https://open.spotify.com/track/5X2L6GXLK70svOpafhlloP

Roric, the ward boss who ran the criminal operations in Crow’s Foot, has been killed. People say that it was his second-in-command, Lyssa, who did it. She now controls Roric’s impressive gang of cutthroats, who call themselves the Crows. When Roric died, the peace that he had brokered between two enemy gangs fell apart. The Lampblacks and the Red Sashes have once again exploded into open war on the streets. A local crew of hawkers is poised to profit from all of this, or be swept up in the chaos and destroyed. (edited)

The Reprievers stand in the cramped office of the Lampblack’s leader, Bazso Baz, overlooking the coal warehouse floor below. Several of Bazso's thugs hang about, armed for war, sizing them up. He wants their answer. Are they with him, or against him?

”Look, Bazso, love, we hear you, we really do,” Jairaj steps forward from where he’s been casually leaned against the railing. Between his shock of platinum hair and the colorful scarves wrapped around his neck he stands out against the greys and browns of the warehouse. His arms spread wide as he struts forward, his bolero jacket opening to reveal a bandolier filled with metallic tools and baubles. ”Of course we’re with you. But this picture you’re painting is so black and white. The Reprievers are more colorful than that, clearly. Asking us to restrict ourselves by making enemies so soon after we’ve just gotten into business is a lot to ask, you understand yes? Now there must be something we can do or help with to keep this relationship mutually beneficial, short of swearing off potential new clients.” A silver tooth flashes as Jairaj punctuates his negotiation with a saccharine grin.

Mathias clutches his hand intensely to prevent it from trembling, from equal parts terror of the well-armed gang members that stood poised to kill them at the drop of a hat, and also from natural inclination. The lanky youth digs into the inner pocket of his overcoat and finds his silver vial. Flicking it open, he shakes out a couple of weirdly glimmering pills—his own concoction, and the only one he trusted for his condition. He swallows them one after the other, pocketing the cylinder, and returns to a slightly more relaxed pose, brushing his dark brown hair, damp with sweat, out of his face, though he is still clearly not at ease here. "B-Besides. Lydra wouldn't want us making any hardline stances, right? We should run it by her again..." The sedative seems to have provided him the courage to chime in, though he speaks a little too quickly after taking it, and chokes out the first word. He appeals to their mutual benefactor, who always had a keen eye on the market. (edited)

Bazso chuckles darkly at the young Iruvian's demands. "You know, Jairaj, I like you - I really do - and I don't wanna upset Lydra either, but I can't just be lettin' you off that easy now, can I? I let the Reprievers off the hook and suddenly the whole damn district thinks that it can walk all over me, so here's how this is gonna go down. I've got some new product that I want to turn, but I can't get it done while the Lampblacks are at war, so you're gonna do it for me. You're gonna do it and, since I'm being so kind as to let you sell to the Red Sashes, you're gonna donate sixty percent of the profits to the Lampblack war treasury. You got that?" Bazso fixes Jairaj with a cold stare and his thugs grip their weapons imposingly.

From behind Jairaj, the Tycherosi known only as Flint watches the scene unfold with their terrible black eyes; it was always unsettling for folks because they never knew just where exactly their eyes were focused. Flint’s too long fingers twitch now and then behind the thick black cloak they wear as the tensions begin to rise. As the threat hangs in the air, Flint turns to gaze at the thugs with an air of unconcern… as if their presence was nothing to them.

The black soot atop the cabinets is thick. Standing quietly near Flint, Walter traces a clean finger through the dust in the shape of the Reprievers insignia, then brushes it off on his trousers. This office is disgusting. Nothings changed since last time. I doubt Bazso even remembers me, or the time he beat the shit outta me in here. Walter wonders for a moment how long it took until one of Baz's goons eventually cleaned up the blood from his broken nose, then returns his attention back to the conversation at the desk. "We'll do it, and we'll do it like always do: without a hitch. But you know full well we're taking all the heat for you. That's worth more than forty percent." (edited)

Jai nods in accordance. ”As gracious as you’re being, Bazso, I’m inclined to agree with my friend here. So how about we donate thirty percent and we say we gave sixty? We’re not out to sully your reputation, bruv. We’re just trying to pay the bills. And you know, if we happen to overhear anything interesting while we’re out selling to the Sashes then you’ll be the first to hear about it. The friend of your enemy can be a great friend to you indeed, if you catch my drift.” He gives a conspiratorial glance to his companions before turning back to Bazso expectantly.

Baz's fingers dig into his desktop as the man leans over it towards his guests. He holds Jai's gaze for a long moment, before offering a counter-proposal. "You know lads, one day you're gonna push your luck too far and it's gonna bite you in the ass. You donate forty. Final offer."

Walter looks warily from Jairaj to his charcoal stained hand with a moment of consideration, then spits into his palm and reaches forward to shake with Baz. "That'll work for us. And you can count on the Reprievers to keep your name out of the mud. If we see any cocky young upstarts along the way, you better believe we'll send 'em to you this way to pay tribute." (edited)

Bazso acts in kind, gripping Walter's hand firmly. "You'd better," he emphasises darkly, never breaking eye contact for a second. "The shipment is at the docks, but Mylera's cronies are watching for us to move it. Get it out. Turn the product. Bring me my cut." Baz hands Walter a sheet of parchment from his desk with the details.

As Flint watches Baz getting more aggressive and threatening, they think about unleashing the barely continued spectral energy they have harnessed around themselves with the specter lingering within these very grounds. They had sensed the ripple in the ghost field as they had been led within Baz's lair and having the forethought of violence, Flint had reached out into the field and grabbed hold of the ghost and binding it to their needs. 'You are mine now. You will do as your as told.'

The Docks As Flint bring the boat in towards Bazso's warehouse where the bloodneedle shipment is being held, something knocks against the side of the hull with a dull thump. A couple of things - bodies floating in the inky black water. Up ahead, the water gate is open and two figures wearing red sashes can be seen inside loading a crate into a cart! (edited)

As the boat bumps to into something soft, but heavy Flint looks over the edge and spots the pale corpses as they take in the red-sashed figures loading their drugs. They look at their crew with narrowed eyes as they lift their terrible pale grey mask up from where it dangles around their neck... a strange thing lacking eyes, nose, or even a mouth... just three narrow, vertical gashes that run down where the facial features should have been. "I leave the living to you." Their voice has always been strange; an androgynous, husky, and bassy thing that could have been male, but also female... As the mask slips over their face, the slits begin to ooze an inky black, wispy substance from the two outer gashes. Flint opens their eyes and sees several angry, restless spirits shouting their silent screams into the eternal night around them. They see the strongest aura and crook a finger towards it. 'You, come.' The spirit turns as they are compelled by the power in Flint's voice. Although they speak to the spirits, no sound comes from their mouth in the world around their companions, but... the inner vertical gash begins to issue forth trickles of dark blood... (edited)

A crooked smile cracks across Jai’s face as he looks on at Flint, clearly impressed. ”Creepy bastard, I love it!” His hands find the bandolier at his chest and pulls out a small bayble. He’d crafted these ‘flashers’ - small glass orbs filled with volatile spectrogen gas - just before they’d set out for this job. They’d been made at a premium too, with Walter sourcing the precious vapors from friends in Coalridge. The spectrogen stabilizes once it’s been carefully piped into the vessels, but when the glass shatters and the vapor is exposed to electroplasm in the environment it creates a blinding aetheric reaction. Now Jairaj winds his arm back and hurls one of the bulbs at the red sashed thieves, hoping to blind and disorient them before the Reprievers land. ”Oy! That’s our shit!” he shouts as the flasher sails through the air. (edited)

Mathias watches his comrade Flint with thinly veiled tension, as they called on malevolent spirits. Mysterious as they were, he was at best mistrustful of them, and at worst, terrified by the ghosts they summoned to aid the crew's work. His temple begins to pound. It's working, they're coming... to his chagrin. A dull roar sounds between his ears, brought on by the nearby ghost, but in a moment of clarity, he shuts it out entirely. He fishes out some shimmering powder from a sack on his own bandolier, hidden under his coat. Gathering up a handful of the stuff once they're close enough, he tosses it at the Red Sashes. Flint could certainly command the ghost, but what better way to incentivize it to attack with all it could than with a taste of sweet reprieve? (edited)

As the blinding light and acrid air begins to waft back toward the boat after Jai's flasher ignites, Walter long-steps up and off their small craft onto the scaffold of the dock, below the deck. He traverses slowly around the edge of the dock, barely hanging on by his fingernails, until he can find purchase with his hands and pull himself up behind the Red Sash goons. Bazso had seemed wary when asked about how many men he had guarding the warehouse, and the reason was clear now: with his people stretched thin, there didn't seem to be enough to defend it. (edited)

Driven on by the lure of reprieve from its hellish existence, the spirit lets out a blood-curdling howl at the Red Sash thugs, who freeze rooted to the spot in horror.

The flashers smash against the edge of the docks and explode in a dazzling array of psychedelic colors, momentarily blinding the already terrified thieves. Jairaj grins as the bright light sears away his own vision as well. ”Niiiice.” (edited)

As Walter clings to the edge of the dock, he falters, his fingers slipping on the layers of slimy algae. It's too dangerous to get to where he'd planned. He could fall back to the safety of the boat, or take a risk and watch for the right moment to jump the Red Sashes from here. (edited)

Mathias takes the gondola's oar, and paddles them closer to the docks, only pausing to shield his eyes from the flash bombs. "I'd look away, Jairaj!" Once they've gone off, he risks a glance, only to see the spirit begin its approach on the helpless Red Sashes. "For one reason, or another..." He adds anxiously.

As the Red Sash thugs huddle together, frozen in fear and now blinded by Jairaj's flash bombs, Flint stands when Mathias takes the oars to guide the gondola towards the docks. Their voice echoes loudly across the waters towards the terrified thugs, calm and raspy, but commanding. "Run little ones! Run from the death that stalks you! Stay and we take not only your bodies, but your very souls! RUN!" The terror rolling off this voice breaks through even the paralyzing fear of the ghosts and they suddenly break! They stumble away, tripping over each other and the cart in an effort to distance themselves from that voice...

Walter angles his leg to shimmy sideways along the dock, but the sea-worn wooden planks creak, and then with a groan snapunder his fingers. His feet slip off the beam below and get a full boot of icy water. His arm is close enough to instinctively catch hold on the post next to him and keep from fully falling into the water. He creeps along the underside of the dock, each step more deliberate to find solid footing as bright flashes and loud footfalls boom above his head.

Mathias watches as the Red Sashes flee, glad that they listened. Once the boat is close enough, he puts down the oar and steps up onto the docks, taking a look around. "Looks as though everything is accounted for." He says, checking the shipment. "Well, aside from the guards." He shrugs helplessly, gesturing to the dead bodies in the water. He begins to grow anxious again as he realizes what this means. "Now we'll have to move and defend this by ourselves, with blasted Red Sashes out there looking for us! D-Damn that Bazso! We're not his fucking soldiers!" It seems he's been wanting to say that for a while.

”Unfortunately for the moment we are, love.” Jai rubs the remaining stars from his eyes as he steps gingerly up unto the docks and begins moving the crates to their own vessel. ”Let’s just hurry and get this shit to Silkshore before they can change their trousers and catch up with us.”

As Walter moves along the rotten pylons, he sees a way up. A ladder broken with age but with enough half-broken footholds to make his route. With a heave his gets himself on the dock and looks though something towards his gang. "What in the-" He knows what it is. Never seen it, proper, but always knew it would happen eventually. "Hey pals, is this guy- with us?"He calls out a little nervously.

Mathias raises his hand to wipe his sweating brow, but freezes in the middle of the movement when his eyes follow the sound of Walter's voice. Making no false moves, he approaches the wild phantasm. Only the relatively short experience he has had in dealing with these supernatural beings allows him to do so. "This is what you want, remember? H-Here." Speaking personably to it, in an attempt to connect, he scatters another generous helping of the powdered form of their trademark drug, forming a cloud in front of the ghost. He beckons to the spirit to partake. (edited)

For all his hesitancy, it seems that Mathias knows exactly what he is doing and the ghost immediately drifts away from Walter, giving him and Jai times to load the last of the product on the boat. However, looking at the pedestrian traffic on Oilskin Avenue, it appears that if the vessel doesn't depart soon, then they will be in for some company, Red Sash or otherwise. (edited)

Walter breathes an audible sigh of relief as the ghost turns away from him, the ball of tension in his gut releasing slightly. He isn’t very familiar with the ghosts of Doskvol, he’s seen them from afar often, but this was the first time one looked at him like his soul was the last one in the world. He brushes himself off and helps Jai load the last of the loot, then makes a quick check of the road before returning to the boat. ”Aight, mates, let’s piss off outta here.”

Silkshore Hundreds of gondolas glide to and fro in the spiderweb of canals, carrying eager patrons to the bounty of pleasure-houses and vice dens. The few remaining surface streets are interrupted at every turn by a bridge over a tiny canal. Coloured lights and patterned silks hang roof to roof, signalling various indulgences in a complex code for the initiated. The waterways are lined with tall, narrow rowhouses of wood and stone, as well as low canal-side shacks and stalls. Static is densely packed and claustrophobic, full of neon sparkcraft lights beneath the arches of a low stone ceiling in a damp cellar. A pounding beat fuelled by electroplasm shakes the bricks to their foundations. Aria is a smokey-eyed Iruvian business woman, who drives a tough bargain... but Jairaj knows that she has a soft spot for him. "Jai!" She exclaims as the Reprievers sidle through her club towards the VIP tables. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?" (edited)

”Hello, lovey!” he says with a beaming grin. Jairaj sweeps Aria into a warm embrace, spinning her around once before depositing her back on her feet. ”I wish I could say I was here for pleasure but I’m afraid this visit is all business.” He nods towards the rest of the Reprievers as an obvious insinuation. ”Never too early for a drink though, is it? Let’s sip’n’chat.” He seats himself and gives a friendly wave to one of the barkeeps, a greeting but also an indication of his thirst.

Mathias rolls his eyes at Jai's display of affection. The scholar never saw the point in dressing up these illicit dealings with what always felt like mockeries of friendship. Even Bazso didn't seem to bother calling his partners 'friend.' He didn't like him either, but could at least credit him with that. He follows along, giving Aria a curt nod, before sliding into an open seat, muttering something about how hard it'd be to enjoy a drink while nauseated.

Aria squeals at the twirl, but pouts at Jairaj's mention of business when he sets her down. "Oh you must. I have this new vodka and it's delightful..." She waves in kind to her employees and the pair are soon served a run of brightly coloured shots. By the time Jai manages to bring the conversation back around to business, a good half hour has passed. "Oh, alright," Aria tells him jovially. "Have it brought around the back and we'll take a look." (edited)

”You’re an angel, truly.” Minutes later Jairaj stands next to the crates in the alley behind Static, swaying slightly. ”It’s not really the thing our usual spectral junkies go for, no blood to needle I guess.” he says with a chuckle at his own joke. ”My first thought was just to throw a party to wrangle all my delinquent friends into buying some, but me and Malista and the mates would surely just go beet red and burn through the whole lot of it ourselves.” His fingers toy with one of the crates wistfully. ”We’ve really got to move this though, so despite the temptation I’m doing my darndest not to mix business with pleasure.”

Aria clicks her tongue at Jairaj admonishingly. "Overplaying your hand as always, paşam. I'll give you five hundred scales for the lot."

Walter is zoned out, wondering if his Murk on the rocks has arrived at their empty table inside the club yet, when Aria’s offer snaps him out of his weary daze. ”Sorry, Miss.. Aria? Your club is lovely and lively. So many patrons and opportunities! You’ll stand to make a killing. But we all know that these vials are worth a lot, when the market is right. With the most recent import to Duskvol in your hands, you’ll have a bottleneckd supply on the city.” Seeing his friend’s lingering grasp of the crate, he moves forward to lean on it. ”And any supply we need would come through you. This is all of it, untouched. I believe a thousand is still enough to net you a lovely profit.”

Aria's mouth twists in frustration at being called out on her low ball offer. However, she can't deny that it's still a deal worth making and holds out her hand to shake. "You boys are going to make quite a splash in Silkshore's nightlife, you know?"

"Well, we're already spicing up it's afterlife, so why not?" Mathias adds, crossing his arms. "Speaking of which, you'll keep an eye out for any opportunities for us to sell our signature product, right?"

"Of course, darling," Aria assures Mathias, without missing a beat. However, Walter doesn't believe for a second that the Repriever's are really on her mind all that much.

”You’re the best, babes.” Jairaj pulls Aria into another quick hug before turning to the rest of the crew. ”Alright, hard works done, now time for some hard play, eh?”

As the others return finally to find Flint sitting quietly in the boat, they look up expectantly. "It is done, then? Good. I have things that require my attention elsewhere. You know where to find me when you need me." Flint knows that the others will likely rush off to fight pits or delve too deeply into their own desires of the flesh, but Flint has less mundane pursuits. They spend their time researching into some of the more occult and devastating powers that others like they have been able to develop.

"Not a moment too soon. Something occurred to me just now..." Mathias splinters off from the group to find Ojak's rooftop stall. With another rehearsed, yet still stuttery excuse, he makes off with a helping of niche ingredients to make more drugs with, staving off future nightmares.

Walter heads to the Silkshore Casino after several more drinks at Static. He walks into the basement arena where another fight is just ending, the victor collecting on his bets while his opponent lies broken and bloodied on the stone floor. The cheers and yelling haunt Walters ears in a dull roar. Pushing past the familiar bookie he normally speaks with to set up his fights, Walter climbs up and over the chainlink fence and comes down on the losing fighter as he struggles to stand. Slam. The warm crunch under Walter's fist wakes him up. Slam. Blood flecks his face and makes it harder to see. Slam. The roar of booing from the audience just enrages him more, he has no idea how many more hits he gets in before the casino security drags him away. They toss him outside and break his ribs with endless booted kicks. Everything goes dark. In the morning, he can hardly remember how he got there. (edited)

Jairaj plays hard indeed. He remains at Static, drinking with Walter and chumming it with the staff for an hour or two. He’s beloved by most of them, and it’s not long before he’s in one of the back rooms of the club hanging with the performers as they get ready for the night. They ask when he will bring them costumes rigged with those ‘crazy lights’ he makes. ”Soon soon, I promise. I just need to develop a better casing for the battery, can’t have you girls getting irradiated on stage.” It’s time for them to go climb onto their assorted perches and the customary pre-performance shots of spark come round. Jai takes one of course. Then another. And another. By the time he steps out of the club he’s buzzing, literally. He returns to the Reprievers’ humble base filled with crackling energy. He steps into the workshop and lays eyes on his current work in progress. A copper tube cradling a delicate glass bulb and tubes filled with electroplasm is splayed before him. Time to work hard again. But first, a little bloodneedle. Jai rides the wave produced by this cocktail of uppers for the next few hours. He whips a whirlwind around him, Mathias would give him shit for wrecking the workshop when he saw it in the morning but it didn’t matter. He was on the verge of a breakthrough. One more bump to push him through and... VOILA! The Soul Torch is birthed into the world. A portable and highly concentrated version of the same lights that were now sweeping over the crowds at Static, this baby will be an incredible tool for dealing with the troubles that the Reprievers will surely find themselves in. It’s late now but Jai feels the need to celebrate. The party at Static is really just getting started. ”Time to play hard, again.”

Jairaj sways into the club and the place has transformed. What was a chic, lively bar when he left is now throbbing, technicolor bedlam. Jai immediately begins to sweat as he drifts into the throng. Like clockwork he finds Malista. They take shots. They dance. They find a back room and binge on that sanguine nectar with feral abandon. They dance again, sniff some glittering powder of the tip of a stranger’s dagger, back to the bar for more drinks, Jai pulls Malista away screaming from some unlucky girl who spilled liquor on the fiery Iruvian’s dress. Not that anyone could tell, they’re already drenched in sweat. ”Miskeen, calm down it was an accident, dance it off, come on.” They dance. More spark. The lights pass over them and Jai falls back in a daze. He blinks, the room spins. He finds his feet but he’s lost his friend. Did Static add another dance floor? The music’s different down here. Different, but good. For now he just keeps dancing, thoroughly lost to the rhythm. (edited)

Smoke rises from the floor around Jai. The scent is sweet and acrid, like something in the workshop that he's left on the heat for too long. A warm body presses against the Iruvian from behind, swaying to the music as long fingers curl around his hips. The contact is hot. Almost uncomfortably hot. "Hello Jairaj," a crisp Akorosi accent drawls in his ear.

”Easy there, babes. At least offer to buy me a drink first.” He grabs the hands on his hips and attempts to hold them as he playfully twirls around to see his newest suitor.

Jai finds himself face to face with a slim, handsome man with warm, chestnut hair and good cheekbones. Blacked out glasses obscure his eyes and his shirt and trousers are dark. "Can I buy you a drink?" He echoes, cocking his head to one side.

Jairaj looks him up and down with a smile before shrugging. ”Sure.” He looks around, confused by the smoke and altered surroundings. ”Where’d the bar go this time?”

"Does it matter?" Jai's mysterious companion counters, raising his hands, which now contain two tumblers of amber liquid.

”Oh so he’s a magician, cute.” he flirts, taking one of the glasses. Jai winks and clinks his shot against the stranger’s before knocking it back.

"Och," the stranger scoffs and, for a moment, his accent shifts to sounding almost Skovlan. "You know, the whole magic thing? It's stupid. You spend twenty years learning the ritual that makes nude virgins appear in your bedroom and then you're so poisoned by quicksilver fumes and half-blind from reading old grimoires that you can't remember what happens next!" He sips at his drink, watching Jai carefully from behind his opaque glasses. (edited)

Jairaj chuckles. ”If you need magic to get laid I reckon you never knew what happens next in the first place. I prefer artifice, bit more pragmatic, innit?”

"You like toys, do you?" The stranger rasps, reaching out to trail the backs of his fingers from Jai's chin, along his jawline and down his neck. The man's skin is smooth like glass and silky to the touch.

”Oh yes, love toys, yes I do.” he breathes in an excited huff as he cranes his neck to accept the touch and steps closer.

His palm comes to a rest against Jairaj's chest and it presses into his sternum like a scorching hot iron. "Jai, you are going to build me something," the stranger murmurs in the Iruvian's ear.

”Ah,” Jai lets out a little gasp as the pain sears through his chest. He graps the man’s wrist, attempting to pull the hand away. ”Oh am I? What exactly am I going to build?”

"I don't know just yet," the man continues, black lenses meeting Jairaj's eyes as he holds him close with impossible strength until the boy doesn't even notice the pain anymore, "but you and I, we're going to find out." (edited)

”Well I hope you know I don’t work for free.” Jairaj levels his gaze back into those little circles of black glass. ”You’ve got a budget for this?” (edited)

"'Budget'," the stranger scoffs with a snort, staring off into the smoke. "How can you humans budget for life when you all cash out the same anyway? Corpses have no currency. Well... most of the time."

”I’m not budgeting for life, I’m budgeting for coin, love.” he quips, placing his fists on his hips. ”As long as I’m not a corpse I’d like to be able to afford my expenses and I do have expensive tastes if you haven’t guessed.”

"Would you like to be a corpse?" The man enquires with a keen interest that seems entirely free of malice. His lips part and a snake-like tongue flickers out between them.

”No, I would very much not like to be a corpse.” He looks the man over skeptically. ”Who are you anyway?”

"Call me Dagon," the man tells Jai with a wry snort, as though he has just said something quite funny. "When you build for me, I will keep you from being a corpse," Dagon explains slowly, as though unsure that he and Jai are speaking the same language. "Does that work for your budget?" (edited)

Jai cocks his head to one side and taps his chin thoughtfully. ”Depends. Are you offering me preservation or are you threatening me with... corpsification?”

Dagon mirrors Jai's mannerism of contemplation. "Oh, those both sound fun. Do I have to choose?" Despite the topic he still seems friendly and enthusiastic. (edited)

Now Jairaj rolls his eyes. ”Well yes ideally if we’re starting a working relationship then you’re not threatening my wellbeing. There’s no need for the edgy machismo with me, love. If we’re going to work together then lets work together, yeah?” He absentmindedly goes to drink from his glass again before realizing it’s empty with a disappointed pout. He shrugs before continuing, ”I don’t usually collaborate you know, but I’m not opposed if you do have something to offer. How bout you swing by my workshop and we give it a test run?” (edited)

Dagon reacts with an apathetic shrug. "As you wish," he yawns, stretching his arms out and then clicking the fingers of his empty hand. All around the pair, the smoke hanging in the air plummets to the ground, revealing the Reprievers' workshop and all of its equipment.

Jairaj startles with a jump as they are seemingly transported to his workshop. ”Fuckin hell... you really are the sorcerous sort aren’t you? Well then...” He rubs the back of his head with one hand as he looks around at the sketchy beginnings of blueprints and long abandoned prototypes. ”Did you have any ideas orrr...?”

"Oh, definitely," Dagon notes with enthusiasm, "but you'll have to get hold of the plans first. I believe that they belong to a certain 'Lord Scurlock'."

Jairaj shrugs. ”I bet he has got some fun stuff in his possession. But if you can zip and zap here and there though then why don’t you got get them?”

Dagon grinds his teeth and the sound fills the workshop like a thousand nails on tiny blackboards. "They are hidden from me." Immediately the overly wide smile fills his face, his teeth pointed and sharp. "That is why you and your friends will fetch them."

Jairaj winces at the sound. ”Right okay, well you’ve caught my own personal interest but there’s gotta be something in it for the rest of the crew, eh?”

"What does your crew like?" Dagon asks with keen interest, lowering his glasses to reveal the slit-pupilled eyes of a snake.

”Coin.” he says with a hungry glint in his eyes. ”Or drugs. Well, we sell drugs. Me and Mathias actually like drugs though.”

"Pick," Dagon instructs with the same unnaturally wide smile.

Jairaj thinks for a moment, seriously considering the option of being paid in drugs. ”No, should probably pick coin. Yes, coin it is.”

Dagon clicks his fingers again. His eyes flare orange and a hemp sack full of silver scales appears on the floor of the workshop with a jangle. "Will that suffice?" (edited)

Jairaj picks up the sack to inspect it, then flashes Dagon a bright smile. ”Suffice it shall.”

Dagon puts his glasses back on. "Find Scurlock. Be his friend. Find the plans." Then he dissolves into smoke and is gone. (edited)

”Alright lads listen up! I’ve got us a delightful little opportunity.” The others might be surprised to see Jai up in the light of day after one of his typical benders. He strolls into the common room of their little rail car and throws the bag of scales on the table with a jangly thump. ”So I met this guy...” Jairaj goes on to tell the others of this strange sunglassed ‘sorcerer’ and his task for Jai and the Reprievers. ”Good shit, innit? And I mean he did already pay us.”

Walter is startled by the clash of coin on the table, immediately looking up to Jai but quickly refocuses on the open satchel of scales. He moves his fingers through them. They feel uniform in size and weight, probably real. ”This is a lot of coin, Jai. Is anyone gonna come looking for their slice of our new wealth?”

Mathias gives Jai a longer disbelieving look than normal, before crossing his arms. "A lot of coin indeed. For a project we d-don't even know about. I don't know this Scurlock fellow that well, do any of you? This whole thing smells of a t-terrible trap."

Flint eyes the sack dubiously, their face impassive. "I don't like working for demons when I can avoid it. They are not the kind you want to be in debt to... or rather, owned by. He seems to think he owns you, Jai. What do you have to say about that?"

Jai scoffs. ”Love, please, nobody owns Jairaj Daiva. Sorcerer or demon or whatever bloody monster he is, business is business right? He can’t do it without us, that’s called leverage, lads. As for Scurlock well,” he shrugs nonchalantly. ”Som sort of eccentric recluse. Maybe immortal, who knows. Dagon seems to think we can befriend him and I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

Flint stares impassively at Jairaj for a moment then flashes a mirthless smile. ”Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

The neat short stacks of scales Walter has been organizing tips and cascades across the table with a twitch. ”No! No one is immortal, Jai. It might feel that way sometimes, when we’ve tied on a few, but no one is.” Walter pushes the coin away in frustration and gets up to rummage through his papers for mention of the name Scurlock.

Flint's eyes seems to unfocus at they murmur to themselves. "Father Dagon, water demon with amphibian traits." Their eyes focus again as they look to Jai. "Does that match this fellow you met?"

A quizzical look comes over Jai’s face. ”Amphibi... what? No this was a normal bloke, I know I was drunk but I wouldn’ve danced with him if he looked like a newt.” he says indignantly.

Flint blinks. ”You danced with a demon?” They burst out with a hysterical, bitter laugh as they look to the others. ”Someone talk some sense into him. Am I the only one who sees this for what it is?”

Flints indecipherable gaze unsettles Walter a little bit. “I mean, I hear ya, but.. gig is a gig and this coin would go a long way for us. And we already accepted payment. Do we have a choice at this point?” He nervously glances at Flint, fearing he’ll disagree, then keeps his eyes back on the table.

Flint sighs. "No. Once a deal has been made, there is no breaking it with a demon. Whether for weal or woe, we are bound this job. Or at least, Jai is, but I won't leave him to handle this one his own. " The look they give Jai is pretty clear and speaks words almost spoken aloud. 'This time.'

”My, how considerate of you.” Jai replies, feigning graciousness. ”Look, all we have to do is get chummy with a reclusive weirdo. How hard can that be?”

