Pressure the Hinges

[Koran]

The day started like most other days for the machine. The sun rose, he stared at it blankly for a few minutes, blinked and went back his normal business. Which normally included doing a whole lot of nothing, with a whole lot of everything to do with absolutely nothing. In other words, stand and stare at the sun, and if he wasn't doing that, kill something.

Unlike all the previous days before this one however, this was one of those rare days where he actually did something rather than nothing.

Ho-ohly shit, would you just look at that?

From a distance of about a mile and a half, the milling masses of people stampeding through the warren streets of the bazaar looked more like ants than actual people. Very slow, clumsy and other wise retarded looking ants, but none the less, ants.

I know, just look at em. It's like that time when we kicked that ant hill in Concordia.

Umm, that was Corone.

Aren't they in the same place?

Yes, and no. Maybe. I'm not sure.

Uh-huh. Right, so now that we've established what they look like, what do we do now?

Have fun?

You mean like, fly down there, loot some buildings and kill a few people kind of fun? Or fly around playing pranks on all ready scared shit-less people fun?

Heh heh heh.

The machine shook his head, smiled, tipped his wings and glided silently toward the milling masses of people below him.

It's just another beautiful day in the neighborhood, beautiful day in the neighborhood.

*~*

His landing could have effectively been called anything but graceful, as having three tons of body weight flying semi-uncontrolled toward the ground at near break neck speeds, into a swarming mass of moving bodies, just wasn't the safest thing to do!

But, he did it anyway and having counted at least four people he very literally smashed beneath his boots on his way down, he counted his ungraceful foot fall as more than covered for. Save for the fact that he now had a tiny patch of hair, with a few blotches of blood stuck to his boots and he had a sinking feeling that it would take more than just warm water and a wash cloth to get them off. He settled for shaking his boots a little to try and get most of the excess off.

Having finished that, the machine looked around and inhaled deeply. Right, so now what?

Pick a form, pick a shop, infiltrate and then Murder! Death! Kill!

That sound's oddly familiar.

I dunno.

Right.

A little boy, possibly about seven or eight years of age, broke off from the main body - if it could really be called a body. More like a flowing ocean of appendages and various other body parts - and sprinted toward where the machine was standing. A small smile crept onto the machines lips and he moved to intercept.

Catching the boy however, proved to be slightly more difficult then simply presenting ones massive presence before his small and meager eyes. The moment this happened the boy took one look at the six foot three figure of the machine, blinked and ran screaming in the other direction.

"Fuckin' shit," the machine mumbled, slapping his thigh while shaking his head. "Dammit boy, wait! I just want to talk!" It didn't work, the boy just kept running.

Shit, I have to find something else.

You could try her.

Who?

Her. Right there. In the blue.

The machine twisted his head to right, just in time to catch sight of a woman dressed in a blue blouse and white skirt duck behind a large stack of barrels.

Ah yes, I see. Thank you.

No problem.

Upon reaching the barrels however, the machine found himself staring at crumpled form of a now dead woman. She was laying, almost as if asleep, against the side of one of the barrels, a massive spot of crimson blood coagulating on her abdomen. Her eyes, stared blankly at the wall in front of her.

Fuck! Now what, genius?

Will it still work? I mean, she just died and what not. Could work.

Hmmm, it might. No better way to find out than to try.

The machine moved closer to the dead woman and knelt beside her, caring little if he knelt in the growing pool of blood beneath her. Extending his right hand, he places it softly against her cheek and closes his eyes. Moments later he opens them and looks down at himself.

Cool! It worked!

Indeed, as he was now in the form of the dead woman at his knees.

Now what?

Blood. Smear some on yourself, so as to make yourself look wounded.

Right.

Moments later, out from behind where just moments ago a tall blonde haired man had disappeared, stepped a blood smeared woman, dressed in a blue blouse and red stained white skirt. In seconds she joined the crowd that was streaming past, screaming at the top of her lungs, flailing her arms about and otherwise, causing havoc in an already chaotic situation.

Ha ha! This is kinda fun.

Just don't get too anxious, keep your eye out from some prime targets. We'll use this disguise to get behind them to 'safety' where we can then cause the most damage.

Right. Care if I still scream?

