Dead Night (Open)

[Red Dawn]

((Open to a couple people, some old fashioned witch hunting. :) You can be a member of the CAF, a general citizen caught in the wrong place, someone out for revenge for reanimating a dead friend or family, whatever works best. PM me if you have any questions!))

“And you are implying that these creatures – these things – were welcomed with open arms and a pat on the back?! I thought where I came from was a dark place; Corone is just fucked up though.” Dale thudded his head back against the headrest of the high, oak chair. The barely audible clink of his metal circuitry tapping the wood was an undertone compared to the sound of chitin-like bone and synthetic skin meeting wood. He closed his black eyes and let thoughts soak in. As an android he was able to process information far quicker than any normal human, and the multi-linear flow of thoughts postulated ideas and theories just as quickly. He was a creation of a dying world, fraught with violence and bloodlust. Human fighting humans over ideology and trite differences till they were almost extinct and synthetic versions of themselves were all that was left to continue on their wars. Somewhere, out beyond the atmosphere of Althanas, amidst the stars that hung softly in the night sky, was what remained of the planet known simply as Earth.

“Not implying, I’m saying it straight up. The necromancers were welcomed by the Coalition, secreted into the borders of the island during the middle part of the Civil War. They were charged with turning the Scarlet Brigade into undead monsters. The Empire had no part in this.” Captain Bernard Chevalier and his younger brother Lieutenant Arnaud Chevalier were both sitting across the small table from Dale. The older of the two was recounting his personal knowledge and second-hand accounts of the wraiths of the Scarlet Brigade. Arnaud simply twirled his dagger against the tabletop, letting the razor tip dig a circular groove into the soft wood. “Corone is not a terrible place, mind you; it was just a terrible time. These beings are all over Althanas, most notably the ones that followed the Forgotten Xem’Zund during the battles in Raiaera.”

Leave it to the captain of the Shadowed Company to attempt to blame the difficulty of the times on the mistakes of the past. The Coalition had indeed masterminded the plot to warp the best trained shock-troops of Corone during the war, their gold lined pockets and far reaching powers easily gathering what was necessary to accomplish the task. The Corone Armed Forces, and the Corone Empire, were present at the time though and from the second-hand information Bernard provided the Viceroy’s knew of the idea and did nothing. Since the end of the Civil War, however, the threat of the mysteriously missing Scarlet Brigade loomed heavily in the Radasanthia Barony. It was of dire urgency that the Shadowed Company, a mix-match group of those who did not fit with the army but still served more devious paths, locate all the necromancers and their transformed military. The Empire shored up as many gaps and holes in intelligence to create as few leaks as possible, but if the information of these abominations existence found the public ear… it would be disastrous.

Dale shook his head and lit the cigarette that had been dangling from his lips for the past half-hour, taking a deep pull before releasing a cloud of smoke. The tent they were meeting in was on the outskirts of the 3rd Battalions camp, where the misfits of the espionage company were put out of sight and out of mind. Not even the bulk of the army truly trusted their mischievous brethren. He opened his eyes and let the dim light of the single burning torch wash over him, returning his attention to the brothers. Around him the simple tent was unadorned, but for a hanging shield with the Corone Armed Forces logo painted across it. After stamping his boots against the packed dirt floor he sighed. “So, what are we supposed to do about this?”

“We’ve been assigned some missions,” Lieutenant Arnaud said quickly. He waved a hand at the smoke streaming from the cigarette and the android, whisking it away as if it was a buzzing gnat. “There are rumors that one of the necromancers is in Radasanth, somewhere in the slums of the town. It’s said that a group of CAF guards put down a couple undead a few nights ago while on patrol, so we know the mage is actively operating within the city. If we can find and capture the target, we can probably get details about the rest of the group.”