Six Towers Bits of trash, blown by a cold wind, skitter across empty streets, illuminated only by a few still-working street lamps and the campfires of squatters. The shutters and doors of abandoned buildings moan, creak and bang in a haunted chorus. Residents hustle by, heads down, clutching spiritbane charms close to their breasts. The Reprievers' boots clack along the stones of the broad Bowmore Way avenues. The streets of Six Towers are cracked and broken, dark without power; overgrown and neglected. All around are palatial estates that have tumbled into disrepair and grand manors remodelled into cramped and cheap apartments. It's not hard to find ghosts of former glory in this part of town and Flint has an ectoplasmic trail on the shores of the Mist in their sights. However, the crew's whisper is unusually twitchy. Something about bad blood and acquaintances best avoided...

"We need to be especially on our guard here and avoid any entanglements with spirit brokers. One of them does not like me very much." Their eyes are constant on the move, shifting from dark window to corner back to window. Their shoulders are hunched and everything is pulled in very tight around themselves. "We should do our business quickly." (edited)

The tell-tale traces of ectoplasm appear to run along the shore for a short distance, drifting ever closer to the water, before vanishing at its edge.

”Well Flint, I hope you’re a good swimmer.” Jai says, clapping the whisper on their shoulder.

Flint approaches the edge and looks down towards the dark waters, looking back up at the hand upon their shoulder with a frown upon their face. "I prefer to remain dry, but we do what we must." They add with a sardonic smile.

Walter scrunches up his nose, a little painfully, peering into the water, fruitlessly trying to glimpse whatever Flint is looking at. "What do ya see there, pal? The trail can't have just up and vanished. Is it going along the bottom or somethin'?"

The water ripples and Flint senses the push and pull of the vergence in the ghost field caused by the spirit's presence. In the real world, one might say that it's close to the water's edge, but almost entirely phased into the ghost field.

"Depending on your definition of 'must'..." Mathias sulkily mutters in response to Flint. Ever-wary, he keeps a lookout for anyone following them.

Flint focuses on the shifts of the ghost field, flinching slightly at the reverberations caused by the ghost's presence. "It's just there," they point towards the waters edge. "but almost entirely in the ghost field." Flint focuses their powers toward reaching through the boundary, like pushing water away and reaching down to the riverbed. "Come, speak with me. Tell me what you desire."

The shimmering ethereal form of a woman draped in lengths of cloth rises from the water before Flint and wails at the crew. The sound is bone-chilling. "Who disturbs my slumber?" She demands and although the Whisper can feel their attunement to the ghost's essence take hold, they can sense another competing grip on the spirit resonate in the ghost field.

”’Ello, lovey,” Jairaj steps forward and starts with a small bow. The gesture evokes formality despite his hodge-podge assortment of accents and slangs. ”We don’t intend to keep you long, just wanna ask a bit about the bloke who lives up there.” He turns and points up to the shadow that Scurlock’s cuts through the heavy fog. ”You know ‘im? What’s he like? If you help us then we got something to help you get back to resting real easy once we’re all done.” With that insinuation he nods to Mathias and their namesake drug. ”We’re the Reprievers.” (edited)

Mathias clasps his own arms around himself, shivering from both preternatural fear, and the unearthly cold that accompanies the spirit as it is revealed. Tense as he is, he finds it in him to roll his eyes through the introduction. Jairaj's dandy behavior simply knew no bounds. "I very much d-doubt she's heard of us. B-but what he says is true." He addresses the banshee, not fully meeting her gaze as he displays the powdery form of Reprieve.

Flint steps forward, noting the strange competing tug against the specter's essence. "I call you, spirit, to speak with us. We seek out the one known as Scurlock. Speak everything you know about Scurlock and their home."

The spirit wails again and then begins to speak. "Scurlock came to Duskwall centuries ago, but was cursed. The boy still dwells in the manor. The void walks its halls."

Herman hears a strange sound from far away. He can't quite place it, but a shiver runs down his spine and he unconsciously touches his prayer beads.

Jairaj furrows his brows at the cryptic response. ”Right, right... does Scurlock ever leave the manor though?”

"Yeeesss," the ghost screeches, its jaw stretching impossibly wide even as its neck bends unnaturally upwards and extends like a snake towards the sky. "Follow," the spirit commands, righting itself and starting to drift south along the inky banks towards Old Ghost Alley.

Herman feels the air around him grow cold and the hairs on his arms stand up on end. He sees the Reprievers walking down the banks towards him, until they follow the blue, spectral form of a ghost into Old Ghost Alley. A dark figure moves in unnoticed behind them. Amidst the dark, narrow confines of Old Ghost Alley, the crew suddenly find their way blocked by a pair of intimidating thugs. Their ghostly guide dissolves into nothingness as she fades back into the ghost field. "Flint sends his regards," one man croaks, hefting a cudgel.

Confident as ever, Jairaj happily follows the lead of the luminescent specter right into the apparent ambush. He scrambles back a step and immediately reaches for the cylindrical contraption at his hip. His finger itches on the trigger as he levels the soul torch up towards the cudgel-wielding brute. ”Easy, bruv. Flint,” he says, casting a quick glance at the whisper. ”The fuck’s this bloke talkin about you sendin regards?” (edited)

Stopping dead in his tracks, Herman watches the ghost lead a small group into the alley. The dark figure following them looks like bad news, maybe an ambush. But that's what you get for following ghosts. He follows them, gripping the handle of his axe, certain that trouble is about to ensue. When the other two step out, he sneaks up on the one behind them. With a grunt, he hits the man over the back of the head with the handle of his axe

The man advances a step further than Herman has expected and the blow swings past the back of his head, the sudden motion behind him alerting the thug to Herman's presence. "Hm," Herman remarks, quirking an eyebrow. The axe arcs away to the side and Herman lets the momentum carry him around in a circle, thumping the man in the side of the head with the weapon's poll. The blow sends the thug staggering to the side and Herman quickly steps up to thump his foe on the top of the head with the weapon's haft. However, still swaying from the attack, the thug barrels forwards into Herman's hips in an attempt to tackle him to the ground. (edited)

Herman pushes the man off and looks up to see what the others are doing. He immediately feels more at ease when he realises the ghost has disappeared.

Walter hears the commotion behind him, spinning around just in time to see two strangers exchange blows across the fog-slicked cobblestones. He faces the two men blocking the alley, remaining a calm exterior while resting a hand on the handle of the dirk hidden in his coat. "Okay, pal, now look here. I don't even know who the fuck you are, but you seem to have gotten something wrong. Only a really big idiots gonna start something, outnumbered & armed with just a little stick." (edited)

Flint lets out a weary sigh, they had wondered if it would come to this. Perhaps that other tether they had felt was Flint. Before they could respond to Jai's questioning, they hear the impact and grunt from behind, thinking the thugs were already attacking their companions, Flint glances to Jai as they dig into their reserves of eldritch power. "Words later. This is a time for action."

From the shadows beyond the thugs steps out a cloaked figure wearing a faceless mask of swirling blacks and greens that appear to move if anybody stares at them for too long. "You'll find no reprieve here, Mister Hayward," a sourceless voice hisses from all sides, filling the alleyway with its echoes. "Return to me what I'm owed and you may leave in peace."

Mathias backs away from the supernatural figure ahead, staying behind Flint, or rather, the comrade he'd known as Flint thus far. While they weren't very physically imposing, at least they had a measure of the same kind of power as this mysterious stranger. "W-What the devil is he talking about? Owed?" The already jumpy scholar doubles in anxiety when he notices they're closed in by this person's thugs, and when someone starts to fight, he gets a panicked look in his eye. His hand darts into his jacket, not for his pistol, but rather pulling out three skinny vials of powdered Reprieve, holding them over his head. "Y-you tell your brutes to stand down now! O-O-Or I'll turn this place into an undead feeding frenzy!" He motions, ready to smash them to the ground and scatter the contents, hoping the spirit that lead them here was still nearby. (edited)

Jairaj bites his lip as bedlam begins to break loose. He glances at the melee behind and as Flint and Mathias move to take action as well he turns back to the man in front of him with a manic look. ”Fuck it then!” His thumb flicks the switch forward and the copper tube whirrs to life in his hand. A blast of ultraviolet light flares out from the bulb at the soul torch’s tip and washes over the thug.

One of the thugs snarls angrily as Mathias threatens them. A club arcs through the air and there's an unpleasant crunch as it connects with the side of Mathias's head, leaving it bloody. Then Jairaj steps in and the thug screams, purple light flaring like fire in his eyes as his soul is put to the torch, leaving him quivering on the ground.

The sudden blow leaves Mathias reeling, causing him to fall to his knees, but keeping a death grip on the drug. Staggering to his feet, he clutches the wound on the side of his head. Those who can see his eyes notice the crimson hue of blood overtaking his right eye, near where he was struck. A burst vessel, no doubt, only adding to his demented look. He locates the man who hit him on the ground and eyes him viciously. "Serves you right." He says coldly and unfalteringly, and spits on the cringing street-tough. He then looks back at the other unknowns. "Now that you see what we're capable of, w-what the fuck do you want with us?" He still holds the vials, albeit less overtly threateningly.

Herman takes a deep breath and tries to hit the thug on the ground again. A good whack with the back of his axe should send him right off. When one of the supposed victims suddenly shows supernatural powers though, he steps back. "What have I gotten myself into... Bloody hell!" He curses. (edited)

Herman's blow sends the thug reeling into unconsciousness, but not before the man pulls a hidden knife and tries to drive it through the skovlan warrior's foot.

Momentarily distracted, he almost gets stabbed in the foot by the man before the thug finally goes down. With a hiss, he manages to pull his leg away just in time. The escape route was now free... (edited)

Walter moves backward to the alley wall and draws his blade as the darkness descends around them, glancing back and forth between the two masked faces until they vanish from sight. (edited)

As the alley around them descends into chaos, Flint closes their eyes and meets the gaze of the other Flint. ”If you think you can reclaim it, then come and do so. Do not bore me with words.” With that, they clap their hands together and pull them apart quickly as a thick, black ichor stretches between their hands. They throw the substance toward one of the brutes, but it misses and impacts against a wall. There’s a moment as the stuff just sits there before it bubbles and roils before bursting out with a shadowy darkness that engulfs the entire alley, snuffing out all light…

Jairaj begins to step back as the alley is plunged into eldritch night. Still grasping the torch in his hand, he instinctively raises it up and flicks it on once more, pointed in the direction of the thugs. The spectral beam swings left and right, cutting through the inky black with its hyper-saturated spectrum.

Mike

The sudden blow leaves Mathias reeling, causing him to fall to his knees, but keeping a death grip on the drug. Staggering to his feet, he clutches the wound on the side of his head. Those who can see his eyes notice the crimson hue of blood overtaking his right eye, near where he was struck. A burst vessel, no doubt, only adding to his demented look. He locates the man who hit him on the ground and eyes him viciously. "Serves you right." He says coldly and unfalteringly, and spits on the cringing street-tough. He then looks back at the other unknowns. "Now that you see what we're capable of, w-what the fuck do you want with us?" He still holds the vials, albeit less overtly threateningly.

"My good name, Mister Frayes," Flint hisses in response. The whisper's voice echoes about the alleyway in the darkness. "A man's reputation is everything." All up and down the narrow street, the temperature abruptly drops a couple of degrees. (edited)

Mathias clutches the drugs a little harder, and braces himself for whatever this whisper might do, as the alley became shrouded in darkness. He looks between 'their' Flint, and this stranger. "W-Which of you..." He hesitantly asks, "...came first?" Though he already had a strong hunch as to the answer.

Flint’s deadpan whisper echoes from the Eldritch darkness. ”Which came first; the chicken or the egg? No one can answer, we can only guess.” Flint then reaches out for the ghostly presence that they begin to feel flooding into the alleyway and seeks to turn it against their enemies…

"I DID!" Flint bellows angrily and for a moment the entire alley seems to shake and rumble. Frost consumes the strip of ground illuminated by Jairaj's soul torch and between Flint and the other Flint the same pale blue spectral figure rises up out of the ground. She lurches aggressively towards the Reprievers, but then something seems to hold her in place, trapped in a battle of wills between the pair of whispers.

Flint smirks as they rush forward, placing themselves between the ghost and their friends, and grasp out with their own gift. They throw a wall up between them and the apparition, holding it at bay. "Come, my old friend. Let us settle this the way we once did. You and me." They look over their shoulder at the rest of The Reprievers with a sad smile. "It is time for you all to go. I will handle this." Still focusing on holding the ghost at bay, Flint releases the holds places upon themself against the Ghostfield and allows its energy to flood into them! With eyes now glowing a bright blue and a primal scream of effort, they reach towards the ground and with an upwards ripping motion literally tear a massive chuck of the ground up to create a fifteen foot high wall of earth and stone between them and The Reprievers. They fall to their knees with a grunt, much of their reserves exhausted, but they still grin up at Flint, coughing up a bit of blood. ”You may have come first, but I will outlast you. Come then, if you dare.” (edited)

Mathias falls backwards, from both the shock of the earth being manipulated in front of him, and the shock of what their Flint was doing. Too rattled for words, and already seriously injured, he doesn't have to be told twice to leave. He gathers himself, stashing away the drugs, and scarpers out of the alleyway.

"Flint?! What the fuck are you-" Jairaj is cut off, verbally and physically, as the massive earthen barrier is raised between the whisper and the rest of the Reprievers. He stands there for a moment, stunned, before turning and stomping angrily out of the alley. "What the fuck do we do now?"

Herman backs up a few paces and eyes them warily. "Who are you?" (edited)

Walter staggers away, steaming mad, from the wall that threw him off, rubbing his arm and growling at Jai. “We are egregiously fucked my friend. We’ve got a promise to some fucking ghost out there and unless we can deliver, who knows what the shit it’ll unleash on us. Where the mystic trollop is Flint? I certainly don’t know how the hell to connect with ‘em.” He storms off down the alley and nearly collides with the man with the injured foot at the end of the alley. “And who the fuck are you??”

"I thought I was helping some clueless group getting jumped, but it seems you're not that." He crosses his arms, then lifts an eyebrow. "Say, I think you could do with someone to watch your back and I just happen to be looking for something... as long as you can pay?"

”Seems like Flint wanted to play martyr, color me surprised. They can meet us back at base when they’re done dealing with their twin I suppose but...” Jai is cut off as this newcomer collides with Walter. ”Thought you was one of the other Flint’s goons.” He flicks his eyes to Walter and then Mathias before casting them suspiciously back at the stranger. ”You’re lookin for employment then? What sort of skills do you have to offer?” (edited)

”I mean, I- I guess I saw you take down one of those guys pretty deftly, so I’m not gonna complain. Thank you. But you just happened along? You didn’t know we were gonna be here?” He relaxes a little, but still eyes the man with suspicion. (edited)

Mathias supports himself using the side of a building, while clutching his head with his other hand. "We could d-do with less of this 'connection' shite. Just give them the drug, and get the ghosts to do what we want. Any more, and you get... w-w-whatever the hell that was back there." He jerks non-committedly to indicate Flint's wall. He turns, and looks Herman up and down. "On the other hand, you look pleasantly mundane, and good in a fight. I've no objections to your coming along, mister...?"

"I am. The sort of skills that come in handy when dealing with blokes like this." He nods at the thug at his feet. "Just your lucky day, yep. Didn't like the look of you lot following that ghost. They're trouble. I don't do jobs involving kids though, that won't be a problem?" Turning to Mathias, he extends a broad, rough hand: "I'm Herman." (edited)

Jai flicks his gaze between Walter and Mathias, then gives a shrug at their easy acceptance of the newcomer. With a deft step forward he intercepts the open hand. ”I’m Jairaj, this is Walter and Mathias, we’re the Reprievers. We sell drugs, but we don’t sell drugs to kids... unless they’re already dead. Right now we’re trying to get some intel on one Mr. Scurlock. You know anything about ‘im?”

"Mh, he's not been around here for a while. His nephew now stays in the old manor, I hear. Is this for a job?" Herman nods at the others as they're introduced, but still stays at arm's length.

Walter forces a laugh that falters into a dry cough. ”Yeah, one could say drugs. But only what’s above board mind you. We’re only trying to help those that need it, but have passed on and can’t help themselves.” He looks towards the intersection and puts a firm hand on Herman’s shoulder. ”Take us to Scurlocks place, and take the lead. You keep us safe and we’ll can talk about your cut afterwards.” As he walks out of the alley he flashes a look at the other Reprievers. I *don’t know I trust this…*

Mathias shoots Walter back a look that says, "...And look a gift horse in the mouth?" While it was a sudden addition to their team, he didn't particularly have trust in any of his group to begin with. And with Flint gone, they needed someone else to serve as muscle, of the magical or physical variety. The more sturdy bodies between himself and another idiot's cudgel, the better.

Walter says nothing aloud, but his eyes agree with Mathias. let’s just get outta here! As they round the corner, he tries to dig into their new friend. ”So, Herman, are you working for anyone currently? Before you happened into us? Cause we’ll buy ‘em out, my friend.”

Herman is quick to agree and soon the Reprievers are walking up to the worn front door of the old Scurlock manor. The front garden appears to have died away to bare earth littered with mushrooms and a single electroplasm powered lamp lights the porch. A long, whining creak breaks the silence and a gaunt, ageing man peers through the gap at the misfits gathered before him. "Can I help you gentlemen?"

Mathias stands a little straighter, to present himself as a little more than a solicitor. "We've business to discuss with the master of this manor. Is he available?"

"The master is not expecting any business partners this evening," the man remarks and begins to close the door.

Walter leans in to put a hand on the door before it shuts. ”Yes, we were not expected. And that’s exactly why we are here. We’re very worried about the proprietors wellbeing, but not sure who can be trusted.” He removes his hand from the door and puts it forward to the man to shake. ”We’re here to help.” (edited)

”Yes, all sorts of charlatans and frauds milling about the streets these days.” Ja says, squeezing his head in next to Walter in the sliver of doorway. ”We are here looking for genuine partnership, collaboration, mutual benefit.”

"Very well," the old man acquiesces, opening the door to reveal a long, dark corridor. Herman, Jairaj, Mathias and Walter all step inside and the door closes behind them with a resounding thud. "Please follow me to the dining hall," the man tells the Reprievers, setting off down the passage with a steady clip clop of his heels on the tiled floors.

A long table runs the length of the baroque dining hall, at the far end of which sits a young man, or, perhaps, an overgrown boy. He glances up in surprise when the older man guiding the Repreivers throws open the dining room's double doors to reveal the guests. "James, what is the meaning of this?" The boy demands, and the aging manservant marches the length of the wall to mutter something in his ear. "...and what is such a threat to my well-being," he adds to the Reprievers with a scoff. "Is this some kind of poorly executed blackmail scheme?" (edited)

"H-Hardly. More of a hastily-executed transaction between two blackmailed parties..." He throws a pointed look at Jairaj, before turning back to Scurlock. "We've a contact that expects us to work together. P-Pleasure to do business." There's little sincerity in his courteous statement.

The young nobleman arches an eyebrow and sips at his wine, his decadence in stark contrast with their relatively dilapidated surroundings. "Your 'contact' can expect all he likes. Why ever should I enter into a business arrangement with such a scruffy crew of scoundrels?"

Jairaj returns Mathias' look with a glare hardly suppressed by a pained smile. "Well we may be scruffy scoundrels but our contact sees us for what we are: diamonds in the rough. We're hopin' you could see that too. We're big admirer's of your uncle Scurlock's legacy, it's a legacy we'd like to learn from. The Reprievers are entrepreneurs, innovators, dabblers... we'd just like to learn from you- your family rather, and we can offer our services in exchange."

"Yes, yes, many would feast on the crumbs from my uncle's table," Scurlock the younger shushes with a dismissive wave. "What exactly might these services be that they're so deserving of the Scurlock family's favour?"

“Protection, sir,” Walter chimes in with a small nod in agreement. ”We may be in a small amount of trouble, but if you are the object of our blackmail, you position may be in more trouble than you think. When was the last time you left this high castle of yours?”

"Protection?" Young Scurlock barks with an incredulous laugh. "From what? You've yet to make a single concrete statement since you so abruptly and unceremoniously stormed into my dining hall. Why should I believe a word that you say?"

”Protection from a demon, my lord.” Jairaj answers with a heavy sigh. ”A demon by the name of Eshm. He came to us and threatened to take our lowly lives if we did not take yours. But the Reprievers are not assassins, we are bright young minds. When we did our research on your family, we thought perhaps we have more in common, and more to gain from each other, then we have to gain from blindly obeying the orders of some fiend. You’re right, of course, we have been dreadfully dodgy but now you can see why.” he glances to his companions, hoping they will follow his lead. ”We don’t want to kill you and we don’t want our souls snatched. We are inventors and entrepreneurs. We offer our skills in trade for collaboratively figuring out how to handle this demon who wants your blood. It’s as simple as that.”

"Eshm..." Scurlock muses pensively, glancing across the room at his manservant. "Are you sure that it was male?"

“Ah...” Jai pauses, scratching his chin as he racks his brain for the correct answer. “Ya know I can’t say that I am sure. The demon did appear male but it might’ve just been tryin to appeal to my tastes.” he says with a cheeky wink. (edited)

Scurlock snorts in mild amusement before looking back to James again. "It could be her," the young noble suggests, "or another... Reprievers, what are your names and what do you want from me, besides coin? An audience with my uncle?" (edited)

"Jairaj Daiva, at your service." he says with a formal bow. "And just to reiterate, m'lord, we are not after coin. An audience with your uncle would be lovely. As would erm... any information at all that you have on demons."

"Mathias Frayes." The alchemist introduces himself with a curt nod. "F-For both your and our sakes, I hope that this demon and the female you're thinking of are one and the same. Or that neither you nor your uncle are the type to upset two d-demons in short order, because there's little we can do to help you in that regard."

Scurlock the younger pushes out his tall chair from the dining table with a high pitched screech of its feet against the flagstones of the great hall. "Walk with me," he tells the Reprievers, wandering off into the passages of the manor. Eventually they come to a long corridor lined with portraits. They all seem to be of the same gaunt-looking man with long, white hair. "My uncle is a strange man," young Scurlock eventually declares, "and he has survived longer than most, but one woman always goes where he does." As the Reprievers pass more portraits, Scurlock points out an elegantly-dressed blonde, who appears again and again over the years.

"Yet each of these paintings bears a different name," Scurlock continues, "and in some she follows my uncle, while in others he follows her." The young nobleman finally comes to a halt in from of a particularly large portrait with the mysterious blonde in the foreground. "It is not a topic that he will openly discuss. If I can arrange your audience, then perhaps you can do some digging, hm?"

Jairaj purses his lips as he walks and takes in this strange recurring woman. The idea occurs to him that Dagon might know something of her, and he is at once intrigued and concerned about this deepening web of deceit. ”Sounds easy enough,” he responds. Before looking thoughtfully at one of the portraits. ”Wouldn’t happen to know the artist who painted the most recent one of these, would you? I know all sorts of creative types, could be a lead.”

Scurlock nods slowly. "My uncle's most recent portrait was painted by Viktor Barvitius. You could start there, if you like. He lives on Banner road in Charterhall."

Jairaj gives a cheshire smile. ”Wonderful, that’s precisely where we’ll start. Really I’m so glad we could make this agreement, I think it’s best for everyone involved, yes?” he looks to the rest of the Reprievers for affirmation. ”If you need to get a hold of us maybe just drop a line at our usual haunt in Silkshore, you know the club, Static. Otherwise we’ll be in touch once we’ve done some digging.”

"Is that all?" Scurlock remarks with a mirthless laugh. "Very well. James will see you out." The manservant gestures to the Reprievers to follow him, while Scurlock remains standing in front of the painting staring up at the dead eyes of oil and pigment.

Once outside and a distance from the estate, Walter nervously pukes and spits into the gutter. ”I don’t know, pals, but this doesn’t feel right. That kid knows something but seemed more than happy if we were to fuck off and die.” He wipes his mouth with a handkerchief and almost puts it in his pocket before deciding to toss it on the ground as well. ”That man in there isn’t going to help us, ever, the pompous ass. Should we try the painter?”

”Walter, my love, what the fuck are you talking about? This is perfect!” Jai says as he strides away from the ancient manor. ”We don’t actually need them to help us, we just need to get close to them so we can snag those blueprints. And all we have to do is a little digging on this mysterious woman. Quite a fun little mystery if you ask me. If we are successful then both Dagon and Scurlock will be pleased we’ll have two very powerful friends.” He stops momentarily to think, tapping an indigo stained finger against his chin. ”Come to think of it, I wonder if Dagon knows anything about this woman. Worth a shot, but for now yes let’s make a beeline for Charterhall.”

"Wait." Mathias cuts in. "I-In case you've forgotten, we just kicked the hornet's nest trying to get here. Th-The one who came after Flint, they've seen our faces. They're probably already s-s-sending spirits after us! We need to take some time to cover our tracks."

”Oh to bloody hell with the fuckin spirits.” Jai retorts, though as he takes a moment with his hands impatiently pressed to his hips he relents with a sigh. ”Okay, maybe you’re right. Any ideas?”

"Well, I'm glad you asked." The drugmaker adopts a rather lofty tone. "I've been working on something, a s-sort of solution that can ward ghosts away. Might work the same for their callers, too. Now's a good time, since Flint's... indisposed." He shows the group the silvered vial holding the powder concoction. "I just need time to work on it a little more, then I'll use it to dust where we've been... besides the m-manor, of course."

As Mathias stalks the shadows of Six Towers' streets dusting all along where Flint had conjured the spirit from the river and battled their mysterious counterpart, he abruptly finds a broad figure blocking his path. He turns to head the other way and finds himself facing two more, their tell-tale blue coats swishing in the dark. "You're coming with us, lad," one grunts as his heavy hand lands on Mathias's shoulder.

Mathias jumps as the Bluecoat clasps his shoulder. He'd been worried more about threats of a supernatural nature, and now they'd drawn the Watch's eye? This day got better and better. "Wh-Whatever reason you've stopped me, officers, it's surely a misunderstanding." He flashes them some coin. "I'm merely a-an apothecary, you surely have larger worries..."

The Bluecoat grabs Mathias's purse and tips a generous helping of scales into his own hand, before tossing it on to one of his colleagues. "Ah, yes. Clearly. Watch yourself on these streets apothecary, they're too rough for the like of you." The other Bluecoats laugh darkly, before the band slopes off into the mist.

Mathias watches them leave, with one eye still bloodied, glinting maliciously in the dark. He scatters some more dust in their wake and finishes his work.

Satisfied, Mathias shakes his hands clean and tries to make his way home, when the world began to spin around him. He catches a lamppost and holds onto it to keep himself upright, until his vision refocused, and he felt lucid once more. He touched the side of his head, still tender from the blow he'd taken earlier. Damn. What was I thinking doing all of this, when I might be concussed. Knowing he wasn't going to get anything done staggering about like a drunk, he calls to mind someone that could help—and immediately lowers his head with a new kind of pain, this time a pang in his chest. He couldn't go to her like this. She already thought low of him for his choice of "work," and what he'd done with her teachings. But then Mathias remembered what he'd seen earlier. There were far bigger things at play here, and he needed to be at the top of his game to weather them. He remembered the way well enough. Nervously, but purposefully, he sets out for Stazia's shop.

It's early in the morning when Stazia hears a dull knock on her door. The pallid apothecary is still taking her modest breakfast of mushroom-loaf and seaweed at a table strewn with bundles of dried herbs and pots filled with oily tinctures. She rises, brushing long waves of dark hair behind one ear, and crosses to the door. Peering through a gap between the boards to see who it might be at this hour, a sharp breath of surprise parts Stazia's lips when she sees Mathias on the other side. He doesn't look in the best of shape; disheveled and worn from the night's score in Six Towers. "You won't find any sympathy here, if that's what you've come looking for," she snaps, the door still closed.

Mathias winces at her biting tone. Thugs and Bluecoats were one thing: simple, mundane. Ghosts instilled him with terror by their very nature, but they could be handled too, as his work had shown. But Stazia, when she was angry? He'd sooner take the other three. "S-Stazia, I'm sorry to trouble you at this hour. T-Truly. It's j-just..." he stammers much more frequently than usual, and curses himself under his tongue. Come to the point, said the logical part of his mind. "I need medical attention. It's serious." He opens his bloodied eye and brings it, as well as the nasty bruise on the side of his head, into the light from inside. "Please." Any airs of disdain or superiority he held with the group or others were non-existent here.

Dark eyes watch Mathias carefully through the door. Stazia sighs, between somewhere frustration and resignation, but she cannot turn away an injured patient. There's the scrap of a bolt and the door swings open, allowing Mathias in. "Sit," she tells him shortly, pointing to a stool by the fire while she fetches cloths, ointment and the other tools of her trade.

"Thank you." Entering, he steps over to the stool. It had been quite some time since he visited, and he took in all the details with a naturally careful eye. He almost breathes out a sigh of relief as he sees her breakfast table was not set for two, then wanted to kick himself. That's none of my business. He'd do well to remember that. He sits in the stool, and waits patiently. But anxiety, and a lingering hope of reconnection, compel him to at least attempt conversation. "Y-You seem to be doing alright for yourself. H-Haven't had any trouble with Bluecoats or the like, have you?" (edited)

Stazia crosses back to Mathias, standing over his wounded head with a wet cloth in her hand. "Why? Should I be expecting them to come calling now?" She asks with a frown, hesitating to begin tending to the wound on his head.

"N-No, it's not like that... they mugged me. I just h-hope nothing like that's happened to you." It was actually rather convenient, how things had shaken out. He could pass off the wound as something from his run-in with the Watch, rather than the sketchier truth behind it. "I'd help, you know. I-If you ever needed it."

Stazia scoffs as she dabs at the wound, clearing it of accumulated dirt. ...and how exactly would you do that?"

