The Clockwork Mansion

The east wind blew hard against the town of Holiday, hard enough to ripple through the mudded puddles that dotted the formerly and distantly remembered dirt streets, hard enough to make opening doors and walking east difficult. It blew hard enough that hats and hair alike were tossed about by the eastern wind, and it blew hard enough to make every resident in town smell the sweet scent of ozone and sea-salt carried aloft. It was the scent of storms, and a smell certainly not uncommon on the Island, but this one was brought by the East Wind – and old Eurus was blowing hard. It promised a gale.
   But this too was nothing uncommon on the Island of Eternal Rains.
   
   Stone buildings with deep foundations made up the town, foundations and stones dotted with hairline cracks from the muddy ground. Bad weather and bad soil, however, could not make up for the Island's excellent position between the continents, sitting almost equidistant between some of the most powerful lands in all of Furrae – and it was this that made the Island what it was, a port town of unimaginable importance. The greatest weather-mages could not begin to control the Island's storms, but though they always brewed, they were seldom fierce enough to cause damage to modern ships. In this way, Trade was the Island's lifeblood, and Holiday its heart. If there was anything important to be found on the Island, it was in that town. Anything.
   
   Trading companies had founded the town, and eventually it grew beyond being a simple refueling and resupply area, growing into the township that it was today. Through wars and through sieges, the town prospered, for if a ship desired to cross the ocean, stopping at the small Island was almost a given. The Mer themselves had taken an interest in the small town, and indeed, took no small part in its governance. Any ship that tried to sail without stopping there, even if they did not need to, would find itself beset with storms unrivaled by any ocean's natural fury. A great deal of the town's treasury went to making sure that it stayed that way.
   
   Trade was the town's lifeblood and its shield, and it found itself insulated from a great deal of the world's troubles – but it is iron, cold iron, that rules gold and silver. In Furrae, trouble comes to everyone and every place. Some say that it is the troubles of the world that have given the Island it's name, the Island of Eternal Rains. Some say the sorrows of the world congregate there, and that is the source of it's eternal storm. Werther or not it is true, sorrows do come to this place too. No greater example can be found than in the Verdant Cuff, a bar of somewhat nominal repute, situated not far from the town's docks. A great big wooden affair, it sits on another deep stone foundation, courtesy of the trading company that owns the tavern. Dockmen frequent the bar, and it's proximity to the dockyards mean that travelers often stop there as well. Above the door swings a wooden sign depicting a pair of green sleeves laying on a wooden tabletop, creaking above the slightly-misted street.

   The sound of raindrops could be heard from the inside...

Great, liquefied dollops of rain pelted and plastered against the fog-shrouded glass of the tavern's windows, painting watery patterns of splatters and splotches along the windows' surface which visibly distorted and warped the monotonous light trickling into the establishment. Murky and overhung with storm clouds as the sky was outside the tavern, most of the illumination within the bar was provided by the lanterns situated throughout the interior, suffusing the rooms in dull orange light.

As far as the dilapidated towns populating Holiday went, the tavern was elevated slightly over the level of mundane. It was surprisingly clean and sturdy in build - that latter was a requirement, considering the tempestuous storms from which Holiday's secondary sobriquet was derived, and how they more than occasionally peppered the island. Under the light issued from the slightly aging and derelict lanterns dangling from their respective niches, the wood reinforcing the building seemed to glow, from the floors to the walls. A pool table rested against the far wall. Tables and booths for future and current occupants furnished the main room of the bar in front of the counter, behind which a wide variety of different alcoholic beverages were stored or kept on display.

Yes, it was a cozy little place. A little old, a little bruised, but cozy.

And currently moderately filled. Bars tended to attract a wide collection of characters, and this one was no different. Most of them were just isolated to their own devices, as far as any of them bothered to note, whether it was simply drinking, playing pool at the table, or sulking for whatever reason. All throughout it, the bartender - a sort of tan-scaled, wiry reptilian fellow whose fingers were festooned in a spongy fringe - alienated himself to his own activities, pretending he actually gave a damn about the lamenting of some of the patrons who were vociferous enough about their problems. Too bad that particular reptile was distributing alcohol, because he would have quite a career in sainthood.

"Hey, you."

Amidst those characters, someone had swaggered up to the counter, resting her hands on its polished surface and leaning expectantly forward. Blinking, the fringe-fingered lizard lifted an eyebrow and evenly leveled his gaze with the chocolaty eyes of the jackal woman who approached him. He nodded, signifying his attention had been provided. The jackal was esoterically colored a combination of saffron and sable, her pretty, angular face crowned off with an aerodynamic, disheveled mane of dirty-blonde hair. Unique as her abstract pelt-patterning was, it was mostly obscured by her concealing attire, which was composed entirely of threadbare black. Particular effort seemed to have been put around hiding her neck beneath her outfit, as well as her arms. She extended a hand.

"Got a marker?" she asked. Her voice was gravelly and rasped, as though she had a horrible cold. Not attractive at all.

The fringe-fingered lizard merely stared at her after this odd request was stated, but he set about to rummaging over his belongings regardless. A moment later, he produced a sizable black sharpie from underneath some papers and notices about future health inspections and dropped it in the jackal's palm. Mumbling her thank-you, she spun around, then edged her way around a giraffe, disappearing from the bartender's immediate sight, and interest.


Squeeeeeeeeee-eEK.

Twisting the marker against the cardboard clutched in her opposite hand, the jackal hummed indecisively to herself, dabbing perfunctorily at one of the looping figures she had scrawled. Outside, she could hear the rain alleviate somewhat (it never stopped raining in Holiday - it just let up slightly), the formerly relentless peppering of the rain against the window near her table lapsing into intermittent pauses. That meant there was more of a likelihood of people arriving. Almost anxiously, expectantly, the jackal switched her gaze to the door in-between busily writing away at the cardboard. She and her companion not only had the fortune of obtaining a table next to the window, but near the entrance door as well.

Her aforementioned companion was a melancholy sort. He was a wolf, tall and disarmingly thin beneath his mottled gray fur, which was seemingly drawn taut over his bony joints and contours. His clothing was as threadbare as hers, and his demeanor was oddly introverted despite her belligerence, characterized by the way he disguised his withdrawn and owlish expression under the brim of his hat. He didn't interfere in her work, or make any effort at interacting with her, although he kept fidgeting and twitching erratically. That was because the jackal had taken away his stash. Poor thing must be getting desperate.

The jackal's project was concluded with another squeak as the marker was descended in a perfectly vertical streak, then jabbed once for punctuation beneath that line. She viewed the folded chunk of cardboard critically, as though she was examining a work of art instead of a hastily slapped-together sign, then nodded drearily to herself. The jackal didn't consult the wolf aside from briefly flashing the cardboard in his face as confirmation of its completion, and then settled it into position so that way its marker-splattered hide was facing the window. Just in case, the opposite side of the cardboard sign, which was directed towards the rest of the occupants loitering about the bar, was emblazoned with the same, grandiloquent message:


The jackal, Keaton, smiled grimly to herself, and then to the wolf, folding her hands together and sitting anxiously, her eyes affixed on the scenery outside the window. The remnants of the storm were drooling in thick streams down the glass, the background lurking behind the watery webs of rain blurred in a misty, lugubrious mosaic of grays, browns, and blacks by the descending droplets.

Almost looked like the sky was crying.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

A rather large reptile walked through the door with a smile on his face. He was dripping wet but it didn't seemed to bother him at all even though he wasn't wearing a shirt. He was a rather rugged looking reptile. Some what resembling a Crocodile and Iguana. He stood taking in the bar with the same goofy smile. It almost looked scary with his teeth sticking out. He looked around the bar nodding to the regulars. He took note of any of the newcomers. He then looked to the bartender and waved. He started walking towards the bar when the bartender looked at him and seemed to shake his head. One of the regulars shouted to him.
"Hey Zilla haven't seen you around for a while, where did you end up?"
Zilla turned and his smiled looked like it got bigger.
"Oh I got stuck guarding some guy and stuff he was charge of. Got stuck getting shipped out"
Zilla kept walking towards the bar as he talked. The same voice spoke up again.
"So big pay off then?"
Zilla raised an eye ridgeline (No eyebrows)
"You honestly think I would say that in a loaded bar? The worst part is it wasn't a big pay off at all. We hit land and I was placed under arrest. He took off with the stuff and most of my paycheck"
Zilla just kept smiling as he spoke. He finally reach the bar and ordered a simple drink. He paid when he got his drink and headed over to the pool table and started practicing his game. While at the table he looked over at the two he didn't recognize by the window. He saw the sign they had up on the cardboard. He seemed to be able to read the sign but stayed at the table shooting pool, he did seemed alittle interested in what the sign said.

Fal'taq hated being forced by circumstances into visiting a tavern like the Verdant Cuff. The old mole hated to be surrounded by common Beings, all intent on swilling themselves into insensibility as quickly as possible. He needed to hire a new minion, though, and he didn't trust his employer to supply one who wouldn't spy on him. Once more he cursed the previous holder of that position. He was prepared to countenance a small amount of petty theft: done properly, discreetly, and with style, it showed some initiative, and the rudiments of crude intelligence. The stupid woman's plan to sell Fal'taq's entire stock of valuable magical equipment and supplies, to both the Sabanethei and Shimanaka Families at the same time, was merely the mark of an utter cretin.

Ah, well. He'd paid the bartender to direct certain types of people looking for a job in his direction; all he had to do now was wait. Hopefully, not too long.

A squeaky-squeaky noise drew the mole's attention for a moment where he sat at a table in a dim corner of the crowded room. He looked over towards a table by the door, where a jackal — what he could see of her fur apparently a rather dubious dye job — and an unhealthy-looking grey wolf sat beside a roughly scrawled notice on a piece of cardboard. Fal'taq rummaged in a pocket of his long, bright yellow raincoat and pulled out a pair of opera glasses. He peered through them at the sign for a long moment, then looked again at the jackal and wolf. He snorted disdainfully, then after a few seconds began to laugh quietly, a shrill, stacatto noise that drilled into the eardrums of anyone close enough to hear.

Hehehe. Hehe. Hehehehe.

The rain wasn't what bothered the dark feline walking across from the direction of the docks.  She walked slowly, steps that carried less deliberation and more contentment.  The jaguar wasn't wearing anything that protected her from the weather...instead letting her face rise toward the sky.  No, she loved the rain, and how it obscured everything in a calm slate color and made fog rise in places.  The weather was also perfect in the fact that it hid and washed strange scents...the only thing she was concerned about.

The feline glanced down to the bladed edge of the weapon in her hand...as the rain hit its silvery surface, fresh crimson-colored water dripped from it, only to hit the ground and fade.  Soon the remains of the assassin's last target were gone from her nostrils and she could walk without suspicion once again in this new place, placing it back on her belt.  There seemed to be few people outside, but plenty of lights from places such as the bar ahead made the surroundings illuminate in a strange ethereal glow.  So there was life, and hopefully, not very hostile life.

Just out of curiosity, the panther wandered slowly across, thinking to herself and ignoring the strange looks she got from a few of the leftovers outside.  I'd rather not mingle with anyone.  But damn it, I'm thirsty.  One thing that she hated was bars.  Too many adventurers telling outlandish stories of how they slew Demons and the like.  The first time she was in such a place, in fact, there was a man who had tried to impress her with stories about his slayings.  To this day she figured they still haven't found his remains.

But there was little choice.  She looked like a Being enough to pass into such places anyway.  Perhaps this time the Demon in disguise could have enough will to ignore anyone who tried to do that again.  The red-eyed feline strolled past, shaking water out of her hair and adjusting her bracers before entering.

More likely than not, she didn't get much attention from whatever patrons were inside.  She looked much like an adventurer...the ornate black bow and quiver were quite the giveaways, as well as the bladed boomerang at her belt and chain wrapping around her waist.  The scars adorning her bare back--the rest of her covered in light studded armor--were clues enough as well.  The only strange thing that could be said about her was the air of...well, nobody could describe it better than "darkness"...she carried.  A young face with solidly-focused eyes and an expression that held behind it a great experience that came from fighting...or, as some would more likely say, killing.  Bounty hunters called her a red-eyed shadow.  She called herself Aisha Risen.

With those eyes, Aisha glanced at those gathered inside.  The place looked rather calm and quiet for the most part, and the people not too strange-looking...except for the two canids near the window, who looked somewhat ragged; if not in appearance then in demeanor.  Something in her keen senses told her that.

She strode without a hint of hesitance to a clear portion of the bar and ordered a drink...while she waited, her gaze only then caught the sign.  And a few of the others had also turned to take a glance-over.

Vast rewards?  Well, well.  At the corner of her lip, a thoughtful smirk formed, awaiting what other reactions it would get before deciding if she'd take it up.  The sign and its owners looked like they had nothing to their names, but Aisha wasn't one to be choosy.  They know how to gather a crowd.

While the political climate and the neighbourhood precluded a friendly wave from his neighbours, even the most volatile crime gangs saw little point in harrasing the harmless and impoverished old wolf as he hobbled back into the squalid and rickettey hut in which he lived.  This was, of course, the whole idea.

Safely inside, his stride became stronger.  Kicking aside the filthy rags on the floor, he reached the wall and a void opened up at his touch.  It closed up as he stepped through it into a gigantic stone chamber, larger than the shanty itself - much less the hut - the years falling away from him as he walked until finally the wings appeared.  In the distance, lit by enchanted candles was a throne.

Cross knelt before the throne, upon which a second incubus sat and glanced up at him from the book he was reading.  The canid reached down and ruffled his hair.

"My Lord," he began, "I hear tell of more disappearances...?" he hesitated, apparently unwilling to ask the question in its entirety, but the other picked up the meaning immediately.

"Indeed.  We had another death... I had to secure replacements.  Fear not, my dear Johan, none saw.  At least, none saw and lived," he added.  The wolf chuckled appreciatively.  "And now... do you have them?"

"Yes, Lord..."

"Show me!  Bring them here!" the fox was almost bouncing with eagerness and only the sheer weight of the stone throne was holding it in place.  Cross reached into his pouch and drew out a pair of orange-furred objects, tinged at the edges with crimson.

"Oh yes... yes... vixen... these are perfect..."

Crooning with delight, he rose from the throne and took the offerings from Jakob's outstretched hand, replacing them with a large crystal of soul-energy which the wolf devoured greedily.

In primary school, children made pictures out of macaroni and glue, but Lord Daryil had gone far beyond this.  The wooden panelling on the wall of his throne-room was covered with an exquisite tapestry from the mainland.  Dotted upon this canvas the severed ears of Beings were nailed, seemingly at random, a grim montage by a demented artist.


"Johan," Daryil started, his eyes penetrating and cold.  The ears had long since ceased to dribble down the tapestry, and their former owner would probably be waking soon in some ditch mercifully distant from their realm.

"As you know, our little enterprise exists in the face of stiff competition.  I'll be frank.  If things do not improve, we may have to pack it in, a prospect which displeases me immensely."

He paused.  "I do not take this decision lightly, but I would send you on a mission."

"Name it, my Lord,"  Cross whispered, as Daryil stroked his hair like a favourite pet.

"Niall, Izak and Ashley will remain here to cover in your absence, but you... this will require your touch.  You see, I have heard things... in less-shielded minds... rumours of an assassination gone wrong.  To the best of my knowledge, the Family has never slipped like that before.  You are to investigate.  This chink in their armour, properly exploited, may be the one that can put us ahead."

"My Lord," Cross replied, "What is your bidding?"

"Learn what you can.  I do not expect you to return immediately, so you will need a cover.  Try the Verdant Clump, or whatever it's called these days... there are often contracts to be had there.  And Cross..."

Daryil smiled, a hint of longing in his eyes.  "Take care, my dear..."


Dressed in his favourite trenchcoat, Cross was an imposing figure as he entered the Cuff.  The first thing that attracted his eye was the most amateur-looking wanted sign he had ever seen in his life.  From the chittering laughter of a nearby mole, he was not the only one who found it amusing.

"You must be joking," he chuckled.  "If you can't afford a sign, what makes you think you can afford an adventurer?"

In a booth near the side of the bar, Chapman Navarro sighed, flopping a yellow folder onto the bar table.

"This op's bullshit, Mac."

His friend, sitting across the table, made a faint, knowing smile.

"I was wondering what that folder was. Mind if I have a look"?

Navarro sighed, and slid the folder across the table. MacNamara picked it up, and thumbed through it.

"This all seems pretty simple. Office building, unarmed target, roof exit. What's wrong?"

"Read the infosheet", said Navarro.

MacNamara flipped to the front page. His eyes widened.

"Target date, fifty-two days from assignment. You got a fifty-day notice?"

Navarro nodded.

"Yep. Fifty days till I'm supposed to kill the guy. What the hell do they expect me to do with fifty days?"

MacNamara chuckled softly.

"You're pissed, because you have fifty days off?"

Navarro nodded again.

MacNamara rolled his eyes, and took another sip of his drink.

"You know, C.C., in many cultures, having fifty days off- Fifty paid days off is generally considered a good thing."

"In some cultures, Mac, people enjoy their jobs", replied Navarro.

MacNamara chuckled again.

"Yeah, not this one, mate. Want another from the bar?"

Navarro nodded. MacNamara was gone for a few minutes, while Navarro leaned back, and contemplatively stared at the lamp above his booth. MacNamara returned with two fresh bottles.

" 'took you so long, Mac?" asked Navarro.

" d'ya see the sign on the wall?"

"What, the one about adventurers?"

MacNamara nodded.

"Why don't you do that, C.C.?"

Navarro rolled his eyes.

"Did you even look at the two guys the sign's about?"

MacNamara shrugged.

"What's wrong with them?"

Navarro pointed at the two figures in the corner.

"Wolf guy's obviously a druggie. Looks like he just came out of a goddamn free clinic, or something. Jackal looks shifty. Don't trust her. Broad will probably end up shorting me, or something."

"Hey, your loss, C.C..".

"Why don't you do it, if you're so interested in it?" replied Navarro.

"Not all of us have that kind of free time, C.C. Speaking of which, I have to go."

MacNamara left out the door, and walked into the dark rain. Navarro waited at his table for a few minutes, staring blankly at his folder, and dimly smiling.

A winged grey fox not so much walked as stumbled into the bar. a glance told any skilled eye that he was ind a world of his own and in to hurry to vacate it. glancing around with half seeing eyes the fox saw the bartender and walked to the bar hand reaching into his vest.
"ale. and what every you consider to be the best dish here" that said he pull out a small drawstring purse  and reached in it for a few coins to cover the ale. these he left on the counter taking the drink the turns and saw the wolf and jackal. he looked at them both a moment and the sign between them before closing his eyes his wings shutter a bit and he forced himself to calm down.

He was not in the mood to fight and he was getting hungry to boot. never a good sign. with a little searching he founds a place to sit in a shadowed corner of the bar. as he awaited his meal he thought back to what had happen. most of his possessions and half of his money were left behind in that hotel. even worse he had no place to spend the night hours all because a jerk of a being and started harassing  him about his wings. It had all began scantly an hour ago.

Epyon returned to the hotel after another dispiriting day of searching and yet another day of failure. Not a single lead. he passes the clerk who simply nodded. He was a being but then that was  and section of town were there were fewer being the creatures. still given the choice he'd found he prefer the company of being like his grandfather had been. He was walking to his room when her heard a shrill call "who let the freak show in?"  The words were slightly slurred and the person aside from being a speaker was also drunk so he tried to ignore it  walking to the stairs to get to his room but the drunk being followed him. "whats the matter wing boy? nothing to say"  when met with silence he went on " oh i get it you're part chicken. you got a nest in there? gonna lay some eggs"  Epyon tensed he was getting angry and being angry tended to be a bad thing.  at his room he fished for his keys and the being  taking his distraction to be cowered graved his wing.  Startled and angered Epyon turns shaking and flaring his wing but as he tried he accidentally elbowed the being who fell clutching his stomach.

"cheep shot" complaint the wined being. " look you sir are drunk and i'm tired form work. lets just go to our own rooms and forget we saw each other?" it was a simpler request. it should have worked but the  being shout calling those that had watched him tease the winged fox. "are we going to let this little chicken demon  take pot shots at us then pretend that he's innocent?"  Epyon was dumb founded. what was he saying? " a few of those that watcher laughed and said it was the beings own drunkenness that did him in " look At those wings!" the being insisted. " i bet he's one of those winged demons that started that damned war" war? here was talk of the war again that wasn't good. the mummer of the crowed changed they weren't laughing anymore. Epyon knew what was going to happen. he'd had nightmares like this before. he tried to wake up but couldn't since he wasn't sleep. " i have done nothing" he protested. " listen to the chicken click" said the drunk being sounder more sober now "i say we have a chicken baroque

the key he thong if only he had the right key he could get into his room and then what? this being would probably lead the other in a charge to break down the door. these other who while not nice to him over that past few days had never been threatening but this guy had some how begun to turn them into a mob. then he felt it. blade from the talking being pierce him from behind exposing his secret as his eyes lit up in anger and the lack of blood was accompanied by the smell of death. they know now there was not help for it any more. Epyon  ran.

Epyon had not wanted to run he'd not wanted to leave behind the image of his family and a good portion of his money along with all the close that he owned aside form the ones he was wearing but the only other option was to find and while he might kill them more would come and then more sooner or later self defense or not he'd soon be overwhelm label a monster and  torture him until the could kill him. far better to run then to kill.  at least in this case. maybe in a day or tow he could slip back into the hotel and get his belongings. the money would be gone of course. ad possibilly many of the clothes and tool but something would be left if only the pictures of his family.

Eypon open his lower eyes again. His ale was gone and his food had arrived without his notice. he began to eat but the food had not taste. or perhaps it was he who had no taste for the food. he was still hungry but it was not a hunger that he would ever want to indulge. again he looked to the two with the sign. perhaps he could use them to help get him find at least a few leads. if nothing else he could used some of those vast rewards.

Ty had owed a friend who worked at the docks a favor, and had just finished. The favor was to stand and glare at a man the friend was buying some cargo off of while they were negotiating. He assumed there was a perfectly good reason for the friend to have required this. Regardless, the job was done and the friend had left before they could go anywhere to relax. A shame, but then again this friend did have such a stressful line of work. He probably had someplace to be. So it was on his way home from the docks that he saw the Verdent Cuff.
He used to spend so much time in such establishments, way back when. Places with the constant creak of wood and stone rather than the silence of other pubs that had shiny counters and a full staff instead. A building that chimed in on conversations with its own groaned observations which, depending on how much you had drank, could be quite enlightening. That sort of bar that was charming simply for its complete and utter lack of charm.
Of course, these days he rarely drank...
Oh, perhaps one...

Ty entered the bar, ducking a little to fit through the door made more with beings in mind. He carefully eased his way into an equally undersized booth and cast his gaze about the pub appreciatively. Rowdy drunks, secretive cliques, odd individuals, a jackal and a wolf over yonder who looked much like vagrants (an image not helped by the cardboard sign)... He smiled slightly and reached for a menu on the table. This place was everything he'd hoped for.

A winged bunny stepped closer to the trees hoping not to get wet from the drenching rain but to no avile as usual. Why did i even come to this island again... Oh right my party wanted to kill something here 'it will be fun' they said 'we need a healer' they said 'the rain will be nice.' Ha Shakes off the rain from the coat and wings but soon after the feeling that it was needed to be done again came over him. Damn this rain. i need to get out of it before i cut down a tree just to get out of it.

He continues down through the trees until he found a road. Looked to be a town road because of the use it has seen. This lightened up his mood as he started to skip down the road toward where ever it lead to. As he moved on he passed a couple of people that gave him quizzical looks at him as he continued to skip down the road. He sometimes did a large skip using his wings to go a little further but it was all in good fun as he found himself soon in front of what looked like the tavern. He stopped and looked around and saw the sign outside and came up to it for a good long look at it. The Verdant Cuff... He looks up again at it leaning on his staff a little bit. "well doesn't hurt to go in." He smiled to himself when he thought of the many times when it did hurt to go into such a place but he walked up to the door and proceeded to go in otherwise.

Walking in he found himself in a room filled with people. Lots of beings and non-beings as he looked around at the many faces. His ears moving about getting the feel of the room as he tills them around a little bit then letting them again droop down to their normal positions next to his braided hair. He walked up to the bar and hopped up to the stool there and set his staff down beside him. He called the barkeeper for something to drink and some food. He pointed at the board with the menu on it. "well, then some ale and meat please." The barkeep gave a look then he new all to well but he didn't ask any questions which was good. After a couple of sips from his ale he turned back to the crowd and the sign on the wall caught his eye. Yes, Finally something else to do in this rainy place. He turned back and ate his meal quickly. Grabed a couple of coins from inside his coat to pay for the meal. He then move from his stool, grabbing his staff, and walking up to the jackal that was there, moving passed some of the other people that were also standing in front of him. "Um, sir? is that offer still stand?" Pointing at the sign right next to the guy not really know anything about it.

The stumpy hedgehog sat towards the end of the bar, grumpily nursing his latest pint. He gazed down at it, then glanced up at the (much bigger) patron next to him.

"What are you lookin' at, yer big git?"

The bear glanced down at him, and muttered "Nothing."

"Nothin'? So I'm nothin', am I?"

The bear raised his hands placatingly. "I'm just drinking." He shrugged.

Witt turned back to his pint, then swung it in a smooth curve over the bar and straight into the face of the bear, shattering beer and glass in all directions, and leaving just the handle in his hand. He followed that with a boot to the groin, then grabbed the bar stool in his off hand, and bent it over the now much lower head.

Unsurprisingly, the bear crumpled into a heap, upon which the stool was tossed with a thump.

"Shrug that off, damn yer." Witt muttered, applying a boot to the ribs, and turned back to the bar. "'Nother pint."

The bartender glanced at the bouncers moving in, albeit unhappily, and shook his head slightly. With evident relief, they settled for dragging the bear's unconscious body - and the bent bar stool - out the door, and left the bartender to it. "Your third tab is quite high, sir."

"What? I haven't drunk that much."

"No, sir, but the three tables, the window, the shelf you knocked down, the various bottles that were on the shelf, the two bouncers you broke the tables over, and fourteen glasses - they all add up. And I'm going to need you to pay for it before I can give you another drink."

"Ah. How much was it?" When the bartender told him, he fished around in his pockets for a while, pouring a rather large pile of coins onto the bar. "That cover it?"

"Just." The bartender fished out two small coins, pushing them back to Wit, and scooped the rest off the bar, dumping it into the usual place, and then supplied Witt with his pint.

Witt sighed, put the two coins back in his pocket, and picked up his drink. His eyes tracked around the bar, and focused on the sign. "Well, that'd make it worthwhile, I guess." He collected his drink from the bar, and ploughed through the crowd to the little group in the corner.

He glared down at the sign, and then at the jackal. "Skilled at what?"

Underneath the brim of his battered, straw fedora the emaciated grey wolf watched his - no word fit better than mistress, the wolf supposed. She certainly seems to think she's got every damn right in the world... Cogidubnus Mithlome checked his thoughts, and instead winced as the yellow jackal wrote on a piece of trash she had gotten from somewhere, the squeaking sound drilling into his ears like a shovel in graveyard dirt. She flashed it in the wolf's direction, clearly not wanting an opinion so much as simply showing him what it said. The wolf sat unmoving.
Not entirely true. He was shaking, imperceptibly, and sweating in the cool humidity of the Island.

Cogidubnus was certainly not unique in that he had certain unique needs. Certain sweetnesses that let him take him mind off of everything, and finally relax. They tended to interfere with certain....other uniquenesses of his, however. Keaton hadn't liked that. She'd make it very clear that he wasn't to do that anymore.
Cog dutifully ignored the throbbing pain in his side. He didn't have to look beneath his nearly-threadbare black shirt to know that a welt was forming on his entire left side.

He tried to think about something else, and almost succeeded when another sound drilled itself into his eardrums. Eerie, staccato laughter, mocking and infinitely cold. Cog turned to look - a mole dressed in a bright yellow raincoat and staring at them with opera glasses was sniggering to himself. Cog gave the creature a nasty look, fueled by the pain and indignities of the day.
"Hay! You lookin' at something, Robin in the Rain?", he said. Not nearly his best insult, but Cog wasn't feeling his best today. He didn't even care if there were any robins in the room. They'd just have to deal with it.

Another voice greeted him from the opposite direction, and Cog turned to find himself staring at another grey wolf, this one clad in a rather ominous-looking trenchcoat. He was apparently mocking them as well, and Cog narrowed one yellow eye at the lupine.
"I'll have you know, this is the best damn adventurer-wanted sign in all of Holiday." he got out, feeling the subtle pressure in his temples that meant a excruciating headache was not far off, if he did not get the...items, that he needed. He tried to ignore it, instead giving the wolf an up-and-down glance. "Not that it'd matter to you, I think. The Family'd eat you up and spit you out. Note the skilled bit."

The wolf took a quick glance around the room. A red-clad, dark feline was giving them the eye, as was a canine sitting in the booth in a corner, and a rather large...thing was also doing so. Cog glanced at the other wolf.
"The rewards come at the end of an adventure, anyway. And trust me...they will be vast, indeed." Cog said, trying to infuse his voice with a suitable amount of drama. He'd spent some time practicing that bit, and hoped that it carried the sort of bravado and intruige that would attract adventurers.
He coughed.

"Whatever you say," Cross remarked to Cog, and promptly went to the toilets.  A minute or so later he returned with a sheet of white plastic (solid polymer was very quick and easy to create) and a small pot of black paint.

For a moment he was tempted to erect another sign to overshadow theirs...  any recruits he obtained would be handy for the soul-dairy, although that would be kind of cruel and there was always a chance that a skilled adventurer might really be a Creature.  So he went with the original plan and copied theirs out word-for-word.

"This may help," he said, handing the other wolf a far more professional sign.

The way they had mentioned the Family... perhaps they knew of the assassin.  There were only two ways to find out covertly.
One was to open their minds, but the jackal had a mind-shield and the wolf was too far gone to probe beyond the fact that he was a junkie badly in need of a fix.

The other way was to join their group.

"Speaking hypothetically... if I were willing to join your expedition, what would be its aim?" he enquired, a reasonable enough request.

When her drink finally came, Aisha had barely noticed.  All of a sudden the quiet bar had suddenly become a hotspot for some interesting individuals, having come in after her.  A rather intimidating--or at least it appeared so--gray wolf, who instantly scoffed at the sign that the two disheveled canines had put up.  There was also at least one winged individual whom the panthress glanced at for a moment with a moderate level of incredulism.  Are they crazy?  Either this place is tolerant or they're looking to get sliced in half.  Regardless, I'm staying hidden.

A noise at the bar, the crash, also caused an ear to perk, but nothing else...she'd heard of violence caused in taverns over the smallest of things; it was nothing new.  Still it caused her to wonder just what kind of people the sign was attracting.  There was fight, there was strength...but so far, who had the sense to back it?

When the strange wolf gave his retort to the one in the trench coat, she listened, intrigued.  The "Family"?  It sounded ominous.  But of course one of them was already on it, the other wolf...asking about what the whole adventure would be about.  It was hard to believe that the two had anything to offer, but looks were deceiving.

She downed her drink and spoke up in agreement.  "Lots of adventurers have been sent off on death missions for promise of more, muchachos," she pointed out.  The panthress had a rather thick accent, smooth in intonation but with quite a hard edge to it.  "It would probably be worth it best to give someone an idea of what to expect on such an endeavor.  Or probably best, nobody should listen at all."

Shortly after the sign was settled into place and propped into a position where everyone could gaze upon it, Keaton resigned herself to merely watching the rain and attempting to block out the noise filling the bar, almost counting off each individual raindrop she saw roll down the window. Water glistened like liquefied pearls in the indistinct orange light on the opposite side of the glass, splashing and splattering together as a new droplet collided with the dewdrop-coat thoroughly soaking the window, forming an almost lacy pattern of rivulets constantly warped by the wind and rain. If Keaton was an artist (which she wasn't), she would have marveled at the insignificant phenomenon. But instead, she was merely bored, impatient, indicated by the curt tattoo her fingers were drawing out against the wooden table's surface. Even the kaleidoscopic ripples of the window's water lost its charm as her gaze drifted to the sign again.

On the other end of the table, Keaton could clearly see her partner's actions and how much he was fidgeting and shaking. Her inner sadist found it amusing, but the rest of her was simply infuriated, deriving some strange provocation from Cogidubnus's enduring agony. It wasn't that big a deal, she assumed. He could stop if he wanted to, he's just being stupid because I took away that shit he's been using. Not once did Keaton stop to consider that if he could, he definitely would after she kicked him in the ribs.

At the moment, Cog was currently being goaded by the subtly shrill laughter of a mole clad in an obnoxiously-hued raincoat sitting near the bar, and was retorting. Not a very good retort, particularly, but she hoped it would shut the rat up. His grating laughter was getting on her nerves. Everything in the bar was. So many voices drilled into the air, like thousands of busy hornets. So many. Seething quietly through her teeth, Keaton reached up and clutched at her scalp, centering her gaze back on the harmonious transition occurring with the rain on the window. The charm emanated from the disrupting droplets was somehow chaotically amplified in Keaton's mind, like each bead of rain was impregnated with some sort of vile, infectious acid that only she could see and feel, but nobody else was because--!

Because she was sick. Unstable. By now Keaton should have abdicated herself to that undeniable fact without any animosity, but she just couldn't admit it without hurting. Of course, she hadn't come to the conclusion that she was "sick" on her own. Keaton had seen doctors and psychiatrists and they had all told her the same thing, and she thought they were lying. That is, until her insanity became impossible to ignore, and equally impossible to shunt away. Then Keaton understood that they all couldn't be simultaneously lying to her. No truth they were restricting from her could be worse than what they had already told her. She couldn't have been born that way. She was better, and then it got taken away from her, just like everything.

Outside, she thought she saw people approaching, but her attention was snagged again by the gray, trench coat-wearing wolf regarding them. He did not look impressed by their sign. Keaton scowled, baring her fangs unconsciously as the buzzing in her head flourished to another whirring crescendo, then silenced in-between the trench coat-clad wolf's words. Thank God. It was getting hard to think. Cogidubnus seemed to handle the other wolf's antagonizing well, or at least enough for him to leave for a moment. Keaton sighed, breathing aloud, still agitated and still struggling to curb her increasing anxiety.

"Um, sir?"

Blinking, Keaton glanced over her shoulder at what appeared to be a small, childish figure - a rabbit with wings - standing nearby, his finger pointing to the sign. For a moment, the jackal was taken aback, not by the fact he had apparently mistaken her gender, but by how young he was, and what he was doing in a bar without being evicted. Keaton wasn't sure what the young, winged-thing was doing, but she didn't give brushing off the lapine a second thought, in spite of the fact she was a few minutes short of jabbing her foot against Cog's leg for doing the same thing.

"Eh? Look, kid, this isn't a game," Keaton said. "I don't know what you're doing here, but we're looking for... um, adults only. Sorry."

With that task out of the way, Keaton jerked her head back in Cog's direction, and addressed the hedgehog-like entity. "And to answer your question without my partner's impressing retardation getting in the way, skilled at.. well..." Keaton shrugged. "Fighting. Smashing, slicing, decapitating, take your pick. Oh, but pardon me for a second..."

Beneath the table, Keaton gave a punishing nudge to Cog's shin with the front of her combat boot-clad foot in a way which indicated that he was probably doing something wrong. The terminology of the different ways Keaton could physically abuse the emaciated wolf was probably rather clear to him by now, even if the list of different things which could incite Keaton's rage was ridiculously long. Before she could chew Cog out for scaring off every potential partner which came their way, the trench coat-clad wolf returned, this time carrying some equipment, and a new sign, which he distributed to Cog. He no longer seemed interested in mocking their slipshod attempts at advertisement, that was a bonus, but he did have a rather reasonable question. As did a suspicious-looking, dark-furred felid seated elsewhere.

Keaton raised her eyebrow and cleared her throat - not to create any dramatic suspension, but because it was necessary. After her neck was injured, her voice was unnaturally rough, as though she had exhausted it from spending hours screaming, or because of a cold.

"Alright, fine," she grated, microscopically canting an ear in the felid's direction. She brushed some ragged, dusty-blonde bangs out from her ocher-orb eyes, then stated almost nonchalantly, "You hear about the Sabanethei Family? I bet you have, unless you've been living in a fucking hole for the past few millenniums...

"I" - totally excluding the participation of Cogidubnus, but conveying all the hatred in the world through a single snarl - "want to kill Kytharion Sabanethei."

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Keaton's words struck Cross like a blow.  His hands began to tremble and his face was unnaturally still.  With luck she would think he was terrified, but in reality he was struggling harder than she could imagine to avoid collapsing into a heap of laughter.

She's out of her fucking mind.

There were so many questions he could have asked.  In the end, he uttered a single word.

"Why?"

Navarro finally stopped his contemplation of his folder, and looked up. A third person had joined the group at the far side of the bar, and the sign had suddenly changed colors. He stared at this for a while, then went back to the folder.

"Fifty days..." he muttered under his breath. The action at the far corner had gotten more interesting. And interesting is exactly what Navarro wanted.

He stared at his folder until he couldn't take it anymore. He picked it up, stuffed it into his jacket, and walked toward the meeting. He arrived, overhearing the end of the jackal's response.

An assassination. Boring, but it'll pass the time.

He arrived at the group, and spoke in his unnaturally friendly tone.

"Hey, folks. Who we killing?"

As he waited for an answer on why they should want to commit suicide in that particular manner, Cross stared back at the pair thoughtfully.

In a way he had hoped for a reply along these lines, albeit a more restrained one.  "We want to steal a metric shitload of drugs from them" would have been good.  Very good in fact, as it would have disrupted the Family's operations and he could easily have run off with the goods, leaving the other members to take the fall...

But killing a member of the Family itself was sheer lunacy.  As soon as this thought crossed his mind, he realised that the pair of them literally being insane was actually a good working theory.  The strange movements in the jackal's face and head might simply be indicative of a drug problem, but honest-to-gods madness would indeed explain all the phenomena he had observed so far.

Briefly the wolf entertained hopes of commandeering the party himself to lead a strike against the Family, but by the looks of them it was hopeless... they were too far gone.

It would probably be a more constructive use of his time to simply bushwhack the pair of them and extract everything they knew about the Family from their minds.  And Daryil would just love the jackal's ears...

 Cog coughed again, looking up past the brim of his hat at the other wolf's head. The fact that the very dim light from the stormy skies outside were beginning to burn into his eyeballs was a very bad sign. He'd need to curl up and die in a moment, and the pressure in his temples was increasing steadily. The wolf sucked in a breath, glancing at the jackal beside him and looking back up at the wolf.

"...well, hypothetically now...Keaton here used to work for mister Kytharion personally, and has recently...um, realized, that she didn't like it so much."

He put on a practiced grin, only occasionally wincing. "You see, we've got a ace up the hole. We know everything about Mr. Kytharion. Everything. We know how to..."

Cog paused as a rather friendly voice behind him spoke up, asking rather politely who they wanted dead. Cog turned again, swiveling a bit on his chair to view the canine properly. He peered at him between the patches in the brim of his hat.
"Ah, well...Kytharion Sabanethei. You know, head of the Sabanethei crime family."

The ludicrousness of thier goal was not lost on the wolf, but he'd learned not to mock the objective rather quickly after meeting Keaton.

Witt placed his drink on the table, cracked his knuckles, and shrugged. "Can do. Now you get to explain who I should do it for you."

He paused, and waited while she explained the target. And then raised one eyebrow.

The grey wolf queried: "Why?", and Witt followed it with "And how? Do you have a plan, or were you planning on just carving your way towards him, and hoping he doesn't get wind of it before we get there?"

He placed his drink on the table, folded his arms, and glanced over at the twitching druggie. He sniffed. "And I don't think your gobshite partner, here, will be much use, either. Which means you better have a damn good reason why I should stick my hand in that hornets nest. So far, your money isn't talking loud enough."

A smallish figure in a dark hooded coat tried to enter the bar. She was stopped short because the table nearest the door was causing a bit of a blockage due to a grey wolf, a hedgehog, and a bunny kid speaking to the occupants. She had been told this was the best bar in this neighborhood but it evidently looked the other way as to who it served if it had teenagers hanging about. Pushing her hood back Penny took the opportunity to look around. The place was full, evidently it was the best bar in the neighborhood, or at least the most popular. Working her way around the roadblock with a seemingly boneless agility the dark-furred fisher walked to the bar and ordered. While waiting for her drink she took a second look at the commotion near the door, the bold solicitation of assassination catching her attention. The boss had sent her to a real crazy town this time.

Fal'taq gave the skinny wolf's retort all the attention it deserved: absolutely none. He glanced at the bartender, wondering if the slow-witted lizard had forgotten he'd been well paid to direct likely minion candidates to this table. Or perhaps none of the usual scum were in tonight.

Raised voices at the far end of the bar drew the mole's attention for a moment. The rather one-sided fight between a diminutive hedgehog and a hulking brute of a bear was briefly amusing, and Fal'taq noted the hedgehog as possibly someone to approach later: such enthusiasm was occasionally useful to his business, if properly controlled and directed.

When he looked back, the table by the door had attracted some more attention. Well now, the mole thought, perhaps I could look into this for a moment. It would at least pass the time. Unobtrusively, he cast a minor spell to enhance his hearing and focussed it on the wolf and jackal's table. He was just in time to hear the ridiculously-dyed jackal mention the Sabanethei. Her next words almost shocked the mole into sitting bolt upright with a look of unholy glee on his face. Physically, he barely twitched, but inside he was seething with eagerness and curiosity. Oh yes, a chance to strike at them. Even if this ridiculous pair's plan was suicidally hopeless — the wolf was obviously a drug-addled moron, and the jackal had a gleam in her eyes that was not entirely sane — they might still be useful. Before Sabanethei, or the mole himself, killed them.

"This business, or pleasure?" asked Navarro, in a more serious tone. Unlike the others, he didn't seem very surprised. Someone probably came up with a crackpot idea to take this guy down every day.

"I mean, if you wanna take down someone that big, you better have a good damn reason."

Paige was about to enter the Verdant Cuff, a bar she ad been visiting for the last few days as she looked for a new job. Her hand on the door it opened and a pair of bouncers hauled out a dazed bear. "Excuse me." She said stepping out of the way.

"Evening Miss Paige." Once of the bouncers said as they dumped the bear to the side.

"Hello Mikey." She replied as she slipped inside. It was a bit busier than the night before she noted.

The rusty brown wolf made her way to the bar and sat on a chair, "Garret can I get my usual." She asked when the reptilian barman made his way over.

"Certainly Paige." He grinned as he selected a bottle of good whiskey and poured it into a glass for the wolf.

"Thanks much." She said as he placed it in front of her. She gave him a dazzling smile as she handed over payment and a good sized tip.

 Cog had considered that adventurers might want a better reason than promises of gold to take down such a figure as Kytharion Sabanethei. He'd told Keaton they'd probably want a good reason, or at least would want to know why.
Keaton's response hadn't thrilled him. He was really beginning to hate those boots. Still - the spiny fellow seemed to be interested, as did this other canine behind him.
Cog suddenly grimaced. There it was - the first pain, like glass sinking into his brain. They'd start coming quickly now. The wolf took off his hat, showing a swept-back mop of silver hair. He set his head in his palms.

"Keaton knows the specifics. But she..." Cog sighed, wishing he had something cool to put on his forehead. "But..." the wolf glanced at the Jackal sitting next to him, hesitant. He seemed to be looking for some sort of sign, and received an imperiously cold glance for his efforts. He still wasn't quite sure how she was going to react, but he supposed that was all the affirmation he could hope for. He sighed, rubbing his temples, and looked up, glancing at those gathered around the table in turn.

"Keaton here was Kytharion's assassin. She knows how to get to him." he said, the phrase seeming almost tired as he said it. It was quite apparent that the wolf had been practicing for this sort of thing for awhile. At the other canine's question, however, the wolf seemed to pause. "So, um...pleasure? I guess?" Cog said, looking at Keaton out of the corner of his eye.

Ty started working very hard at not looking directly at the crowd gathering by the wolf and the jackal. Kytharion Sabanethei... He knew he should be familiar with that name. He often found himself grossly underinformed in terms of the local Pillars of the Community (this wasn't due to a failing in him, as he suspected, but in fact because nobody was going to try to run a protection racket on a deli when the proprietor of it looked as though he could snap their spine with one hand). He'd heard the name muttered, a few times. Regardless, an assassination? As adventurers he knew these individuals probably had the Best Intentions at heart (that is to say, were very certain that they were in the right) and simply wished to see Justice (which he understood as being a few steps removed from revenge; politer, and they're the ones who started it) done. Then again, they didn't really look like adventurers now did they? These questions were answered as he eavesdropped further; save for the grumbling of the regular patrons it made for most of the noise in the pub. Well, that and the short fellow picking fights. Tyrannus kept his gaze on the little man, feigning interest in the fights he was starting. It made sense as a place for his attention to be other than upon the recruiting adventurers.

Surprisingly, Cogidubnus wasn't rewarded with a punishing kick to the shin or any form of verbal abuse. Instead, he received an affirmative nod from Keaton, the jackal having leaned back in her chair to get herself more comfortable. Whether or not she had conveyed her approval, she still looked intimidating due to the distasteful snarl plastered onto her features and the tension of her posture, her arms folded beneath her bosom and her shoulders angled together.

"It's true," she supported Cog's statement. "I was an assassin for Lord Kytharion for most of my life." Dryly, Keaton allowed an ocherous orb to drift in Cog's direction, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Bastard took away everything from me, so I'm going to do the same to him by breaking him in every way possible. I'll leave it at that.

"Personally, I don't give a shit about the cash," Keaton noticed that their audience was getting a little more crowded with the addition of the frighteningly tall, monstrous Mythos occupying the bar. He seemed attentive enough, indicating his interest had been grabbed by their presentation. "Which is why, if Kytharion goes down, I'm gonna give you all a fair cut. And there is going to be a lot of money. Bastard's been in the business for over eight hundred years, so of course he's gotten a lot," Keaton reasoned, nodding to herself. Unconsciously, she tucked her finger into the neck of her outfit and fidgeted with it, as though it was constricting her throat in some way. Probably just the physical pressure due to her being unnecessarily talkative and more demanding of her vocal chords than she should be, despite her injured neck. "I know a hell of a lot about Kytharion, I know where he works and how he does it. And yes."

Keaton smirked satisfactorily, looking very pleased. "It's very much for pleasure."

~Keaton the Black Jackal

"So it's true," Cross said, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.  "There was an assassin gone rogue... and you are she.  That would certainly even the odds a little.  It could be enough to make such an expedition feasible..."

Paige slowly siped at her whiskey, soaking up the emotions and keeping her ears open, she not only come here to drink but to seek a decent paying job.

The group over in the corner was giving off an array of emotions and coupled with the sign she spotted piqued her interest.

But it was the lone reptile playing pool that she paid most attention to. She had taken a decent amount of money from players the previous evening and thought about doing so again.

Finishing her drink Paige stood and slowly stalked over her tail held high and a sultry smile on her lips, enjoying the looks some of the patrons were giving her.

"Mind if I join in?" She purred at the lizard.


((OOC: Paige isn't wearing her armor or carrying her weapons at this point, and is wearing a long sleeve shirt and jeans.))

Zilla answered with taking his eyes from the table.
"Can if you want. I don't play for money you know though. Too many people will try to cheat when playing for money"
Zilla takes the shot then looks sideways at Paige. He still has the goofy smile on his lips while looking at her and then looks over at the table with the growing crowd.
"Popular people tonight. I wonder what's going on over there. Those peole don't look too health"
Zilla walks around the table while talking, thinking about his last shot. He stopped leaned down and took teh shot. It wasn't an impressive shot but it sunk the eight ball. He then started collect the balls and rack them back up and looks at Paige.
"You can break"

Listening to the wolf and jackal try to give their explanation to the interested and incredulous crowd now gathering around them, Aisha was somewhat skeptical herself.  They were pretty much buttonholed into giving away their motives, but it was all the best way to get an idea of an adventure.  The kinds of risks involved and the kinds of people to meet, it was all a significant point.  At least the panthress herself liked to hear details.  She wouldn't have to drag it out of anyone later.