Oh, by all means. You have a wonderful screaming voice.

The machine and his crack-wise voice companion, plunged deeper into the very chaotic Bazaar, searching for that one perfect target, screaming the whole way.

[Magdalena]

While Sati sat upon one of the numerous benches that lined the hectic walkways of the Bazaar, mulling among senseless musings, the chill of a wayward breeze brought along with it a familiar scent, a harsh and ferrous sting. With a knowing sigh, she shut her eyes, drinking in the quietude of the moment, as much of that fleeting serenity as her heart could take in. Alas, fearful wails and the scent of blood were now rising at a blistering rate, announcing the onset of a most gruesome hour, robbing her of any moment of reprieve. No longer could she close her ears to the echoes of bloody chaos.

“I guess it’s time for me to walk.” Strange words, perhaps; but to Sati, their significance was both great and highly discommoding. The woman hated walking with a passion, and not merely because it was a waste of energy. As a child, she would stare out the window and down onto the snowy streets, but her sight was never granted much diversity, and as such, she had grown weary of her kind. To her eyes, those who walk are but mindless drones that dwell the confluences of the world, only to sustain the illusion of movement in the staticity of society.

If only Sapna were here. To her loathsome vision of humanity, her twin sister was the only exception. Not only did they share a bond of blood, but one of soul as well, much deeper and stronger than imaginable. It was heartrending to be separated from her elder, the ache in her heart the same as when their one soul was rent in twine by the horror of birth. Regrettably, their separation was needed, and at the very least, it would only be temporary. When our task is done, we will be together again…

With this, she drew herself to a stand, and with a grudging effort, she began her amble over the abraded cobbles, weaving a fibril path through the malodorous rabble of lusting merchants, envious consumers, greedy brigands and slothful vagrants. If she wished to rise among the ranks of the Audeamus and ensure the safety of her sister, then she had much work to do. And, for once, more than enough time to do it.


The order was simple. “To wreak havoc,” she declared almost musically, addressing the bawdry crowd in the district's most nefarious brothel, the Red Maiden. Hirsute masses of men, both wiry and buxom, stared at the voluptuous silhouette that was outlined in doorframe, the glare from the streets immersing her in half a shade. A group of girls, of diverse ages and varying states of nudity, their faces painted to make them look like life-sized bisque dolls, were staring her down haughtily from the stands upon which they were displayed. If I am to kill, then why not make every corpse count?

“If you want a girl, you’ll have to wait in line; all the rooms are full. Unless you want to sit with them, love?” asked the patron, his sallow and cyanotic face slit by a sickening smile. With his whoremonger’s eyes, he scrutinized her shapely bosom and cursive legs through the fabric of her priestess’ gown. “What will it be?”

With an expert swiftness, she plucked the aureate hooks that hung from her belt, twirling them between her dexterous fingers into mesmerizing swirls of red and gold. Then, without sparing a single glance to the decadent room, she released a callous murmur. “Revenge.”

[Cyrus the virus]

Like running water the people fled, in rows of screaming flesh along the main road leading away from the square. Those who led the pack ran with as much speed as they could muster, for even in their panic they knew that to slow meant a trampling death.

It came much more violently than that, however. The front lines stopped abruptly, plucked from the air like ants in a powerful storm. From the very air about the populace a tornado formed, dragging dirt, humans and debris alike up into a high funnel. Atop one of the many brick shops stood Luc, arms outstretched and a horrid grin on his face.

The whirlwind died shortly after, raining humans down upon the others. Still they fled, bottlenecking as the road got thinner, large shops forcing the cattle to adjust. Luc chuckled, stepped into the air and soared over the thinner part of the passage, drawing the Slykrit Blade and igniting it. If he could not find any of the new Audeamus members to guide, he would simply set the example from afar.

“Burn, you herded cows,” he mused to himself. Taking some flames from the blade, Luc sent a flurry of head-sized fireballs raining down, pelting the people and the surrounding buildings with fire. With each smoldering projectile he threw, Luc created another, sending dozens of them plummeting downward.