"I could, er..." Don't mention ghosts. Do not mention ghosts. "Bring ingredients, h-help around here, make new compounds... o-or if you need gold! In fact, I could pay you for this—" He cuts himself off as he reaches for his purse, only to pat an empty pocket and remember that it had been taken. "Not now. But later on, I-I swear it. I owe you." (edited)

Stazia huffs at Mathias, dripping stinging alcohol onto his now clean wound. Nevertheless, there's a hint of a smile underneath at his earnest words. "You'll need stitches... the Bluecoats did this?" (edited)

He nods, cringing from the sting of the alcohol. "One stopped me, saying I needed 'identification.' I was going to tell him off, but another came in from the side and clubbed me. They took my coinpurse, said that was 'identification enough.' Fucking ingrates," he spat. "S-Sorry." He added, for cursing. It was a white lie, but he'd really gotten on a roll there with his story. It helped that his actual sentiments were much the same.

Stazia sighs, slowly softening in Mathias's comfortingly familiar presence. "You need to look after yourself, Mat," she tells him, lifting his chin to look at her face, which is now an image of concern.

As Mathias runs off to deal with their ghost problem, Jairaj decides he might as well try to contribute as well. Mathias had made a good point, with Flint gone their mystical defenses were next to none, and just now when they were getting involved with demons and immortals and the like. Glancing down at his wrist to the beaded Iruvian protective charm bracelet there, he decides it’s time to pay a visit to his friend Malista. Jairaj is steeped in nostalgia as the aroma of exotic spice and the din of Iruvian folk songs that hang like a haze over the neighborhood claimed by the Red Sash hit him. It’s impossible to quell the memories of home, of his family who he hasn’t really spoken to since he dropped out of the academy. Is it too late to go back? He reaches the temple, a small stone building discreetly tucked away on a back street. The image of an eye crying bloody tears is painted above the door, and incense harvested from trees very very far away from here wafts out from inside. With a sigh, Jai pokes his head in. ”Namha’la.” he greets in his mother tongue.

Mathias bites his tongue when he sees the look on her face, suddenly feeling far more guilty for the half-truths he's spinning. He'd seen it before, back when they were children, and they were in much the same situation—neighborhood kids roughhousing with him, and Stazia patching him up afterwards like a dutiful older sister. He wasn't content with that, though. "I am, Stazi. I won't cause you any worry." To make this a full truth, he had to keep at it. He had to make his way in the underworld with the Reprievers. He had to get money—lots of it. He had to use it to perfect his formula, and put an end to these nerve-wracking nightmares. And then, I can be here, with her. He lowers his head, to let her finish. (edited)

Sphynxy [Vark|Caio|Jai|Mehdi]

As Mathias runs off to deal with their ghost problem, Jairaj decides he might as well try to contribute as well. Mathias had made a good point, with Flint gone their mystical defenses were next to none, and just now when they were getting involved with demons and immortals and the like. Glancing down at his wrist to the beaded Iruvian protective charm bracelet there, he decides it’s time to pay a visit to his friend Malista. Jairaj is steeped in nostalgia as the aroma of exotic spice and the din of Iruvian folk songs that hang like a haze over the neighborhood claimed by the Red Sash hit him. It’s impossible to quell the memories of home, of his family who he hasn’t really spoken to since he dropped out of the academy. Is it too late to go back? He reaches the temple, a small stone building discreetly tucked away on a back street. The image of an eye crying bloody tears is painted above the door, and incense harvested from trees very very far away from here wafts out from inside. With a sigh, Jai pokes his head in. ”Namha’la.” he greets in his mother tongue.

"Namha’la, Jairaj," a husky voice echoes back from within the shrine. Out of the shadows steps a slim woman wrapped in burgundy robes. Her eyes are covered under her hood by an embroidered piece of fabric.

”Alright, first of all, you really need to come out again soon, I hate having to come all the way over here to see you and the rest of the gang truly does not know how to party like you and I do. It’s been too long, love. Secondly….” He averts his gaze now, slightly embarrassed. Though he joined her to observe the occasional holy day, he had never come asking for her service before. ”Well you remember Flint right? The whisper? They left in a poof of smoke and now it’s just me and Mathias to deal with all the ghosts and ghoulies that we have to deal with and that’s certainly not my specialty. I was wondering if there were any… charms or prayers or mantras or talismans for protection that you could spare. We’re working on some big things but that means we’re turning quite a lot of heads these days. Heads with horns.”

Malista's mouth curls into a smile beneath her hood at Jai's talk of coming out, but the grin quickly fades at the mention of horns. "Jai... what've you got yourself into now?" She warns him in a low voice, taking a few steps forwards out of the shadows.

”Don’t worry, love, I’m not in any trouble per say,” He bites his lip as he considers how much information to divulge. ”We’ve just found ourselves engaging with a demon, goes by the name Dagon. We are in his good graces now but I know better than to think we’ll stay there. I’d just like a smidgen of insurance.”

Malista shakes her head in disbelief at Jairaj's recklessness. "These are new heights of foolishness, even for you," she chides, turning to the shrine's altar and fetching a bowl of bronze. "There is no 'insurance' against demons... but I will do what I can to keep ill fortune from your door," the priestess reluctantly agrees, tossing herbs into the metal container.

Jai lets out a breath as if he’d been waiting for her to turn him down. ”Thank you, Malista. Anything helps at this point.”

The priestess continues to work, but throws Jairaj a look that says you owe me. (edited)

For now, all Jai can offer is a weak smile. Some time later he bursts back into the Reprievers’ secret hideout, ready to continue on their quest to appease the demon. Alas his companions have yet to return, and his desk eyes him from the corner. What would be helpful in securing the blueprints from Scurlock? A device to crack a safe? What if they weren’t in a safe, what if they were in a drawer? Or stashed behind one of those paintings? What if the Reprievers could see through whatever vessel held their quarry? A device like that shouldn’t be too hard, in fact there was already some precedent for such sensors aboard the ships of the leviathan hunters. As soon as he’s had the idea, his hands are already scrawling furiously across papers now stretched in front of him. By the time his companions return, he will already be well on the way to a finished design.

Walters nervously bids a goodnight to his crew for the evening. When out of sight he retches again. He spits, with no handkerchief to wipe the bile. What the hells are we into. I don’t know how to handle these demons, see these ghosts, I’m outta my element. Fuckin aye.. Walter’s wondering feet find him a familiar path to the steps of the Casino. And up them, and to his normal stool at the bar. By a few drinks in his tongue is loose and telling the bartender about how great his recent exploits are, lowlife as they are. A few later, and he’s speaking to the deaf air around him.

Walter leaves the Casino as the first streaks of pale grey lighten the inky black of the night sky. He heads back to base. Someone is clanging around in the workshop, but he makes his way down the corridor without saying anything. He doesn’t mean to sleep, but when he wakes up it’s already getting darker again, and the rail-car is dead quiet. He heads to Klyra’s tavern down by the docks for a bite. ”Heya there, old pal! Been a while, I know. Working on some big things lately.” He nods to a few of the other patrons as he pulls a stool up to the counter.

Klyra is wiping down the weathered driftwood of the bar, slowly removing the worst of the night's damages. "Big things, huh, Walter?" She remarks dryly. "Isn't that what you always say?"

”Well yes, but that’s only because it’s always true! But you know that already.” Walter grins sheepishly as he sips the hardwater she sent sliding down the bar. ”This is different, though. Some folk I’m workin’ with have got friends in high up places. And I’m thinkin, if you’re game, that we could help each other out.” He goes on to vaguely explain his new prospects, an excellent product vetted by a local aristocratic figure. ”If any other patrons who come around would be keen to get in on the ground floor of a blossoming business, We can schedule a meeting.”

"Well, look who's sure of themselves," Klyra laughs with a touch of respect. "Alright mister bigshot, I'll send some folks your way." Later that night, a rather worse-for-wear looking dock worker comes sidling up to Walter. "Klyra says you're looking for hands," he grunts.

”Ah, hello friend! Indeed, she is almost correct. Your hands looks tired, and luckily they aren’t required. All I’m looking for is a curious mind. Here, this is for you.” Walter hands the man a few samples of their signature drug. ”Pass these along to some friends, tell them to place an order with Klyra, and there’ll be some coin in it for you. Can I buy you a drink in the meanwhile?”

"Yarp," the man grunts, palming and pocketing the samples. "Name's Kobb. Word is you're on your way up. Word to the wise, any player on the scene needs to be tight with the racket. You won't get far without 'em on side. It pays to make a strong impression."

”Pleasure to meet ya, Kobb.” Walter gestures to Klyra for two more. ”You can call me Walter. Tell me more about this racket, would ya? We’ve encountered more than a few folk interested in our venture, but perhaps I should meet them. Do you know where they can be contacted?”

"Around," Kobb grunts vaguely. "Bluecoats," he then elaborates, before spitting demonstratively on the ground. "Bunch o' local constables; Lewit, Jol, Myra an' Reyf."

"I know a guy who might be able t'get ye an in though..."

11:29

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11:30

Old Water, Silkshore Kobb isn't the only interested party who Klyra sends Walter's way that night. The next morning he shows up at the Reprievers' lair looking rather worse for wear and with four new prospective business partners in tow. (edited)

She enters, quite lithely, into the Reprievers' lair. She is a tall female, covered in differing wool clothes, overlapping with each other. She seems to be young, based on her face and her hands, which are the only body parts visible of her. But she seems to be stooped, her head almost at level with her shoulders. Her hair long, tightly knotted at the back of her head. Her black hair is littered with streaks of white. She introduces herself. "Hi... I'm Loo."

Following the lithe woman is quite possibly one of the largest men any of the others have ever seen. Towering over 2 meters tall, his face, exposed chest, and arms all covered in intricately detailed tattoos, he is instantly recognizable as one of the Tycheros even without the short horns that just from his forehead. All of these things combine to quickly explain why he's know as "The Demon". The fact that he has a large, spiked fish hook like weapon hanging at his right hip doesn't help either of course. "I am Slane." The big man growls, pronouncing the name as Slah-nay, his face set in a deep frown and deeply furrowed brow. The intimidating look quickly fades and is replaced with a smile as he continues though. "I'll make sure anyone that opposes you is slain. Get it? It sound like my name!" He explains, ruining the joke as he does so. (edited)

Third's the charm: a man, possibly in his early thirties follows in past Slane. Even through the immersive damp musk of the lair, the smell of tobacco and oils precede the Akarosi as he quickly decides that there's nowhere suitable to sit his coat. Taking an unlit cigarette out of his mouth, he introduces himself: "You wouldn't believe how long he's been working on that - should've heard the first draft. Vale. Crowley Vale. A pleasure."

It's unclear if he had been hiding in the shadows this whole time, but a dark figure dressed in all black steps out from behind the large Slane. His pale complexion and coppery beard point to Skovlan descent. He pulls a pair of goggles off his eyes to rest atop his knit cap. "I'm Kasper. So, what's the score?" The scent of whiskey comes with the words, as he likely just came from the tavern.

Jairaj turns from his desk at the sound of people approaching. The stylish bolero and colorful scarves the Iruvian usually wears are absent this early in the morning, leaving only a comfortable white shirt that combine with his crest of bleached blond hair to almost give him the appearance of a bird. It seems he has been working at some sort of drawings, but as he turns he grabs a strange metal cylinder in his hand and thumbs a large switch on its side. ”Who in the bloody fuck-“ he begins to mutter, wondering how four strangers have stumbled into their hideout, until he sees Walter standing behind them. ”Ah, Walter love, are these friends of yours?” He eyes each of them in turn, a small smile turning up as his eyes linger on the impressively built Tycherosi. ”Well hello then. I am Jairaj Daiva.” he hooks the handheld contraption onto a loop attached to his tight fitted pants. ”Come on in then, make yourselves comfortable.”

Mathias sits in the cramped nook of their railcar that served as his laboratory, with a baggage rack full of vials next to him. Each contains a different prototype for Reprieve. His mortar and pestle sit untouched in front of him as he idly traces his fingers along his stitched wound, thinking of Stazia—and the nightmares of her violent death that had soon followed seeing her. Unable to focus on work, he welcomes the distraction brought by Walter when he brings several new faces. His misgivings are plain enough to see on his face, but even if he was happy with this, it still wouldn't be a pretty picture. The alchemist's eyes are shadowed by dark rings from lack of sleep, and his left eye is still pink from the wound, giving him an overall intense look. "N-Not too comfortable. D-Don't touch those." He gestures to the array of vials beside him. "Unless you want to b-be a ghost, instead of selling to them." He returns to grinding together tablets from two different formulas. "You know that's what we do, right? F-For the most part. All of y-you prepared for that?"

”The lad’s right,” Jai continues, moving past Mathias as he walks to their makeshift galley kitchen and giving the man a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder. ”We are the Reprievers. Our namesake product, his baby,” he nods back to the alchemist, ”Is the premiere drug of choice for the spirits of our fine city. Really the bluecoats and wardens should be praising us for our service I mean really, we could be selling the ghosts uppers if we wanted.” He throws a glance to Mathias as if maybe that wasn’t the worst idea, then resumes grabbing mismatched cups in order to pour everyone some tea. ”Given our line of work we come across all manner supernatural-types. In fact our recent exploits ‘ave got us rubbing shoulders with some pretty powerful figures. So before we tell you exactly what our current plans are, how about you lot tell us exactly what it is you’re bringing to the table?” He leans against the counter and crosses his arms as he looks expectantly at the newcomers.

"Ghost drugs?" The big man asks with some confusion. "How they take them if have no mouth?" He ponders as he squints at the lab from a safe distance. You don't get to be the size of a small house without breaking your share of things, so he's very careful to keep well clear of the money making aspect of the groups small headquarters. As the second person asks what they bring to the table, he places a hand on the savage looking weapon hanging at his side. I bring this." Then lifting the same arm, he brings the hand up toward his ear, a movement that causes the dense muscles of his bicep to bunch up in a large bulge. "And this." Clear, concise, and to the point.

His eyes study the space, confined and threateningly claustrophobic between the two Leeches' workshop and the seven inhabitants. The Tycherosi arguably taking enough space for two or even three. He settles on two and a half. Two parents and a small child. My birds were right, then. Good. Mr. Vale shifts as he slowly tours the cart, careful not to bump anything that might be unstable or otherwise curious. "Our mutual friend mentioned that, but she wasn't too keen on elaborating." He pauses for a second, chewing the inside of his lip, "Regardless, powerful figures means influence. Political usually, if my guess is worth anything." Almost satisfied by his survey, he now directs to the chemist, "There's nothing overly flammable in here, is there? Hm." His right hand fidgets with the unlit cigarette, slowly spinning it between his thumb, index and middle fingers. "Yeah, influence is an explosive concern. But it can be exploited. Consider my interest a mutual investment. What I offer is opportunity - for growth, but also maybe a safety net. I have connections, both living and dead." The fidgeting eases, and Crowley decides to remain standing. "Jairaj, was it - do mind if I call you Jai?" (edited)

Jairaj’s eyes linger on the flexing Slane for a long moment, any longer and he might start drooling. The kettle (actually a beaker) he’s turned on begins to bubble and his eyes cut to Crowley’s. ”Most everyone does, lovey.” He pours the water into a similarly improvised karafe to steep with the tea, dried fungi sprayed with artificial flavorings. ”And while we certainly appreciate opportunities and connections, that answer is a lot less… tangible than Slane’s here. Where exactly do your connections lie? For all we know the company you keep could be people we’re already in bed with. Not much use or fun in that then, is it?”

Mathias clicks his tongue at Slane's question. "S-Simple. Like this." He takes a small pinch of ground-up drugs, and flicks it out of the window, creating a short-lived cloud of dust. "Scatter it on a spirit's f-form, and you'll see the difference right away. I'm seeing about o-other ways to d-dispense it. What I wonder is, h-how do you plan to use those against a ghost, if it comes to that?" He looks derisively at the other man's proud muscles and wicked hook. Hopefully, it wouldn't, and he was going to be very useful against the irksome living, if his head injury and stolen purse were anything to go by. But... He glances back at Crowley, who seemed smooth as silk, unlit cigarette and all. "N-Not if I can help it. R-Renegade ghosts are bad enough, without the threat of c-combustibles. S-Smoke as you please." His brow wrinkles for a moment, eyes darting between him and Jairaj, before he preemptively blurts out, "Mathias is my name, but don't call me 'Mat.'" Only she does. (edited)

"Oh, good. Mathias. Noted. Always worth asking - if you don't mind," Crowley cups the cigarette as he strikes a match, careful to aim the smoke towards the cracked window and ventilation. The smell of tobacco sits in the air despite his efforts, but behind it is a sweet aroma of spices. A small smile glances across Crowley's demeanour as he muses, taking the cigarette out as he continues, "The two of you are clearly hard at work developing the foundation of what could be an empire - while your friend Walter here managed to find the four of us - and I mean this in the nicest way possible - it still took a middle-woman and all night. Connections hardly seems his speciality, despite most everyone having them." Careful, V. Let's not make a bad impression here. Holding eye contact with Jairaj, he continues. "No, what you need are eyes and ears. You need little birds that nest in all sorts of places. Birds to chirp when they're told to..." Of course the blues are causing trouble. "While it's true there's no fun in double dipping, it sounds like you'd benefit from fresh blood concerning the bluecoats."

"I'm not so worried about becoming a ghost as I'm halfway there." Kasper rears back as if he's going to be break into a sprint... and then he does. However, as his first step hits the floor of the railcar his form shimmers and he becomes a shadow of himself. The thief sprints through Mathias' lab and on into the kitchen were he stops and joins Jairaj at the counter, where he soon returns to his corporeal self. "Not many places I can't get to. You see?" The Skovlander then glances to Crowley and lets out a songbird-like whistle. "I'm good at that as well," he adds with a confident grin. (edited)

Slane stands near the door, trying to be as small as possible, which still makes him easily the largest thing in the room. He tries his best to follow the conversation between Mathias, Jairaj, and Cowley, but the specifics are just too much for him, so he ends up just happily nodding along. As the Chemist displays the method of covering a ghost in the magic dust he continues to nod, this time with more complete understanding. When that same man asks how his weapons can be useful against a ghost his nodding ceases, instead replaced with a serious look. "My ancestors help me, they grant me strength from the other side of the veil he explains." Looking around at the small space he realizes that there isn't nearly enough room for a demonstration, so he finishes with a promise. "When we're done here, I can show you outside." Just as he finishes this offer Kasper demonstrates his ability, causing him to gasp and point. "It like that, but different!" He exclaims with glee, his eyes wide at the display.

Loo, even though the first to enter the lair, slowly hid her presence when the talks started. She let them speak, let the words be exchanged. She kept an eye on all of them, kept an ear out for the important details. She hid her hands, plunged them into the many wool cloths she wore. She grabbed at her items, feeling it one by one, a calm went over her. But her face only stayed motionless and emotionless. She brought out one of her hands and raised it. "I can do stuff..." She spoke, loud enough to hear but kept her tone low, as if murmuring to herself. She tried to smile, her lips curved upwards and formed a half moon. Teeth showing, yellow and black, but complete, and sharp.

Jairaj’s eyes light up too as the lurk demonstrates his ability. ”Well that could sure come in handy.” Turning back to Crowley he nods. ”Birds’re handy too. Might come in real handy with our current dealings.” Looking now to Loo he chuckles. ”And hopefully your ‘stuff’ comes in handy too. Not exactly promising, but if three out of four have something to show then hopefully we can trust that Walter’s other offering is worth it as well. Now, to keep a long story short,” he pours himself a cup of tea and spikes it with liquor from a flask, which he leaves on the counter and offers to everyone with a gesture. ”We are currently in the process of allying ourselves with one Lord Scurlock. You know, that immortal bastard. There’s a hell of a lot to be gained from his patronage, including some blueprints which we’ve actually been contracted to steal from him. But that’s the long game. First we’ve got to secure the favor of Scurlock’s nephew, that’s our in. He’s tasked us with digging into his uncle’s past, specifically a blonde lass who seems to be just as long lived and mysterious as Scurlock the senior. I don’t know why he cares so much or why his uncle won’t spill the beans about her, all the little Scurlock knows is that she pops up in a bunch of his uncle’s portraits. The most recent portrait was painted by a man named Viktor Barvitius. That’s our lead. Any of you know ‘im?” The question is posed to everyone, but Jai specifically looks at Crowley.

Crowley's eyes narrow, turning to Walter. "Just what is this? You said you needed an in with the constables!" The spider takes a small, steel container out from his coat and presses a black button, opening a small hole. Holding it in one hand, he taps the cigarette on the side before his ashes would litter the floor. He sets the container on the desk beside him, and finally eases to lean against it as he considers the artist. "I might know which of my little birds to talk to." He takes another drag from the cigarette, and spice returns to the air. (edited)

Loo's smile slowly vanished, and is replaced by a thin line. Her face expressionless again. Like a ceramic mask. She let her hands and arms drop to her sides and just stands there. Waiting, listening. "Is this woman a ghost now?" She asks plainly, as if the thought of ghosts intrigued her.

Slane has no idea who the people being discussed are, so he keep his mouth shut and listens as the others discuss options. Besides, it sounds like one of his new friends can talk to birds, something that is much more interesting than talking about some old rich guy. "Do different birds talk different?" He interjects, before clarifying. "Like I sound different, than you... so would a bird from my home sound different than a bird from down here?"

Mathias flinches as Kasper races by him in demonstration of his unusual talent, recovering when he sees him return to normal form. "Y-Y-Yes, I s-see," he replies belatedly. "That w-would be quite helpful." Never mind that he looked like something out of one of my nightmares. He pays Slane some renewed interest as well, after seeing this. If the larger man had his own way of commanding the ghost field, Crowley with his information, and the woman as well, this group was more of a perfect selection than he could've asked for. He gives Loo in particular a curious once-over, having heard the least from her so far, but for this interest in ghosts. She might not have covered her face in a mask, but she hid the rest of herself instead, and adopted blank expressions that unnerved him, like Flint had at times. "I doubt she is, considering how long she seems to h-have lived. Y-You don't survive long in Doskvol, especially s-supernaturally so, without being very cunning. It would m-make things easier if she were though. C-Could spoon her some Reprieve and learn everything we needed to know. W-We're never that lucky." He gives her a queer sort of look, waiting for her 'mask' to shift again. "Do ghosts... f-fascinate you? Is that your 'stuff'?"

Kasper, not one to refuse an offered drink, quickly snatches up Jairaj's flask and adds some of the liquor to a cup. "Skol." He ponders briefly on the name as he takes a sip. "Nope. I've only come across a few paintings worth stealing and those were painted artists that had long passed... I think. Well, those are the ones that tend to be worth anything." (edited)

”As a matter of fact, they do.” Jai responds to the large man’s question before turning back to Crowley. ”Whats all this about constables? We may have big league aspirations but we’ve still got a business to run in the mean time. If you’ve got an in with the constables that would be just lovely. Should call you the aviary,” he says with a wink. ”The question is, which of these little bird tails of yours should we go chasin first? The Scurlock thing isn’t exactly on a time crunch just yet.”

Loo only responds with an, "oh..." When Mathias said that the woman, the blonde lass that seems to be at every portrait of this Scurlock senior, was in fact not a ghost. She was about to hide away but she before she could, she heard mention of ghosts once again from Mathias. "Do ghosts fascinate me?" Her head slowly faced Mathias and a faint hint of a grin could be seen breaking the emotionless face she has. "Yes, yes. You could say ghosts... fascinate me." She raised held her hands in front of her, a pale white spot among the wools she wore. "I think I am a... whisper. Some might say; I am called other things as well though. But I prefer Loo. Just call me Loo." She ended with her head tilted towards Mathias.

Crowley scratches his ample stubble, only now realising that he forgot to shave. He takes a deep breath between his teeth, imitating a hissing sound as he breathes in. "Hm. Look, yeah. Do I know Barvitius? Not as close as I know you all. Haven't spoken to him myself. But Scurlock? With patrons like that, he's gotta be well off." He chuckles, "One of the few artists enjoying wealth and rapport before it's made inheritance." Among the clutter, he gingerly moves around each of the cart's inhabitants towards a map of the city. Under the low light, he points at a district in the centre of Doskvol. "I'd be looking here, in Charterhall, for someone like that. As for tails, our other option would be to see if an old chase of mine has seen or heard anything recently." He looks back at Jai with a smirk. "The bluecoats however - now that we're on some sort of the same page," he gives a quick glance to the silent and recently inebriated Walter, "is a different story. One for another time, if you'd rather. This is your operation," returning his attention to Jai, "I can offer an in with the blues, but business comes first. It's your call." (edited)

Slane smiles broadly as Jairai confirms his suspicions on bird accents. He considers digging deeper into the subject, but Crowley moving to the map forces his focus back to the mission at hand. So far he's not heard anything that would require muscle to accomplish, but he has no doubt there will be something. There's always someone or something that needs a judicious application of violence.

Jai ponders for a moment before responding. ”Well strictly speaking business, an in with the blues would help our whole operation out a lot. Besides,” he turns to scan the motley assortment of freaks and miscreants before turning back to Crowley, ”Maybe a trip to Charterhall would be best carried out by us socialite types. I’ve hung around there a couple times, and I know how to talk to artists. You ever been to Static?” he asks with a mischievous glint in his eye before waving away the temptation… for the moment. ”We’ll have to go soon. In fact we can all go, when we celebrate our first successful score with this new roster.”

Mathias nods his assent on the talk of negotiating with the Bluecoats. "M-More resources is a must, right now. T-Then the information. A-Afterwards, you can feel free to party yourselves to death at Static, f-for all I care." He rolls his eyes and returns to work, idly wondering if Crowley's connections could even get a Bluecoat fired, or three...

"I can offer an in with the blues, but business comes first..." ━━━━━━━━━━ Hound Park, Crow's Foot Now, don't fuck me Reyf. Keeping his coat close, Crowley strikes a match and lights another cigarette. His second since finding the spot his old partner agreed to meet him at - just by the oldest tree in the park, stone cold, overlooking the mushroom gardens. His attention drifts to White Tusk Court as he waits. Poetic. It's moments later that he can hear the shifting of gravel beside him. Turning, he meets the constable, unchanged. "Been a spell, hasn't it?" From his inner coat pocket, he produces a rough paper bag. Inside is a glass bottle of Gleeson's 18-Year Aged Svappir, White Label. A sour and musky liquor that the two would share drinks from before closing a case. Crowley never liked the drink - too viscous - but it was Reyf's favourite. The constable always insisted it grew on you. 'An acquired taste.' He holds on to the disguised bottle. (edited)

"Long enough," Reyf grunts in return, taking a long draw on his own smoke. "What's this about, Crowley? Myra thinks I'm a fool for giving you the time of night; Jeren's still out for your blood."

"Jeren's a stubborn old tart," a quiet chuckle escapes the spider. "It'd take nothing short of a miracle to change his mind; Myra - well, Myra might be right. She has a good knack for instinct." Crowley's eyes never leave the constable. "Crow's Foot is falling apart, Kinclaith. Since Roric's funeral, the Crows have lost a lot of security. The Red Sashes and Lampblacks threaten to take the district for themselves." Crowley pauses, fully aware that this is no new information for the constable. Does he need to know about the Reprievers? "But I didn't deal with them much. Not like you did. And no doubt still do." Careful. "Crow's Foot doesn't need to be a turf war over two gangs measuring their own dicks. But I need to know their movements." Wryly, he extends the paper bag. "To hell with breaking bread."

Reyf arches a bushy eyebrow in the shadows of the great petrified tree, but extends his arm in kind to accept Crowley's offering. The constable peers inside, before popping off the top of the bottle to take a whiff of the pungent liquor. "...and what exactly are you going to do about it?" He asks when he looks back up.

With his hand free now, Crowley scratches his forehead using his thumb before fixing a part of his fringe that'd come loose. " 'The children can't play nice, then someone is going to make them. The field's changed a whole lot since I left."

"Oh, yeah?" Reyf remarks with a mirthless laugh, taking a swig from the bottle. "You about to off Lyssa yourself then?"

Crowley cracks a laugh. "Can you blame me for wanting?" he jokes. The air hangs for a moment, "...maybe some smaller fish first. It's the Lamps and the Reds that have my attention for now. Lyssa can enjoy her newfound crown, soaked in blood as it is. There's a serpent I'm happy to stay away from." (edited)

Reyf lowers the bottle and presses his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose, before sighing wearily. "Myra was right. What do you want, Crowley?" (edited)

Crowley straightens his posture. Of course, business. Again, he finds himself chewing the inside of his lip before taking the last draw from his cigarette; burnt almost to his fingertips. He holds it in for three, slowly letting it out. His right eye squints. "The streets are dangerous, Reyf. You're a smart man. Who would you back in all this?"

Reyf narrows his eyes at the evasive answer. "Bazso's boys may be winning their little turf war for now, but that could all turn around next week. No matter who comes out on top, this isn't going to be pretty for either of them. Lyssa, on the other hand? Roric ran this ward and she's standing on his cold, dead shoulders. Unless somebody gets very very lucky, she's not going anywhere."

"Hm, well." He acknowledges Reyf's contempt at his answer. "I want back in the game. But I'd be damned if I'm playing the losing side. What makes you say it could all turn next week?" (edited)

Reyf shrugs. "It could, or it could not. It's anybody's game right now. The Lampblacks struck the first blow, but they've won a battle, not the war. Who knows what Mylera has up her sleeve?"