A soldier’s armor clattered as it grew nearer outside the tent, making all three stop and peer about. The thin walls of the haphazardly constructed abode were slanted in some places; one corner was completely collapsed due to a broken support. Through the walls the muffled light of a torch came into view and turned towards Dale and his leaders. Quickly he tossed an open palm towards the dim torch and the light was extinguished, his magical cantrips were coming in handy more often than not and he was beginning to enjoy using them. When the soldier’s light slipped from view behind a patch of tents and the sound of his armor slowly retreated, Dale raised his hand and with it the light returned.

“Sergeant Russell,” Captain Chevalier stood as he spoke and headed towards the closed flap with his brother. He twisted the knots at the top and bottom and let the leather cords unwind before opening it and peeking out. Satisfied that none were listening and the still night bore no unwanted ears, he turned back to Dale. “You have been ordered to the slums. If it is possible we want the necromancer alive for interrogation, if not kill her and report back.”

“Wait, you never said nothing about it being a woman.” But the other two left without a word. Dale shook his head and ground his cigarette into the hole Arnaud had created. Silently he cursed and slid a pile of papers across the table towards him. A dented soldier’s mug was filled with cheap wine and he sat back, picking each parchment up and reading over the details. He would, of course, be going into the slums of Corone alone. He would not, however, be doing so without as much direct and indirection information as he could gather from the notations offered by his commanding officers. “Rubbish and complete bullshit.”

[Otto]

This was the fortress training yard, but it was not. Of all the possible places in which a Citadel fight might take place, the brass could be depended on to choose something mundane for the garrison's standard exercises. The large, dusty square was packed with kitted soldiers, yelled orders, the clash of metal and an odd scream of pain. A midday sun and pristine sky resulted in a rather beautiful day for the faux fights, if only because poor weather was a little too risqué for the officers to consider. A rectangle of shade eased open as one of the doors of the main barracks swung in, beyond which lay a wide Citadel corridor, and a man in an auspicious scarlet cloak stepped out into the sunlight. Some distance away, a lieutenant was talking with one of the drill sergeants. She saw the shift in her inferior's attention, and looked over her shoulder in the direction of his gaze. They both fell silent upon taking in the cloaked arrival's markings, and threw up a smart salute when the figure got within a few feet.

"Yes, yes, at ease", the captain sighed, and returned the gesture, albeit sans flair. "Would you mind giving me a minute with lieutenant Orman, sergeant?" he added. It almost sounded like a request.

"Sir!" the instructor was uneasy in the company of those a couple of notches up the hierarchy from himself, and slightly misjudged his grasp on volume. The captain winced, and the sergeant gave him a salute. This was followed by one to the lieutenant, and then the man was on his way.

"Captain Reinhardt, in case you weren't aware", the newcomer said when he and Orman were alone. He turned away from the accelerating back of the instructor, and set two steely grey eyes on the woman. "Tell me, how are the men shaping up?".

"Good, sir. We're filling ranks up a little too fast for comfort, but there are a few veterans showing our recruits the ropes. And of course, we can train them up plenty quick with these facilities".

"Glad to hear it. Let's walk".

Francine Orman nodded, and let her superior set the pace. They moved far enough away not to disrupt the exercises, as their presence tended to elicit a barrage of clumsy salutes and shouts of "Sir!", or "Ma'am!". There were a number of drills underway, ranging from specific arms training, live fire and shield use, to single and team battles. Reinhardt seemed content to move at a leisurely amble with his hands clasped behind his back; Orman was somewhat more tightly wound, and the occasional fidget betrayed her unfamiliarity with such a relaxed saunter. As they passed a trainee marksman squad firing on some approaching heavy armour, she felt compelled to prod the captain a little.

"Are you evaluating this company, sir?" she asked.

"Oh, no, nothing like that", he replied, with a wave of his hand. "There's an investigation of sorts being conducted in the city. Captain Chevalier has seen fit to employ a... contractor, as I understand it, to assist, but that person seems to be working individually. Command is in agreement that it would be preferable for one of our own to accompany them".

