The Dresden Files RP- "Edge Town"

Alex dropped his composure for brief moment of unprofessionalism, embracing his brother tightly, trying not to accidentally set off a grenade or impale his brother on one of his knives in the process.

"Crime lords don't give battlefield hugs, brother mine. Completely ruins the cold, ruthless image. You're supposed to save it for after we're out alive and safe."

He clears his throat, breaking the brief embrace, then turned to Captain James, quickly assessing the situation, and taking charge. Like he'd been taught.

"I'm fairly certain doing horrific things to young is a age-old Fae tradition. They probably even have a holiday about it. So, to answer your question, Captain, no. Still, we've already lost one member of this band. Let's see what the lost Lost Boy view is staring at before we abandon the Warden for his fate."

The Vampire then walks over to Riff, staring at him with the same expression as he would a defective TV set.

"I've heard cats do the "staring off into the corner thing" too, Riff. I suppose I'll get to experience it firsthand, thanks to Frejya. Do you see dead people?"

edited 1st Oct '14 6:27:50 PM by DrTentacles

"Cats only do that when their sick." Riff snapped. "Now hush, I want to see if Leon can figure it out."

Braden blinked. "....You can see him?"

Riff shrugged. "Well yeah. This place was meant to fool you dumb mortals. I live here- it's not trying to keep me out of stuff. Mostly."

Leon's hands find open air- no solid surface.....Nothing.

Puck just continued to laugh. "I'm here to help. Any time."

Tim's inspections reveal a small carving- in golden Greek lettering wrapped up in the roots of the tree. Ekeínoi pou tha eiságete: ἀνερρίφθω κύβος.

The door appears easily opened- a light push will do it.

edited 2nd Oct '14 8:19:10 PM by LMage

"Apparently someone decided to botch Julius Caesar." He pointed to the inscription. "Ye who enter: Let the dice be cast."

"Well, haven't made much headway on the wise part. So let's go to the alone part. How interesting that focusing on that part leads me to conclude as long as you are here I can't leap anywhere. Your mere presence invalidating the alone qualifier."

Leon frowned. "You're going to counter with "I'm not really here, just a figment of your imagination" or something to that effect aren't you?"

"Time to toss the dice, eh? Well, I've danced with Jak o' the Shadows before. Anyone against just strolling on in, speak now or forever hold your peace."

"May I have the honors? I'll even huff and puff and blow the doors down if you feel like this has to be dramatic."

"Because that worked so well last time?" Tim looked at Jarl with a very slight smile.

"Surprise tactic! They'll never expect it twice."

Tim just looked at Jarl and then stepped aside.

"Ah. So he's in one of Puck's little games. Are you capable of getting him out of it, or assisting him in any way?"

"Or maybe it would be safest to just open it. I seem to remember terrible things happening the last time I blew a door down."

He went up to the door and pushed against it, opening it gently.

"You mean beside your terrible overacting?" Tim smiled slightly.

"That's your problem." Puck's ghost said in exasperation. "That- right there. You think it's that simple."

"Maybe." Riff admitted. "I can go help him, but it might....trigger...stuff."

The door slides open and it's a sharp downward path of steps and stones, perfectly even and smooth, leading down, into the darkness.

"Of course." Tim said with a weary sigh. A small effort of will and the laser-cut runes on his spear started to glow in a blue-ish light as he prepared to lead on.

"So I'm in a rush and falling back on good old trial and error. Sue me Ghost Puck."

Huffing in annoyance Leon turns his gaze back to the infinite chasm before him and once more ponders opening his Sight. The Sight was pretty much the truest mark of a wizard, but he didn't have a clue what would happen to his mind if he opened it so near to the center of Puck's domain.

"Ooh, glowing blue weapon. Must be goblins about," said Terry, unconsciously lifting his nose as he sniffed for anything they might not see coming.

"Orcs. And lets hope not."

"Sting glows for goblins, too."

"Thats because in Tolkien's work Goblin is just another name for Orcs, based upon his linguistics approach." Tim said, without looking back.

"Ah. So we have two options. Either we trust in the Warden's cunning and intelligence, and allow him to devise a way out of the trap he's been placed in."

Alex pauses, drumming his fingers along the butt of his gun.

"Or, you go assist him, triggering defenses and likely resulting in a fight."

