Edge Town-City of Light

Jarl

Right on schedule. As soon as Jarl felt the first of those rushing winds, he threw his hands up, felt the rush of power throughout his body like little electrical sparks, and spoke.

And precisely nothing happened.

See, that's the thing with counterspells. When they go off, it's because nothing happened. In a perfect storm, Jarl's counterspell had completely fizzled out the wind spell, leaving the whole place oddly devoid of any pyrotechnics.

What it lacked in special effects, however, it more than made up for in sheer entertainment value when a naked screaming foreigner suddenly throw a rag at what Jarl was quickly surmising was actually a ghost. A magic-using ghost, which was the absolute worst kind of ghost.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Boat Team

The momentary distraction of even more bubbles meant that, for now, the volume of fire coming from the bottom of the stairs was significantly diminished. As Alex and Leon went down the stairs, there were a few more sharp cracks in the air before the people below got wise to what was going on and stopped firing. Unfortunately, even with a bulletproof cloak, there's only so much pressure the human body can take, and Leon felt his ribcage getting more and more bruised. It was only going to stand up to abuse so long.

One poked his head out juuuuust enough that maybe, just maybe, Alex could get a shot off.

Tim raised his hand, and as the ice-hot spike of a migraine rammed itself into his brain, drew in enough magic power for one single last spell. "Crebain." He snapped, his voice hoarse from the pain, and suddenly ectoplasm before him congealed into a dark and feathery form and swooshed over Leon and Alex head in a dive before diving into the room and flying at the first few faces it saw, to sow confusion and terror.

After all, this was not a place you expected a jet black raven to appear and go for your nose.

Alexander

Shit. Even for Alexander, firing a gun next to an ally’s ear was a dick move. He didn’t see another choice, though. He wasn’t an expert, but he could tell the wards on the coat were failing.

“Sorry.” He muttered, switching his free hand from Leon’s side to cover wizard’s ear. It wasn’t much protection, but it was probably better than nothing. His own were going be ringing too, but they healed fast.

Then he fired twice in rapid succession, going for the cleanest headshot he could get. If he needed more, he'd keep firing, laying down covering fire to get them down the stairs alive until he had to reload.

I hope Ms Wagner isn’t watching.

Edited by DrTentacles on Sep 11th 2018 at 9:25:55 AM

"Herr T-Tim!" Annette yelped as the very large man in front of her began to sway as a raven materialized from his hand and shot forth into the chaos. She was far too small to offer any actual physical support, but she still placed one hand on his back and the other on his arm to try to steady him. Key word "try". Was casting so much hurting him? Or...wait, her mother had once mentioned something about open water. Annette didn't have that trouble, since all of her potions came pre-made.

Now she was wondering if she would get the same pain if she tried to collect regents or brew on a boat or bridge or in the rain...

Questions for when there wasn't gunfire.

She was thankfully distracted enough to not look past Alexander and Leon when the gun went off. Instead she started digging into her duffel bag. She pulled out the thermos of left over healing soup and held it up to Tim. "H-Here, this will help heal your headache, and g-give you some energy. A m-mouthful will do. Um, Jacqueline, can you hold a candle for me?"

Should Jacqueline not object and Tim accept, she would light the orange and yellow candles and hold one out for her to take, while holding the other opposite it on Tim's other side.

"Don't worry, th-that's one of my most well-rehearsed, um, ones. No ill side-effects. I swear."

Tim, took the Thermos and if he hadn't had a thundering migraine starting to take up windspeeds in his head he might have questioned doing that from one of Alexanders employee's.

After all, the last two magic employee's of Alexander had I. been a Darth Vader Impersionist Warlock and II. A arguably braindead sorceress who had almost once sucked him into a Nevernever Black Hole.

So far, Frau Wagner seemed on the level but, but who could tell...

Thankfully, the headache was preventing all of the above rumination.

And so he took the Thermos and moved to take a sip.

Jarl and Terry

As his spell collapsed, Mr-Cloak-and-Suit turned on Jarl, teeth bared in a grimace of triumph at the sight of his quarry.

“Aha. All great work requires sacrifice, you know—” He hissed.

Whatever he was going to say next was cut off by Terry’s sudden arrival. The handful of salt sizzled like hot oil when it landed on his body, fury and utter, slack-jawed confusion mingled on the ghost sorcerer’s face. After all, he hadn’t seen Terry’s human form before now. And to the best of his knowledge, the sub-basement only had corpses in it.

Any remaining gravitas left the room right about then. Mr-Cloak-and-Suit let out an inarticulate howl of anger, slashing his cane through the air again and again, sending wave after wave of cutting wind at Terry as he charged at the werewolf, Jarl forgotten.