But then, she heard the jackal utter the name of the family they were dealing with, and her eyebrows shot up.  Sabanethei.  Creatures whose names were akin to curses in some areas, and who had probably more attempts against their lives than even her own family...as well as, it was rumored, quite a few attempts to -take- lives.  All pretty much for the sake of power.  Aisha didn't know as many details as she was sure the others did, judging by their reactions, but it was certain to be a very lofty goal.  And appearances certainly were deceiving...they were looking not just at any person, but one who had worked for them.

Vast rewards indeed, but for what price?  Was anyone foolhardy enough to really go after this individual, Kytharion?  It sounded like a challenge.  One that Aisha asked herself if she was really that willing to get involved.

"Pleasure," the dark huntress echoed in a slight mutter, and then laughed.  "Well damn, it sounds intriguing enough to me, ser claro."  With a smirk, she reached back into her quiver and drew one of the arrows.  A jet-black thing that was barbed enough at the sharp tip to stick indefinitely into the flesh it hit.  "And fun."

One would call her crazy to accept such a mission.  But the truth was, Aisha had nothing else to live for.  Crazy was often the way to live life.

In a typically 'Cubi-like lapse of attention, Cross turned to the young rabbit.  The wings alone were strange enough to warrant a second look.  If he was an Angel, he would make a good hostage if the plan went wrong.  If he was really an immature incubus, he needed to be removed for his own safety.  If the Dragons saw him...

Cross stared down at him, trying to pull an ID and homeplace from his mind.  To his astonishment, what he found was a full-blown incubus mental shield.  No mere teenager could do such a thing...

"How old are you really, kid?" he asked the rabbit, crouching down to match his height.  Johan's true age was not something he would readily admit in a public place, but the rabbit could easily whisper in his ear.

 Addiction isn't simply a matter of pain. Desire is also very much part of the equation - pain and agony are part of withdrawl, but more than those things is the simple and unrestrained desire. The pull that the sweet nectar had on him wasn't merely a leash of pain. That, Cog might be able to beat. But the lust for another, just one more, just enough to satiate the craving he could feel in his bones and the sweet relief to the red-hot spikes behind his eyeballs...
Self-denial is a very hard thing. Too hard, perhaps, for Cogidubnus Mithlome.

Cogidubnus tried his hardest, he truly did. But Keaton  underestimated just how sneaky Cog could be when he needed to.
Just a little bit later... Cog thought, and ignored the pain in his side, and the tightness of the tape around his thigh.

Cog ran a shaking hand through his hair again, and placed his hat back on. It wasn't the heat that was making him sweat anyway. And in any case, the black panthress seemed to be genuinely interested in their mission, as well as the grey wolf in front of them. And the strange, too-friendly canine. Cog nodded to the panthress, and then glanced at the two canines.
"I'm glad to hear that you'll be joining us, then." Cog said in a practiced cadence. "I am Cogidubnus Mithlome, and this is Note...Keaton."
Cog glanced worriedly at the assassin. "Could it be possible to get your names, then, if you will be joining us?"

He took a moment to quickly look around the bar. The reptile from before was playing a game of pool with a newcomer, a girl canine of some sort. The little bastard in the yellow raincoat was still unmoving, although at least he'd stopped sniggering. The very large...dinosaur, Cog supposed, seemed to be mostly minding his own business. The little spiny fellow seemed to be interested in them too. And the wolf seemed to be interested in the kid that was bothering Keaton from before. He hoped the little guy would be able to get away before Keaton really took notice of him.

Cog sweated, and grabbed his wrist with his other hand to stop the shakes.

Chapman Navarro, still smiling, but looking slightly uncomfortable, glanced at the wolf.

"Chapman Navarro. Friends call me C.C.. But, uh..."

Navarro glanced around the room, more uncomfortably than before.

"I'm just having one problem about this whole business. Because revenge is really the worst possible reason to try to pull off one of these... operations. And, with no offense to the folks here, the fact that you're hiring people in a bar, of all places, to take down one of the most powerful folks anywhere doesn't really fill me with confidence.".

Navarro paused, and spoke to the jackal.

"Good news, though, you're an assassin. For Kytharion, no less. Guess that means you're competent enough, right?"

Navarro thought for a second. Warning signs about the operation were screaming in his head, but on the other hand... He felt the yellow folder in his coat pocket.

"Yeah", said Navarro, "I can probably get behind this mission.

In response to the almost satisfied purr the trench coat-wearing wolf had emitted, Keaton apprehensively eyeballed him, at first uncertain about why he seemed so pleased, but then abandoning her tension. She assumed that whatever agenda the fellow canine held against the Sabanethei Family, indicated by the fact he apparently did enough research to be informed about the assassination attempt, was perhaps to her benefit. After all, her intent was simplistic enough - as she stated before, for pleasure.

Keaton had expected some sort of outcry to befall the bar after she stated her agenda, or at least some form of stunned silence. Surprisingly, she had garnered support from numerous individuals, including the melanistic feline bystander, and one who ostensibly looked to be a Being who approached her. Keaton felt a small twinge of distaste that the majority of her recruits seemed to be Beings, but she attributed this more to long-suppressed prejudice than anything else. Regardless, they were making progress, and finding people crazy enough to dedicate themselves to a possibly ludicrous cause.

Then as Cogidubnus introduced themselves, Keaton gave an irregular twitch, her pupils pinpricking, as she glowered animalistically at him for his near slip-up. What did he nearly call her? What? Fortunately, he avoided inciting her wrath by managing to cover up his mistake with her current sobriquet. Keaton felt her momentary rage bubble down, and she sighed, withdrawing, not bothering to hide her discontent translated through her smoldering gaze.

"Right. Keaton. That's my name," she said numbly. When Navarro stated his own name, she felt her anger peter out in favor of slight indignation when he asked her about her abilities. That was a decent distraction.

"Damn right I'm competent," Keaton retorted. As though to reinforce her statement, she reached off to the side and hefted what appeared to be a very large, tall morningstar-mace from where it was leaning against the wall and gripped it into a slanted position. Smirking, Keaton drew a finger with obsessive slowness along Catastrophe's atramentous handle, admiring the sleek, lusterless obsidian surface. Having Catastrophe in her hands made her feel better. "I made it for four hundred years without him having me killed. That should say shitloads."

~Keaton the Black Jackal

The stumpy hedgehog waited for Chapman to finish, then chipped in "Call me Witt." Before he could get much further, he glanced over his shoulder at the big lizard across the room, and frowned. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, someone is askin' me to kick their teeth in."

He shook his shoulders out, balled his fists, and turned to go "speak" to the tall sauroid.

"Indeed it does," Cross said, glancing back at Keaton.  "The age alone certainly marks you as a Creature.  But what kind, I wonder?  Are you one of the Family?  An Angel rebelling against her kin, perhaps?"

Then he turned back to Cog.  "Call me Pettersohn."

 Cogidubnus was about to nod to Witt, when the spiny fellow suddenly turned and calmly informed them that he was about to kick the large dinosaur's teeth in. Cogidubnus twitched.
The sound of Witt walking was painful to the hypersensitive wolf. The sound of the people talking around him were burning coals to his mind, and his headache was only getting worse. His eyes focused in that unholy gleam that only the severely angry could muster, and hurting himself further by slamming his hand on the table glared at the retreating hedgehog. His teeth were bared in a pain-wracked snarl.

The sound of a barfight would send the wolf into paroxysms of agony. He fixed the hedgehog with the most intense stare he could, which under the circumstances, was intense indeed. His eyes were bloodshot, and filled with pain and genuine, malicious irritation.
Cog snapped. The pain was really starting to get to him.

"Godsdammit! We're in a tavern, you oversensitive pinprick! Have some decency you pointy sunuvabitch! Dammit! At least haul your drunk ass outside, you over-testosteroned spiny bastard!"

Witt stopped dead at the sound of the wolf's paw hitting the table, and spun around, eyes blazing. He stalked back to Cog, and leaned over, resting both paws gently in front of him, and gazed, silently, into the wolf's bloodshot eyes, his own eyes somewhat narrowed.

He paused, watching the wolf wince, and grinned. It wasn't a pleasant grin. At the same time, the spines on his back rose. He breathed out, gently, then in, then shouted, right in Cog's face "YOU HORRIBLE GODS-FORSAKEN HOPPED-UP LITTLE JUNKIE! I DON'T GIVE A TINKER'S CUSS WHAT YOU THINK, SITTING THERE SHAKING LIKE A LEAF! YOU HAVEN'T SEEN ME DRUNK YET! IF IT WASN'T FOR THE PROSPECT OF PAY, I'D BREAK YOU IN HALF JUST FOR PRACTICE!"

 It wasn't so much the words Witt used, as much as the surprise and the sheer volume of them. At first, Cog didn't seem to react, sitting silently and still as the porcupine yelled at him, his hands flat on the table. Looking closely, however, one could see his eyes unfocus, and his his hands begin to shake again, rather subtly.

The porcupine stopped, and Cog slowly closed his eyes, wincing with an expression of sheer, excruciating agony, and slowly set his head in his hands, ignoring the spiny fellow completely. He'd suddenly found himself otherwise occupied -  the porcupine had basically stuck a few screwdrivers in his skull and twisted them around a bit.
If one listened, very carefully, they would have heard a very, very soft whimper of pain.

Witt grinned, evilly, and pushed himself off the table, ready to go back to the big green-skinned fellow on the other side of the bar.

A little bit fizzled at what she had said to him he kind of moved toward the back of the crowd around the sign where cross was thinking a lot to himself and a little put down. He didn't notice Cross in the slightest until something kind of itched him. He had felt this kind of itch before but he had a hard time putting a thumb on it. He looked around but didn't have to go far when cross said 'How old are you really, kid'. He was slow to answer so his attention was drawn elsewhere so he grabed on Crosses overcoat, or any kind of cloth to grab his attention. When he bent down to hear him again, he replays "Who's asking?"

Cross smiled.  Not the twisted one which he was infamous for, but something more kindly.
"Teenagers don't have mind-shields," he replied quietly.  "I think you're one of Us."

He smiled back at him. "Oh, well i will ask any questions you have to the best of my ability if you get me on this adventure." He thought about it a little bit and decided against threating the guy.

It was easy to observe how the wolf looked rather uneasy, and she could just guess at the problem.  But regardless, it wasn't Aisha's concern.  At least there was a good start.  She was about to answer the wolf's question, adding her name to the nonexistent list of recruits for the adventure, when suddenly there was a disturbance.  A diminutive hedgehog, whom she now just noticed it seemed, was to pick a fight with a rather large saurian...to which the wolf proceeded to add to.

Her ears swept back to her skull, the noise of the yelling rather discomforting to the keen ears of the disguised Demon, and her fist clenched around the arrow she was holding...as if she were thinking of using it.

No...no picking fights for me, not unless someone picks one WITH me first.  Not the best first impressions from this bunch though.

So instead of answering Cogidubnus directly, she turned back to the gold and black jackal Keaton, who seemed the more level-headed of the two (but wasn't going to go as far as assuming), and hesitantly replaced the arrow into the quiver as the shouting kept.  "Aisha Risen.  Call me...well, anything you want."

She grinned slightly, as if daring anyone who heard her name to call her anything but.  "And I'd be quite glad to lend my skills to your mission."

"Why Thank you." Paige extended her hand to the reptile. "I'm Paige."

She was a little disappointed that he did want to play for money but didn't let it show.

Zilla extended his hand to shake with Paige but stopped short and closed his fist. A rather loud growl could be heard coming from his throat. It sounded like something a dinosaur would make. If Paige looked at his face she would see his eyes are narrowed but he wasn't looking at her. He seemed to be looking out the large window by the door. His growl grew louder as he stared out the window. Anyone who looked out the window would see several beings walking, talking and laughing with each other and looked to be coming to the tavern. Anyone who looked at Zilla would see his teeth where fully displayed. He didn't move towards the door or move at all really. The group had gotten to the door as one of the beings looked in through a window and saw Zilla standing in the back by the pool table glareing at them. The one who saw him stopped at the door turned around, spoke with the others, pointed out Zilla and they all quickly move on to another tavern or atleast away from that tavern. Zilla didn't stop growling until the group was out if sight. He was no longer smileing as he looked back at Paige and shook her hand. It was clear he seemed angery but had a surprisingly gentle handshake. He shook his head and finally spoke.
"My name is Sheabus. My friends call me Zilla"

Fal'taq continued to listen in on the various discussions and arguments in the group around the wolf and jackal. Yes, this might be amusing, as well as... taking care of old business, he thought to himself. A drug-addled idiot and a silly little mad girl, leading a ragtag group of adventurers on a fool's errand. I wonder who else they can drag into their escapade? The jaguar looks competent, as does that canine, but the others? Hah, rabble, mostly.

The only thing the mole still had to decide was whether to feign joining the group now, or follow them. Killing the wolf and jackal, and taking over the group, could be done at his leisure.

'Nice to meet you Sheabus...Was the a problem just then? You didn't sound too happy..." Paige asked as she selected a pool cue her size and chalked it up.

Bending over the table slowly she aimed through the white ball at the rest. Punting the white she smiled as the tightly packed group broke up nicely sinking two of the 'bigs'. Moving around the table to her next shot she fired off a dazzling smile at Zilla.

Bending over to shoot again, Paige wiggled her backside just so. This time her shot was off and the ball she had been aiming at missed the pocket. "Your turn." She said warmly.

The group was growing. There was a winged rabbit with them and a few others. The mention of the words creature and the name of the target caught his attention even more. While assassinations were not generally his thing he decided that he could make and acceptation if they let him in on the mission. He might not actually have to kill the target as it seems the jackal was intent on making the kill herself. No what interested him was that fact that this target was a very powerful member of a crime family and was reported to be not only wealthy and powerful but a collector of many thing. Maybe alone the course of their mission he could find a cure. If not he would likely find death but as things stood either would be better then this state of half living. Epyon shook his head. "I must be crazy" he said as he got up. One of Epyon's forehead wrinkles seemed to movie on its one nearly separating to revile and eye but Epyon suppress the urge. There were some things that he just wasn't ready to know or have know about himself

The winged fox stood and paid the bartender before approaching the group he would listen a little more bore tossing his name into the hat as it were. Events like this tended to be all or nothing for those with the dedication to try. He could see that the jackal would go at this with all she had, everything she could muster and even the she'd likely have a few tricks to use when the chances of survival drop to less then 50/50.  The only true question was 'would this part turn on itself like so many mixed parties tended to?' Either way he had little to loss and as willing to gamble what he had. "of there rewards..." he said speaking to them for the first time. " would any be say magical?" 

"It's not me you have to convince," Cross said.  "If you insist on that form, you'll have to accept that few people will take you seriously.  At least, not without proof.  But I can understand your reluctance."

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd better take care of the wolf."

So saying, he strode up to Cog, and stared down at him in concentration.  In the depths of his mind there was a faint urge to do murder - just to spite his annoying "all-life-is-sacred" father - but it quickly passed.  After all, they were both wolves...
He began to suck away at Cog's pain, not out of kindness but from the more practical concern that they wouldn't be able to get anything done while he was out-to-lunch.

Sheabus didn't answer Paige's question and just watched her shoot. His mind didn't seem to be in the game as he stared blankly at the table when Paige made her first shot. He seemed to be paying a bit more attention during her second shot but not by much. He almost seemed surprised when she said it was his turn. He shook his head again trying to clear it. He walked around the table trying to think of a good shot. He finally find one he like and leaned in for his shot. He seemed to hit the cue at an odd angle, it bounce off three balls that didn't sink. The cue ball seemed to be spinning sideways as it makes contact with a fourth ball, then bounced off to a fifth and sixth ball. The last three sank without much trouble as the cue slowly comes to a stop near a end of the table. He couldn't setup a shot so he simple sent the ball bounceing around the table, coming to rest right in front of a hole. Sheabus simplely looked around the table then at Paige.
"Your shot"

Anton kind of waved to him as he left. He is right i need to go and convince these two that they need me. He takes a few steps closer to the jackel and the wolf again but was confronted with two large beings, one a Horse and the other a Ox both holding out hand to stop him. By the look of them they were drunks and were friends.
"You look to be lost little boy." "Yeah, heh heh. Lost" One right after another.
"And you too look to be poor. Heh Heh. Now if you excuse me" Mocking the second guy a little bit then trying to push his way through But the Ox pushed him to the ground in anger and was about to throw a punch before the horse stopped him and whispered something in his ear. Anton got back up.
"What was that for?"
"What was that for? Um... because we don't like you." The horse retorted back at him. "You want to do something about it?" Pushing him to the ground again.
Anton smiled this time. "Yeah." He then proceeded to ram his staff into the guys shin then ran through people dodging in and out through legs and finally getting outside where he waited a little bit to see if they were pursuing. The horse howled in pain as the staff connected and he fell a little bit. The Ox on the other hand surprised a little bit but then proceeded to run after the kid pushing people out of the way to get to him. The horse follow soon after.

"Not bad." Paige commented as she moved up to the table. Seeing that one of her balls was blocked by one of Sheabus' Paige decided to chip the white over the top and hopefully knock the target ball into the middle pocket. The ball popped up perfectly and she had a second ball put away. Standing up she turned to Zilla "I don't sapose you know of any decent paying jobs around, I just got of a gig escorting a merchant from the mainland."

While she talked she moved position for her next shot. Seeing one to her liking she fired it off but the ball stubbornly wouldn't go in the pocket but blocked it instead. "Aww nuts."

Keaton was at first unaware of her own slip-up, only to be rather unceremoniously informed of it by Cross's suggestion of her being an Angel. More indignantly outraged at that accusation than embarrassed by the exposure of her Creature heritage, Keaton snarled vehemently, "I'm not a fucking piece of shit Angel!"

To emphasize her point, she clenched her fist atop the table's surface, her muscles trembling. "They can all fucking burn for all I care. And for your information, I'm" - only when Cogidubnus slammed his hand down to the table did she become aware of his irritation. Red-hot pain flickered in Keaton's temple from this sudden jumpstart to the noise which brutalized her eardrums prior, her free hand leaping up to grasp her offended ear, which was flickering rapidly. Narrowing her eyes, she focused her glare on Cogidubnus, who seemed... irritated for some reason. Fucking druggies didn't make any sense. "What the hell's your problem?"

She never got to hear the answer to his question - well, a precise one, at least, because in the next moment Cog was directing his ire towards the hedgehog-fellow. Trying to be intimidating. Such an effort would have amused Keaton if it wasn't for the fact she was pummeling his shin with her boot earlier, and that he was contributing to the agitating... motherfucking... noise!

The hedgehog didn't take that verbal abuse lying down. Oh hell no. He returned it tenfold, shrieking in Cog's face, immediately disarming whatever retort the wolf had brewing in that drug-intoxicated mind of his and reducing him to the little heap of shuddering, shivering fur Keaton was familiar with.

Most inopportune moment for people to start to take interest in her offer. Perhaps the increase in noise had attracted more unusual characters. An odd, winged fox was gesturing to Keaton and asking her questions, but Keaton wasn't prepared to answer them. No, she had to take care of the spindly little headache tormenting one of her best chances to rip Kytharion's throat open. Meanwhile, she overheard Cross talking to the persistent lapine boy who hadn't left before, but couldn't quite make out what the specifics of their conversation. No matter.

Irritation fueled Keaton's efforts. Just as the hedgehog-something was about to turn his attention back to the Mythos he was trying to confront, Keaton released a loud, infuriated snarl and lunged.

The first thing Witt had felt was something very large and clawed close around the fabric of his shirt. Second was the feeling of him being elevated off of the floor by a good few inches, just enough for his toes to leave the ground and dangle uselessly beneath him. Third, he was spun around by whatever disproportionate appendage was keeping him aloft, so that way he was facing Keaton's leering visage, her muzzle split by the forced grin she had shunted onto her features.

"Are we all gonna behave now?" Keaton asked brusquely, just managing to keep herself from enunciating that question with profanity.

She would have cared that she basically exposed her Creature heritage for all to see if she was in her right mind; at the moment she was too distracted with keeping Witt restrained and listening to that damn buzzing dying down. Too distracted to notice the people staring, slack-jawed and eyes wide, at the suddenly-hostile Succubus. Too distracted to realize she had probably compromised her identity by freeing a triad of tentacles through the split fabric in the back of her shirt and using them to ensnare Witt. In front of Witt's face, one of the tentacles leaned in towards his muzzle, its end crowned with a black-striped canid head - akin to the Anubis of Egyptian mythology. Inquisitively, it watched its captive victim with three eerily blank brown eyes, then flashed a wry, toothy grin.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

 Johan saw Cog stir somewhat as he probed his mind, and to the grey wolf's other surprise, it felt somewhat odd in the lupine's head. There was the wracking pain, of course, but there was also a tightness there, a feeling of constraint and great fear. Areas of his mind that should not be active instead raced, and as he concentrated on the drug-addled wolf in front of him, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was right behind him. There is no sound in another's mind, of course, not literally, but everything in the Were's mind seemed set to a backdrop of heavy, wet breath.
Probably something that could be dismissed as prolonged drug use.

Cog's head stirred, and he looked up , his eyes seeming to focus again. He blinked, an action that involved not a slight grimace, and then looked straight at the wolf incubus. His eyes widened.
"No! Thanks, but don-"

Cog stopped short, looking at the scene literally straight in front of him, and seemed to pause a moment as he took it in. His face stock-still, he adjusted his hat, and then extended a hand towards Johan. He seemed to have forgotten what he was about to say before.
"Pettersohn, was it? Welcome to the team." he then looked at the panthress, and the other canine in turn. "Ms. Risen, Mr. Navarro. Great to have you aboard."

He kept staring at the hedgehog suspended in air by Keaton's tentacles, and glancing at the rest of the bar's patrons with a slightly worried expression. Still, he didn't panic, which was to his credit. He seemed to be used to this.

* * *

A figure strummed the strings of his guitar, to the backdrop of the sound of waves and pattering rain. The fingers worked nimbly from one string to another, the figure picking at each note rather than strumming, giving the music an almost hispanic feel. He seemed to be lost in thought, or lost in the music, and from his guitar poured not only sound, but seemingly texture - a music that one could almost feel in one's bones.
The figure seemed to glow in the dim light of the ship's hold, glowing lines of tattoos running up and down sable-colored arms, and a single stylized, glowing eye on the jaguar's forehead.

A ship's whistle blew above them, signaling their arrival. He opened his milk-white eyes.

Eating Cog's pain evoked some very strange feelings to Cross, but right now he had more to worry about than some freak junkie Being.  Keaton had exposed herself as a succubus.  That had confirmed his suspicions, but he had not wanted the whole bloody tavern to know about it.  There was now a real risk that the succubus could be slaughtered by dozens of angry Beings and unless he crammed her soul into a jam-jar or something his only link to the Family would be lost.  The mission Daryil had entrusted him with would be lost.  He was on the verge of panic.

"What in the gods' names did you go and do that for?"  he yelled at her, his voice filled with fury and command, the voice of one who was used to being obeyed without question.  "STOP!  Think about what you are doing!"

Witt flared up as soon as he realised someone had grabbed his shirt. His spines rose, his eyes lit up, and he grinned, evilly.

"Sure. Badly." he riposted  - and his left hand flashed out to grab the tentacle, and yank it across the corner of the table. His right hand grabbed his pint, and went to bring it down on the tentacle - and stopped.

He looked over his shoulder at Pettersohn and snarled "What? What do you want?"

"Her not to be torn apart, dickhead," Cross retorted, and hastily scanned the bar.  They should have one here somewhere...

As that insidious glow flared in the pits of Witt's pupils, Keaton felt something akin to dread start to boil within her stomach, chewing away at her belly like thousands of lava-laced fangs. Emotions as simple as that were always exacerbated with her. Realizing that an impending attack was imminent, Keaton prepared to defend herself the best she could, or at the very least endure whatever Witt had planned. He pulled back his hand with the pint glass clenched in it, the jackal-head on her tentacle released a chittering growl and shrank back in horror as it immediately registered what fate Witt had planned for it, and then -

- and then Cross shouted something which suddenly seized Keaton's mind from the ichorous, hell-hot lava it had been plunged into and flung it onto dry land, where she could gape and stare with renewed vision at the scene she had created. Keaton blinked, and her head snapped in Cross's direction, her expression reflecting nothing short of thunderstruck shock, as though she had been trapped in a nightmare and someone had slapped her in order to relinquish its grip. Over the stillborn silence that seemed to conclude Witt's statement, Keaton glanced to the bartender. The once infinitely-patient reptile was reaching and rummaging around under the counter.

THUMP.

The reptile set what appeared to be a large, impressive-looking double-rifle on the counter, and thumbed it, as though challenging Keaton to step out of line. Through that unspoken language, Keaton, with what little sensibility her mind sustained, decided to defuse the situation. Panicked, she glanced to Witt, and tried to talk in a way which would appeal to him. If violence and intimidation tactics wouldn't work, perhaps something more universal would.

"You," Keaton forced out from her mouth. Withdrawing the jackal-headed tentacle back into her body, she started to lower Witt to the ground, but didn't set him down just yet. Not until he shrugged off the pretense of being a threat. "You have a lot of fucking spunk. Stronger than" - she tried to avoid the no-doubt sensitive topic of his height - "most, too...

"Look," Keaton tried to keep herself from panicking. Felt like something was rolling around in her stomach. "If I let you down, and if you shut up for a moment, I'll show you so much money that you can crawl into a bottle and never come out again."

Click-click.

The reptile was slipping in a pair of bullets into the barrels of his rifle with an odd sense of dignity to his wiry frame. He glowered at Keaton, counting off the remaining seconds she had to negotiate her behavior with an extended hand. Keaton watched the reptile's thumb tuck itself into the reptile's palm, and quickly glanced back to Witt before the reptile could get started on those remaining digits.

"Do we have a deal?"

~Keaton the Black Jackal

As Anton was about to square off with the two, he felt a small pull of power from with in the place then a loud scream from inside. The horse and the ox was a little taken a back at the scream and before they knew it they were being thrown aside by magic and the Winged rabbit moved back inside ducking through all of the people that was going out of the tavern. He moved along the edge to find out what was going on. When he first came into view of the scene, his first feeling was him being really disappointed in the succubus for letting this happen. He started to move towards them as she started to let the hedgehog down a little bit and the bartender pulling out a very large gun. He was ready to protect them from the bartender but kept a watch one everyone.

 The emaciated wolf glanced from suspended hedgehog to lupine, his bloodshot eyes narrowing, and with somewhat a grimace stood suddenly. He was about to speak, when Keaton spoke to the hedgehog first, her reason emerging along with Garret's rifle. Cog sat down again quickly, his mouth shutting with a click.

His ears twitched, however, and he looked at Mr. Petersohn with a somewhat disdainful glance. He raised an eyebrow. "Look, Keaton can take care of herself, yah?" he sighed, taking off his hat and running his hand through his hair again. He seemed to mumble under his breath.
"Nobody's stupid enough but us and Garret to get involved with her, anyway..."

"Hrmm... Good paying job. Can't say for sure I usually do bodyguard or security jobs myself. Half the time I either get paid half what was agreed on or they get me arrested. Can't trust these people as far as you can throw them"
Zilla started to scratch his chin while he though. Suddenly the whole commossion happened by the door happened and reminded him where he was.
"What in the holly....."
Zilla absent-mindly moved in front of Paige when he saw it. He stoud there waiting to see what was gonna happen next. He was ready in case trouble broke out. Once it seemed like the tensen was slowly fadeing he relaxed a bit. He then looked at the bartender as he loaded his rifle. He shook his head and went back to the pool game.
"Don't see that much around here"
He took his shot and missed. Sighs and looks at Paige.
"Your up"

Witt turned back to Keaton, and raised one eyebrow at her description of the money. He cocked his head to one side, thought for a moment, then swapped hands on the glass, spat in his paw and held it out. His spines relaxed, and he hung from the jackal's tentacle like a sack of potatoes.

"Deal."

Cross gave a silent sigh of relief as the two of them came to a truce, if not an agreement.
Relaxing, he returned the bucket of dirty water (complete with sponge) to its place on the bar.  Pouring it over their heads would have made things awkward later, but it would have stopped the pair of them in their tracks.

Nonetheless, he kept an eye on the barkeep.  The rifle might be used for stopping fights, or it might be used for stopping Creatures, period - in which case things could still get very messy.

Aisha's own patience was already nearing an end.  It was like nobody else had paid attention to any sort of protocol for a decent pause.  At least long enough to let everyone introduce themselves.  If not for Cogidubnus having come back from whatever he was doing and officially welcoming them, Aisha would have figured that nobody heard anyone.  But she was right on the edge of just charging the source of the noise.

That is, until the jackal did just that, unable to fight her own anger.  The panthress stepped back in surprise, seeing the method that she used to snap up the hedgehog.  Tentacles.  There was only one creature, rather common, that was quite well known for using them.  "Succubus," she nearly growled and took out her boomerang.  A fellow Creature, yes, but she didn't know anyone who got along with the kind.  And if she was going to be involved in killings...

That was when the other wolf stepped up to stop her, with what seemed like a working effect.  Of the people in the bar whose heads were craned and whose eyes were wide with fear and fury, only Cogidubnus looked rather calm.  And soon, so did Keaton...after the bartender grabbed a rifle and was aiming it around at the trouble.  Well-prepared, she had to give him that.

"Sangre de la Madre...this is why I like doing things alone," she muttered and leaned back.  At least the Demon felt a little more at ease when there seemed to be less Beings in the group than realized, however dangerous the other was.

The panther relaxed, letting the blade arm rest to the side.  "Well, now that's settled...I wonder how long we have to get going before someone's inevitably arrested."

"That was very interesting, folks." said Navarro, a short ways off from the action.

"I see we're going to get along well for this op. Definitely a sign of future success, huh?"

Witt glares over at the canine in the green jacket, obviously nettled.

"Well, you were doin' your best to keep things under control, then, weren't you?" he utters, witheringly, then huffs, shrugs his shoulders, and turns his back on the "schoolteacher".

"Damn, looks like I'll be paying my way back to the mainland then..." Paige said before she heard the commotion over by the group that had been forming, then Sheabus blocked her view. Scooting over to the side to get a good look, she was rewarded with the sight of the black jackal hauling a porcupine being off the floor with a...Tentacle?

Kind if not kin this piqued Paige's interest, she hadn't met many of her own kind since the attack. As the little event wound down She decided that she'd go have a look at what what up, but there was something she needed to take care of first.

"Thanks." She said as the reptile gave way to let her have her shot. Setting herself up Paige started slotting her remaining balls one by one till she was left with the eight. "Corner pocket." She announced pointing to her target with the cue. As she bent down a predatory grin graced her muzzle, the cue came back then shot forward. Struck, the white rocketed across the felt, smacking into the eight ball causing it to bounce against the sides of the corner before sinking into the pocket.

Grinning she fairly bounced up to Sheabus. "Thanks for the game Zilla." She said as she extended her hand.

Zilla smiled at Paige and shook her hand.
"I had a feeling you where a pool shark"
He then looked over to the group by the door.
"I think I'm gonna go over and suggest they head out. I know what happens when that gun comes out. I've had it pointed my way a few times"
Zilla put his stick away, nods to Paige and walks over to the group.
"Geez I'm usually the one they causes him to bust out the gun. Might I suggest we find a new place to talk. I know a bar where it would be easier for you to conduct your business. Not to mention their alcohol is cheap"
Zilla leans towards the group and whispers.
"And it's not so watered down"

Penny moved herself a little further down the bar when the bartender decided that it was time to demonstrate his persuasive skills. But she kept an eye on the jackal and wolf, they had said a few phrases that caught her attention, Kytharion Sabanethei being the main one. Some very nice art pieces had been involuntarily redistributed and rumor had it the Sabanethei family was behind the appropriations. With the boss's latest request safely tucked away the fisher was at loose ends until the person who lost their item stopped looking for it quite so intently. Perhaps a side trip to find some more mislaid items would be interesting. The boss wouldn't begrudge her a shopping trip of her own, would she? Penny ordered another drink while she debated the issue.

Cog gave an irritated glance around the room, and then a look at the nice, new sign that Mr. Pettersohn had placed up in front of their other, rather ratty-looking cardboard mess. He gave a sigh, blowing a bit of hair around with the exhalation, and looked over at the red-clad panthress with a sardonic expression, shrugging.
I suppose we're bringing him, then. Joy.

The pieces of red glass sliding into his brain had stopped, as had the screwdrivers - Cog felt better than he had in some time, actually. The craving was still there, but without that soul-rending migraine he could think a little clearer. He stood, putting his hat back, and stuffed one hand into his pocket, the other one gesturing at the disarming bartender.
"It's alright, Garret. We'll be out of your hair inaminnit." he said, looking at the people gathered around their table. The group had grown nearly double in size in the last fifteen minutes, and it seemed like they'd really gotten the cream of the crop here, as far as fighters went. Hard to make them stop, really.

That girl canine from before was approaching the table, as was the lizard. He spoke to the wolf and those gathered, saying it might be a good idea to leave the tavern and get somewhere else. Must be a local, if he's familiar with Garret's aim, Cog thought.
"Maybe I like this bar." Cog said, narrowing an eye at Sheebus. "And who the hell're you? Actually, wait." Cog glanced around the tavern. "Let's get this organized. I know you three." he said, looking at Aisha, Navarro, and Mr. Peterson. "And you," he said, looking at sharply at Witt. "I...didn't catch your name, if you please." he said, biting his tongue.

He paused, looking around the tavern. He seemed to think for a moment, before raising his voice and bringing his hands up to his mouth like a megaphone. "That's for all of you! You saw the sign, and if your interested, now is the time to say something."

Cog stopped, looking back at the lizard. "Right then. So. Who the hell are you?"

Satisfied by how the situation's tension seemed to wind down, the bartender-lizard, Garrett, appraised the motley menagerie with a sharp, calculative golden eye, then lowered the rifle somewhat hesitantly. Sighing in relief, Keaton waited for her hackles to stop prickling, then watched as Witt spat in his hand and proffered it as the punctuation to their agreement. Without flinching, Keaton returned the favor, spitting onto her palm and then closing it around Witt's, giving it a shake just before she lowered the pacified hedgehog-thing back to his feet. Their deeds done, the tentacles withdrew quickly into Keaton's back and vanished, their owner gazing around the room. From afar, Garrett was still fingering the rifle, although in a manner less menacing than before. Surprisingly, he listened to Cogidubnus.

"You have ten minutes," Garrett retorted in Cog's direction, and replaced his rifle in its niche under the counter. Ten minutes was surprisingly generous, in Keaton's opinion. Either the bartender was used to such outbreaks occurring, or he was just a little too patient.

Being-shits never made a lick of sense.

Keaton shook her head and absently wiped her hand off on her shirt. Many of the patrons of the bar were still on-edge after Keaton's little demonstration, which meant they'd have to leave soon. Keaton couldn't handle the input of emotional flow from large groups of assorted races - too overwhelming for her. Instead she fortified her mind with as many mental barricades as possible which stifled the emotional reception to a few, muted trickles; just enough to provide her with decent sustenance. Sighing, Keaton eyeballed Cog, then watched with some apprehension as Paige and her looming reptilian companion approached. The aforementioned reptile, Zilla, leaned in and whispered something, to which Keaton shook her head at.

Cog rose to the challenge of gathering their recruits. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he called out to all those whose interests had been grabbed. Good way to shepherd their "valiant warriors" together... brusque but effective. Keaton shuffled where she stood, anxiously observing the collective group for those who would accept their challenge, or decline.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

After Keaton's impromptu demonstration of her race, the atmosphere in the bar was not going to approach normality for some time after they left, Cross reasoned.  Whispers might even reach the Dragons and that was not to the good.

"I think you should consider the kid," he told Keaton.  He was speaking in a low, quiet voice so that as few people as possible could hear.  "He's got a full mind-shield.  I think he's one of us."

Witt raised an eyebrow at the suddenly much more stable wolf. "I said, just before Pettersohn there stuck his oar in," with a wave of his hand at the grey wolf in the long coat "Call me Witt."

He took a long pull from his drink; after all, if they were leaving in ten minutes, he'd have to hurry to finish it.

Well now, this puts a new light on the situation, Fal'taq thought as he watched things go from tense to possibly disastrous. A 'Cubi, revealing herself and flaunting herself so openly — she must be mad! The mole watched cautiously as the bartender brought a large-calibre argument for good behaviour into plain view. That decided Fal'taq not to get directly involved just yet. Follow, watch, and when the time came, join them in the guise of a more timid and less powerful mage. If the jackal — or the hedgehog, for that matter — did anything else stupid enough to get the whole group mobbed or killed, too bad. While it would be satisfying to strike at Sabanethei right now, he had no intention of putting himself in unnecessary danger in the process.

Epyon was both relived. and worried at this. Things were calming down in part because of he bartender and in part because of one of the other would be participants. Epyon signed. whispering "i must be made to still be here" but here he was ready to continue this mad quest if the rewards were great enough to offset the risk. Still thought about the target and the power behind him. what there a chance of success? who know but as his grandfather said before passing " as long are you are able to live in this world there is hope.

" hope the flower that dies yet returns with out fail every year. hope the carrot on the end of the stick. hope the ever present edge of mad needs pushing both being and creatures alike to try harder and do more in sane this for the sake of success. yes this was madness but sometimes madness works were sanity failed.

And there was the jackal. he was unsure what to make of here. He'd seen undead with tentacles inside of them. fortunantly as far as he knew he had no such mutation but those this were sent. the looked like little heads and changes shaped. whats more there was not scent of decay when she released them. he closed eyes twitted wanting open what to get a good look at thins woman and the rest of the group but he fought the urge. maybe later he would take a real look at them but for now there were things that the didn't want to know. things that he was better off not knowing.

Paige waited for the grey wolf in the tench coat to finish speaking to the jackal before introducing herself. Stepping forward she looked the jackal in the eyes. "So you're looking for adventurous types I see. Got space for a spellsword?"

Epyon was intrigued but this. he'd studied spell swords and knew they drew form a variety of sources. some of which were very powerful again creatures and specify undead like himself. even thong he was just another prospective member he had to ask. "do you specialize in any special field? " he asked not wanting to assume anything as he knew from his research it was a wide and varied field.

Anton walks over to Cross and the Wolf named Cog. He was still a little uneasy of the cubi revealing herself but wanted to still help out the best way he could. He looks up at both of them. "The name is Anton Opver Devate but anton is just fine. I was hoping to join you all." Kind of feeling like a fool when there are so many others near them but it doesn't matter.

"Witt, right." Cogidubnus said, curiously avoiding looking straight at the fellow. Several phrases ran through the wolf's mind, most of them involving the word 'half', but he kept his thoughts to himself. He took a look around the room, adjusting his hat and glancing at Garret for a moment before looking at that weird little kid from before.

What is he, twelve? Cog thought, staring at the strange little fellow. Judging by his clothing, he must be poor also, if he couldn't afford to even dress himself. It looked like he'd outgrown most of his apparel long ago. We can't take a kid with us. It'd be... Cog paused. Glancing from one side to another, he looked intently at Anton. On the other hand, the more people in front of me, the better.
"Welcome aboard, Anton." he said, extending a hand. "Treasure and artifacts beyond your wildest dreams await."

Well, presumably.

In answer to the mythos' question Paige held out her hand, concentrating she willed two orbs into existence: One of ice and one of light, which then proceeded to form complicated patterns in the air above her palm.

"I'm familiar with most magics but my strongest is Ice and Light based." Paige said before the two orbs disappeared when she closed her hand.

Stop me if you've heard this one: A crazy Succubus and a junkie walk into a bar...

Ah, but do they gather because of her madness or in spite of it?

They're prancing around with their wings out. We don't need a fucking fortune cookie to tell they're nuts.


A golden-haired black jaguar sat at the end of the bar, seemingly unfazed by the commotion. He raised a glass of amber liquid to his lips and sipped. His tail swished slowly from side to side, a band of gold at its tip glinting in the lanterns' soft glow. The black leather trench coat--which he still wore indoors--accentuated his musculature. Although he carried no obvious weapons, he projected an aura of quiet confidence.


But you're intrigued. As are the others who look like they should know better.

Yeah. Good hunting tonight.

Ah, but hunting who?

Heh. Does it matter?

"That is interesting." says Epyon and thong it was not his intent when he asked he saw and option here. when he asked about her spells he was worried about her mastering magic again the undead like himself but even if that were true ( he was unsure of light mags effects having only come across rumor and hearsay in his research)  there was an opportunity here and one that he must try to make use of. " i know a few  low level  spells but i specialises in healing magic. the problem is with the world the way it is,  well sometimes you need more fire power then to just enough to light a camp fire and more frozen bite then what it takes to keep your lunch form spoiling along the journey to you next destination. i was wondering can you teach me a little in you spare time? "

though he did not expected a positive response at first he'd already prepared his counter arguments to convince her other wise. he would tell her how if he were to learn stronger spells while in the party then is use in the party would be increased and he could used his abilities for low level  spells during camp so that she could save up her power for for when it ware really needed. through for some reason he knew she had a lot of power he also knew that like most it was not unlimited in its use.and if all else failed he had one option left

Shouts, curses, shapeshifting and firearms. Things got so much more interesting so very much faster. Was the little fellow mentioning me? He thought hard, trying to remember if he'd seen the being before. He'd made a lot of enemies in the past, but didn't recognize the diminutive hedgehog in the slightest. Far more interesting was the succubi's display, and the reaction of the barkeep. Good show, keeping a firearm on hand. Forethought. The other mythos in the room had his attention as well; if he was an enemy, Ty wouldn't know until the last second. He tended to expect the best of people; contrary to popular belief, this did not make him a moron. Other mythos were a danger. He kept his eyes glued to another random bystander, hoping this one didn't go the same route as the short man. It could be so difficult to mind your own business sometimes.

Cross looked about, with his eyes and with his mind.  His interest was briefly aroused by a feline figure in a trench-coat, eerily similar to his own.  What really took the cake was the mental probing... the cat had a mind-shield too.
Dammit, he thought.  Another wannabe.

Casting his eyes around the room he mentally assigned faces to races, as near as he could guess.  By the gods... how many Creatures are there here?

An expression of great satisfaction manifested on Keaton's muzzle as she watched the amount of volunteers increase, her eyes occasionally wandering to the bartender in case their alloted time expired unexpectedly. As Cross leaned in towards her ear and whispered something, she hissed something under her breath and glanced to him, an eyebrow quizzically raised. He seemed to be interested in the kid standing nearby - the same kid Keaton had thoughtlessly dismissed not too long ago. In response, Keaton would have had a snappish comment prepared, but something Cross said disarmed her of any immediate retorts. She blinked, staring down at Anton, scratching behind one of her ears.

Cogidubnus didn't seem to have any arguments with accepting Anton in their group, but Keaton was still uneasy. She peered at Cross warily. "You sure he has a mind shield? And - uh?!" Between that sentence, Keaton's attention was finally grabbed from its cloudy concentration and firmly shaken by the implication behind Cross's statement. Both the kid and this "Pettersohn" guy were Incubi? Of course, Cross had actually concealed his heritage... regardless, it came as quite a surprise. A big surprise. Shaking the bewilderment from her features, Keaton sighed, then ran her hand down her face... only for her to mercurially break out into a wide grin from behind her hand.

This - this was perfect. Two Cubi in the party? It lessened the amount of Beings, not to mention it increased the raw power behind their team. While this was a surprise, it wasn't an unpleasant one. For a moment, Keaton's stability faltered as the urge to snicker, then outright laugh started to clench around her subconscious.

It was disintegrated, however, when Keaton was addressed from behind. When she heard Paige's voice, Keaton tensed and spun around to face the fellow Succubus, albeit somewhat out of shock and impulse. Being frightened never yielded very good effects with Keaton. Reminded her too much of vulnerability. Scared her. Paige's eyes were leveled confidently with Keaton's own. Reprocessing Paige's question, Keaton shook her tension off, glancing to Garrett another time before returning her gaze to Paige's.

"We need all the battle skills we can get," Keaton explained. "Unpredictability. Kytharion has a shitload of bodyguards and assassins... so we need variety. Lots of it. Who knows what we'll run into."

As Paige turned away to address Epyon, another voluntary adventurer, Keaton sighed and smirked to herself. Excellent. Absolutely excellent. Their group was growing. Just a few more minutes and then they could start.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Sheabus suddenly spoke up when Keaton had finished speaking.
"I know some of their bodyguards. I've had to work with them before. Same as the assassins, granted it was more against them than with them. They have some good bodyguards but they don't have the best"
Sheabus seemed to smile abit as he finished speaking.

Without excruciating pain to dull his mind and his sense, Cog found it much easier to concentrate on things, like trying to recruit more member's for Keaton's little plan here, and perhaps less importantly to Keaton minor things like correct posture and sight. Whatever... Mr. Pettersohn had done, it had let him think a little clearer. It hadn't done anything for the cravings, though.
Cog sucked in a shuddering breath. The glass taped to his thigh burned like a red hot icicle.

He coughed, and glanced at the other wolf furtively through the patchwork of his straw hat. He paused a moment, just-almost glancing over his shoulder, and regarded the lupine intently.
"Something bothering you?"

"Hmm?  Me?"  Cross said, spinning round to face Cog.  "I may be wrong, but there seems to be an unusually high number of Creatures here..."

No-one actually saw the ominously looming figure, his shape vague and hard to visualise, approach the table. He was just suddenly there, looking down at the jackal as she sat with a faint smirk on her muzzle. For a moment there was a tense feeling in the air, almost as if the island's eternal drizzle had suddenly become an impending thunderstorm.

"Who knows, indeed, what you might run into," he said, his voice deep but quite soft. "I do not think you have a mage in your party yet. Some Creatures with impressive abilities of their own, yes, but what if your... objective... employs his own mages? Or perhaps he is a mage himself?"

The optical illusion, if that's what it was, gradually reversed itself. The looming figure didn't really shrink, he just always seemed to have been short and stout. His voice slid up the scale to a higher pitch, with an odd accent, and now his pastel yellow raincoat could be seen clearly. The mole smiled thinly at Keaton. "To a degree, we have a common purpose. I am Fal'taq. I offer my services as a mage."

Penny flattened her ears against her head trying to shut the voices out. The wolf kept repeating that tempting word; artifacts.  It was like he knew what would get a response from her. She tried to talk herself out of it. They wanted assassins and fighters, she was neither. Art redistribution relied on sneaking, not attacking. She was unsuited for what basically amounted to a clan war. But in the end she found herself not living up to her given name by hopping off her barstool and starting back across the room. She blamed her boss for leaving her stranded on this stupid island with nothing to do but grow mold. She wiggled her way through the growing crowd to where the scruffy wolf sat. "You just looking for fighter types or do you need other skills? I'm more of an object retrieval specialist." Before she could finish her pitch the mage put on his show. She couldn't help but wonder if she was the only normal one in the bar?

Aisha had been in her own corner near the jackal and wolf with a mysterious grin on her face, watching as they called out for newcomers to aid them in the quest other than the few who spoke up quite immediately.  And from the looks of it they were getting some good talents; several fighters who were much like her in terms of either job title or ruthlessness, the hints that in fact, there were other 'Cubi in the group (a child of all things among them), and now a mage and...well the last one quite actively put it in better words than she could, what she was.

Thinking back on what she overheard the wolf Pettersohn say about there being quite a few more Creatures than there were Beings, Aisha couldn't help but chuckle...it was like a weight had been driven away.  So perhaps it wouldn't be so bad if at one point she had to reveal her demonic nature, unless somebody had a secret hatred for her kind.  Really, who could blame one, though.  I'll still keep it under wraps for now.

"Hmh, Creatures don't bug me," she did chuckle, however.  "All everyone's made of is flesh, blood, bone, and tongue.  Somehow I think the lot of us might get along quite well."

Cog glanced to the side, looking into the interior of the Tavern. "It is a port town. We get a lot of different folks through here." he said, his face painted in a neutral expression. He seemed to look around the room calmly for a moment, eyes passing over the various subjects sitting down, before looking back at the wolf with a questioning glance.
"Anyone in particular strike your attention?"