The spider eyes his old partner. "I've a new crew. Like I said, I want back in the game - and I'll be damned if I play the losing side. Reprieve. It's gotta be catching your nose by now," he remarks. Wrapped around one wrist, he gently handles a string of rosary beads with a coin-sized censor at the crux of it. "But in more than one sense of the word. Penance of a sort. Have you seen the kid recently? Hasn't been too restful since the accident." You're making a mistake, Crowley. "He deserved better." *No. "Deserves better," Crowley corrects. "It's why I reached out to you, and not the others. This is a game of survival. With the right resources and support, it'll survive long enough to be where it needs to be. What would encourage that support, if you could tell someone not worth the time of night?"

"Ah," Reyf considers, taking another draw from his smoke as the pieces fall into place in his head. "So that's what this is really about." He takes another draw and glares up at Crowley from beneath thick dark brows. "Jol's going to back the winning horse. If you want to be it, then you're gonna have to put the Crows on the backfoot and keep them there." He hacks the same mirthless laugh as earlier on the tail of the smoke. "I guess you weren't kidding about offing Lyssa after all."

"So Jol's still calling the shots?" Crowley looks back to the Court.

"Jol's keeping Lochlan out of our hair, which is more than you can say," Reyf tells Crowly darkly. (edited)

"Pot. Kettle. Black." Crowley smiles. "I wouldn't think Jol one to put all of his eggs in one basket. In theatre, I think that's called 'character development.' Unsure if it's for better or worse."

Reyf shrugs. "Who says he is? Some baskets are just bigger than others."

"Good point." Of course it's the Crows. Fuck. "The Crows then. How close are you lot in with them? In bed, or are they just in your pocket?" (edited)

Reyf shoots Crowley a look that quite clearly says. Like you get to know that. "You want it, Crowley, earn it. I'll be damned if their grip on the district has even been weaker. If Lyssa loses any face, Crow's Foot might just slip through her fingers."

"Just make sure there's still enough of that bottle left to share a glass or two when we're done." (edited)

The Spark Grounds, Silkshore Loo's footsteps are slow, but steady as she makes her way across the bridge on Cannonball Road in search of an old friend. Beneath the crackling flares of a lightning tower, the open field of the Spark Grounds draws crowds to watch the death-defying stunts of acrobats and circus performers. Up ahead, Loo can see the notorious “spark flyers” who soar in manned kites adorned with bits of metal to attract arcs of electricity from the barrier in a pyrotechnic display. Quellyn's stand is small and secluded in a dark corner down Strongman Alley that lies closer to the lightning barrier than most are willing to go. The porcelain beauty with her ebony hair is known as a talented healer and seer. She peers out of the front, face propped up in her hands as she watches Loo's approach. "A good night to you, seeker. What brings you back to darken my door, hm?" Quellyn asks affectionately.

As soon as Loo noticed Quellyn, she approached her; a bit too quickly compared to her normal gait. Her many furs bobbing and shifting about, as if Loo were only a stick that is wrapped with many furs around her. "Hi..." Loo places both her pale white hands, face down, on top of Quellyn's stand. "I came for supplies... The usual Electroplasm..." She paused a bit more before continuing. The electricity sparks and lights up behind Loo, framing her silhouette; dark and ominous, with a pale face that's plain and calm. "I'd also like some tips... You see I am doing this ritual, I used to do; making one go pass through the ghost field. And do you have anything that might help with... transition...? Or maybe, some kind of ward of protection for the one I'll be pushing through the ghost field?" Loo always talked more when it came to the topic of the occult, and specifically about ghost. She had an obsession, one might say. But to her, it's just a hobby, like knitting.

"Loum," Quellyn replies with a playful measure of mock reproach, laying her hands atop the whisper's. "How daring. How exciting." The witch produces a vial of electroplasm from beneath her counter and begins rolling it between the fingers of one hand, the other lightly trailing along the tops of Loo's own fingers. "What ever would drive you to try that again? After all this time."

Loo eyes the Electroplasm; her head and face unmoving, like a portrait. She places a hand on top of Quellyn's, sandwiching it. "Well... You see... I found a group. They need my help, and in return, I'll get what I want." Loo's lips begin to creep towards her ears, forming a wide, thin smile. She catches herself, and reverts to her original state. "But in all honesty..." Loo sighs. "He spoke to me. The Golden Stag. He..." Loo let's go of Quellyn's hand and slowly rummages inside her furs, just about where her stomach should be. She then produces an old skull, and places it on top of the stand. "... called me and offered something I can't refuse."

"A group?" Quellyn asks, arching a perfectly sculpted eyebrow as she eyes the skull. "Is this a new cult, Loo?"

Loo looks at Quellyn. Face like a mask, brittle and pale. It cracks, sort of. Loo's eyes narrowed and stared even harder at Quellyn. Puzzlement written all over her face. Then it clicked. "What? No! No, no. The group isn't a cult." She pauses and tries to calm herself. She notices Quellyn's inquiring gaze upon the skull. She felt mischievous, she felt almost proud at her thought. Then she dragged the skull, slowly, scraping the well furnished stand of Quellyn's. Loo held the skull by the horns. She slowly raised it high. And as the skull's eye sockets aligned with hers, she smiled. Loo embodied her supposed god, the Golden Stag. Her eyes glittering, sparkling in time with the sparks behind her. Her smile, showing teeth, more like fangs. Sharp and blackened. "It's the Golden Stag."

Quellyn glances down at the scrape mark on her counter and then back up at Loo. "I'll take your word for it... what's in this for me?"

Loo suddenly lowers the skull. Stares at Quellyn for a while and closes her mouth, making a thin line. "What do you need? I can give you whatever the group gives me. After our... mission." She slowly hides the skull in her furs and notices the scrapes. "I'll pay for this. Don't worry about it. I'll have money at least, after we're done."

"Who's money?" Quellyn asks, the corner of her mouth curling slightly as she watches Loo squirm. "What've you got yourself into, Loum?"

Loo fixes her posture and faces Quellyn once again. "It depends really. Some from buyers, mainly. We're selling this... Reprieve. Have you heard about this?" Loo almost whispered the word Reprieve, as if telling it can attract unwanted attention to herself, from ghosts or other beings.

"That's you?" Quellyn asks in surprise. 'What do a bunch of hawkers want with the ghost field? How do the dead even pay?"

Loo, the most stoic, emotionless person you can meet, cracked under the question. Her face grew older; as she crunched her brows together, narrowing her eyes, and just deep in thought. She coughed a weak chuckle. "... Ah, well, you see..." Her face blushed. " I actually don't know how. But the Golden Stag said to go to them. He..." A thought quickly entered her mind. Her face returned to the usual face she wore, blank and clam. "We're taking down the Crows, and we're taking their turf from them." Loo smirks.

Quellyn seems somewhat taken aback by this blatant claim. "You seem... confident," she remarks, blinking in surprise. "That's a new look on you Loo... I can't decide if I like it or not." She sets the vial of electroplasm on the counter with a wooden rap. "You'll have your protections. Payment before you go provoking any ward bosses."

Loo smiles, a different sort of smile. With an air of pride and confidence, she stated, "I for one, do like it. It's different from mucking about." She reached for the Electroplasm and winked at Quellyn. "I'll be back with the payment. I just need to show them that I can do this ritual. I can offer something as collateral, if you want."

Quellyn grins devilishly. "Your ghost key then. I think that that sounds appropriate."

Loo sighs and, with the other hand, reached inside her furs and produced an old, thin looking key. It's about as long as her forearm, bronze in color with a smattering of unknown yellowish substance, a bit brackish. "I'll pay you later; I need this back, Quellyn." She sets the Ghost Key on top of the counter, and grabs the Electroplasm. She waits for a moment and finally succumbs to her wants. "I missed you, Quellyn. I hope you know that."

Quellyn carefully takes the skeletal key and turns it over a few times in her hands. "Always," she tells Loo, the dazzling sparks of the lightning barrier glistening off of her eyes in the darkness. "Where and when does the ritual take place?"

The Rookery, Crow's Foot With Loo and Quellyn in toe, Matthias punts the boat along the subterranean waterways connecting The Barley to Hexham Canal. Numerous spirits have accumulated down here from the amassed dead dumped in the water to avoid the Spirit Wardens' watchful eye. This is where the whisper and the witch will carry out their ritual to send Matthias into the ghost field. A few minutes later he stands armed with Reprieve in the centre of the Tycherosi ritual circle that Loo has etched into the stones down here. While Quellyn works a ward and blessing to guard him from harm. "How long is this going to last?" She calls across in a sharp whisper.

Mathias nervously toys with the vials in his hands, standing within the circle. "A-A short time. F-Five minutes, m-maybe ten at the m-most." He stutters much more frequently, feeling the expected anxiety before carrying out such a task, which compounds his default nervous state. It takes an undue amount of concentration and energy to not appear a complete shivering wreck before the two women. Flint would usually take the lead on these sorts of operations. He didn't much care for the whisper in the past, but it was nice to have them do the "communing," while he did the dispensing. But no longer. He breathes in and out, steadying himself, then shoots Quellyn a look, as though the answer was obvious and she should know his meaning perfectly well. "As long as it takes to wrangle a favor out of a ghost." (edited)

Slane stands to the side, with a dour look on his tattooed face. "I do not like this plan. You should not be crossing over without protection." The giant rumbles as he places a hand on his weapon, as if it wasn't clear he was talking about himself and his weapon. Whether he's actually concerned about the pair or just interested in showing his worth to the group is open to interpretation. (edited)

Crowley's freshly shaven mug cracks a wry smile as he eyes the ritual and notes that Quellyn lady, She could be useful, if this all goes topside. The soft glow of his cigarette carves out the angles on his face, framing it as if painted and hung in a study, but you'd be careful not to point out the crow's feet accentuated as he squints. "Patience, Slane. Look at the poor lad. You could at least give him benefit of the doubt - ah he's got that twitch back." He gives the big Tycherosi a dapper pat on the shoulder reassuring, "He's smart. We might yet need that cudgel of yours on our end." "Hey!" as if he'd only just thought of the risk now, he calls out now to the three occult, "We aren't expecting any trouble here while you're on the other side, right Mathias?" (edited)

”Crowley’s right, lovey,” Jairaj says to the brute. ”The only protection he needs are his wits and our drugs.” He glances both ways down into the damp dark tunnels that stretch out from the space they’ve chosen for the ritual. ”I’m more concerned with what-or who-ever else might be down here.”

Loo is fully concentrating on the ritual. Tuning out almost everyone, except for Quellyn. She is now wearing the Spirit Mask she shown Quellyn the other time. It held firmly on the top of her face. She was carving the ritual circle slowly, using the Electroplasm efficiently. Every bit of it counts. Loo mumbles in reply to Quellyn's question, maybe? But she said, "An hour in the Ghost Field, maximum. Only the Golden Stag can bring you back earlier. Call his name. Scream the god's name in reverence!" She let out a low guttural snicker. And continued on her circle, bobbing, as she continued to happily melt the floor away.

Kasper emerges from the shadows, knit capped pulled down tight. His pale Skovlan skin appears to have been smudged lightly with a bit of coal. "Well, I don't see any anything down here yet... except for a few rats." Kasper steps to the edge of the circle."If something goes wrong while you're in the veil, I might be able to help. I usually try to get in and out of there as fast as I can when I do my little trick, but if needed I can push myself to linger a little longer. .. So, how will we know if you're in trouble?"

Mathias tries to fix Crowley with an equally withering look as he did Quellyn, but it dies after only a little effort. Yes, twitchy—not to mention the mild concussion. He resolves not to mention it, though. One thing he'd learned in the criminal underworld: better not to acknowledge your weaknesses, unless you can use them. "S-Some of the ghosts around here died violently," he explains to Slane. "The sight of one such as yourself, a-armed and dangerous... might set them off rather easily. B-Best save that as a last resort." He was glad to look like a harmless apothecary. "You'll hear me calling. O-Or elsewise, you'll feel a chill, or my presence as I reach out to you. That's how you'll know if I need a specific p-persons help." Resolute at first, he then pales at Loo's zealous declaration. "S-Sure. I'll say 'Stag' when I really need to leave." He looks to Loo and Quellyn. "I'm ready. Hurry it up." Or I might finally listen to logic and get the hell out of here screaming bloody murder.

At the mention of threats on this side of the field Slane perks up a bit. "This is a good point, I will begin patrols to keep this side safe and secure." He announces as true to his word, he begins to circle the area, peering into the dark recesses that surround the groups position. "I will yell if something gets by me." He hisses over his shoulder.

The air around the edge of the circle crackles with sparks as the ritual progresses. The arcing electricity grows ever more intense, until Matthias disappears in a brilliant flash of light. Immediately following the ritual's completion, a wailing shriek echoes about the tunnels surrounding the crew. The sound of rattling chains can be heard in the distance followed by a deep, manic laugh. On the other side, Matthias steps into a world much like the one that he knows but washed out in tones of white and blue. Spirits stalk the ghost field in these catacombs beneath the Crow's Nest. Some pace about muttering to themselves, while others sit silently and stare into space. Some carry out the echo of a specific action, before glitching back to the start, doomed to go through the same motions for all eternity.

Jairaj whips out his soul torch as the ritual reaches a crescendo and spectral calls begin to sound down the tunnels. He anxiously thumbs the ‘on’ button as he peers at the space where Mathias just was. ”Matty, love, you alright? Can you hear us?”

Mathias turns to the source of Jairaj's distorted voice, but sees only vague shadows where his compatriots once were. "I-I'm alright. I'm g-going to give them a taste first..." He pops open one of the vials of powdered Reprieve, and begins to scatter the contents thinly among the listless spirits. Not too much to any particular one. He calls out to them as he does so, starting low, then increasing in volume. Calm, and not unsympathetic. "Release. Sweet release. An end to your struggles. To rest in peace. That is what you were promised after death, wasn't it? But you haven't gotten even a lick. Cruel fate. But I have it here, for you. I can ease your pain, shoulder your burdens, take you to paradise—for a time. Come one, come all..."

The sound of rattling chains and manic laughter bring a smile to Slane's face. With a huge grin on his face, the warrior moves to face the direction the sounds, placing himself directly in the path of whatever may be making the noises. Once there, he sets his feet shoulder width apart, then rolls those same shoulders one at a time. As each shoulder drops he leans his head toward the opposite, stretching his neck at the same time. His stretches complete, he places his hands on his hips and waits. "I will buy you as much time as I can." He tells the others over his shoulder as he waits for whatever is out there to approach.

Loo unphased by the light and wails and shrieks. Stands tall in front of her work. Carved on to the floor, the mark of the ritual. Still wearing the Spirit Mask made from a skull of a horned creature. She smiles, eyes glazed, then she smiles. Showing her darkened-sharp teeth. She slowly squats, keeping her eyes fixated on the symbol; some Electroplasm still left, sizzling while it ate the floor. She rummages around her furs, and out comes a single rat, squeaking. Loo takes hold of its tail and looks at it, whispers to it, "I offer thee... to the Golden Stag..." Then the rat was tossed. The sounds of sizzles and squeaks filled Loo's ears. Then the squeaks slowly faded into nothingness but the sizzle of the Electroplasm continued.

Kasper glances around the catacombs as laugh echos through the underground chamber. "B-be careful, gents.. and ladies," he advises, a bit unnerved by the haunting sounds. "That may have shaken the birds from their nest." "Thank you for being the easy target," Kasper says as he slips behind Slane. The thief then pulls down his dark-sight googles and finds a dark corner to hide in. "You have fun with whatever's out there." (edited)

Chills ripple down Crowley's spine at the mania and rattling of chains conjuring itself from the cistern. A cheeky smile turns sour and strained as he feels the hair of his arms and neck stand on end as if they were militant, standing to attention before the coming danger. His curious gaze quickly becomes surveying and he takes a sharp draw from the cigarette. "Oh the curse of being right." He makes sure to keep a sharp eye on the tunnels opposite Slane's protection. (edited)

Motes of Reprieve drift down onto the spirits, blossoming white as they enter each spectral form and are consumed. The closest figure is a broken looking man with a flat cap on his head. He throws back his head, and lets out a blood-chilling moan... his jaw never moving from its original position. The howl rattles through Matthias's already addled head and fear washes over him. Meanwhile, in the cistern where the Reprievers have gathered, the clanking and yammering noises grow ever louder and nearer.

Mathias nearly drops the remainder of the vial as a shudder runs through him. He nearly cries out, "Stag!" But his reason remains, and he holds his ground. Wouldn't do to go back to them so soon, empty-handed. I'd sooner die. But if he didn't get these ghosts to understand, that was a real possibility. His mind races for a solution, and he remembers the additional vial he had stashed in his coat pocket. That formula...

Earlier... As the newcomers to the Reprievers began to settle in, Mathias catches the other Leech's attention. "J-Jairaj? A word, i-if you please." When they're as alone as they can be in a hollowed-out traincar, he speaks just above a whisper. "As droll an idea as it is, I thought I might ask, j-just for sport. H-Hypothetically speaking, if we were to produce an 'upper' of some kind for ghosts... h-how would we go about it?"

(edited)

A mischievous smile lights beneath Jai’s groomed mustache . ”You’ve always been my favorite, Mathias. You know that right? Now…. my question is, exactly how ‘up’ are we lookin to get the little ghosties? Are we just looking to lift their spirits or are we trying to throw a rager in the ghost field?”

"Only the former. I want to start with something that can r-raise them from the usual 'tormented, s-sorry-for-themselves' state." Mathias takes a couple of failed prototypes down from the rack, with 'Lot 13' and 'Lot 25' scrawled on them in his own handwriting, thinking to use them as a foundation.

”Right. Well I think I’ve a little bit of spark stashed away somewhere round here, perhaps you try a little cocktail,” he gestures to the two vials, with his chin before moving to rummage through his own belongings for the drugs he mentioned…

The Present...

Mathias pulls the experimental drug from his coat pocket. I must be mad. But I don't have time for sanity. He uncorks it, and begins to scatter the dust within. Its hue is more of a vibrant golden orange, compared to the cool, alien turquoise that regular Reprieve took on after being processed. Without knowing how it will affect them, he tries to get the vapors on only a few ghosts, rather than all of them, as a precaution. "N-Now, will you listen? Reprieve f-for a favor, it's simple." (edited)

The first ghost to make contact with the fine orange mist is a gaunt child who begins to thrash and writhe as black veins spread through its form from wherever the drug settles upon it. The two that follow react similarly and the flat-capped man who had screamed at Mathias rises slowly to face him, a dull orange glow now emanating from behind where his eyes should be. Meanwhile, a wind picks up within Loo's ritual circle. The air in the cistern shimmers and blurs and a pair of ghosts glitch into view in the crew's midst. One is bound to an anchor, while the other carries a candle and bell. (edited)

Cold wind on the back of his neck, alerts Slane that something has changed. Letting out a growl, the warrior begins to chant as his eyes bulge from his head. "Kikiki! Kakaka! Kauana kei waniwania taku tara kei tarawahia, kei te rua i te kerokero!" The big man bellows as he goes through an almost ritualistic dance, his arms crossing in front of him as he slaps them and his thighs. His feet pound the stone as his face contorts, his tongue extending from his mouth. It only takes a few seconds for the effects of this display to become impossible to miss. The black inky tattoos that crisscross his arms, legs, and even face begin to glow lightly, almost seeming to put off heat as the cold air causes wisps of steam to begin rising from them. "Kikiki! Kakaka! Kauana kei waniwania taku tara kei tarawahia, kei te rua i te kerokero! He pounga rahui te uira ka rarapa ketekete kau ana To peru kairiri mau au e koro e!" The big man finishes as the light in his tattoos flairs and then settles in to a light pulsing rhythm, seemingly in time with the big warriors heart beat. (edited)

Crowley shoots a queer gaze towards the Tycherosi dance before swallowing his doubts. "Don't scare them off big man!" Though unsettled by the cool chill, Slane's glowing number gave the Spider some ease. "...and there's more where that came from! Ladies - er, uh Ghostettes, we are the Reprievers, and we'd just love to have a chat, lay out some terms and conditions if you will." As he greets the duo, Crowley's peering gaze wanders back to the tunnels, and he twists his neck past his shoulders to do so, where the laughter had briefly paused as if a needle taken off from a record. Another chill runs down his spine, and he hopes that the origin of that laughter is of flesh and blood. (edited)

Mathias watches with dismay as the child spirit began to squirm. He starved to death, didn't he? This was no time or place to be a bleeding heart. Get what you came for. There's one it worked on. He eyes the ghost wearing a cap. "A-A-Are you listening? Get. The. Crows. The th-thugs living up above." He points at the tower. "Do whatever you have to, possess them, throw some sh-shit around, just get them good and scared, and you get more of this, to soothe you." He displays the normal Reprieve. "A-Alright?" He eyes it warily, seeing if any of that sunk in.

As Crowley greets the ghostly pair, he takes his steps in a calculated grapevine towards the two; Three, two, and... he counts. In position, Loo can smell the slightest hints of reprieve mixed with dried sage and a bark only described as familial to palo santo. A thin smoke, almost indistinguishable, rises from the censor hanging around Crowley's outstretched hand, making a gesture of goodwill. They aren't a part of the plan. Must've slipped by Mathias - has something happened? Something's gone astray, perhaps. No. They might just be wanderers. "You must be confused and lost, unsure of what this all is. Scared. I assure you, you're in good hands. In time, you might even find hope again. You remember what that felt like, don't you?" End record scratch. The tunnels come to life with clamor. He pauses; in part for dramatic effect; in part to gauge their intent.

Slane casts an eye at the two spirits behind him as Crowley draws his attention to them. "You folks can handle them, I'll deal with whatever's out there." He advises as he jerks his head out toward whatever is laughing out there in the darkness.

The ghosts that stand before Crowley seem on the verge of feral violence before the reprieve-infused smoke drifts through their ethereal forms. Contact with the fine mist appears to dissolve the black tendrils left by Mathias's new drug, giving way to a purer white aura. The spectral figures immediately turn their newfound focus on Crowley, seemingly paying keen attention to his words.

Loo notices the commotion; she looks at Slane first with a curious eye, then towards Crowley who seems to be talking to someone, and then she finally notices the ghosts. Loo, wearing the Spirit Mask with all its glory, stood and almost went towards the ghosts, with quivering lips and what seemed to be a smile, but suddenly realizes that something is wrong. Loo looks at her ritual circle and the rat she threw was the issue. It crawled away, still alive. 'The Golden Stag's SACRIFICE!' The horror on her face was covered by the mask she wore. But the anger, due to her failure, shown through gritted black-sharp teeth and balled up fists. "MATTHIAS! CAN YOU HEAR ME?! KEEP CALM! GIVE THEM THE DRUG! THE REPRIEVE! I'LL TRY AND CALM THEM DOWN AS WELL!" Loo floundered as she spoke. She was looking for the rat that escaped. But as soon as she found it again she shouted, "In the name of the Golden Stag I offer thee..." The rat, wrapped around in her hands bites her, but she bites back. "Ghosts of the Ghost Field, fear the Golden Stag. Rejoice in Reprieve. Make an offering in His name... Crows will suffice." A distinct high can be seen from Loos's stature. Fresh liquid dripped from her lips and her hands.

Certainly more interesting than sniffing around the platforms at Gaddoc. Could do without the wet socks, though. Kasper edges a bit further away from the ritual circle as the two ghosts appear, and holds his breath as the Tycherosi begins his chant, thinking the large man is about to pounce after the intimidating display. The thief starts to rummage through his pockets to find something that may be useful against the ghosts, but with Crowley apparently calming those spirts he exhales with relief. What is she doing wi--? She's not going to eat a... Yeah, she did. She enjoyed that too much. And I thought it was the ghosts I'd have to worry about being weird... "So, uh... I'm going to keep an eye out down here as well, Kasper calls from the side of the chamber and continues to slink away from the circle towards the coming laughter. "I've got your back, Slane."

Inside the ghost field, the orange glow swells within the ghost facing Mathias. A low moan emanates from the spirit, but it nods and begins to spiral upwards and away through the ceiling. Amidst the mundane confines of the cistern, the water near the canal's edge begins to froth and bubble. The pair of ghosts near Loo's ritual circle let out a keening, high-pitched wail, as though reacting in sympathetic feedback to the approaching presence. As the wailing continues, a new spectre erupts from beneath the surface, showering filthy water across the surrounding area. This strange new wraith has the appearance of a decayed corpse bound in chains. Its jaw hangs slack and the same fell laugh can be heard from within the revenant, spreading fear and terror in its wake.

”BLOODY FUCK!” Jairaj shouts back at the horror. He wastes no time, reflexively clicking on his soul torch. There is a split second hum as the device powers up before a torrent of searing electroplasmic radiation bursts from the torch’s bulb. The beam lights up the cistern in an array of shifting hues as Jai angles his weapon at the revenant.

If Crowley weren't keeping an eye peeled for it, he'd be surely stricken with terror. Its resonant cackle echoes through his bones like the very chains rattling around the wraith's being. "That's no flesh and bone." Ever calculating, the gentleman keeps his stance though raises his smokey right arm. you're a terrible gambler, and you're going to get yourself killed, Crowley. A single pointer directs at the newcomer as he addresses his subjects again. "That's right, peace. Blissful respite. But it won't last. If we Reprievers survive, there may be more. But only if we survive - if we die, supply ends." There's no way they'll buy this, Spider. Knowing your luck, they probably go way back and you're all fucked. "I don't have to tell you what to do. You already know it. You just have to decide. Will you return to agonizing torture?" Crowley leaves the question hanging in the air; lingering like an old stench before stepping so that they're out of range from his incensed censor. (edited)

Sphynxy [Vark|Caio|Jai|Mehdi]

”BLOODY FUCK!” Jairaj shouts back at the horror. He wastes no time, reflexively clicking on his soul torch. There is a split second hum as the device powers up before a torrent of searing electroplasmic radiation bursts from the torch’s bulb. The beam lights up the cistern in an array of shifting hues as Jai angles his weapon at the revenant.

The revenant howls a piercing shriek as the beam flays the outer layers from its semi-corporeal form to harrow the core within. A myriad of colours flicker from deep within its throat and eye sockets.

The adrenaline shoots through Kasper's viens, the sound of the laughter dulls and he pulls a pair of throwing knives from under his cloak. What are you doing, Kas?! The Skovlan emerges from the shadows dashing toward the ghost, his light feet splashing through puddles. Torch light glints off the blades as he spins them deftly between his fingers in a flourish before grasping the handles firmly. Approaching the from behind, Kasper gives a sharp whistle and feigns an attack as the revenant turns. He continues to dart past, however, spectral hands reach up over the edge of the canal and attempt to grab the thief by the ankles. "AAH! Holy shit!!" Kasper is pulled to the stones but he manages to kick and wriggle free from their grasp. He rolls away and pops up to his feet."Guess he's got friends down in the water!" (edited)

"RAAAAAAAHHH!! Slane bellows right back at the newly arrived spirit, his right hand instinctively grasping the leather wrapped handle of his wickedly curved weapon, pulling it from it's tether on his belt. As his finger close around the weapon's haft, the flame-like green illumination dancing across his body, flows down it sheathing it in heatless flame. Pushing off with his left foot, he launches his substantial weight toward the creature, only slowing for an instant as a beam of light lances in front of him. Another long stride brings the warrior closer as Kasper moves behind it, drawing it's attention. A third long stride brings him up next to the haunt as it's still dealing with Kasper. Taking advantage of the distraction, and using the momentum of his movement, the warrior swings his wicked hook with impressive force, driving it's flame-licked form through the incorporeal body of the specter, continuing his chant from earlier as he does so. "Nāna nei i tiki mai whakawhiti te rā Ā, upane! ka upane! Ā, upane, ka upane, whiti te ra!"

Slane's hook passes through the revenant's spectral form and for a moment the ghost seems to flicker in and out of sight, as though its integrity has been disrupted. Meanwhile, the other two spirits merely stare at Crowley, slowly processing the spider's words, before turning to face the other ghost with incredible lethargy.

"Oh for fuck's sake. They're bloody stoned off their chops - I'm going to need Mathias to look at how much I'm dosing." Crowley takes a few more steps back and makes a desperate glance towards the others. "If you're done with that rat, Loo - is there anything you can do to deal with this guy?"

Loo was in a daze, but no longer. With sudden realization that some other entities formed during her somewhat mad chanting, and with Crowley's mention of her name, she knew that she also had to act. Loo let her arms go slack right beside her; her eyes now trained at the ghosts that her group was attacking, or rather, defending against. Her head tilts with a twitch, her smile gone, her lips tight like a line, she moves. She seemed to be almost gliding, ghost-like, towards the "intruders." Facing the ghost, while still wearing her Spirit Mask, she spoke, slowly, grimly. "... You are not welcome here... Go back... If you are here to oppose us... Then let the Golden Stag smite you!!!" Loo calls upon her god. She screams at the ghost, pinkish spittle and words mixed together. And with her last act, she squeezes her small offering one last time, draining it, the oozing brackish liquid pools on her hands. Then she throws it towards the ghosts then kneels and bows, hear head would be touching the ground if it weren't for her Spirit Mask. (edited)

On the other side of the ghost veil, Mathias breathes a sigh of relief, as the ghost vanishes towards the Crows' Nest. There. Nothing else to do but wait. He hears more strange twisted sounds as he does so, sounding vaguely like the crew. He cracks a smile, which just as suddenly drops when he looks about himself, remembering the other ghosts he'd be waiting here with. His eyes in particular lingered on the starved boy, choked with black veins running through his ghostly form. "Give them the drug!" he hears, faintly, carried through the aether. His hand reaches for another vial of Reprieve. What are you doing? His rational side echoes in his mind, as he pulls out the drug. Playing Lady Devera isn't going to help you in the slightest, fool. Only drain you of resources. But he is unable to stop himself uncorking the bottle, kneeling, and administering a generous dose of the contents to the little ghost.