Orman didn't say that it was odd for a captain to come all the way out here to choose a single man for such a job, because if the captain had wanted to share the deeper reason then he'd have given it.

"I'm not sure how many of these soldiers would be suited to working in a non-squad scenario", she remarked, trying a different angle of attack. "I thought we had specialised personnel for such an assignment".

"All actively deployed, I'm afraid. Either on this one, or another. The war's keeping us rather busy, to be honest".

Stonewalled. Reinhardt had been studiously examining the soldiers on display, but if he had found what he was after, the man had not shown it. Orman was too preoccupied with thinking of something else to say to notice when the captain stopped in front of a team combat drill. She went on for a few steps, paused, spun around, and then focused on the display. It represented a small battle, with two squads facing off. Most were equipped with simple leather armour and a few bits of iron plating, but one thick-set and mail-clad figure stood out a little. As they watched, it brushed a hurled throwing axe aside with a thick round shield, and began a slow but undeniably heavy charge at its aggressor.

"Who's that?" Reinhardt asked.

Orman scratched her temple, and tried to bring one of hundreds of vaguely-familiar underlings to the fore. After a few seconds, it clicked. "Otto Bastum, I believe".

The soldier in question had foregone the spear slung across his back and had opted for an iron warhammer, closing the gap between him and the axe-thrower. Another missile met the shield, but this time landed with the grain and embedded itself in the oak. Reinhardt took note of the hauberk, the sturdy sallet, and the other iron garb enclosing the figure. He mumbled something under his breath; Orman thought he had just said "Bite proof, too".

"Sorry, sir?" she asked.

"Is he a corporal?".

"No, sir, but he's been on tour", the lieutenant said. The hurler had drawn a much larger axe, hefted in both hands, and proceeded to swing it in a horizontal arc towards Otto. Rather than meet it head on with the shield, Otto slapped it up above his head with the flat, while his hammer went in low for the kneecap. Both officers heard the crack from where they stood, and saw the mix of shock and denial cross the other man's face.

"The others tend to call him 'Bastard'", Orman added.

"Reach and trauma. Good mix. Draftee?".

"Yessir. Loyal, too. Hasn't tried to desert".

Reinhardt chuckled. "Obviously. He doesn't look like someone who's danced the hemp fandango".

Otto did rather well after that, but the rest of his team was progressively overpowered. Three of them now remained, and they stood back-to-back and surrounded by the other squad. Otto's spear took one through the gut, and he tried to lead the others in a charge through the enemy line - but to no avail. His fellows went down first, and Reinhardt and Orman regarded Otto's final stand in silence, until he finally disappeared under a press of hacking, slashing bodies.

"Well, then, lieutenant", Reinhardt remarked. "I think I've found the right man".

It was Orman's turn to smile, now. "Almost right about that, sir...".

[Red Dawn]

Everything that could be absorbed about the circumstantial evidence regarding the necromancer and her plans was embedded in the mind of the android. He let his processors and electronic signals sputter and spit out potential ideas and thoughts as randomly as they came. Some were keepers which he intentionally stored, others were possible outcomes that had little more than supposition as support. When his liquid brain, filled with DNA, processed information it did so multi-linearly. He could think of ten different courses of an action at once, finding which led to dead-ends and which would lead to logical conclusions. Juxtaposed to the fluidic brain was the intricate processing system of chips and wires that took that information and processed it, which returning with more pathways to individual thoughts and throwing out ones that were inherently incompatible. It was almost as quick as a human’s thought process, though not even science could compete with the speed of thought. The process was compensated by the multi-linear system, thinking of multiple thoughts at once instead of a single one and its conclusion.

By the time two bottles of wine and his entire case of rolled cigarettes had been finished off, the morning and come and gone. He looked up from crumpled parchment, smeared with cheap-wine stains, smudged ash, and a couple places where he had burned the end of his cigarette in annoyance. The information had been part testimony of the guards, but almost all of it was rumors and hearsay of locals who had confided stories. Some – such as the rebirth of Xem’Zund in the slums of Radasanth – were so preposterous Dale couldn’t help but laugh at it. He took it all in nonetheless.