Edited by DrTentacles on Sep 12th 2018 at 4:12:31 AM

Leon's ribs were feeling like a meth addict's drumkit at the moment. The handgun suddenly going off right next to his ear was only the icing on the cake.

"FUCK!"

He staggered to the side almost tripping down the stairs, his shoulder impacting the wall/railing hard. He used his free hand to right himself, and continue their 'charge' down the stairs. Somewhat slower at this point given the state of his ribs. Hopefully, between Tim's conjured corvid and Anne's bubbles, they'd be able to break the choke.

Leon had been hoping to conserve his magic, but once he got to the foot of the stairs if there was more then three mooks still standing, he'd unleash a wave of force with a sweep of his free arm, low to the ground to trip them all up, with a shout of "Knall!"

Terry would have giggled if he hadn't switched to wolf form to give him more legs to run with, and incidentally making himself a smaller target for those wind slashes. Lucky for him the ghost wasn't exactly taking careful aim, so a little juking had kept him safe so far. Now he just had to keep going past the circle trap and he'd be home free. It'd be nice to have an encounter with the undead actually go right for once.

Jarl

"Right. As dumb as it sounds, I'm going to assume that Terry's got an actual plan, but just in case..."

As the ghost started chasing after Terry, hurling wind blasts all the way, Jarl set up a little contingency. He picked some chalk out of his pocket once again, and as the ghost left the room, he began drawing a half-circle around the entrance, hiding just behind the doorway. If the ghost thought to come back, all he had to do was run around it and close the circle back up.

And while the Church might have its own exorcism tricks, he knew ways to banish ghosts, too.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Errybody Else

The soup worked as a decent pick-me-up, but it was sort of like being a parched man in the Sahara forced to drink water through a straw. The headache faded, and Tim felt more comfortable, but he could still feel that sagging in his shoulders and the strain on his mind. He was running out of gas, and running out of gas fast. Thankfully, it was at least enough that the corvid rampage went off without a hitch, and Leon's subsequent spell forced the three mooks to the ground even as they were seeking cover from the lunatic firing guns just over his ostensible-friend's head.

They had a chance to get their licks in before the goons could recover.

The soup did help. It did. Which only meant the migraine went away and was replaced by a bone deep weariness. Tim didn't quite slump against the bulkhead - because this was a ship, it wasn't a wall - and managed to croak out. "Alexander, Leon. Fast now."

Alexander

Alexander was really in it now. Going hand-to-hand with a group of men with guns, even for a white court, was like grabbing the proverbial tiger by the tail. If you let go, you died. He ignored ringing in his ears from the gunshot, forced himself not to slow down or think about the fact that he'd just shot someone in what was supposed to be a gun heist. If he hesitated, someone was going to get shot.

He needed a clear line. Leon was in his way. So he shoved the Warden—hard—at the clump of three smugglers, then rushed forward himself. When he reached the closest thug, he wasn't gentle—he slammed down his boot on the man's elbow, and kept moving after that, looking for anyone they'd missed, clearing a clean path to the bottom of the stairs.

"Okay! Surrender! Resa! Drop your fucking guns!"

Edited by DrTentacles on Sep 25th 2018 at 10:46:47 AM

It looked like the potion had done enough. Thank goodness. Annette took the candle back from Jacqueline and blew them out, holding them in one hand and the thermos in the other. Next time she'd make the salve instead. A whole lot less cumbersome.

Annette winced at the sounds of bodies hitting the floor and Alexander shouting demands from the same direction. Whatever was happening she wasn't sure she wanted to look.

Instead she went to Leon, who had been knocked aside and was clutching his own ears. She offered him the thermos next. Should he take it she'd light the candles and hold them over his head. Which was easy because he wasn't a thousand feet tall. "H-Here, healing potion, not sure how it works against t-tinnitus but it's b-better than nothing?"

Would Alexander be upset that she was using her potions to help these Wizards?

...if he is, then we can talk about it later.

Leon almost stumbled as Alex suddenly shoved him, but he recovered well enough as he tread mostly intentionally on one of the thug's gun hands. He then kicked the gun away. Alex had already taken care of the second one, and had the third one covered at this point as he started shouting at them. Though that part was a little hard to hear at the moment.

Some vindictive part of him wanted to avenge his ribs by just going to town on one of the thugs while they were down. But he refrained. It took him a moment to realize Anne had descended the stairs into the fight zone bringing a thermos of something with her. He didn't quite catch all of what she had said between the ringing in his ears and Alex's shouting. But it sounded like the contents might be helpful. He popped the top of the thermos and took a swig of the contents, while still keeping an eye on the thugs.