The child slowly raises its head to Mathias as the glistening power falls upon him. The black veins begin to recede and the boy's eyes snap open, blazing with a brilliant white light from within.

Mathias looks back. "D-Don't look at me like that. Th-That's a one-time deal." he postures against the uncomprehending ghost fruitlessly. He then turns and sees the other two ghosts writhing in spectral torment, and sighs. If the others knew, they'd think me soft. But they couldn't see, thankfully, and he would give no indication. He takes his time administering doses to the other afflicted spirits, waiting for the capped one to return for his pay.

Only a second passes when Loo jerks, seemingly, uncontrollably. Like her figure was shifting violently within her furs. Then it stops. Loo unmoving, still kneeling, face down. A crude, long object was flowing out from below Loo's head or mask. Maybe from her neck, where her skin meets furs? It's quite hard to determine where exactly. Like a snake's tongue, it came out, sensing the surrounding. Then it stiffens and forms a Fine Lightning Hook that's made by unnaturally long two pieces of bone which has a joint in the middle. Once it snapped into place, Loo lunged at the hostile ghost, wordless, breathless.

The lightning hook crackles with electroplasm as it whips out towards Marley, looping around the ghost and dragging him towards Loo's spirit bottle. Howling furiously, the revenant stretches out his arms to grab a hold of the Whisper as he is dragged inside.

Slane watched with interest as the spectral form before him is wrapped up and secured in the bottle Loo holds. "Ha ha, well done little one!" The big man bellows as he strides forward to offer a still glowing hand to the prone woman. His eyes however are on the other two ghostly figures, making sure they don't make any hostile moves.

The soul torch fizzles off as the immediate threat is dealt with. ”Nicely done.” he says to Loo as Slane hefts her up. ”Now what? Is it done?”

"Y-yeah. Good job, Loo!" Kasper approaches, dusting himself off from getting thrown briefly to the ground. "Are we sure we're done? Those two are still hanging around, but don't seem angry like that last one." He gives a nod to the two spirits that first appeared which appears to have handled by Crowley. "So that's good at least. How long does that concoction last on these ghost?" he asks of Jairaj.

After a moment, Loo blinks and scans the room. She then notices the filled up Spirit Bottle. She raises it above and shakes it a bit. With an exhale she looks towards the others. "It's all up to Matthias now. I believe in his confidence; no one would dare go to the Ghost Field without it." Loo gives a resolute nod while she inserts the Spirit Bottle into her furs.

A sheen of relief washes over Crowley's grimace, which he didn't realise had crept over his visage. He waves a finger at Loo and jests, "Full of surprises, you are. Keep a cork on that one, yeah?" He turns to the doped up ghosts. "You've had a taste now. It's good; respite. Look up. The Crows. You deal with them; give them the same hell that haunts your day-to-day. There'll be more Reprieve waiting for you." Well that went better than expected, then, didn't it?

The two ghosts slowly bend their necks backwards until they are staring straight up, before beginning to ascend through the air until they have passed through the stone ceiling into the tower above. It's not long before howls of fear and blood-chilling screams can be heard echoing down the spire. This continues for some time until, eventually, all falls quiet.

Matthias lingers in the ghost field until the capped spirit returns, administering his last dose of Reprieve when he does. "Th-There. I'm a man of my word. A-And there's more in it for you, should we need you again." He calls out the password, and weathers the transition back to the material world as best as he can. "N-Next time, o-one of you is going." Is all he has to say to his compatriots upon reappearing. The alchemist appears no worse for wear, but is clearly exhausted.

In the aftermath of the spectral raid on the Crows' Nest, the Reprievers stalk the ancient tower's silent halls, cautiously making their way to the top. Circular halls and spiral staircases alike are littered with fallen crows, most with their faces frozen in twisted expressions of fear and horror. However, the spoils that come looting the ward boss's headquarters are significant. The crew makes off with everything that they can carry.

With pockets full of the Crows’ coin, Jairaj strolls triumphantly into his home away from home: Static. Heavy music already pounds from the sparkcraft speakers, and the lights strobe in dazzling colors over a writhing dance floor. Jai leads his crew to the bar and puts several mismatched pieces of currency on the bar. ”Shots for the Reprievers!” he turns with a cocky smile to his comrades. ”Top shelf kinda day, innit?”

It's clear from the rattling of his teeth, his furtive glance, and his wince at every bass drop that Mathias could never even feign to have liked Static. And yet he usually came along anyway, complaining all the while. Tonight, though, he was too exhausted to complain, for obvious reasons. "M-Make mine a double." He finds a stool that isn't wet with some mysterious fluid, and sits gingerly.

Kasper usually prefers imbibing in a quieter environment - clearly indicated by his cringing at the harsh music blares, but he feels it would be considered bad form to take his cut and run after the first successful job. Plus, after the evening's ordeal, he decides that convenience and nearby allies over luxury would be more prudent. At the bar, Kasper stands with his back against it, observing clientele and bobbing along awkwardly to the beat of the music. "Absolutely! I want no coin in my pockets when I'm in the ground. Besides, I think a celebration is certainly called for!"

Loo kept to herself, she sat, amongst her newly found companions, after a successful endeavor. She held a single piece of coin up and blocked one of the strobing lights that was hitting her face. The sounds, the lights, it all went on around her; but she only looked at this single coin, which she earned with all her efforts. Jairaj's question slithered into her ears and she responded by quickly pocketing the coin, deep within her furs, while facing the group. "Oh, yes. Alcohol. I'd like a glass as well." She scans the room, turning her head slowly while she waits for her drink. "So, what's next?" She kept her arms and hands covered; the burns on her hasn't healed yet and she knew enough that most don't want to see a mostly healed wound at places like this. She then remembered the Spirit Bottle that held the entity that burned her. She promptly took it out and held it out with both hands for everyone to see. "What about this one?"

Shots for the Reprievers! Beyond the drowning roar of music and dance, the round call pricked at Crowley's warm ears, already having been teased away by an ex-cadet that never graduated the academy. "Hah! You'll have to excuse me; but we should talk soon!" he lies, peeling away from a corner of the venue. Wading through a scattered puddle of sweaty, dancing bodies, the ghostly bottle draws him towards the bar like a beacon reflecting chromatic, luminescent vapour. As the last shot's poured, he fingers the frosted glass in Loo's hand and looks at her in the eye: "This one, might be best kept away from prying eyes. Places like this - never know what eyes are poking about." I wonder his story. "But it's good to see you all!" He embraces Jairaj; a comfortable grip on the alchemist's shoulder with one arm: "Job well done, but I can't see it over just yet. The nest's been rustled now, no doubt we'll find a bit of push back. At the very least, we've a bit of coverage in this canopy now. That I can assure. But tonight surely's no night for business - hey, where's the big guy?" Crowley makes a slight swivel with the rest of his body, trying to point out the Tycherosi from the muddied crowd while keeping his grip on Jai's shoulder. (edited)

The other members of the group gathering near the bar and examining the glowing jar draws Slane's attention away from the group of people he'd been dancing with. A hand placed on a shoulder here and their allows the big warrior to weave his way through the crowd to join them. "This music is lively, what instrument is it that makes the screaming noise?" He bellows as he collects the remaining glass.

Jai leans into Crowley’s grip with a smile as Slane joins them. ”Oh no love, that’s not an instrument.” Jairaj points to the aerialists swinging above the crowd. There are black metal collars around their necks with glowing lines like gill slits. The devices amplify and distort their rhythmic screams, layering perfectly above the throbbing bass. ”Crowley is right though,” he says, looking back to Loo. ”Ought to put that away, lots of prying eyes here preying on the intoxicated masses. S’where I met that demon Dagon.”

Loo glances at Crowley and Matthias, stared at them a few seconds each, before hiding the Spirit Bottle. She fixes her seat and places both her hands around the glass of alcohol and stares at it. She spoke, to no one in particular, as if she were just speaking to the alcohol. "Celebrations are fun and all, but I prefer to hide myself. I hate being out in the open." She bent towards her drink and sniffed at it. But before anyone could say a word about her actions she sat back up, prim and proper. She raised her glass, both pinkies raised, then sipped, gingerly.

Mathias downs his shot with a grimace, then idly strokes his head, where his messy hair hides his stitches. He eyes the Spirit Bottle as well as Loo stows it. "F-For the best, yes. Our little friend in there may prove useful, s-someday." As she muses further about their situation, he pipes in, speaking up as necessary to be heard over the droning beats. "I'm not p-partial to all of this, either. But Jairaj here wouldn't have it any other way. Our 'l-lucky spot,' he calls it. W-We drop by after an especially hard job, and today qualifies." It was nice to have someone around cut from the same cloth. Perhaps she's not so odd, after all. He notices the odd way she picks up her drink, and thinks twice. This calls to attention the discoloration of her hands, from her earlier burns. He leans in closer, so as not to speak as loud. "About your wound, I know someone who m-might be willing to help..." He explains Stazia in brief and her place of business, over in Charhollow.

Loo blinks a few times after hearing Mathias' statement about her wound. She kept the glass in front of her, tilting it in a swirling motion. "Oh." She looked at her wound absentmindedly, as if only just noticing them now. "I guess I should get this a looked at, I suppose." She glances at him and gives him a flash of a smile, if he wasn't looking he wouldn't notice it. She then stares at her glass, she kept tilting her glass. She was now staring into the mini-whirlpool that is within her drink. "Who are they? This someone of yours?" She asked Mathias, still staring at her drink.

Slane looks up at the women hanging from the ceiling, his mind already racing to form a plan to acquire one of said devices. His Hakka are already fairly intimidating purely based off of his size, but if he had one of those... Even his great grandfather would be able to hear him with one of those around his neck when he performed.

Mathias's eyes dart back over to the witch as she asks her question, suddenly much more alert. Was that a smile? What does that mean? Realizing he was taking a bit too long to answer, he gets his jaws moving. "Stazia. She's an apothecary... and a friend." Not to mention she taught me all I knew, then I used it to start a criminal enterprise. Suddenly quite uncomfortable, he shifts in his seat and tries to recoup. "W-W-Why do you want to know, a-anyway? She's a h-healer, that's all that matters." His stutter returns in full force, from the excitement. "W-We can go tomorrow, when things have calmed down some. Now, w-where is that blasted bartender anyway... A-Another double!" He turns away to demand service, hoping to hide the flush in his cheeks. He'd intended his previous drink to be his last for the night, but that had changed. (edited)

Loo kept looking at her drink, like her eyes were glued to the whirling alcohol. "Friends are nice." She chuckles audibly, but the sound of the surroundings might've drowned it out. She gulps the drink down, tilting her head back, the glass firmly held by her hands. After she replaced the glass on the table she looks at Mathias. "It's a date then." She smiled after her statement. It would've been an innocent smile, if not for the state of her teeth. She didn't mind showing them but no one really liked looking at them.

Charhollow Mathias and Loo arrive outside Stazia's home to find the door creaking in the wind as it swings loose, hanging off of its hinges. Inside, the implements, reagents and ingredients that can usually be found neatly arranged on the table have been swept haphazardly onto the floor. Stazia herself is nowhere to be seen.

2

As they near their destination, Mathias is repeating himself—again. "N-Now, Stazia's not in the know about the Reprievers, or what we do, and I'd like to keep her that way. The s-story is that you're my... er, l-lab assistant, and those are just ch-chemical burns. So p-please, please, Loo, don't mention anything about ghosts. O-Or the Golden Stag. O-O-Or anything that's—" As they round the corner, they're faced with the sight of the forced-in door. "No. No, no, no." He bolts inside, looking everywhere, but finding no trace of her. He gives Loo a horrified look, as she catches up. "S-S-Someone took her. B-But who, why..." As his rational side caught up with what he'd seen, it came to him. He takes another look around. The disheveled state of the workshop could only have meant the attackers were looking for something. He'd seen this work before: sloppy "investigative" work, combing the scene for "evidence." "Bluecoats... DAMN IT!" In a bout of rare fury, he punches a wooden beam, gaining only splinters and bruises. "They must've tailed me here. I put her at risk..." Because I wanted to see her. The pain is evident on his face, and not because of his fist.

Loo was listening to Mathias, even if it didn't look like she did: she nodded when it was needed, she looked around to know where they are, then she saw Mathias run into the door which was a bit damaged. She walks slowly towards the door. Her eyes twitches all about the room, scanning. Frantic. Her nose flares a few times then exhales. She pauses at the doorframe, her hands in front of her. Buried within her furs. She sniffs again. She looks towards Mathias. "A friend in need..." Her hands plunges deeper into her furs. "Don't worry Mathias. We'll get her back." She takes out her Spirit Mask, holds it with both hands. "But remember," she places the mask on her face; she now peeks through the eye sockets, "this is your fault Mathias. You shouldn't have offended the Golden Stag." Loo smiles broadly, blackened, sharp teeth showing. "But he is a merciful God, he wishes to help. Through me." Her upper body convulses, a sound escaping from her mouth. Laughter.

At her laugh, Mathias is so bemused, he forgets his anger. He almost felt foolish, as he collects himself and rubs his hand. "Ha... he will, eh?" Making eye contact with her for what might've been the second time that night, he feels a measure of understanding... or so he thought. Is she the Golden Stag? That's how she controls her existence, composes herself. He pulls out a metallic cylinder, full of his personal blend of psychoactive drugs, and shakes out a couple of tablets. She has her God, I have mine. He thinks, as he downs them without even a drink. First he was calm, but now, he is focused. "If it's Bluecoats, then the way to deal with them is the same. Grease their palms. They had nothing to actually pin on me, they'll have even less against her." He paces briefly as he hammers out this line of thought, then makes a hard turn for the door. "Let's go, Loo. Sorry I insulted the Stag. I'll need to stay on his good side going forward." He flashes her a confident and knowing smirk, before heading out. (edited)

Loo only blinks, the mask still on her face. Then before Mathias bumped into her, she stepped aside. She follows him with her eyes. Her arms that were slack slowly crept towards her mask and removed it from her face. With a smirk, she remarked, "Determined... Stazia is lucky to have you." She inserts the mask into her abdomen and the furs swallowed it. Loo quickly followed Mathias; she seemed to glide as she went.

There's an obvious trail where Stazia has been taken away by the Bluecoats, leading north from Charhollow to the precinct in Crow's Foot.

Mathias leads the way to the Crow's Foot precinct, keeping a close eye out for any surviving Crows that might be in the area.

Loo follows Mathias. She wasn't as attentive as her companion; she was somewhat a bit... absent. Then the realization that they were heading towards the precinct dawned on her. "A precinct? Ah, yes. You mentioned Bluecoats earlier... Don't mind me." Loo sighed. "We'll just going to get your friend. It's simple." She nodded at her own statement, reassuring herself.

Crow's Foot is eerily quiet and Mathias and Loo make their way across the district to the precinct without any trouble. Flickering firelight projects a warm glow behind the heavy wooden doors.

Raising his bruised knuckles, then thinking better of it, Mathias grabs the knocker and slams it thrice. He glances at Loo as he does so, taking a step back from the door. He looks around as they wait. Wouldn't there be a guard or two at this time? Maybe he was just getting paranoid.

The sound of footsteps can be heard from inside and a bluecoat opens a shutter at face height with a rusty scrape. "What d'you want?"

"You and y-your lot just took a w-woman into custody. A-An apothecary. I w-want to see her." He gets a silver coin out, to have at the ready.

Loo wasn't about to intrude on this "rescue" of sorts. The woman, Stazia, is not her friend. But Mathias is... an acquaintance. She looms back a few feet away from the door. She tries to place herself in view of the Bluecoat. If the guard notices her, she'll smile.

"What's it t'you?" The constable grunts back at Mathias.

Mathias holds up the silver coin in the light, for him to see. "Th-That's what it is to me. A-And plenty more if we walk out with her." He shakes his coinpurse to demonstrate.

Loo notices the guard and his dislike of this situation. She then looks towards Mathias and notices a coin glint for a moment. Loo moves a bit closer. If she needed to step in, it's best that is just within reach of the both of them.

The bluecoat shrugs and grunts again, but a few moments later the unpleasant screech of rusty iron on iron can be heard as he unbolts the door and snatches the coin from Mathias's hand. "There better be more where that came from," the bluecoat warns.

"M-Must I repeat myself? There is. But I w-want to see her first." The chemist turns to give Loo a quick nod before entering.

Loo follows Mathias, both hands inside her furs. She stared at the bluecoat as she entered, unblinking. As she is within earshot of the bluecoat, she whispers, "If she's safe, you're safe." Loo then redirects her focus on to Mathias once again.

The bluecoat watches the strange pair warily, but shrugs upon pocketing the bribe and allows them inside. "Wait here," he tells Mathias, disappearing through an interior door and leaving the Reprievers alone in the entry hall for a few moments. Not long later a different dour looking bluecoat returns. "Darmot," he introduces himself gruffly. "The apothecary is being held for questioning. I'm told that you wish to pay her bail?"

"If that's what we're calling it," he mutters bitterly under his breath, before responding clearly, "Y-Yes. And please, h-humour me: what the bloody hell is she a-accused of that warrants q-questioning?" (edited)

"I'm not at liberty to say," Darmot rumbles in return, folding his arms. "Who are you to the suspect?"

Mathias rolls his eyes. "We've known each other since we w-were little. C-Close friend... but we've become estranged. If you t-tell her my name, Mathias Frayes, she'll know me." He chooses his words carefully, to make her sound distant enough to not be a part of their operation.

"Very well," Darmot sighs. Once the constable has ascertained that Mathias is carrying sufficient funds to secure Stazia's release, he disappears back into the precinct once more. A short time later, Darmot and the first constable return with Mathias's old friend, who looks a little worse for wear, but otherwise unharmed. She fixes her rescuer with a cold stare, but says nothing until Mathias has paid and they have left the precinct.

Loo only watches. Staring at the two bluecoats, the way they released her, and if she was harmed. She didn't want to add anymore stress to Stazia. She needed a... friend. And Loo is certainly not that for Stazia. She follows them, Mathias and Stazia. She lets them have some privacy. Walking without concern. She held her hand behind her back. Her eyes glancing about, occasionally staring at the two in front of her.

It takes a minute for Mathias to muster the courage to speak, but speak he does, however falteringly. "Th-They didn't hurt you, right? I s-saw your shop, I-I'll help you clean up and sort everything out—i-if you don't mind me doing it." The silence grows again, until he can't bear it any longer, and has to ask. "Wh-What did they ask you? D-Did they even say why they took you in?" She's not involved. It's nothing. Just scare tactics. Make her see.

Stazia's lips tremble as fights to keep her breathing slow and deep, clearly struggling to maintain her composure. "I'm fine, Mat. You've done enough," she tells him, her voice quavering.

Hearing the crack in her voice, Mathias buries his hands in his pockets a little deeper. "I'm... I'm very sorry Stazi, a-and I owe you an explanation and much more, a-a-and I swear you'll have it." His head is lowered, unable to look at her, but he keeps talking anyway. "Th-They shouldn't bother you again, a-and I won't trouble you once my head is f-fixed. I-I..." I swear? I promise? He was becoming a broken record, and even he realized it. He trails off his last stammer, and focuses on walking.

Stazia turns to face Mathias. Her hair has fallen loose around her faceand her eyes glisten with tears. "You what, Mat?"

Mathias comes to a halt and lowers his head, letting his own messy hair cover his eyes, as he often did while in thought. Everything between them that had had led to this point ran through his mind in an instant. Her teaching him chemistry, his dreams warping into horrific nightmares, and even waking visions of torment. His use of her knowledge to make drugs to ease them, then selling more before joining up with the Reprievers, without ever seeking help from her or his family. Taking all of that into account, what did he want to say? I am so sorry things turned out this way. One thought came. Perhaps he should have said that, but something hardens inside him, as it often did. Instead, he seizes on it, and he lifts his head to look her in the eye. "I have everything under control." He says, slowly and deliberately, his blood-tinged eye shining under the streetlamps.

The crack as Stazia's hand strikes Mathias's cheek is sharp and loud. "If that's true, then you let this happen," she seethes at him through her teeth.

Mathias's momentary shock gives way to cold fury. He holds his hand on his cheek for a second, then lowers it back to his side, as if it never happened. Though it still stung. "A lapse in judgment. It won't happen again." He starts walking again, leading the way to Stazia's home. (edited)

Loo observed what transpired, the exchange of words, the emotions shared, and the slap that seemed like a physical period to all that transpired. She would go to Stazia, just because she had business with her regarding her burns. But it felt like it wasn't the time. Loo then followed behind Mathias. A few steps away from him. She kept looking everywhere, every detail that surrounds her, but her eyes kept darting back to Mathias. He was supposed to help her. Not the other way around. But she at least knows how to read the mood. Loo inhaled and exhaled while looking at the sky. "This city is full of life, isn't it, my lord?"

The Reprievers' Lair, Silkshore Kas is lying in a cot finally getting some well-deserved rest when a chill runs over the Skovlander from his toes to his head. The metal frame of the bed turns icy beneath his fingers and he jerks awake with a start. At Kas's feet drifts a ghost crackling with electroplasmic energy as it pierces the veil. The spectre appears to resemble a handsome, middle-aged man with a shock of white hair. He howls something unintelligible at Kas and then vanishes with a crack and a puff of ozone.

Kas lies upon the cot, unmoving, as he waits for his heart to stop pounding. After a moment, he finally sits up, pulls a flask from his back pocket and takes a heavy swig. "What in the hell was that!" He rises and finds a nearby mirror, checking to see if he doesn't have his own streak of white hair and beginning to wonder who this stray spirit is. Was this the one that grabbed me in the canals below the Crow's nest? Was that someone I pissed off by stealing from them? Regardless of the ghost's origin, Kas knows this isn't something he wants lingering around, so he exits the sleeping quarters to find... *Who..? Who can help me get rid of his ghost? I guess the creepy girl - Loo... Ugh! I wonder if I need to find another rat for her to snack on first? * He enters the main room of their hideout looking for the Whisper, hoping that she and Matthias have returned from the healer. (edited)

Loo was tired. She went into a corner of the hideout, got a chair, or anything that would make for one, and sat. She avoided most of the light. It was a conscious decision on her part. She just doesn't want to be bothered, if possible. She was quietly sitting when she saw Kas. It seemed that he was troubled. Well, it's not her place to prod, unless given permission to. She waited... She noticed the night sky out of a window. It drew her. She slowly stood and admired the night, only the window stood between her and the coziness of night... She taps the window. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Kasper quickly strides over to Loo, still looking a bit frazzled from his encounter. "C-can't sleep either... Well, me neither." He pauses to take a breath and another calming sip from his flask. He offers Loo the flask before then continues. "I just had a visitor as I was trying to get a bit of sleep - some sort of g-ghost. Not sure where he came from, but I guess I pissed him off some where along the way. Maybe from our last job...? Anyway, you seem to have a way with dealing with these types of things. Can you check and make sure he's still not lingering around?"*

Loo, still looking out the window, stopped tapping. She slightly twisted her head towards Kas, not enough to let him see her profile, just enough so that he knows that she acknowledges his presence. She didn't respond to the offer of whiskey. But when the mention of ghosts reached her ears, she returned her glance outside through the window. She exhaled. She squiggled something on the window and moved to the side, revealing a small fogged up spot on the glass. It has a smiley face on it but the eyes were X's. "Ghosts are friends... if you let them." Loo turns around, looks at Kas. "I'll try and help." She slowly inserted her pale white hands into her furs before walking towards him.

Kas lets out a nervous chuckles and stuffs his flask back into the inner pocket of his overcoat. "Uh, yeah... This one didn't seem interested in being friendly. But if you want to help, you are more than welcome to try to make a new friend."

Loo stares at Kas. Unblinking, steady, she is breathing... isn't she? "Well, come." She moved closer to Kas, nodded. "Let's go to the ghost. Direct me to the place where he appeared."

"Just back here." Kasper gestures to the living quarters. He leads them back to the room, but remains just inside the door. "There... At the cot. He popped up at my feet."

Loo walks towards the cot. Hovered over it. "I'll see what I can do." She pats the cot flat and turns to Kas. She slowly sat. Patted the cot once again, and continued to lay on it. She wiggled a couple more times, making herself comfortable. Loo slowly closed her eyes and spoke, "Golden Stag, help us. Let us speak with the ghosts that haunts here. Give us a resolution."

A falling sensation rushes over Loo, as though she's been plunged into a tub full of icy cold water. A pale blue creeps up her extremities and she begins to shake so much that Kas can hear her teeth chatter. Loo's eyes snap open and the spectre that Kas had described looms over her, floating flat in the air above the bed. "Your Stag cannot help you here," he rasps.

Kasper takes a couple of hesitant towards the cot. "Wh-what is it that you want? Loo here thinks we can all be friends...? " He chuckles nervously and quickly wonders if he should have found Slane as well if this ghost decides to get frisky. The lurk searches his pockets for something that could be useful, and soon finds a charm that he heard helps keeps spirts away. He clutches the charm and keeps his hand in his pocket, waiting to see what this spirit wants.

Loo, struggling to move, tries to curse and sneer, but can only really hiss at the ghost. Loo stares at the ghost, and at Kas. Her eyes water. It's unclear as to why. She seems powerless, at least for now. At least the ghost seems to be here now, it's up to Kasper now.

Painfully slowly, the man's head twists independently of the rest of his spectral form to stare directly at Kas with his glowing blue eyes. "I want you to finish the job!"

Kas steps back as the ghost's head twists unnaturally. "Uh... J-job. What job?"

"Lyyyssaaa," the ghost moans, sneering unpleasantly at Kas's spiritbane charm.

"Well, that's a bit of a relief. I thought it may have been something I did." Kas allows the charm to fall back into his pocket and reaches up the scratch his ginger beard. "Lyssa, huh? I mean we just clipped the Crows' wings pretty good. Was that not good enough?"

Loo, still immobile, struggled without no foreseeable end. She only stared at the ghost that did this to her. Her eyes start to water, it seems like she was also sweating. But still, she was powerless.

The ghost gasps, lurches and heaves and a fountain of filthy canal water comes gushing out of its mouth, splashing down onto Loo and across the floor. He holds eye contact with Kas the entire time, as though this is his explanation.

"I see.," Kas replies. "Umm, well... I think you're going to have to give us some time with that then. You know, since she's likely to be a bit on edge after our last attack."

"LYSSA!" The spirit demands angrily once more. Behind Kas the door creaks and an unsuspecting Crowley enters the room. Confronted with the situation that Loo and Kas are in with the ghost, once thing quickly jumps out at the spider. This isn't just any ghost, this is the ghost of the former Crow boss, Roric.

His eyes glaze over the room, unsuspecting as he enters. For a moment, the spider barely acknowledges the haunting sight; his attention rather drawn to Loo's paralyzed form, eyes rolled back and paler than usual; and to the ever vigilant Kas, whose monologue echoed through the facility. But in the periphery of his vision, he spots a mistake. As if whomever painted the scene before him were unimpressed with their work and hastily washed one section of the wall out of their picture. Raised, almost to the ceiling. Crowley furrows his brow as the picture focuses and the smudge is no longer a mistake but intentional. 'Roric.' Before him was a familiar face, though contorted and rotten. 'Of course you'd find us after the bedlam in Crow's Foot.' The spider forgets to hide his wry smile at the new guest.

Roric releases Loo and drifts over to Crowley until he is right in front of the whisper's face. "Bring her... to me... alive."

Crowley stifles a cough at the rancid stench of rot and mould before him out of respect. He can't help but feel a drop of pity. 'The Rookery was just made a massacre. In no world would she be lingering about your old throne for some time; are there any holes she would inherit from usurping your territory that she might crawl into while she plots a counterplay?'

Roric snarls in frustration at Crowley before whirling about and vanishing out the window in a cloud of crackling electroplasm that leaves the glass pane misted with condensation.

'...huh. I was sure he'd at least point us in her direction. That's... frustrating. Mm.' The Spider makes his way towards the released Whisper, hesitating at first before deciding against poking her. A quick eye shoots toward Kas: 'How'd the late crow- uh, nothing terrible happened, I hope.' (edited)

Loo sat up from the cot, she wailed. Her hands gripped the cot tightly, her face in the direction of the ceiling, her mouth inhumanly wide and vacant. Then silence. She slowly turned towards the two remaining, still sitting on the cot. Her legs flopped on to the floor. Her hands released the cot, they were placed firmly on her lap. Her head still upturned, mouth wide open. Her head slowly reverted to its natural state. Her vacant mouth closing. And if the two weren't seeing things, they would notice a faint golden light deep within Loo's throat, it might even be past that, even deeper than the throat. But that doesn't make sense. "So, Lyssa? I think it worked out quite well. Wouldn't you agree, Kas- Oh, you're here as well Crowley. I didn't notice you. You must've gotten here when I was communing with the Golden Stag." (edited)

Kas walks over to the window. "Yeah, I'm not so sure about that. I doubt we've seen the last if that one." He drags his fingers through the moisture on the glass.

Banner Road, Charterhall Clerks and government workers rush to and fro, official papers bulging from their valises. Wealthy bankers trundle past in heavy carriages with private bodyguards arrayed in clanking armour. Students gather at street-corner cafes to discuss Iruvian politics, the tribal lineages of the Dagger Isles, and other esoteric matters. Charterhall is the site of the first major construction in Doskvol, in the days before the cataclysm. The old wall upon which was built the first lightning barrier in the Empire still stands in partial ruin around the district. The area is now home to the civic offices of the government including the courts, licensing and taxation offices, banks, and records archives. City officials and students at Charterhall University live here, along with the captains of Imperial industry who prefer to reside within sight of their fortunes.