Something whizzed past his face, drawing his attention so fully that the next few fireballs he’d prepared were winked out of existence. Looking down, Luc caught sight of a man with a bow who stood atop a building, hastily placing another arrow against the drawstring. The mage dove down like a diving bird, covering himself in the enchantment of Stoneskin as he approached. Like a swooping torpedo he swung, cleaving through the man’s arm with the Slykrit Blade. Screaming, the man dropped everything and fell to the roof’s surface. Luc kicked him over onto his side and took to the sky once more, this time soaring back toward the square.

Enacting his Whisper spell, Luc sent a message to Dan. “I’m already bored with killing these whelps,” he said softly. “I head for the Adamantine Armory, join me if you wish.”

Located north of the square, the AA was one of the premiere weapon shops in all of Althanas. Luc was aware of how careful he needed to be while attacking it, so he slowed his flight and rose higher, casting Truesight to grant himself triple his typical visual range. One could not be too careful when in such situations, he reminded himself.

[La Fantasque]

Though her mental landscape was a wreck of a once glorious mosaic, where chaos now reigned and vile abominations had taken roots, Sapna had an astonishingly concrete understanding of logic. In Sati’s rushed explanation as to their task for the Audeamus, she had found a series of steps to take in order to fulfill both the needs of their group as well as their own personal goals.

Indeed, even though the girl found it awfully difficult to tie the laces of her boots, she had figured that the best way to optimize the damage of property, the breaking of laws and the fattening of coin purses was to ransack the most thriving business of the Bazaar. Thus, she roved through the colourful crowds, unseen by most and unheard by all, on her way to the Adamantine Armory.

Of course, it didn’t strike her as foreboding that she would likely not make it out alive, what with the guards in effervescence, combing the streets in search of a scuffle to tame. Dan Lagh’ratham had effectively caused pandemonium in the merchant conflux, his wave of crime and murder spreading with every step his family took; but this made her task substantially more difficult to execute. Still, she padded on the cobbled streets, the emerald of her eyes not marred by even a smidgeon of worry.

Yonder the court of rickety stalls, she could spy the eminent roof of the armory. It wasn’t necessarily immense, but was already quite a bit more conspicuous than any other run of the mill store, for its clean-cut stone structure shone like a rough pearl in a heap of filthy sundries; that, and the name of the store was displayed with cursive and ostentatious calligraphy on a signboard that hung over the windowpanes. With a smile that exuded purity and innocence, she produced a set of steepled stilettos from the shadows of her purple cloak, twirling them as a young girl would colorful batons.

“I would advise you to put away your weapons, madam.” Stepping to the side, a guard barred her way, disallowing entry into the establishment. To lay eyes on his imposing figure, plated from head to toe with weapons darting out of his heavy apparel much like flowers in a metallic garden, would be intimidation enough for any average criminal, many of who were much stronger and resilient than frail little Sapna. Still, she did not budge, and her juvenile smile did not even as much as falter.

“I will not repeat myself another time. Sheath your knives, lest I sheath them on your behalf,” the guard said solemnly, his coarse voice not winching once as he observed her unnatural advance, still trifling with her dark stilettos. As soon as she stepped inside his vital perimeter, a burly, gauntleted hand shot out of the mass of metal, grasping her throat and lifting her two feet above the ground. “You have brought this upon yourself.”

The wind was crushed out of her throat, causing her to gag and gasp for air. She flailed her toned arms, gaveling at the armor with the pommel of her weapons, but to no avail. Blood was building up in her head, blurring her vision; yet it was not the risk of asphyxia that unnerved her most, but the creeping feel of a man over her flesh. Her mouth, no longer boasting any trace of that childish grin, was moving, struggling violently with words. Put me down. Don’t touch me. Put me down! Don’t touch me!

“PUT ME DOWN!” The bellow shook him to the very core, paralyzing long enough for her to find two gaps in the bracers of his extended forearm, in which she jammed her daggers, twisting them with a dry and sudden jerk. Blood sprayed over her face, Sapna fell into a mess, hair and cloak fluttering waywardly into unruly pools on the ground. She gasped for air, choking and spitting as the air seeped into her lungs, burning yet soothing.