“Roughly ten already,” he muttered as he looked through the thin tent at the sun. Its course had long since left the horizon and the morning dew aside and started its inevitable climb to mid-day. Since his superior officers had left he had lit two more torches, and the dying flames of the third were more or less unnecessary with the daylight. Dale stood and grabbed the torch, putting it on the packed dirt floor, and raised his hand to bring the flame to life. It roared suddenly while he put all the papers into the fire, watching them die away. “Who said nothing could be created nor destroyed? Information can always break those rules.”

While the papers were dying away he rolled more cigarettes with the last of his tobacco. He smirked when the flames died suddenly, leaving his eyes to adjust to the subdued light inside the tent. Seven cigarettes were all he could make, but it would do till he could get to the slums. If there was one thing he had learned, it was that the slums of Radasanth had the best underhanded dealings in Corone and the best tobacco he had found so far was from there. Perhaps, at worst, he could get some new cancer-sticks after roaming and questioning during the day. The necromancer, however, worked the nights just like any five dollar whore would, and he knew nothing would come of his exploration till then.

“Get some food, get my shit together, then go roam the slums for the day… I suppose.”

“Private Russell?” Dale looked up to the entrance to his tent and shook his head. Someone was standing there; he could make out their shaded outline and the tense stance. He remained silent a moment as he watched the head of the shadowed figure flit from side to side. Nervous. “You there? I have some commands from the Captain.”

“What is it?”

The man cleared his throat and let out a long, held breath. “Captain Chevalier said there is an infantry trooper you’ll be meeting somewhere around the Citadelt to assist with your… mission. He wasn’t clear about what the mission is or who the person is, but said you’d recognize him.”

“Very good, fuck off now.” The shadow walked away from the tent, as silent as it had come. It was a messenger of the Shadowed Company, the lack of sound gave him away immediately. Dale attempted to listen to his movements, but the soft leather boots and well-oiled leather armor gave no sound to cling on to. The android didn’t care who it was, it was obvious he was not told about what the mission was, so he let it go in place of thoughts of who exactly could be tagging along with him. “Supposed to recognize them? If it’s a soldier he could be anyone, they all look the same in the CAF. I wonder if it’s someone I met during the Irinham raid?”

[Hallow]

A black clad man wandered through the city, his features veiled, and his footfalls heavy. In his right hand, he carried a large, battered, and heavy doctor’s accruement. In his left, he carried a wand, its tip auspiciously pointed forwards. Had the man been travelling through his homeland, he would have been quite unremarkable. He was an insignificant part of Raiaera’s recovery, and its turbulent past. In Radasanth, however, he was an eyesore – people were staring at him, with wonder and loathing, as if fear and paranoia gave them little choice.

“You do realise everyone is glaring at you, Ashley?” said Malefor, eternally stating the obvious.

“Let them,” he replied. His pace quickened. He held his head high, defiant to the weight of accusation pressing down on his tired shoulders. “I have nothing to hide.”

“That is a little ironic, coming from a man dressed head to toe in midnight’s cowl.”

“Oh be quiet,” Ashley snapped. His voice trailed purple through the streets, leaving an aura of power and ancient decay in his wake. The liche, obedient to his unwilling master’s word, fell silent.

Radasanth continued to loom around them. An oppressive skyline of bitter, broken, and needle thin towers - bespeckled with shattered and ageing ramparts. Though much of the damage caused by the civil war was well on its way to full repair, it was clear, even to Ashley’s untrained eye that he was walking through a still smouldering battlefield. As he turned a corner onto the main boulevard leading to the grandiose Citadel, he could see that spirits, too, were still very low.