”I’d say they’re our best bet.” Jai says as the crew strolls into the posh district. He’s pointing to the cafe where young, open minded students will hopefully be more forthcoming than the stuffy bankers and clerks. Jairaj steps off from the group and saunters over to a trio of Iruvian students sat at one of the tables. ”Namha’laaa!” he coos as he approaches with a friendly wave. ”You all look like folks who’re in the know, I was wondering if you’d be able to help me find someone, a painter by the name of Viktor Barvitius? I was told his studio is supposed to be around here somewhere,” he looks around the street in dramatic exasperation. ”Any chance one of you could point me in the right direction?”

Jai is greeted by a tall, handsome Iruvian clad in green silks. "Namha'laaa, sadikee," he declares in response. "Won't you come share some shisha with us first? Get to know each other a little..."

”Oh! But of course,” Jai happily takes a seat and turns back to his companions to call across the street. ”I’ll just be a minute, loves.” he waves them off dismissively before returning his attention to his new friends. He takes one of the offered pipes and inhales the rich smoke. ”What are your names? I am Jairaj, Jairaj Daiva.” he says, exhaling a plume as he does so.

"I am Lor Akaana," the first Iruvian answers in kind, "and this is Esha Khuran and Karim Jaha." Karim passes Jairaj the hookah and the smoke is rich and heady, clouding the mind.

”A pleasure,” he smiles. He passes the hookah around and gestures at the trio. ”You’re all university students? What do you study?”

"Ethics in demonology." "Spectral philosophy." "Modern metaphysics." The trio answer in turn. "...and you?" Esha asks, lounging fluidly in her chair. "Are you also a student?"

Jai’s eyes widen, seemingly impressed. ”Ahhh, eclectic bunch,” He takes another puff of the hookah before responding. ”I was a sparkcraft student at the Academy but the instruction was too theoretical, not enough practical application for me. I’m taking a gap year yaani, self directed study. You know,” he directs his attention to Lor. ”Demonology has actually been of interest to me recently. Do you know of a demon by the name of Dagon?”

Lor frowns in puzzlement, but nods his head. "Some call him the Father of the Deep. He who commands the leviathans."

”He commands the leviathans?” Jai echoes, leaning in with interest. ”Fascinating. And are there any records, yaani, accounts of mortals having dealings with him? He’s a demon of course but as I understand it some are more or less difficult to work with.”

Lor chuckles. "He is said to be a fifty-foot tall frog-lizard man, so I doubt it."

Finding no interest in the conversation with the academics, Kasper quietly slips away from the café shaking his head. Jai gives those kids too much credit. Students don't know stuff, though they think they know it all... After a bit of a walk, across the Old Moat the lurk wanders into the Legal Quarter and turns down Tariff Street. A row of nondescript office buildings lie on either side of the road. About halfway down, he enters one of the offices and approaches the receptionist at the front desk. "Yes, hello there. Is Petra in today?"

Loo walks with the crew. Some wanders; Jairaj went to some students nearby, while Kasper went on to some office. Loo kept to herself mostly, she was here because they all were. Plus, the mention of a mysterious lady is interesting to her. Loo walks to somewhere that has some shadow to offer. She isn't much of a person who deals with others, unless she has bonded with them. So, she is wearing some heavily tinted glasses to hide her eyes; Loos likes to observe. She sighs. "O Great Golden Stag, guide us in our endeavor." She whispers to herself. She just waits for now. If some of the others need her help, she will give it, if she can. (edited)

Trent [Astrid|Berg|Declan]

Finding no interest in the conversation with the academics, Kasper quietly slips away from the café shaking his head. Jai gives those kids too much credit. Students don't know stuff, though they think they know it all... After a bit of a walk, across the Old Moat the lurk wanders into the Legal Quarter and turns down Tariff Street. A row of nondescript office buildings lie on either side of the road. About halfway down, he enters one of the offices and approaches the receptionist at the front desk. "Yes, hello there. Is Petra in today?"

Kas is greeted by a prim, matronly woman who nods curtly to the Skovlan man and bustles off into the building. A few moments later, Petra, a young brunette wearing the garb of a clerk, emerges from the same door. "Visiting me at work now, Kas?" She teases with a smirk. (edited)

"Well, you were very helpful with the last issue I had... Plus, you mentioned that how it was so exciting here in the office that I just had to see for myself." Kas replies with a like smile.

"Do you have something exciting for me?" Petra asks, her tone almost hopeful.

"I don't know how exciting this will be, unfortunately. Just need a little help finding someone." He gives a quick sideways glance to the receptionist and begins to step to the side of her desk. He continues in a lighter voice. "My friends and I were looking have have a little portrait done and we heard of a popular artist in the area - a Viktor Barvitius. Heard he lives on Banner Road, though perhaps he has a studio nearby as well...?" (edited)

Petra lets out a brief laugh when Kas voices his excuse. "I don't think that you can afford Viktor Barvitius, Kas," she tells him with a knowing look.

"Why do you hurt me like that, Miss Petra?" Kas replies, holding a hand to his chest as he feigns hurt feelings. "Well, I may not have the coin at this moment, but a guy can have dreams you know... Even though, I'd still like to check this artist out just to see how big that dream is going to be." (edited)

With few other options at the moment, Mathias decides to shelter near Loo for the time being. He leans against a brick wall, peoplewatching, while Jai and Kas seek out leads. Not his forte, which made him glad to have them around, though he'd never verbalize it willingly. Instead, he pondered the greater mystery. Who is this woman that sat for a painting, and why would she? Assuming she has some supernatural way of avoiding aging, or worse, if she is some kind of demon or spirit given flesh, would she start coming after us too, for looking into the matter? Gods know we have enough on our plate already. His head starts to throb where the wound is, as if to punish him for simply thinking. He slips out his medicinal case and takes a couple of tablets. I'll be fine. Everything under control. (edited)

Trent [Astrid|Berg|Declan]

"Why do you hurt me like that, Miss Petra?" Kas replies, holding a hand to his chest as he feigns hurt feelings. "Well, I may not have the coin at this moment, but a guy can have dreams you know... Even though, I'd still like to check this artist out just to see how big that dream is going to be." (edited)

Petra eyes Kas knowingly, but says nothing more of the matter. "You heard right: Banner Road. Number thirteen."

Loo notices Mathias wander near her. Her eyes follow him behind her tinted glasses. She waits, and waits. She then notices him take some tablets. "The Golden Stag in your mind, Mathias?" Loo asks without facing him, still staring at their other crew members. "We seem to be having a hard time finding leads. I'd like to help but. . . people." If anyone was looking they'd notice her sneer when she said '. . . people.'

Mathias casts a glance in Loo's direction as she speaks, noticing her sneer, and he can't help but let out a small chuckle, for what felt like the first time in ages. "Y-Yes... people." They had more in common than he thought. If he ever had good social skills, he'd lost them when his stuttering came in, thanks to the nightmares. "Th-That reminds me, though... about the other night, with Stazia. I wanted to th-th-th..." Thank you. Is it really so hard to say? Not sure if it was pride, or something else stopping his tongue, he changes tactics. "...Offer my gratitude to the G-Golden Stag. For the... c-courage he provided me." Talking about it in the third person did help, but he looked away regardless, feeling an unusual flush in his cheeks. "Th-Throw that into your prayers, or something."

Loo faces Mathias. A smile forms on her face. Her sharp, blackened teeth shown. "Gladly." She lowered her glasses towards the tip of her nose. . . Strangely, it seemed to have moved on its own. Loo's hands are still in her furs. She hasn't moved it even once. "I accept your gratitude." He accepts your gratitude. The glasses go back up and a hint of gold flashed as her eyes were covered once again. Was there another voice mixed in with Loo's? It must have been the wind. "I like you Mathias. Hope you'll understand how marvelous it is to be under His care. It will warm you." Loo faces the crowd once again. Observing the others mingling. A thin lipped smile was now on her face. Her face was like a mannequin's: pale white, ageless, and unblemished.

"Number thirteen... Thank you so much. I owe you one for letting me disturb you here at work. Perhaps a drink sometime?" Kas asks with an arched eyebrow.

"R-Right." Mathias rolls his eyes and tries to inject a bit more of his usual sarcasm into his tone as he breaks off the conversation. But unless his ears were playing tricks on him, he had heard something talking alongside her, and the movement of her glasses... Stag or no, she had potent abilities much like Flint. Her words about 'His care' made something occur to him. Could she even... He cast one more look at her face, queer, but with its own placid sort of beauty he hadn't seen before. ...ease the nightmares? However slightly? With even more weighing on his mind, he returns to waiting quietly. (edited)

Trent [Astrid|Berg|Declan]

"Number thirteen... Thank you so much. I owe you one for letting me disturb you here at work. Perhaps a drink sometime?" Kas asks with an arched eyebrow.

"Pick me up at five?" Petra suggests lightly, pushing back from the counter to prepare to return to work.

"Hmm. That sound good to me," Kas replies, looking a bit smug. "So I think I've kept you long enough. Thanks again, Miss Petra... I will be looking forward to that drink." He tips his cap to the clerk before shuffling out the door, whistling a jaunty tune as he goes. Back out on the street, Kas composes himself to focus on the task at hand and quick-steps it back to inform the others location of Barvitius. He comes upon Loo and Mathias first sitting under a tree down the street from the café where Jairaj still sits chatting away with the students. "Well, I found out where we need to go. Let's save Jai and finish our business." (edited)

Loo nods as she heard Kas. "Well, then. Shall we?" She glances at Mathias as she asked the question. Offering her hand towards him. White as porcelain. Manicured. Unblemished.

Mathias looks at Loo's offered hand, and back at her face, his anxiety somehow growing. "Y-Y-Yes. Let's." He doesn't take it, but approaches, and walks alongside her as they leave with Kas.

As the rest of the Reprievers return to where Jai still sits and smokes, they hear both heated conversation and jovial laughter. ”Love, LOVE, listen to me, the issue with electroplastic lumography is NOT whether or not it’s possible, it’s how to get it to bloody stick on a bloody piece of parchment. I could create one hundred devices to capture spectral signatures but there’s no way I can think of to transfer the waves to any sort of surface. Not much use of doin the former til you’ve got the latter issit? Give me five months though and I’ll crack it.” The spectral philosopher smiles in bemusement but digresses, and Jai snatches the pipe once more for another puff, only now seeing the return of the others. ”Oh, there you all are. Find anything out?” (edited)

Loo nods towards Kas. "I believe Kas here found something." She looks towards Mathias, her eyes still blocked by her tinted glasses, and stares for a moment before speaking once again. "I believe we are ready as soon as your are able." She hides her hands once again inside her furs. She adjusted her posture and made herself as straight as she could. Her head held high, chin up. Her back straight. Her elbows bent, her hands seem to be placed on top of her stomach. She waits for the others.

"Easy enough. I don't think we're too far." Kas nods. "Though you're welcome to stay here with your new friends and see if you can find the answers to all life's questions," the Skovlan jests.

”Oh no that’s quite alright, I don’t believe’ll be finding those with these three,” He flashes a cheeky smile at the students and gets up to leave. ”Really though it’s been lovely, we’ll all have to go out one of these nights. Stay in touch.” he blows a kiss as he walks off with the rest of the Reprievers.

Esha waves playfully at Jai as he goes.

13 Banner Road is a decadent, red brick townhouse. Though tall, the building is sandwiched between others of its kind. A large, black door waits forebodingly at the top of a flight of polished stone stairs.

Slane, his huge bulk for once covered in several yards of rough fabric, does his best impression of being incognito and subtle. The fact that he's nearly a foot taller than anyone else and what skin is visible is covered in tattoos detracts from this slightly, but at least his bone hook isn't on full display. "So I'm only hitting him if someone else says to first? It seems like that would be a little too late, but whatever." He rumbles as he cautiously eyes the other pedestrians passing along the sidewalk. (edited)

”Correct. I really doubt it will come to that anyway, lovey. Just focus on trying not to bump up against any of the man’s work.” Jai springs up the stairs and ceremoniously knocks on the front door before turning back down to address the crew. ”Remember, we are a troupe of performers interested in commissioning a group portrait. We saw his painting in Scurlock’s place and just had to see about gettin one of our own. Then segway into asking about the lady. Easy peasy, innit? We all clear?”

Loo listens as she fixes herself. She pats down her furs, trying to get rid of whatever dirt and nastiness that is within. She got a tiny bowler hat from within her and gently placed it on top of her head, slightly tilted to the side. After all that was done, she blinks behind her tinted glasses and sniffs, yawns, cleans her teeth with her togue, and practices to smile. Loo clears her throat in response to Jai's question, and says, "Should we knock?"

Mathias raises an eyebrow at Jairaj's explanation of their cover story. "P-Performers? Sure. I feel like a c-clown already." He takes brief notice of Loo's miniature bowler hat. Cute. He waits for a response from beyond the door. (edited)

"I still don't know why I had to wear this tent though.... If they're gonna get scared by my looks, wrapping me up like a mummy isn't going to make it any better." Slane rumbles to himself from the back. "What's the point of hiring The Demon if you don't use him to scare people?" He continues as he glares at any passerby that dares make eye contact with him. "Shirts are bullshit!" He finally hisses, this time loud enough for even Jai at the front to hear.

"Oh, hush." Loo walks up to Slane, too focused on their looks instead of the task at hand. She tugs and pats his clothes, if one could call it that, and smiles brightly, her sharp teeth on full display. "Think of this as our reward..." She is lost in the act of fixing his clothes, while maintaining her own. "You know, if things go... well. It would be a nice remembrance for all of us. It's like we're all..." Loo's smile slowly droop into a line; as if a cloud of gloom crossed her thoughts... She then claps her hands suddenly, and screeches. Clearly delighted with her adjustment on Slane. Her face is brightens to her usual porcelain glow and exhales. "Now... Should I knock... or did somebody else do it already?"

Jai cocks an exasperated glance at both Slane and Loo before letting out a sigh. ”I did already. Maybe he’s lost in ‘is paints.” Jairaj knocks again, firm but not impolite.

When Jairaj knocks for the second time, the imposing door swings slowly inwards with a lengthy creak. The brass number thirteen nailed to its centre glistens in the radiant light of the Charterhall street lamps. The hallway beyond is dimly lit, with walls clad in dark wooden panelling and rich red rugs woven with Iruvian patterns.

Loo hears the creaking, and sees the door opening. Her eyes widen, almost as wide as her tinted glasses. She forgets about Slane's clothes and shimmy-weaves through her compatriots. Avoiding them with an unnatural deftness to her movement. She passes the threshold and stifles a screech of excitement. She looks back and waves the others inside, not reading the sullen air within the situation. She fixes her top hat and proceeds to go deeper. The red rugs muffling her steps, not like she needs it to be silent as the dead.

"Good afternoon," croaks a voice like a rusted hinge from the shadows just behind the heavy black door. "Can I help you?"

Slane turns his head to follow Loo's movements. As his eyes find the door, which appears to have magically opened itself his hand presses to the weapon under his makeshift parka. Frowning, he prepares to push his way to the front, but stops as he hears the disembodied voice. Looking toward Loo and Jai the big man waits for one of them to take the lead on the whole talking bit.

Crowley clears his throat. "Of course that depends on to whom we speak! This is the studio of one Viktor Barvitius, artist in portraiture extraordinaire, is it not?" He steps out from behind the large Tycherosi, acting a faux of disapproval that he'd be visually interrupted. The old bluecoat strikes a grin before seeing the darkness beyond the cracked door.

"It is," the old lady replies, taking a few steps forwards out of the darkness behind the door. She's very short, with grey hair tied up in a messy bun and large spectacles. "Do you have business with him?"

”As a matter of fact we do!” Jai chimes in with a big smile. ”Here to see him about commissioning a portrait.”

"...or rather, a group portrait," Crowley nods.

"Very well... do come in," the woman croaks, beckoning the rest of the Reprievers in across the threshold into the dark hallway.

Jairaj flashes a smile to Crowley and steps in after the woman.

The spider leers into the hallway beyond Jai and grimaces. The darkness could almost watch the crew enter, and an imaginative mind would see it wave, beckoning. Like that business in Nightmarket with Reyf. He gives the lady a quick once-over before following, looking back only to make sure Slane was on rearguard. What a creep.

"Hey, did you have any - I'm terribly sorry I, uh, don't think we got your, uh, name - you wouldn't have a light would you?" Crowley tilts his voice, almost exaggerating his accent as he drawls.

Slane watches and listens from his position at the back of the group, craning his neck to see who they're talking to in the darkness at the top of the stairs.

When the elderly woman came into view, Loo automatically shuts her mouth, her lips making a thin line. She did not want to scare the woman; she isn't ignorant of the fact that she is hard to look at when she is free to express herself. So, she let the others talk. She is now back to her usual self: still as a porcelain doll. She goes to the middle of the group, hiding herself behind her companions. As they go past the threshold, her eyes start to wander about the walls, trying to see if there are paintings hanging from them. She tilted her tinted glasses down to the tip of her nose wanting a better look. She absently said, "I do hope that we could start our group portrait as soon as possible... Is the painter in, by the way?" (edited)

"Maria," the woman croaks back in response to Crowley, before pausing by a polished wooden countertop at the foot of the stairs and offering the man a match. It flares to life with a flash of phosphorus. "Viktor is right upstairs," she assures Loo, closing the door behind Slane with a final thud, "and what might your names be?"

"Oh, uh, ahem, thanking you kindly" he continues the drawl, taking the match and lighting a cigarette hanging from his mouth, "I mean, if yer offerin'. I was, uh, wonderin' about this though." Crowley flicks the light out, and as a slight trickle of smoke fills the air, he takes the cigarette out of his mouth. A soft glow motions to the dark corners of the hallway, spreading a rustic scent of cumin and nutmeg. "The name's Aleister. A pleasure to, uh, meet you Maria." The soft light of his smoke illuminates a warm smile and he questions himself, too much?

”We call ourselves the Reprievers.” Jai says with a little bow.

"R-Right." Mathias supplements. He hadn't thought of an alias yet, and couldn't come up with one on the spot, so the group name would do. He occupies himself with squinting in the dark, looking for more portraits, that would presumably be hanging in an artist's hall. (edited)

"I thought we weren't going to tell them our real names?" Slane hisses as Jai does exactly that.

Loo observes; she listens to the exchanges of names. The idea that the portrait with her and her new... crew makes her giddy. She can't help but smile: a long, ear-to-ear, grin. Her head suddenly tilts, slightly, to one side. Her chin jutting out, towards Maria; her tinted glasses still at the tip of her nose. She bares her teeth, she looks at her intently, then oozed out her introduction towards her. "Loo." She stifles her chuckle that seems to bubble from within. In effect, her body seemed to shiver. (edited)

Kasper slips through the door last, stuffing his lockpick back into his pocket now that they've gained access to the building. He gives Maria a polite smile and begins to look over the artwork on the wall. Though appearing to admire the paintings, Kasper's thoughts are more on his later engagement. The Skovlan catches Crowley's reply and gives the man an odd look before catching on. "Aleifr. Kasper adds, giving his grandfather's name and tipping up the brim of his flat cap.

"Reprievers..." Maria echoes, savouring the word on her tongue. "Follow me," she commands guiding the crew up the stairs of the house. Flickering oil lamps cast dim pools of light at regular intervals along the way. At the top of the stairs, Maria leads the Reprievers along a landing to another panelled wooden door. She knocks. "Viktor." "What is it? I'm busy." "Customers." There's a clattering of objects from the other side of the door and a few short moments later it opens a crack to reveal a wild eyed man with dark hair. "Yes, um, good morning," he says, despite the hour being long past noon. His fingers curl through his bed-head of hair, trying to drag into some semblance of order.

”Good morning, Mr. Barvitius.”Jai sings. ”Sorry to disturb you but we were hoping to commission a group portrait of our little troupe here. We’re called the Reprievers, lovely to meet you.” He extends a hand and bats his eyelashes.

"I see," Viktor says, eyeing the group of scoundrels up and down. Cautiously, he shakes Jairaj's hand. "Well, I'm certainly open to the idea of taking on new clients. However, you must understand that my time is quite valuable. If you want a portrait done, it won't be cheap."

Loo hears that the portrait can be done and she perks up. She went forward, past the group, and positions herself in between the Reprievers and Viktor... After a few moments pause, she bows, spreading her furs apart. Her her ankle shows for a moment - pale like any part of her skin. Loo giggles to herself and speaks, still bowed, still facing down. "What would you take as payment... I'm interested in the portrait for... personal reasons..." Her body flicks back upright, a sudden realization was apparent on her face. "Oh, do you have some recurring models, that you prefer to paint? I remember hearing there was this one lady that is always in one of your paintings... The name eludes me though..." Loo puts a finger on her chin, taps it, and sways in place. Her furs swaying, seemingly, on its own, in rhythm with her own sways. (edited)

”Yes we’re quite happy to negotiate a fair rate for your exquisite work.” Jai explains. ”And I think what Loo’s referrin to is the portrait you painted of Lord Scurlock. We’re mates of Scurlock the Younger and we saw that picture hanging in their manor. That’s how we discovered you. We all couldn’t stop talking about how striking that lady is.” (edited)

Viktor raises an eyebrow as Loo steps forward and begins to speak. He takes a moment to study her, his gaze lingering on her ankle before shifting back up to her face. "As for payment," Viktor begins. "I'm afraid that I don't accept just any currency. I prefer to work with unique and valuable items. Something that speaks to my soul, you might say." He pauses for a moment, an expression of contemplation painted on his face. "We can discuss that further at a later time though." At the mention of Lord Scurlock, Viktor's expression softens slightly. "Ah, yes. The Lady in Red. She was a magnificent subject to paint, to be sure. I'm flattered that you've seen my work and even more so that you've taken an interest in it." He looks around at the group, taking in each of their faces. "I'll tell you what. I'm willing to take on your commission, on the condition that you allow me complete creative control over the piece... and, of course, that you're willing to pay my fee." He fixes Jai with a serious look. "I don't take kindly to haggling, mind you. My fee is my fee and it's non-negotiable."

Slane has done his duty to keep quite, even going so far as to hunch a bit so as not to draw too much undo attention to himself as he followed the others upstairs. From his hunched over position he listens, if not actively, as Loo and Jai chat with what he assumes is the artist. Based on his rumpled appearance and eccentric words he has to be an artist, which means he's almost guaranteed to be no threat to the group. Which is why after a few minutes of boring gibber jabber, his saying something that almost sounds like a threat, but really isn't, draws his attention back to the present and what's going on around him. "Bet I can get him to negotiate real quick." He mumbles quietly to himself as he stifles a yawn.

”I hear you loud and clear, love. Really as artists ourselves we understand, when a thing speaks to the soul there’s no denying it.” Jai responds with a smile. ”Creative control’s all yours of course, and you just let us know what it’ll cost.” He turns slightly as if he is about to finish the conversation and leave, but then turns back to face the painter with arms crossed thoughtfully over his chest. ”The Lady in Red you said, eh? Spectacular title, spectacular visage, I’d say she speaks to my soul indeed. Can you tell me anything more about her? Who is she? What was it like to paint her?”

"The Lady in... Red...?" Loo seems to be distracted. She stops swaying and plops to the ground. Crossing her legs, hidden under all the furs. "Oh, but could you please add this Mon-sir Viktor?" She proceeds to plunge her arms, elbow deep into her furs... Is her hands passing through the floor...? After a few moments of rummaging, she brought out her Fine Spirit Mask: with great long horns, and tinged with yellow that shimmers like gold even amidst the shadows. "I'd like for this to be added," she slowly put it on, "I wouldn't be here if it weren't for the Golden Stag." Then she smiled, showing her sharp blackened teeth.

Viktor watches Loo's strange behavior with a mixture of amusement and confusion, but he keeps his attention on Jai as he speaks. "The Lady in Red," Viktor begins, a wistful expression crossing his face. "She was a vision, truly. The way that the light danced off of her hair, the curve of her neck, the way that her eyes seemed to follow you no matter where you stood..." He trails off, lost in thought for a moment before shaking his head and refocusing on the present. "As for the mask," Viktor says, turning to look at Loo. "It's certainly an interesting piece. I can see why it's important to you." He leans forward, his eyes glinting with curiosity. "Tell me more about the Golden Stag. I'm always intrigued by stories of powerful beings and the myths that surround them." He straightens up, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "Perhaps you could regale me with some tales while I work on your portrait. It might help to inspire me."

Mathias clears his throat, ever the stickler for details. "Th-That's all well and good, but there is still the matter of your fee. I think I s-speak for all of us when I ask that be clarified before you begin your... work." The artist's earlier statement of not dealing in regular currency had set off alarm bells in his head. He didn't really want to owe an eccentric any unspecified favors.

"Yes indeed - it is as they say: honesty is, uh, the best policy." Crowley agrees, breaking only to drag on his smoke, "I too would like to hear more about your, uh, unique tender." (edited)

Loo, clearly enamored of the idea that there will be a portrait made, continues to speak. "Well... I don't really know more of the Golden Stag." Loo takes off her tinted glasses, folds it, and inserts it into her furs. She takes off the mask as well and looks at it, still sitting on the floor, cross-legged. She brushes off the dirt and grime on the mask and smiles, truly smiles. "He knows me though... The Golden Stag is benevolent, in a way. He promised me, he woul-" Loo stops abruptly. She lowers the mask on to her lap and scrunches her pale face. "It's a bit personal. My relationship with Him is between me and Him alone!" She yelled, as if offended. She almost snarled at Viktor but remembered their task. Her mood changes in a blink of an eye; Loo is once amicable as a lamb. "... Apologies. It's... personal. If you want to know more about Him, I'm more than willing to share His greatness when the portrait starts... but, yes." She looks towards her crew, twisting her head at odd angles. "What is your ask for our portrait? I do really want this portrait made though. So, I hope it's not too much." Loo ends with a thin sweet smile, where no sharp teeth can be found.

Viktor watches as Loo takes off her mask and listens to her talk about the Golden Stag. His eyes grow distant for a moment, before refocusing on the Reprievers. "I understand," he says, his voice softening. "Some things are best kept between oneself and their... patrons, shall we say. I'm glad to hear that you hold the Golden Stag in high esteem." A small smile plays on Viktor's lips and his eyes linger on each of the Reprievers in turn before coming to rest on Loo's spirit mask. "Hmm, that's quite a remarkable piece that you have there," he says, gesturing towards the mask. "It would certainly be a fitting addition to my collection. In fact, I believe that it would suffice as payment. The mask in exchange for my services. Do we have a deal?"

Loo's head snaps back into place, staring at Viktor. Wide-eyed, Loo speaks, "... Collection?" She picks up the mask from her lap, stares at it with furrowed brows, her lips twitching. The information slowly sinks into her mind. "No... As payment? No. No, no." She grabbed its the mask's horns and hugged it tightly. She rocked forwards and backwards from where she sat. She kissed the mask as if comforting it. "We won't get separated. We won't. We won't. We won't." She chants under her breath. Blocking Viktor, and the others from her... bubble.

Slane hasn't really been paying much attention to the discussion of unusual payment. He'd been doing this shit long enough to know that meant the guy probably wanted drugs, some grey market weapon, or even someone beat up. But when Viktor indicates Loo's mask as what he wants, it get's the big man's full attention. He's not known Loo for very long, and even with that, he's not paid particularly close attention to her particular idiosyncrasies. One thing that he does know about here is that the mask is very very important to her. Nearly as important to her as his own tattoos are to him, but much more easily removed. From his spot slouched against the back wall he listens for her reply, all the while slowly shifting his legs to be underneath of him, just in case the rejection he knows is coming isn't taken well. "They said no hitting first, but that don't mean I can't get in the way of a strike meant for someone else, or that I can't follow up on Loo punching his dumb ass." He figures.

Mathias snaps to attention as the conversation turns to Loo's mask. After coming to understand her a bit more the other night, he was pretty sure she wouldn't take the idea of giving it up well. One look at her confirmed his suspicions, and then some. He approaches her, and tries to lay a hand on her shoulder, in an attempt to be reassuring. He makes eye contact with her, before looking back at Viktor. "Th-There's nothing else you'd rather have? Even... s-something that seemed unattainable? We may surprise you with what we can manage." The mask, only as a last resort. (edited)

As Loo clings to her mask, Viktor nods, acknowledging the value she places on it. "I see. I apologise for suggesting it then. It seems to hold great personal significance to you." He looks around at the other Reprievers, considering their proposal. "As for payment, I have an affinity for unique and valuable items, things that are difficult to obtain, or have a great deal of history. Perhaps there is something else in your possession that fits that description?" Viktor raises an eyebrow, waiting to hear further suggestions.

Jai looks worried as the conversation turns to Loo’s mask. He knows the thing is important to her and it doesn’t seem worth it for payment considering the painting itself is only a means to an end. He flicks his eyes back to Viktor nervously. ”You know, I’m something of a purveyor of strange items as well, I’m an inventor. What if I crafted you something bespoke? Paint that glows with spectral light perhaps? Or a canvas that can hang itself on the wall?” (edited)

Viktor takes a step backward into his studio, intrigued by Jairaj's proposal. "An inventor, you say?" The artist now eyes Jai with renewed interest. "I do appreciate bespoke items, especially ones with unique qualities. A canvas that can hang itself on the wall is certainly... intriguing." Viktor turns his gaze to Loo, the mask still clutched in her hands. "Perhaps there is a compromise to be had. Loo, I can sense the importance of that mask to you. Why don't we use it as a source of inspiration for the painting, rather than as payment?" He smiles, hoping to put Loo at ease. "I promise to capture the spirit of the mask in the portrait. Would that be acceptable to you?" (edited)

Loo stops her chanting, stopped caressing the mask and slowly rises, as if she glided upwards. When she is at her usual height, she placed the mask upon her chest. Loo is still looking at it, head bent downwards, stray hairs dangling from the top of her head. The tiny bowler hat did nothing to keep her hair in place. "If you can capture the Golden Stag's... spirit, as you mentioned, in your painting then yes. That is more than acceptable..." A brief pause, it's not more than a second but why does it seem longer? ... "And if you try to take my object away from me again..." Two yellow motes glowed in the eye sockets of the mask. "Your spirit will be the one I will capture, painter." Loo looks up, all smiles, without any sign of negativity on her. "... He would like that. He told me." She swayed from left to right once again, staying in place.