Looking up with wide eyes, her dementia enhanced by the streaks of red that poured down her face, she saw the guard rise to his feet, bringing to bear a massive blade, red spraying out of his wounds in profusion, an ireful look marring his once impassive countenance. “Bitch, you’ll pay for this.”But before he struck her down, the massive shadow cast down on the streets had drawn his maddened attention. With an upward glance, he came to realize that, as he was standing over Sapna in domination, so did an abomination tower over him.

It was a disgusting breed of snake and caterpillar, its rippling flesh covered with a crawling chitin. Where should have been hundreds of legs, he only saw squirming limbs, some flexible like an octopus’, others like cyanotic arms, stripped from a corpse and clumsily sewn onto the fiend. Its head was a simulacrum of a man’s, sans the eyes and with multiple rows jagged teeth that lined the edges of its overgrown mouth, which was looming nearer at an alarming speed. “Waaaugh!” He shrieked, barely evading the killing blow and running away like a wimp, with his tail in between his legs.

Drawing herself to a stand, she stared at the crowd that held her at a distance. The fiend vanished into a puff of wispy smoke, without a trace of having ever existed. With renewed calm, her gentle smile returned to its stead, she headed into the armory.

Sometimes, it paid to be insane.

[Bleater]

The pandemonium continued everywhere. The caprian's eyes darted about, even with the wide peripherals of his horizontal pupils, there seemed to be no path safe for William to get the children out. Off to the east of him, he saw the crowd shift, rushing from a freshly ignited building. As the sea of humanity took a more concrete direction, it would open an opportunity. An opportunity for escape; or an opportunity for more harm. Dropping quadripedally, William bit onto the collar of the young girl's dress, pulling back hard to whip her around his head. He dropped her square on his back, then roughly nudged at her older brother.

"I say, get on, young chap!"

The boy tepidly complied, jumping onto William's back just behind his forelegs. Though the children were young and small, the goat's back groaned under the weight. After all, it's not as if he was a horse. Still, his protective instinct let him suck up past the weight. He bound off in the direction the crowd travelled, the children clinging to his back as they rode him through the madness. The boy was hanging on to fistfuls of William's hair so tightly that he was nearly pulling them out at the roots; the little girl pressed her face against her brother's back and held her eyes shut tightly in fear. As they cut through the crowd, William's eyes shot back and forth wildly, sizing up a path of escape.

His eyes fell on the sight of an old man, feeble in his age, knocked down by the crowd a few feet to his left. With his muscles burning, rushing about with the children in tow, he changed his path in the direction of the fallen senior. With a few hard shoves of his head, he rammed his bony forehead into one man running panicked in the mob, then turned and similarly rammed a large screaming woman who also looked to trample the old man. With each of the people he butted away, the children on his back were jostled and pitched forward, hanging on even tighter. William almost yelped at the young boy's grip on his hair, but simply grimaced instead as his head whipped around, looking for any other threats to the old man.

"Up with you, gent! This mad lot will trample you to death if you don't get up and get out!"

He stayed only long enough to make sure that the old timer had gotten to his feet before William felt the bodies of more people bumping hard against him. The children shook back and forth on his back from the jostling of the crowd, and the little girl squealed with fear.

Bollocks! I can't stop for any length of time without this mob trying to run ragabash over us. Have to find a way out... a way out...

Rushing forwards again between wildly scampering bodies, William saw that things were turning much worse. While the crowd had been flowing one way to get away from the fires, now they were falling back over each other, like a great wave slamming against rocks. Some turned out of fear, some turned to keep the sudden change of crowd movement from dragging them under. Still, it was apparent that there was something turning them away quickly. Or someone.

One of the brigands of this seige was ahead, doing his or her damage to the crowd. With the mass of bodies, it was impossible to see who or what was causing this chaos, but it certainly could be no good at all. William's mind raced; he had to find a way to get past this threat, and this crowd.

By jove, that just might work...

Spotting something in the corner of his eye, he turned quickly, rushing towards a merchant. The rotund man was hauling two large sack of money, trying to make his own escape. Narrowing his eyes, William rushed towards him, tilting his head back briefly.

"You'll quite want to hold on tightly, young scabberdashers..."

As he reached the man, he reached his head forward, biting the back of the man's hand. With a yelp, the merchant jumped, dropping one of the sacks.