There's barely a moment of hesitation, after that. The safety clicks off the gun, and it's out and ready in a moment, his finger resting on the trigger guard. The only moment of hesitation was the brief, nagging voice that said it might be better in the long run to simply leave him there.

"Go fetch Warden Lichenburg for me."

edited 6th Oct '14 4:45:20 PM by DrTentacles

Riff frowned. "I'm not sure what it will do." He warned.

_______

"Alright." Puck said floating downwards. "Let's tackle this with a new approach. When I say "The Wise Alone Can Make the Leap" I'm not referring to the fact your a Wizard, I'm not even saying there is some all clever solution, I'm asking you to consider: What does a wise man know? What quality of wisdom are you lacking? Just what, is binding you down."

_______

The stone steps quickly smooth away into a raw rich dark earth, the roots grow thicker throughout the walls around them wicked flowers still blooming along side sickly green luminescent quartz. The ground levels out....And the stand before a great arc, and other pair of oaken doors spread wide open before them.

It takes Jarl a moment to recognize the place: it's cast in a much lower light then last time. Not even the crystal shine in the long wide chamber, the only light coming from the bon fire at the very center, casting a low eerie glow along the entire wide-roofed hallowed out audience chamber. The pale orange and golden light flickers casting long shadows across the floor in otherworld shapes despite having no figure of origin. A hissing fill the room from over head and black scales there throw back and reflect motes of light just enough to give the glimpse of smoothing moving- slithering- there, at one point the length lowers just enough to trace around a limp figure hung upside down- a knot of familiar white- blonde hair flecked with dripping blood. The scales bump and he spins almost as if on a hook and the sharp-eyed catch a glimpse of his face, empty eye the source of the blood running down it, face vacant and expression empty. Glossed over. There was no life there left- only a shell holding a power.

There is a soft child-like laughter in the room- at the far end, in a throne carved from the roots of the earth itself, layered with loose river-smooth stones piled high, sat Puck. The Prince of the Wilds, Lord Of the Forest. He was dressed like some sort of medieval peasant- brown pants, tunic, shirt- a vest made out of some sort of hide, most likely snake, a band of vines around one wrist leather cuff around the other. The sole exception was a circle of golden leaves on his brow, shinning- the mark of power and owner ship. A haunting pan-flute plays against air, vibrating with the earth, and making his smile, all that more sinister cast in the orange glow, just illuminate enough to bring out all the non-human in his otherwise human visage: his ears are more pointed, his teeth sharper, his cat-like eyes glowing more brightly in the darkness...It was like baring witness to some ancient pagan-god of the forest, the kind that scared innocents into making blood sacrifices in his honor. Blood would not have been amiss in this place- though beside the broken Prince of Snow there was none to be found.

The door whooshes shut behind the team with a bang- and for a moment it's hard to know why. But a little focus reveals a figure standing there, in his unremarkable clothes with his unremarkable face and features, it's almost hard to realize he's standing there at all in front of the door. Vali.

A Lord Of the Fae at one end of that long cold hall, a fallen god at the other.

They had arrived.

"Right then," said Terry, hefting his gun. "As you can see, you are outnumbered by foes who have penetrated to your very sanctum. Your best bet is surrender, which we will graciously accept." Let's go, you bastard. I beat you before, and this time I'm the one with buddies at my back.

Puck's voice was a purr sliding across the room. "What a sweet surprise. Normally my pets never come back once they've escaped- And I seen you've gone and slipped your collar puppy."

Terry smiled. Well, teeth were visible, at least. "Collar's not really my scene, you know? Also, kinda surprised I'm not too old for you, given who you usually run around with.

"Say, have you ever seen Les Mis? There's some good songs in there. One I'm thinking of goes So never kick your dog/Because he's just a pup/Or you'd better run for cover when that pup. Grows. UP!" The last word is drowned out by the roar of a clip of steel-jacketed rounds fired at the Prince of the Wilds.

Puck moves with blinding speed- jumping faster then they've seen him or one of his boys move- but there is a wicked hiss- of flesh burning as if touched to acid, and though when Puck levels out mid air- hovering as if gravity had moved just for him- there is no sign of the wound his expression holds murder.

"Bad doggy." His spits, emerald half-cloak flowing over one shoulder. He flicks his fingers and lances of fire errupt, flying with the speed of arrows straight for Terry.