Viktor nods, sensing weight of Loo's warning. "I have no intention of taking your object away from you, Loo. I respect the value that it holds for you," he reassures her. "As for your proposal, Jairaj," he adds, turning his attention back to the young Iruvian, "I would be curious to see what you can create. Perhaps we can arrange a trade once you've completed your invention." Viktor smiles, pleased that a compromise has been reached. "Will there be anything else? Otherwise, if you'll excuse me, I must get back to painting. I have much to do."

”Well that sounds like a lovely deal, I’ll get to drafting at once.” Jai looks around to see that everyone else is satisfied. He notes that Slane looks distinctively dissatisfied before turning back to Viktor. ”I think that’ll be all. Truly lovely meeting and chatting with you, Viktor. You can expect us back soon.” he grins and turns to leave the artist to his work.

Waiting for the others to make their leave, Crowley shoots the artist a wry smile. The spider pulls out a small card with his fake name printed on it, as well as the address of a small business he drops into semi-regularly. "Say, if you do bump into that lovely, uh, Lady in Red, you called her? Do pass on my card - if she's as a muse you say she is, then I would love to, uh, meet her acquaintance," he drawls. He finds a small sculpture of a hand propped on the workbench, probably used for anatomical reference, and slots the card between two fingers before following suit. ALEISTER CROMWELL ---------------------- TIDE | ON THE EASE 272-276 CANAL ESPLANADE THE EASE, SILKSHORE (edited)

Picking up on the de-escalation of drama and noting that the others are leaving Slane moves to the door, waiting for the others to depart so he can take up a protective position in the rear.

Viktor bows respectfully to the Reprievers and retreats into his studio, closing the door behind him, upon which Maria sees them to the door.

"Well," Kasper begins, donning his cap and bouncing down the steps. "I'm glad to see that he wasn't totally beyond bargaining after his first offer." He gives a nod toward Loo and her mask."Thought we were going to have a... situation." (edited)

"He is amenable, yes." Mathias straightens his jacket as he follows. "Jairaj, you d-do have a plan for what to build him, right? N-Not just flying by the seat of your pants here, I hope?"

”Mathias, sweetheart, I always have a plan. Have you heard of a hull? It’s a human spirit bound to a clockwork body.” he explains to the others who he imagines certainly haven’t heard of such a thing. Well, maybe Loo. ”They are quite complex, but if I apply the same principle to a much simpler construct with a much simpler spirit I imagine it would serve quite well as a mobile canvas.” Jai seems characteristically confident in the concept. ”It will take some time to plan it of course, but I suppose there isn’t much of a rush, issit? Was there any other pressing business to attend to?”

Loo, still within her own thoughts, replies to Kasper. "Nothing can truly separate us." She presses the mask closer to her. "But, yes. I wouldn't have liked to cause a... scene." She proceeds to insert the mask into her furs. She took out her tinted glasses, placed it atop the bridge of her nose, and fixed her disheveled hair. She straightens and she is once again her usual self: as if ready for a vigil. She wanders to Slane and places a cold hand on his arm. "Thank you. The Golden Stag told me that you have... intentions of protecting me when there was going to be trouble." She smiles, a closed-lip smile. Her grasp on his arm tightens, her way of showing appreciation. Hearing Jairaj and Mathias speaking of spirits and the next order of business, she moves towards them. Her hand now firmly inside her furs, located just above her stomach, she speaks. "Ah, hulls. Those are... interesting, to say the least. I don't have particular experience with them but I did hear of those... machines." Loo face sours. "To be frank, I personally think that it's barbaric. They are like prisons. It's disrespectful. I don't want the spirit of any my fa-" Her tirade stops abruptly. "Excuse me." She went past Jairaj and Mathias. "I do think we should head back." Loo's head tilts up, looking at the sky. After a moment, she walks away from the crew.

"Do not worry little one, I would have caused the scene for you should it have come to that." Slane offers before she confirms she already knew this. As she squeezes' his arm he just smiles and winks down at her, not wanting to interrupt the discussion of their payment. When Jai mentions needing a spirit he does speak up though, keeping his voice low as Loo departs. "If we can find one, I can hold it until it is bound.

Mathias watches Loo go on ahead with rapt bemusement. She is a mystery. His eyes dart back at Jairaj, who could easily have seen his thoughts written on his face. "Sh-Shut up." He says pre-emptively, though the other Leech had yet to say anything. His face becomes a scowl, tinged with a very faint blush. "I'm inclined to call luring p-petty spirits to make trinkets a waste of my time and resources. But if—and only if—it is necessary, I-I'll assist." He idly strokes his wound. What I really need is rest.

Truly Jairaj hasn’t noticed a thing when Mathias interrupts him. But now he sees the alchemist’s expression, follows his gaze to Loo, looks back to see the blushing cheeks, and his own face cracks into the most mischievous, shit-eating grin imaginable. ”Oh no, don’t worry dear, if you and Loo have more important things to do with your time then by all means please do. Really that shouldn’t be the most difficult part, I wasn’t thinking of using a human spirit,” he adds, loud enough for Loo to hear. ”Maybe a spider or a cat. I think Slane here should be able to handle it,” he reaches back to pat the Tycherosi’s prominent chest with the back of his hand. ”But like I said,” he begins walking after the whisper in the direction of home. ”Lots of drafting to do first.”

Mathias shoots Jairaj a look that can only be described as near-homicidal, before turning to head back to the hideout as well. (edited)

Silkshore Catching a gondola from Chaterhall back to Silkshore, the Reprievers stumble upon a pair of Skovlan men falling out the door of a drinking establishment. "I tell ye, Clave, that last pint was mine!" "Naw, it wasnae! Ye had yer pint, and that one was mine!" "I'm tellin' ye, Clave, that I distinctly remember ordering it!" "Well, I dinna remember ye orderin' it! And even if ye did, I paid for it!" "Paid for it?! Ye couldn't pay for a pint if yer life depended on it!" "That's rich comin' from you, Weaver! Ye're always bumming pints off of people!" "Aye, but I always pay them back!" "Aye, in yer own time, which is usually never!" "Listen here, Clave. I'm no' gonna stand here and be accused of stealin' yer pint! I'm an honest man!" "Honest man?! Ye've got more holes in yer story than a sieve!" "Ye know what, Clave? I'm done with this. I'll just buy ye a pint next time we're in the pub together. That'll settle it." "Fine by me, Weaver. But don't think ye can get away with stealin' my pint again!" "I didnae steal yer pint, Clave! Ye've got the memory of an eel!" "Aye, well, at least eels can swim straighter than you can!"

Mathias shakes his head with annoyance, and moves to give the two drunks some space.

”I’d be more than happy to buy either of you two lads a pint.” Jairaj croons. ”Or I could do you one better. You could each buy your own pints workin for us. Our crew could use some capable hands.” He winks then turns back to the rest of the Reprievers. ”Someone has to keep product moving while we make friends in Charterhall.” Swiveling back to the Skovlans he shrugs. ”Whatdya say? Y’interested?” (edited)

"Whoa, whoa, whoa... If we're looking for muscle, we can do better than these two scrubs." Slane interrupts as he steps forward to look down his nose at the pair. "They don't look like they can fight their way out of a burlap sack." He adds with disdain after surveying them.

Loo observes the two Skovlan men and tries to hide from them. She lets the others work these out. She exhales deeply as she hid her "disguise:" the tiny bowler hat, and the tinted glasses. They were near enough to their lair that she feels comfortable enough, safe enough.

Prior to the group returning to Silkshore: "It sounds like you all have this in hand, and sounds a little outside my expertise." Kasper replies to Jairaj. "I still have some personal matters to attend to here. So, if you will excuse me..." The Skovlan almost skips away from the group and returns to the café where Jairaj met his new friends. He sips his drink, watching the pedestrians wander by and noting how easy it would be to lighten the pockets of some of these upper crust students. Nearing 5 o'clock, Kasper finishes up and returns to Petra's office, awaiting the clerk. (edited)

Sphynxy [Vark|Caio|Jai|Mehdi]

”I’d be more than happy to buy either of you two lads a pint.” Jairaj croons. ”Or I could do you one better. You could each buy your own pints workin for us. Our crew could use some capable hands.” He winks then turns back to the rest of the Reprievers. ”Someone has to keep product moving while we make friends in Charterhall.” Swiveling back to the Skovlans he shrugs. ”Whatdya say? Y’interested?” (edited)

"Ye bally what?" Clave bellows back at Jairaj. "Keep yer capable hands in yer fookin' pockets, ye PONCE!" "Hold on. Hold on. Hold on. Hold the fook on just a moment, laddy," Weaver cuts in. "He said he'd buy us a pint." Clave narrows his eyes in suspicion. "What's the catch?"

Trent [Astrid|Berg|Declan]

Prior to the group returning to Silkshore: "It sounds like you all have this in hand, and sounds a little outside my expertise." Kasper replies to Jairaj. "I still have some personal matters to attend to here. So, if you will excuse me..." The Skovlan almost skips away from the group and returns to the café where Jairaj met his new friends. He sips his drink, watching the pedestrians wander by and noting how easy it would be to lighten the pockets of some of these upper crust students. Nearing 5 o'clock, Kasper finishes up and returns to Petra's office, awaiting the clerk. (edited)

Petra emerges from the building on time as promised, still dressed in her neat blouse and black skirt. "Where are we going?" She asks Kas lightly as she puts on her coat.

”This one’s got ears at least.” Jai comments to Slane while gesturing a blue-stained thumb towards Weaver. ”Besides, you’re clearly all the muscle we need, lovey. Doesn’t hurt to have extra hands though, as I said.” He turns back to the pair of drunks and crosses his arms officiously. ”There is no catch, mate. Just good dishonest work. There’s business of ours that needs attendin’ while we attend to other business. If you can prove yourselves dependable enough to take care of some of that business, the Reprievers can take care of you. And your pints.”

Mathias edges closer as if to further block Loo from sight, noticing her own hesitancy. He crosses his arms while Jai got to chatting them up. They did seem pliable, ideal for grunt work... but that was probably just because they were drunk. But if they got drunk often, they were pliable often. "J-Just two other things. No questions asked about our affairs. A-And if anyone comes asking, we don't know each other. Are we understood?" The battered alchemist chimes in. (edited)

"I think we will take a little trip to Nightmarket," Kas replies as he helps Petra with her coat. "I've always liked the area. You can find almost anything that comes in off the rails." He runs a hand across her shoulders and back, smoothing out her coat, then offers her his arm. "Maybe the hounds are racing tonight, if you're up for it..?" (edited)

Loo, noticing Mathias' intent, raises an eyebrow. She moves closer to him, specifically his back, and stays there. She leans and whispers. Thank you. She refocuses on the two Skovlan men. Her face blank, as usual, she looks for flaws. She heard Slane's remark; she also heard Jairaj's offer; and Mathias' request seems fair enough. Loo adds to the offer, while still hiding behind Mathias. "It's easy coin. You both would be drowning in drinks if you accept."

Sphynxy [Vark|Caio|Jai|Mehdi]

”This one’s got ears at least.” Jai comments to Slane while gesturing a blue-stained thumb towards Weaver. ”Besides, you’re clearly all the muscle we need, lovey. Doesn’t hurt to have extra hands though, as I said.” He turns back to the pair of drunks and crosses his arms officiously. ”There is no catch, mate. Just good dishonest work. There’s business of ours that needs attendin’ while we attend to other business. If you can prove yourselves dependable enough to take care of some of that business, the Reprievers can take care of you. And your pints.”

"Dishonest work, ayyyeee." "Ayyyeee." "Ayyyeee." "Tha's what we're all a-fookin-bout, laddy!" Weaver holds out a hand for Jairaj to shake. "Sure, sure. No questions. I dinnae give a fook anyhow. What's yer name, son?"

”Jairaj, but feel free to call me Jai.” the leech responds, accepting the shake.

Trent [Astrid|Berg|Declan]

"I think we will take a little trip to Nightmarket," Kas replies as he helps Petra with her coat. "I've always liked the area. You can find almost anything that comes in off the rails." He runs a hand across her shoulders and back, smoothing out her coat, then offers her his arm. "Maybe the hounds are racing tonight, if you're up for it..?" (edited)

"Is that what you like?" Petra asks, taking Kas's offered arm as they walk. "Things off the rails?"

Sphynxy [Vark|Caio|Jai|Mehdi]

”Jairaj, but feel free to call me Jai.” the leech responds, accepting the shake.

"'Aight, Jai," Weaver growls, gripping the leech's hand tightly as he eyes him from below the brim of his hat. "Easy coin ye lass says, aye Jai? Good thing I dinnae ken a-fookin-thing about yous an ye mates, aye? So where's it going to?"

Kyle [Arcadian]

"Is that what you like?" Petra asks, taking Kas's offered arm as they walk. "Things off the rails?"

Kasper glances at the clerk with an arched eyebrow, looking at some hidden meaning to her question. "Well, uh... I suppose I do. I found plenty of things I liked when worked the at the station," he replies with a sly grin. (edited)

Loo moves forward, revealing herself, stepping away from Mathias' cover. She continues towards Slane's side. "Just roam about near the chime water, moon water, and old water channels. And if you both see that is not us, you forcefully show them the way out... If they resist... then you can have their coin. Easy, isn't it?" Loo straightens her back and looks at their eyes, her hands hidden inside her furs. "Anything else?"

Trent [Astrid|Berg|Declan]

Kasper glances at the clerk with an arched eyebrow, looking at some hidden meaning to her question. "Well, uh... I suppose I do. I found plenty of things I liked when worked the at the station," he replies with a sly grin. (edited)

"What kind of things?" Petra asks with interest. "Tell me about them."

Luciel [Dent]

Loo moves forward, revealing herself, stepping away from Mathias' cover. She continues towards Slane's side. "Just roam about near the chime water, moon water, and old water channels. And if you both see that is not us, you forcefully show them the way out... If they resist... then you can have their coin. Easy, isn't it?" Loo straightens her back and looks at their eyes, her hands hidden inside her furs. "Anything else?"

Clave guffaws at Loo's suggestion. "Och, aye. We can mug anybody within' three streets ay ye. Until the Bluecoats come callin' that is."

A shudder runs down Mathias's spine at the Whisper's whisper. He straightens as the conversation turns toward the two's duties. "A-And that's where what I said is important. You run into any B-Bluecoats..." He gestures with a hand for them to finish the sentence, hoping against hope that the message had penetrated the veil of booze and their thick skulls. (edited)

”Don’t.” Jai finishes for the two lagging Skovlans. ”Well it’s been a pleasure, lads, but I’ve got work to do.” Jai picks his way back to base and steps into the clankity old rail car. ”Let’s see what we’ve got here…” he says to himself as he steps up to his desk and begins his usual process of shoving the mess aside. Currently however the only papers cluttering his workspace are the various drafts of designs for his cleverly named Spectrecles. The blueprints are nearly complete, so instead of stuffing the papers into a drawer to be forgotten he sits down and cranks out the rest of the plans. He’d originally envisioned the Spectrecles as goggles, but after adjusting for the size of the necessary power cells, the apparatus appears more like a mask. Satisfied, he sets the blueprints aside and begins a rougher sketch of the skeletal chassis that will become the walking canvas: a small, central body to contain the soul vessel, four spider-like legs radiating out from it, and a fixed armature to hold the canvas itself. This draft is enough to give the artificer an idea of what materials he will need to construct the little automaton, and after a quick supply run he happily spends the rest of the day tinkering away at it.

Trent [Astrid|Berg|Declan] started a thread. 07/03/2023 15:24

Luciel [Dent] started a thread. 07/03/2023 16:00

Harley [Karn|Rliad|Sigeweard] started a thread. 09/03/2023 03:54

Black Goat Court, The Devil's Furnace, Crow's Foot The Reprievers' footsteps are muffled by the thick fog that clings to the cobbled streets of the Devil's Furnace. The air is heavy with the smell of coal and smoke and the distant sounds of machinery and industry echo through the narrow alleys. The buildings of Black Goat Court are old and dilapidated, their brick facades stained with years of soot and grime. The windows are dark, and no signs of life can be seen from the street. On approach, a low hum seems to emanate from the walls. It's a low, vibrating sound that seems to pulse through the air, growing louder and more insistent closer to the building. The alleyways are narrow and twisting and one must tread carefully to avoid the puddles of stagnant water that litter the cobblestone. Deeper into the block, one begins to feel as though an eerie presence is watching the crew's every move; an unshakeable feeling of being observed from the shadows steadily mounts. Brina's apartment is a small, cramped space on the top floor of a rundown tenement building. The windows are boarded up and the door is locked. Close to the door, the humming grows louder, becoming a deafening roar that fills the ears and rattles the bones. A cold wind whips through the air, carrying with it the sound of distant whispers and the rustling of unseen figures in the darkness.

"I do not like this." Slane grumbles yet again as the group stops short of the door and it's ominous emanations, the words lost to the roar issuing from the other side of it. Realizing that the others have probably missed this iteration, he frowns and shakes his head emphatically as he points toward it. To really hammer his thoughts home, he then runs a finger across his throat. (edited)

”I’m inclined to agree with you.” Jairaj responds, fidgeting with his ill-fitting disguise. ”All this noise is a bit ominous, innit? What’s she up to in there?” The question is mostly rhetorical but he does glance to Loo, thinking she might actually have an idea.

Loo came from the shadows and addressed the group. ". . . Apologies. I guess I was too focused on her trail that I didn't notice that she was- is doing something like this." Loo, hands buried beneath her furs, swayed with the wind. She glances upwards and tries to look for an opening. "A whisper can only be traced if: one, they are sloppy; or two, they are doing something . . . risky. And since Brina is- was part of The Crows, I doubt that she is sloppy. Loo's hair flowed with the wind, extending into the shadows. A wicked, toothy smile formed across her face. "Want me to check in on her? She faces the crew, her smile reaches from ear to ear.

"T-Try to to think of this logically, Slane," posits Mathias. "She's working alone, we have strength in numbers. She sends a g-ghost, we can handle that easily. She has mundane guards, well, you can handle that easily. N-Nothing to worry about." Though his words are somewhat comforting (despite himself), the alchemist does continue to dart his eyes about, and occasionally puts a hand inside his jacket when another eerie ambient noise echoes towards them. "I-If you can do it without being traced... go ahead, Loo." He nods toward her, actually looking forward to what the Golden Stag would do here, for a change.

Crowley's eyes narrow at the harrowing wind. He keeps his eyes on the dank building ahead, only half-addressing the rugged-up woman: "Y'know, I was going to ask you how you knew it was our whisper... I don't think that's entirely necessary, though." He keeps the laugh to himself, but straightens his collar and turns to the rest. "This changes nothing, we stay focused on the job. Clean, and no mess. We get in, we get what we came for and leave traces of Reprieve for the blues to find later, we get out and job-done."

While the crew talked to themselves, Loo slips inside the dark. Only her pale face visible. "Let me see if I can find her." Her eyes looking at each one of the crew. If one looks at her, they would notice that she is staring back. And if all would look at her eyes simultaneously, all would be sure that she is looking at them, and only them. Loo pauses. The dark, darkens further. Her hair now fell beside her face, disheveled. The air around her serene. Some parts of her face is covered in long strands of black. The eerie smile still on her face. "I'll be back . . ." The horned mask came down the top of her head, as if biting her. ". . . shortly." Loo bursts into a flurry of shadows, and then she was gone from this realm. (edited)

"Do your thing," Kasper whispers as he moves past Loo. The lurk kneels near at the door examining the lock for a moment. He pushes his ear up to the door as he reaches into a pocket to retrieve a set of lockpicks. (edited)

Inside the ghost field, Loo sees a dark, gloomy and distorted version of the ordinary, physical world. A baleful, red light shines around the edges of the door in the otherwise monochrome surroundings. Listening at the door, Kas can hear wheezing, laboured breathing from somebody on the far side. However, the crew are interrupted by a drunk staggering up the corridor towards them. "Whaddayou doin'ere?" He slurs loudly at the strangers.

Loo, her form oozing out shadows, walked towards the door. She sniffs the air, licks it, before peering into the cracks. Her skull mask seems to be a part of her face as she presses herself onto the door. She whispers, "What are you doing in there?" She snarls, a puff of air came out of the mask's nostrils.

Slane, having been guarding the rear of the group, turns to face the drunken stranger. He begins to reach for his hood, prepared to pull it back and scare the shit out of the poof slob, but stops himself. "Remember, we're bein sneaky." He reminds himself as he pulls it down to more fully cover his face. Doing his best to affect a local accent, he then growls from it's shadowy depths. "Mind yer business!"

The drunk sways left and right a few times, before turning on his heel and falling back down the way he came. Meanwhile, Loo can taste tobacco and body odour on the air as she presses up against the door.

Loo sniffs deeper, as quietly as she could. Her eyes seem to dilate. In fact, her eyes seems to grow bigger, the size of the masks eye sockets. Her focus is on her target. Brina. She hugs the door. Silently, she slides through the door. Feeling the grains of wood on her skin. Not really hurting her, but scratching her skin from the outside all through the inside. As soon as she passes through the door, she quuckly scans the room. Assessing the situation within. (edited)

Loo phases easily through the door. However, rather than inside Brina's apartment she finds herself inside another narrower corridor that takes a sharp turn to the left. The crimson ambient light begins to throb rhythmically and the walls of this place are strangely crisp and solid in comparison to the ghostly walls of the real world.

Kas pulls away from the door as Slane shoos the drunkard back down the stairs. "So, sounds like someone is having a hard time breathing in there," he whispers to the others. "Should we go in there while she's doing her thing?" Kas twirls one of his lockpicking tools between his fingers as he gives a nod toward where Luciel disappeared. (edited)

"Th-Thank you, Slane..." Mathias says in a low voice, relaxing a little and taking his hand out of his inner jacket pocket. "...for proving my point. We have this well in hand." At Kas's report, Mathias eyes the door warily. "I w-wouldn't. It's p-probably a trap. Let's wait for Loo to come back, or give us a sign of some kind."

Slane's inked face crumples up with confusion. "I just did what seemed right at the time, how was that proving a... oh... yeah... I guess maybe we do have this." The giant thinks as his tattoos settle back into place. "You tell me when, and that door is gone in a second. Way quicker 'n those fiddly things can do it." He rumbles with renewed confidence as he eyes Kas' tools with disdain.

Loo blinks as the crimson hits her eyes, trying to readjust herself. Her head twitches whenever she looks to one side of the corridor; the skull mask—firmly atop her head—snarls. She extends one of her arms and touches the wall with the tip of her finger. She starts to walk forward slowly, carefully. Her finger scratching the wall beside her.

A deafening screeching noise like nails on a chalk board echoes about the passage as Loo advances. Outside the apartment in the land of the living, the rest of the crew can hear a sudden high-pitched keening begin to peal out from the other side of the door.

”Bloody leviathans, that can’t be good. Loo could be in trouble in there…”* Jai looks anxiously at the others and fiddles with his soul torch, loosening its holster for an easy draw.

"As confident as I am in our bloodhound, I have to agree. Kas, get us in there." Crowley turns his back to the door momentarily, giving a quick glance over the neighbourhood. He was hoping for quiet and clean, but that definitely wasn't quiet.

Still a little shaky, Mathias nods his head. At this point, better to try and get in and out before any more attention was drawn. And to make sure Loo was alright.

"I'm sure we can still find something for you to smash," Kas says, consoling Slane as he approaches the door with fine lockpicks twirling through his fingers again. (edited)

Kas's fine tools backed by the lurk's skilled fingers make short work of the lock, which unlatches with a soft click.

"I'll go in first." Slane whispers as he pushes his way toward the front, his hands already working to free his strange weapon. "Give them the largest target first, give you guys a chance at surprise." He continues as he quickly pushes through the door.

Slane pushes open the door and immediately two cudgels fall upon him from either side, swinging for the cutter's head and gut.

"OOF!" The giant rumbles as the two cudgels strike him, though he avoids the full brunt of the lower one by interjecting his weapon in it's way.

Loo continues to move forward, still scanning the corridor. She seems oblivious of the chaos that's happening in the real world. She glances back to the entrance, trying to see if anything has changed. But with a soft snarl from the skull mask, she refocuses on to her task: finding this Brina. She lets the crimson light wash over her, letting it mix with the deep shadows of her form. Her lips forming into a grin—feral and frothing.

”FUCK! OFF!” Jai shouts at one of the men flanking Slane as he steps in and activates the device in his hand. The torch flares to life, the beam aimed straight for the attacker’s face. (edited)

Luciel [Dent]

Loo continues to move forward, still scanning the corridor. She seems oblivious of the chaos that's happening in the real world. She glances back to the entrance, trying to see if anything has changed. But with a soft snarl from the skull mask, she refocuses on to her task: finding this Brina. She lets the crimson light wash over her, letting it mix with the deep shadows of her form. Her lips forming into a grin—feral and frothing.

Loo no longer sees any entrance behind her, but instead the corridor stretches on before rounding a corner. As she moves forward, she approaches the first door in side of the passage.

Sphynxy [Vark|Caio|Jai|Mehdi]

”FUCK! OFF!” Jai shouts at one of the men flanking Slane as he steps in and activates the device in his hand. The torch flares to life, the beam aimed straight for the attacker’s face. (edited)

The man curses and shoves Jai's arm into the door frame to escape the withering light of the soul torch. The device collides with the brick with a tingle of broken glass and the light emanating from within sputters and dies.

Loo stops. She sways, slowly, as if she is a leaf at the mercy of the winds that wants her to fall. But the skull mask atop her head is motionless, the vacant eye sockets is fixed on the door. Her swaying stops abruptly. Loo extends her hand, and touches the door . . . Is her limbs this long before? She caresses the door with the tips of her fingers, then the tips of her nails, slowly and gently, repeating the process over and over—like a cat, curious as to why there's a door blocking her way.

Upon Loo's touch, the door swings open with a creak revealing a dank, dark room with a large cage against the back wall. Inside the cage, a white doe scrapes at the hard ground with its hooves. The beast bleats helplessly at Loo. (edited)

Mathias hated to be right (when it led to situations like this, anyway). But trap or no, they had to see this through. He takes a step forward and draws a pistol from his coat in a flash. His trembling hands contrast with the grim look on his face, like night and day. He waits for a clear shot, but when he sees Jai's soul torch thrust aside and broken, something snaps in him. "Bastard!" He points the pistol at the man wrestling with Jairaj. He worked hard on that, dammit! He pulls the trigger. Tchk! Instead of a shot, an off-sounding click issues from the gun. He hadn't exactly devoted much time to studying these weapons, but he had an inkling that the gun was jammed. He curses and retreats a couple of steps instead, fumbling with it. (edited)

Loo enters through the door, walks closer and closer towards the doe. She stops when she felt that she is within arms length of the cage. Loo towers over the white doe. It seems to glow amidst the dark. The skull mask studies the doe as it bleats. She suddenly drops down on to the ground with a fluid motion; her limbs are now touching the ground beneath; the skull mask inches away from the cage. "Who imprisoned you, little one? I will tear out their insides like how I will break you out from this imprisonment. Give me a name, point me towards them, and this will not happen again." The words are a mix of the Golden Stag's guttural growls and Loo's wispy, ephemeral voice.

The doe brays at Loo and its mouth peels open in four parts that flare impossibly wide.

2

As his allies counterattack those who sneak attacked him, Slane stands stunned, his brain racing to process what the hell just happened. Jai and Mathias are shouting, but don't appear to be hurt. In fact it seems like Jai is attempting to distract one of them and draw their attention away from him, only to have their fancy new weapon smashed. "No no, they're not made for that, they're going to get hurt doing that." He thinks as the fresh bruise in the center of his forehead throbs. The loud tchk of Mathias' weapon misfiring seems to break the big man free of his stupor though. The sight of both of their attacks failing, combined by the adrenaline now coursing through him, send the big cutter into a rage. "Raaaaargh!" He bellows as he swings his weapon up, directing it's arc toward the man who just bopped him on the head.

The mighty hook collides with the man's temple, drawing blood and sending him staggering back away from the door frame.

Loo stares at the doe, not shying away from it. Seeing the mouth peel open, she tilts her head—the skull mask blinking. "What is this . . .?" Loo extends her hand towards the doe, straight into the doe's gaping mouth.

At first, the beast recoils from the outstretched hand, backing away from the bars as Loo reaches towards it. However, when the whisper does not move to strike the creature, a long cervid tongue reaches cautiously from the animal's mutated maw to probe at Loo's fingers. The sensation is cool and slimy.

Loo responds in kind by putting a gentle pressure on the doe's tongue. "Do not fear, little one. All will be well, just tell me who imprisoned you. The Great Stag will not let this slight slide, He will help both of us. Trust in him, and He will sever these bondages for you. Where is your captor, little one?" Loo's and the Great Stag's voices are still intertwined, like they are one and the same in this realm. Loo smiles softly; the Great Stag grins menacingly. Loo's mind is filled with the name of Brina, she hopes thinking about her might reveal where she is. The goal is still the same: find Brina. But she will not let a captured soul—if it is a soul—be used like this. She closes her eyes and focuses on her other senses: her touch on the caged doe; her hearing trying to find any misplaced sounds; her tongue licking the air around her, trying to taste any other beings; and her nose, sniffing the air, sucking in the stench of death and checking if there is any signs of life.

