steel walls were all that was needed to keep it out, but it was still a rather substantial threat. It caked onto walls, weapons, and the skin in a suffocating manner. When breathed in it caused tumors, swelling, and internal bleeding that spread quickly throughout the body. It was a truly dangerous material. The danger was then amplified with the fact that the Smog Ghosts were smart enough to move around quietly through the understreets, and to congregate in larger numbers while laying traps in their territory.
The slums had been claimed too thoroughly for a recovery mission. A lone terrorist had constructed this particular Smog Ghost using an old diving suit stolen a week ago from Omira’s port docks. The only reason the threat had been secured so quickly was due to scrying efforts on the part of the magistrate, as well as a disruptive pulse of magic that had been laid over the central Banking District to ensure that the Smog Ghost was too confused to replicate.
As the elevator on the quarantine edge was lowered, its inhabitant (@A Man Is No One), could see the Smog Ghost rather clearly. The thick diving suit stood at about six feet tall, and was a mix of bronzework and leatherwork with some additional imported materials. The helmet of the suit had two lenses over where a human wearer’s eyes would be. The lenses let off an eerie orange glow that matched the coloration of the thick fog that was peeling out of the suit’s ventilation points. The fog, as it was in fact orange, could be seen pulling into and being pushed out of the suit as the monster breathed. In its left hand it held the large bloody kitchen knife that was likely used to disembowel the citizens that had been unlucky enough to be caught in the zone when the summoning occurred.
From within its casque all it could feel for the moment was a chaotic confusion. It understood its purpose, and it was prepared to seek it. Every time it turned to orient itself and understand its environment, however, it was left lost. It was being interfered with. It was being disrupted. The best it could do was wait for the confusion to pass, and defend itself until it could pursue its goal.
That screeching of the elevator was unnerving though, and in the dim orange night through its own smoke it saw the individual on the elevator and was made greedy. It needed to remember, to force itself to recall, all that it could be.
As the confusion began to dissipate, the smog thickened. It saw a singular image in the back of its head. A primordial calling. It had wasted bodies by killing the people in the streets and by flipping the car as it had. Perhaps this new humanoid would grant it the opportunity it sought. This wall could be scaled with help. It understood with a clarity in that single moment that striking down this other creature and making it, as it should be, kin would be what enabled its escape from the enclosure. Its thoughts developed along a rather predatory progression.
It retreated to the steps of the federal bank, South, and stooped to an athletic position with its knife held in its left hand. The smog followed it, but remained thin at its position.