He was about to inquire further when a dark brown and very sleek mustelid slunk her way through the bar and appeared without warning right in front of him. Cog blinked. And tilted his head.
"Object retrieval...?" Cog stated, a little distracted by trying to figure out where she'd come from. "I'm not quite sure...ah. Well." he paused, looking over at Keaton, and then back at the Fisher. He seemed to smile faintly. "We could use someone who can get in tight spaces. And places that people don't necessarily want us in. I'm fairly certain the Sabanethei family hasn't lost anything in a long time, though."
He was about to smile at the mustelid again when he coughed, almost a retch that didn't sound healthy at all. Penny couldn't be sure, but it almost looked like blood on his hand before the appendage disappeared into a pocket.
"Your name?" he rasped out, keeping an ear open at Johan.

The obsidian feline set his empty glass down on the counter and stood. His deep purple silk tie had been pulled loose with the top button of his shirt open. He straightened it, ran fingers through his blond hair, and made himself look presentable. Even in dive like the Verdant Cuff, appearance mattered. He was, after all, a professional.

He strode over to the motley gathering. His dark blue eyes travelled across each of the would-be assassins once and then settled on the freshly painted "ADVENTURERS WANTED" sign. The corner of his mouth raised in a wry grin, flashing a single white fang.

"You're very free with other people's money. Do you have a plan for getting away with the Family's wealth, or will we have to rifle through pockets for our vast rewards?"

Parking his hands in the pockets of his tailored leather coat, he cocked his head and fixed his deep blue eyes on the jackal. They sparkled even brighter than the gold rings in his left ear. His thoughts rose above the din of the bar, but his emotions remained calm, unreadable.

Surely you don't expect the world's most powerful criminal organization to roll over for you just by cutting off its head.

"I'm not sure I can show you much really it just comes down to practice...Well for me at least" Paige replied to Epyon before taking a seat at the table next to the wolf and jackal.

"The blond jaguar and the wolf," Cross murmured softly.  "Not Beings.  Got mind-shields like 'Cubi.  What're the chances of that?"

"then you are quite adept my friend" Epyon said to Page his voice dropping as he though about what she said. He knew there were some with talents for spells that he himself lacked not that he'd been the strictest student in his magic classes when he was younger. He only really worked on healing for two reasons. One he saw it as useful and two that time he screwed up in class he nearly killed the test subject a livestock bovine that had been gashed to test the skills of the students. That near death told him that healing wasn't as easy as he thought it would be. "Perhaps practice is part of it but i'm sure there is more for complex spells. it can't just be about how much power you put into it." hey said kind of muttering to himself as much as he was talking to page. "it just can't be"

Epyon is soon lost in his muddy thoughts in which only a few skilled mind readers could hope to make sense of them.  
Epyon thinks about his healing spells. it true that there were many special steps  to healing as you couldn't just pour you magic in and say be well. you have to fix the damage piece by piece in many cases. this was especially true when dealing with organ injuries. and his few stressing the though few attempts at lighting  magic ended with his lighting arching every which way but where he wanted it. he'd done better with fire and ice they were not power spells that he'd learned. taking a seat he resolved to keep practicing but still a skilled eye could tell him what he was doing wrong when trying to cast the ice prison spell on his scroll. it designed to capture the enemy with out killing them every rock or try he tried it on usually wound up frozen half solid not something he wanted to try one someone he need to keep alive. on in a town that he might have to visit again such as this port town that was the main way on and off this island.

Dani was makeing his rounds when he noticed a sign in the window of one of the marco "run" bars. That shouldn't be there. better take care of it. He opened the doors to the bar, and strode up to the group. "Hey, who's advertiseing here?" He said in a none too friendly voice.

The jaguar's ears, perked up and alert, flicked briefly towards the two wolves beside him. He raised an eyebrow, but his gaze remained fixed on the jackal in front of him.

We're standing right here. Who does this guy think he is?

He evidently had very good hearing.

Sheabus put up a hand and looks at Dani.
"Calm down Dani,  these people are just looking for some help with a problem they have. They ain't hurting anybody at the moment. They'll be moving out once they get what they need"

"I...see. Not high, huh?" Cog said, swallowing and looking from right to left, taking in the female wolf and the suddenly very interested blond-haired jaguar. He raised his eyebrows at Paige, his eyes lingering perhaps a bit longer than they should have, and shaking his head slightly he adjusted his hat to look at the blond-haired jaguar questioning Keaton, smiling with a single-fanged grin.
"Both of them?"

Cog's voice was not without a hint of uncertainty. He'd been raised as a being, and had most of the being prejudices ingrained into him from a very young age. But staying on the Island had softened a few of those, and he'd mostly found that as long as you left most creatures alone, they left you alone.
He glanced at Keaton. It was apparent by his demenour that he was a little nervous. His eyes drifted from Cross, to Keaton, and then to the black jaguar and the Paige. His hand emerged from his pocket, and he scratched at his thigh. He suddenly interrupted the Jaguar's inquiry, trying his best to sound like he knew what he was talking about.
If there was one thing being a junkie would do to you, it was teach you how to lie convincingly.

"If you want to rifle through pockets, we wouldn't stop you. But...well. Men like Kytharion don't put money in a bank somewhere. He lives in a stronghold." Cog smiled. "I'm sure...well. Kytharion Sabanethei does not trust anyone, and especially not with his money. Even were he to use a banker, all mobsters keep large amounts of cash near them, in case things go bad. And....well. It's not like he just reinvests what he doesn't hoard entirely back into the business. Bring a bag. It's an opulent place. Right, Keaton?"
Cog looked over at the yellow succubus, adjusting his hat enough so the jaguar probably wouldn't be able to see his eyes. It wasn't as though he was lying, really. It made sense to him.

As he was looking at Keaton, however, a very large bear suddenly walked inside and demanded to know who was advertising there. He didn't seem to happy about it. Despite himself, Cog raised an eyebrow, looking at the gathering of assorted creatures around him, and wondered what the bear planned to do if he was unhappy.

* * *

Garret finished cleaning another glass out, and setting it down with a clunk ticked off another minute on the tally. Only about three left, now, and he'd have to start shooting. He didn't really like having to break out the gun, but he'd clearly told them ten minutes. He contemplated which patch of roof he should fire a warning shot at first, and began to absently polish down the bar.
He sighed. Roof repairs here were horrendously expensive, being that people knew you couldn't live without them for even a short while.

As he was musing, he looked over again at the large, dinosaur looking fellow drinking out of the bowl-like cup. He paused, a light flashing through his eyes.
"The drink's free if you get that lot out of here." he said.

Witt rolled his eyes at the extended conversation on all sides, shrugged, downed the last of his pint, and put the mug back on the table.

"Right. Well, then. Let's go."

And with that, he cracked both sets of knuckles, shook his shoulders, turned, and forded through the crowd, heading for the door.

Ty blinked in surprise, setting down the bowl. I admit, they have been rowdy. Never expected myself to be implicated as a means to their removal though... Then again, why not? He'd do some good for the bar, and coincidentally not have to pay for his drink. Besides, he was certain that the group over there could be reasonable.
Sometimes Ty's understanding of Reasonable could be tricky too; in his mind, it essentially meant that they did what they did for a reason. So, he simply had to give them reasons to leave. Best start with plan A.
Tyrannus finished off his drink and stood up to his full intimidating height, not crouching to keep his brow from nearly brushing the ceiling. He strode over to the other table and looked down at those around it, coincidentally coming in from the appropriate angle to block the light to the entire gathering.
Now then, what came next-? Ah, right...
"Excuse me," He said, his fittingly deep voice restrained to a mere polite rumble, "But I've been asked to escort you all out. Is this a problem?"

 "Kytharion Sabanethei?! What do you know of him?!" Dani spun fast on Cog completely ignoring the man who apparently knew his name, which he figured someone had to. "What exactly are these 'skilled adventurers for? What are you planning?" Dani knew if John caught wind of him dealing with people who hadn't paid for the advertising he could be "punished" but if he could get a lead on Kytharion his personal agenda would be MUCH easier.

The panthress blinked, regarding the next one to come and speak up about joining the party on the adventure.  Another of her species, but more than likely still not of her race.  But mostly, she noticed that the bartender was getting edgy about the large gathering.  It was like he wasn't used to the sort of thing happening, adventurers gathering in a bar like this, but then again it was probably the notion that so many were Creatures.

That was when someone else spoke up, a large bear, who was worried about the advertising.  What, he owns the damn place?  She wondered.  Still, like the others had done, he was met with a bit of ignorance...especially when an apparent friend had assured them that they were to be leaving soon...and for Aisha, that was a godsend of a notion.  She was just ready to get moving.

Finally the group could see to reason to do so when the large reptilian who had been involved in an earlier squabble addressed everyone.

"No complaints from me," the disguised Demon muttered, rolling her eyes as she set her blade back into her belt...having held it for a while in case there was a need to use it.  "Place was beginning to smell anyway..."

Then the aggressive bear rounded on Cogidubnus, having heard the name of their target.  Aisha quirked an eyebrow and turned toward the door...but not leaving just yet, observing the outcome.  First one to get shot in the back, I bet...

Sheabus looks at the fellow and lizard and just shakes his head.
"I tried to get them to leave since Garret pulled out the gun. I don't know if no one heard me of just didn't care"
He then looks at the group gathered by the table.
"I don't care if you all want to get shoot or not. And trust me he will shoot you, I've seen him do it before. I'll be outside if you guys get your head on straight and figure things out"
Sheabus walked outside, picks a spot so he can keep an eye out for the others if they leave the bar and so he was out of the rain. As he gets situated he pulls out a cigar and a lighter. He leans agains a wall and lit the cigar. He looked at the rain, shook his head and took a puff of his cigar.
"Only reason why I hate the rain"

At Sheabus's claim that he was acquainted with some of Kytharion's bodyguards, Keaton's eyebrows furrowed pensively for a moment, her fingers tugging anxiously at one another. If this reptilian hybrid was familiar with Kytharion, she wasn't aware of it. Probably because she routinely worked at the Sabanethei stronghold when she wasn't dispatched to another, faraway location. In her contemplative state, Keaton seemed to disregard her surroundings - it was the only explanation she could conjure up when the raincoat-clad mole who was formerly heckling them inexplicably appeared in front of her. Again, Keaton nearly shrieked in surprise at the mole's sudden appearance, cringing.

She hissed a little through her teeth, brain whirring, as the mole introduced himself and stated his motives. Keaton, trying to keep the agitation from her features, snarled a quick, "Don't sn-sneak up on me like that!" between her cuspids and then dusted herself off, listening attentively. A mage? Already the group seemed to be congregating a great deal of those possessing an affinity for magic, but seeing a Being who hadn't abandoned magic for firearms came as a bit of a shock to Keaton. In this day and age, Keaton always thought Beings resorted to more immediate and destructive forces instead of spending years training and perfecting their dormant magical inclinations. In terms of magic, she had assumed Beings were inferior to Creatures in that sense - but that was probably ingrained prejudices speaking. If the guy was competent despite his undisguised seediness, she didn't give a damn.

It seemed the mole had somehow fluctuated in height, although Keaton was completely uncertain of it. It made her brain hurt, trying to catch up with that sudden decrease - she ultimately attributed it to her unspoken "sickness." Reigning her confusion, Keaton sighed, then nodded her assent to the mole, Fal'taq. "Alright. Like I said before, we need all the help we can get... though seeing as you're a Being, how good are you at -"

Then the jaguar Keaton hadn't noticed before spoke up. Blinking, Keaton signaled a "one moment please" to Fal'taq, then turned around to match gazes with the jaguar. Both irritated and thrilled as she was by all these interruptions, Keaton realized the felid had a valid question. Fortunately, and once more rising to resourcefulness, Cogidubnus chimed in, wordlessly asking for her validity through eyes alone. In response, Keaton nodded. "It's true," she said, clearly recalling the ostentatious layout of Kytharion's chambers. "The bastard knows how to live. He's fucking loaded."

Once more, Keaton was interrupted, this time by the lumbering saurian approaching them. Despite his towering countenance, he was quite polite in his request - for them to leave. Keaton would have been indignant if her objective wasn't more than fulfilled. They had more than their fair share of volunteers at this point. Gnawing nervously at her fingernail, Keaton mumbled a curse under her breath. She rasped, "Fine, fine. We'll get out of your hair."

Flippantly gesturing with her hand for the others to follow her, Keaton started to turn to the door, only for the hulking presence of the bear to advance on them. He was demanding something from them in a too-loud voice, probably enough to agitate and stir the buzzing in Keaton's head again. Keaton snarled her pain and clutched at her scalp, seething visibly as the swarming sensation started to spin through her dizzied brain. As she growled deeply in her throat, she finally released her scalp and glared dangerously at Dani, her eyes venomously narrowed.

"Yes, yes, motherfucking Kytharion Sabanethei!" she nearly shouted, but managed to limit her voice to a furious growl. Last thing she needed was even more noise. "Will you KEEP QUIET? If you're interested in joining up with us, then follow us. We know where we're going."

With that, Keaton took a deep breath and started to storm out the doorway, still holding her head with one hand and using the other to push open the door. With a loud flap, the door swung in place as Keaton disappeared through it, stepping out into the pelting rain. Shivering a little under the falling dewdrops, Keaton glanced over to Sheabus, who was smoking off of his cigar against the wall. If Keaton smoked to relieve her tension, she would have been highly tempted to ask him for one. However, she had a much more thorough remedy for her frustration.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Dani ignored the irritated woman as she left in favor of a more detailed description from the wolf. he made note of her attitude toward him. He'd have to teach her some respect for the Marco family later.

 Cog let out a sigh of relief at Keaton's response, still distracted by the strange bear in the doorway. Witt gulped down his drink and stood - Cog was about to say something when a rather large shadow cast itself over the table, making the rough pine table slightly darker than it was before. Cog turned around to find himself about chest-high to somebody. Craning his neck upwards, he found himself staring at the largest person he'd ever seen.
Cog's eyes widened.  "None..." Cog coughed, his voice almost cracking. "None whatsoever. We'll just being going, then."

Reluctantly, as if this hulking entity would squash him if he let his eyes drift away from him for a single second, Cog looked over his shoulder and at the black jaguar behind him again, giving him a somewhat shaky smile. "So, as you can see, vast rewards. Perhaps you'd like to follow?"
With that, Cog began to follow Keaton out the door. He knew it was a very bad idea to try and stray away from her for too long. He walked behind her and past the rather belligerent bear, who was still standing in the doorway. Cog made a nonplussed expression.
His eyes suddenly gleamed.

"Excuse me!" he said, poking the bear on the shoulder. "That fellow over there - you see?" he said, pointing at Witt, who'd just left the bar. "He's the one who made the sign."
Cog continued walking behind the jackal, sticking his hands in his pockets. Rain began to fall over the brim and work it's way through the straw mesh of his hat.

"Maybe you thought i was stupid or something." Dani said placing his hand firmly on Cog's scrawny shoulder. Cog would find Dani's grip like iron. " I heard you talking, and you will fill me in on what's going down or you can talk to John about it." Cog knew the name. It was impossible not to. A few tense seconds passed before Dani said "I'm interested."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Cog said as the rain fell on them both. Fat droplets dripped down from beneath the brim of his hat, the rain already soaking through the cheaply made piece of straw and staples and running down his muzzle. His expression seemed to be unreadable, although there was a hint of something in those yellow eyes of his. He carefully reached up and grabbed the bear's arm. He didn't try and move it, but rather expected the bear to let go.
"She already said. We're going to kill Kytharion Sabanethei. If you want to come along, then I think you should let go of me." he said, looking down at the bear. Dani was a good six feet, but Cog was about six-two - it was obvious which one was the stronger, of course, but Cog still managed to look down at the bear's eyes.

"Unless you're blind, or really stupid, you'd notice I'm a junkie. You really don't want me to bite you. Who knows what I've got?" he said, licking his teeth. Despite the wolf's general ill-health, his fangs were disturbingly moon-white, and his bloodshot yellow eyes didn't look entirely sane. "So let go."
Cog's hand was deep in his pocket, almost to his thigh.

Dani let go. "I'm in. I may be able to scrounge up some help from the rest of the family, but don't count on it. This is part of my own agenda. The name's Dani." He offered his hand for a shake. Something told Cog he could trust Dani.

Cross filed out with the others.  It had been tempting to do something vengeful like making an extra door, burning the place down as he left, or even tearing the barkeep's soul from his body, but the one thing he didn't want to do was draw any more attention to the group, or indeed, to himself.  In any case, the barkeep hadn't made a penny from him.  And for a miser like him, that may be punishment enough.

"Okay then, Keaton," he said as they began to congregate outside, "Where, roughly, are we heading to?"

Anton filed out along side Cross. He liked him. It is good to have someone on this sort of thing. First thing to do,... he started to thing. was to get a fighter on my side, Always made something much... much easier. Someone that is pretty strong too. He started to look around at all of the beings and creatures around. He started to wonder who to pick then he looked up at cross when he started to talk about leaving then looked at the two leading this party for the answer.

Sheabus noticed Keatin and Cog leaveing the tavern, with the others in tow. He slow walk over to Keaton while she walked. He moved the cigar around in his mouth as he walked. He slowly watched as his cigar was slowly being put out cause of the rain. He took what puffs he could but kept the cigar in his mouth. He seemed to like to chew on it a bit as much as smoke it. Once he got near Keaton he spoke.
"So I guess that means we'll be moving on then?"

As soon as Dani took his hands off Cog, the wolf took a quick, shuffling step back, and turning began to follow the yellow succubus again. "Good. Elated. Glad to have you on the team. Now get away from me." Cog stumbled away, losing his balance for a moment on the sucking mud road beneath him. He didn't quite fall, and as he regained his balance again he looked down both sides of the road - Witt, that hedgehog fellow, seemed to be walking quite stridently down the wrong side.

Cog sighed, and called out to the hedgehog. "Hey! Where the hell are you going?" he said. "The docks are this way!" Cog punctuated with his thumb, and continued to walk slowly backwards.

* * *

Walking languorously out of the ships hold, the blue-lined jaguar took in the sight of the great port of Holiday. A massive, encircling port covered an entire side of the Island, a giant concrete framework filling inside the Island's natural harbor with dozens of larger and smaller ships busily loading and unloading different cargoes. Refueling and repairs was the Island's main attraction, however, and scattered about everywhere dockworkers scrambled to feed drums of fuel into giant, strange machines with long necks and snakelike arms that refilled the depleted reservoirs. On the edges of the harbor were older wooden docks, filled with smaller and shabbier ships and noticeably less bustle. The effect was most pronounced on the side which the Jaguar was exiting - both wooden sides of the dock were passenger loading and unloading, and this happened to be the cheap side.

His guitar was slung over his back. His steps creaking on the gray wood beneath him, he looked to the side at his companions and smiled softly. He mostly looked at a certain one, however, a certain glint somehow present in his milky eyes.
"Careful, this wood feels like it might break under you!" he said grinning.

The jaguar made his way forward, weaving deftly between other passengers and scattered detritus.

Witt paused, then turned around, arms folded, foot tapping.

"I'm goin' this way, what's it look like? Where the hell are you goin'?" Followed by, under his breath - although not quiet enough to be inaudible - the exclamation "Twit."

Good, thought Cross, as Witt went off in the wrong direction. We could do without him anyway.

Fal'taq carefully hid his annoyance at the interruption to his conversation with Keaton. The situation was getting a little busier than the mole liked: there were too many people joining in this little venture. Well, perhaps when the bullets and magic bolts start flying, the numbers could be whittled down a little, he thought.

He followed the exodus out onto the street, turning his jacket collar up to keep the ever-present drizzle from going down the back of his neck. The jackal and wolf seemed to be heading for the docks. He followed, keeping to the side of the road to avoid the worst of the mud.

As Keaton stood up and made to leave Paige followed, only pausing to grab her traveling cloak from the rack by the door.

She hurried to catch up with the yellow and black Jackal.

"Excuse me, Keaton was it? May I ask where we are headed? Although I'm quite capable of fighting with out it I would prefer to fetch my equipment from the inn I'm staying at." Paige asked sweetly as she walked alongside Keaton.

Refastening her dark raincoat tightly against the almost sentient permeating powers of the island's rains Penny headed out after the group, but not too close. She was still trying to talk herself out of this mad notion.

...Keaton:

Keaton didn't answer Cross immediately. Instead, she simply stood there, one hand on her chest, deeply inhaling and exhaling in a steady, synchronized pattern. A valiant effort to dispose of the residual buzzing still whirring about her brain, but the noisy pattering of the rain against the buildings, the streets, the people, still persisted despite her attempts to cleanse herself. Removing her hand, Keaton looked over at Cross, then at Sheabus, who had addressed her as well. Cogidubnus was taking too long. Why was he taking so long? They needed to move. Every second could be spent concocting ways to murder Kytharion Sabanethei. She would not tolerate seeing them casually wasted.

If that backwards little dipshit is off sniffing scented markers or something, I'm going to drag him out here and - Keaton curbed that thought with another, shaky breath. Then she opened her eyes and tried to look more focused. "We're going to the docks," she explained. "We can afford a boat. I have the money..."

Behind her, she could hear Cog finally exit the bar, along with the bear. Apparently he seemed to have some vendetta against Kytharion and the Sabanethei Family as well, judging by Keaton's analysis of his previous actions. So what if he was a bit violent? That wasn't her problem. It could be used. Manipulated. All that violence could be channeled towards a much more worthwhile purpose.

Speaking of violence... Keaton noticed Witt was walking away from the group. After Cog called to him, only to receive a rather crude rebuttal in return ("Twit," he had said), Keaton inhaled sharply through her nostrils and attempted to be polite to the hedgehog-like-individual. Exercising force hadn't proved to be a very productive action, so she tried to appeal to him in a different way, despite the fact Keaton almost felt her stomach burn as she swallowed her pride and whatever irrational, emotional luggage accompanying it. Signaling for Paige, who had asked her a question, to wait for a moment, Keaton spoke.

"C'mon, Witt. The sooner you come with us, the sooner we can pay you, alright?" Keaton tried to keep her voice pleasant. Her eye threatened to twitch, but she managed to resist that urge. She wondered how long she could use the promise of paying Witt as a way to ensure (yeah right) his compliance. "The docks are this way. We have a boat."


...The Queen Wasp (Unknown):

Under the cover of darkness draped over the ship's hold, a faint buzzing thrummed from seemingly nowhere in particular before silencing abruptly, succeeded by hideous, rasping sounds - the sound of claws raking the aging wood. Heavy, chitin-plated feet shifted and thumped together, grating razorbladed claws against the creaky and mold-encrusted floorboards with each step they made. Determined from the weighty sound of each footstep, the creature approaching from the depths of the hold was undoubtedly large, perhaps titanic.

What stepped out from the darkness vaguely resembled a wasp - its chitinous, rugged exoskeleton was colorized as such, in poisonous shades of waxen yellow and oily black, and it possessed the customary stinger on its protuberant insectoid abdomen - only anthropomorphized and armored, an insect forced to develop on its hind legs. Whether or not the aforementioned development was a pretty process was debatable, but it certainly produced power, as the wasp-creature's barbarous physique and immense height of nearly seven feet demonstrated with each step. Almost nothing about the creature was soft or serene - every curve or contour was accentuated in jagged outcroppings of exoskeleton-armor; what flesh that wasn't contained by the armor sinewy and irregular. The wasp-creature was abnormally proportioned, with heavy, weighted limbs adorned with hooked, clawed digits, its only graceful features consisting of two attributes: the long, coiled antennae curving from its scalp, their lengths reaching its waist, and the giant, gossamer wings folded against its back like a sweeping cape.

Where its companion in crime had freely embraced the taste of salt-laden air and the opportunity to finally be liberated of the ship's confining hold, the wasp-creature merely scowled and swatted at the falling droplets of water with an irritably-swung claw, throwing its compound gaze back and forth. At the unabashed presence of the wasp-creature, many of those loitering about the docks were shocked into simply standing and staring at the spectacle. Insectis. Never saw those around Holiday... they were supposed to be solitary, isolated creatures, limited to their chthonic tunnels and networks. Despite this aberration, everyone knew better than to confront the intimidating beast of an insect.

Startled out of smoldering silence by its partner's comment, the Insectis swerved its head around so it could glare openly at the milky-eyed jaguar. "Was that supposed to be some kind of crack, smartass?" snapped the Insectis in an unnaturally distorted, yet somehow feminine voice - not feminine in the sense of that it would attract serenity, but feminine in the sense that it was reminiscent of a banshee. It was a good indicator of the Insectis's gender. Something dangerously vicious flared in the pits of her compound eyes, somehow spreading to each, individual sphere centered among the cluster of ocelli between her larger eyes. "What's that supposed to mean, fuckbucket? Got something funny to sa - hey!"

Before she could further interrogate the jaguar, however, and consequentially garner the attention of even more of those working on the docks, he evaded her, and slipped away. Sighing a sound which resembled both an exhalation and a snarl, the Insectis rested one of her immense, clawed hands on her forehead, then slipped it back, smoothing down her antennae. She looked contemptuously around the dock - though she didn't seem capable of exerting any emotion other than a negative one, or a variation of such, judging by her activity thus far.

"So this is Holiday..." she mumbled. The Insectis lolled her head to the side, the sinewy muscles in her neck stretching taut, and then straightened her head again, sighing. She didn't bother to hide her next remark, "What a dump."

With that, and summarily neglecting the collectively fearful, curious, and stunned stares of the Beings populating the dock, the Insectis trudged away, following the same path her companion had taken.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Witt raised one eyebrow. "You have a boat already? Well, why didn't you say so." He lowered his brow, and, grumbling imprecations, and muttering profanities, he stumped after Keaton, shaking water from his spines.

"Damned inconsiderate obstinate stupid gods-forsaken bloody leaders." Stump stump stump. "Couldn't organise a piss-up in a gods-damned brewery, I swear." Stump splash stump. "Don't know where they're going, don't know where the hell they're from, aren't sure what they're doing, can't be bothered letting us know useful information prior to too late, probably don't even have a bloody plan." He gazed up at the sky for a moment. "Can't even pick a fine day to go on their random stroll around the vicinity." Stomp stomp stomp. "Not that there are any on this bloody swamp." Then glared at the rest of the group. "Picking this random mob of misfits to do their dirty work, I bet. Gods." Stomp stomp stomp splat stomp. "I'll just bet we're all gonna die. Horribly. Painfully. And for what, thirty pieces of damned tainted bloody silver, I reckon. And then we'll be totally unable to fence the blasted stuff." He shook his head, spraying water off in all directions. "Gods-dammit, I bloody hate the rain. Gods, what I wouldn't give for a decent bloody drink." Stomp splash stomp. "And that unstable mother-raping junkie will probably spend any profits we get on shooting up." He glared, briefly, in the appropriate direction, before shaking the water out of his eyes again. "Gah. I gods-damned hate the father-raping rain."


Grumbling his way along behind the rest of them, he kept up the steady stream of complaints, gripes, moans, and profanities, sotto voce, as they wended their way down towards the docks.

Navarro trailed the others slightly, walking silently. Every sign said that this mission was completely doomed, but...", Navarro stopped, and looked at the ground. He heard an argument a while off, but didn't pay attention.

Worst case, I cut and run. Best case...

Navarro kept walking.

...Keaton:

Keaton sighed aloud amidst Witt's tirade, relieved that her desperate attempt to gain his cooperation had succeeded. That went more smoothly than she had anticipated. She supposed she'd have to start asking "nicely" more often in order to get what she wanted from these people.  Not once had she used any words which could be interpreted as begging, although the effort was still tremendous. Keaton was used to taking, not giving, both verbally, physically, and emotionally. In every aspect. It was how she survived. With that out of the way, Keaton turned back to Paige, who she hoped had remained patient throughout that momentary ordeal.

"As I said to Witt" - Keaton refrained from calling the hedgehog something unpleasant - "we're heading to the docks. The local inn is probably on the way there. If you want, you can go ahead and pick up your stuff, then meet us back on the way."

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Will there be no end to this small army?  Aisha rolled her eyes after she stepped out, observing that the bear was intent on coming too.  I knew the guy's head was valuable, but...

The rain was as a refreshing break from the kind of crowded air that a tavern had, no matter how well it was run.  No matter what the weather, Aisha liked being outdoors.  Judging by the fact that she wore no boots, the panthress was no tenderfoot either.  She loped quickly after the others, not bothering to shield her head from the cool downpour, until she caught up and managed to hear snatches of conversation.

Her eyebrows quirked when she heard Keaton reply to a couple of answers as to where they were headed.  A boat?  Well, she certainly approved.  It was hard for anyone to follow anyone else over water.  Maybe it would also be a time to get to know the fellow party members in the small army.

...Yeah, right, chica, memorize faces.  You never know how many of them are gonna stick around anyway.

"Oh, shut up," Aisha muttered when she passed the hedgehog uttering curses.  "This is only the beginning.  Don't use your best words before the fun begins."

As she started to wander to the group's sides a bit, just to make sure that it didn't look like they were all together (though they probably gave that impression anyway), it was hard to see the typical assassin's grin on her face afterward.  A dangerous expression.

Sheabus walks along listening to the others speak but said nothing. He just chewed on his cigar and moved it around in his mouth. He pulled it out and looked at it and spit off to the side, away from the others.
"Hrmm I think I can keep this thing lit"
Sheabus put the cigar back in his mouth and pulled out a lighter. He walked for a bit trying to keep the lighter lit.
"Damn must be running low on fuel"
The lighter finally lit and he put his hand over the cigar to get it lit. He finally got it going and took a few drags off the cigar.
"There we go"

When Keaton turned back to her Paige hid the slushball she had been forming in her hand (with every intent of hitting the hedgehog). "Thank you, I'll meet you out front then?" Paige said before quickening her pace to get to the inn before the group.

After a slog through the mud and rain Paige made it to the inn. Stepping inside after scraping her boots clean the rusty brown wolf made her way to the small room she had been renting. Closing the door, she striped down and packed her clothes into her backpack before pulling out a black padded bodysuit and putting it on. Unrolling the leather wrapping Paige put her armor in when she was not wearing it, she began attaching and strapping the armor to the bodysuit.

Satisfied that it all was in place and strapped properly, Paige grabbed the scabbard of Winters Bite and slid it through straps on the back of the armor, as well as her fighting claws which she strapped to her waist.

Finally she picked up her backpack and threw it over one shoulder and walked out. As she passed the front desk she handed in her room key to the bored clerk there.

Under the cover out the front of the door the wolf waited for the group to come into view.

Dani caught up with Keaton. His hat was tilted so the rain poured off the back. "What's up with the druggie?" He asked. "Doesn't want to talk much." Dani truged through the swampy mud he was familiar with. Something underneath his coat bounced funny as he did. "Why are you after Kytharion anyway? What's your motive." A spark of deep thought shone through his features.

Without breaking the flow of the invective, without even skipping a beat, Witt muttered something like "Gods-damned waterproof bloody cheery felines give me blasted hives." and stomped, entirely coincidentally, in a puddle.

Just in time to splash mud up at the black feline's legs.

Ignoring the hedgehog entirely, Cross cast his eyes over the docks.  As usual, there were many ships of various sizes and configurations.  One of them, he hoped, carried a consignment of the soul-gems they used in their 'dairy'.  Shipments of those had been reduced and delayed of late.  While they had devised a workable substitute using milled fragments of glass in case their supply dried up entirely, Daryil feared that the Family may be responsible.

"Did you have a particular boat in mind?"

Ty smiled and dusted his hands off. It really was amazing, the results you could get with a nice word and a smile. And to think, he used to solve such matters so inelegantly as to bodily hurl the offenders out of the area they weren't supposed to be in. He couldn't help but marvel at the polite age he was so fortunate to live in.
"Ah, good barkeep," Tyrannus grinned at the lizard, remembering a couple seconds after the fact to display less of his dagger-like teeth, "Those individuals have been ushered out. You said that would cover my drinks so far, yes?" He laid a ten and a five down on the counter, "One more, before I leave. And do tell me, out of curiosity," the mythos' gaze grew contemplative, "who was it they were speaking of?"

The blond jaguar, the last to "join" this ragtag group, raised the collar of his trench coat to provide a modicum of protection against the unrelenting downpour and opened the door to leave. A mottled brown mutt--one hand on his head to prevent his hood from blowing off--ducked into the bar and nearly collided with the well-dressed feline. The dog stepped aside and apologized profusely. The cat merely smiled and waved him off before strolling off into the rain. His golden locks were soon plastered to his head, occasionally whipped up by fierce gusts of wind as he made his way to the docks.


Rainwater flowed off his heavy work coat and pants as he made his way to the bar, but the floor of the Verdant Cuff was too soaked to notice a few extra drops. The canine pulled down his hood. Like many dock workers, he was rugged and worn. Not particularly handsome. Although not a small man, his shoulders slumped slightly with the look of someone who didn't want to cause trouble. Quite unremarkable and easily forgotten. Certainly less interesting than the huge saurian standing next to him.

"Rum, please. Spiced."

His voice was hoarse and gravelly. He muttered thanks to the barkeep and forced a polite smile as he fished some money out of his pocket.

There was an empty table by the door. He wandered over. A plastic sign lay discarded behind the chair near by wall. He shrugged, pushed it aside, and sat facing the bar. He let out a long sigh and raised the glass to warm his innards with booze.


Fang nursed his rum and observed the patrons of the Verdant Cuff now that the crew of would-be assassins had left. Camouflaged among the crowd, he opened his mind and ears to the chatter in the bar. People would talk. That couldn't be helped. A nutcase and a junkie announcing plans to kill the world's most dangerous mobster would have been dismissed out of hand as utter lunacy, but they'd displayed enough firepower to at least entertain the possibility of success. Some of that talk would be heading for the wrong ears.

With any luck, he might get to kill the messenger.


It's like she wants Sabanethei to know we're coming for him. Hardly good news for her new troops.

That may figure into her plans, if she even has any. Do not discount the possibility of another player pulling her strings, either. The insane are pitifully easy to manipulate.

Fuck. With out luck, he's involved.

As they approached an inn, most of the group quite eager to get in out of the rain for the time being before they were to hopefully catch their boat, Aisha still wasn't too quick to do any running.  Nor was she quick to reply to Witt when he muttered something back.  He was only half right about her amount of "cheeriness", but who was she to go correcting anyway?

That was when, before she could walk any further, the panthress felt something splash at the back of her leg.  Being a water cat, she wouldn't have minded if it was just water.  But the viscous texture also hinted at mud.

With a hiss, Aisha looked at who could have done it...perhaps completely by accident, though she doubted at the force it would take for a single step to spray heavy dirt.  A step made by the diminutive hedgehog at that...her eyes narrowed.  "I'm going to pretend that didn't happen," she said slowly, her voice at the warning level, and haphazardly kicked the stuff off...not caring where it landed.  "The rain does well to make everyone act like children."

Children with an interesting vocabulary.  Same principle.

...Keaton:

As Paige left, Keaton sighed to herself for the umpteenth time that day and ran her hand through her dirty-blonde mane of hair, unsuccessfully and mostly-methodically trying to smooth down the aerodynamic bangs with her fingers alone. She continued to walk, her heavy combat boots thudding against the street, effortlessly treading through the puddles of collected, muddy rainwater and flinging them about beneath the weighted soles of her boots. Seemed the buzzing had completely diminished despite Witt's persistent curse-laden tirade. At least for now. That was good.

Around the time Keaton reached that realization, she overheard Aisha hiss, but didn't let it trouble her. Instead, Keaton simply walked ahead, hands in her pockets, fingers fishing for something in particular. Beside her, Dani seemed to catch up to her, apparently with the intention to strike up a conversation. Keaton blinked, surprised by this suddenly less-intimidating front, and then listened attentively. She shrugged.

"Druggie's name is Cog. He isn't much of a talker, I guess... usually stoned off his ass on those drugs he shoots himself up with, but he's useful when he isn't off his fucking rocker," Keaton explained with an almost cordial sense of noncommittal. The understatement at the end of that sentence slid off of her tongue effortlessly.

However, her reaction to Dani's next question garnered a much more different reaction, judging by the sudden tension in her features and the way her pupils seemed to contract for a split second. Unconsciously, Keaton gulped and reached up to rub at her neck, which was still hidden beneath her outfit, at first beginning as an ingrained effort to curb her mounting anxiety, but then accelerating in speed and force.

Amidst the darkness marring her features, Keaton smiled in a way which was not at all mirthful or sincere. "I want to absolutely ruin him," Keaton went through her malediction with a strange reverence to each word, as though she was cherishing the bloodstained thought behind every syllable that slid off her tongue. " I want to break him and rip him into pieces for everything he's ever done to me. I'm going to fucking murder him."

In-between that tangent, she seemed to take an almost misty, faraway look, even as the insane smile cracked and shuddered. For a moment, Keaton wanted to cry, or scream, or break something into pieces, or kill someone. "He ruined my life, so I'm going to ruin his... and when I've taken back everything he took from me, I'll be better again." Keaton closed her eyes, pausing. Her fingers clenched around something spherical nestled in the bottom of her pocket. Something serene and cooling flourished over the seething hornet's nest Keaton's heart had become, defusing the tension bound and wriggling within her chest.

Dead and gone within a few seconds. That momentary lapse of composure was forgotten without a thought as the remnants of soothing suffusion bathed Keaton's insides.

She opened her eyes, comforted by that feeling, and then noticed the shape of an unknown object jostling beneath Dani's coat. As though nothing had happened, she pointed innocuously to the bouncing figure and asked, "What's that?"


...Garrett:

The fringe-fingered lizard was in the middle of depositing a pair of amber-filled mugs in front of their recipients when Ty returned, cheerfully announcing that he had disposed of the unruly individuals who were once loitering in the bar. Raising the ridges of skin over his eyes which compensated as his eyebrows, Garrett nodded impressively to himself, spinning back around and trudging like a well-trained soldier back to his customary position at the assortment of drinks arranged behind the counter.

"Looks like you did. Well-done," Garrett complimented Ty absently. He immediately fetched a fresh mug after Ty took his seat, habitually thumbing the ostentatious golden stud ornamenting the flesh around his ear-hole. "You're right, by the way. Next one's on the house. Fair's fair."

Filling up the mug with Ty's drink, Garrett slid the mug underneath the saurian Mythos's muzzle in a smooth, practiced motion. The lizard sighed, checking the clock resting over the bar, idly listening to Ty's question. He answered indecisively. "You don't want to know." Realizing that, in fact, Ty did want to know, he rectified that statement. "Kytharion Sabanethei. Crazy lunatics... gonna get themselves killed."

Murmuring a few obscenities under his breath, Garrett rolled his eyes, scooping up Ty's proffered money and counting through the change. Deciding the money was adequate, he stashed it in his pocket, and then retrieved the newly-arrived, sodden canine his rum. Strong rum, preferably. Poor fellow didn't seem in a talkative mood. "The two who set up the sign didn't even order anything."

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Witt kept stomping after Keaton, a brief smirk crossing his face. "Surprising how well you recognise the activity. Almost makes yer think, dunnit, that yer might be one yerself?" He snorted.

Expecting to be ignored - even preferring it - he shook the water off again, and glanced around, sniffed, and kept going.

"Two down, ten to go" he muttered to himself.

Sheabus continues to walk and listen to the others. His cigar managed to stay lit so he seemed happy. He listen to Keaton's little speach. Once he heard her talk about how she had every thing taken away from her seemed to strike a major nerve with him. He actually stumpled a bit. He didn't think anyone had noticed, he kept walking but had a very sad look on his face. He also seemed he was far away from the others. He spoke but rather softly, not careing if anyone could hear him.
"I'm sorry. If I was there you might have lived"

Cog walked just a bit behind Keaton, slogging through the mud with the practiced ease of someone who'd lived with it for many, many years, and spent more than one night sleeping soundly in it. His feet made a sucking sound as he walked, and the lanky wolf kept his head looking down, only occasionally looking at Keaton and the bear she was speaking with disdainfully. He coughed.

"Hey, Keaton." he said, shuffling closer to the yellow jackal, his movements deliberately slow. "You said we have a ship. I...I didn't think you had any money. I don't have any money. How are we going to get these people there?" he said, looking over his shoulder at the assorted party behind him. He kept his voice low.

In front of them and getting larger was the entrance to the Harbor - the docking area itself lower and closer to sea level than Holiday itself. A concrete ramp led down into the veritable jungle that was the floor of the harbor proper. In front of it stood two guard huts, one on each side, and a ticket booth standing off to the side. Few people seemed to be in line.

* * *

The milky-eyed jaguar stood just outside the main loading ramp that led down into the harbor, staring with sightless eyes at the countless dozens of both beings and creatures making their way up the ramp. Long black hair beginning to mat down in small braids over his face and neck, the jaguar suddenly took a seat on a nearby crate and unslung the guitar from his back, setting the instrument over his legs. The rain seemed to barely touch the instrument, somehow, and he looked around carefully at his surroundings.
Dockworkers of all races and species milled about busily, loading and unloading giant cars and platforms of goods and carrying them to who-knew-where - giant orange tarps covered most of the items, in an attempt to keep them somewhat dry despite the bad weather. The ground beneath them was concrete, slick with thin mud and water, and marked here and there with orange tape in an incomprehensible attempt to communicate something. Giant containers stacked high one atop another, grey skies, and the looming presence of unloading machines seemed to give the place a closed-in feeling despite the open air and undeniably large space.

Producing a pick from seemingly nowhere, the jaguar began to play his guitar, the twelve-stringed instrument audible despite the incredible bustle around him. He played for a few seconds, the tune mournful and infinitely out of place, before looking up suddenly in wide, bright-white grin. His sightless gaze was fixed on the giant, sloping ramp.

"Just in time, then." he said. He didn't have to look over his shoulder to see his companions catching up behind him - even if he couldn't already see them, he could practically feel the Queen Bitch making vibrations through the concrete.

"Just a tool of the trade. I was actually supposed to collect some 'protection money' from the barkeep, but I couldn't risk you guys leaving me behind and SOL for an opportunity like this. The Marcos will be GRAND again, and you will help make it happen. In more than one way if you're feeling generous after we do our job." Dani sounded as if a fire was lit in his heart as he spoke. His muscular arm bent as if flexing a muscle to accentuate his point. A sheeny cylinder popped our of his jacket long enough for Keaton to identify his "tool of the trade" When Cog spoke with Keaton Dani overhearing said "Don't worry even if she doesn't, I got this. The Marcos don't pay their successful strong men cheap. If only this part of the Docks were Marco turf I could 'negotiate us one cheap or free." By now Dani's ankles were caked with mud, but he didn't seem phased. He still seamed warm with the pride of his speech.

they had reached the docks with little incident it seemed as Epyon followed in more or less silence. some how he practically blended into this mish mash of creatures and beings assuming that even half of the beings here were really beings but some how he doubted that. it was fine however as long as they led the way and didn't challenge him then he had a chance to search for his own treasure. his objectives might not alight with theirs very closely but if they were going to open the way anyway who was he to turn down easier access. Still as he walked with them he wondered if Witt could be persuaded to reclaim what was left of his belongings from the hotel. Ah well they probably didn't have enough time for it anyway. If he survived this he could always come back and search for what was left behind. But for now onward to either riches or death, either way it was sure to be and adventure. He chuckles his brother was right he should have been and adventurer if only he had not been so scared of it before he died.

Cross' ear flickered in annoyance.  He was walking quite close to Keaton, and although he couldn't hear much of what the junkie said, he seemed to be wondering how they were going to pay for the ship to wherever the hell they were going.
Hardly surprising given the piece of cardboard they had at the tavern, he thought.

"A larger turnout than you expected, hmm?"  He murmured to her.  "If you need assistance, I can probably help."  He was, after all, the number two in a relatively successful drug operation, and in any case he had not fled Ha'Khun empty-handed.

Anton was happily not much walking but hopping to keep pace with everyone else. He liked this group except for a couple of people. They all seemed to get very well as far a he could see. He eye caught Sheabus trying to light and keeping the cigar lit. Hmmm... big, strong, looking at him a little more. this might be the fellow that i want to be making friends with as soon as possible. Then his eye caught Aisha. She seemed to be pretty determined to be on this "crew" as it were if he remember correctly. She seems to be very nice and will always want to get her objective done. This might be very good in what i think we are about to go and do. He continued to do is walk/hop to keep up with the group.

As he walked along towards the docks, avoiding (as best he could) the worst of the mud, Fal'taq watched the rest of the party carefully. He still knew very little about them, particularly the jackal and wolf.

At first Keaton had struck him as just a silly little mad girl, even if she had revealed herself to be a 'Cubi. Then he remembered an old book of lore he'd read years ago, describing many kinds of dangerous Creatures. The chapter on 'Cubi had included a warning about the ones with heads on their tentacles; they were particularly powerful and dangerous. Cogidubnus certainly seemed to be a hopelessly drug-soaked idiot, but there was something about the way he'd perked up back in the bar when he was just about to have an amusing bout of DT's. That merited careful attention.

As for Witt — the mole just couldn't stand the constant muttering and moaning for much longer. If the hedgehog got too annoying, he might find himself removed from consideration for a job later, not to mention breathing, in explosive fashion.

Aisha had a competent and dangerous feel to her. She was the real thing, a veteran adventurer, and possibly a trained assassin. So was Navarro, although the leopard had an unsettling air about her that the canine lacked. And Pettersohn was a near-total enigma. What was he whispering to Keaton back in the bar?

The other wolf, Paige, appeared to be merely decorative. Did she really have a spellsword, and know how to use it? A pity, if so: she might object to spending time with Fal'taq afterwards, and he'd always thought splashes of blood looked so pretty on that colour of fur...

As for the others, some he hadn't seen enough of to make any sort of judgement, some he dismissed as most likely totally useless. He continued to watch them, making a mental note of anything that might be interesting or useful later.

Paige spotted the group as it passed on the other side of the street from the inn, readjusting her hold on her backpack she made her way over.

She saw the wolf wearing a trench coat, that felt 'of kind' to her in her head, whispering to Keaton. He seemed to enjoy whispering she thought, as every time she had seen him he had been leaning in to say whatever it was.

Paige wasn't sure that this job would be that well paid in the end, but the chance to wreak a little mayhem and not get put on the spot for it was too good a chance to be given up.

Epyon watched as the various  members of the party gathered into smaller groups two to five it seemed with the most around the imitate vicinity of the jackal and the wolf. well they were the leaders of this little coup d'éta  so be it. not wanting to be singled out again she moved closed to the hedgehog who had come back after heading the wrong way and wondered if he should speak to the hot tempered little brawler.

...Keaton:

Rolling and playing methodically with the spherical object in her pocket, Keaton listened attentively to Dani's harangue, her ears slanted back and her angular eyebrows furrowed. Marco family? So she was attracting likeminded people from crime families viciously entangled in conflicts with the Sabanethei Family? Most of these people she had dismissed as simple adventurers who were desperate for a quick buck and a bit of glory, not anyone with notable backstories or involvements with unscrupulous organizations. This made matters much, much more interesting, she concluded with a slight smirk, concealed behind the long, disarrayed locks of her hair. Seemed this fellow was quite vehement about upholding his particular family affiliation, too... though in Keaton's near-four hundred years of living as Kytharion's servant and assassin, she couldn't immediately recall a Marco family.

Then again, she was starting to lose recollection of many incidents and events in her life.

Keaton's hand squeezed and wrung at the globe, then with a sharp flick of her wrist she surfaced her hand from her pocket. Pinched between two fingers was a small, iridescent orb, its sleek glass shell housing a perpetually-churning myriad of chimeric colors and harmonic hues. Admiring the colorful sphere, Keaton once more seemed entranced in a suffusing serenity, blankly detached from Dani and Cogidubnus's brief exchange. Then, for a moment, Keaton stiffened and swept the orb back into her pocket, re-registering everything that had occurred during her mental absence. In the background, she could hear Paige returning, apparently clad in a skintight bodysuit and fortified with armor on top of that scanty suit.

"Money?" Keaton repeated quizzically. Then, nonchalantly, she shrugged and said, "Don't worry, we have enough to rent a boat or ride on one."

Without a hint of concern or remorse in her features, Keaton turned her head towards Cog and sighed in a way which indicated she was going to regret the unnecessary trouble that would follow her confession. "I guess it's time for me to come clean," Keaton shrugged carelessly and opened her eyes, staring Cog down. Her expression was tense, but infuriatingly lackadaisical. "I sold your drugs to pay for the boat ride."


...Unknown:

"Hold up! Hold up, will you?!"