“This used to be urban burgeoning,” he said softly, “there were hundreds of people here when we last visited.” It took him a moment to realise just how long ago that had been.

“Three years is a long time for change to upend a nation,” Malefor said, despite his supposed silence. He floated just behind Ashley, remaining a few feet away, lest the wizard’s aura send him screaming into the darkness once more. He had no desire to fight banishment today.

Ashley nodded, his black helm glistening in the half-light between the alleyway and the sunlight. Although the city was full of glum faces and hardship, the weather at least brought a smile to people’s faces. The warmth gladdened aching hearts.

“I am curious, though, as to why the Order acknowledged this request for aid.” There was enough rhetoric in the liche’s question to hit Ashley over the head with. “Not to mention, why they chose to send you,” he curled his solitary wisp of hair with his skeletal fingers gingerly.

Ashley turned very slowly. “They have been trying to get me away from the city, for a break, for months now.” In the college’s eyes, as long as Ashley was not in Beinost, he could do no harm to their attempts to rebuild. They did not like a necromancer garnering any sort of attention. To the Collegiate, the Order of Hem was tantamount to insurrection, even though Order was the one thing holding the dwindling populous of Beinost together.

“This is not what I would call a holiday,” Malefor spread his arms wide, to gesture at the city, before he slouched.

“You did not have to come with me,” Ashley replied, knowing that yes, indeed, the liche did. They had been inexorably united, in space, time, and destiny. They both loathed one another for it.

“I do not remember you asking…,” he snapped.

Ashley chuckled. “Come on, they will be expecting us.” The wizard made for the Citadel, its battle-worn standards rising high above the city’s decadence.

[Otto]

OOC: permission to bunny Otto's dialogue granted to Red Dawn and Hallow.



The climbing stone staircase beckoned, rolling up against a fine blue sky towards the looming spires of the Citadel. The air would be fresher at its summit, the noises of the city subdued by the roar of the wind. Otto sighed, and returned his gaze to the street below. He stood a few steps up, enough to get a good view of the traffic below while also making him (and his scarlet tabard) clearly visible. Since he was on assignment, he had come fully outfitted, with his hammer at his hip, his spear and shield slung across his back. His helm and bevor was also secured to a belt, so that he could enjoy the fine weather; while sometimes useful, having an iron bucket over one's head did tend to obscure things.

He watched the crowds jostle up and down the street, in attempt to ward of the boredom of the wait. The background aroma of the city - which Otto generalised to fish and sewerage - was as present as ever, but the people around him were bringing their own tell-tale smells. A giggling group of well-dressed young women went up on the far side of the stairs, leaving behind a mixed trail of lavender, rose and even gardenia. Otto seriously doubted they were going up to participate; perhaps they were on their way to watch their beaus compete, although one could never be sure. They pressed even further to the side as three young men, laughing and reeking of sweat, eased their way down to the street. The women tutted unconvincingly at the rambunctious trio, but when the men had passed by, their disapproving noises transformed into more giggles, and they cast appraising looks at the mens' toned figures. Then they saw Otto watching them, at which point they resumed their upwards journey with renewed haste. Meanwhile, the three men paused at the street's edge to let a burlap-covered wagon trundle past. It stank distressingly of urine and assorted manure - bird and dog droppings, by the smell of it, no doubt on its way to the tanneries. As it rolled past, it revealed a smallish brown dog on the sidewalk, its patchwork hair matted and frayed. The animal stuck its nose up in the air and sniffed after the retreating cart - but an approaching pedestrian startled the stray, and it darted off down a narrow alleyway.

Otto was getting restless, now. It didn't take long when there was nothing to occupy him, which had always made the long waits during missions and guard duty in the Force particularly agonising. But he had his orders: rendezvous with two affiliates at the Citadel before heading into the slums. He had been informed who one of them was, and he was not looking forward to that reunion. The other contact remained something of a mystery for now; although captain Reinhardt had briefed him personally, and while he did mention that he would be expecting a consultant from Raiaera (of all places), Force command and the Collegiate had agreed to keep the specifics under wraps. In fact, Otto had been required to take an oath of secrecy before he could learn anything about the mission - before that, all that he had been told was that the captain had selected him specifically. Otto was of the commonly-held opinion that when a captain said jump, you had damn well better jump. Thus, he had taken the oath.