"OW! What in the hell..." before he could get any further, William had grabbed the top of the sack in his teeth, and turned, rushing back towards the pool of humanity getting backlogged by the unseen threat. "Hey! My money!" the voice chimed after him.

Greed. The same thing that left the merchant standing there yelling instead of fleeing. William hoped it would by him a chance at escape with the children. The weight of his diminutive passengers and the bag of coins in his mouth weighed him down heavily, but he pushed onward. He felt his teeth dig into his gums from holding the sack, the ligaments in his spine stretched like a longbow's string from carrying the kids. It was then that he turned his head to the right, and then whipped it hard back to the left; letting go of the bag with his teeth to send it soaring towards the menace ahead.

He couldn't be sure who it hit, but it certainly hit someone in the crowd, and gold coins burst out on the impact like candy from a pinata. The crowd did not disappoint, as the same ones who were fleeing to and fro from fear now rushed onward in greed, trying to scoop up the coins and pocket what they could.

This could be just the opening William needed...

[Skylar]

Time had a cruel way of operating. Among lazy summer days, filled with sunshine, a clean breeze, and all the blessings that the Hidden One bestowed, it skips by without a single thought that the people experiencing these moments wanted it to last. The minute a man experiencing happiness, he is also saying goodbye to it, after all. Dust in the wind.

And just as inexorably cruel does time treat moments of despair, sadness, loneliness, regret, longing, fear, as if put on a pedestal. Time may very well be a sadistic spectator, pausing its own passage to lick its fingers at the syrupy sweetness of pain. Especially for the death of the innocent.

Skylar could see it play over in his head, again, again, his mind trying to comprehend ways he could still save it, like his very thoughts would mold reality and do away with the disgusting, horrible truth of the matter. He could pull out his mace! He'd have more control over. Or....he could not rush in like a foolish kid. Another good plan, yes.

This didn't happen.

This was all in his mind. He could do it over again. Sure he could. The Hidden One wouldn't allow this........he couldn't. He hadn't. No.

The child was dead.

It's not!

It is.

I refuse! My eyes lie to me!

They do not.

.........I........

In all this, Skylar had lost all feeling in his body, lost all control and stability. He hit he knees upon the cobblestone road, and leaned his head forward, resting upon the bloody road. The crimson substance stains his forehead, but he doesn't seem to notice. Even as the sounds of battle rage outside of him, a war of ego collides within him. His eyes never blink.

[Synful_Blood]

A cruel chuckle escaped Syn's thin lips at the boy's incredulous expression as he realized that it had been by his hand an innocent babe had been slaughtered. She savored each moment as the boy's previous world, one in which the 'good' always triumphed, shattered.

She savored the guilt eating away at his innocence, and possibly even his faith. It would be too merciful by far to kill him now. No, he needed the time to fully realize what he had done, and to live with it. Beings with pure souls were just so...fragile. In the long run, she was doing him a favor.

With another thin chuckle, she left him behind, a broken, helpless figure. She put a thumb over the cut she'd used for her blood manipulation. The last thing she needed now was to bleed out. There were prizes to be gained, after all. there was chaos to revel in.

The scents of blood and panic mingled around her like a glorious symphony, a heaven for her and her twisted mind. People were running in all directions, away from one roaring leviathan and into the gaping maws of his swarm. But she wasn't after these. Let them remember with fear the day the Audeamus struck the Bazaar.

As she came to the destroyed building where Dan Lagh'ratham had begun his massacre, the Elven hybrid stopped, just to smirk at it. There were still weapons and armor scattered about the place, left by the panicked populous. She didn't even see the guards -- probably headed to the shop where the rest of the Audeamus was swarming. It just meant she could take her time.

Among the rubble, she found a plain black full-torso plate, made for a thin man. Slipping it over her head, she still found it more than roomy enough for her skeletal frame. Also of interest was a black short sword of the same metal. It would provide a better reach than her dull dagger, and probably kill better, as well.

That done, she headed closer to the Adamantine Armory. Not that it made any difference to her where she was. But she did wish to see what, exactly, the more powerful members of her fraternity were capable of.

Syn grabbed a Delyn full-torso breastplate and short sword.

[AdventWings]

"Hmm... Yep, this looks like a lot of trouble."