Quite unexpectedly, the jaguar seemed to comply with the Insectis-woman's demands by abruptly stopping in his tracks. Emitting a chitter-snarl under her breath, the Insectis-woman grated to a stop behind him and thundered up to his side, her wings irritably buzzing behind her. Resisting the urge to clock him behind the head, the Insectis woman merely directed a scathing glare in the jaguar's face, then swiveled her head in the direction of the congregation of figures she could see from the dock. Most of them she couldn't make out, considering the elevation of the dock in comparison to the rest of the isle, but among the crowd she could barely make out a somewhat identifiable figure - one smudge of saffron and sable, clad in black.

That distinguishing color combination was nearly enough to make the Insectis-woman smile wickedly, regardless of the fact she could barely determine gender and species (she assumed it was a canine from the vague facial structure, but the voluminous tail, more befitting of a vulpine, was quite off-putting).

Nearly was the key word. It took a lot to make the Insectis-woman feel satisfied, and she still needed confirmation regarding that aforementioned figure's identity. Glowering down at the jaguar, she inquired, "Can't see shit... you sure that's her?" Behind her, she could hear the scuffling of her other companions as they caught up with the pair. "Can't be any fuck-ups. Otherwise Kyth'll have our heads."

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Cross, with his usual paranoia, had kept up a low-level mental probe.  Not enough to confuse or distract him, but enough to tell if there was someone creeping up behind him.  And there was.  It felt like the other wolf, the one he suspected of being a succubus.
With Keaton's question of the financials sorted out, he glanced around to face Paige, and smiled.

"Hi there.  What's your sign?"

 At first, after Keaton spoke, Cog simply gazed at the saffron-hued canine with something akin to a blank look, the drug addict obviously in disbelief. The Jackal hadn't just taken a few things here and there - Cog had amassed something that he'd planned to last him a very long time. More than he could afford, really. He suspected it was one of the reasons that Keaton had been sent after him in the first place. If the wolf hadn't been kidding himself, he knew there wasn't any way he could ever pay that much smack off. But...
Cog took a shuddering breath, his eyes suddenly expanding in sheer terror.

He seemed to simultaneously freeze and panic, completely immobilized by this sudden revelation, and yet seeming to be racing at a thousand miles per hour. His breath came in gasps. His hands shook, and one of them dipped into his left pocket. A shuddering hand took his hat off his head, and licking his lips as he brushed the hair back over his head, he looked back up at the jackal in front of him. His eyes remained blank for a few moments more, not quite clicking yet, before locking with the Jackal's chocolate orbs.
A light flared within Cog's yellow eyes. "You...you..." Cog said, words failing the distraught canine. He swallowed hard. "YOU BITCH!"

The wolf screamed at Keaton with all the intensity and venom that his emaciated frame could muster, looking down at the assassin that could surely tear him limb from limb and shaking with anger. His eyes were murderous, and without saying another word, he simply stormed past her, tromping for the ticket booth in front of them all.
It was impossible to see the wolf's expression from where the party stood. But as he walked away, in his face, there was a more than rage in his face. His eyes looked at the ground with what could only be called despair, the wolf only stopping abruptly once to glance at the eternally grey sky above him.
There was terror in his eyes.

*  *  *

The jaguar continued to pick at his guitar, picking at each at the strings idly. The dockworkers around the group were starting to give them strange looks, and the melanistic feline changed his tune to what could only be described as background music, soothing and somehow unintrusive. The glances at them decreased, somewhat.
"You Bitch..."

The word carried on the wind, loud enough that even his illustrious companion would be able to hear it. The jaguar grinned lazily, picking at his guitar with renewed intensity. He seemed unconcerned with the glances anymore.
"Oh, yes, I think so. Quite certain." he said, his voice not a little amused.

"Oh you can't tell?" Paige asked smirking as she walked up, but lowering her mind shield in a test. 'Clan Ba'than. And you?' She thought at the light grey wolf.

She glanced at Cog when he screamed at Keaton. "Whats up with him?"

"Daryil," Cross replied verbally, faintly disappointed that she had got it in one.  It was so much more amusing when they thought you were making a pass.

Revealing his own clan was relatively harmless as Daryil had very few enemies.  At worst she would think he was a fruitcake or ignore him completely in disgust.

"The junkie?  She's sold his shit to pay for the boat ride."  The smile vanished.  "That could be a problem.  If he gets desperate, he could turn nasty and it wouldn't be polite to kill him."

Sheabus simply watched the now drug deprived wolf freak out. He shook his head as the wolf stormed off towards the ticket both. He scanned the what he could see of the docks. With his eyes on the docks he spoke.
"I can either restrain him or knock him out if he becomes too hard to handle"

Dani looked at the jackel as if she were insane. "Do you know what you've done?!"

Witt stomped up behind Keaton, enjoying his walk much more than earlier - at least, judging by the grin on his muzzle. He paused, watching Cogidubnus storming off towards the ticket office.

"I thought you said you 'ad a boat? If so, where's 'e goin'?"

He gazed down over the docks, and nodded at the group containing the 7 foot tall Insectis, with the crowd of onlookers watching her, adding "She's a big bitch, i'n't she? I wonder what she's here for."

He reached into his pockets, and pulled out a pair of leather gloves, carefully and deliberately fitting them to his paws, with a thoughtful look replacing the earlier grin.

Ty raised a ridged eyebrow. The barkeep's answer was more informative than he probably intended; he now knew that this Mr. Sabanethei was powerful enough for everyone to know about him and smart enough to know who was talking about him. "Ah, I see. Well then, I apologize; I didn't mean to broach an unpleasant subject. Many thanks for the drinks, I'd be on my way. Pleasant evening to you." With that the massive mythos got up and turned to walk back out into the pouring rain. He had to get home, finish cleaning up the deli so it would be presentable to customers tomorrow. After all, if one owns an establishment by the docks, things rarely stayed clean.

--

A while later he was rather surprised to see the group from the pub, apparently in the middle of some manner of argument. However, it would be rude to interject. He continued onward, not even aware of the possibility of anyone causing trouble. After all, this was a Civilized town.

Epyon fell back a step as he watch the Hedgehog slip one what he could only think of as his work gloves. watched the slow deliberate way they were slipped on followed the hedgehog's line of sight and saw them.  Insects. He'd fought them before and survived but he did not relish the thought of fighting them again. how he hoped that that was not what Witt had in mind. maybe he could sand back and avoid suspicion but then like it out not if Witt was part of the crew then the crew need to look out for him.

...Keaton:

It would have been a dreadful lie to say that Keaton wasn't expecting some sort of backlash from Cogidubnus after she stripped him of his secret stash of beloved, intoxicating drugs. Considering the wolf's dependency on those unscrupulous substances, it would not have been surprising. It did not, however, lessen the indignant impact Cogidubnus's outburst had on Keaton's psyche - he was shouting at her, the volume of his voice piercing her eardrums and releasing the swarming throngs of buzzard-bees and hornets back into her head, their infernal, cacophonous shrieking hammering serrated stingers into her brain. Lackadaisical expression shed, Keaton let out a loud cry and her hands leaped to her ears, flattening them so to protect them from the invisible sounds besieging her mind, her eyes prying open to reveal an almost stunned, pinpricked appearance to her irises; they were contracted into thin chocolaty halos, taut around the peripheries of their pupils. The hand holding her marble convulsed, accidentally releasing the precious sphere - it tumbled from her hands and landed on the ground, bouncing jubilantly off of a cobblestone. Realizing her loss, Keaton shrieked in what could only be described as utter loss and dropped to her knees, frantically searching for the marble amidst her turmoil.

Only a few seconds into her outright shock did Keaton realize exactly what Cogidubnus had yelled at her - and once she started to comprehend that amidst the thrumming swarm trickling into her head, it was suddenly and thunderously silenced in favor of smoldering rage, simultaneous to the seconds her fingers closed around the marble again. Keaton was shaking. Hoisting the marble, she pocketed it, then shoved herself back to her feet, swaggering.

"YOU!" Keaton shrieked, releasing her ears and allowing them to flatten freely against her skull. She attempted to trudge after Cog, but he was too far ahead of her, and she was only reduced to irritably yelling at him from where she stood. "What did you call me, you useless little fleck of SHIT?! Get back here! GET BACK HERE!"

Despite Keaton's vehement wailing, Cogidubnus didn't even look back at her. Keaton just grit her teeth, her blood boiling and her rage escalating, and snarled in frustration. The urge to simply turn around and storm back so she could find someone to gut, or pursue Cog and beat him senseless in front of everybody was tempting, but she was simply frozen in her shock and fury. Nobody talked to her like that. Nobody. Not ever again.

Did that drugged-up junkie fucking asshole bastard son of a BITCH call me what I think he did?

The sounds the sounds the fucking sounds. Why are they yelling? What's that sound? Is someone still talkiiiiing?

Shut up. Someone's still talking.

Keaton glanced to the side. Witt was standing next to her. "I thought you said you 'ad a boat? If so where's 'e goin'?" the hedgehog-ish-entity had slurred. Keaton trembled a little out of fury, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, and then shook her head, finding herself incapable of answering Witt's inquiry. Nothing, she wanted to say, He's going nowhere, because when I catch up to him I'm going to break his legs with my fucking mace.

Then Witt turned his attention to the docks, which Keaton hadn't surveyed before. She hadn't seen a reason to, being too preoccupied with talking with Dani and enjoying the company of her marble. Wearily blinking, Keaton looked up, her gaze drifting along the boats stationed throughout the docks and the people standing among them. On the respective boats, however, it seemed most of the people, the majority of which were ostensibly Beings, were petrified in their place, their attentions directed to a particular subject in the distance. Keaton narrowed her eyes -

- and then she nearly screamed when she saw a distinctive, yellow, insectoid figure looming among the congregation of Beings.


...Unknown:

The Insectis initially seemed infuriated with how the jaguar seemed to be concentrating on his instrument as opposed to immediately helping her, something dreadfully contradictory to her own actions. He seemed to be waiting for something. Shit, they didn't have anything to wait for. Fucking idiot thought they had all the time in the world -

"You BITCH!"

Oh. So that was what he was waiting for.

The saffron-sable figure the Insectis had been scrutinizing stopped short of her tall, wiry, gray companion, then vanished momentarily from sight, much to the Insectis's dismay. Seconds later it reappeared, trembling in her vision, and then, quite adamantly, began spouting off a ranting tirade of curses in a voice the Insectis was all-too familiar with. Not used in such a shrieking and disrespectful manner, of course - the Insectis was more acquainted with a much more agreeable variation of that voice.

In the end, that was all the confirmation Izria needed.

Found you, you whore.

Under her breath, the wasp-woman smirked devilishly, the gossamer wings behind her flaring outward. Two of her companions which were flanking her were forced to duck back as the tremendous wings extended on either side of her body, then started to rapidly vibrate - flap, with such speed and force that they accelerated into a white blur. All around her a hideously piercing sound, almost like a siren's wailing, started to build up within the momentum of her wings - at first imperceptible to those far away - then leaped inexorably to a crescendo as Izria buckled her legs and rocketed into the air, using her wings for acceleration and hovering in the middle of her jump.

The world came spinning past as Izria effortlessly bounded over, over, and over, landing with a heavy and impacting THUD against the cobblestone street which made her armored knees bend. Her eyes barely registered the target before her, or the figures accompanying that figure, but one flash of color - of distinctive yellow and black - and the scent of adrenaline-laced fear traced from her fluttering antennae sent her charging in another burst of speed at the yellow figure. Fist pulled back, Izria felt something in her head spark -

- and she swung her fist, watching with a great sense of satisfaction at it collided with the other's stomach.


...Keaton:

Pain.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Shock. that was the only word to describe what  Epyon was experiencing. Witt had not started the fight but with the one punch to the jackal's midsection he was sure that the fight had begun. he reached for his pole and snapped his wrist expand it while wondering just what the hell he'd gotten himself into.

Epyon braced himself for  battle wondering how many would attack and if he should left the hedgehog be the fist enter the fray. Yes he would.  Better to let the hedgehog fight while he call to the front of his mind a mild healing spell good for trauma and internal injury just is case. his eyes roved the area looking of more incoming incests

Witt raised one eyebrow as the Insectis woman -took off- and flew in their direction - and lowered it as she landed with a heavy thump in front of them. The fist landing in Keaton's midriff seemed to galvanise him, though, and his retaliation was swift.

First a right-foot kick to the knee-joint, dropping his knives from his sleeves into his hands, he spun to his right and aimed one at her elbow, then the other at her abdomen, at about his shoulder height, then swiping the first knife at her wing, rolling over her back and around to her other side. Here's hoping I get some spines between those damn plates. Finally, as he rolled off, he planned to stab the second knife in again, providing some leverage to flick off and out of reach - at least for a moment.

All in the blink of an eye.

Passing through his mind on the way over: I'll just roll off her back, stand up, and say something cool. like, "Ah, don't stand around on my account." or something. Yeah, that'll work fine...

Cog's eyes were still filled with that strange, focused and yet faraway look as he walked up to the ticket counter, both of his hands in his pockets. He flinched as Keaton called out to him, nearly stopping dead in his tracks at the Jackal's voice. He remembered what Keats could do to him - what Keaton had done to him. But the smoldering spark of rage still in him kept his feet moving, even as his expression seemed to only grow more terrified. He continued to walk up to the wooden building, his hands in his pockets to keep them from shaking. He wasn't even sure why he was walking up there - he didn't have any money for tickets.
He wondered how long it would be before he slipped. Started thinking about things. Before the sound of deep, wet breath coming from somewhere right behind him drove him insane, before he started thinking about how many years it had been since that damned angel had ruined his life, how many full moons it had been since then, and how long it would take before he started waking up in the middle of the night screaming and drenched in blood that was never there when he turned the lights on...

Cog nearly lost it. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he hopped up onto the wooden platform that was placed on the cliff edge surrounding the harbor, and turned towards the ticket booths that faced the open dock.
As he did so, he nearly fell down as 300 pounds of Insectis simply fell out of the sky, almost seemingly on top of Keaton.

Cog's jerked, taking an instinctive step backwards, and found himself pushed against the railing. His mouth hung open, his thoughts forgotten as he watched the large....thing punch the thing that had beat him senseless for almost a month right in the gut. His eyes narrowed.
And Cog suddenly felt a blinding pain in his shoulder, throwing him forward and onto his face just after the deafening, echoing crack of a gunshot.

* * *

The jaugar continued to pick at his instrument, when the Insectis opened her wings and nearly knocked two of the gunmen over. His sightless eyes widened and narrowed suddenly, the jaguar stopping his playing almost instantly.
"No! Not now! We need to wait until they come to-"

He was interrupted by the giant wasp launching herself high into the air, the rush of air silencing whatever else the jaguar might have said. He gave a sharp curse, jumping off the edge of the crate and motioning to the four others that stood with him. Four men, three in black suits and the other in a green robe stood behind the jaguar. The ones in suits were each dressed impeccably in black suit and red tie with white shirts underneath, while the other's green robe was filigreed with golden patterns and tight wrappings on his forearms. Each of them seemed to simply be a being or some sort - one a rat, the other two mustelids of some variety, and the one in green a white fox -  the ones in suits cradled in their hands a very large, and very, very intimidating piece of steel, an automatic rifle with a round drum in the center. Each one began to run forwards, the jaguar grabbing the rat's collar at the last moment.

"Up there" the sightless jaguar said, pointing up at the form of an emaciated wolf leaning on a wooden railing. The rat nodded, taking careful aim. Two seconds or so passed before he fired, a deafening gunshot that elicited screams from around them and dropped the wolf where he stood.

The jaguar nodded, and the rat ran forwards. Shaking his head and stopping to fiddle with his guitar strap, the melanistic feline began to walk, heading for the ramp up.

Flatfooted, Paige watched as a large Insectis fell right out of the sky and slammed a fist into Keaton's midsection.

Dumping her bag and drawing her sword in one movement, she was about to step up and swing when Witt launched his attack.

Not wanting to get in the little berserker's way, Paige dropped her sword's point to aim at the feet of the threat and pushed some of her power down through Winters Bite unleashing a wave of ice at the Insectis' feet hoping to trap them.

Navarro stared into the fray for a few seconds, a while away from it.

"Blow this.", he muttered under his breath.

He sat down on a nearby bench and stared, with a hand on his pistol, still in the holster. He watched the events with a faint grin on his face. If they came to him, they would have a fight. For now...

Navarro smiled, and relaxed.

Epyon realize he was right not to get in the hedgehog's way then a sudden blase of cold and the souls of cracking fast formed ice. he looked and saw an almost clear sword in the hand of the spell blade.  and knew where the ice had come form. however before he could be troubled to worry about this he heard a shot right one looking around he saw not is' source but it's effect as the wolf toppled form his perch. moving with hast the ran to the fallen wolf.  "Wolf are you alive? speak to me" as he begin his useless prattle to gage the wolf mental state and see if he was in shock the examine him for the wound or wounds that hand brought him down his upper eyes partially over for the first time in a long time had a slight golden cast to them as the let him see more about the wolf then a any normal eyes could hope to reveaing in the same about of time as it take to draw a breath. the the were closed again. 

Dani blew by the insectis leaveing her in what he was sure was the cabable hands of the rest of the party minus Cog and Epyon. When he got to Cog he didn't bother with the normal useless questions. He mearly found the closest threat and prepared for a fight. "You get him some cover!" Dani shouted at Epyon. He had his shot gun pointed in the general area of the men in suits. People every where were panicing and running this made things hard. Damn these people if they had any sense they'd DROP

Cross faded away the moment the wasp appeared.  Partial invisibility spells were one of his standards when a foe appeared unexpectedly, and it didn't have to be perfect to work on Insectis eyes.

No doubt the Family had decided to silence Keaton.  Insectis were rare, and he hadn't had much experience fighting them.  Bullets wouldn't do much good against all that armour, but maybe that didn't matter.

There were snipers.  They'd already taken the wolf junkie, but the wasp attacking Keaton had to be his main priority.  Crouching low to avoid stray fire, he cast a projectile shield on his side.
Drawing the pistol quickly as the creature loomed over Keaton's prone form, he sighted one of the large compound eyes and pulled the trigger.

Anton was quick but not that quick. The moment the large bug appeared he shielded himself quickly but wasn't quick enough to shield the one she was after. He had a half a mind to blast the thing back but was too concerned with getting the jackal out of the way. His next movements were quick. He planted his staff into the ground and attempted pulled the jackal out of combat, with magic. Next, another shield went up against the wasp's hand trying to trap her from going no further after the jackal. He then pull up on his staff and move to the jackal to make sure she was ok.

Aisha's eyebrow was quirked in disbelief as soon as she saw the scene that had unfolded between the jackal and wolf in the rain, and when her ears caught wind of the reason why he had stormed off afterward.  The disguised demon shook her head, thinking it more safe for everyone to stay out of the line of fire.  Well, except for the hedgehog, whose chiding only made the look on Keaton's face worse, and put a smirk on the panther's face.  Perhaps someone's head would be lopped off...it would be a mild bit of entertainment.  But she did wonder just how long the wolf would really last on an adventure.  Relying on unnatural substances to keep on one's feet was rather bordering on cowardice.

But suddenly, as she was watching, someone had pointed out that they were being watched in return.  Glancing around, Aisha was perhaps just as surprised as the rest of them to discover a pretty damn large insectis, a wasp to be precise, zipping over to the group with enough speed to easily note down that it wasn't there just to say hello...scattering everyone and aiming a blow straight for Keaton...which took.

When the jaguaress herself was scattered back, she didn't stop moving; instead using her speed, the darkness, and the chaos to her advantage and ducking out of sight behind some crates, gripping her bow.  God's blood, we were found out quickly.

As she grabbed an arrow, Aisha glanced out at the activity taking place.  Just after the insectis attacked, a shot rang out through the air and her ears caught someone dropping.  The rest of the party were on the giant wasp-thing, casting various spells and grabbing their firearms.  Leaping quickly from one of the crates to a roof, where she was pretty sure  that she wasn't noticed still, she ducked low and took her bow horizontally, the arrow ready on the string.

She couldn't aim at the insectis...there was the possibility that she'd also hit one of the others, although the notion was very tempting to just "accidentally" drop one of the unsavory ones.  Nah, they're making themselves useful.  Find something else to...aha.

From a point on the docks where the wasp had come attacking, the sight of several individuals in suits with some intimidating firepower in their arms rushing forward was caught on her vantage point...one of them she assumed had fired and dropped one of them before.

Here's where I return the favor...she grinned and took careful aim at one of them...with a musical twang the string was released and the deadly projectile along with it.  She dropped from the roof and behind the building as soon as the shot was released so that nobody could follow the arrow's path to find her, and ran to find another good spot...though there weren't many.  But at least the chaos with the others would be quite a good advantage for the huntress to best utilize stealth.

When the loud and dangerous action began Penny decided that the creatures could sort it out amongst themselves. Giant wasps were nothing she could deal with. She put some nice heavy crates between herself and the immediate danger while she loaded a dart into her pistol crossbow. Even with all the enchantments the boss had put on the weapon she didn't know if it would be anything more than a needleprick to the monstrous insect. She peaked cautiously around the crate to see how the battle progressed.

The dark jaguar padded lightly behind the rest of the group. He could only discern snippets of conversation amidst the voice-swallowing din of inclement weather. Something about a boat. Or a maybe ship. Their thoughts offered little help. Most of the party hid their loyalties and intentions behind mind shields, and the open-minded individuals knew nothing of import. The short hedgehog's mind spewed thoughts as loud and foul as his mouth. Trench coat wolf was whispering again. The group congregated outside the harbour entrance. The junkie cried out, his suffering serving up a delicious appetizer for the night's festivities.

And then all hell broke loose.

Hands still parked in the pockets of his tailored black leather coat, the blond panther didn't flinch--barely even moved--when the large Insectis came crashing down into the group. If anything, his raised eyebrow and wry grin indicated amusement. Craning his neck slightly when the shot rang out, he took a moment to study the party approaching from the docks. He casually stepped away from the melee as a torrent of ice from the spellsword's blade ripped through the air in front of him, positioning himself out of the way such that the ticket booth and the angle of the cliff would provide cover against fire from below. For now.

More of his new partners entered the fray. He watched and waited, smiling.


The mottled canine frowned, staring down at his now-empty glass. He'd been focused on the chatter in the bar, both spoken and mental. People who knew what was good for them stayed out of Family business, but the powers that be had eyes and ears everywhere. Sabanethei's wayward assassin plotting to kill her former master couldn't have escaped notice. And so it hadn't, but trouble found her first. Several blocks away.

Fuck.

Still wearing the guise of a downtrodden mutt, Fang rose to leave. He pulled the hood of his coat up over his ears and walked out of the Verdant Cuff. He scurried out into the rain and ducked into the shadows of a nearby alley. Nobody witnessed him winking out of sight.

Powerful leaps carried him up to the rooftops. With a burst of supernatural speed, Fang bounded from building to building towards the docks. Streams of water, interrupted on their earthward journey by an unseen mass, outlined a form that was no longer canine. Seeing the droplets roll off his utterly transparent body, Fang cursed under his breath. Simple invisibility spells wouldn't hide him in the rain, but he couldn't afford the time or concentration required for more complex magic. Edge wouldn't wait forever, and who knew what kind of reckless shit he would pull before Fang arrived?


A shadow with no body stood atop a temple that did not exist. His body was the temple. The temple was his mind. His mind was but a shadow of the endless darkness between worlds.

A young panther boy huddled next to him.

They're fighting again. The boy stole a glance at the outside world. Those men have guns. He hugged his knees close to his chest. Bullets hurt.

Ah, but to hurt you, they must hit you. Your brothers are too quick to let that happen, Key.

Ch-yah! They can't outrun bullets!

True, but they needn't be faster than bullets--merely the hand firing the gun and the mind directing the hand.

The boy remained silent and stared down at his feet.

They cannot shoot what they cannot see. Watch.

The shadow reached out to the earthly plane and took form. Not flesh. No, he was so much more than that. Limitless possibilities spread out before him.

Raindrops. That's what he was now. His otherworldly essence poured over Fang's body like water, opening a window to a time and place where the raindrops flowed unimpeded. Perfect invisibility.

Sheabus moved back a bit as the large wasp attacked Keaton. It seemed like most of the party had figured out who to attack as the action started. Sheabus quickly watched the action trying to figure out what to do. With most of the group attack the wasp, two going to help Cog and some looking like they are retreating. Sheabus found himself a something to do. He noticed the group of men in black, the one in green and the one leading the group with a strange guitar. He didn't charge at the man but he did move towards him. He didn't draw his sword but his claws where ready for battle. Sheabus spoke to the man as he neared him and his little group. He shouted at them.
"What in the nine hells is going on here? Who are you people?"

Fal'taq hid his disappointment when Cogidubnus only screamed and swore at Keaton before storming away. Quite apart from the amusement value if the crazed wolf had been driven to the point of physically attacking the succubus, any wedge that came between the "leaders" of this merry band would only make it easier to dispose of them later.

The mole looked around as they approached the entrance to the docks. A flicker of motion caught his eye in the middle of the crowd, then suddenly an Insectis woman jumped out of nowhere right in front of Keaton and punched the jackal right in the gut. Before he could react — or applaud — a shot rang out, hitting Cogidubnus. Blast it, Fal'taq thought as the wolf collapsed, if these two get killed before they can even tell anyone what their plan might be, this whole affair may turn out to be a complete waste of time! Enough of the others were attacking the Insectis woman to keep her busy. The gunmen came into view, accompanied by what looked like a mage, as the crowd scattered away from them. Fal'taq tossed a fireball, arcing it high into the air, then he ducked around a stack of heavy barrels, watching the action from the side.

Now, while their attention is distracted... He watched the fireball as it approached the high point of its arc, then he knelt and slapped the ground. A deep rumble shook the surrounding area for a moment before fading away. High above, the descending fireball split into a dozen smaller ones with a loud WHUMP. With any luck their attackers, particularly the mage, would be so preoccupied dealing with the fireballs as they began jinking from side to side, they wouldn't notice the small but powerful earthquake wave he'd sent arcing through the ground beneath them... until it was too late. He looked across the scene at the wolf lying face-down on the ground and wondered how badly he'd been hurt.

She had just wanted to buy a damn ticket. But, of course, in this damn world and this damn town, you couldn't really count on ever having anything easily. At most you could secure a moment's peace if you secluded yourself, away from anyone who might have either power or influence or just too much bloody curiosity. She had been able to stay away like that for a couple of years, before some jerk had tracked her down over some silk trading.
   She hadn't expected to travel completely unimpededly, of course. But taking the route through Holiday, a place known far more for its solemnity than any sort of hectic or violent eventfulness, she had hoped she would experience a peaceful and stress-free crossing. No such luck. It wasn't amusing that she would run risk of becoming part of a battle that she had nothing to do with at all, when there were a great number of others after her. It just troubled her. She could not stay around, or she might end up in a scene.
   Gathering her calm and her senses - there was something shaking the ground considerably, and it made her feel queasy - the hunched figure pulled the hood of her black cloak a bit further forward, and slipped out of the agitated crowd around the ticket booth, beginning to vanish amid people and rain as best she could.

...Keaton:

The effects of Izria's punch were profound. One straight-on collision into her abdomen and Keaton felt her stomach sink inward, her intestines squirming and sparking with hell-hot agony beneath the chitinous fist pummeling her stomach, then expanding when Izria drew back her fist and Keaton was sent flying. Not a lot of fat to cushion the blow, after all, nor was Keaton the tallest of individuals. Against a seven-feet-tall, three-hundred-twenty pound Insectis, there was no contest in terms of brute force.

Izria would have gladly pursued Keaton in spite of the presence of her companions if it wasn't for the sudden interference her fist met, as though it was being barricaded by an invisible wall. Before either person could react, Keaton found herself being drawn off to the side and into relative safety, sprawled at Anton's feet in a crumpled heap. For a moment the mass of shaking jackal simply spasmed, her head spinning, and didn't move to get up, but then her hands planted themselves on either side of her body and helped to lift herself, or at least enough before she was assaulted by sudden, stabbing pain within her abdomen. Yelling, Keaton nearly fell backwards, but managed to keep one hand on the ground to support her, while the other clamped over her mouth. A horrid cough shook her body, as though the bile-laden contents of her throat were being jostled. Keaton pried her hand away and stared with abject horror at the red ichor thickly coating her palm.

The jackal struggled to regain control over her breathing. I'm BLEEDING! She PUNCHED ME! Keaton's thoughts were overwhelming. For a moment, her breathing hitched and she looked as though she was going to cry, moisture swelling in her eyes. She - she - sh-sheeee... Whining loudly, Keaton started to feel her resolve collapsing and disintegrating into ash. Oh god it's just like - just like -

Stop. Keaton froze, trying to shepherd her breathing back into some regular, organized pattern. It hurt to breathe, hurt to continue that cycle of inhaling and exhaling, but it was a necessity. Keaton tried to keep herself from shaking, preventing herself from further coughing up the contents of her stomach. Couldn't be reduced to nothing, not yet. Took more than a punch to the stomach to immobilize her...

This is nothing. Nothing. Relax. Calm down. BREATHE. Breathe -

(Ohgod it hurts. What is she doing here?! What is she doing here?! She's going to take us back!)

Shut up. SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP. She's not taking us back, SHUT UP.

Shoulders shuddering, Keaton coughed up another bloody dollop into her palm, and looked shakily at Anton. Looked like he turned out to be more useful than she had originally anticipated, after all. "T-Thanks, kid..." she wheezed. Underneath her skin, she felt her wing-tentacles stir as she stared in horror at the Insectis raging among the flying blitzkrieg of attacks sent by her companions. Seemed as though her metamorphosis wasn't responding immediately, for some reason. Probably the blow...


...Izria:

Before Izria could openly vociferate her dismay at how Anton had yanked Keaton out of her range, the infuriated Insectis released an agitated snarl as the hedgehog she had previously neglected unexpectedly lashed out at her armored kneecap. The heavy plating reinforcing her chitinous exoskeleton proved to be exceedingly durable, preventing Izria from receiving the majority of the damage, but still irritating her. In fact, the effect was rather akin to a doctor testing someone's reflexes. Next, as the hedgehog attempted to drive the knife in his hand into her elbow, Izria instinctively let out a shrieking snarl and seized his wrist. The other knife met its mark in her abdomen, grating against the chitin and penetrating a lapse in her armored hide to gouge at the sensitive skin underneath.

Izria took full advantage of the shaky grip she had on Witt's wrist, however. A face-splitting, absolutely horrific grin coloring her features, Izria hefted Witt into the air and flung him with all her might at the mole she saw casting a spell in the distance. Bereft of that load, Izria started to turn her attention to the next potential threat. Cold air rushed around her as she took a step backwards, her foot, as it rested on the ground, suddenly becoming petrified in place. A look of utmost agitation on her face, Izria glanced down to find that her feet had been engulfed in a thick layer of glistening ice, probably with the intent of keeping her frozen in place.

Izria had plenty of experience fighting when she was outnumbered. This was a cakewalk. These people were nothing, even when they were ganging up on her. A deafening gunshot alerted her to the presence of the bullet roaring in her direction, which she flung her forearm towards. The bullet ricocheted off of the hefty chitin reinforcing her forearm with a grating sound reminiscent of nails raking along a chalkboard, and then with an immense roar Izria plunged her fist down in the same motion -

- her knuckles met the cobblestone, and a tremendous quake seemed to ripple outward from where her fist had impacted the street. Riding that imperceptible vibration, a wave of cobblestones leaped from the ground like tiny, rock tadpoles, tracing the palpable ripples coalescing outward from her fist. It was neutralizing, not enough to rip apart the earth itself, but enough to certainly startle those who stood upon it. Just as that took effect, the next fist followed, smashing the cobblestone-encrusted earth with magnified speed and force -

- and with that, the ground seemed to rise up. Great, fissuring cracks ruptured the earth like spider-webs surrounding Izria's fist, ozone sizzled and smoldered in the atmosphere as the innate Earth magic Izria harbored worked its elaborate orchestrations, and chunks of blackened stone erupted from the ground, spiking upward like daggered teeth. The mutilation of the ground flowed out, from snaking cracks lacerating the stone, to outright carnage in the form of the pikes of stone jutting up.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

"Oh, sh..."

As he was lifted from the ground, Witt balled up around his arm, leaving a hefty array of spikes pointing in all directions.

His dopplered voice echoed from the flying ball as it zipped off towards Fal'taq "...it, this is gonna huuuuuurt..."

 "More on the ledge..." the jaguar commented idly as Dani took aim at the group, slowly beginning to strum his instrument as the mage in green and the rat nodded, the verdantly-garbed magician moving his hand in quick passes as the rodent took aim. Purple sigils flared around the mage as the rat opened up at Dani, a spray of automatic fire tearing into the woodwork and the ticket booth behind him. A transparent bubble expanded out from the mage and enveloped the group before fading, and all five of them continued walking quickly up the ramp.

The musician shook some stray hair out of his eyes, the iridescent tattoos covering his body glowing brighter as he walked - and paused as Sheebus confronted all of them. The jaguar raised an eyebrow.
"A little slow on the uptake, huh?" he said, letting go of the neck of his guitar to snap his fingers. The mage nodded, sweeping his feet backwards and chanting a short cadence before thrusting his hand forwards. An invisible line of force struck the reptile in the chest, with enough power to send the fighter flying backwards and into the railing of the ticket booth.

  It wasn't long at all before the group emerged from out of the harbor and took position, spreading out along the muddy cobblestones and aiming their weapons at the assembled party across the way.
Aisha's arrow flew true, speeding towards the white fox's heart - but before it got within twenty feet of the assembled group, the arrow met some invisible resistance surrounding the group and bounced off, the dark-shafted arrow briefly illuminating a bubble of clear-white force around the thugs. The green mage glanced up, spying the red-armored feline atop one of the roofs.
He also spied a massive fireball arcing high in the air towards all of them.

His crystal-blue eyes widening in distress, the mage began to quickly work through a series of passes designed to negate such an attack, finally throwing his hands up and sending a bolt of cold energy up into the descending fireball. Before the bolt could meet the falling inferno, however, it split into multiple, smaller fireballs that started to fall all around them. The bolt of cold rocketed uselessly into the air as the fireballs dropped at random all around them, shaking the ground and sending the entire group diving for cover - except for the dark-furred musician. A lone fireball arced for his head.
The jaguar strummed sharply on his guitar, and the fireball hit some invisible resistance around him, exploding outwards and away from the melanistic feline.

The group stood back up, sans one charred weasel who appeared to be shaking where he lay. The other two took aim again - they were well aware of Ms. Izria's immunity to firearms.
Both pulled their triggers in unison, opening up a rain of automatic fire upon the party.

* * *

Even as Sal tried to get away and disappear into the crowd, she suddenly found the surging, panicking group of bodies difficult to navigate, especially with each one trying to get through the single exit back to the outside. The eerie thump of half a dozen bullets impacting the wooden side of the building only exacerbated the distress of the irate beings and creatures around her, the crowd surging up and pressing around her as something smashed into the railing and impeded the flow of traffic for a few moments. Even with sharp eyes and senses such as her own, keeping her feet proved a difficult task, and just before managing to get to the exit herself, which seemed to be partially blocked by the body of some sort of reptile, she tripped over something slightly soft and yielding.
She looked down to see what it was. Beneath her feet lay the bleeding body of a rather sickly-looking wolf, his shirt getting sticky with blood as the substance pooled around his shoulder.

Sheabus slammed against the railing. It ending up breaking as he toppled over. Sheabus layed there for a second getting his head straigh.
"Damn that hurt....... Alot"
Sheabus slowly raised to his feet and looked at the musician. He shook his head to clear it a bit.
"I don't know what he hit me with but the fucking hurt. I guess he wants to fight then, I just wanted to know what was going on. What did I get myself into"
Sheabus looked at the group fighting the wasp.
"Looks like they are having about the same luck as I am"
Sheabus reached back and drew his katana off his back.
"Alright 'dad' lets see what you are made of"
Sheabus grabbed a large piece of wood that had broken from the railing. He charged at the musician. Once he was within 30 feet he threw the wood as hard as he at the musician's guitar. He ran behind the wood with his sword tip low to the ground. It was unclear where his strike was planned to fall.

Pleased that she had immobilized the Insect, Paige moved to the next step of her plan: Removing a limb of this unexpected enemy.

Drawing Winters Bite over her shoulder Paige charged at the wasp. She had barely taken a few steps forward when the ground erupted around her.

Jumping over a large spike that formed in front of her, Paige landed and rolled ending up off to the side of the Wasp.

Steadying herself for but a moment she aimed a fully wieghted blow at the back of the closest of the Inesctis' leg.

"AAAAHHHRRRRG!" The full deep voice of the bear echoed as the sickly wet sounds of bullets ripping through flesh could be heard. Many bullets simply went past him while a thee embedded themselves in the muscles in his chest and one in hid leg. The bears quick healing was visible but it wasn't anywhere near as fast as myth might have you believe. BOOM BOOM BOOM! Three of Dani's eight shells headed for his assailant. "MOVE IT!" Dani yelled at Epyon clutching his bleeding chest. He sounded pissed, and nobody wants to find out what a pissed were bear would do to someone who disobeyed him. Dani hobbled circling the enemy in the opposite direction Sheabus went firring as he went. OK let the croc thing take care of the cat. I'll take out the peons and the able bodied can return to fend of the wasp bitch. Yeas that oughta work. Oooh! Dani came down on his left leg wrong Though I may not be among them... Six, seven, eight, click. Dani had to reload, but would he be fast enough? Time would tell. The gun made a funny choonk sound with each shell put into the cartrage.

Cross swore silently to himself.  He wasn't used to used to being thwarted, except where the Family was concerned.  Then again, the wasp was sent by the Family.  So that was alright then.

The difficulty was balancing the need to dispose of it - or at least save Keaton - and the need to conceal what he was.  It wouldn't be difficult to wrench the soul out of her attacker, but the spell required would reveal things he didn't want revealed just yet.  Tentacles were definitely out.

Still only faintly visible, and trusting that no-one would notice him in the midst of the battle, he crept alongside the insectis, which was now set upon by Paige.  It looked like Keaton had sustained internal injuries.  Shit!  Well, if the worst happens I'll just have to snatch her soul, assuming the rabbit kid can't fix her up.

The ground erupted.  Jakob leapt - still invisible - clinging to the nearest building and hoping that it wouldn't collapse.  When it began to subside, he was pretty pissed.  Tentacles it is, then, he thought.

A wing-tentacle shimmered out from the sleeve of his coat and swiftly wrapped itself around the creature's armoured waist.  Cross could crush rocks like this.  Crushing an insectis shouldn't be much more difficult.  He squeezed, hard...

The cobblestone street rippled outwards from the giant wasp's blow. The blond jaguar glanced down. Probably not the safest place to be standing. He leapt just as the ground erupted below him. Spears of dark stone shot skyward, threatening to skewer him.

The black feline twisted in midair. His arm whipped about, and a dark blur arced through the stone below him. The sharp heads of the stone pikes slid to the ground, and he alighted gently upon the now perfectly flat tops where they used to reside. When he stood, he held a sword in a relaxed reverse grip with its polished black blade resting up against his arm.


Fang came to rest atop the inn overlooking the harbour. His perch, several storeys above ground, offered an excellent view of the enemy forces. Silent and unseen, he studied his opponents. The building shook. The Insectis possessed impressive power. Worthy prey, indeed. However, with their considerable defensive abilities, the mage and the musician represented the more pressing threat. Mask's little pep talk aside, Fang doubted that a spray from those tommy guns would be easy to dodge, either. Such loud, crude, inelegant weapons, vomiting bullets at a rate such that aim barely mattered. Invisible or not, stray rounds of that calibre most certainly would hurt unless one happened to be encased in bulletproof chitin...


...or not there to receive the attack.

When the spray of bullets from the new arrivals turned his way, the trenchcoated jaguar hopped from one block of shattered stone to the next in a dazzling display of acrobatic grace. No longer a lightly falling rain, he became a veritable whirlwind. His sword sang through the air and met bullets with flashes of sparks and the sharp crack of metal meeting metal.

He smiled at his fellow black jaguar and raised his sword in salute.

"What a lovely instrument you carry. Play me a tune, so that we may dance."


In the darkness and chaos, those thugs would be unlikely to notice their rounds impacting the walls after sailing right through his illusionary twin, but now everyone would expect Edge to be able to parry bullets. Ah, well... how hard could that be, anyway? Mask deserved points for style, at least, even if it did make his Being disguise somewhat less credible.

Cloaked in invisibility, Edge circled the fractured street back into the shadows of a narrow alley. The newly formed garden of twisted stone and rubble blocked his line of sight to the musician and his flunkies. No matter. With their minds linked in a battle meld, he had Fang's eyes to guide him. And those nasty bullets no longer had a clear path to interrupt him while he evened the odds with a little magic.

A sphere of silence could neutralize the mage and the musician. No... then they couldn't banter. Where was the fun in that? Edge turned his attention to the mage's force field instead and began weaving a counterspell to remove the large protective bubble.

Crack open the shell to taste the goodies inside.

the wolf had not responded to his prattling even to tell him to shut up. that was not a good sight but still it was a shoulder wound that he saw could be tricky but it was well withing his skills to fix. he would just have to do it step by stop so the blood by repairing the blood pathways with a hemostat spell followed by replenishing the blood supply to lower danger of shock. both could be done at once but he was not ready to do that in the heat of battle.

Epyon was about to begins a healing spell  when he was ordered to move it. after a moment feeling the bullet's  zip past it felt like or or two impacted in his body. Epyon realized he had two choices. on he could bodily lifted the wolf and move away for the action risking the wolf getting even more wounded or he could hope the wolf was tougher then he looked  and try to bring this bottle to and end quickly so that  if he was still alive they could treat his for the injury which while serous was not immidietly  life threatening. not that he could say the same about the bear.  the decision made he's have to trust the wolf to survive on his own for a time and try to help the others

Epyon with his pole back out headed to where he'd seen the bear heading hoping he wasn't too late. if the bear got shot up too much he might die before he'd be of use to him as anything but a distraction.

Ty slammed to the ground when he heard the first shots ring out, pressing himself down as though irregularities in the pavement could conceal his bulk. He took in everything he could as fast as he could.
Some large creature, insect-like, wreaking havoc upon those from the pub.
A wolf screamed, fell to the ground bleeding. The mythos' head pivots toward the source of the shot. Men in suits. Groups of men in matching suits were very, very dangerous things. And these ones had guns.
The succubus sent back buy the bug's punch. More screams, more panic, the group from the pub being forced back.
What was the civilized thing to do?
Not helping never even occurred to Tyrannus. Nobody corrected him on that aspect of the concept versus the practice of civilized behavior.
There is too little to hide behind en route to the guns, and I cannot turn aside bullets. However, without the bug then the other able fighters present may be capable of something useful on that score.
But the men in suits could kill so many before that...
Better take care of the bug fast.
He got to his feet, perhaps too fast judging by the twang somewhere in his knee. He wasn't as young as he used to be, but technically nobody was.
Already charging, still low to the ground. He did his best to avoid the panicked people around him, the sight of them blurring as he focused more intently on the objective.
The slam of the insectis' fist impacting the ground. Annihilation of the cobblestone street around her, the light and scent of magic. Time this right...
The cracking destruction almost beneath him, leap... Something like a long jump, still barreling forward toward the bug.
Tyrranus' jaws parted in a roar as he aimed to collide with his target head on.

All around Aisha, everything literally erupted.  After she let fly her arrow and leaped to the ground, it was shaking beneath her feet...no doubt the others felt it too as she heard screaming and cries of surprise, as well as several bodies flying out of the way.  It felt enough like an earthquake that instinct told her to dive under something.  That, she ignored as spikes of earth jutted all across the battlefield...thankfully she was still a safe distance away from the fray as the insectis was still getting rounded upon by others.

Then, gunfire.  Round upon round of bullets that tried to tear into the group without the slightest hint of remorse...explosions of thunder to the ears of the demon.  It didn't matter what it took...these animals were going to have what they wanted back at any cost.  When she found it safe to glance around the building at one point, she found that her target was still standing.

She ducked back behind the stone wall as ricochets took chunks out of it, the claws on her feet gouging the ground in frustration as the sky was also lit by fireballs.  How in HELL could I have missed?!  Unless I didn't...tonta, they're using a gods-damned magic barrier!  I could use my own magic, but...I want my wings to be useful later.

Then she grabbed another arrow out of her arsenal...but this one was different.  Back in her last mission she had enchanted almost half the quiver of the things with poison...fast-acting, nerve-numbing, skin-burning, and sickening...to drop down strong things who also used magic.  She had only one left now, with a glowing green tip to distinguish it.

Dieties of fate, all I need is ONE opportunity...

Bow in hand, she quickly darted from her hiding place and ran across the land-side of the docks.  Still drenched in the shadows, and in the chaos possibly unseen by those who weren't looking for her specifically, the jaguaress ducked behind another pile of crates and watched the state of things.  That arrow was going to be for the barrier-holder, if she could help it.

Fal'taq smiled grimly as he noticed the green-clad mage send up a counter to his fireball... just too late. He hadn't really expected that attack to do much damage, but taking out one or two of the gunmen with it would be a pleasant bonus. The smile vanished, though, as he felt the Insectis woman's counterspell through his feet rather than hearing its effects — deliberately or not, that Earth-blast had completely neutralised what was supposed to be his main attack. With an angry snarl on his muzzle, he instantly turned his attention back to the fight surrounding the huge chitin-armoured figure just in time to see the curled-up form of Witt come flying at him.

The mole barely had time for an incoherent shout of outrage as he threw up a hasty shield. Not quite quickly enough, though: while the hedgehog bounced off harmlessly (to Fal'taq, at least), the shield spell wasn't properly anchored yet. The force of the collision sent the mole tumbling backwards until he thumped against something solid.

Even with his glasses dangling from one ear and the breath knocked out of his lungs, he was still ready to strike back. Taking a hasty sight on the blurred yellow-and-black form he could just about see in the middle of the fight, he launched a salvo of magical bolts, each one capable of blasting a fist-sized chunk out of normal flesh and bone. He'd never tried this particular spell against such a heavily armoured Insectis, though.

For good measure, he sent another bolt or two in the direction of that idiot mage. Well, it was someone or something green and in roughly the right place, anyway: it was hard to tell without his glasses.

Had she been able to, the hooded figure would have sworn. As it was, she simply made a low, hissing and rasping noise through her throat, stepping over the canine. Ragged and disheveled as he was, he might as well have been a drifter. But his clothes were a bit too well-made for that. And she had seen where he had come from and what had happened. Still, it was all the more reason not to get involved...
   She was just about to start off, when she lifted her foot, and it slicked slightly to the ground. A strange footprint was left in the redness of the blood, as it started diluting into the rain that wet the stones beneath them. She looked down again, peering at the wolf and the wound to his shoulder. It wasn't in a vital section of his body, nor did it seem to have gone through the joint; it was too off-center for that, and if that were the case his reaction might have been quite different. But bleeding as profusely as it was, it could only have hit a major artery. Which meant that if no one tended to him quickly, he would bleed to death in minutes.
   She looked around. Of course no one else had noticed... Cursing herself, she bent down, and with a strong grip rolled the wolf to the side, starting to lift him and carry him off. One might have thought critically about what she thought she could do, out in the rain and with no medical instruments or bandages to help the man, but in her grumbling determination she would simply make do.

Witt's voice trailing behind him, he bounced off the shield, up into the air, and into a nearby building, fortunately narrowly missing breaking the glass. By impacting with the wall.

*whump*

"Ooof. Ah, crap. Not again..." He unrolled, blinked, and growled - halfway up the second floor, upside down, and stuck to the wall. And attempting to catch his breath. His knives flicked out, cleaning the blood or possible blood off them by stabbing briefly into the walls, then vanished back into their hidey holes. He glanced down at the scene, then planted his boots on either side of his head and attempted to work himself loose, accompanied by a stream of curses - as expected.

When the ground shook and the boxes she had taken cover behind began to shake Penny decided to move to a spot behind a shack. Frankly the shack looked less sturdy than the crates but at least it was nominally attached to the ground and theoretically less likely to fall over. As she did she cursed all the show-offy creatures and their tendency to sling both magic and their other freaky natural abilities about. Not that there had been any discretion to this adventure to begin with but if there was a single living or non-living soul in the city who didn't know their location by now she would be surprised.