Jarl, Terry, and the Spooky Bunch

Laughter would have been premature. Antagonizing the curse-born ghost of a necromancer proved to have a price. Even panting, frantic, and furious, Mr-Cloak-and-Suit still had enough power to make up for his lack of finesse. The first few wind slashes went wide, whooshing off the stone of the staircase as Terry nimbly juked through the bends.

When he reached the sub-basement, Terry had to run down a short, straight stretch to lure the ghost into the circle. Suddenly, he didn’t have nearly as much cover or room to maneuver. In wolf form, he was fast—faster on the sprint than nearly anything out there, as fast as a Vampire at full tilt, but he wasn’t faster than the wind. He felt a blast carve just above him—fur went flying, but he wasn’t scratched. The second slash cut closer, a sudden burning pain flaring across his side. It couldn’t have been deep—he didn’t stumble, but with adrenaline pumping, he didn’t have time to check.

A moment later, Terry was up against the wall, at the end of his run. The bloody circle, and Cloak-and-Suit’s body was in front of him. And bearing down on him, only visible by the half-light of the dropped flashlight was the enraged ghost of the necromancer, face contorted in an inhuman grimace of rage.

He needed to seal the circle. And then...he just had to hope Brother Angal hadn’t died in the minute or so he was upstairs. Terry had more willpower than some crazy, suicidal, ghost right?

Jarl finished his circle in a second or two, just a few quick, easy strokes of chalk. As Cloak-and-Suit left, he could feel exhaustion threatening to take hold. He was running on pure adrenaline. Well, to be more accurate, he’d been running on pure adrenaline for a while. The moment it left, though…

This wasn’t a good place for a nap.

Lilaine stepped up behind him, still too-perfectly-pretty. Tired around her could be dangerous. He heard her bite her cheek, as though in thought.

“Cucciolo stupido...he is actually going to get himself killed. Well. I’ll be right back, then.”

She started to move past him, but before she could take more than a step or two, a sudden chorus came up from the ghosts, lead by the judge at the head.

À la mort des tyrans et à la naissance de la raison. Liberté, égalité, fraternité!"

The crowd echoed back, a sudden roar in the quiet.

"Liberté, égalité, fraternité!"

Sofie crawled out from under the judge's stand, pale-faced, a nasty bruise forming on the left side of her face. She looked between Jarl and Lilaine, then shook her head, voice quiet.

“Is this what it’s been like for you?”

Edited by DrTentacles on Sep 26th 2018 at 12:27:16 PM

A drop of blood and a bit of will. That was what it took to seal a magic circle, and Terry had plenty of both sloshing about. He slammed his bloody thumbs on the loop of Cane Guy's own blood and looked up at the ghost with a triumphant grin. "Hey Padre," yelled Terry, who had never been particularly clear on the distinctions between the kinds of Catholic priest, "ball's in your court!"

Jarl

"The French revolutionary ghosts are new. Well, the revolutionary ghosts are, anyway. The French aren't. Really, the ghosts in general are new. As long as there isn't a dragon around the corner, this isn't quite the worst day I've had, though." Jarl tried to force himself back to an upright standing position, using the walls for a bit of leverage and poignantly trying to avoid the French phantoms.

"And Loki isn't involved yet. Fuck that guy, too."

Maybe naptime could be delayed with sarcasm?

__________________________________________________________________________

Boat Friends

There was a frankly sickening crack and an ensuing crunching of bone when Alex put his boot down on the goon's arm. He was not going to be holding a gun with that hand for a while.

The ringing in Leon's ears began to subside as he drank from the thermos. It wasn't exactly tasty, but at least it seemed to be generally soothing, and it kept him upright as the weight of the running water started to really sink in. At this rate, sabotaging the engine was going to be difficult, techbane or no.

Speaking of which, they could hear it in the distance now, a constant churning background noise under all the bubbles and the ringing in their ears. The engine room couldn't be too far, and it didn't sound like there were any more voices coming from this floor.

Alex seemed to have things under control at the moment and this close to the water that one minor talent thug with illusions probably wouldn't be able to get the drop on him again. Hexing the engine might be a bit difficult at this point, but they could always resort to more mundane sabotage.

He handed the thermos back to Miss Wagner, before moving towards the engine room cautiously with his cloak once more wrapped around his front. His ribs felt slightly better after the potion but they were still all but screaming in pain, and his breathing patterns reflected that.

Tim, still leaning on the Bulkhead commanded his conjured corvid to perch on Leon's shoulder, ready to spend it's last few motes of energy to help him if possible.