The Bazaar was up in a turmoil that seemed to grow worse by the moment, evident by the stampede that seemed to be going nowhere and everywhere at once. The people outside were a pitiful bunch - running for their lives, only to be rushing to their doom. But that was how things were, move with the crowd or else be trampled to death. Not that death was not very far behind should the indivual fall out of the herd. So it could not really be a sure thing that straying away would yield respite from the mass.

Always hated the crowd. Good thing I was.

Jirou backed away from the window of the Akashiman, his dark brown eyes still scanning the distant roars of inhuman beasts and unearthly wails coming from the center of the market place. The man was glad he took the aged feline's advice and counted all his gold as well as making sure his hired protections were well-equipped for the day. He expected some rather uneventful scare, such as an attempted snatch-and-run at one of the jeweller's shop down the street. This looked nothing like uneventful to him.

"You've closed the Leatherworks Shop already, right, Miri?" The Akashiman blacksmith turned to look at the leather worker huddled in the corner whilst the man gripped a gigantic mallet of Delyn and Nihon. It weighed a good half ton, thanks to the Dehlar core, but it was barely of any trouble for the tower of muscle to use. He preferred to use it to craft a Dragonslayer Tower Sword, but today it would find another, more gruesome use.

The leather worker merely nodded in response, gripping her arms in fear. Jirou saw it in her eyes and, with a resigned huff, grabbed a scaly shirt from behind the counter. Handing the item to the young lady, the inadvertent hero tried to put on his best smile of assurance when his heart was ready to leap from his throat.

"Put this on, Miri. It'll help protect you if I'm not around."

Taking the shirt of scales, the leather worker immediately recognized her handiwork and shot a surprised look at the blacksmith.

"Wait! Isn't this-!"

"Yeah, it belonged to that guy who came in a good while back." He cut her short, hearing some commotion surging by the smithy. "Although you do have a good memory. I guess that helps and stuff."

The thundering screams and feet rushed by the shop at a remarkable speed, not even pausing to let the dust settle against the window sill. The door remained shut, barring entry to all those who may have ill intent. After all, it was safest not to be caught outside. Until otherwise.

"I guess it's just a matter of time before the CAF arrives." The man scoffed, hefting the titanic maul effortlessly onto his shoulder. "Either that, or the Rangers would really be handing those greenhorns their asses when the real battle comes."

***

Outside, however, some of the brave souls dared to face the might of the invaders. Armed with twin revolvers and a rifle strapped to her back, a lone brunette strode out to the streets after the masses had evacuated and levelled her gun at the dark-skinned elf. Shielded against the oppressive sunlight only by a sifan hat and wrapped in a studded leather corset, the lass looked like a stray townsfolk from the quaint cowboy home of Willowtown.

"Halt, Drow!" Lisa shouted at the armored skeleton, a cloud of dust blowing across the deserted arena flanked by empty stores and looted shelves. The gunslinger keeper of Weapons of the Outlanders stood ready in her tight leather pants and steel-tipped boots, belts filled with ammunition for any firefight she may have to create.

If one thing was for certain, she was not going to just wait for the Army to arrive. She would have to contain the damage well before it got anymore out of hand.

"Get on the ground, now! And don't think I can't hit you from here, kid!" She threatened with a cock of the hammer, a single wrong move more than enough to set her finger firing. "I've hit a fly off a donkey's beehind from half a barnhouse away. And don't you think that piece o' metal's gonna keep you from getting hit, either!"

((More merchant NPCs to join the fight. Jirou the Blacksmith and Miri the Leather Worker are holed up in the smithy but Lisa is out and ready to fight. She may not have terribly good aim, but she can hit you if you're not fast enough. Also, her revolvers are loaded with Full Metal Jackets. More than enough to punch a hole through that Delyn breast plate.

Take note, however, that my next post will result in the arrival of the CAF. Prepare yourselve, Nya~ ))

[Taskmienster]

This thread has been inactive for over a month and will be temporarily closed. If you wish to continue the thread feel free to PM me at any time and I will reopen it. If it was left inactive due to the loss of the moderator then you can PM me about that as well and when I reopen it I will make sure that it is claimed and completed promptly.

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The Mod Staff.