Anton was very please to see the Jackal up but was very badly hurt. When she started to move away from him he touched her. As soon as he touched her a very pleasant warming feeling filled her body as some of the pain started to go away. In addition, she feels new strength growing in her a very powerful feeling that she could lift or throw anything rushing through her. He giggled as he felt the affects start to move through her body. "Now go get her. I will see to your wounds more after the battle." Then the smile left his face as he felt a split second before it happened and jump letting his wings do some of the work and takes to the air. Ok now this is unexpected who is she? and as he looks more at the battle at hand. Who are they?. He starts to visibly cast another spell in mid air.

...Keaton:

As Izria's fists split and pummeled the ground, throwing up great jagged chunks of rock and mutilating the earth itself, Keaton let out a panicked shriek and started to backpedal, her feet and hands working in dismantled motion to propel her as far away as possible. Injuries to her stomach considered, however, she didn't make it far before the pain immobilized her and she dropped onto her back again in an unceremonious lump. Some of the snaking grooves lacerating the ground crawled past her, cleaving in crooked trails through the cobblestones. Shuddering, Keaton tried to get up again, albeit more gingerly, and heaved again, coughing up another, viscous lungful of blood into her hand. Coughing was becoming less frequent now so she supposed she was getting better, but regardless, it was still not a pleasant experience. Not when she was still evacuating her chest of blood.

The more careful technique worked. Keaton managed to lift herself to her feet, staring with clear anxiousness at the Insectis. For now, she seemed to be distracted from her goal of retrieving Keaton and dragging her, kicking and screaming, back to the Sabanethei headquarters in favor of eliminating her adversaries. Good old Izria, always thinking with her fists instead of her brain.

Keaton didn't have to suffer in silence for long. Anton seemed to realize the severity of her situation and touched her, something which normally would invoke a strong reaction from the frequently deranged jackal. Strength and healing surged through Keaton's body, mending her internal wounds and weaving together the torn and battered muscle and bone... at the end of the spell, Keaton breathed and collapsed against the ground again, coughing. It wasn't out of pain anymore, but out of vestigial shock which still gripped her. Before she could glance to Anton he rocketed into the air and out of sight, leaving her to try and tug herself back to her feet. Her hands groped for Catastrophe, which was strapped to her back, and seized it, thrusting the spiked end into the ground and using it as leverage.


...Izria:

Izria withdrew her fists from the ground and clapped them together with an earsplitting crack, still brandishing that manic smirk on her monstrous features. With the strange, variegated, black markings that trisected Izria's eyes, it almost looked like oily trails of ink were running down her cheeks, further accentuating the madness of her grin. Openly satisfied with how she had disposed of the spine-covered hedgehog, she would have focused on working to extricate her legs from the now-partially splintered ice encasing her legs if it wasn't for the swift interception of the (now invisible) Cross's tentacle, which effectively wrapped around her waist and held it in its tight, ethereal grip.

Izria's compound eyes, if such a feat were possible, seemed to go even wider as she stared in abject shock at the pressure applied to her waist seemed to increase. Around Izria's waist was where the chitin seemed to weaken, so it was an easy target for blades and such, if they could infiltrate the leathery exoskeleton protecting her innards. Izria shrieked out another, infuriated battle cry and grabbed at the invisible something looped at her waist, feeling her hands close around something very solid, and squeezed, forcibly wrenching and twisting at the thing until it could possibly relinquish its grip -

- out of the corner of her compound vision, Izria could see Paige leaping at her from over the pinnacles of stone, wielding some sort of weapon she couldn't immediately make out. No, she didn't stop to absorb the sight - Izria felt herself react instinctively. She wrenched again at the tentacle on her waist and whipped it, attempting to sling it - and consequentially Cross with it - at the approaching wolf, hopefully, if she succeeded with this maneuver, send her invisible and visible adversaries flying.

In the middle of this attempt, however, Izria felt something big - bigger than her - barrel into her back and send her flying, the world spinning and rushing past as she was forced forward. The only thing she heard as a precursor was an immense roar, something Izria was amazed she had neglected. Perhaps she had been blinded in her rage again. Shrieking out a very nasty unmentionable as she rapidly cursed her circumstances, Izria attempted to twist herself around into a more comfortable position as she braced herself for the impact against the ground, but failed. Izria was not flexible. With a heavy thud, she slammed against the earth, inches away from a dangerously sharp pike of stone jutting from the pierced ground.

Izria stirred where she was. Her head was swimming. She wondered if she sustained some sort of trauma to her head, but dismissed it as some form of disorientation. It hurt. Thrusting her foot into the ground, Izria started to shove herself back onto her feet, but became burdened with the weight of her exoskeleton-armor. Her wings started to flap and buzz excitedly behind her, assisting her with the effort of climbing to her feet. With a shove, Izria managed the ascent, kicking forward with a punctuating buzz of her wings, and started to whirl around to face her enemies.

Halfway around she noticed the bolts jumping at her, and she screamed something else which was entirely unprintable.

One bolt struck Izria right against the shoulder-plate. Fortunately, that was a more durable part of her armor, and it didn't result in any crippling pain - though the burning sensation was still agitating as she watched the normally impenetrable armor become scorched and dented from that close acquaintance with the fiery projectile.

The second bolt was more reliable in its mark. It smashed Izria in the chest, which was also protected. Izria let out a choking sound and heaved, feeling something balloon in her throat as she fought away the urge to vomit up her previous meal. The armor also suffered from a large indentation and turned a hideous, charred black.

The remaining bolts, Izria saw plummet straight for her head. With a scream she flung her fists up in a cross-shaped formation before her skull, and she felt a great searing pain as the short-lived blitzkrieg of fire, flame, and electricity surged at her forearms, scorching and searing the flesh, sending abominable pain sparking through the senses protected beneath Izria's chitin and making her knees buckle. With a loud sigh, Izria relented, uncrossing her forearms and withdrawing them, staring with profound shock at the armor. Like the other places on her armor, the chitin was dented and twisted, like someone had pummeled away at them, and was exuding great trails of smoke and ash.

Izria let out a furious scream and pumped her fists, forcing her body back in motion. "You little SHITS!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, her screeching voice slicing and cutting into the air, "You fucking little SHITBAGS, I'm going to kill EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU!"

And with that, Izria started to flutter her wings - no, not flutter them. They were rippling, seemingly slicing and cleaving through the air as they rapidly started to escalate in speed, accelerating to the point their gossamer bodies became nearly imperceptible against her back. A most grotesque screaming noise started to drill into the air, abjectly offending and nearly unbearable in volume, apparently produced from the movement of her wings. Around her, the air started to spark and distort, twisting rapidly, and with a roar Izria flexed her abused muscles, and the tautly dwindling air came alive. Bladed bands of electrified air thrashed and whipped at the ground, tearing up the stone and grinding away to reach the bare soil, reducing the layers of pulverized cobblestone to nothing but detritus. Izria leaped into the air, soaring a few feet, before she slammed back down, her feet colliding with the earth with a loud crack. Another disorienting ripple, reminiscent of the less powerful one heralding her rampage before, raced through the ground...

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Setting Cog down on the back steps of a house and propping him up against the door a little, the cloaked figure bent down and began feeling around the wound on his shoulder. Was he still awake and just shocked, or was he out of it? She could not know right then, but she presumed that he was unconscious for convenience's sake. Gloved hands held the wolf down, then reached inside her clothes for something, and then one of the gloves came off. Claws could barely be seen, as the figure pulled back his shirt, and then began feeling around his wound.
   The bullet seemed to have made a good job of tearing up the wolf's flesh, and was still inside. That made it all the more hard to heal him. So unless she used something more than just claws and string and bandaging, he would probably bleed out there anyway. Shit. Why did everything have to be so bothersome? Well, he didn't look like he had money, and she would feel a little bad about it, but she was sure she could extort some little favor or thanks from him afterwards. That was, as long as his friends wouldn't have been happy to see him dead. You never knew, especially not with creatures.
   Next, disregarding any pain that the man might have felt and in a lack of tongs at the moment, the figure dug in with two wickedly clawed fingers and surprising precision, picking at the bullet. Meanwhile, she fumbled out something from within her cloak, a vial or bottle the top of which could barely be seen between the gloved fingers of her left hand, beside a large cotton pad.

At 900, this was far from the first time Cross had used a tentacle attack.  Unless you went straight in for the kill, they usually tried to hack at it or something.  It looked like the insectis was trying to use the tentacle to flip him around, so he stretched it out to give her more slack.  At the last minute he quickly unwound it, retracting it back and down his sleeve once more.

Then the insectis did her freaky ground magic thing again.  Cross wasn't happy about that at all, but it looked like it was time to jump again.  As he did so, he noted the black marks on the insectis' chitin.  It looked like fire was a good approach, so but there was one refinement.  He sent a shower of them to the creature's frail, gossamer wings.

The only problem with doing this was that he'd just highlighted his position, but that was nothing that a few short leaps couldn't cure...

 The Harpist seemed to stiffen as soon as Sheebus went after him, his head nodding downwards as he looked at the charging reptile through a curtain of black hair, his white eyes peeking out prominently through the ebony strands. He didn't seem to even move, his body simply going rigid as his feet slid together loosely and his hands clapped onto his guitar. The piece of wood that Sheebus had thrown sailed through the air, intent on damaging his guitar, or perhaps breaking the strings.
It twisted in the air, once. The Harpist strummed sharply, immediately beginning to pick out an eerie, lilting melody from his instrument. The air itself seemed to warp around the guitar.

Without warning, the plank split from end to end with the grating sound of splintering wood, nearly exploding outwards in two pieces. It's momentum utterly canceled, it dropped limply to the mudded cobbles beneath it – ands somehow Sheebus felt something cut across his shoulder, slicing through his clothing to leave a tiny, bleeding furrow.
The Harpist, eyes closed, continued to pick deftly at his guitar, his hands speeding up and down the neck of his instrument as they produced that eerie, somehow exotic, and yet infinitely familiar song.

Something sparked off the lizard's Katana, nearly knocking the thing into mud beneath it, and at the same time he felt something whistle straight past his ear, leaving only a cold, wet sensation behind it. The Harpist strummed – and something slammed into Sheebus's chest, knocking the air from his lungs and pushing him backwards. The Harpist played faster yet, the dark-haired jaguar seeming to fall into a reverie of sorts, his claws picking deftly at the strings in an echoing, chilling harmony.
If Sheebus looked closely, and looked hard, he could almost see the notes that the Harpist played. If he looked a little more carefully, he could even see them as they flew for him, the very air around the jaguar responding to his song – as Linos played a dirge, the sky played with him. Dozens of knives of air flew for the Reptile.

The Harpist was truly in a reverie, to the degree that he almost did not respond to Mask's mockeries – in point of fact, one could see a moment of concern pass over the musician's face before he opened those milk white orbs, and seemed to stare very carefully at where the illusion sat. He blinked, almost tilting his head.
"What are you?" he seemed to say, before he fell into the reverie of his deadly melody again. His head still tilted this way and that, however, and the light of recognition seemed to play across his face – although one could not be certain he was not simply getting lost in his music.
He shook his head softly, and turned his attentions to those battling his compatriot by the inn. His opponents did not need to hear him to feel his power. He played his dirge, his melody, even if only the sky could hear.
Dozens of ethereal knives, spears, and bits of sharpness flew towards those battling the enraged insect, unfooled by illusion and invisibility. Tricks to fool those who depended on sight. In the land of the blind, this Jaguar was truly, King.

* * *

The green-robed mage's eyes grew wider and then narrowed, his hands whipping through an incantation even as he scrambled backwards for distance. Badly-aimed as they were, those bolts could cause havoc no matter what they hit...
Both hands began to glow with a purplish, eldritch light, and moving quickly he braced himself and stuck both palms forward, intent on grabbing both of Fal'Taq's bolts of magic – and palming both of them, was promptly thrown backwards, landing roughly on the cobbles and sliding backwards on the slick stones. Both bolts spun in his hands uselessly for a moment before flying up into the air, where the exploded like a pair of demented fireworks. The mage cursed. It had been his best robe, but...
  The white fox cursed again. Something was fiddling around with his shield. Getting into an exchange of fire with these fools was exactly what he wanted to avoid. He slid onto his feet, looking intently around for someone spellcasting...

The gunmen, not completely stupid themselves, turned their gunfire on the strange little mole that had just knocked their mage down. The wooden walls around Fal'Taq began to quickly splinter under the hail of bullets.

* * *

  As soon as that figure stuck her claws in the wolf's shoulder, Cog's entire body seemed to convulse, the wolf giving out a high-pitched whine and trying to shift away from the pain – his eyes snapped open, the yellow pupils dilating wide before his strength ran out. He stopped moving, and his voice simply turned into a groan beneath the its ministrations. He sucked in a ragged breath.

"Stupid..." he seemed to cough out before leaning against the wall. His head thunked against the rough wood.

* * *

Sheriff Jonathan 'Boney' Yarborough had just got done eating a lunch of a rather tasty mustard-and-ham sandwich on Rye, and was preparing to take a short afternoon nap before heading out home when the screen door slamming loudly into the wood woke him with a start and made him tumble roughly onto the floorboards beneath him. He stood quickly, smoothing out his shirt as deputy Wilson, wide-eyed, ran breathing heavily into the back office.                                                                           
"Sheriff! Sheriff! Sun-uv-a-BITCH sheriff, but there's about twenty odd idiots down by the docks shooting and blowing the shit out of -everything-. I swear sheriff it's...it's a real -mess- sheriff. Almost a damned riot"

Boney blinked for a moment, tilting his head backwards, and then adjusted his belt, shaking his head and grabbing his hat. "Well, if that ain't a mess, it'll do 'till the real mess gets here." he said, grabbing the old six-chambered revolver off the wall and heading out the door. "Call the SWAT, Wilson, and then get your ass out there. I'll see what's going on."

  It only took a moment to make the necessary calls – after explaining the situation again in the same calm, deft tones that he'd used to tell the Sheriff, Deputy Wilson was just about to go out the door, when he paused. Thinking fast, grabbed the key to the armory off the sheriff's desk and unlocked the gun cabinet. Wilson wasn't known for his discretion or good judgment, and after looking through the forest-green closet for just a moment grabbed the largest gun that he could see and ran after the Sheriff.

Wilson had, in fact, just grabbed a .60 caliber multi-coiled electromagnetic rail gun of debatable effectiveness. Generally heralded as an antiaircraft device, the gun was capable of blowing holes in the sides of ships and generally through several buildings at once. More than likely Wilson would not be able to even stay standing firing the weapon. More than likely it wouldn't matter, as anything that -was- still standing after firing the weapon wasn't meant to be destroyed by gods or by men.

Sheabus fell back to one knee and drove the tip of his katana into the ground after the hit to the chest. He coughed up a bit of blood and shook his head. He stared at the Harpist then at the blades of air flying at him. He used his katanan to keep his vital areas from being hit but he took multiple hits to the arms and legs.
"Damnit damnit damnit. What did I get myself into with this shit"
He got back to his feet stareing at the Harpist. When it seemed he was turning his attacks on the group Sheabus charged the Harpist, instead of keeping the tip low he held his sword more acrossed his chest. He was intent of stoping the Harpist.
"Well "mom" if you really where a demon I sure could use some of that power"

Glancing up at the incoming ripples in the air, Witt redoubled his struggles with the wall, and finally managed to wriggle his spines free - translating his problems with being stuck in one place into a nice easy problem of being fifteen feet above the street, and unattached to anything - and just in time.

"Oh, ..." *WHUMP* "Shit. Ow." He rolled to one side, painfully, into the shade of a stack of crates.

Over his head, just missing him, the various knives and shards of air hammered into the wall, showering him in splinters and fragments of wood. He paused, shielded from the action by the crates, and ran a hand over the back of his head... and found a patch of somewhat flat, shorter quills.

He started off disbelievingly, "My spines? He shot my fucking spines!" Rather more vehemently, "Oh, that is IT!" He rolled over, and started a stream of abuse at their attackers, getting more worked up as he went along. "You rat-arsed bastard, I'm gonna turn you into a gods-forsaken RUG when I catch you! Yeah, you, mister Guitar Hero! You and your band of mooks are gonna get MINCED when I get my paws on you, you piss-ante bastards! And your Green Goblin, I'll carve my initials on his arse!" He glared over the top of the crate, and spat in the direction of the green-clothed mage. "Yeah, you, you shiny little git, I'm gonna hang your tail in a bar! Your arse is gonna be fucking laminated, shredded, and pasteurised!" He reached into his coat, and pulled out a pair of larger daggers, shook them, and leapt over the crate, rolling forwards into a dead run at the Goblin and the two remaining Mooks, keeping low.

 The very fact that the short, spiny fellow could be heard over the roar of his weapon was indication enough of the level of threat that the hedgehog posed to the group - and glancing worriedly at the charging rodent, his gaze hidden by his shades, the rat swung the gun around to send a spray of bullets in the general direction of the big-mouthed hedgehog before returning to try and take out that crafty mage in the alleyway.

* * *

As if in response to Sheebus's threat, the guitarist simply picked and strummed all the faster on his instrument, his hands moving quickly and gracefully over the strings. Plucking out that smooth, almost hypnotic song, the jaguar somehow sent yet more distortions after the lizard, intent on overwhelming him. It was apparent that he wasn't going to run out anytime soon, if such a thing were possible. They whistled darkly through the air.

Epyon looked at the carnage. This was just short of war. Epyon realized he might need his sai to fight but he wanted to avoid that. Magic weapons tend to attract magical enemies and hist staff was bad enough at doing that. Deciding on discretion he tried to circle around unnoticed to get behind the gunmen so that he could attack them on there blind side the problem with this was that if either of them managed to shoot him at point blank range well it might wind up with a mob on the hunt for undead again but he'd risk it. running swiftly he heard Witt's  stream of impassioned and descriptive dialogue form in font and too the left of him and he circle behind the gun men. the gunman didn't like what the hedgehog had to say and had decided to use his weapon as a rebuttal before returning his attention to the others. in the moment after he launched his attack at Witt Epyon rushed him swing his pole in an curving arc in the on crashing the rat to the ground.

Witt's eyes widened as the rat swung around, and his arms flicked forwards, throwing both daggers at the two Mooks, aiming for their necks, as the rest of him flung itself sideways, rolling rapidly behind some boxes on the other side of the street. As Witt flattened himself out on the floor behind the boxes - and the shots from the rat shattered the top of the boxes and the wall behind him - he swore, vociferously. He'd seen the daggers bounce from the shield just before reaching safety.

"I liked those, dammit. I've got to get me something with range."

He shuffled through his various pockets, looking for something dangerous to use in the attack.

Or at least more dangerous than marshmallows, which is apparently about all the knives he had on him were worth, so far.

A constant stream of curses and abuse followed his search...

Sheabus continued his charge even as the the waves came at him. He used his sword to block what he could but was still taking some big hits. He was putting everything he could muster into this attack.

As Anton was looking around he saw something that brought back horrible memories. He had seen the pictures of the Harpist but never seen him in real life. He hear about this tune when he arrived at a town with a party. He would never forget what the town was like after the Harpist was done with it. He flew quickly to help Sheabus with the spell he had gained power for. A large force of energy hopefully blowing away the rest of the distortions that were coming at Sheabus so he could get through. Also, hopefully providing a distraction to the Harpist so landing on the ship would be easier. He then put up a shield that would try and protect Sheabus from other attacks of the cutting sound waves so he wouldn't get hurt as badly as he was before but lending himself seen by the harpist.

Dani was overjoyed when he reached cover. The thick pillar of wood holding up the heavy roof never looked so, in a word, friendly. There were also two barrels there, but Dani had no idea of their integrity. Dani flopped himself behind the pillar with a bodily thud and a none too quiet whimper of pain. His shirt was soaked with the cold rain and warm blood, Dani didn't have much left in him. If the fight went on too much longer he'd have to hope to the Great Deity that he would just survive. Dani loaded his last shell and using the cover began unloading on the last two gunmen and the green dude.

Cross was rapidly losing his cool.  The insectis was proving a problem, and now the others on the docks - until then a distraction - were starting to make their presence felt as a rain of sharp things fell all around him, perilously close.  This could be a problem.

Another problem was the carnage which their battle had caused.  At this rate the boats would be destroyed before they had a chance to board any.  The authorities wouldn't like this at all... whatever army this territory had would surely be on its way and they probably wouldn't care who'd started it.

If this gets any worse I'll have to grab Keaton and teleport back to base, he thought grimly.  It would be a shame, because whatever her plan was, it required manpower, and leaving the others to rot would jeopardise it.  Still, if things got out of hand, the information in her head - or indeed in her soul - would be good a consolation prize if he couldn't have her alive.

The wolf struggled, but his wounded and emaciated strength was not even a bother to the figure, who simply held him still, stretching the wound in his shoulder until she could pinch the bullet between her claws, and draw the squashed slug out. As bad as the fact that it has unloaded all its energy into his flesh, and caused a great deal of damage to his shoulder joint was, it was also good because it had been stopped and held in place, so that the joint survived and removal was easy. Well, easy if you worked as quickly and 'carelessly' as she did right then. What she was doing was even less sophisticated than field surgery, she thought.
   The bullet was pulled clean from the wolf's shoulder with another gush of blood, and a quick examination revealed that it had simply squashed, not splintered. Good luck, that. Next, the woman unscrewed the vacuum-sealed top of the little bottle in her hand, wiped the blood away from Cog's wound and pinched it to stop the bleeding as much as she could, then poured out a good amount of chemically blue, viscous liquid onto it. The wolf was wracked with another convulsive shudder, more of a cramp this time. The substance burned and chilled at the same time like liquid nitrogen. But the effect was immediate. Since the substance was meant to seep into blood and aid the healing process, it reached all the way down into the cracks of the wound, beginning the regeneration at once. The icy pain turned into a dull throb in mere seconds as the wound closed up, and the figure immediately pressed the cotton pad to Cog's shoulder to keep it that way. Next, her fingers began working quickly, and parting his shirt she began twining something silvery-white all the way around his shoulder to keep the pad in place.
   Another shudder rolled through the ground, and the air was alive with cutting, hard sounds and ripples. The figure felt a pang of dizziness hit her, and fell forward onto Cog before she managed to steady herself with a hand against the steps. Getting up, she made another one of those rasping, hissing sounds with irritation. Her eyes darted around inside her hood while she swiveled around as quickly as she could. What was going on? The police were not on the scene yet, but she had no doubt they would be on the way, and packing all they could get with them. She should have just ran... Did she even know who she was supposed to help here?!
   Bullets spattered off somewhere quite close. She could see a mangy rat-figure holding a gun, when she shifted her position a bit. And then there was that huge damn wasp right in the middle of everything, making all that... It hurt just to focus on that one. She knew what she could do, but not what would be right. Moving more of that white substance between her fingers, she watched.

At this point Aisha had grown very impatient with the noise.  Of all the living things running around, the weakest were her own comrades.  The rest were, as best as she could describe them, absolute monsters.

Ignoring the others--though the noise had escalated into such noticeable proportions that she was now keeping an eye out for someone to come barreling in with an intent to stop it all--the demoness huddled within her dark niche of a circle of crates and prepared her bow with the point of the poisoned arrow drawn back, watching the robed mage closely.  If someone could just take out the magic defenses between him and the gunmen...

Then the huntress perked.  He had tripped, trying to fend off several attacks at once.  Her eyes tried to search for any weakness to the wall...it wouldn't matter if her arrow was deflected again.  By now she had lost all fear of revealing herself to the group at some point...she could use her magic of poison to re-enchant her current batch of arrows if need be.  The bow raised...

Then the air screamed.  Aisha quickly drew back the weapon, her sensitive ears in such sudden pain that she almost released the projectile just to cover her ears.  But there was no time for even that, as it seemed the wasp had released another earth-shattering shockwave upon the group...twice as devastating as the last if not more.  All she could do was leap up again as the crates were blown away and shattered into several pieces all around her, splintering and embedding pieces of wood in her skin.

Thrown back and very nearly falling into the water, bleeding in several places, Aisha's expression was one of pure anger.  Oh that's it.  Forget the mage, that bruja has to go down.

From where she lay, and with a quick twang from the bow, the arrow flew...hoping to embed itself at least somewhere in the beast's armor and release the poison.

As he grabbed his glasses and put them firmly back in place on the end of his muzzle, there was only one thought on Fal'taq's mind. I am getting very weary of unwelcome surprises in this affair. He should have known better than to articulate that thought: with a deafening uproar of noise, the ground abruptly surged and heaved under his feet, nearly sending him tumbling again. A scream of outrage and raw fury seemed to come from the direction of the Insectis woman. Oh good, I've annoyed her, he thought, this day is getting better and better.

With his glasses back on, the first thing the mole saw clearly was the flashes and sparkles of the remaining gunmen all firing at him. And with better aim than most the Families could muster: he couldn't hear much over the noise, but he felt impacts on his shield, as well as splintering crashes from near misses in the wooden wall behind him. He was in no immediate danger, of course, so he mostly ignored it: he could keep his shield up under concentrated gunfire for hours if necessary. It attracted attention, though, at least until Witt started his charge and drew the gunfire towards himself.

A moment later, Fal'taq noticed a new player in the fight. Someone — not the mage in green — launched several spells at the others in the party. They appeared to be knots of distortion, with a razor-sharp cutting effect, as he could see from the ones that had hit nearer targets. That nagged at the mole's memory; he'd seen or heard of something like that before, but he didn't have the time to think about it too deeply. The things were very hard to see, but a group of them did seem to be coming his way. In fact they were close — very close — TOO CLOSE!

Swearing nearly as loudly, if not as inventively, as Witt, Fal'taq fired off one last quick salvo of bolts back along the path of the cutting spells, fortified his shield as much as he could and threw himself to the ground. He landed face-first in a cold, wet, muddy puddle.

The ground-wracking shock and the following explosion sent splinters of rock and wood flying. She wondered why she hadn't figured before. Of all the damnable creatures right there and then, the wasp was the one that was causing by far the most chaos. Putting that one out would at least stem the tide of the battle. And it might distract those who needed distracting long enough to let people get away from the scene.
   The figure looked up the wall underneath her hood. To her side, the two-story building with its slanted roof stood high, overlooking the docks and close enough to the fighting and the wasp that it was as good as ideal for giving her an overview for what she wanted to do. She might become exposed up top, but she could just drop down and out of sight. She passed one last glance over the wolf on the steps, then pulled off the glove still on her left hand and moved.
   As the figure's arm reached out, and the sleeve of her coat rolled back, a good bit of a black, slightly glossy and segmented hand, with obsidian claws tipping each of her five fingers, came into view. She placed her palm on the wall, then moved up and along with her other hand, and then her cloak moved as she followed with her feet. Effortlessly, she began climbing up the vertical surface as if there had been handholds right there instead of simply smooth, painted wood. In seconds, she was at the edge of the roof, and with an easy movement gripped it, and pushed off with her legs. In an unspectacular yet graceful movement, she flipped over and landed with her feet on the roof panes. She was at least twenty feet up now, probably a good bit more, and had the fight laid out for her as she crouched down on the edge of the roof. And underneath her cloak, she was already moving her hands, deftly and with hurried speed. Lengths of silvery strands began winding between her fingers. She had to get a good shot in...
   The moment came when the huge insect down before her finally made a quick break in her buzzing and thrashing to defend herself against the latest salvo of fiery bolts thrown by the mole mage down below. And the woman acted. Throwing her hands out and at the same time making long threads of white fire off from within her coat. The gathering of threads flew a few meters into the air, before practically springing out into a growing, net-like structure, that shot at the great yellow insect as if fired from a gun. And not wasting time, the figure threw her hands out toward the sides immediately after, sending one long and wide set of webbing against the rat with the gun and the strumming jaguar.

Edge crouched in the narrow alley. Bullets streaked overhead and pockmarked the wall behind him. A little close for comfort. He'd taken care not to leave them a line of sight, but his counterspelling attempts had been noticed. So much for the subtle approach. He modified his incantation in mid-cast, abandoning the slow unraveling for a more forceful attack targeting the weak points he'd opened in the arcane matrix. His illusionary cloak hid his body but couldn't conceal the mystic energies forming between his hands. Antimagical power coalesced into a ball of darkness crackling with electric indigo. Edge hurled it towards the transparent barrier. Veins of eldritch purple energy spidered out from the impact point. Only one of their spells would prevail.

Time to leave.

No sooner had the bolt left his unseen fingers than Edge was in motion. The invisible jaguar retreated deeper into the narrow alley, away from the retribution that was sure to follow his dispelling attempt. He leapt up to a window ledge and used it to propel himself even higher, bounding from one wall to the other as he climbed the narrow alley until he finally vaulted over the eaves to join his twin on the rooftops.


The spectral jaguar replied with casual nonchalance, barely loud enough to carry over the roar of combat:

"I am but a black wind blowing through the eternal rains."

His coat whipped wildly about him, buffeted by the wasp's near-deafening wingbeats, but he himself remained perfectly still, as if standing in the eye of the storm. He allowed his dark blade to rest against his shoulder when the mobsters dismissed him and turned their attentions elsewhere. The jaded gangsters had responded to his over the top performance not with fear but something just as insidious. Confusion. Incredulity. Complacency. Powerful weapons in the hands of an illusionist. A wicked grin played across his rain-streaked features. Did they not recognize the scent of a predator?

Mask somersaulted off his pedestal of jagged rubble, landing on the cobblestones with a light splash. His blade whistled as he brought it up for another salute. Would they stake their lives on their judgment?

He charged.

With the bullets splintering the flimsy shack Penny decided it was time to disappear. While the gunmen were busy with all the loud and loony creatures she would make a break for it. Lousy chance but her best one. Slipping out from behind the building the fisher tried to move from cover to cover towards the end of the lane.

The edge of Paige's sword was mere centimeters from Izria's leg, when Ty bowled them both over. Unbalanced Paige took a step forward to steady herself. She was about to renew her attack on the prone bug when she noticed the fireball spell headed their way. 'No one seems concerned about friendly fire around here...'Paige thought as she backfliped out of the way.

Now too far to impede Izria who was climbing back to her feet Paige was forced to shield herself from the lightning storm  the insectis' wings kicked up.

She also noticed the impacts of what appeared to be a sonic attack from the group of attackers from the harbor....

...Keaton:

Struggling to maintain some form of stability despite the quickly escalating turmoil, Keaton decided to weave her way to the side and slip off into some sort of subterfuge until the situation became more manageable - or if she could organize a decent attack plan. At that moment Izria was enduring the attacks which were besieging her quite effectively, although it was hard to make out the towering, abominable insectoid from within her wreathing mass of disfigured pikes of stone and upturned earth. As long as she was distracted, Keaton was quite content. She just needed to figure out a way to run in and kill the bitch - everyone had some sort of efficient ranged weaponry, but Keaton needed a clear target in order to execute her own.

Out of the periphery of her hearing, amidst the smashing and cracking of splintered stone and the various destruction, Keaton heard it. It was almost amazing that she did, considering the amount of noise rampaging through the area. What was equally amazing was the fact what little Being authority that existed on Holiday hadn't dispatched any Adventurers to handle the threat, or sent their own police force. The buzzing quelled almost contemplatively as the slightest whistle penetrated through the bloodied fog filling Keaton's head. It took her a moment to decipher precisely what that odd sound was, but when she realized it, it hit her like a cannonball.

Music. Haunting, remarkably lilting, yet so very haunting.

I've heard that before, Keaton thought, at first numbly. Her thoughts detonated in an almost panicked screech, I'VE HEARD THAT BEFORE-

She could distinctly remember the Harpist, perched imperiously on the bench placed tantalizingly outside of the bars of her cell door, just barely out of reach. The bars protecting the door would normally never withstand a magical bombardment, which was why they had been fortified in the form of chains – dozens of them, crisscrossing and looping around every bar like dead, iron serpents, their linked forms originating from the complicated lock resting over the door. The chains themselves seemed to fade into an almost ectoplasmic outline as they entered the lock from every angle, softly beaming with the same, oppressive, angry red glow as the runic symbol on the front of the lock. Despite the near-obstruction of her vision due to the veritable spider-web of chains, she could see the Harpist's tattooed silhouette and the diminutive way his fingers plucked and tweaked at the strings of his strange, bewitched instrument, and could even more clearly hear the product of his musical ministrations. Through the murky air, the melody played, mockingly serene compared to Keaton's incarcerated state, almost slithering through the atmosphere and drilling into her eardrums. Almost trampling over the thunderous pounding of footsteps as a group of slanted shadows loomed into the chamber, but not quite – just accentuating it, like the chorus occupying a skilled orchestra.

She could remember the Harpist just playing and playing, meditatively tuning out the murky surroundings of the dungeon with the dispassionate hum of his harp. Even when the people came down and the hitting and whipping started, he would simply be there, playing, always the same fucking tune, always the same fucking song, and always never paying attention to her no matter how loudly she screamed at him to get up and help her, oh dear god please.

Except for once. Once, she had jostled his concentration – apparently the screams had disorganized the practiced dancing of his digits. Prior to that anomaly she had no idea it was possible to disrupt the Harpist's sense of balance. He twitched, out of irritation, and then opened his milky, unfocused eyes, regaining the crooked posture of his fingers hovering over the harp's strings. He looked at her with a clarity which would never normally be bestowed upon a blind man, unconsciously selecting the next string.

Their eyes would meet. He'd smile.

Then he would close his eyes and simply continue playing, that shred of a second where she would think he would help her fading away, along with the rest of his music...

Oh God, help me –

I am the only God here, sweet Katherine. Pray to me.

"NoTaEk?"

Keaton felt her heart shrivel and curl up, dropping to the pit of her stomach like a petrified corpse with a resounding thud only she could hear. Instinctive rage swelled in her as she heard her being addressed by that infernal name nobody was allowed to call her, because it was her slave name, and it was what he used to call her, but as she whirled around to face the harbinger of that accused sobriquet, she froze.

Sitting in the darkness was an oddly thin, perfectly flat silhouette, almost reminiscent of the sort of figure one would see looming out of the corner of their vision, intangible and imperceptible, there and yet not. At first glance, it partially seemed to blend into the shadows it suffused itself in, the rest of its form peering almost like an alley cat around the corner of the damaged building. A small, feral owl, or at least a cardboard cutout of something resembling one, indistinguishable in exact species and almost abstract in appearance. The tiny shadow-owl merely stared at Keaton with its thin, slitted holes-for-eyes, canting its head with a microscopic movement to the side.

"SwEEt lItTle NotAeK, CaN yOU sEe Me?" it continued to ask in that distorted, disembodied voice.

Keaton didn't answer.

She felt something inside her break.

And she screamed.


...Izria:

With a flourishing plume of fire blooming between Cubi and Insectis, the flame easily snagged onto Izria's wings mere seconds before she was about to launch herself into the air again, creeping up the gossamer membrane in a tangled, writhing mess of smoke and fire. Caught off-guard by this sudden assault, Izria released an earsplitting screech of agony as the pain instantaneously took fold, her wings giving a few, useless buzzes as she attempted to throw off the fire, or fan it out of existence. Her misguided efforts proved useless. Whether or not Cross had revealed his location, Izria was far too distracted by the rapid disintegration of her wings to interfere.

In the next moment, another volley of magically-endowed firebolts lanced through the air in a rapid, torrential downfall, swiftly bombarding the beleaguered Insectis. A few of the firebolts missed their mark due to Izria's frenzied flailing, each inaccurate streak of flame striking the ground with a smoldering sizzle and a combusting burst of devastated cobblestone and soil, but the damage was done – Izria appeared to be thoroughly disarmed. Smoking and dented in various places on the right side of her body, she issued a hideous moan and allowed herself to crumple onto her back, dropping wing-first onto the windswept soil. The flame burst outward in one spectacular flare for a fraction of a second before it was murdered by the extinguishing presence of the soil and stone, vanishing within a bloating plume of smoke and smog.

Izria twitched on the ground. Her back felt too numb, smothered against the ground, for her to feel the blistering sensation of the blaze which had undoubtedly reduced her once-magnificent wings into mangled wrecks, and she felt oddly grateful for that. In her many years of working she had faced death countless times, but hadn't experienced this twisted caricature of numbness. For a second she almost recognized it as death, and had suspected that she was already claimed by the reaper, but one shuddering gasp, one choking effort to rally oxygen, and she was coughing up great gouts of ichorous blood. One retching noise and she forced her body to roll onto her chest, where she could allow the air to fan her wings. Wind whistled through the pockmarked outlines of smoldering membrane still present in her wings. Just barely she managed the effort. Alive, but injured.

And angry.

So angry.

Before she could act on that impulsive eruption of emotion, Izria felt herself be roped to the ground by the sticky stands and splatters of webbing splashing against her form, anchoring her enormous limbs to the rocks and gluing her to the ground. Spirals of the substance tangled up the scorched and lifeless broken frames of her wings, binding them together and reducing their pitiful twitching to absolutely nothing, and all she could do was scream in frustration as she was effectively restrained. Weak as she was, she could do nothing to resist other than give a few, miniscule twitches, her sinewy muscles vibrating beneath her rickety and scorched armor.

Within seconds Izria was utterly trapped beneath layer upon layer of webbing, a prisoner in her own nest of spikes and spires.


...Keaton:

"We have to get out of here! WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE!"

The Owl didn't follow her. It just watched her with something akin to incredulity (its one-dimensional features were incapable of projecting any sort of expression outside of the slightest shaping of its eyes) as Keaton scrambled away, her feet clawing at the ground and kicking up the residual chunks of cobblestone remaining on the mildewed and chiseled street. If Keaton had any religious appreciation left in her, she would have been praying like an elderly man on his deathbed, but since she had no piety whatsoever, she devoted all her energy into simply running away from the alley corner she had ducked into and rushing back into the open. Probably a crazy move, considering the fact she was the reason those Sabanethei fuckers were after her.

Through the absolute panic and terror which had seized her, Keaton realized that Izria seemed to have stopped. Did they kill her? Surprisingly, she was devoid of interest regarding her former tormentor's fate. Normally she would be more than happy to find out that Izria had been brutally desiccated by her new comrades, but she was far too distracted – far too horrified – couldn't think straight! She just had to get out of there, and take everyone else with her. As long as Izria was down she hoped they could easily evade the rest of her entourage, even if it was composed of a rather formidable group of characters.

Right now she was just focused on getting everybody to run. They had to get out of there, it didn't make any sense and she didn't know why she wanted to go, but she had to go, because the Owl had found her. Digging her heels into the ground, Keaton skidded to a halt, her body shaking and shuddering, hands balled up into fists at her sides.


The Harpist's song didn't only affect Keaton. As its hypnotic, eerie inflection drifted over the vestigial prickle of sea salt, electrified in the ozone-laden air, it reached the ears of all assembled in the group. It had an almost resurrecting effect, stirring dormant emotions and memories seated in their psyches.

Cross began to feel things, think of things that he'd forgotten about long ago. About Azrael and Wilson, and the dream of Har'Khun again - Keaton was too overwhelmed by the weight of her insanity and her rapidly-deteriorating emotions to confront the images of finding her father's dismembered corpse outside the ruins of her home. Witt relived his reasons for wandering, long ago - Cogidubnus, waking up one night in his own sheets, soaked tot he bone in blood - Epyon, of a time when he was yet alive, and could feel the warmth of the sun on his skin. Dani, of Jon's son, and the hope for the family there - Sheabus, of the time his parents were murdered. Fal'Taq, of the time his previous apprentice made him laugh. Paige, her mind turning to thoughts of loves, once precious, and long forgotten, abandoned to other conquests. Tezkat'l, all the pieces of him, remembered his days in the dark jungle, among only the wet, the rot, and the demons. With Sal, she recalled why she even had to leave that damn island in the first place, and with Penny, she remembered why she was hiding. Aisha remembered more clearly than she ever had before a sleepy village and the visage of a smiling man. Navarro remembered a time when his hands weren't stained with blood, and Anton remembered his mother's voice.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

 With song sweet as death, the Harpist continued to play his guitar, clawed hands plucking the string with feverish intensity as the crocodile rushed him, enduring all that the jaguar had to throw at him. An extraordinary feat of endurance and resolve, without doubt - and though that danger continued to loom, continued to grow larger and more threatening, Linos simply played. Sheebus raised his Katana to cut - Fal'Taq shot his spells - and high above, nearly unnoticed, a spider leapt to spread it's treacherous, sticky web. Beset from all sides, the harpist played. He drew his claws across all the strings, the notes ringing in the air unnaturally, together, as he strummed towards himself.
A drop of blood dripped onto the wood of the instrument, leaving a trail of dark.

Air coruscated around the black feline, a rippling, iridescent sphere of air that foamed around him, like the waves from the storming sea breaking upon the rocks just half a mile away. Sheebus's Katana hit, as did the bolts fresh from Fal'Taq's hands, and slapping wetly across the whirls of air, Salticia's web simply never reached the guitarist. The Katana hit the whirling sphere of force and shook down to the hilt, and stopped as though he had struck a wall of taffy with a stick. Fal'Taq's bolts tried to pierce into the sphere and stopped short, vibrating as they attempted to get to the musician inside it.
The Harpist strummed again, a loud, commanding note.

The sphere exploded outwards, the whirling, supercompressed air around the harpist exploding out, flattening the ground around him - Sheebus, valiant though his charge had been, was thrown high into the air, sliding to a stop almost where he had begun his attempt. The bolts that the mole mage had thrown bent strangely, looping around Linos as if attached to him by a string, and then bolting straight at Witt's head. They glowed with a purple, eldritch light. Salticia's web lay at his feet, stretched and distorted.
He paused, drawing out the final note - it seemed to pierce through the air, and with a small shake of his head, he continued playing again. Whirling razors filled the air once more, heading for Sheebus, and the creatures harassing Izria - he noticed the strange...not quite alive individual sneaking up behind Reginald, and knocking the rat out cold before he could respond.
His song continued, another drop of blood tracing down the strings. His hypnotic song built, sending knives and whirling daggers at everything that he could see - although none flew for the Jaguar charging for him, Linos seeming to not see, or simply ignore, the charging feline.
Some daggers seemed to fly where there wasn't anything at all, and he continued to play, his concentration unimpeded. He kept playing until a dagger larger than any he had conjured, a massive streak of blue, roared with the fury of a thousand suns through the streets. The Harpist fell over hard, blown from his feet, as the very walls themselves became whitewashed and the massive streak passed through the remaining weasel carrying a tommy gun - and caused him to evaporate, as if he'd never been.

In the distance, a small explosion could be heard.

* * *

Reginald cursed that damn mole, he cursed that hedgehog, but most of all he cursed the fact that he didn't have anything with larger firepower with him. Distantly, he heard the plink of shotgun shells as they impacted the shield their mage had constructed around them. He supposed it wouldn't be fair to condemn the mole for using the same tactics they were, but it didn't make him any happier about it.
His drum ran out. Hitting the eject button, he reached into his coat to pull out another one of the drums taped to the inside, when a jarring pain suddenly flared from the back of his head, and his world went white, then dark, dark black.

* * *

He'd run out of ammo just about when his compatriot had, and ejecting the spent case and reaching into his coat, the sound of a staff impacting flesh, almost next to his head, was impossible to ignore. The weasel stepped back and to the side, letting out a curse and scowling at the zombie. It took him only a moment to fish the next magazine out of his coat pocket, and it wasn't the first time he'd ever used the weapon either - he slammed it home with little fuss, and raised the barrel of his gun, aiming at Epyon.
He squeezed the trigger, and then-

* * *

The green mage spat out a curse as Edge's purple ball impacted the force-dome, and both spells crackled as spell tested spell. As hastily constructed as it had been, and as carefully as Edge had casted his, the outcome had been decided almost before the spells met. The force-dome flashed purple, and vanished in a eldtrich flame - but not before the Mage had heard the plink of shotgun shells impact the side of the now-vanished dome.
His hands whirled around, preparing another shield, a fireball, anything. His palms outstretched, he began to throw it at the bear hidden in the rubble -

He found himself blown to the ground, his ears bleeding as he screamed silently in the loudest sound he'd ever heard.

* * *

If Salticia had looked down, she would have seen that her patient, as damaged as he had seemed before, had flown from where he was sitting. A trail of footprints led through the muddy cobbles, headed in the direction that the Jackal succubus had run off to.

* * *

Boney peeked around the wooden corner of the building at the end of the lane, his eyes bugged in disbelief. There hadn't been a problem like this in years. Nobody, no family, no government, was stupid enough to cause this kind of trouble in this town. Dragons didn't usually cause this much damage.
He fingered the revolver in his hands, the sweaty digits slipping over the cool metal. He'd have to wait for the SWAT team, there was no question. Even that might not be enough...

An orange dot danced in front of the sheriff's eyes. He blinked, his head moving back from the corner of the wall, before he saw yet another orange dot from the corner of his eye. A third rested just above him, attached to the roof of a nearby building.
The Sheriff's eyes widened in recognition and horror. His gaze snapped to the side, in the middle of the street.

With orange dots to match those covered the buildings around him, Deputy Wilson stood in the middle of the street holding a massive rifle, almost as long as he was - the source of the dots. He was sighting in the weapon, aiming for something down the street. The sheriff's jaw dropped, and he started forward.
"Wilson, you stupid sunuvabitch, don-"

  Wilson fired, and the street inverted color for just a moment, bathed in iridescent white light, and shook from a sound louder than a thundercrack.

Sheabus slammed hard into the ground with a thud. He still managed to hold onto his katana but he was barely conscious. He slowly sat up and saw the Harpist blown from his feet. For a moment he had the memory of seeing his foster parents' dead bodies. That image stuck in his mind as he was blown back. The image seemed to to morph in his head. It turned to him watching their death and seeing their killer. Instead of it being four men it was one man. Sheabus clearly saw the man, it was the Harpist. This set Sheabus off, he used all the strength the rage inside him gave him and he climb to his feat and glared at the Harpist. Once again he readied his katana for an attack he charge the now knocked down harpist. Letting out a roar one would except from a dragon. He put all his anger, rage, sadness into this attack as he charged forward. Not carring if he lived or died after the attack, all he wanted to do was kill the Harpist. It almost seemed as if he was glowing with rage as he charged forward. He shut off all senses he deemed unimportant, his hearing, his sense of smell, his sense of taste, his sense of tough. All that was working was his eyesight.

Dani watched as the frightened mage sort of blended two spells together because of his furious hand work. A clear force mixed with flames came at him faster than any thing he'd ever seen. He tried to turn and run, but the spell blazed through the support beam and into Dani. The bear was buried under a hefty amount of rubble, and his world went dark. The battle was over for Dani as he lay unconscious underneath the unimaginable weight of the piece of roof that fell on him.

s he staff connected with the Rat epyon suddenly found himself in his village. it was a sunny day still fairly early in the morning. his younger bother was pull his arm and sawing something too thing then almost as suddenly the world dissolved ash he was blown from his feet by a shock wave the like of which he could not ever remember feeling before. it was as if a lightning bolt had struck  the ground right nest to him.  had he been lighting he might have died. had he been his directly he would be little more then ash. as it was he was blown into a wreck building. conscious and hurt not that he really felt the pain like the living did but he could tell when he was damage.

As he is considering where or not to move in the rubble he hears a groan. the kind someone in intense pain and on the board of conscious emits.  opening all his eyes he looks around  and there buried close to him under a few pound as rubble he see. and arm.  watching as the rubble shifts some. peering hard his eyes and their golden tint seem to be glowing as he recognized it.. It's the bear he's sure of it. but before he can help him he has to mend himself meant. not to mention any gaping wholes that would give away his stares as undead to those around him. 

working fast but carefully her sets his  bones then  begins to nit them back together.  in cam case like with his ribs he does the bear minimum but for his legs and arms he does a full job. he needed them strong he he was going to dig out the bear. he just hoped the bear live long enough for him to help.

Get out of my mind!!! Cross shrieked mentally as visions of an earlier, happier life swam before his eyes.  Slowly they began to recede and he snapped out of it just in time to see Keaton escape down a sidestreet.  She looked demented.

Cross hesitated for just a split second and then ran after her.  Just as he began to catch up there came the earsplitting sound of an explosion and everything went white.