Jarl and Terry

There was no way to mistake Mr-Cloak-and-Suit for an ordinary man anymore. His face had twisted and melted like a wax figurine, jaw hanging open in a demented expression of fury straight out of “The Mask.” The cane had vanished from his hands. As he closed the last couple feet that separated him and Terry, he didn’t slow down or pause to gloat—He just lunged, his fingers twisted in long, skeletal hooks with razor sharp nails.

And slammed into the edge of the circle.

It felt like there should have been a sound effect—maybe a cartoonish “splat” as Mr-Cloak-and-Suit abruptly stopped, claws splayed out on thin air, jaw twisted against the invisible barrier. He let out another furious snarl, clawing at the air, his skin rippling as though he was trying to break out of his own spectral body.

“If your brother turns against you, rebuke him.”

Brother Angles’s voice was soft and slurred, with a wheeze at the end of each sentence. He needed a doctor, soon if there was a chance at his survival. He sounded focused, however.

“Thank you, Terry…”

Mr-Cloak-and-Suit turned toward Angles, claws still splayed on on the barrier, ectoplasm bubbling. He didn’t make a noise, though. His pose was that of a feral, trapped animal looking for a chance to strike.

“I do not know your name.” Angles continued to the ghost. “So—you must forgive that. Let me—” He coughed. It sounded wet. “Let me—help you. You are going to pass on, very, very soon, my brother. Truth be told, you are dead in nearly every way that matters.”

He let out another rattling gasp, and slowly reached out, picking the flashlight up off the floor in a bruised, battered hand. The spirit’s head bowed, proportions slowly returning to normal. There was a look in its eyes like a prisoner facing the noose.

“You’ve hurt people tonight. And likely more in the past. I’d like to give you the chance to confess. Not for me—I have no power to torture or forgive you. But because you’re about to die. And we both know where you belong right now…”

Angles coughed again.

“If you have questions, Terry, ask them—and as for you, spirit? Answer quickly. Heaven’s patience might be eternal...but if I leave, we’re going together, no matter what you have or haven’t said.”

Lilaine looked down the stairs that Terry had descended dubiously, then, softly swearing under her breath, lifted her legs one at a time to pull off her high-heels, which were already covered in dirt and mud. She shoved them over at Jarl and Sophie.

“Hold these infernal things. My tights are already a loss. If you leave without me, I will haunt both of your future sex lives.” She hissed, picking her hatchet back up off the ground. She reached into her purse, and pulled out her phone, trying to turn on the light before she went after Terry.

It was very, clearly, obviously dead.

“Che palle. This too!” She swore, tossed the phone in Jarl’s general direction. “Fine. Fuck it. I’ll be right back.”

And then she vanished down the stairs. Jarl could hear her swearing for a few minutes after she’d already left.

Sophie stepped up to Jarl’s side, and faked-out a shouldercheck as he stood up. Midway, it turned into putting a hand on his shoulder, and helping him stand. It seemed to be almost as much for her sake as his. It didn’t look like she knew what to say—she seemed caught between trying to make a joke and laugh the night off, and being too rattled to even do that.

“I think I get it.” She muttered after a few moments.

Edited by DrTentacles on Oct 4th 2018 at 5:56:03 AM

In other circumstances, when the clock wasn't running and the ghost hadn't just tried to kill him, Terry would have been a veritable fountain of questions. He'd have been happy to talk for hours about the theory and practice of turning yourself into a ghost, about the tradeoffs of being impervious to bullets but vulnerable to table salt, about what it felt like to suddenly be insubstantial.

But here and now, in this non-ideal situation, there was only one question that mattered. "Who'd you hurt in the process of becoming this? If you can help me put some of it right, that's the best shot you've got left of making the next bit go easier on you."

Alexander did a quick visual sweep of the bottom of the staircase for threats, standing tense and alert on the balls of his feet, the song of adrenaline pumping in his blood. It was really like a drug. Once he started, all he could do was keep rolling forward until the inevitable crash.

It looked safe.

Alexander let out a sigh, not sure if he was disappointed or not. As Annette and Tim came down the stairs, he stepped in front of the man he’d shot at.

Did I kill them?

He didn’t want either of them to see. Neither conversation was one he wanted to have right now. Instead, he waved for them all to move forward to the boiler, taking a position as though to cover the way they’d came.

“If anyone sees a radio, grab it. We’re almost done here...and we’re going to want to talk to the boss of this outfit. I hope you saved some soup for yourself, Ms Wagner.” He said, trying to keep his tone light.