And yet he still didn't have a bloody clue of what was going on.

The crowd occupied his attention once more. Most of the civilians who got near him very pointedly avoided eye contact with the soldier. A few who saw him watching quickly averted their eyes, and fewer still gave him a nod of recognition; to them, he returned the gesture. Once or twice, someone even flashed him a smile. The weather must be making people mad, he reckoned. People usually smiled at him only when they wanted something - typically, either his money, or for him to go away. He found the sensation odd, at first, then mildly unsettling. Yet, after a while, he grew accustomed to it, and even managed to return a few rusty grins of his own. The sun was out, the scars of war were fading, and the smell of gardenia still clung sweetly to the otherwise fetid air... if omens were to be trusted, then today would be a fine day indeed.

[Red Dawn]

Dale wandered from the shoddy tents of the Shadowed Company around the outskirts of the 3rd Batallion’s camp. In the early morning the movements of the army were slow and lethargic, but with the rising sun they became more active. Training areas were established, with clusters of low ranking soldiers being squared off against each other. Other areas rang with the clash of experienced blades. The android had been forced to undergo the rigorous, and monotonous, instillation of discipline as much as any new recruit. He had been part of those formations of young and middle-aged men conscripted to fill the reduced ranks of the Empire’s forces. It was a humiliating experience for most, being told when to eat, sleep, and piss. For him, though, it had been just another two months in life of military servitude. It did not seem to matter what planet or people he was around, his fate – for what it was worth – seemed to be locked in place.

The butt of the spent cigarette was flicked towards the ground, at the feet of a patrol of soldiers passing along the perimeter. A nasty glare from the sergeant leading the group was met with a sideways smirk from the android as both moved away from each other. If the Shadowed Company had not taken an interest in him and pulled his leash from the infantry ranks Dale would have been right alongside those men. Instead he was given a less constricting collar and a long leash. He sighed as he headed into the city of Radasanth. “Out of the frying pan, into the fire.”

A once burgeoning city of thousands, Radasanth had seen its fair share of woe over the years. The civil war had struck at the heart of the most profitable and beautiful capital of any country. With the two years many had left to find peace away from the Empire, others had been drawn into the fight voluntarily or otherwise, and plenty had come to a foul end during the conclusion of the fighting. It was hard to say whether there was a sense of repugnance behind the eyes of the common man still living in Radasanth. To Dale, and others, it seemed that the lower classes held a grittier and more determined quality than disgust.

He smiled at most as they passed, but was given cursory glances at best. With the emblem of the Corone Armed Forces embossed into the iron bracers on either arm, it was hard to identify him as anything but a soldier. His long leather coat limply hung across his frame, split along the legs to allow for his leather greaves and armored boots to move freely. The unadorned heater shield slung across his back as well as the cavalry sword at his side were foreign tools of war mandated by the army. Two pistol sized crossbows tucked into holsters across his waist and a massive knife sheathed across the back of his belt were the weapons he relied on first.

As the light of day continued to reach its zenith Dale followed familiar streets to the Citadel. He had fought within the building as part of his training, and knew that other soldiers used the facilities for the same purpose. Whoever it was he was supposed to be meeting was someone who knew how to find the place. It would be an infantry soldier, probably someone of lower rank. As he approached, he saw the man – thing – waiting at the top of the wide steps. “Bastard.”