Epyon had just stood checking himself with his lower eyes when he saw a figure running by. It was one of the wolves he thought. the one that started talking to the jackal about the whole adventure then. following his line of sight with his upper eyes he saw that the wolf was chasing the jackals. Sighing he began to  heave and rip  the fallen rubble off of the bear.
He was in bad shape and Eypon could almost smell the life leaking form his with his blood.  this was no time for a rush job but it'd have to be on.  Quickly and painfully he extracts the bullets using fingers and at times one of his sai's. Each time he removes a bullet he mends the blood vessels after the extraction. then with the bleeding stop. He case the bear into a memory damping sleep called a healing trance and hoped that he had enough blood in him for the spell to replenish his blood to work.

With the bleeding stopped the blood would rebuild it's supply with or with out magic. But there was a price for this as either way but this way the bear would wake up hungry. Very hungry. But still the fast patch work would have to do assuming that it held.  Heaving the bear over his should he because to run after the wolf who was chasing the jackal who started this whole affair. 

While he ran Epyon became aware that one of his wing was broker to the point of hanging limply. Ah well he'd have to remember the mimic pain for that later until he had a chance to med it. But for now the trail was growing cold and his magic patch up job on the bear really need a thorough going over to make sure he didn't screw it up in his haste. After all the living normally hated when the dead touched them let alone played doctor with them.

The spectral jaguar stopped in his tracks. He closed his eyes and lolled his head, as if lost in the Harpist's enchanting melody.

"Another time, perhaps..."

Then the world lit up with the flash of railgun plasma and a deafening boom. When sense returned, no trace of him remained.


It all seemed so real. He was a kid back in Lostport, and she was...

Mom? Mom! No...

Ah... fine lass she was. Would ye be remembering how she squealed when I...

Fang spun about and snarled. Don't say another fucking word, or I'll...

Kill me? The Demon sneered. Ye already did that, lad. 'Fraid it didn't take.

Mocking laughter filled the room. The scene faded to black.


"Fucking bastard... I'll kill him... again... and again..."

Edge found him crouched on all fours near the edge of the roof. Fang's illusionary cloak faltered. He was a transparent shadow of a man.

You fell under the Harpist's spell. Don't let Bolt get to you over something like that. Edge draped an arm around his brother and squeezed. Come on. This fight is over.

Fang nodded slowly. His body dissolved in Edge's arms, disintegrating into a fine black mist that swirled around the invisible jaguar. Edge accepted the living essence back into his own body, embracing the renewed strength as two halves became whole once more. Within moments, Fang had completely disappeared from the material world.

It made Aisha grin to see the wasp suffering so immensely, and to at least see that the party had come to a moment of usefulness.  But if the arrow had managed to reach her, it was to only to be lost and hit nothing...as magic disintegrated her chitin exoskeleton and flames consumed her wings.  So the panthress hadn't been as big a contribution as she thought she would yet.  At least an adversary was dying; if not from heavy pain within, then heavy pain without.

But that wasn't to be the end of things.  Just as it had been doing when the battle started, a strange music filled the air and started to drown everyone's minds in a sinuous melody that was both captivating and at the same time horrifying beyond all reason...probably because it was so unnatural to hear something above the noise of a massacre.  Illusions were cast about and memories were brought back.  For just a split second, the panthress lay on the dock...dangerously in the open as her mind was gripped and everything was just lost.

In its place stood memories that were happier than what she could imagine now.  Her village before it was seized by the demons who trained and brought out the darkness in her blood.  Laughter, conversation, people coming and going past her family's forge...her father before he was killed in front of their eyes.

Oh shit...SHIT!  Her jaws clenched and claws dug into her scalp to add to the bleeding that had already been going on through the splinters in her skin.  But despite trying to focus on outward distractions...it was as if there were none.  And through the bright flashes going on around her, she had memories of being back in the inferno that turned her life over on its side.

And all she wanted to do now, as then, was RUN!

Her eyes flew open when the memories just halted.  When she was scared, she was angry...and Aisha was really angry.  But there was nobody around to stop.  The insectis was on the ground...the gunmen and mage were in their own ways disfigured...and the one responsible for the noise...where was it...?!

Nowhere.  Aisha couldn't find anyone, and she didn't care anymore, not at that moment.  The chaos, the noise, the fact that she felt vulnerable.  It was too much.  I'm out of here...they can find some other gullible slug to take my place.

Her senses went haywire.  Something else was going to happen, and she wasn't going to be there for it.  To hell with it.  She pulled out what was left of the splinters and disappeared...there was a splash that accompanied it.  She was a jaguar, after all...she could swim without the irrational dislike of it.

And while she was escaping, the scope above the barrier of the waves flashed above her, and a thunderous sound wave shook everything.

Moments later, there was a figure that probably could have been seen dashing from the edge of the docks and into the shadows...wings unfurled as they helped her quickly onto higher spots; to see more routes, and see what the others were taking as well.  Well, I didn't die.  I'll be a gullible slug for a while longer.  But what of them?

Dani was sleeping, not comfortably but it was better than dead. His thoughts still on that moment in the Marco mansion.


Timmy's living quarters was small but warm and wooden. The lights were low and cloth was up against the bottom of the door as Dani and Timmy discussed the business. Both conspirators sitting at a decent sized wood table.
"Your father is making a mess of things." Dani said elbows on the table and fingers tented. "He will not listen to a word I say."

"I know, Dani. If this continues he will tear the family apart. We can't have that." Timmy said leaning forward. "You know what must be done."

"You're cirtin? Do you know how that will destabilize the family? The Don's assassination will not go unnoticed."

"You have no idea how hard this is for me, but it must be done." Timmy shifted to a neutral position. "I can keep things together, but not if the family is full of rats looking to jump ship."


"I have no doubt you can, you've been groomed for this since you were born. O.K. we'll need a moral booster I don't know what quite yet, just leave it to me. Ready your self the time has come for our golden age."

"Take care, old friend." Timmy said putting a hand on Dani's shoulder

"And you." Dani said returning the sentiment.

His world went dark again.

Perfect! A straight hit and with clearly the desired effect. The woman took a step back on the roof, backing to get out of the way for a clear shot. Now, they would hopefully turn tail, and she could carry that wolf away a bit before she-
   Bright lights overshadowed the figure as he stood over her restrained form, turning his marble-white form into a dark silhouette. All she could see was his grin, and the glint of light off the sharp instrument in his hand. Slowly, he moved it closer to her face, the glimmer of his teeth widening...
   She caught herself, rolling over and grabbing the ceiling just as she was about to fall. Tiles slipping a bit under her pull, she shook her head and tensed as she hung from the side of the roof, trying to shake off the feeling that had come over her. A tingle that made her limbs feel numb and a chill down her spine slowly left her, but she could still almost see the image, like an imprint on her retina. Some form of mind-invasion or trickery, she told herself, or hypnosis. It had to be, even if she somehow couldn't feel it touching her mind. She was resistant to such things, but with enough power...
   A bright flash erupted, reflecting off the walls of the surroundings, and made her blink as she hung. Something had sent a jarringly sharp tremor through the ground from somewhere off, and she could hear the echoes of sound of an explosion. She was suddenly glad that she was out of sight and didn't have that good contact with the ground. But she had to get down. Letting go, she finally slid the last few inches down off the roof and fell the distance back to the cobblestones beneath, before with a comparatively clumsy maneuver she landed and stood up in one movement. She looked around. The wolf was not there. Curses.
   A second or two passed, before she noticed movement, and looked up. Down through the alley intersecting the one she was standing in, she could see someone run by. A wolf. Was that...? After he passed, she hurried over, and looked down the next alley over the corner of the building next to her. It was not the same wolf, but he was following someone. Some girl who had just stopped.
   Against what was probably better sense, only following her intuition, the hooded figure slowly stepped out into the alley behind the two canines.

If Fal'taq had been in a foul mood just a few minutes earlier, that was nothing compared to the look on his face as he picked himself out of the muddy puddle. Someone was going to die for this: it was just a matter of finding out who, and deciding how.

The mole's bloody musings were interrupted as a thread of sound came through the cacophony of the battlefield. He shouldn't have been able to hear it, but... it was music... and the final puzzle piece fell into place. It's the Harpist, he thought, not quite in a panic but definitely worried. The jackal — Sabanethei owns her, so of course Sabanethei would send the Harpist to retrieve such a valuable piece of stray property! That was the last coherent thought to pass through Fal'taq's mind for several seconds as the music filled it, leaving only...

He remembered laughing. Such an obvious mistake, with such dire consequences. It was only natural for the kind of apprentice who would be attracted to a mage in Fal'taq's line of work to become over-ambitious eventually. Sometimes the apprentice survived, or even won, the ensuing struggle. Not this time, the mole thought, as he watched the shredded remains of the young rat girl tumble to the floor with half a dozen wet thumps. Some people had such amusing reactions when a flail of power removed strips of their clothes, then their pelt, then their flesh...

Fal'taq jolted abruptly back to awareness as a raindrop splashed on his nose. More cold rainwater dripped down the back of his neck. Some sort of mental attack, he thought desperately. I think we are overmatched here: time to retreat. Off to one side, he saw Keaton and Pettersohn run into an alley. That struck him as an excellent idea, so he turned and ran after them. The massive explosion that rocked the dockside behind him as he entered the alley, rattling him from wall to wall like a pea in a cup, only confirmed his choice.

Witt, hiding behind the stack of boxes, and rifling through his pockets, coat, and anything else to hand, looking frantically for anything to use as a longer-distance weapon, paused, freezing in place as the Guitar Hero's tune wiggled in his ear and burrowed into his head.

He stayed there, unmoving, as his mind wandered back through the years of drink - back to the memories that he thought he'd managed to bury. Back to the day he buried his grandchild. Back even further to the day he buried each of his children, and then his wife - each on their own day. And he just kept going, with no change - an entire book, names filling the pages, of people he had buried, then buried again, in drink and wandering. His breath caught in his throat, and his eyes filled with tears for a moment. His fists clenched, his eyes screwed up, and he screamed, silently, in primeval rage for his loss. Then he rolled over, and hammered both fists into the wall, with a cry of rage - which cracked, then partially collapsed.

Broken from his revery, he rolled over, a brick in either hand, and glanced over the boxes to check if anyone was heading in his direction. As he raised his head, he noticed Wilson standing in the middle of the road behind him, and two mage bolts circling the Harpist and zipping towards him.

He dived back behind the boxes, cursed as the bolts blew two of them to splinters, and then swore as Wilson let rip.
"Moth-"
The blast from the gun blew him into the house, across the room inside, and out through a window on the far side.
"-erfu-"
He bounced off the wall of the building beyond, and dropped down onto the fence.
"-OOFuck-"
Then bounced off the top, and landed, with a thump, in the alleyway, face-down at Keaton's feet.
"-er. What the FUCK was that?"

He rolled over, groaned, opened an eye, and gazed upwards, taking in her attitude of flight with relative aplomb.

"I so want that fucking cannon. Shit. Ow. Just not - Ow! - fucking pointing at me. Damn. Ouch."

Penny was already halfway down the side alley when the Harper's spell reached her. She paused behind her most recent spot of cover, simultaneously frightened and angry at the memories of having to duck home from school in just this same manner. Creature gangs roamed the streets in her old neighborhood and getting home without incident was a daily challenge. One of many reasons why she had worked so hard to get her education and move away. The odd sensation of being watched that had plagued her for the past month increased. The feeling of someone standing just behind her snapped her out of the memory trap just in time to see the jackal pounding down the street. Penny was debating about whether she should follow when a flash followed by a foundation-rattling boom made her decide the crazed cubi had the right idea and gave up stealth to run.

Cross blinked, picked himself up and looked around.  Keaton was there, and some of the others seemed to be following.  "Keaton," he said, shaking her gently.  "Keaton.  Where do we go now?  Where are we heading for?"

He looked about.  "And who do we need most?  If there's anyone we need to go back for I'm thinking Cog... and the she-wolf.  We'll need as many Creatures as we can get if we're going to stand a chance at this..."

"...Keaton?"

For a moment, it seemed like the crocodile might actually get his wish. Linos, stunned by the massive shockwave left in the wake of Wilson's coilgun, looked at the charging reptile dumbly for a moment - almost as if the blind jaguar was staring past him, or staring at something else entirely. His hands fumbled for his guitar, dropped at his side. Sheebus crossed the distance quickly, rain streaming off the gleaming edge of his Katana.
He tripped, as though he'd stepped into a pothole. An iron grip clenched around his ankle and pulled, throwing the reptile to the mudded cobbles.

Face twisted in a rictus of agony and anger, the mage in green stared at the reptile hatefully, his hand curled into a claw and pointed at the swordsman. An glowing, blue ring around Sheebus's ankle and the mage's hand clearly indicated the white fox's intent, and with his other hand clapped over a bleeding ear, he stood roughly to his feet. His blue eyes narrowed, and his lips drew back over gleaming teeth.
At that exact moment, he was thrown to the street with a high-pitched yelp. Behind him, a badger in riot gear lowered what seemed to be a rifle with a oversized barrel, followed by half a dozen others clothed in the same protective gear, those with clear shields taking up a position in front. Each one was in full riot kit, and taking one down would not be easy for one person alone.
"You! With the sword, stay down!" the badger said, the entire group beginning to run across the street.

The Harpist shook his head, seeming to regain his wits - he grabbed his guitar, his eyes narrowing as he hissed at the oncoming SWAT team. With a fluid speed and grace, he leapt cleanly to his feet, again setting himself in that upright, and yet somehow hunched, balanced position. He gave the reptile beside him a glance as he put claws to string, fingers hovering over the chords.

* * *

"Oh, god..."

Cog ran after the Keaton with what seemed to be almost tears in his eyes, the wolf's hand savagely clasping his shoulder. He seemed to be limping a fair deal as well, with a splotch of blood blooming in a neat spot over his thigh. He followed the Jackal's tracks as swiftly as he could, only pausing once from the sound of multiple booted footsteps coming from the next alley over. His eyes frantic, he redoubled his pace, leaving a nice, lopsided trail in the mud as he followed the succubus.
"Dammit, she said we wouldn't be fighting in the daytime, she said that we wouldn't be fighting anyone she couldn't take care of, she said...dammit, stupid, stupid stupid..."

The wolf rounded the corner, almost running into the back of that trenchcoated canine from before. He took a single limping step back, and shuffling to the side finally caught up with Keaton. He stared at the succubus for a few moments, his face almost apprehensive as he gazed at the clearly terrified Jackal. It was apparent he wasn't used to seeing Keaton in any sort of state of weakness.
His face darkened in anger.

"Dammit! What the hell was that, Keats?" he said, clearly incensed at the succubus. "You said that we had time! You said that he wouldn't dare do anything here! Dammit, you said...you said..."

The figure of his unknown benefactor loomed unnoticed behind the stuttering wolf, Cogidubnus too intent on venting his anger at the succubus in front of him. The pain from his leg and his shoulder only exacerbated his distraction further. If one was intent upon sneaking up on the distraught wolf, doing so would prove no great difficulty at all.

* * *

The sky spun around Deputy Wilson Nortand for a good long while before something large and rather angry looking appeared in the sky overhead. The Deputy squinted for a moment, not quite sure what to make of this new development, before the...thing, cleared it's throat and spoke.
"Get your ass up, Wilson."

Wilson blinked, and finally managed to sit himself up, slowly. There was a decided pain his his right shoulder - in point of fact, he couldn't feel the body part at all, only a vague throbbing that was getting worse by the moment. He squinted at the sudden dizziness in his head, and the shape offered a hand. He recognized the voice as the sheriff's.
"Now, you idiot, not when you feel like it. Up!"

He grasped the hand, and with a bit of effort Deputy Wilson managed to find his feet again. His gun lay beside him, dropped when the recoil had clearly launched him backwards. Wilson took off his hat and scratched his head.
From where the deputy stood, a line of destruction continued all the way into the harbor, passing through fences and offending eves until it found it's way into the docks proper, passing through a group of containers stacked three-thick before managing to find itself embedded into the hull of a tanker ship being pulled into dock.
Under the waterline. Tugs scrambled to run the thing aground before it sank. The entire dock seemed to be in a flurry of activity, like an anthill that had been kicked by a kid with shoes made of DDT.
Wilson held his hat meekly.

He cleared his throat, not quite looking at the Sheriff. "Did...Did I get the guy with the gun, Sheriff?" He asked, his voice tremulous. Boney glanced at him, his face unamused.
"Yes, Wilson. You got him."

An awkward silence developed between the two of them, with Wilson unconciously grinding the dirt with his heel and the Sheriff just a bit too angry to speak. Wilson, in another display of his keen insight and intelligence, spoke again.
"Am...am I fired, sir?"

Boney gave him a nasty look. "You bet your goddam ass, Wilson."

Sheabus snapped back to reality as he fell. He was still caught up with his anger as he looked back to the mage. He snarled at the mage, but when he was knocked down by the SWAT team member Sheabus tried to move closer to the Harpist. Sheabus looked at the SWAT member that just ordered him to stay down and snarled at them as well. Sheabus looked over at the Harpist and glared at him. He gasped as the Harpist jumped to his feet and looked to begin to play. Sheabus quickly shut his ears up and screamed at the SWAT team.
"DON'T LET HIM PLAY THAT THING!"
With that Sheabus lunged the best he could from being in a prone position at the Harpist looking to crush Linos's leg in his mouth.

"Shut up!"  Cross hissed to Cog, glancing round to face him.  "Recriminations must wait.  They'll still be after us!  Now... who do we need to bring with us?  We need to prioritize.  The succubus and Anton... who else?"

He faltered as he suddenly noticed the figure behind the other wolf.  "Oh my gods..."

...Keaton:

Keaton weaved into the alleyway, her heavy boots stampeding over every obstacle and obstruction in her way. A few soda cans littered around an overturned garbage can were trampled and flattened into dented cylinders; some others were kicked haphazardly away. Skidding to a halt, Keaton slumped against the wall, heaving and panting, her hand clamped over her forehead. Despite the somewhat inconsequential distance she had run, she seemed to be completely overwhelmed. Her head was moving too fast, as though it was jumping from thought to thought within a millisecond. The buzzing had made its triumphant return once more, pecking upon her mind like thousands upon thousands of hungry vultures. Before she could turn around to address Cross, who had followed her into the alleyway (this came as some relief to Keaton, as she wasn't too thrilled at the prospect of chasing around her team members), she let out a shriek as hideous white light flooded the alley, a thunderous CRACK erupting into the sky.

The ground seemed to invisibly tremor under Keaton's feet, her boots suddenly losing any and all traction they had on the ground and her body toppling forward, hitting the ground. Pain flared in Keaton's ears, her head, her chest, everywhere, her senses buckling beneath the weight of every new sensation they struggled to register. WHAT'S GOING ON!? Keaton mentally screamed, a question which somehow did not pass through her throat. No, instead she was devoting most of her verbal skills to mindlessly wailing, her body spasming on the ground. Her hands came up to clamp over her ears, her eyes screwed shut, yet she couldn't seem to drown out the white light whitewashing her vision in the darkness of her eyelids. I'm going to die. I'M GOING TO DIE! WHAT'S GOING ON?!

It had to be Hell. It had to be the apocalypse. The Owl. It had to be responsible, somehow. It was punishing her for running away. It -

As the light started to die down, Keaton gradually felt her sight be restored to an imperfect caricature, along with her hearing. The buzzing had filtered out entirely, slipping away along with the light. Keaton blinked at her rakish position on the ground, noticing how uncomfortably she seemed to be sprawled out. Catastrophe was next to her. She had fallen and she had forgotten, somehow. Keaton glanced nervously to the front of the alley, expecting to see the Owl menacing her there.

It wasn't there.

She let out a reverent sigh of relief and shakily pushed herself back to her feet, gathering Catastrophe into her arms and slipping it back in its holster, just as Fal'taq entered the alley. She didn't see Sal, her head still hurt and the hooded figure was obscured in the shadows. "Oh... oh God... what.... what was that?" she whimpered, feeling around her face for any injuries. Fortunately, she seemed to be just fine, whereas she expected for her to be a mutilated, pus-laden mess. The idea of any sort of wound was greatly exaggerated in her delirious mind. Heaving, Keaton glanced around wearily, her world distorted and wavering, cycling rapidly before her vision. "W-Where are the oth -"

Before she could finish that sentence, Witt fell at her feet, looking rather beaten. Keaton let out a shriek and winced graphically. She at first expected for the hedgehog to be dead, but contrary to her expectations he seemed to have endured the impact just fine. Well, as fine as someone like Witt could be. He was still constantly enunciating his dialogue with profanities. Sighing, Keaton reached down and waited for Witt to accept her hand, or climb up on his own. "Glad to see you're alright, at least..." That actually wasn't sarcasm. Someone with Witt's stamina and strength would be very useful in their group - everyone had their services to offer in the party, so she wasn't happy at the idea of any one of her newfound compatriots being slaughtered, especially by the impromptu arrival of a motherfucking SWAT team and what she perceived to be something equivalent to an atomic bomb being dropped.

On the tangent of party members, Keaton suddenly felt horror flash across her features, and she started glancing about the alleyway despite her distorted sight. When Cross started to interrogate her, she seemed to be totally detached from reality. "Where's Cog?" she exclaimed.

Speak of the devil, the gray wolf raced into the alleyway shortly after she had said his name, and he did not look happy. The lupine was firing off a question and an accusation a second, getting far too close and personal for Keaton's comfort, and shouting. At her. After being socked in the stomach, reliving traumatic experiences, seeing her avian antagonist, and going through the apocalypse, Keaton was not in the mood to be pushed around by some drug-addicted little junkie who - who - oh GOD, her head hurt, and she was so ANGRY. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream and cry, but she didn't. Instead, she lashed out, simultaneous to the moment Cross told Cog to shut up, and slammed her palm to Cog's chest with enough force to push him against the wall. Once he was there, she leaned into his face, a truly malicious snarl affixing her features.

"SHUT UP!" Keaton shrieked, "SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP, you STUPID FUCKING SHIT!"

A stillborn silence gripped the alleyway over Keaton's frenzied breathing. In her rage-driven delirium, Keaton didn't realize the presence of the approaching hooded figure. Her vision was blurring again, blinding her to the sight of Cog's expression. "This is all YOUR fault!" she shouted, although exactly how it was Cog's fault was entirely eluding her. Maybe she would realize it later. All she knew was that it was his fault, because she would never, ever, ever fail this badly, and never draw Izria and the Harpist to her, and it was always Cog's fault. He always screwed up.

"YOUR fault! It's YOUR fault they're here, and it's YOUR fault that - that - " Keaton made a choking noise in the back of her throat. She was on the verge of crying again, but the last thing she wanted was to break down in front of everyone. She reinforced her emotions by tightening her grip on the front of Cog's threadbare shirt. "NOW what are we going to do for transportation, huh?! HOW are we going to reach the Kamei'Sin capital, you little fucker? I don't suppose we're just going to fly," Keaton hissed that last word snidely, "You'd better come up with something, or – or – or - "

~Keaton the Black Jackal

In response to all this sudden commotion, and most of all the clear instability of the jackal standing at the midst of it all, the coated and cloaked figure could only watch with a growing sense of insecurity. The wolf she had aided was there, and up on his legs faster than she would have expected, but if these were his companions and this was the reaction...
   She took a step back, then swiveled her head inside her hood as she watched them all. In a lame gesture, she raised her hands, palms out, as if trying to say that she meant no harm. Of course, with what she had up her sleeves and her hands being what they were, she was also practically raising her weapons at them, readying for the case that they took her for a hostile. But they didn't know that.

"Quiet!" Snapped Cross urgently, gesturing towards Sal.  He took a hesitant step forwards.  "Um... hello?"

Witt sighed, stopped breathing profanities momentarily, and reached for the paw Keaton held out to him. He gazed, slightly surprised, at the brick still in his own, and chuckled, then muttered again in pain. "Ow, dammit. I think that's a rib." He tossed the brick, and the one from his other paw, over to the side of the alleyway, brushed the dust off, coughed, and reached for the paw she held out to him, only for a look of horror to cross her face, and her to turn away before he could grab it, lambasting the blood-soaked wolf behind her.

He raised an eyebrow at her, shrugged, and rolled painfully to one side, lurched upright, and started picking bits of fence out of the front of his jacket, dropping them to the littered surface of the alleyway floor. He stretched his shoulders, shook himself gently, winced, felt around on his left side at his ribcage, winced again, shrugged, and muttered a profanity.

As Keaton finished her tirade... "You'd better come up with something, or – or – or - " Witt chipped in with "Or you'll run out of threats. Yes, we get it. Can we get it somewhere else, now, or should we hang around and chat in the cells? After this little doozy of a fight, you can bet that Sheriff Boney will be happy to show us a little 'police brutality' on the way there."

He patted himself down, shaking off yet more brick dust, plaster, and splinters, then glanced back up at the group. "Well? What the fuck are we waiting for? Gods-damned Yule?" He looked past the wolf to the trench-coated wolf behind him, then the cloaked figure behind him. "Oh. More bloody amateurs come to give us a fucking hand. Great." He coughed, hawked up some dusty red phlegm, spat it into the other side of the alleyway, and shrugged. "Say howdy fast, lady. We should be bloody moving al-fucking-ready."

"You should learn to be patient, pin-cushion," a thickly-accented voice said amidst the group from the rooftops, apparently having been there for a small while as some people from the group had gathered their nerves and managed to congregate once again in the darkness, hopefully away from the sight of whomever had been shooting at them.

On the edge, the figure whose voice belonged leaped down and landed none too harshly on the ground, though still soft and relatively silent with her feline pads.  As Aisha stepped into sight, one would never see any evidence of her wings, the suppressing bracers back on her wrist...but the scratches and wounds that were given to her from the wooden crates were suddenly all but gone, leaving little in the line of scars...other than toughening her skin, who knew how else the demoness could have utilized her magic in her spare time.  "Nice to see we're mostly in one piece..." she muttered.

Eyes of crimson wandered over the others...especially the jackal and wolf...weary and already tired of being in the middle of things.  Then they settled upon the newcomer, garnering the others' attention.  All the panthress did so far was to lean against one of the walls and cross her arms, watching with a curious expression hidden in one of neutrality.

Wordlessly, the figure lowered her hands a bit, and relaxed her tense posture. At least visibly; beneath her clothes she was still as hard as a coiled spring. She looked toward the wolf who had spoken first. How she hated moments like this. Most times, it was less of an inconvenience not being able to speak than some people thought, but now...
   Then Witt snapped off his tirade. She made a twitch that was quite hard to see when he made his comment on lending a hand, and both Keaton and Jakob could feel a pang of irritation and anger from her direction, oddly muted somehow. A pair of glinting red dots within her hood, dimmed at the edges and seemingly without pupils unlike Aisha's, moved to look at the hedgehog in all his spiny unagreeability, then shifted to gaze at Cog as she took a slow step forward. She wasn't sure what she was really doing, but if she turned tail and ran they might as well decide to come after her anyhow, for whatever impulsive reason. She had experienced stranger things.

Sheebus's charge, brave as it was, did not go unnoticed by the badger armed with the Riot Gun. A terse expression passed underneath the SWAT member's helmet before he raised his weapon and fired at the reptile. A buckshot-filled pouch of rather tough fabric sailed for the swordsman's head, impacting into his temple like a iron-gauntleted fist. And indeed, Sheebus felt like a piece of iron had decided to slam into his head, the shot knocking the crocodile to the ground.
"Go! Go!"

Sheebus felt lightheaded, somehow, and the edges of his vision began to go dark. Bodies impacted him, and dully he felt several...somethings, impact before another dull thud struck him in the back of the head.
The last thing he heard was the quick, lilting cadence of guitar-strings.

* * *

To those still gathered on the streets, it was apparent that the cops weren't going to be asking any questions or accepting any explanations. Running, to wherever they came from or wherever they needed to go, seemed to be the most sensible option at that point, if they didn't want to be answering very unfortunate questions.
Paige began to wonder where the rest of the party had wandered off to, and Ty noticed that the powers that be seemed to be operating under some sort of misunderstanding, and that they weren't quite so inclined to listen in any sort of civilized manner, at that point.

* * *

Cog wasn't quite sure what he expected Keaton to do, right then, but he did realize that yelling at the succubus had never done him any good. The thought passed through his head to no real effect - he stared up at the succubus with eyes filled with terror, both of his hands clasped around his neck, trying to get the enraged Succubus to loosen her grip. His mind raced, trying to come up with a way to satisfy her increasingly...insistent demands for transportation. Cog felt himself start to choke, just a bit - how the hell was he supposed to get them off the Island? He wasn't a pilot, it wasn't like he knew anybody had a boat or anything...
I don't suppose we're just going to fly...

Cog's mind stumbled over that phrase, suddenly just a little bit more aware of the pain caused by the shards of glass in his thigh. Pandora had been the one to give him that particular hit - one of her specialties, a cocktail of painkillers and a few other, wonderful ingredients.
She wasn't a chemist, though. Cog would have described her more of a lunatic, except for her exceptional talents at engineering. He made a few hacking noises until Keaton loosened her grip enough for him to speak.

"I...I know somebody! She can get us off the Island!" he said, his yellow, bloodshot eyes wide. He neglected to mention she may not be able to get them off the Island yet. Pandora had been working on her baby for years. "I swear! I can take you to her, she lives just outside of town-"
The sudden sound of the town alarm sirens going off made Cog glance up into the air. His eyes returned to the succubus again, even more fearful than before.
"In...the Junkyard. No-one goes in the Junkyard, except her. She lives right next to it. We can head through that, avoid all this. She'll get us out of here."

Cog hoped that Keaton would buy it, as he wasn't sure himself if Pandora would even agree to take them where they wanted, even if she could. He sucked in a shuddering breath. Unfortunately, the lupine was just a bit too distracted to react to the conversations swirling around him - although he didn't fail to notice the strange figure from before speaking with Witt, and the red-armored panthress reappearing with the rest of them.

Penny, who had followed the jackal into the alley and who had faded into the shadows of a dumpster when the others had come barreling in, saw the sudden turn of mood when the newcomer appeared. Rightfully paranoid the others seemed to be primed to attack anything that moved. Carefully she took a half step away from her hiding spot, slowly and just barely moving so she came into their awareness slowly and hopefully not triggering any extreme reactions.

Fal'taq didn't like being at a disadvantage, especially not in a dangerous situation like this. Still a little dizzy from the aftereffects of whatever it was exploding behind them, he could only stand and watch when Keaton rounded on her companion and almost literally sank her fangs into the wolf. The jackal's emotional breakdown fitted in nicely with his future plans, but if she fell completely to pieces too soon... that would be annoying. Something Cogidubnus said caught the mole's attention, though.

"No-one goes in the Junkyard, you say," Fal'taq stepped forward and looked up into the wolf's face, as he caught his breath from Keaton's assault. "I have heard the rumours, as I am sure all of us have. Some rogue Mythos, I am sure, is haunting the place — we can deal with that if need be. How can this woman help us? The place is some distance from the water."

The strange figure didn't reply, but kept her distance.  Cross began to relax - if this was one of Kytharion's little friends like the wasp, they wouldn't be hesitating like that, so he figured it was safe to be distracted, as long as someone kept their eye on her.

He heard the voices of others from the tavern.  That was a relief... some of the ones he took for Creatures had returned.

"First, we need to know where we're headed," he said, glancing at Keaton, and flatly ignoring the 'junkyard' business.  "If it's on the mainland, and if it's somewhere I've been before, we could teleport there in shifts.  If not to our final destination, then somewhere relatively close where we can take the rest by surface transport.  It would certainly throw the Family off the scent," he said, with a smirk.

Paige shifted the debris that had fallen on her after her short flight into a shop front. 'What kind of moron brings a ship killer to a street fight' She raged internally.

Finally clear Paige hurried past the cowering shopkeeper and out the back door, which emptied out into a alleyway.

Spotting Keaton and some of the others further down Paige ran up to them as she sheathed her sword.

"Yes, a destination might be nice." The trenchcoated jaguar stepped into view at the alley exit ahead of the group. "But the pincushion does have a point. An alley within spitting distance of the riot police is not the place for discussion."

He glanced behind him into the street. "The coast is still clear this way. For now. What say we split and meet up someplace quiet? Then we could try planning... or at least pack a change of underwear for the international trip. Not all of us bring our travel kits when out drinking."

He wore a smirk that bared one of his fangs, but the look in his eyes suggested that he wasn't playing around.

Now, they were simply beginning to seem suspicious and strange. What they were saying and how set the figure on edge. She could hear their exact words without problem; it seemed as if they were ignoring the very fact that she were there at all, however incriminating or revealing their words might be. And the wolf who she had saved... just ignored her. She felt her irritation rise again.
   It might have been foolish, but she was already in it now, and so the figure didn't mind her actions much. She simply put her foot down and with decisive steps walked up to the group. Or, more specifically, the wolf. And she neared him in such a manner that he could not miss the glints of red eyes under her hood. Then, when she was right by him, and he was looking at her with shock apparent in his features, she reached out, and with two fingers prodded him hard in his wounded and still bruised and sensitive shoulder, hard enough to push him back off balance.

Witt growled, swore something about "Give me bloody strength", and gazed up at the sky imploringly, before glancing down the alleyway at the riot cops pounding past the open end. He turned back to the spooky figure.

"Lady, I'd explain, but this really isn't the gods-damned time. She," and here he hooked a thumb at the black-backed jackal "is fucked off at Don Sabanethei, and wants us lot to help skinning the bastard. He's obviously aware of this, because that's his bully-boys entertaining the pigs now. Your choices are either come the fuck with us now, or explain to the guys in riot gear - and then the bloody bully-boys - why you're so gods-damned innocent. Talk fast. Either way, we move." He glanced around at the group, quickly counting heads. "Well, we've lost the blasted Saltie, but we've got everyone else. I don't think we're hidden from Sabanethei now, so our only defence is to keep ahead of him. If we want to keep bloody chatting, do it on the way to this blasted junkyard. Let's get the gods-damned lead out and RUN!"

He turned on his heel, and suited words to action, heading for the far end of the end of the alleyway, without waiting for anyone else to follow.

Anton just watched as everything just unfolded. So much Pain in the air it was so sickening to him he wanted to stop it. He wanted to run out and save everyone from the pain they were experiencing. As Sheebus ran out for the harpist, Anton was finished being sick of the pain and tried to help him. In trying to cast a spell to help him, His will gave out. He hit the deck and skid across to the other side of the deck. Hitting the side almost knocking him out cold he managed to jump from the boat and let his wing float him down to the side of the dock that was nearest to the alleyway. He started to stumble towards the alleyway but falling short and hitting the ground with a loud thump. "Help! Please!" trying to get the attention of one of the group before falling unconscious.

Epyon sighed not speaking as he looked for the healing rabbit that he'd heard earlier in the bar. he didn't see him and they were ready to movie again. as much as he hated calling attention to himself he need some time to repair his damage then he head the work mythos. he shuttered closing all of his eyes ad he remembered what his bother had told him and what he'd seen.  after as moment careful to only open his lower eyes he cleared his throat. and sat the bear  down against the all. " i know we should run and all but can some one help me with the Bear? He should live but he needs more treatment then the rush job i gave him after that bloody bleeding explosion that vaporised the gunman."

Cross' relief at seeing Paige make it turned to annoyance as two more people arrived.  "Okay, forget teleportation," he said bitterly, "There's too many people for that kind of thing.  The junkyard it is-"

He was cut short by a despairing yell.

"Shit!  It's the kid!"

Extruding a tentacle through his sleeve, he poked it around the corner to look. Illusion was one of his strengths so it was a trivial matter of concealing the head in his palm.  It was likely that the police would be drawn by that cry, and they didn't seem to be in the mood for games.  Would they execute a kid right there in the middle of the street?  He didn't want to find out.

You're falling for his disguise again, he reminded himself, and ran to grab Anton.  Whatever the kid's base form was like they had the appearance and weight of someone in their mid-teens, and straining, he carried them back to the others.

"That shout will draw them to us," he said tersely.  "We must go.  Now!"

In response to all this suddenness and chaotic activity, and most of all to Witt's brusque rudeness, the figure looked back and forth, then made an exasperated gesture, striking her hands out in hopeless irritation. They hadn't reacted hostilely, which was good, but now she was caught up with them and the damn wolf still hadn't responded, and they were going to be moving on...
   What unnerved her most was the mentioning of the Sabanethei. That name called her attention to it, and as she glanced at the jackal in her unnerving instability and over the others who seemed simply lost amid it all, she was getting an urge to simply climb up on the rooftop again and run away. This was overcome a bit by her irritation with the stupidity of the situation though. She'd gotten her ass into this, and as always it was she who had to dislodge it from the metaphorical meat grinder, and while she wasn't betting that the police were so hard on their heels as they might have been she did not doubt that they would want to 'speak' to her in the case they encountered. So while it was painful to admit, the hedgehog seemed to have a very good point, and while she did give him a stare and a rude gesture behind his back, once it seemed evident that all the others were simply going to stand around for a while longer she opted to follow that one. She thus cast the wolf a grating, barely audible hiss and a glare, and then began following Witt with hard steps.

...Keaton:

Keaton's face remained firmly contorted in a brutal mask of rage throughout Cogidubnus's hasty explanation, although her ears were attentively erect and her eyes narrowed into thin, observant slits, scanning feverishly over Cog's face. He mentioned someone who could actually bring them to the Kamei'Sin Capital. This individual probably had a boat then, though she had never heard of a pier resting near a junkyard.. and when one was already readily available. Despite this rectification to their predicament, Keaton's features remained utterly stony, unreadable. Snarling venomously, Keaton finally relinquished her grip on Cog's shirt with a twist and stepped back.

"Good work, puppy," she said cruelly, "Looks like you talked yourself out of this one."

At that time, Witt decided to make his opinion known by shouting at the group to cease their activities and leave. Not that Keaton blamed him, she wanted to get going as well, especially since their position was volatile at best. Shortly after Witt's outburst, the small voice of what she could only assume to be an injured child cried out over the distant skirmish occurring at the docks. A moment later, Cross returned with Anton's beaten form, urging that they leave. That was all the encouragement Keaton needed. Whirling away from Cog, she glanced back and forth. As far as she could tell, Sheabus was absent from the group. Was he a casualty? Most likely.

That made Keaton hiss, infuriated. She snapped her head in Cog's direction. "What are you doing, pissing around? Show us where this girlfriend of yours lives!" she walked over to Epyon, who had leaned Dani's body against the wall, and took his bulky arm in her hands. "Come on, let's move," she said to Epyon. "We have to go, NOW."

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Taking the Bear's other arm he helped the jackal Keaton? or was the wolf Keaton? ah well it didn't matter at the moment but between the two of them carrying the bear would look more normal. during the little break he'd fixed his wing and it now looked more normal. hes sighed. he'd hoped the rabbit would be alb to heal the bear but he looked to be in almost as bad as shape as the bear. "some crew you picked miss" he said supporting about half the Bear's weight.
He wasn't sure but he hoped that he had fixed all the breaks in his skin. that last then he wanted was to give away secrets about himself the way the others were doing. his eyes itched to open but for now they would stay closed while he hoped the rumors he'd heard about mythos wars  were wrong.

Dani was beginning to stir in his magic induced sleep.

Despite the conversations swirling around him, and oftentimes with questions pointed directly at the terrified lupine, Cogidubnus didn't respond to anything other than the chocolate orbs that were currently doing their best to drive hot, hate-filled spikes into his brain. Cog's face was a mask of fear - he gave a grimace of pain when Sal walked up and poked him hard in his injured shoulder, but even still, he was unresponsive. Staring into those eyes, terrified about what Keaton might do, hopeful that his...omissions, might go unnoticed, and he might be able to avoid any more pain for the time being.
Keaton tossed him from her grasp, into the wooden wall behind him. Cog hit it with a small whine, another pang shooting through his shoulder.

He didn't really have a moment to recover. Everyone already seemed to be on the move towards Cog's suggested haven - and the wolf cringed a bit inwardly, wondering what they might do if anyone paused to think why no one went into the junkyard. It didn't matter, though - booted footsteps far too close for comfort were approaching the alleyway, and with a lurch Cog began to follow the group. Despite himself, he found himself staying close to Keaton, limping after the jackal as fast as he could.
He spared a glance for the strange, hooded figure now following him. Despite the growing pain in his thigh and the mounting cravings he could feel in his brain, he found himself giving the cloaked figure more attention than she perhaps deserved. Finally, he shook his head.
Stupid...

* * *

With the hedgehog leading the way for the first leg, the party found itself quickly heading in a roundabout way through the mudded sidestreets and alleyways of Holiday, avoiding the main thoroughfares and main street altogether. Instead, they stayed far on the outskirts of town, where the buildings and the construction all around indicated that only the very new and the very poor lived this far away from the main port built almost into the center of the town. Buildings black with grime, tall and imposing over the grey skyline loomed down on them as they navigated stone streets that were beginning to lose their stones, turning the roadways into a mass of clay-like mud, nearly impossible to traverse. Wooden sidewalks had been erected by the sides of most of the buildings, in order to facilitate pedestrian traffic, and all around them the sounds and smells of the poorer and lower class inhabitants of Holiday pressed in upon them. Radio stations played music from one of the three stations that covered the Island, each one extremely local due to the storm's prevention of long-rage receiving - local television was usually limited to the weather, and sometimes a taped broadcast of something brought over from one far-distant continent or another. Smells of local fare, mostly things easily preserved or extremely fresh - the smells of seafood and bread wafted over the party as they walked through this section of town.

Finally, rounding the last corner, Witt walked around the side of a rather large wooden buildling to find himself staring at what looked like a deep, deep mountain of trash, placed in the center of almost a maze of junk, at least as large as several football fields. Old ships rusted red dotted the landscape, as did old pieces of scrap and rusted-out barrels - veritable mountains of bleeding metal. It was impossible to see the entire junkyard at once, walled in with trash as it was, and then walled again with a high, chain link fence topped with barbed wire. In front of them, at the gate, there was simply a guard hut, broken-down with disuse, and a single bar designed to prevent entry by vehicles through the open gate.

I guess you're gonna have to get used to this, hermana, thought the panther as she kicked herself up from the wall, arms still crossed as her gaze wandered over the group.

The newcomer was one of few words, but after the show that she put on with the giant wasp, it was easy to see she would be good for the party.  One lost and one gained at last count.  All that was left to wonder about was whether or not anyone else would be lost or found.  At least there was also time to ponder over where they would go next as a boat was out of the question.  Aisha's nose wrinkled at the suggestion that Cogidubnus made...a junkyard?  Well, if someone was indeed there to help.

But finally, any time for thinking was broken up by suggestions to get moving...first by the curse-friendly hedgehog as he sped out of the darkened alleyway opposite from the direction of the docks...then by the dark gray-furred wolf as he came carrying the youngster of the party out of police fire.  But the panther hadn't even seen much, for she was already quite ahead and alongside the others, using the heights and the shadows to her advantage.

Perhaps it would have been puzzling, how Aisha already took to the roofs quickly, were it not for the fact that she was carrying her chain about her wrist.  The grappler was a rather handy thing if one couldn't be on the ground.

But soon enough their path led them out of the cleaner and more well-put together parts of the city in favor of the pit that was the outskirts of Holiday.  Soon she could not but join them on the ground, walking in silence in the more desolate and poorer portions, until the characteristic scent of the junkyard came waving across their senses, invisible but all the same encompassing.

Penny followed along quietly, watching the other members of the party as much as the surroundings. First fight and they already had some pretty bad looking injuries. She wondered if she should mention that she had a small amount of skill as a healer. But she had never used it on anyone but herself and never on a serious injury. She decided to hold off. Most creatures had a high healing rate and they would probably be just fine. Soon the junkyard and the promised  transportation loomed ominously out of the slum. For reasons she couldn't define the fur on the back of her neck stood on her end. She hurried a bit so she was closer to the others in the group.

Witt stumped up to the gate, and looked back over his shoulder at the others, then did a classic double-take, turned fully, and put his hands on his hips. His mouth dropped open, and his eyes almost glowed with envy.

A full five seconds passed, without him moving.

And then, he uttered a short, sharp curse. "SonofagodsdamnedmotherfuckingarsebanditBITCH! That sleazy-eyed father-raping cock-munching tea-bagging PIG! He got his rusty damn paws on that piece and I'm stuck with gods-forsaken BRICKS? That's just NOT FAIR, Gods-dammit!"

As his tirade paused for breath, the object of his ire could be seen in the bay - the tanker, holed and leaking, taking on water, and leaking it's cargo into the bay, the various groups of workers frantically running around like ants whose hill had been kicked over by a small boy, running tugs out to the stricken ship, shipping offloaded crew to the shore, shifting the punctured containers, attempting to contain the slick, or offload what they could before the ship as a whole sank, the whole nine yards. The trail of destruction leading away from the bay and back into Holiday itself, with riot-gear clad cops and dockworkers getting in each other's way wherever possible.

"The chicken-choking bastard spit-roasted an entire bloody ship! With one mother-fucking shot! The evil little foot-dragging bell end todger!"

His abusive stream continued on for a while, his arms waving, emphasising his discontent at the damage wrought by the fortunately non-present Wilson. Eventually, he wound down a touch, and, still grumbling (albeit not terribly quietly) to himself, winced as he waved his arms particularly wildly. "Fuck. Forgot the blasted rib. Ow, fucking meatbag'll get his when I catch the bastard..." He placed on hand on his rib, feeling gently for the crack, then shrugged, and turned on Keaton.

"So, what now, 'Oh Glorious Leader'?" - the quotation marks nearly audible in his sarcasm. "We stand around waiting for your little dog's friend to show up, or should we go sniffing around?"

To herself, the figure wondered if the hedgehog was really stupid, or just didn't know how to shut up. At first having been one of those in the front, she had gradually fallen back to the side and then almost behind the walking troupe as she had realized that she didn't want them at her back. As they had walked, and as the dilapidation of the town around them had increased with their every step, so had her anxiety and edginess left her and been slowly replaced with irritated discomfort.
   She noticed the stares they earned every now and then, and the change in the scent and atmosphere, even though scent was not her primary sense. But she couldn't really notice much else, except the muted sounds of radios, and the tramping steps around her, since they weren't standing still for one moment. When finally they stopped in front of a huge junkyard, all she could sense around them was a low thrum from some engine running a bit off, and the odd creak from something that might have been a crane beyond the gates. There was a whiff of rust and gasoline in the air.
   Suddenly, the hedgehog stopped, and when she saw his discomfort the figure made a little crackling chuckle. Served him right. He didn't remain still for long though, before he fired off another tirade at the jackal, who had finally stepped forth. Leader? she found herself thinking, as she turned to peer with red eyes at Keaton from out under her hood. That does not bode well.

The blond panther stepped aside to let the loudmouthed hedgehog out of the alley. He seemed to find the whole scene amusing. Or maybe he was just one of those people who always smiled. Hands in his pockets again, he followed the hedgehog for a few blocks but then turned down a different street. He rounded a corner and was gone.

He was waiting for them by the junkyard, leaning against the delapidated wooden building across from the gate. A black leather hat--slightly wedge-shaped with a purple band--now protected his head from the eternal rain. A black leather satchel rested against his side, slung across his shoulders. He looked up and waved to the group as they came into view.

Epyon looked froward and saw the figure waving. he sighed. would the surprises of this night never end? he wondered again if they would see the light of day before they saw more action. and the fact that the bear was trying to move didn't help his train of through.

"You could have helped," Cross grunted at the smiling panther as he lowered the stunned rabbit to the ground.

"Now," he said, turning to face Cog and the others.  "My Lord and I are fairly recent to the island and I know precious little of this junkyard.  What is the problem with it, and now we're here, where do we find this contact you mentioned?"

"How do you know I didn't? Heavy lifting isn't the only way to help wounded allies." The black jaguar opened a side pocket of his new satchel and withdrew a vial of purple liquid. "Healing potion. Tastes like grape soda and goes down easy."

His grin never faltered. He walked over and tipped his hat to the new arrivals.

"By the way, I don't believe we've been properly introduced. Edge Blackwind, warrior for hire."

"Pettersohn," Cross replied.  It was tempting to introduce himself as the notorious crimelord and watch the others squirm, but it might give people the wrong idea.  There were bounties upon his head, after all.

"As for my business, I am neither for hire, nor hiring.  Let us just say that my Lord is competing with the Family in a certain niche market.  Disrupting their operations - even temporarily - would be most beneficial to our organisation."

Epyon readjusted the weight of the bear on his arm. he didn't need to but his mimicry of being alive had gone to the unconscious level. " will that help old sleeping bruin here? my spell to patch him up only took care of the life threatening injures and rebuilt his blood supply ( i hope) but he'll way up both sore and hungry unless he gets more attention. "

Witt glanced over his shoulder at the newcomer.