Edited by DrTentacles on Oct 8th 2018 at 10:11:23 AM

Annette tucked the thermos back into her bag as she stood back up to her full (albeit small) height and looked around, taking in the damage done. A few men on the ground, Alexander standing in front of one of the figures—but she didn't try to look past him. She didn't want to see what he was trying to hide. She just...knew it wouldn't be pretty. Instead she focused on Freeloader on her shoulder, petting the cat as calmly as she could manage.

"I'm okay. I. Um. Right. I h-have about half left. Do you need any, m-Mr. Thorne?"

Jarl

Jarl felt a hard thump against his chest when a bricked cell phone suddenly flew vaguely in his direction. Thankfully it wasn't hurled hard enough to hurt, though the thing still broke into several bits when it fell onto the floor.

"Get what?" He asked as he leaned a little on Sofie while also helping her keep upright. They both looked in a pretty sorry state. "Because if you've somehow managed to figure out why I do this shit, I'd love for you to tell me, because if you have, you're way ahead of me."

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Errybody Else

None of the three goons looked like they'd been killed, although one very clearly had a broken wrist, and another was bleeding from what, at least at a cursory glance, looked like a nasty, if non-fatal injury. At least, if it didn't get infected from the conditions of a dirty, dismal engine room on a pleasure yacht, but hey, modern medicine could hopefully do something about that too.

That said, the engine room itself looked quite nice. Sleek, painted all-white, with instrument panels all neatly arranged in the center, the guts of the engine itself protected from view with large panels. The noise, however, was deafening, as engine rooms have a tendency to be. They'd have to yell to keep in communication with each other in here.

There was a radio on one of the three goons, with the only attached snag being that the sudden onset of Wizard Birdemic had ensured it had already breathed its last breath, currently in the process of throwing sparks onto the floor.

Jarl and Terry

The ghost of Mr-Cloak-and-Suit twitched and spasmed as it turned to address Terry, like a walking video-game glitch. It was looking worse by the moment. Wisps of ectoplasm were peeling off its face and hands, ribbons of shed skin. Underneath was...well, it was hard to see. Dark worms? Strings? Something slender and wiggling. Whatever it was, it was gross enough that it didn’t need a closer look. Either the circle was speeding its decay, or the mess of uncontrolled emotions it was experiencing tearing away at the human appearance it had presented before.

The ghost’s claws flexed on the wall of the circle as it seemed to consider for a moment.

“Of course he’d be oblivious to the hypocrisy of condemning me. A “sin for thee, but not for me” Brother? Classic.” Mr-Cloak-and-Suit growled in response. Even as his body warped, his tone had started to shift back to how it was before he’d lost his temper—soft, educated, full of sophistry and pedantry. “Not that I don’t personally respect the Church, but you’ve built yourself a home on pages of “‘unfortunate necessities.’”

Angles let out a sharp, annoyed, hiss, followed by another wet cough.

“...The people. You’ve hurt.”

Cloak-and-Suit let out a melodramatic sigh.

“I did not want to attack your friends. But...well, you attacked me. And the skull? That was a willing sacrifice. It had to be, otherwise it wouldn’t have worked—you cannot force someone to accept the essence of Mimir. Obviously.” He continued. “Do you want history of my life? Perhaps my criminal record? It’s clean. Violence is a last resort—I prefer to win my battles with reason.”

Angles looked at Terry, his jaw clenched. A little blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.

“I’m going to banish him.”

Mr-Cloak-and-Suit raised both his hands, a flash of anger in his eyes that no one was engaging his rants. Despite his bravado and sophistry, the fear of death was still hiding inside his eyes. He didn’t want to go. Not yet.

“Wait. Carry a message from me to Mr. Hartmann. He will find you after this, do not worry. “The gate is hidden by the young martyr.””

Angles shook his head, confused by Cloak-and-Suit’s sudden turn. His eyes were milky. If Terry asked, the priest might have been able to hold the ghost for another question...but the longer Angles went without medical attention, the graver his situation got.

Sophie shook her head.

“Not that. I don’t have a single goddamn clue why you’d want to do stuff like this more than once. I meant why you’ve been out of touch for so long.”

She shrugged, looking off into the distance.

“Because I don’t have a single clue where I’d start trying to explain this.”

Edited by DrTentacles on Oct 14th 2018 at 8:02:06 AM

Leon wasn't a mechanic or an engineer so while he had vauge ideas of what parts were important he certainly wasn't sure where to start looking. He might if he put everything he had left into it be able to throw out a strong enough hex this close to the water to fry it. But that was a strong might, and he didn't want to be wiped in case they did run into the neuromancer.

Still, first order of business was to look for any controls in the engine room to shut it down from here like maybe an emergency stop button. If that was a no go he'd then look for a tool kit.