The ork’s nickname was well known to those that trained with him, or had the chance to fight alongside him. In Dale’s case it had been at Irinham, marching on civilians. The opportunity was not one he had enjoyed, and he had come to add orks to the list of things he did not like about Althanas. The slate-gray skin of the creature was covered with wire-course hair as black as night. His wide face was as ugly as it had been the first time the android had set his eyes on him. Unlike elves, which were annoying creatures but at least aesthetically pleasing, Otto was ugly. Ever sense of the word could be assigned to his jutting jaw, patchwork hair, heavy brow, and unnaturally lengthy arms. Dale had seen a few others like him since coming to Radasanth, but none had made him thing any more highly of the race.

"Dale," Otto greeted him, carefully impassive.

“Even with just a word I can hear that lisp,” he called back with a shaking head. “Of course they’d assign you to this mission. Why would I be lucky enough to have a cute girl come with me instead?” Even the stairs did not put enough distance between the two for the grunt of a response to be ignored. The two stood apart from each other. It was not just the space of the stairs but their personalities and appearances that separated them. “We’re waiting on one more, a Raiaeran from what I’m told. Hopefully it’s not an elf, though at least if it is I can stay downwind of one person I’m working with.”

Otto knew he could hardly be accused of smelling like roses, but those were strong words from someone who perpetually carted around the aroma of a burning still. However, the ork merely shrugged his broad shoulders ponderously in reply, and let the slights go unanswered.

"All I know is that he's from the Collegiate," rumbled Otto, "whatever that is, and that we're heading into the slums." He looked away from Dale's unkempt face, and swept his eyes once more over the hubbub of the streets. "So, then. What does the brass have planned for us? Or are you as much in the dark as me?"

[Hallow]

Ashley narrowed his gaze at the two figures ahead. His nerves began to churn his bacon-filled stomach as he made his final approach. Beneath the cowl of his ensorcelled iron helm, he picked out the details that identified them as the individuals he was to introduce himself to. The collegiate had explicitly detailed every facet of the wizard’s departure from Beinost. They had ensured there would be no chance of him making an impromptu return.

“They look cheery,” Malefor muttered, continuing his ghastly pursuit of his earthly master. His lanky streaks of hair flapped in the wind, in spite of his ethereal nature. Though no mortal could see the liche, pride was not one of the things lost upon his death. He clung to it vividly, and ensured he always looked his best.

“Quiet, you,” Ashley snapped. He was, for once, thankful for his armour. It was the only thing garnering him strange looks for talking to his companion. It masked his voice as much as his pallid skin. “They have been at war here just as we have in Raiaera.”

“This is hardly war,” the liche spat. A phantasmal gobbet sizzled against the flagstones.

Ashley had to admit, that compared to the cities of the high elves, Corone had emerged relatively unscathed. Though its people were ostracised, left in ruin, and in places, destitute…Radasanth was at least still standing.

“All the same, Malefor. The people of this island, just like at home, have suffered enough. They are impoverished, defeated, and their world is falling apart.”

“They are dying, too, everywhere you look.” The liche added, with a little too much glee in his tone.

Ashley set his heavy boot onto the first step up to the meeting point. As he rose, he reflected on the liche’s comment. He had tried so very much to ignore the collapsed buildings in the alleyways they had walked through. He had tried wistfully to pay no attention to the half-seen corpses lingering unto rubble. He had tried, perhaps naively, to pretend they were sleeping.

“For once Malefor that which is not our concern must remain so.” He said bluntly. On this solitary occasion, they were here to tend to someone quite living. As he ascended the stairs, turned a corner, and approached the duo, Ashley did away with the ill thoughts. He had plenty of time to dwell on what and if.

“If you insist…” Malefor grumbled.

The wizard, clad entirely in black and gold attire, stopped a few feet away from his supposed companions. He inspected them in the few seconds he had before they became aware he was there, and came to the natural conclusion all wizards did.

“I suppose you will have to do,” he sighed. He stepped forwards, extended a gloved hand, and held it out to Dale. “My name is Wizard Hallow.” His voice gave life to the chill air. It would have hit it over the head and made puppets out of it, given half the chance.