Slowly, the doe's flared quadruple jaws close around Loo's wrist, applying gentle pressure. It isn't long before the whisper can no longer feel her fingers.

The skull mask tilts to the side, it snorts. "Little one, this is your one and only warning. I can not help you if you do not help me. Little one, do not do something you will regret. The Great Stag is benevolent but only to those who submit. Show me your captor; show me this Brina!" The voices, intermingled and one, is now erratic and high pitched. Loo's eyebrows furrows within the skull mask. She senses wrongness. She tries to gently pull back her hand, wanting to feel her fingers once again.

Loo pulls on her arm and it comes loose with a moist pop. On the end, her hand is gone, replaced instead by a cloven hoof.

Crowley blinks. As his companions charge through the door, he squints and catches a glimpse of the securities' faces. He furrows his brow and hisses at the first assailant: "Pots, the fuck do you think you're bloody well doing!" (edited)

The spider takes a confident step towards their assailants. "For your sake, I hope you've taken the right amount of time to decide how you want this to end." Adjusting his crow uniform, he stops inches away from Pots. Daring the muscle to continue.

Somewhere in Crow's Foot The room is dank and still. A mouse skitters across the floor, playing with the crumb of some long forgotten meal. Crowley breathes in, nestled into a well-loved lounge chair coveted in darkness. The hour is late, and the family already retired to sleep. None had seen him. A light clicks on in the next room. The Hit. Jasper 'Pots' Eckersley. A bigger man. A muscle for the Crows. Notably hadnt seen him yet either. Crowley lights his cigarette as Pots gingerly makes a late dinner. "Big night?" The spider muses, ash dripping onto his disguise.

Jasper is a big man. A family man. Given a rough start in life, and the hits just kept coming. And so he grew into the madness of the underworld. Tough as bricks, but a family man nonetheless. They only know that Jasper works a security job, but he was careful not to mix them up. In Crowley's eyes, it was easy pickings. A step echoes from the floorboards in the adjacent room. Another one, no effort made to hide it. No reason he should, a big man like him. "Now I don't know who you are, but you've got 'til three to get the fuck out of my home before this is the biggest night of your-" Pots pauses, peeling his eyes to see the uniform. "Fuck." Crowley keeps his voice low. "Names in our line of work are menial, friend. But seeing you now, no wonder why Brina keeps you around." "Not here. Get out." "Here's the safest place in Doskvol for what I'm about to confide. 'Specially after the nightmare in the Nest." Pots grips a club he'd retrieved."That mess is exactly why you need to get out. Whatever you're about to say can stay on the streets." "Lyssa's out for blood, mate. She doesn't care who it comes from, but she wants it. Brina's past loyalties has her under the sparklamp, you should understand. I'm not about this in-fighting. It makes us look weak." Crowley taps his smoke twice over an ashtray, scented waste falling into a week-old pile settling in. "Someone like you would do well next to her, y'know. Oh yeah, the right cards and you wouldn't be protecting a has-been." He pulls out his case and offers a smoke, "Smoke?" Jasper screws his eyes and takes one, sitting across from the spider. "If you're not going to leave, get to the fucking point already." "Right. Sparklamp. Say someone gets sent down and knocks on a dirty old door in Black Goat Court. Say that someone has been told to find out what Brina's up to, make sure she's on the right straight and narrow. Got her head screwed on right. I know you two are close. (edited)

Go way back. There is going to be a point where you're gonna have to decide where your loyalties lie. This place is nice. I wish I had the balls to bring kids into a shithole like Doskvol-" The table between them cracks under Jasper's hand as he smacks it on the table. "You dirty fucker. You leave them out of this." Quick as a snake, the knife pins Jasper to his table. "You've got a brain. Use it." From above, a small voice calls out: "Da, that you?" Pots looks up for but a second to respond, but when he looks back to that well-loved lounge, all he sees is an empty chair, and a half-burnt smoke resting in the ash tray. (edited)

Kyle [Arcadian]

Loo pulls on her arm and it comes loose with a moist pop. On the end, her hand is gone, replaced instead by a cloven hoof.

Within the skull mask, Loo's eyes furrows. She stares at her hand that is now a cloven hoof. She hears a rumble. It comes from all around her, and it bursts out. "How dare you befoul my vessel?" Loo hears the Golden Stag's voice fill the room. "No, it's fine. It's fine. It's just a hand. I don't feel-" Loo was cut off. She no longer has control. The Golden Stag takes her away. The skull mask exhales steam from its mouth, nose, and vacant eyes. "You'll regret disrespecting me, little one." The skull mask rises. Below its head is a body of congealed blackness. Not resembling Loo's form. The massive form extends a part of itself towards the doe. "Know that this is your fault. My vessel wanted to help you. I, on the other hand, want to help myself." The blackness inches closer to the doe. "I'll soon know what you know, and what you truly are. Accept me as your saviour, little one."

Harley [Karn|Rliad|Sigeweard]

Crowley blinks. As his companions charge through the door, he squints and catches a glimpse of the securities' faces. He furrows his brow and hisses at the first assailant: "Pots, the fuck do you think you're bloody well doing!" (edited)

"Get out the fucking way then, I'm out of here!" Pots curses, trying to push past Crowley to make a break for it.

Luciel [Dent]

Within the skull mask, Loo's eyes furrows. She stares at her hand that is now a cloven hoof. She hears a rumble. It comes from all around her, and it bursts out. "How dare you befoul my vessel?" Loo hears the Golden Stag's voice fill the room. "No, it's fine. It's fine. It's just a hand. I don't feel-" Loo was cut off. She no longer has control. The Golden Stag takes her away. The skull mask exhales steam from its mouth, nose, and vacant eyes. "You'll regret disrespecting me, little one." The skull mask rises. Below its head is a body of congealed blackness. Not resembling Loo's form. The massive form extends a part of itself towards the doe. "Know that this is your fault. My vessel wanted to help you. I, on the other hand, want to help myself." The blackness inches closer to the doe. "I'll soon know what you know, and what you truly are. Accept me as your saviour, little one."

Frantically, the doe brays back at the skull mask, but the darkness washes over the beast, engulfing the creature and flowing in through its eyes, ears and mouth. When Loo regains control of her body, it feels different, like she's bent over forwards on her hands, and her vision is strangely distorted, as though looking through a fish bowl.

”FUCK!” Jai exclaims as his treasured invention is smashed. He drops into a squat, picking up what remnants remain and quickly trying to repair the torch. In his haste he suffers another tragedy: the electroplasmic battery drops to the ground and shatters in a crackling burst of blue tinged flame that quickly begins to spread across the carpet… and his pant leg. Distraught and in pain, he lets out a wild ”Rrraghhh!” echoing Mathias’ and lashes out with his leg, kicking the glowing battery shards at the remaining goon.

Neck swivels to follow Pots as he leaves. Satisfied, Crowley clicks his tongue and looks quizzingly at the second assailant: "What- he didn't fill you in? 'ere on the queen's charge."

Kyle [Arcadian]

Frantically, the doe brays back at the skull mask, but the darkness washes over the beast, engulfing the creature and flowing in through its eyes, ears and mouth. When Loo regains control of her body, it feels different, like she's bent over forwards on her hands, and her vision is strangely distorted, as though looking through a fish bowl.

Loo feels sluggish. She scans the room, trying to look for the caged, strange doe. But before that, she looks at her hands, trying to see if it turned back into her own. But the feeling that she can't straighten her back is telling enough that there is something wrong. She tries to speak out the words filled with panic, "Is anyone here? Matthias? Jairaj? Slane? Crowley? Kasper? Are you there, my Golden Stag?"

Luciel [Dent]

Loo feels sluggish. She scans the room, trying to look for the caged, strange doe. But before that, she looks at her hands, trying to see if it turned back into her own. But the feeling that she can't straighten her back is telling enough that there is something wrong. She tries to speak out the words filled with panic, "Is anyone here? Matthias? Jairaj? Slane? Crowley? Kasper? Are you there, my Golden Stag?"

Loo looks down, but all she finds are hooves and spindly legs covered in white fur. She calls out for her fellow scoundrels, but all that comes out is the bleating bray of a deer. (edited)

1

Backing off, Mathias takes the pistol in hand, and quickly diagnoses the problem, from what he'd gathered on his very brief experience studying metallurgy at Charterhall: the frizzen was worn out. With it in this state, a spark wouldn't issue from it, hence no combustion, hence the embarrassing tchk sound and no shot. The fast fix, which he set himself about doing immediately, was to use a substitute metal, and add a touch more powder to the pan to guarantee it caught the spark. He grabs and rips a button off of his coat, then wedges it into where the flint would meet the frizzen. He sprinkles a pinch more powder into the pan as well, then smoothly cocks the pistol once more. The result? The pistol would now fire for certain the next time he pulled the trigger. The downside? The rest of the weapon's components would assuredly be broken beyond working order afterwards, due to the unorthodox combustion. And there was a very small chance it might blow off his hand. Too small to worry about, he tells himself. He advances back in to the room, halting bewilderedly as Pots barges out of the room and takes off running. He gives Crowley a look and aims the pistol at the last thug, but hopes either the burning battery parts or pressure from Crowley would be enough to make him leave. He didn't want to have to fire this thing.

Jai's kick coats the thug's legs in blazing electroplasm and, when the man sees the unflappable Pots make a run for it, Crowley's warning is all it takes to send him off hot on his colleague's heels. The interior of the the living space on the other side of the door is illuminated by a circle of red candles that surround a pentagram drawn in chalk on the worn floorboards. The rest of the furniture has been pushed to the edges of the room, which are broken by a window on the left and two closed doors on the far side.

One foot before the other. Crowley fixes his gloves, ensuring they fit properly as he slowly takes in the room. "Wonder if our bloodhound caught all this. What do you all think?"

Mathias exhales a rattling breath, and lowers the gun. "Sh-She couldn't have missed it. What I want to know is, w-what was Brina's intent with this?" He paces around the pentagram, and rounds on the rest of the group. "She's performing a ritual, and had men waiting for a break-in. The timing is too convenient. Perhaps she knew we were coming?" He's not accusing anyone directly, but his tone is sharp, and he looks around at everyone. Regardless of their response, he kneels, and begins to study the ritual circle, keeping one hand on his pistol.

The old floorboards groan in protest as the spider stalks towards the far wall, actively ignoring Mathias' question. His fingers trace over heavy, moth eaten curtains covering the window, disturbing a fine layer of dust that had settled. They smell damp. A crooked eye cocks back at the leech and the lurk. "The plan doesn't change." Crowley frowns. He doesn't fully understand the magicks of the ghost field, nor the science of it. Not yet. His stirn expression cracks to a half-smile as he peers back at the fleeing man. With any luck, word of in-fighting among the Crows will spread like wildfire.

”If she’s run into trouble on the other side would we even know? If only we had some way of contacting her when she crosses…” Jai muses, noting another niche for his inventions to fill. Cautiously he limps his way over to one of the far doors and gingerly tests it. (edited)

"Contacting her might not be the issue. Making sure no one else picks up, though..." the spider suggests, swiping a cobweb out of his face as he joins Mathias by the ritual circle, "now that's a different fish altogether. Talk to me Stutters, seeing anything important catch your eye?"

Mike

Mathias exhales a rattling breath, and lowers the gun. "Sh-She couldn't have missed it. What I want to know is, w-what was Brina's intent with this?" He paces around the pentagram, and rounds on the rest of the group. "She's performing a ritual, and had men waiting for a break-in. The timing is too convenient. Perhaps she knew we were coming?" He's not accusing anyone directly, but his tone is sharp, and he looks around at everyone. Regardless of their response, he kneels, and begins to study the ritual circle, keeping one hand on his pistol.

When Mathias kneels besides the circle, he finds that sigils of warding and defence line its circumference. However, he also immediately begins to sink into the floorboards, as though they were made of some kind of viscous liquid.

"Some sort of protection..." He hesitated to use fanciful, non-scientific terms like 'enchantment' or 'charm.' "...measure." Leaning closer, Mathias places a hand on the floor next to the circle, only for it to splash... though it was dry. He looks at his hand, and with a blink, realizes it, and half of his leg, were being swallowed by the wood like quicksand. He lets out a cry of surprise and scrambles away from the circle, standing on his feet when they reach solid—or at least, more solid—ground. (edited)

As Mathias begins to sink into the floor and cries out, Slane forgets about the fleeing guards. Striding forward he reaches out, wrapping his huge hands around the upper arms of the smaller man. Once secured, he leans back, using his prodigious size to help lever his associate free.

With a powerful heave, Slane drags Mathias back up and out of the rippling floorboards. However, as he hurls the smaller man free, he soon finds his own mighty legs being dragged down in turn.

"Uh oh." The big Cutter rumbles as he looks down at his feet. "See you guys downstairs I guess."

Mathias pants, nearly doubled over from being hauled out. He looks back at Slane, seeing him sinking instead. "N-Not bloody likely! S-Someone grab him!" He wasn't about to lose their best physical asset like this, whether he was actually in danger, or about to be separated from them. He withdraws a vial of ectoplasm from his coat, part of a batch he'd been experimenting with. It was now more of an acid—one that could interfere with arcane activity. He uncorks the vial and splashes the contents on the ritual circle, hoping to wreck whatever properties it had that were causing this.

Caught in the mess, Crowley kneels before the big tycherosi. The planks feel soft and sticky as if hot tar had replaced them. Glance down and the spider sees a minor miscalculation in his anchorage. A slight adjustment welcomes the hard wood beneath him. He gives the leech a knowing nod and locks an arm with the Demon. The other to a supporting pillar nearby, holding the roof beams steady. "You're not skipping that easy, big guy." He takes a deep breath and clenches his teeth, groaning, trying as he might to wrench the cutter back up. Though he spent years in service as a bluecoat, it was never his might that gave him infamy. Rather, this tugged on a memory long before. Ironhook. Illoch's Leap. A partner in crime missed a step on their grand escape, and nearly plummeted to a certain - and agonizing - death. Almost. The tycherosi was heavy, but all Crowley needed to do was buy Mathias more time to work his genius. "Up!" (edited)

Kasper slides in through the door once the two guards have fled. "Well, that didn't go quite as planned, eh?" The Skovlan looks around the room, noticing that Loo hasn't made it back. "I can go into the field and check on her once we get what we need. " The lurk begins to nimbly puruse through Brina's belongings, looking for some personal item that they could use to plant at their last score.

Sphynxy [Vark|Caio|Mehdi|Jhev+]

”If she’s run into trouble on the other side would we even know? If only we had some way of contacting her when she crosses…” Jai muses, noting another niche for his inventions to fill. Cautiously he limps his way over to one of the far doors and gingerly tests it. (edited)

The door swings inwards with a creak, revealing what appears to be a dingy, damp room containing a tin bathtub and a washstand besides a grimy window.

Jai only has enough time to determine there is nothing pressing in the bathroom before the commotion begins behind him. He dashes to Mathias’ side, immediately catching on to what his fellow leech is doing and pulling out his own arcane reagents to help. From a pouch at his belt comes a shimmering cloud: powdered leviathan scales. The stuff wis inert on it’s own, but acts as a volatile catalyst when exposed to electroplasm. ”Get back!” he warns, reaching a hand to pull Mathias away from the imminent detonation.

Trent [Astrid|Berg|Declan]

Kasper slides in through the door once the two guards have fled. "Well, that didn't go quite as planned, eh?" The Skovlan looks around the room, noticing that Loo hasn't made it back. "I can go into the field and check on her once we get what we need. " The lurk begins to nimbly puruse through Brina's belongings, looking for some personal item that they could use to plant at their last score.

Kas picks through a vanity table that has been pushed up against the wall and discovers a velvet hairband in one of its small drawers.

Mathias's electroplasmic solution ignites Jairaj's hazy powder with an ear-splitting crack as the mixture explodes. The four Reprievers in Brina's flat are each hurled away from the ritual circle and collide with various items of furniture around the edge of the room. Splintered floorboards rain down through a large hole into the apartment below, where a pure white doe has appeared out of nowhere. The panicked beast bleats frantically and flails its legs as it struggles to stand besids Slane. (edited)

"OOF" The big warrior grunts\groans as he strikes the floor in the apartment below. Seeing some sort of wild animal next to him. Startled he begins to push away from it, only to recognize the form. Loo? That you?" He rumbles, only to find he can't hear himself.

"I think I found Loo!"

He bellows up through the hole, hoping someone up above can hear better than he can. (edited)

"I think i found som..." Kasper finds himself suddenly thrown into the small table. He shakes his head as regains his feet still holding onto the headband. "Ugh... Well, this, uh... complicates things." He peers down the hole and rubs the side of head, seeing Slane and the little deer. "We, uh... we should get out of here before the coats show up!"

The world echoes around him. Squinting, the spider surveys the wreck and counts off his crew. Slowly, he takes his hands away from his ears. It takes moments for him to filter out a distance chime and the excessive light. No Slane. A hole where Slane was. There's no pain in his shoulders to suggest the tycherosi was ripped from his grip. He doesn't remember covering his ears. I let go. Disappointed, though historically unsurprised, he stands and reaches to help Mathias up. His bones groan in protest. "Find what we're after?"

The leech unresponsive at first, Crowley grimaces at the distance to kneel back down to the wreckage. More protests. A single open palm tap to the cheek. No response. "Alright, mate. Come on." The other hand embraces one of Mathias'. "I'm gonna need you to squeeze my hand, Stutters. Come on. Fuck." A pulse is there, but no coherent response.

Jai's tug comes just in time, getting the nervous alchemist out of the way of the worst of the blast. Mathias's stumbling feet carry him forwards a few steps, before he trips... and slams his head against the wall, right above his stitched-up wound. For a moment that felt like an hour, his senses are ablaze with pain, and Mathias loses consciousness. He finds himself somewhere cold, and wet. It was either pitch black here, or he was blind—it was impossible for him to tell. In the dark, he can hear something that couldn't be human, speaking to him, as if from a vast distance, yet clear. "Fᴏᴜɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ..." He hears something slither towards him, and touch his head, right where his injury would be... All at once, Mathias awakens in Crowley's grasp, squeezing his hand instinctively, and screaming. "Stop! Leave me alone!" He lets go and squirms away, swatting at Crowley's hand, and the air around his head as he catches his breath.

Blink twice. A heavy breath of relief. "Stand down, mate. You're alright. Deep breaths." Crowley takes one step back and tilts his head, confirming his head check. "Take a bit of rest. Looks like we might almost be done here." The spider slowly trudges to Kas, mindful of every step he took. Not that it was his choice. "It might be time you pull the bloodhound back. Time's short before the coats catch up."

The sudden blast shakes her in her new form. She sways and almost drops to the floor. She wobbles and sees Slane under a huge hole. She bleats. 'Fuck!' No one can hear her. Her legs—her four legs moves slowly. She forces herself to move forward, inching closer to Slane. She bleats. Her snout touches Slane, to let him know that she is a friend, that it is her. She closes her eyes. She screams internally. All around her becomes red with rage. She knows her self. She knows what she is. And it is not this. A pale imitation of the Golden Stag. Loo, in her mind, has her body, her limbs, her hands. She flexes her hands, extends her fingers, and plunges her nails into her sides. Digging deep. Drawing blood. She screams. Hopefully this works. The doe form suddenly bleeds on its side, one line at a time. The doe itself doesn't seem affected. But if one would look at the doe's side, they would see "CUT ME UP" freshly carved into the hide. (edited)

Slane crouches down as the tiny deer approaches. Holding a tentative hand out, he begins to call out to the creature in the closest thing to a calming voice he has. Reverting to his native tongue he speaks to the little thing as if it were a child or pet. "It's OK little one, the loudness is passed, you're safe." As the tiny form bleats he continues. "It was scary, but we're ok now... I really think you are Loo, aren't you?" He murmurs as he ever so carefully caresses' the top of it's albino snout as it is offered. "I'm just going to scoop you up and get you out of here, OK?" He asks as he begins to look the creature over for injuries, his body tensing and freezing as he notices the wound on it's side. "Well, that's not good...." He thinks to himself as he wills his arms to resume their movements. Wrapping them around Loo, he stands and looks up through the hole. "How the hell am I going to explain this?" He wonders as he draws in another breath and bellows up through it, his voice entirely too loud for the situation. # "Hey guys... We have a problem! Loo's a deer and wants us to cut them up..."

”I don’t think we have time to butcher a bloody deer right now.” Jai says as he rises from where he was thrown across the room. His ears ring slightly, but there’s already been so much damage done to his eardrums by Static’s blasting speakers that he seems mostly unphased by the deafening blast. He makes his way onto his feet, wobbling on his burned leg, and glances at Mathias who’s looking worse for wear. He makes a note to check in on the alchemist later, but right now they need to move. Spying the headband in Kas’ hand he nods. ”That should work. Don’t know where the witch went but I suppose it’s best if we don’t run into her here, innit? Let’s get the hell out of dodge.”

The floorboards creak and moan under Crowley's path to the recently renovated hole. He smiles. "No, all of this amounts to fuck all if we don't leave something here," the spider explains, sharing his attention between Jai and Slane. "Big guy, you've got your duty. Lurk, you're the best chance we've got to separate the wolf from the deer. She knows the risks, we stick to the plan." Crowley grimaces at what might come next. (edited)

A high-pitched scream erupts from the apartment below as the shocked woman and children that occupy it finally recover from the shock enough to react.

Mathias, sitting against the wall, clutches his head in pain, which only seems to grow with Slane's bellowing and the woman's screaming. "Shut...up..." he mutters weakly. His head felt liable to split open any second.

Ears still ringing, Kasper tries to shake off the effects of the explosion. The Skovlan stuffs the headband into the inner pocket of his coat and drops through the floor to join Slane. "Kill the damned thing so we can get out of here!"

As the others discuss and the onlookers scream Slane never takes his eyes off the stag in his arms. If this truly is Loo, then cutting it up may well end the life of his new associate. "Or would she be a friend now?" He asks himself as he re-reads the bloody letters for the 20th time. "Is it still murder if they ask you to kill them? More importantly, is it murder if they're now a deer? Is this some weird religious thing?" Questions race through his head as he begins to wish he'd paid a whole lot more attention to the rituals and beliefs of the foreign people he's chosen to live amongst. "Loo's a priest of some sort. Her god is a weird looking deer thing, kind of like this. So if she's saying to kill her, that must mean she's got something planned right? It's not like she'd do something as big as this without a plan, right?" His internal debate continues as the screams and shouts begin to work their way though the ringing in his ears, adding to the cacophony inside his head. "May your ancestors great you with open arms should your god fail you." He whispers as he finally moves, his actions quick after the long delay. His left hand cupping the stags chin, lifting it slightly. The blade in his right hand slicing quickly and cleanly across the exposed throat.

I sure hope she knows what she's asking for here. Kasper can't help but cringe slightly as the Tycherosi draws his blade across the throat of the deer. "Okay, going into the field." The lurk's form then begins to fade from this reality, only a form outlined in whips of smoke remains. Kasper enters to ghost field looking for signs that their whisper survived the ordeal. (edited)

The doe bleats pitifully as its lifeblood is spilled across the apartment's living room floor. It struggles and kicks and then goes limp in Slane's arms. In the ghost field, Kasper can see a spectral form slowly manifest as it emerges from the animal's corpse - Loo.

"How did you get yourself inside a deer..? Nevermind! We need to go!" Kasper snatches Loo by the arm and lifts her to her feet. "C'mon!" he says dragging her through the apartment. The ghostly Skovlan makes haste for a window, hurtling himself and the whisper toward the outside. (edited)

Something cold presses against Loo's throat. She blinks. Her vision swims from the ghost field and the real one. She tries to speak but not even a bleat escapes. A sharpness crosses her neck, from one side to the other. Then heat follows right after. Loo grabs her neck—with her real hands—the breath escaping her body. The life escaping the doe's body. Their eyes—Loo's and the doe's—becomes dull and gray. Motionless, Kasper hauls Loo's body. If he would look at her neck, he would see a deep cut. A deep and dark cut. If he would stare further and observe, he would see . . . yellow . . . an eye . . . and . . . Loo jolts back to consciousness. Sucking air as if she suffocated. Her hands grab at her neck—where the cut should be but is nowhere to be seen now—and holds it tight. She chokes. "I-" Loo coughs. Her eyes, between disheveled black hair, looks at Kasper. "I . . . Go . . .?" Panic eases away, her body relaxes and she takes back control of her senses. She sees a window. Noticing Kasper's body language she takes a leap of faith and mutters under her breath. "Golden Stag, I surrender to your will." Like a ragdoll thrown by a spiteful child, Loo crashes through the window.

Seeing the ghost of Kasper exit through the window, Jai can only hope he’s successfully got Loo with him on the other side. ”Alrighty then boys, now let’s get the bloody hell out of dodge.” he says before darting back through the way they had entered the building.

The others begin to move. Crowley looks solemn at the doe corpse for a moment. And then the witnesses. They're a complication. Or are they a gift? The spider looms over the corpse, his boots slick with fresh blood. Tacky and viscous. One hand opens a pocket in his ill-fitted disguise. The other produces a small pouch containing the slightest of Reprieve. He takes his time and let's the world go mute around him for the moment. Just a sprinkle of the drug - not enough to do anything, but plenty enough for someone to find. The air grows cooler, and hairs stand on his nape. Ears twitch, and feel hot against the chill. Eyes dart to the witnesses. In the coldest warning: "I know what you're thinking. Don't do anything stupid." He pockets the pouch again. "You weren't meant to be here. But should something come of this, it'd be all too easy to have some lowly addicted poltergeist take care of you lot. All that'd be left is a cold mess to clean up." Crowley's lips are wet. He spits at the ground, turns, and leaves with the others. (edited)

The reflection on the window indicates that it is her, it is Loo. She reaches out but recoils. Fear. This nagging feeling seems to spread, from the back of her neck, down her spine, up to her head, and extends to the tips of her fingers and toes. It's cold. A single breath escapes her mouth and reaches the window, frosting it. Her brows furrow, and curiosity moves her hand towards the frosted panel of glass. Her eyes widen and her hand recoils once again. She looks back. Empty. Darkness. She glances at Kasper, seeing a faint outline of him. Loo turns to the window once again. Frost covers the whole window now. Shivers runs all over body. She hugs herself and realization comes quick like the Slane's blade slicing through skin. Nakedness. Bare. Vulnerability. Abandonment. Loo lost her furs. She screams. The vein on her neck bulging . . . but everything is silent. Cold. Frost. Her lips move, but no voice comes out. And the words filled her mind. 'Have you forsaken me, my great Lord?'

As the pain in his head goes from mind-numbing to more of a dull ache, Mathias gets to his feet and begins to follow Jai out. But as he faces the engineer, he sees him burning with the flame from his own Soul Torch. He glances back at Crowley, and finds him riddled with bullets, yet still on his feet. Kas, his form already fleeting, simply scatters like sand on a breeze. Slane's head was simply missing, and when he glanced into the hole at the dead doe purported to be Loo, he saw her real body cut wide open, from neck to belly button. With a blink and frightened look around, all returned to normal. Oh, oh no. He thought, before hurrying out into the street.

Trent [Astrid|Berg|Declan]

"How did you get yourself inside a deer..? Nevermind! We need to go!" Kasper snatches Loo by the arm and lifts her to her feet. "C'mon!" he says dragging her through the apartment. The ghostly Skovlan makes haste for a window, hurtling himself and the whisper toward the outside. (edited)

Kas dives through the window, dragging Loo along with him, but something about phasing through the glass drags on the part of him that is real and human. Tumbling as he hits the paving stones outside, the thief is firmly in the material world once more.

Surrounded as he is by chaos and rubble, the big Cutter clasps the tiny corpse to his chest as he drops to one knee. Lowering his head, he places his forehead against it's. For several seconds the pair become a pillar of stillness and calm amid the violence and chaos as Slane whispers a prayer into the goat's soft fur. As the big man pulls his head away, he brushes his lips across the forehead of the yew. Carefully and tenderly, he places the lifeless body on the bloody rubble. Pulling his hands from below it, his eyes fall on the blood which coats them like gloves, the sight causing him to freeze once more. Over the years the Cutter has seen his hands covered in blood both freind and foe, but this time... this time it's different. This time the blood is that of a friend, but spilled by his hand, not that of an enemy. This time the failure to protect his allies hasn't just resulted in one of them being injured or killed, but with them dying by his very own hand. A tear falls, having slid from his eye, down to the tip of his nose. Splat The clear liquid muddles with the blood, ever so slightly diluting it. Splat Another joins it before the warrior squeezes his eyes shut. Throwing his head back, he bellows to the sky, his rage and grief reverberating through his chest. Throwing his hands up, he calls out in his native tongue. "Great stag, hear my words. Accept the sacrifice made here, or face me once my time here is complete!!" As if to punctuate this declaration both bloody hands are placed upon his face, covering his eyes before being drawn quickly to the sides, leaving bloody tear streaked trails behind them. Propelled by his rage, the Tycherosi leaps to his feet as his eyes flash open. Gazing around and finding no enemies to vent upon, he bellows again before finding the now broken window, a clear sign of recent passage. Two huge strides take him to it's brim before a powerful leap carries him through it.

Harley [Karn|Rliad|Sigeweard] started a thread. 04/10/2023 12:07

Mike started a thread. 04/12/2023 21:56