At the comment about healing potions: "Got any in whisky flavour? They'd go down easier."

And then, in response to the introduction, he laconically returned "Witt. 'ow much?"

Cross glanced at the hedgehog in disbelief.  Doesn't he know he's talking to a demon?  Actually, no... he wouldn't.  I just hope the ears remain intact!

...Keaton:

Keaton contemptuously watched Cogidubnus scramble off, an ugly sneer twisting the corners of her mouth. In-between her skeptic analysis, she adjusted the position Dani's arm was draped around her shoulders to a more comfortable angle, then glanced at the suddenly-talkative Epyon. In response to his remark, she merely snorted derisively, buckling a little under Dani's considerable weight. "Quite a crew indeed..." she mumbled her agreement, gesturing for Epyon to move.

Lifting and carrying Dani was more difficult than Keaton had originally anticipated, especially without the aid of her wing-tentacles. Fortunately she was able to find some comfort in the fact Cogidubnus wouldn't have the group outrun her - that was, he wouldn't without understanding the ramifications of such misbehavior. As Cogidubnus and Witt (who was in front by far) led the way, the group followed close behind.


The travel went by uneventfully for Keaton. She was fortunately not plagued by any episodic spells of paranoia or insanity despite the increasingly sinister, corroded surroundings, finding the concentrated stench of collected garbage and the sight of dilapidated buildings more repulsive than anything horrifying and hallucination-worthy. Gagging a little behind her hand, Keaton pinched her nostrils together to shield herself from the intensifying smell as they neared the junkyard, edging her way awkwardly around the wall of a building. Almost every corner of the building's wall was coated in intricate, lacy patterns of cursive graffiti, the paint mostly dried and flaky against the wall, the fluorescent colors dull and muted as grime and dust congregated over the jumbled scrawl. Offhandedly, Keaton began to concoct numerous ways of disposing of the undoubtedly enormous mass of garbage they were approaching, mostly as a way to entertain herself, secondly as a method of tuning out Witt's exercise of his colorful vocabulary.

Why someone would live even remotely near a junkyard was beyond Keaton's understanding. The stench would drive someone mad, she imagined. Nobody could be that desperate, she surmised insensitively, just as she kicked aside an errant soda can. The offending can ricocheted off of the nearest wall and landed out of sight with a sharp clang. Not even the agitated scream of a stray cat followed.

Once they approached the gate, Keaton sighed and released her nostrils, only to be besieged with a sudden burst of foul fumes wafting up her nose. Eliciting a sharp choking sound in the back of her throat, she nearly staggered back, affronted by the repugnant stench. Unconsciously, her eyes climbed up the towering, hideous mass of garbage looming behind the gates, watching the different articles of trash, all different colors, all different materials, recyclable or not, disappear and mesh into the malodorous mountain. In the background, Witt's cursing reached its crescendo before he finally turned and addressed her. Almost consequentially, everyone else's attention seemed to be diverted to her as well, including the newest impromptu addition to their group. That cloaked... somebody, apparently. Wasn't much of a talker. She hadn't said anything since she showed up, but even she looked slightly expectant underneath her hood, or perhaps regretting her circumstances. Keaton didn't know; she didn't have the patience to deal with the mute.

Either way, Keaton didn't appreciate the palpable sarcasm oozing from Witt's voice. Narrowing her eyes and flattening her ears indignantly, she released Dani's arm and walked over to the gate, peering into the guardhouse. As far as she could see, nobody was there. She continued to examine the area while the black jaguar, another individual Keaton wasn't too familiar with, offered his services in the form of some healing formulas.

"I'm not waiting around for anybody. We're going through this shithole," Keaton said coldly, although with a sense of determination. As though expecting an immense outcry, she defensively leveled her hands. "Yes, I know, horrible and unsanitary, but the sooner we get through this the sooner we can get our asses off of Holiday. We have to make some sacrifices in order to succeed... and so on and so forth."

Already her mind was starting to wander from her misguided attempt at rallying the group together, so she didn't see any purpose in remaining on that tangent. Keaton grasped the bar hovering in front of her and attempted to lift it. It took some effort, since the hinges were encrusted and nearly sealed over with rust, but after a valiant struggle the gate gave way. Humming beatifically, Keaton lifted the gate, then she absently walked under the obstruction and carelessly lowered it behind her, the gate swiveling vertically back in place with a prolonged, guttural whine. "I doubt the cops would expect for us to go through the trash. Plus it'd be easy for them to lose our tracks there," Keaton said. "If anyone needs to puke, well... might as well do that anywhere. Wouldn't change a damn thing, I guess."

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Cog avoided what stares and what questions he could, instead choosing to let Keaton bear the brunt of the sudden inquisition. He kept himself busy looking at nothing in particular while the yellow jackal attempted to rally the party's spirits, only twitching once as Mr. Petersohn aimed a question directly at the silver wolf. His yellow eyes shot to the side, the wolf suddenly implacably distracted.
"Problem? Why would there be a problem?" he said, casting a glance at the mountains of junk. "It's just a junkyard, as far as I know." he said, walking slowly towards the entrance.
  One skill universal to addicts everywhere is the ability to lie with great skill.

The strange and rather quick panther tended to the bear that had gotten shot up earlier, while the rest of the party seemed to stare at the destruction that the massive bolt through the center of town had caused. Cog turned his head to look at the destruction distantly, spotting the slowly-sinking tanker and letting out a small groan in contrast with Witt's enthusiastic cursing.
   "Oh, god..." he whispered, his mind wandering towards his meager apartment in the city, and the no-doubt massive price now on all of their heads.

Quickly, however, Keaton was moving into the junkyard itself, easily opening the rusted bar that served as the gate and passing through. Not nearly strong enough to accomplish the feat himself, Cog simply hopped over the rusted piece of metal and tore after the Jackal. His head seemed to be on a swivel, and turned as it he was trying to look in multiple directions at once.
Despite his sudden paranoia, he didn't look behind him - just on the other side of the gate, behind the valley dug between the outer walls of junk, the booted foot of a police officer could be seen lying prone on the muddy ground. There was blood covering the heel.

Epyon left the bear in the company of the blond feline his name was edge if he was to be believed not that it mattered. he was more interested in getting away form everyone long enough to a give himself a thorough going over. and be find this mythos and size them up. far better to be safe then sorry. And better to be completely alive then completely dead as it were.

Witt rolled his eyes, and shrugged. "Whatever." He sighed, casting an envious glance back over his shoulder at the mess in the harbour, and moved off after Keaton and Cogidubnus. Not bothered to raise the bar, he ducked under it instead, glancing to either side - and caught sight of the boot-heel.

Poor bastard. Probably never saw it coming. I wonder if his boots would fit me. He glanced around, then sidled, not entirely inconspicuously, into the valley, to see what he could find. A few moments later, he reappeared, having apparently transferred anything useful from the corpse to his own pocket or pockets, as appropriate. As an afterthought, he stepped back, and checked the boot against his own for size, sighed, and dropped it - and the attached leg - once more, before wiping his paw off on what remained of the unseen leg, and moving off after the silver wolf.

He did notice just how nervous the wolf was acting, despite his reassuring words, and checked to make sure his own knives were accessible - and swore, under his breath, about the two missing ones, once more.

I guess he's not as gods-damned comfortable here as he bloody well makes out. Well, stay on your fucking toes.. he thought to himself.

Making another sigh that could only barely be perceived as a rattling sound from within her hood, the so far miraculously overlooked figure looked after Keaton and Cog as they entered. Ah, well. If they ran into some angry proprietor or guard-mythos, they would do so first and she wouldn't be the first one to complain. And unlike the others who seemed to display an exaggerated discomfort with the surroundings, she wasn't bothered by much except the stench, which she could filter out. She wondered what they were about to try in this place though. Their words before had touched upon the subject, but just what this 'friend' of the wolf's could do to get them off the island...
   Her thoughts a bit grumbling, the figure followed after the others. When she reached the heavy metal bar, she not so much lifted it as merely brushed it aside. It went all the way up on its hinges and stayed there, left open for the others behind.

Things had gone badly for Ty after his initial rush.
First, the bug had sent him off his feet with her second shockwave. Ty was big; he tended to fall HARD. Then it was as though the air itself around him became sharp as daggers, each accompanied by a note piercing as needles scraped across his bare brain, and after that a hint of some manner of music through the noise around him, reminding him of days when he didn't know what music even was...
As he got to his feet the world went white, the shriek and bellow of the firearm muffling his own roar as the blast carried him backward.

He awoke in an alleyway, lying against a dent he'd made in the top of a dumpster where he'd landed. Everything ached, but he was alive. The mythos meandered out into the street again, where things were going rather poorly. The authorities, it seemed, were in the middle of some manner of chain of command conflict and thus weren't likely to hear many eyewitness accounts. Ah well, I've every confidence in their- hm? In the window of a shop across from him. One of the fighters. Ty thought over what had just happened carefully. He had been seen by the insectis, and probably by her allies. They seemed like people unlikely to forget him. Ergo, best keep close to those who they were after; while the enemy of one's enemy isn't so often ones friend as they are often portrayed, the group seemed gratitude prone. Hence, when the woman left via the back of the shop he circled around to the alleyway the others had gathered in, just in time to see them leave. He made to follow them and was cut off by the crowds of people leaving the area, barely keeping track of the group through the half-panicked throngs. He followed at a distance as they made their way toward the junkyard.
He kept as unnoticeable as he could, keeping to the shadows and edges of the street. It was good that they were headed here; between the effects of fighting and its overall age his jacket looked ragged enough for him to blend in comparatively well here, if he hunched over a bit. As the pack of of Adventurers came to another halt he took the opportunity to make himself known. He brushed himself off a little and made his way forward.
"Ah, excuse me? This is the group from the docks, yes?" He said, hoping to make a good impression, "Tyrannus Deverdele. I don't suppose I could talk with whoever is in charge?" He assumed that it was the jackal, but assumptions could at times be untrustworthy things. "It won't take a moment, I assure you."

After a few seconds of being let down, Anton started to recover a little bit. Moving his hand up to his head and felling for the pain. He found it quickly as he touch a little blood. "Ow... What happened?" Looking around a little bit and now seeing that he was in a junkyard. "Wow... not as much of a change of scenery but still i don't know where we are." Getting to his feet again still rubbing his head a slight glow coming from his hand. "Is anyone else hurt?" Looking around at the people nearest to himself.

As the group finally came around to the junkyard, Aisha had her ears pressed back tightly against her skull and her face in a tight grimace.  If she wasn't one to curse some of the time herself, Witt's tirade would have sent the panther right over her patience.  But that was quickly ignored when the stench of garbage became so strong that for a moment she gagged.  Rotting foods, soil, entrails, excrement, and several things that people would rather not guess at...

Yeah, way to go, THIS is glamorous, she snorted, wishing that she didn't have such powerful senses.  The demoness had smelled horrid things in her career, but if they were going to be strolling through this stuff, no amount of water and soap would probably take it off.  The only good thing about it was that nobody could be tracked by scent that way.

The other jaguar in the group greeted them at the entrance first, and there was but a small pause while a few individuals talked and the one that Pettersohn was carrying came to.  If anything Aisha could have had the same feelings as Keaton did about the group; strange lot, but they had survived (barely) so far.

"Aisha Risen," she replied when Edge made his introduction.  "May have heard everyone's names already, but with so many here it's hard to keep track...and some of us need their names added to the roster still," she added, glancing at the hooded one.

That's when, as they were moving along into the junkyard, a new voice was heard.  The monstrous saurian that had been around the group somewhat was now behind.  As he made himself known to the group, Aisha jerked her thumb forward.  "The jackal and wolf up there are in charge.  At least I think both of the perros are."

Pleasantries over with, the panthress turned and sidled under the bar, sparing a quick nod to the silent one and onward.

"We are outside a junkyard," said Cross, watching the kid has he awoke. Cross couldn't have carried him much further, and it would have meant leaving him behind.  As far as he had seen, the kid hadn't proven his worth so leaving him behind was a sacrifice he was willing, if reluctant, to make.  It might even be better for the kid if he was a pacifist.  On the other hand, even a pacifist could make a powerful healer, so he was secretly pleased that the bunny would be joining them again.

"Distasteful, and possibly dangerous as it may be, this particular junkyard may hold the key to our leaving the island now our ship has been destroyed, so it seems we will have to enter."

The smell was bad, but through some clever internal shapeshifting, Cross was able to deaden his senses to it.  Having spoken, he turned and drawing his gun as a precaution, passed through the gate and crept softly after the others.

Epyon watched. there were all so noisy. when he entered the junkyard he'd been silent even not as he climbed this heap of junk he made as little nose as possible. still maybe his years in the crypt had ruined his love of noise and the city. or maybe he just felt that his existence was in danger and that the noise wasn't helping him. either way now that he was out of sight he has a few ribs and wing bones to fix. the inters organs would be hard still to figure out and fix be he should have time. that lot wouldn't be sneaking off anytime soon if it were even possible for them to sneak. . he finds and the pulls a rib bone out of his lung and  repositioned it  under his skin until he matched it up with where it had broken off of. the he began the healing process. this was going to take some time to make sure his body was 100% but then taking that time was probably when he wasn't a mindless flesh eater and could pass for alive more often then not.

Fal'taq paused for a moment to catch his breath as the group stopped outside the junkyard. Carefully, though: the smell wafting from the other side of the fence was enough to stun a Gryphon. Much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, the days when he could toss high-powered spells freely then run half-way across town to escape were a few too many years in the past. Perhaps, when this venture was done, he should look for an apprentice again, instead of a minion who could be easily disposed of if necessary.

The mole watched intently as the mysterious cloaked and hooded figure, who he suspected might be some kind of Mythos, pushed the gate barrier up with no apparent effort. Someone to keep an eye on, definitely. He strode through the open gate and followed the others into the junkyard.

Rifling through the police officer's pockets, Witt couldn't help but notice a bulge in the officer's coat pocket - a bulge which quickly revealed itself to a firearm of some sort, attached to the officer's body by a shoulder-holster, the sort with the adjustable strap that was designed to hide underneath an overcoat of some sort. The gun gleamed wetly in the evening light of the Island - large, bulky, and somehow powerful to simply hold. The sort of pistol that one could use to club down an assailant if one ran out of ammo. A pack of .44 shells was quickly found on the man's belt, and upon further inspection the gun revealed itself to be some sort of revolver weapon, a stylized J&W etched onto the barrel. It appeared to be sized for the .44 rounds found in the officer's belt pocket.
The hedgehog had pocketed them both, too quickly for any of the other party to say anything or object, had they even seen.

Walking as far ahead as he was, Cogidubnus certainly didn't see the hedgehog rifling through anything's pockets - although the grating sound of the guardhouse gate opening was enough to cause the wolf to jump and whirl around, eyes wide. He stood there like a deer in the headlight for a moment before inhaling quickly, giving a sharp curse.
Just that damn whatever the hell it was...

Cog looked at the hooded figure for another moment, and glancing quickly up at Keaton paused to give a stare at the cloaked figure. He stuck his hands in his pockets, wincing as the rough fabric of his pants brushed the oddly inexplicable wound on his thigh.
"Look, I...thanks for your help back there. I don't have any money, though. Hell, I'd give you a light if she hadn't taken it all." he said, looking at the hooded figure for a few moments. She didn't respond.
His eyes narrowed. "Look, I told you, I don't have anything." he said, his voice getting defensive. He scowled. "Just who the hell are you, anyway?"

   As the party starts to migrate into The Junkyard, they find that it is an utter wasteland. Lifeless brown earth covered in hills and mountains of rusty scrap and junk. Anything organic is almost nonexistent. What with the quasi-supernatural weather that ever-pervades the Isle of Rains, anything metal left in the place rusts amazingly fast. Even stainless steel will look as if it has sprouted reddish-brown mold after just a few days. The place smells like a mechanic's worst nightmare; the fumes are intoxicating. Some of the party might be able to see small streams of an unidentifiable glowing green and black acidic liquid, made from the morbidly desolate rain runoff, tons of bad oil, and a subtle, gruesome magic that permeates the place. All the members of the party can literally feel the malevolence in the air as they walk in.
   Suddenly, a shriek pierces the air. It is a scream of someone who is in a terrible agony.
   A shadow shifts slightly behind one of the scrap mountains. Something is watching everyone.

(OOC: sorry for the cliche scream, but it happened for a reason)

As Paige followed the group through the junk yard, she thought about the others she had seen on the outskirts of towns she had visited. 'Why they don't just hire a mage to convert it to something useful I have no idea...Its what we did at home at least...'

As the scream echoed around them, Paige reached up and placed a hand on her swords hilt ready to draw it should she need to.

"What was that."

Back in the bar, Navarro, who had left a while ago, was taking another drink at the table in the corner. He was thinking about many things, none of which was the fight on the docks, or the job. He was back to his habitual staring at the ceiling when a rather old-looking being sat down next to him, without saying a word.

Navarro stared at him for a second, and looked away.

No reason for him to do that. Unless...

Casually, Navarro put his hand on the pistol in his holster. He braced for an attack when the being suddenly, and calmly spoke.

"Give me the envelope, scout."

Something about his voice made it clear that he was in authority, so Navarro quickly pulled the envelope out of his pocket, and gave it to him. The being took it, and put it in a satchel he was carrying. He spoke.

"We saw your meeting with Little Miss Psycho a moment ago."

Well, shit.
Navarro took a deep breath, and quickly spoke.

"Nothing came of that. I didn't eve-"

"That's your new assignment."

Navarro stared for a second.

"Excuse me, sir?"

"If this operation succeeds, we're going to want at least one of our guys in there, so we can take credit, now, don't we? Do you have any idea how much leverage we'll get if this goes through?"

Navarro spoke back.

"So you're concerned with business."

He bit his lip, and smiled.

"I think I can live with that."

"You better." The being put down a large rifle case on the table.

"I went ahead and took the liberty of getting your rifle for you. I do hope you don't mind the broken window."

"You broke into my home?"

"We deemed it necessary, yes."

Navarro sighed, and slung the rifle case over his back, and got up to leave.

"They're in the junkyard. Better hurry."

Navarro got up and prepared to go for the door, when the being spoke again.

"One last thing."

"Sir?"

"Do make sure this goes through. World like this, I doubt everyone there's in it for the good of the mission. Make sure nobody tries anything stupid. We'll be keeping an eye out, but because of... restrictions, we aren't allowed to act. Understood?"

Navarro nodded.

"Good. Off with you."

Navarro left, and headed quickly toward the junkyard.

"You couldn't afford me, sweetheart." Edge's grin twisted into a veritable smirk at Witt's question.

The strange winged fox deposited the injured bear at his feet. Three nasty bullet wounds in the chest and one in the leg. Edge gently rolled the bear over. No exit wounds. Patching the guy up with lead still inside wouldn't be doing him any favours, but Edge's knowledge of surgery extended primarily to techniques that his "patients" weren't intended to survive intact. Had the fox dealt with that already? Edge couldn't recall. Fang had been lost in the Harpist's reverie at the time. The entry wounds were already closed, at any rate.

The jaguar shrugged. Not his problem. He pried the bear's mouth open and carfully dribbled the grape potion onto his tongue. The magical regeneration would kick in soon enough.

Edge stood. The winged rabbit who had healed Keaton was up. Kind of him to wait for Edge to use up the potion before stirring. The panther rolled his eyes.

"The bear still has some serious injuries, if you--"

An agonized scream echoed through the night air. The jaguar spun to face the source of the sound. Leaving the rabbit to sort things out on his own, Edge crossed the open gateway and followed the rest of the party into the junkyard.

for the past several moments Epyon had felt ill at ease as he fixed his body. he thought about the bear and their suicide squad that was working this mission. how close would the get him to his goal? then he thong about the new comer and the so called mythos that inhabited this  junkyard. there smell of death was here that much was certain. he cold detect it with= ease for form the looks of his companions as they entered the placer there were smelling a lot more then death., an none of it pleasant.  the living were so frail but at the same time so much more alive then the dead. he looked at the cloaked new arrival as well as his partially opened eyes would allow. she was a mythos an insect  of some sort he was sure. if not here her silence and bountiful body he might had thought her an over grown arachnospearean

he was still contemplating this when a scream rang out and force him to his feet eyes oped and scanning the area he could see for trouble.

Witt glanced up at the scream, and sighed. He paused to take the gun and holster out of his pocket, remove his jacket, and put the whole lot on, then put his jacket back over the lot, shrugging it into place.

He pulled the gun clear, opened it to check it was full, and put it away again. Shit. He didn't even manage to pull the damn thing out. On second thoughts, he pulled the gun and kept it in his hand, eyes tracking the scenery warily. With his other hand, he moved the shells to a more convenient place, attaching the pack to his belt, then moved on after Keaton and Cogidubnus, eyes watching for movement.

Fuck. I hate this blasted place.

Cogidubnus' question made the figure stiffen, then shake her head and raise her hands in exasperation. She clenched her fingers at him as if she wanted to shake him around a bit, then just let them fall and her shoulders slump. She was about to try sign language, almost knowing it would be a futile attempt and giving off dim waves of irritation and frustration, when she noticed the bear dropped to the ground by the smirking vulpine just through the gates. They had regeneration potion, which was good, because it would spare her the trouble and possible expense of wasting her own. But more often than most seemed to think, bullets and fragments that had gone in deeply were not pushed out of the body, but remained inside to cause residual damage later. And if they thought she would help if they found out what she was... But then again, that she was a doctor was easy to miss as most tended to focus on other things.
   Moving her hands up to the neck of her cloak, the figure looked further into the junkyard, beyond the view of the gate to where the jackal had already walked a bit. She was just about to pull the hood that shadowed her face back, when a loud scream rang out, and her gaze snapped around, staring in the direction of the sound. Instantly, she steadied her stance and, in lack of something good to touch with her hands, put her feet absolutely flat to the ground. If anything past the weight of a few pounds moved from there, she would most likely feel it. The problem was that the whole of the junkyard was laden with heavy objects, and while metal was good at transmitting vibrations, there was more than just solid pieces of metal in all the scrap around them, and in random heaps like this it could only obstruct her senses.

"Oh well," Cross said as the scream rang out.  "Sounds like Cog's friend just died.  Shall we go home, then?"

At the sudden scream Penny moved closer to the center of the group. She took a tighter grip on her pistol crossbow with one hand and fished in her pouch for some of the more interesting bolts with the other. She was lucky that the boss had her generous moments with her magic and that both the bow and the bolts were enhanced.

Fal'taq was uneasy about sauntering so openly through the junkyard. Quite apart from the smell, the towering heaps of rubbish made it impossible to see anyone... or anything... approaching them: it was a good place for an ambush. In fact, he'd used similar places to set up an ambush himself, many times in the past.

His ears twitched at the sound of the scream. "I do not think that was one of us..." he said quietly. At any rate, he could still see Keaton and Cogidubnus walking up ahead, and a glance over his shoulder confirmed none of the party bringing up the rear had vanished... yet.

Witt raised an eyebrow at the coated wolf. Somewhat quietly, he muttered "Back through the bloody cops, Pettersohn? Sure. You first." He shrugged one shoulder, indicating, albeit somewhat muted by rain and distance, the blaring sirens, interspersed with the honking of the tug horns, screams of the police at various resisting bystanders, and general disturbance back in the middle of Holiday. "As for me, I think we should keep our fucking mouths shut, and concentrate on not bloody disturbing whatever gods-forsaken thing that motherfucker is on our way past its' door. With luck, we might even sneak past while it's busy."

He shook some rain off, palmed a knife into his off hand, and kept moving, making as little noise as possible.

Epyon looked down on his companions from the junk heap he'd climbed his eyes  glowing ominously. for a moment all four were visible then he closed two or them and pull out his pole  expanding it to it's normal fighting length.  he didn't liked this. that scream it didn't sound like a scream that the living made. But then he could just be imagining this.

As the looked around his wings half spread in case he needed to jump away form the junk he saw the hedgehog take a head count and chuckled as the hedgehog was apparently satisfied with the number he came up with. oddly enough in a group he was rarely if even noticed and almost never missed. it was convenient for working on you own but sometimes it made him feel invisible.  Moving slowly he moved as he looked away form the others his figure visible to any who looked up on the junk heaps.

as much as he valued his eyes. it was his ears that brought to him the next clue. either that or he was paranoid and listen to shifting junk in the yard. 

A little way into the junkyard, not only did the atmosphere smell malevolent...it also began to feel like it.  Aisha certainly didn't mind having a portion of silence, after the raucous at the docks.  But there was a moment when the silence had just become...what was a word...

Eerie.  Si, best word for the moment, the panthress inwardly shrugged.  Usually she was the one who liked to cause the prickly sensation that goes up one's back when they were being watched.  Not the other way around...

The scream caught all who heard it off-guard, including the hunter.  But only for a quick moment as she drew her bow and one of the arrows that she left without poison.

Shoot to wound if they appear...she grimaced, keeping the feathered end of the projectile gripped tightly on her fingers and sitting on the string as she padded slowly onward.

...Keaton:

For someone who wading through an ankle-deep quagmire of assorted filth, Keaton seemed perfectly unperturbed by her current surroundings. Well, to an extent. She actually was quite repulsed, nearing the verge of wanting to vomit whenever she bypassed a particularly disgusting article of garbage, but kept those impulses restrained thoroughly enough, to the point she seemed to be made of stone amidst her determination.

It'll all be worth it, Keaton told herself. It'll all be worth it.

She heard something sickening crunch underneath the weighty heel of her boot. Her first instinct was that it was something made out of bone, due to the near-crepitating sound it elicited and her personal experiences.

Keaton didn't stop to look down at it, but she still felt discouraged, an exaggerated expression of disgust flickering across her features. It'll still be worth it, she mentally stated again, attempting to kick the unseen piece of trash off of her heel without looking at it. Fucking HELL I hate this place! I HATE HATE HATE this place! What kind of retard would live in a fucking DUMP of all places?!

With one, final kick, the unknown-but-undoubtedly-hideous object went flying off of her heel. Once bereft of that weight, Keaton settled her boot back on the ground and started to walk again, oblivious to to the independent activities occurring between each individual party member. She started to survey her surroundings for any variation of settlement, or something equally sufficient as residence. Nothing. Keaton sighed and let her ears droop. When I find that bitch, I'm going to light everything in this shithole on fire.

Just as she took another step forward, she heard the scream. Surprise spiked in the pit of Keaton's stomach, her ears flattening and her eyebrows rocketing to the top of her forehead in shock, pupils shriveling into little brown dots. "Holy -" she stammered, swerving around to face the group collected behind her. Like many other members of the party, her first instinct was to check to see if the scream originated from someone in their group. "What the fuck was that?!" Keaton demanded. For once, she didn't seem enraged by that earsplitting sound - she just looked shocked.

Along with that scream had came a deluge of enough agony to feed a drove of starving Cubi, something which would normally incapacitate Keaton from how overwhelming that overflow of emotions was if it wasn't for the presence of the mind-shields and filters fortifying her mind. Fortunately, it seemed nobody in the group was responsible. Keaton didn't sigh in relief yet, though - her hand grasped Catastrophe's handle and she whipped it from its harness on her back, leveling it to the ground. The reverberating emotions died down along with the remnants of the scream, leaving only that stillborn silence injected in the atmosphere.

Keaton looked to Witt. Her breathing decelerated to an ordinary pace as her adrenaline rush petered away. "I - I gotta agree with Witt here..." she ran her hand through her hair, though at an angle which wouldn't make the voluminous sleeve of her shirt slump down her arm, and consequentially her wrist. "Though we gotta stick close together. If there's some kind of threat here we'll have a better chance of killing it if it decides to do the same to one of us." Keaton narrowed her eyes, and threw her gaze about the garbage, listening to any impending sounds in the air. Keeping her weapon drawn, Keaton started to walk again, albeit at a faster pace. "If it's close, though, it's going to get a fucking nasty surprise. Right now, we gotta move faster."

~Keaton the Black Jackal

  It seemed like the cowled figure was about to make an attempt at rushing Cog for a moment there, her apparent irritation with the wolf practically palpable. The wolf tilted his head, taking a step back, and was about to try and run ahead of Keaton when an earsplitting shriek pierced the fetid air.
Cog's eyes widened, his gaze darting about as fast as his head could turn. Without even waiting, he began to walk even faster, only glancing at the trenchcoated lupine to his side once, making an nasty face.

"Pandora doesn't scream. Trust me, she doesn't flinch at...well, anything, really." he said, making footprints in the mud. "She's not real far from here, just outside the far side of the junkyard."
No one had really asked him what that might have been, so he kept his mouth shut, instead moving past even Keaton in his attempts to move forward.

* * *

As Navarro walked through the town, he distinctly got the impression that he'd probably left the ground at just the right time. Every police officer that he could recognize, and some that he couldn't, all seemed busily engaged in searching the alleys and backstreets for everyone who had been remotely involved in this catastrophe, and more seemed to be showing up by the minute.
Most of them seemed to be headed for the area right outside the docks.

It wasn't a far walk from where he was to the edges of the junkyard, however, and fairly soon he found himself staring at the chain-link, barbed wire topped fence that separated the junkyard from everything else on the Island.

"How is your dealer going to help us, Cog?"  Cross asked, clutching his gun tightly and feeling in his coat for rounds.  His voice was calm and neutral, as though he was discussing the weather or a mathematical conundrum, not squelching his way through a heap of debris and shit.

   As some of the group started to move again, all of a sudden, something burst out of the bottom of the metal scrap pile that Epyon was currently perched on. It didn't burst out toward the group, rather off to the side. It moved so quick it would be difficult for any of the group to see it. Before anyone can get a good look at it, it was already bounding between scrap mountains and out of sight. As it dissappeared, a brief, yet hair-raising screech came from it. It sounded something like metal scratching metal, only distorted. Then it was gone, and The Junkyard was silent again.
   All anyone would have been able to see was that it was a reddish-brown color, and probably somewhat skeletal. All Salticia would be able to discern with her obscured tremorsense is that the something was moving on probably four limbs. Epyon should get the feeling that sitting on what could have been it's home isn't too swell of an idea.

Anton, still recovering from his injuries, was very surpised at what just happened behind him. He jumped forward, to get out of the way, and turns around as the sound of metal scratching metal dissipates. "OooooKkkayy... What was that?" Looking around a little bit. "And who's brave enough to go check it out?"

Epyon felt the rubble shite and caught a glimpse of something moving quickly away from his  now shaky perch. "oh shit" he says and he jumped  away form the junk pile flipping in mid air and spreading his wings so that he'll glide down to the ground. 'that this was fast' he though though he'd not actual gotten a glimpse of more then a shadow before it's taken cover again." you can go looking for it if you want but i think i'd rather get out of the junk yard with my hide in tact unlike how it was at the docks"  looking at the cure Epyon makes the sanest decision possible and decides to stand net to the fight loving hedgehog know that he'll attack anything before Epyon is even sure it's a foe an that that will probably be whats buys him time fore either the kill or the escape. which ever is best at the moment.

Cogidubnus caught the trenchcoated lupine's mockery out of the corner of his ears and gave a small snarl. Fangs bared, he hesitated responding to the grey wolf for just a moment, nearly dragging his right foot as he walked forward. His fangs disappeared - and far in the distance, another set of sirens could be heard going off, not quite distant enough to be comfortable.
"She's not my fucking dealer." he said, taking a step. "You can call her what you want, but I wouldn't let her hear that if I were you." he said, doing his best to shake the feeling of eyes all around him. He gave the wolf a slightly irritated glare before turning to look at the rest of the party.

Most of them seemed to be languishing about the entrance, as though this was a safe haven of some sorts. Another flash of irritation passed over the wolf's face, and in his eyes a bit of panic. He stopped, waving at them.
"Hey! It's not like the cops won't arrest you in here! They'll just probably not look." he said, hoping he got his point across. "And whoever the hell was screaming isn't anymore." he paused to let that sink in. "This ain't exactly a rest stop. Let's go!"

* * *

As Dani began to stir, the wafting, pungent smell of rotting garbage and acrid metal greeting the rousing bear, burrowing through his nose and into his brain as the injured ursine finally started to wake up. The healing potion, for whatever long-term effects it might have, seemed to have revived the bear somewhat.
The sound of a earsplitting shriek, and a sudden avalanche of metal also assaulted the bear's senses, and fairly quickly he was aware that he was in a junkyard, and that everyone seemed to be moving forward.

Rather than endorse his suggestion of going to find the source of the yell, Anton saw most of them trying to get through the junkyard all the faster for it. He heard Cog's yell, and the distant and yet building sirens.

* * *

Standing outside the chain-link wall to the rather wonderful-smelling pile of steaming garbage, Navarro was standing and mostly minding his own business when he heard an earsplitting shriek echo through the piles of garbage and junk, and shortly after that the sound of metal drums and probably very broken and now-inexpensive car parts clatter around on yet more junk.
From the edges of his hearing, he could almost hear that weird, druggie wolf yelling something.

Cross raised his eyebrows.  "Why, then, would you risk life and limb crossing this pit of garbage all alone?"  Have you made some sort of deal with the thing that lives here?  Going to feed us to it, hmm?  He clutched the gun ever tighter.

Edge's nose crinckled slightly as the full force of the decaying junkheap struck his nostrils. He raised an eyebrow when screeching metallic thing appeared and then raced out of sight.

"Charming place for a first date. Are the natives always this friendly?"

Witt, from his place slightly behind Cog, snorted, then addressed the dapper Jaguar over his shoulder.

"No, they built this fucking thing special, yesterday, just for you. You like it?"

He smiled an evil little smile to himself, and, without apparent effort, started rolling the knife in his off paw around, spinning it around his fingers in an apparently unconscious reaction to the tension - whilst his eyes never stopped scanning the surrounding junk piles for movement.

Epyon steeped a littler further away form the hedgehog to give him room to swing his pole. "Careful eager one. i  think there are too many things in this place that want to show us just how special this place is."

Witt stopped dead.

"Well, gee, d'ya think so?" The sarcasm just dripping off his words. "I would never have considered the fucking possibility that the bastards might be hiding under another fucking junkpile ready to leap out and make sure we never bloody leave. That'd be just totally against the evil reputation this gods-forsaken place has in town. It would come as such a surprise to learn that there might be some wanker here who means me ill."

He paused, scanned the area again, spat at one of the piles, and added "I mean, other than the rest of the bastards on my own fucking team, that is." He spun the knife into the air, switched paws with the revolver, and caught the knife again, moving smoothly back into spinning it around his fingers - not to show off, but apparently without even thinking about it. He slid off again, still moving quietly - in fact, the entire diatribe had been delivered just loud enough to hear, and at no great distance, either - and still watching in all directions.

Epyon smile to himself his upper eyes closed. he could still image the hedgehogs energy. nice and blue tinged with a growing read " ssh they may not have head you clearly. besides i'm sure and excellent conversationalist like yourself would b welcome company here among the violent and the dead."

just a little more he thought. just push him a little more and either they would attack aiming form the hedgehog or the hedgehog would attack and likely be thrown to the mercy of the junkyard beast as a decoy for the spell castes to orient on to blast the monsters

Witt snorted. "Yeah, usually. Shush, we're not in the fucking clear here. If you want to banter, get back to me after we get out of this shit-hole."

"Well, if you're still in one bloody piece, anyway." He considered, and added - quietly enough to reach only Epyon's ears - "Or even several fairly large ones."

Penny moved forward with the group. She wasn't sure that this was a great plan but if she wanted to stay near the center of the group she had to move with them. When the whatever-it-was toppled one of the piles and ran off she made up her mind. She dropped one of the special bolts into her small crossbow. Then with a sigh, which caused her to cough from the stench, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her glasses.

(note, I'm not godmodding, I just talked to Cog. The group also needs to be moving along; you need to be deeper in The Junkyard before anything actually happens)

   As Keaton and Cogidubnus continued forward at the head of the group, circumventing several junk piles, they stumbled across something that most definitely would catch their eye, as well as that of the rest of the party.
   Rounding a junkpile, the two stopped dead. What met them was a truly gruesome horror show. It was a corpse, but not an ordinary one. The best way to describe it would probably be...a body that was shoved through a meat grinder and still came out in one piece, barely. Nearly all the flesh and innards were shredded in scraps and hanging off of a skeleton that seemed broken in a few places. It was impossible to tell what race or species the poor sap used to be. But that wasn't the worst part; the worst part was that the corpse was not on the ground. It was suspended in the air...by the right wrist and ankle. The wrist had industrial-strength steel cable tied to it, while the ankle had a thick electrical cord wrapped around it. Both went up and were wrapped around a bent and rusted girder that was jutting out of the nearest junkpile. The rest of the limbs hung limply. There was a pool of dried blood on the ground beneath the strung-up body.
  Judging by the flesh and blood, the corpse was fresh...as in, less-than-an-hour-or-two fresh.


Center of The Junkyard

   Arcwelder stood up from leaning over a steel gurney. On it was the freshly-dead corpse of a teenage girl, who was missing a leg, had a metal arm, had random plates bolted to her, and a face contorted in terror and pain. She had died, as all of Arcwelder's experiments had before her. She had also let out quite a beautiful scream when he started working on her, with the tools built into his own metal right arm. On a gurney next to the one Arcwelder just finished with, there was a teenage boy in a similar state of dismemberment. Arcwelder had caught them on the outskirts of his home, and decided to bring them in. There was a third boy, but he was killed by one of Arcwelder's creations before he managed to get his own hands on them.
   Behind Arcwelder, a small thing rushed in from around a junkpile, chittering madly. Arcwelder turned to face it, and it stopped in front of him. It was a quadrupedal robot that seemed to be sculpted from skeletal rusted metal. It had jagged blades on the plates that were it's front feet. A single bulb was perched on top where the head might be, which glowed a strong, evil green. Sparks of green electricity occasionally crackled along its back at irregular intervals.
   The zombified robot seemed quite agitated; it repeatedly pounded the ground with it's front legs and emitted a menagerie of strange metallic sounds. Arcwelder observed it, almost as if it was trying to communicate, and he could understand it. After a few moments of this, Arcwelder's eyes went wide.
   "You must be yanking my cables!" He said, with an astonished look on his half-metal face. "This is incredible...that many?" He started to pace around. "I get new test subjects rare enough, I was lucky to get two at the same time. But now, an entire batch? Fortune has never been kinder to me!" He stopped pacing. "This is a momentous occasion..and deserves something special..." A truly demented grin spread across his face.
   Behind him, two more zombified robots inched up to the two gurneys. One of them was big and had a very large maw, and the other was covered in spikes. The quickly cut the bonds that held the two corpses down. The big one with the mouth grabbed the head of the girl in it's jaws and pulled--and the head came off. The robot then dropped the head and bit the torso, pulling the corpse down. The one with the spikes impaled the other body in the thigh with a spike at the end of one of its limbs and pulled it down. As they started to drag the bodies in opposite directions, Arcwelder, without even turning around, said "When you are done with that, gather everyone. We must properly greet our...guests."

Witt sidled up behind Keaton, and glanced idly over at the corpse.

"Well, that probably wasn't the source of the bloody scream - been dead fucking too long. Not a lot we can do to help the poor bastard, either. Good thing we're not staying. Shall we move the fuck on before we end up stretched out like that as well?"

He nudged Keaton, gently, and kept watching the surrounding area for movement.

"It's only death," Cross said.  "A horrible one, I'll grant, but at the end of the day, nothing worse.  However it makes me wonder again how Cog managed to avoid it in his own peregrinations... indeed, a less trusting mind might almost wonder if he had made some kind of a pact with the one who did this - but that wouldn't be a very charitable question to ask.

"As Witt says, we must get to Pandora as soon as possible, but there is a point which no-one else has yet mentioned.  Whatever kind of a shack she lives in is unlikely to house all of us - so most of us will be left outside at the mercy of this... person... while Cog negotiates with his... friend."

Poor thing. what ever it had been it was not any longer. But  Cross was right there were worse things then death. he'd been living one for he didn't know how long now.. well at lest it didn't seem to be a zombie as well that was good news.

...Keaton:

Keaton remained close behind Cogidubnus during the group's expedition through the junkyard, still keeping Catastrophe out and readily prepared at her side. During his relatively restrained, but tense exchange with Cross, Keaton surprisingly didn't concern herself with separating the two, or demanding that Cog behave himself. She was too concerned with monitoring her surroundings for any indication of their hidden predator's approach, from the stirring of the putrefactive garbage to any incriminating sounds disturbing the pestilential air. On edge as she was, though, she was wholly unprepared for the immediate sight of what rested on the other side of a mountain of junk the group was bypassing.

Particularly, the desiccated and decomposing visage of a dismembered corpse, mostly mutilated beyond recognition. Its chest was a gaping maw; flesh split open and bone-white ribs agape, its contents strewn in bedraggled clumps and shredded scraps around the body from where it was suspended like some sick marionette over the junkyard. Apparently something had been feasting on it, or had been using it as its personal toy, since Keaton couldn't possibly imagine how the body could get so wantonly flayed - not to mention how an eviscerated carcass could be found in a junkyard of places was past her comprehension as well. Keaton let out an incomprehensible, but revolted retch and withdrew, her ears flattening. She cursed abjectly under her breath, the obscenity disguised behind an exaggerated exhalation.

Being mostly inured to the sight of mutilated corpses, Keaton reacted little more than that single retch. Despite that, the sight was still quite disgusting to Keaton's eyes, even with her thorough experience of bloodshed. For some reason more explicit scenes involving intestines invoked a stronger reaction than, perhaps, blood, which she had little objections toward.

While everyone in the group individually reacted over the cadaver, Keaton felt her disgust transmogrify into rage. Why didn't Cog tell her they were walking into a madhouse?! It was one thing to be cavorting through a cesspool of garbage. It was another thing to be cavorting through a cesspool of garbage which was home to a maniac who enjoyed fettering his victims in mid-air as grotesque trophies, or declarations of power, or some crazy-ass reason Keaton couldn't understand. Now wasn't the time to fume at Cog, regardless. They had to get out of the junkyard, fast.

Keaton whirled around and yelled to the group, "We have to speed up, NOW!" She jerked her head toward Cog, snarling, "You, HURRY UP!" Her hands clamped on his arms and she spun Cog's emaciated body so he was staring into her glowering features. Once the point was conveyed, Keaton released Cog again and nudged him between the shoulder-blades.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Yeah, yeah, I think we get the stinkin' idea, Aisha thought with a roll of her eyes as she quickened her pace along with some members of the group.  Mostly it was at the suggestion of their two supposed leaders, but also because anyone with half a brain could tell that, unless one was a rat or a roach, the dump wasn't a good rest spot.

Especially when one had a scream to concentrate on...

So slowly she got to be towards the front of the group, but still hanging about their outskirts so that she wouldn't prick anyone with her arrow...which was still sitting in the bow and at the volition of her fingers.  Her eyes darted left and right, searching for any alien movement.  No doubt by now she was quite used to the smell, her focus on better things.

Maybe I should scout a-- "Shit!" Aisha barked and suddenly jumped back, having seen something dashing through her line of sight.  Her eyes weren't quick to catch what had burst out from a junk pile, but it was certainly noticed, for after hearing the scraping of metal and shifting garbage, a few yelps were heard as it ducked straight out of sight.

...That was NOT a rat or a roach, the panthress grimaced.  There it was, all the more reason that their trip through the dump be a quick one.

But if that thing wasn't enough incentive to get everyone moving, then the next sight was.  It was recognizable right over the garbage stench, a most feared smell and yet enticing for the scavengers buzzing about in little black clouds, scattered as one of the living set foot in their surroundings.  It was the smell of death.

The corpse hung for all to see, like a sick display of public art.  Not even the demoness could stop from getting a rough feeling in her stomach...the thing that got to her was the way it appeared.  Tortured and done without even a hint of ceremonious respect.  Most murderers would bury their quarry, and most who killed to survive never wasted flesh like what was seen in front of them.  Again the scream came to mind.

What the hell was here?

Keaton had put it best after that.  They had to get going.  There was a pause before Aisha carefully loosened her grip on the bowstring and set the arrow back into her quiver...in favor of one of the poisoned ones.  Then, she bounded ahead with it ready.

Screw 'shoot to wound', bato, I'm shooting to kill.

"You're going on?"  Cross asked Keaton.  "Has it occurred to you that whatever did that has probably killed Pandora and is now waiting in her house for us?  Entering the junkyard was madness!  Look.  There are at least four of Us in the party.  Surely we can teleport everyone to a safer place somewhere off the island?"

Huffing a little, Fal'taq finally caught up with Keaton and Cogidubnus as they stopped at a point where the path kinked around a pile of junk. Then he saw why they'd stopped.

"Hmm... interesting..." he muttered thoughtfully after a brief but intense, dispassionate look at the virtually disassembled corpse. "These are knife cuts, not claw cuts, and I do not think magic has been used at all. I may have to reconsider my speculation as to the nature of the "junkyard monster" — perhaps it is not a rogue Mythos after all, a Mythos would have used claws." The mole looked over the gory remains for a moment longer before returning his attention to the surrounding junkpiles. Whoever, or whatever, created this cheerfully welcoming scene might still be nearby. He whistled a tune — slow and ponderous, although if it were faster it would be quite sprightly and bouncy — quietly to himself as Keaton expressed her uneasiness in typical fashion (and volume).

As the figure observed the situation, and the group's internal responses to it, she could do nothing but peer out at them from the small recess of her hood, and shake her head. These people were loony. Between the one wolf's paranoia, the other's apparent uselessness, the clear aggression of one panther and the moronic smirking and dawdling of the other, and then the jackal's craziness... She gave them half an hour under pressure and a day, perhaps, out of it, before they started beating on each other or stealing each other's stuff back and forth. She had seen that before.
   Still, if there was any imminent danger - and the presence of the absolutely mauled corpse, a sight which not so much frightened her or put her off as disgusted her with its crudeness and brutality -  she would be happy to fall back to a safe position and then mostly wait it out. If they dealt with the trouble, good. But if not, they would have exhausted whatever resistance they might face, and she would get the loot. It didn't really strike her as a great possibility that it would matter to the police that she would tip off later. She felt a little unsure of whether if it really was a good thing to do, but seeing how these people acted and what they said, and the fact that it also seemed little good was to come of anything there, it was easy for her to quell that emotion.
   Again, they began moving, and with another shake of her head the figure fell into step, this time close behind the panthress. That one seemed to know quite well what she was doing. And if she became edgy from having someone at her back, she had no real reason to. Being guarded from your rear was always a good thing.

 The wolf really was trying to best to ignore Jakob, at least until they reached a point where a yelling match might not attract any more attention to the group than they already had, if that was even possible. As the trechcoated lupine spoke, Cog's mouth kept twisting further and further into a sour snarl. The wolf's yellow eyes were watching Jakob out of the corner of his eyes, so much so that he didn't see the corpse before he practically bumped into it.
  "DAMMIT!"

  Cog jumped backwards, practically shoving himself into Petersohn behind him as he took in the gory sight. Little more than a gutted piece of flesh on a hook, the body was barely recognizable as something that had once walked and talked anymore. The internal organs had been removed, leaving a gaping hole where the stomach would have been, the white bone of the spinal cord peeking out between the tight-stretched flesh between the back of the ribcage and the pelvis. The heart and lungs, the intestines, everthing seemed to be already been removed, the skin itself flayed off until the corpse was little more than a red, slightly marbled piece of meat. Sightless eyes stared out of a still-dripping, bleeding head.
Cog choked back a bit of bile creeping up his throat. He bent over, putting his hand on a nearby piece of junk, a rusting car that creaked as the wolf put his weight against it.

He heard the other's talking, and then Keaton speaking her own proclamations. Grabbing his arm, Cog was twisted around until his face was in brought line with Keaton's, into a position where he could see the brown awls of her eyes digging into his skull very clearly. She hissed her instructions to him and let him go, spinning around and walking past the dangling body.
He swallowed, and was about to follow her when that damned, trenchcoated wolf started talking again. And talking. And talking. Cog's lips curled up over his fangs, and his yellow eyes narrowed.