There was an awkward pause.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance…Mr…?” he ummed, and cocked his head to one side. His hand remained dead centre between Dale and Otto, entirely uncertain which to pledge allegiance to first.

[Otto]

OOC: awaiting approval for bunnies from Red Dawn and Hallow. Also, I intend for Otto to take Dale and Hallow to Moody's Ale Cellar.



The hand was offered to the human first, of course. Otto huffed and lifted his gaze to the strange iron mask. He would not be surprised if he ended up as little more than a backdrop to any conversation between the other two, but Dale surprised him.

"That's nice", remarked the android, with a dismissive wave of a hand. "But we're waiting on someone. Plenty of berks upstairs who'd be happy for a match, so please bugger off".

"Uh", Otto began, turning to look at Dale. His colleague was thoroughly ignoring their new acquaintance, and had focused on the orc.

"If you ain't heard squat from the brass, then I'll follow their lead", Dale muttered. "I'll tell you what you need to know, when and if you need to know it. If this ends up being a wild goose chase, then there won't have been any need to go spilling the beans, yeah?".

Otto just stared at Dale, nodded, and reached a large hand out to Hallow's. It had remained proffered the entire time, though not without some loss of altitude. "Otto Bastum, sir", he said, shaking hands firmly, "and this is Dale Russell. We were told to expect you, Mr - uh, wizard Hallow". The man's grasp was cold and limp, which left Otto with the feeling that he had just grabbed a brace of day-old fish. He barely managed to refrain from wiping his hand off on his tabard. That bronze-trim helm, too, gave Otto the heebie-jeebies; even he was having trouble seeing how the iron had been blackened so, and the effect it had on Hallow's voice, well... throw in that hauberk and cloak, and here was a man who advertised something sinister.

"The pleasure is mine. Just Hallow shall do, please", the wizard monotoned. He brought his hand back around to Dale with renewed vigor, but the android just eyed it nonchalantly while he lit a cigarette.

"Huh, took you for a human", remarked Dale. "Thought you'd be a bird-bone, since you've come from Raiaera. You are human, ain't ya?".

Otto stuck his nose forward ever-so-slightly and took in a deep breath. Hallow leaned back apprehensively and, giving up any attempts at the social courtesy, let his hand drop back down. "I'm afraid that I cannot confirm, nor deny, any-".

"Human", Otto confirmed, after snuffling his nose a couple of times.

"- any speculation regarding my identity", Hallow finished. "I believe we have work to undertake. Perhaps we could find somewhere private along the way to discuss our approach?".

"All I know is that we're heading to the slums", Otto rumbled. He sneezed, and glared at Dale. The man just shrugged and blew out another large cloud of smoke at the orc, who waved at it irritably. "Russell has the mission specifics... but I know a place we might get some privacy".

"Whatever, let's just get a move on", Dale said.

Hallow tilted his head forward. "Lead on".

Responding with a nod, Otto made to bound down the few steps between himself and the street. Something went terribly wrong, however, as the moment he put the weight down on one leg, it crumpled below him like a tinfoil accordion. Dale and Hallow caught a brief glimpse of his alarmed and rapidly accelerating visage, before it arced down and he landed face-first onto the bottom step with a resounding, metallic clunk.

"What", growled Otto, while Dale gave a few smoky chuckles, "the hell was that?".

"Will you stop laughing?", Hallow said, head raised to the skies. Dale cocked an eyebrow.

"Well, ex-fucking-scuse me, your highness", he replied.

"No, not you, I - never mind". Hallow composed himself, and continued while Otto struggled to his feet. "I apologise, but you may find your physical faculties somewhat limited in my presence. It is a manifestation of my training, and something which you will need to be wary of during this mission".

Otto regained his balance, and used both his hands to vigorously wipe down the front of his tabard. "Fantastic", he muttered, and then sighed. "Let's go".