"Will you shut the hell up?!" he said, spinning on the wolf and nearly grabbing his collar. He stopped himself just short, instead contenting himself with yelling at the verbose incubus. "Dammit! Pandora doesn't live in here, you ignorant shit, she lives past here, she doesn't go in this gods-forsaken junkyard unarmed, and whoever the hell the junkman is, he's looking pretty fucking reasonable right about now, wouldn't you say?" he said, stabbing a finger at the dangling corpse. Sirens continued to blare in the distance. "If you want to go fuck-all and walk your merry way there through the thoroughfares to her house, you're welcome to gods-damned try, and I hope that idiot with the anti-fucking-aircraft gun shoots you straight up the ass!"
The wolf's eyes gleamed. "IF you can fucking find her house in the first place, asshole. And don't fucking think you're teleporting off this Island without all of us."

He pressed his point. "Who the hell do you think those guys at the dock were? The gods-damned Salvation Army?" he paused, his eyes almost feral. "They've seen you. There's a reason people don't fuck with Sabanethei, and that's because that bastard can take on a gods-damned militia, and will sure as hell wipe you off the boot of his shoe like a fetid piece of shit." the wolf's tone rose. "So get your head out of your prejudiced, 'Cubi ass and smell the coffee, because we're all in this shit together, and running off just means it's all the easier for them to kill you, and that's a death more certain than whatever stupid sunuvabitch lives in a pile of rotting, shit-smelling, motherfucking junk!"
The wolf raised his voice at the end of his rant, and slamming a fist into his elbow he gave the incubus a hearty salute before spinning on his heel and rushing forward to catch up with Keaton, muttering obscenities under his breath the whole way.

* * *

Around the group, the sound of sirens began to get closer as time went on, and among what streets were still within eyeshot the sight of red and blue lights flashing could be seen passing over the dirty brick walls. The former guard of the guardhouse still lay prone on his stomach, and the the gate to entryway was still left wide-open.

  From where Navarro stood, he could still hear the distant sounds of argumentation. About thirty feet away from him and the fence was a dumpster, which had been pushed up against the side of a shed for ease of access. Behind the shed, a large, broad tree had taken root, with wide and sturdy branches that just almost touched the tip of the inside wall of junk.

Witt snickered evilly, his eyes still watching everything around him.

His voice rose cheerily after the retreating lupine: "No, don't hold back, now. Tell us what the fuck you really think."

Followed, of course, by Witt himself, swapping hands on the knife and gun, again.

Cross' face remained impassive and still as Cog lashed into him, just as it had when he'd seen the horrifically mutilated corpse.  That was perhaps more frightening than any expression he could have made.

Sticking his gun in the wolf's face would have been a somewhat hollow gesture unless he pulled the trigger as well.  Indeed, others had been found dead - and without their ears - for much less... but he had to remain on reasonably good terms with Keaton.
Besides, he'd need the bullets if they did meet the junk-monster.

"I wasn't talking to you," he said.  And horrific agony washed through Cog's skull.

"Soulless dead." Epyon muttered looking around. he really did want out of here. as long as he moved he was lily a target. still "closing his eyes he relived the moment that they junk monstrosity had  blurs past his ling of vision.  it had almost glinted in the moon light. he didn't like this place and liked it liked with every passing second.. he reopened his eyes and continued to walk within the group near there center. he hoped his pole would be enough. oh gods he hoped it would be enough because if he had to pull his sai's god's help him. gods help them all.

Anton was taught not to relay on sight because i could deceive you at very important times. His very long ears were up trying to hear out the small signs of the junkyard. His ears shot back as he heard Petersohn getting chewed out by the one of the leaders. Great.... one of the wisest people here getting chewed out by the leader... I don't know if he is going to survive this. I don't know if we all are going to survive this. He quickened his pace to get caught up with the rest of the group but his ears still up and scanning for anything ready to defend against anything that might come out of the junkyard.

Dani was awake and sore for a little while but then he heard Keaton yelling inside the dump. Huh? damn! He got up and tried to figure out where he was.

It was quickly appearnt he was at the dump and the others were inside, but where? He started running into the dump, albeit slower than usual because he was just so damn tired.

He then heard Cog yelling and he had a rough idea where they were. Past the dead police man he ran. heh ole officer Jones shoulda known better than to take bribes from one of the weakest families.

Then he saw the corpse dangleing from the girder. He came to a rolling stop takeing in just how magled it was. Soon it was out of sight and he was running again.

He ran with all his energy. Then he collided with someone, a liveing someone, a small someone. He has tripped over the small rabbit

"WAHOOOF! Who? Anton is it? Sorry I didn't see you there."

   The ragtag party moved on, at a slightly faster pace thanks to the hung up corpse. Problem was, it wasn't the only one. There were more. All flayed and torn in the same way as the first. All hung up in various grotesque ways; by a foot, by an arm, by the waist, by the neck, or by various combinations. And they all had one main difference from the first once: They all had some sort of metal replacement attached to them in a place of some body part. Most of them were limbs, but sometimes it was covering plates. Also, while the deeper the group went, the older the corpses got, non of them were actually decomposed. In the case of where the metal met flesh, the flesh was sickly yellow and green, and inflamed. The other strange thing was; while the flesh and body was always ruined with careless ferocity, anything metal was always very carefully unharmed. The corpses were also never hung up by a metal limb. If whatever was doing this had any reverence for anything, this was probably it.
   On the outskirts of the junkyard, there was heaps of random fetid garbage mixed in with various other things. Deeper in, there was less, and then no more garbage, and nothing but rusted machine carcasses, fried electronics, and other technological junk and scrap. Instead of smelling like a dump, it now smelled like mechanic's hell. There were also a few small crevices with a faint unnatural green glow. Anyone who looked over the edge would find the crevices to be very deep, and at the bottom ran small streams of a green-black acid, for the crevice walls all were glass-smooth, as if they were melted through. However, the biggest thing was, the deeper through the junkyard everyone moved, they would increasingly feel the malevolent atmosphere.
   Finally, as the group was passing between four large scrap piles with a larger one ahead, everyone felt a...presence...approaching. One that was tied to the same fell animosity that permeated The Junkyard. Everyone would individually feel that bolting wouldn't do any good, as they would feel that the presence knew exactly where they were, and could pick them off one by one if they ran.
   Suddenly, in the scrap piles all around the party, green electricity started sparking and exploding, sending showers of sparks everywhere. The bolts ran throughout all the metal and electronics, and spread outward in the Junkyard. Without any power, every audio device turned on. Car stereos, radios, home speakers, any device that could produce audio activated. In perfect synchronization, so that the sound seemed to come from all around, and not from any one source, a techno-synthesizer started playing. It played for a few moments, then an electric guitar and drums started and broke into a rock-metal song, with the synthesizer continuing support. It played for a bit, and then the lyrics kicked in:

All that is dead,
around me.
Lifeless in the wake
of catastrophe.
Burning in my mind,
I am not decieved.
Judgement into my
own mortality...

Now...that the soul is free,
I severed ties,
of man and machine!
NOW! That the soul is free!
I bled my heart,
of all it CAAAAAAAN
bleed!

The song then cut back into intrumental for a little bit. Aside from the music, nothing else notable happened.

Cross could feel a mind.  It was distant and vague but it was there.  And it knew they were there too.

The flash of magic took him by surprise, but he didn't show it.  Hmm!  Good job we have a band of Creatures with us.  "I'll free your soul all right," he murmured.

Tempting as it was to call out something like "Take us to your leader," or "Come on... show yourself, we don't hurt you" (yeah, right!), that was really Keaton's prerogative as leader.  So checking his gun, and mentally going over a few handy spells, he glanced at the jackal to see how she'd handle it.

 Cogidubnus walked away from Jakob muttering under his breath about the general arrogance of Cubi, and generally expressing his feelings mostly to himself, when the wolf simply stopped, and for lack of a better term fell onto the side of a pile of junk. It groaned as the wolf hit it, the top of the pile wobbling dangerously, but the wolf paid it no mind. His hands slammed into his temples and wrapped around his head, and after a short outcry of pain Cog simply fell silent; a high-pitched whine that faded into silence. The wolf shook, his eyes dilating as horrific pain shot straight through his brain. A sudden outburst of agony, like a thousand shards of glass being ground into his brain with a boot.
He almost seemed to collapse, for a moment, sliding down the side of the pile of junk before catching himself again. His eyes snapped open.

His eyes seemed unchanged, on the surface, but, there was something...feral, in those yellow orbs. Malice gleamed out from them, like the eyes of a demon, and the pupils of his eyes seemed pits of utter darkness. They flitted about, seemingly disoriented as Cog stood himself back up, and locked on Petersohn. They paused, as though surprised to see him there.
The pain ended.

Cog blinked, and gasped. Almost as quick as it came, the look in his eyes disappeared, and Cog managed to pull himself back up and off the pile of junk. He glanced at Jakob, terrified - and giving the incubus only a momentary glance, gingerly began to walk forwards, still dragging his leg. His arm trembled.

* * *

They passed more bodies, and the stench of garbage faded until it was replaced by the acrid smell of rotting oil and rust. Cog was silent on the way forward, barely paying any of the corpses any attention at all - the wolf seemed truly shaken.
The sudden music got his attention, however, and he paused with the rest of them to glance worriedly around the clearing. His eyes widened in terror, and he simply swallowed as he looked around - and kept his gaze on Keaton. He'd start forward again when she did.
As much as she beat him, she was the only person he really trusted here.

Epyon did not like this. for lack of a better better explanation he was scared. he'd seen the corpses. they were not only mutilated but being rebut into some kind of monstrosities. it was a living death that was worse then living death and one that he wanted no part of. he wanted to run but knew as he did before when that thing bust out from beneath him that he'd only get so far. this was a den of some sort. you could skirt it on you own and hope to survive but once inside  only the gods could help you if you were alone. the grip on his pole became a death grip and how he wished he'd never followed those running canines to that ally. Or to this place.

Dani sped up to keep pace with Cog. "Don't think I can't spot one of our own. Know this, if you try to kill me I will not hesitate to kill you." He said this in a low wisper only Cog would be able to hear.

As Dani walked on loading the clips for his hand guns there was a jolt of green lightning, Dani dropped gun clip and the hand full of ammo to bring his shot gun out amazeingly fast. Nothing happened during or after the song, so Dani put it away. "Looks like we got an emo on our hands boys." Dani laughed jokeingly.

He picked up his gun clip and what bullets he could and started reloading.

Anton was a little bit slow to get up. The shiver of the magic course through the of the metal in area they were in made him get a little more serious. He got back to his feet after the song. "It is alright Dani as long as we get our selves out of here in a quick time i think i don't mind being scuffed up a little bit." He shot a message through to Cross. This is not going to be good if we stay. We need a plan to get out, now. He follows behind everyone else his hand glows a bright blue color and a shimmer appears then dissipates from view as a magic shield gets thrown up for him. His hand then moves to a dark dim reddish color and keeps it contained in his hand. He learned from a past experience and is not going to leave anything up to chance.

Penny felt a little green at the sight of all the corpses, but contrarily it steadied her nerves rather than rattling them. Having a goal affected her like that. She pulled several more of the special bolts from her pack, mentally thanking her boss for both the bolts and for enchanting the crossbow for extra power and speed loading.

Fal'taq continued to stare impassively at each new gruesomely mutilated corpse they walked past, whistling a few more bars of that tune now and then. The bickering between Cogidubnus and Pettersohn had been amusing enough while it lasted, but it was what happened afterwards that was occupying his mind right now. It certainly looked as if Pettersohn had caused the other wolf's brief moment of agony. Was he a disguised Creature of some kind? He'd shown no clear evidence of that in the fight back at the docks, but the fast-moving skirmish around that Insectis had been a little too far away for Fal'taq to see clearly. If Pettersohn wasn't a Being, though, that could mean a reconsideration of parts of his plans. Perhaps he could —

A mole's ears might not be large, but Fal'taq's hearing was excellent. The flare of magic and sudden blare of music — if it could be called that, Fal'taq certainly didn't — from all around made him jump, and he clamped down on his first reaction to fire off some variety of destructive spell in the general direction of the loudest noise. That would have been unfortunate, and (briefly) excruciatingly painful, for Paige and Witt, who happened to be standing in the way.

"Someone is playing games with us, foolish games," he growled, a murderous scowl on his face. In his mind he ran through a few more powerful spells, capable of unleashing rather more damage than he'd inflicted on the Insectis and that green mage.

Witt blinked at the music, but betrayed no other emotion, other than an ever-growing irritation at whatever it was lurking in the junkyard.

"Bloody emo bastard. When I get my hands on the stupid git, I'll show him dead." He began muttering to himself, quietly, whilst keeping his eyes peeled for anything actively worthy of his ire.

"I spose at least it's not that fucking llama song."

   The song had continued in instrumental as the group talked amongst themselves. Then, the lyrics kicked back in:

Lighting the spark,
igniting the fuse.
Destroyed the lies
and saw absolute truth.
From out of darkness and
into the light,
the future is wide open
and is
on
my
side!

Then everyone would realize; the voice singing the song was not coming from the speakers. While the music was all round, the voice was very focused, and clearly coming from dead ahead.

Now...that the soul is free,
I severed ties
of man and machine!!

A silhouette slowly rose over top of the scrap pile directly in front of the group.

NOW! That the soul is free!
I bled my heart,
of all it CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN

The music stopped. The Junkyard fell deathly silent. "Bleed." The silhouette stepped forward. A small oil-fire burning in the scrap pile illuminated the figure. He, for it was just barely recognizable as male, was a furre with oily black and red-stained hair. His species, however, was virtually impossible to make out, due to his...disfigurements. The man had metal plates bolted all around him. His entire right arm and parts of his legs were made of rusted scrap metal, ditto for half of his whole head, not just the face. Where the metal met flesh, it was inflamed and infected, similar to the corpses seen earlier. An evil green light replaced an eye on the metal right side of his face. Green electricity, the same kind that had surged around earlier, crackled and arced around the metal parts of his body once.
   "Well...well...well." The man said in a slow, calm, yet clearly insane voice unlike the deep rocking one that was singing the techno-metal song. "What have we here?" He looked the huge party over from his high perch, what was left of his face contorted in a grin of madness. "So many specimens...traveling through my home? Unnanounced? Uninvited? How rude...Well, I think that owes a favor. But it need not be involuntary, oh no...Well, what do you say? Would you like to take part in my...experiments?"
   The grin grew wider.

The leader of the group had been preoccupied and Ty, assuming it would be proper, waited quietly for her to be free to converse. He'd hoped this would occur sometime around when the jackal stopped cursing. Rather surprisingly, the young lady didn't. He simply followed silently, and went largely unnoticed by those around him. He wasn't small or easy to miss; he'd had to get very, very good at being unintrustive.
However, his demeanor changed dramatically when they found the first corpse. This was not civilized conduct. This was something animals and savages did. His usual, proper posture shifted to a predatory crouch. His tail swished more often, and the reek of alcohol on his breath became more noticeable.
He almost laughed aloud as the singing started. Rapidly they approached ground all too familiar for him. The unknown land held by the enemy, obviously mad, ego gorged on his insanity. And to think, he once simply catagorized such individuals as 'crazy buggers I'm going to eat.' Such ignorance!
And yes, this one followed the same rules as all the others. The buildup meant to intimidate before the dramatic reveal. And, like the enemies he once fought, he revealed himself in plain sight.
When the enemy did this, Ty had but one reaction. It was reflexive, effective, and above all not particularly complicated.
The saurian's tail lashed out, curled around what had once been a shopping cart, and lobbed it at the grinning man at the top of the junkheap.
"Jackal!" Tyrannus growled, at this point assuming that it would be ruder to remain silent, "I am Tyrannus DeVerdele, and I find that our interests of late coincide. If I may assist you in this matter?"

   Arcwelder was actually surprised when one of the larger members of the group suddenly threw something at him. But not for long. The top of the junkpile was pretty high, and just in the nick of time, Arcwelder's metal arm jerked up, firing off a bolt of green electricity, which stopped the piece of metal in midair. It dropped onto the pile. Then, he slowly began to laugh.
   "Ha ha ha! You are a fiesty one, aren't you? A wonderful specimen! I'll make sure you are kept alive for my experiments!" He shouted down to the large taur that threw the cart at him.

"I can't speak for her,-" Dani, haveing put his clip away during the return of the vocals, almost pulled the shot gun off it's strap getting it into a fighting position. "-but, I for for now I'm inclined to follow suit!"  Dani took fourn not to particulary well aimed shots at the thing, but that was just cover to aim one really good shot at it's knee. Bang!

   Arcwelder, even though he was now fully alert, was still surprised that another one of the potential specimens pulled out a large gun and aimed at him so quickly after the first one had attacked. Arcwelder tried to jerk out of the way as the trigger was being pulled. Fortunately, even though he didn't know this, shotguns weren't very effective at anything but close range, and he was a fair distance away. However, he got unlucky.
   The slug tore through the side of Arcwelder's right leg, an unplated flesh area, as he tried to jerk out of the way. He fell on his side, his injured leg now hidden to the group. Though no one could see this, it was bleeding, but what was coming out most definately wasn't blood. It was black and glossy. Oil.
   He was no longer amused. "That's it! FRIENDS! Come to me! Show yourselves! It is time to capture our specimens!"
   All around the grouped party, the scrap piles started to shift, and hidden shadows moved. Without warning, a number of...things crawled, limped, hopped, or waddled into view. They were all composed of rusted metal scraps; horribly misshapen robots. All were covered in rust and sharp, jagged edges. Some had spikes, some had saws. Still others had claws, some had jaws. Each and every one had at least one 'eye', which was nothing more than a bright green light somewhere on their bodies. All of them occasionally sparked with the same green electricity that Arcwelder had already demonstrated.
   Before anyone in the party could react, they had already arranged themselves in a rough ring around they party. They were surrounded. "There are too many to manage!" Arcwelder shouted. "Kill half of them! Bring me the rest alive! I don't care how damaged, just alive!"
   Then, the mostrous metal creatures started to screech. It was a hideous sound of metal grating metal, just like the sound emitted by the thing the party had encountered before. Only this time, it was more agressive, more dangerous.
   And very, very loud.
   The screeches began bad enough, but quickly rose in pitch, intensity, and decibels. They screeched and screeched, until the whole Junkyard was filled with metal wails.
   Suddenly, finally, they stopped.
   "GET THEM!!!" Arcwelder screamed.
   The rusted beasts charged. A few, however, hung back.

Dani wouldn't go down without a fight. He unloaded the rest of his rounds into two bots infront of him. The he dropped the shot gun in favor of two 9mm.s.

Cross held his ears as the terrible sound lanced through them.  It was so hard to concentrate... but he did, and the sound diminished as baffles began to form in his ear canals.

You fool, he thought frantically as the saurian attacked.  We could have negotiated with it.  Maybe given it some of the Beings... no, they haven't done anything to deserve that!  Except maybe the hedgehog.  All life is sacred except that which fucks with Clan Daryil...

The sound was obviously intended to disorientate.  Fortunately Cross had avoided the worst of it and was fully alert even before it ended.  Things had crawled out of the junk, no.. they were the junk.  One of them was making its way towards him, swift yet spiderlike, full of sharp blades and murderous intent.  It had no soul to destroy, so that option was out.  But the green glow... that was obviously a spell.

So let's dispel it, he thought and a faint puff of nothing shimmered out from his hand towards the thing.  Get rid of it, destroy it and then protect Keaton.  He had to protect Keaton...

"Call them off, and we might let you live," he yelled.

Epyon looked at  the approaching things eye wide open and nothing changed. There was no soul. there was no emotional nothing to read.  There and tell him what the thing was going to to or what it had been originally. There was only a short sporadic pulse like one might see in a when turning on toaster. It had what looked like it was part he what was that a a wheel barrel ? a car? he wasn't sure but whats ever it was it had blades and was that spikes or horns on it's head? It didn't matter he wasn't going to attack it's head anyway. There was no point in attacking the head of something you couldn't knockout.   Still the junkyard did seem bright with his upper eyes open and the rusting zombie like creature coming towards him seemed to be metal twisted into the forum of something that once lived but was no longer even a corpse of the once living. Maybe that would be key to disabling it. Epyon twirling his pole over his head to build up momentum without scrapping it he approached the monstrosity and  as he come with half a dozen the lunges and swing the pole at it's legs hoping to knocking it off balance and  so he could bash it into uselessness. 

Witt winced at the noise, and growled. His eyes widened, his spines stood up, and he grinned, evilly. This was going to be fun.

He started off by pointing the revolver in his hand at the nearest of the various junk beasts, and letting off two shots at each, aiming at the glowing green eyes. He then put the revolver away in its holster, and leapt forward with a howl of glee, slamming his paws into the top of the nearest monster, rocking it over. He bounced over the top of it, rolled back to his feet, and grabbed the next one on the left, heaving it across the gap he'd just created at a third on the right, and rolling backwards at the adjacent fourth pile, bouncing off his paws and hammering his boots into the top of it.

He dropped his feet to the ground, and spun, grabbing the mobile junkpile as his arms went past, lifting it and spinning towards a fifth creation, slamming the lofted pile down with as much force as he could muster, shattering pieces in all directions.

He rolled to the side, out of reach, and back to his feet, pulling the revolver and emptying it with one hand, and reloading it with the other, three rounds held between each pair of digits, then fired all six rounds at the figure kneeling on the top of the nearby junk mountain, aiming at the center of mass, before reloading again and putting the gun away, looking around to see which junkpiles still need destroying.

His eyes glittered, and he shouted "BAR BRAAAAAAAAAWL!" before leaping back into the fray.

It was just about all she could take. First the nauseating noise out of nowhere, and now this utter insanity! There was simply no hope for the whole situation. And to make things worse, the people around were just adding to it. Faced with the dilemma of what to do, the figure took a shocked step backwards, as her eyes darted back and forth under her hood, and she raised her arms as if to begin some movements that even she did not know what they were to be. She twitched, hesitated, opened her mouth, shifted her stance, and twitched again. And then, with a rattling growl, she bowed her head forward and put her hands to her forehead, groaning. The situation was hopeless, and the bloody noise was not helping! She had to do something...!
   Trying as hard as she could just to ignore the calamity and the sounds around her, the woman started forward and did all she thought she could do. If they wouldn't have to go into the junkyard, then they had better get out of it instead. So she tried to get the ones who displayed at least a little calmness and sanity under the circumstances with her. The first one she grabbed was the wolf from before, tugging on his shoulder and pulling him a whole step back. Then she looked to the mole mage, stamped the ground with her boot, and pointed and gestured violently back toward the front entry from where they had come. When she thought she'd gotten her point across, she finally thrust her arm out of her sleeve and started flinging around that white silk-substance wildly, aiming for anything that was metal up ahead and not caring if there were any others moving in front of it. Lastly, when she had at least a gross of meters out, soon expending all she had of her silk, she moved for the jackal.

Fal'taq's scowl changed to a humourless grin as the mechanical monstrosity revealed himself and made the expected threats to life, limb and pelt of everyone in the party. What an utter incompetent, the mole thought as he metaphorically rolled up his sleeves and prepared a favourite depeditation spell. The time for such bluster is after your... test subject... has realised his helplessness, not before! Now, which leg shall I blast off first...?

His musings were cut short by the first of the party's attacks. Then the other mechanical monstrosities lumbered out of the junk piles all around them and made a hideous metallic screeching noise. Fal'taq staggered slightly, his hands tightly clamped over his ears, but he couldn't completely shut out the deafening racket. The cloaked figure grabbed Cogidubnus and waved at the mole, apparently trying to catch his attention. He couldn't concentrate through the noise, though. When it stopped abruptly, he only had a moment to recover before the ring of monsters charged, surprisingly quickly considering their ungainly appearance. The closest one, looking like a four-legged animal made from a cub's building blocks using a badly translated written description, scuttled towards Fal'taq waving mismatched arms with razor-sharp pincers on the end. The mole snarled and launched a fireball straight at it.

...Keaton:

The enraged and more-than-terrorized jackal snarled, for once devoid of contemptuous satisfaction, as Cogidubnus stumbled away from her. While she would never admit it, Keaton was quite definitely frightened by their predicament, to the point she couldn't garner some sense of accomplishment by victimizing Cog. After all, there were more serious matters at hand than relieving her frustration on the unfortunate gray wolf.

Although, as for other gray wolves... Cross was standing close behind Keaton and pleading as to why she persisted in continuing their possibly foolhardy trek through the junkyard. It wasn't the sort of thing Keaton appreciated hearing, not when she was so agitated. Before Keaton could even redirect her (albeit restrained) wrath towards Cross in the form of a derogatory insult, the most unlikely individual beat her to it. Cog whirled around and started shouting at Cross, basically vocalizing almost every word of the vituperation Keaton wanted to shout in the face of an ostensibly unreceptive Cross. At the end of Cog's long-winded obloquy, Keaton finally felt her shock (and ever-so-slight fulfillment) fade in favor of dread, as she knew Cross, as a Cubi, wouldn't be merciful towards Cog's transgression. That is, if he was anything like her.

At first she thought she was wrong, since he didn't say anything as harsh as what she expected. Instead, he sounded almost dismissive. Keaton warily watched Cog trudge away from Cross, vaguely overhearing his tirade about Cubi-arrogance and other things she didn't really care about, but just as she detached her gaze and was about to glance back to Cross, she was caught off-guard by the sudden shriek Cog emitted before he collapsed. The sound cut sharply across Keaton's eardrums, splitting straight into her brain for a brief but excruciating few seconds. Technically, Cog's cry of pain wasn't even as exaggerated as Keaton's mind perceived it to be, but it was still relatively unexpected - especially when Cog seemed to have no external injuries to speak of. All Keaton could assume was that Cross was somehow responsible. She wanted to turn around and start firing accusations at Cross, but at the moment she was still frozen by the rapidly-progressing events, as though she couldn't extricate her eyes from Cog's writhing form on the ground.

For a moment, Keaton wondered if she should provide some sort of assistance for Cog, but just as she speculated on this Cog managed to get back to his feet and fearfully started to hobble forward again. Keaton froze, watching the gray wolf with a dumbstruck expression on her face for the first few seconds. She saw the way Cog looked at Cross, but despite this evidence, she didn't intervene. They had to get out of here as fast as possible. She'd chew Cross out later. With a clear edge of reluctance, Keaton sighed and started to pursue Cog, her grip on Catastrophe tightening.


For the remainder of that part of the journey, Keaton partially devoted her attention to not only surveying her surroundings, but occasionally observing Cog's behavior as well. Aside from her apprehension, the trip was mostly uninteresting and without many important events - that is, up until the music started blaring out of nowhere. Instantly, Keaton snarled loudly and clamped her hands over her ears, repulsed by the tunelessly obstreperous noise and the pain it invoked deep within her eardrums. Around her, it seemed the others shared the same sentiments, which didn't really surprise her.

I'm going to find whatever's playing that fucking song and turn it into scrap metal, Keaton threatened to herself. Shortly after that thought registered, she started to realize that the song wasn't originating from any speakers or radios, like she had suggested. It seemed to be coming from a more direct source.

That became thoroughly illustrated as the garbage before them rustled and a tall, abnormally-proportioned silhouette loomed over the heap, then stepped into the open.

Keaton felt a profound sense of disgust seize her at the sight of the menacing stalker unveiled, a demented amalgamation of monster and machine. Almost immediately Keaton had suspects that it was he - or it - who was responsible for the screaming heard before and the corpses strewn about the junkyard, and for good reason. When he started talking about specimens, Keaton had a sinking feeling he wasn't talking about the group assisting him with an innocuous science project. Of course not. They just had to run by some sort of lunatic with a fetish for scrap heap.

Around that time, Tyrannus, who Keaton had, in a surprising lack of perception, failed to notice up until then, shouted to her. Keaton stared at the saurian Mythos in shock for a moment, not out of abhorrence, but more because she was shocked she hadn't realized he was following them. Come to think of it, Keaton wouldn't have complained if he made his intentions known before, seeing as a saurian who was large and strong enough to knock Izria over would be more than useful in many of these dire situations. At the moment, it would be downright asinine to refuse assistance when it was so generously offered.

Grip wringing around Catastrophe's pommel, Keaton forced herself to nod, then fired back in return, "Knock yourself out! We need all the help we can get -"

Apparently, that machine-monster shared the same sentiments. He was not alone, as was revealed after Dani shot him through the leg. Encouraged by his battle cry, a veritable entourage of mechanical abominations started to climb out from around the junk heaps, lurching to life. Keaton yelped and staggered backwards a few steps, nearly tripping over her own boots once or twice, her eyes leaping from each new arrival as they climbed into sight. The ringmaster of this assembly of atrocities shrieked out one, prolonged command to those beasts, and at his demand they swarmed upon the group. Instantly Keaton jerked back, Catastrophe poised to strike, and grit her teeth - those things - they were unbelievable! What were these things? What -

Oh fuck, there wasn't any time to speculate. Everyone was already reacting to the attacking menagerie of zombie-bots. One of those things was coming right at her with alarming speed. Bringing Catastrophe back, Keaton swung the heavy mace forward, aiming to slug the incoming barbarity with enough force to immobilize it. Once this was accomplished, she would further exacerbate the assault.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Penny winced and felt a little sick at the shrieking noises but it didn't stop her from taking careful aim at the closest rubbish monster, a rather roly-poly but sinister thing that appeared to be mostly make of a toxic waste barrel. As the explosive bolt left the bow she belatedly remembered to activate the spell in her bracelet that would shield her from any shrapnel caused by the explosion.  She considered shouting a warning to the others but didn't bother as she wouldn't be heard over the auditory bombardment. The fast-moving fisher was immediately cocking the bow, dropping in the next bolt and aiming for another monster. It was then that she noticed the cloaked figure gesturing back towards the entrance.

   The two zombiebots Dani fired his remaining three shotgun slugs at got nice holes blasted in them, as well as knocking off some stray bits of metal. Their green glows dimmed slightly. However, they seemed to ignore this entirely, and continued charging.
   When Cross's dispel hit the zombiebot in front of him, it fell to the ground, glow extinguished, but still in one piece. Arcwelder, upon seeing this, was annoyed. He touched the metal in the scrap pile he was laying on, and a bolt of green lighting raced down it, then shot into the zombiebot. It came back to life glowing brighter than ever and quite literally jumped in the air as if it were a person who just got shocked in the ass. It hissed at Cross, then charged even faster than before, swinging its claws wildly.
   The spiderlike zombiebot advancing on Epyon indeed had its legs knocked out from under it as Epyon struck them, then started beating on it. However, it swept one leg in an attempt to swat Epyon away, then got up. It was a little more dented than it was, but otherwise Epyon's attacks had no discernable effect. It's glow remained constant.
   When Witt shot the 'eye' of two of the zombiebots, it blew off a nice chunk of metal out of each of them, but their glows remained, albeit dimmed slightly. Then Witt went on a melee-spree with a strength disproportionate to his size, knocking one over and throwing two into two others. Arcwelder watched as he reloaded his gun and started shooting at him. Arcwelder had realized this in the nick of time before the shots went flying, and lifted up a large plate of metal. The police-issue pistole put some nice dents in the plate, and even blew a hole through. Though Witt couldn't see it, that one had caught Arcwelder in his flesh left arm. He snarled at the new wound. Stupid weak flesh. Before anyone else could take pot-shots at him, he had crawled back over the scrap pile and out of sight. As for the zombiebots Witt had thrown around, the untangled themselves and got back up, a little battered but mostly unhindered. They continued their frenzied assault.
   The silk that Salticia sprayed everywhere did adhere to some of the metal monstrosities, and started to solidify, but she had overlooked one important detail: The were made of sharp, jagged metal. Once the stuff had become sufficiently solid instead of goop, they just had to move, and the stuff was instantly cut to ribbons. They continued mostly unhindered, though the stuff was sticky enough that id did clog their joints somewhat. But only a little.
   The fireball Fal'Taq shot at his zombiebot slammed right into it, pushing it back some as the fire raged around it. When the fire died, the front of the thing was completely blackened, and the glow not as strong as before. But it got back up, growled at him, and kept on coming, in a wild charge of swinging blades.
   When Keaton swung her mace at the zombiebot advancing on her, she nailed that bugger. What counted as its head was smashed in and ripped off, and was now dragging lifelessly along the ground by a cord. It's glow was slightly dimmed. But, even though it was now nearly headless, it kept coming, swinging it's deadly appendages crazily.
   Penny's magical exploding bolt had the most effect out of anyone's attacks so far. The bolt hit the zombiebot dead-on, and created a nice boom. When the smoke cleared, it was missing a noticeable amount of chunks of itself. It's glow was now only half as strong as it was. But, it just got up and rushed at her again, only it moved jerkier, clumsier. At least, more so than it had been before.

  Earlier, three of the zombiebots had held back. Now, they would make their purpose known. Two of them climbed on top of scrap piles. One of them had a long, many-jointed arm and a scoop. With it's arm, it started picking select pieces of scrap out from under it, ones that were sharp and/or jagged, of varying sizes, but nothing bigger than a platter. It collected as many as it could as quick as it could, depositing them in its scoop. Once it had a nice stash, it picked them out, one by one, and stated flinging at the group. Thanks to the long, jointed arm, it was flinging them at a..problematic velocity for the party. The other one had a long, hollow pole, probably a flagpost. From its higher vantage point, it pointed the pole in the center of the group. It was obvious what it was supposed to be, but it couldn't actually be a-
   BLAM...BLAM...BLAM...BLAM...BLAM...The thing was a gun! however, it wasn't shooting nice bullets, but random bits of tiny shrapnel. Not that anyone could see them, though. The thing had absolutely no accuracy, it just randomly sprayed its projectiles around, hoping to hit something.
   As for the third, it fidgeted with two hands as the brawl started. Eventually, it picked something off of itself with its left hand. It was a food can, with one end capped off, and a hole in the other. However, what was in the can was most definitely not beans. It held the can with the holed end toward itself, and started striking what passed as fingers against each other, making sparks fly. It did this repeatedly, until finally, a jet of flame shot out of the hole in the can. The can tried to jump out of the zombiebot's hand, but it held on. It angled the can upward a little, then let go. The thing shot off and traveled in a crazy random trajectory, spiraling all over the place. then, it drooped down, and started falling to the ground. Somewhere in the middle of the party. Wherever it landed, it would make a nice, dirty bang. The zombiebot pulled out another one, this time an aerosol can, before the first one even touched down.

Cog simply panicked.

The pressures of the day - the pressures of the last month, the near-daily fear of being hurt or beaten, the almost daily realization of those fears, and the sudden, inexplicable, and terrifying events of the near-present, and the constant and seemingly unending pain was beginning to drive the wolf to... he wasn't sure.
His breathing was ragged.

He almost dived the for the ground, the cacophonous roar of metal, and then the subsequent explosion of firearms, magic, and truly explosive arrows disorienting the wolf. He screamed, crouching, and clapped both hands over his head.
Keaton. Must stay near Keaton must stay near Keaton, oh God, oh God...
Not for the first time, he found himself absently checking the time, the sunset dipping almost beneath the piles of junk.

A strong, strong hand grabbed his collar, and he suddenly found himself pulled up by the mute woman from before. She pulled him back, towards more of the Zombiebots, and then made a gesture towards Keaton and the other, little mage - Fal'Taq, Cog thought. Cog absently wondered what the mute...whatever she was was trying to do. His eyes, passing over the hood of her cloak, widened. He pulled back hard on her, his face twisted in panic yet again.

A blinding flash split through the junkyard, as though time itself had been cut in half with a wall of light - and just a second after, thunder blasted through the junkyard, a hundred times louder than the music had been. It rattled the cans sitting on top of the junk piles, and dwarfed the sound of the explosions that pattered through the small clearing.
A single zombiebot, standing straight across from Salticia, was engulfed in a lightning bolt twice as thick as it was, crackling and jagged with power. It stood within the monstrous bolt like a silhouette, a blackened skeleton on a white background - the eerie, eldritch glow from its eyes, wether or not it was dissipated, was completely overshadowed by the sudden bolt of power, and the thing of metal visibly sagged as the lightning fused the thing into a single, solid and blackened piece.

Just as quickly as it came, the lightning bolt suddenly split in half, each piece of the thunder arcing towards another zombiebot, and another one after that - each zombie along the way blackening as the fury of the skies exploded the things into small, individual pieces, or simply sagged and melted and fused together. Bits of power flowed out into random pieces of metal as well, the thunder arcing only towards things made of metal. Every amp and speaker there seemed to spark at once, ruined, and by the end of the deafening, thunderous roar of power, only those made of flesh and bone stood left in the clearing beneath the made scientist.
Small sparks of power had hit the three zombiebots above them, and the aura of power around them had dimmed considerable, but other than light charring, they seemed to have somewhat survived. Arcwelder himself, as he had taken cover, had evaded the chain lightning.

Behind the group, and surrounding them in a semicircle on all sides, were what simply seemed to be mermaids on legs. Some armed with simple tridents and sabers, and others robed in what seemed to be loose, flowing robes of light green all remained silent, the figures rows deep. All but one in particular - dressed in a robe of dark blue, almost more of a bathrobe than a true mage's outfit, and carrying a staff of crystalline blue, she carried herself forward with the air one someone who was not used to being denied anything. Gold chains and loops adorned her neck, with multiple earrings of gold and silver adorning each lobe, and a voluminous number of shining rings on each hand. A stylized shark's tooth carved from Jet hung also hung from her neck. Striped as she was, and with long whiskers protruding from random places, she most reminded one of a lionfish.

"Which of you is the mechanic, Pandora?" she said, her voice musically fluting and high, and as cold as the depths of the sea.

Cross bounded away to defend Keaton as his spell took out the robot.  Glancing back he saw Arcwelder reactivate it and with a curse, threw another spell at him.  Maybe we can make you stop glowing too.

Then the sky opened.  When the chaos ceased, they were surrounded by what Cross presumed were Mers, and they did not look friendly.

"Which of you is the mechanic, Pandora?"

Arcwelder was too far gone to really determine his or her gender, short of DNA analysis.  It was logical.  Cog had been lying when he spoke of Pandora.  When Cross questioned the need to enter the junkyard, he could only reply with a series of straw-man arguments.  He alone had crossed the junkyard and lived.  He had made a pact with the junk-monster, selling them out to save his own hide.

"The... The one with the metal arm and the magic," he bleated.  "They're the mechanic."

   Arcwelder was circumventing one of the scrap piles when he suddenly felt something. Something bad. He stopped, stunned, and clutched himself. The feeling had hit him like a train. He wobbled around the rest of the scrap pile, and peeked his head out behind it.
   His jaw fell open.
   His friends, all his precious friends...were broken. Totally fried. Kaput. So destoyed that they were all beyond any hope of salvaging or recycling. A few that hadn't already died in the initial zap wobbled once, then collapsed, completely inert.
   A bunch of the strangest flesh-things he had ever seen had appeared, and were undoubtably the cause of the destruction.
   Arcwelder ran.
   Ignoring his wounds and whatever happened behind him, he ran. he didn't know what those things were or what they wanted, be he knew even he couldn't fight them to keep his moe, which he was undoubtably about to lose. Eventually, he came to the place he was headed for; a hollowed-out shell of part of a steel tanker. He ran inside.
   There were five large somethings n there, all folded up and motionless. Already built, already 'alive'. Just not awake. Arcwelder had hoped he would never have to use them. He held up his hand, and a bolt of green lightning arced out of all five fingers and struck the motionless figures.
   One by one, they each acuired a green glow somewhere inside them, and got up. They were mechanical monsters, but a little different from the ones before. They were more refined (but still ugly), bigger, tougher, stronger.
   One was skeletal, standing on two legs and had four arms, each ending in a chainsaw.
   One was crablike, and instead of claws, had two ungodly massive radial-arm saws.
   One looked something like a cannon on four legs.
   One had what looked like two home-made gatling guns on a three-legged platform.
   One had four short, wide tubes and little arms, with canisters attached all over it.
   Arcwelder led the five out, and ran again. He had to get out, but to where?
   ...Of course. Her. The only one who Arcwelder did not try to experiment on. He had actually exchanged parts with her from time to time. She never seemed too happy with him, though. he could stay with her until the things were gone from his home. Then he could go back. Yes. That's it.
   Arcwelder ran, knowing the Junkyard inside and out, taking all of the quickest shortcuts to the back 'entrance'.

If the dead could sweat then Epyon was doing so now. those creatures  they were glowing fiercely. their soul and magic energy was massive and there seemed to be a cold tint of rage to there collective aura. as if there were here to avenge some perceived wrong. This was not where he wanted. Epyon hastily retracted and put his pole away. he didn't want to be on the received end of one of those spells and he wanted to run as soon as he had an opening because these did not look like people he could fight.

The mer woman turned an imperious eye towards Cross, regarding the Cubi coldly. Her mouth twisted in a sneer.
"That's the Junkman, you fool. Her supplier. He too will feel our wrath. But... later." she said, her voice still as cold as it was musical. She made a guesture with her free hand, and the skies above her responded, thundering ominously.
Weather-witch.

She straightened herself up further, if that was possible, her eyes passing over each and every member of the party - from the large dinosaur, to the small weasel-looking thing with a crossbow, to the strange, hooded figure across from her.
"I am Jazamin Flowright." she said, her voice suddenly changed - not deeper, but yet somehow broader than it had been before. "I am the Mer, here. And I've already asked you once which one of you is Pandora once."
She narrowed black, pupiless eyes. "She's the only other person who comes in here. And taking her here would have been so much easier..." Her voice, strange as it was, took on a petulant note. Her eyes flashed out at the party. "Imagine my pleasure when a dozen of you walk in at once."

She snorted, and the skies rumbled again. "I don't suppose it matters. Just being here is damnation enough. Why else would you be here, except to deal with her? No, I think..."

Twisting out of Sal's grasp, Cog nearly stumbled to the ground and without explanation or even a glance backwards, ran. His steps squished wetly on the mudded ground beneath him.
Despite his efforts to drown everything in his mind out, he could stilll very well hear the weather-witch's cruel laugh as he ran, and the ominous rumbling in the skies.

Cog bolted, leaving Cross next to Keaton.  Presumably the Mer thought of him as a simpleton now, which was fine by him.  He glanced back at the other wolf, unable to decide what to do.  Teleporting out was still an option except for Keaton... he wasn't sure if he'd be able to bring them both anymore and he needed her alive.

That basically left a choice between staying behind and trying to convince them that he knew nothing (which was true, but they might not believe him) or following the junkie, who had now demonstrated his guilt and would in all likelihood be shot from behind and killed.

He glanced back at Keaton.  She was the leader...

Anton smiled, this was what he was hoping for. Things that could not feel pain, things that could not be a hindrance if he started to cut them down. Will that he was a little bit slow to react because the spell he was about to do was a little stronger then he was use to and one that he hadn't used in a while. In the hand that was glowing earilier, he was able to manifest a large glowing red whip. "Well, well, well this is nice." He used his will to make it strike one of the ones closer to himself. The whip would touch the bot and split it in half if it hit. After a few cracks of the whip hopefully hit a couple of them he saw out of the corner of his eye he say the Arcwelder start to run. He wanted to solve this peacefully so he bent low and jumped helped by his wings and gave case but soon lost him. While hovering in the air he let go of his whip and it disappear as the Combat started to halt. He slowly and quitely hovered over everyone checking out the scene in front of him.

Some time before the next fiasco started, Aisha had only just started to calm down.  The banter between most of the group members (including the revealing of yet another 'Cubi...oh how she would feel comfortable now with these mostly-Creatures) were ignored.  The other mutilated bodies she had already gotten used to seeing, though it was now starting to look more like they were walking into a trap.  The smell she was getting immune to, but only for the prospect of fresh air once again.  And when the music started, she stopped with the party, wondering what was to come next.

Then it did.  A horrendous melding of flesh and machine that she had never seen before arrived from somewhere amid the dump, his voice grating and arrogant while looking over the flesh-and-blood creatures in front of him...regarding them all as potential experiments.  Toys, for the most part.  And it was seen that everyone else was agreed upon not liking what they heard...especially not Aisha.

So when he called his beasts upon them, she wasn't any more hesitant than anyone to dive into a fray for their lives.  The arrow which she had been holding had flown against the crazed monster leading them...more than likely it had missed, for the demoness had weapons that could easily pierce flesh...not metal.

So while things went on, and everyone either made the effort to fight or to escape, Aisha ducked.  Instead of fumbling with her arrows, she put the bow back and brought out her favored boomerang in one hand and the chain in the other.  Madre de dios... she almost snorted exasperatedly.  If nobody's gunshots were piercing the beasts, then none of her weapons would do either.  There was only one thing to do.

She snapped the bracers from her arms and placed them on her belt.  The black, spotted leathery extrusions materialized on her back and easily fit through the holes in her armor.  And with them, Aisha could feel the fiery demonic powers returning to her senses.  She yearned to use the fire and the poisonous darkness...but others were already having an easy time driving off the machines...she hadn't had any fill of her own blood so far into the adventure.  So she ran and ducked around through the flying debris, wings shielding her body while looking for one to pick apart...

But almost all too quickly, they were driven off by the sheer force of the group, and then everything was stopped by a bolt of lightning driving into the junkyard.  The flash, much like the one that had signaled the firing of a giant gun back at the docks, threw her back and made her duck onto the ground as the chain of lightning hit one metal monstrosity after another in just milliseconds...leaving them charred.

In their place stood several of a race that few have seen unless they were by water...Mers...and the leader who had been looking for the one called "Pandora".  Aisha would have guessed that was the mechanic who had just run like a coward...

But no, now they were in the middle of something else.  Friends, or foes?  Quickly, starting to look like the latter.

Aisha stood and listened, but was either ready to run or to fight, on a hair trigger...waiting for what their leaders would do.  The boomerang and chain both started glowing red with heat, shades lighter than her eyes.  For gods' sakes, WHAT now?

Cross glanced back from Keaton to the head Mer.  As he did so, he suddenly noticed that Aisha had sprouted demon wings.  Excellent, another Creature in the party, he thought, but now was not the time, so he turned his attention to the Mer.

"Excuse me, my Lady," he began hopefully, "We heard there was a way off the island around here.  Do you happen to know of one, by any chance?"

Witt breathed heavily, recovering from the shock of battle, and muttered something under his breath about "there is no gravity, this place just bloody sucks" before shaking himself down.

He glanced over at the Mer, and commented, at a point that seemed appropriate "Half of us don't know who ourselves bloody well are, duckie, let alone each other. So far as I'm aware, we don't have a 'Pandora' in the group. Give me a fucking minute, and I'll go get you one, though."

He makes to wander off after Cog, although at a much less speedy pace.

Epyon was inclined to agree with Witt and wondered if he could some how make his escape. after all he was mealy one creature with wings. as far as they knew he might even be. movers slowly he hoped they he'd escaped notice and he  tried to put a pile of junk between himself and the Mer. he needed to sit for a bit and figure our if living was worth the possible destruction he'd just seen.

Fal'taq glared at the target of his fireball. The Gods-be-damned thing kept on coming — he'd done some damage, but only slowed it down a little. He raised one hand to launch an even more devastating attack, when —

<SPLAT>

Some fast-flying object hit a puddle on the ground just in front of the mole's feet, and something else whistled past his face, close enough to ruffle his fur. The splash of unknown but highly dubious liquid went up the right side of his body as he flinched and ducked back, barely missing his face as he threw an arm up to protect it. He barely had time to think where did that come from, before...

The multiple flashes of light dazzled Fal'taq: he'd been looking directly at one of the things when a bolt of lightning reduced it to melted slag. By the time he'd blinked the tears out of his eyes, they were safe from the mechanical creatures, but it was too late. Their escape route was cut off by a group of Mer. Despite the perilous situation, the mole was hard put to hide his captivation: he knew about the Mer, of course, but he'd rarely seen one except at a distance. These were totally new to him, a type he'd never seen before — and one of them was a weather-witch? The mole could only stand there, dripping anonymous goo from the sleeve of his raincoat, as the Mer made her demands. He blinked and looked around at the others (almost missing Cogidubnus running away), then did a perfect double-take at Aisha. The black leopard stood nearby, a boomerang in one hand and a chain in the other, both glowing red-hot... and with a Demon's wings flaring out from her shoulders. Fascinating...

Ty was finishing off something that looked like the inner workings of a blender, scaled up and given mobile capacity, just as the Mer showed up. He nodded and put it down as lightning arced down to obliterate the other machines. Filing away what the Mer said about Pandora and Mechanics, he took up a guarding stance near the edge of the group. Best not interfere until it was more plain what was happening.

...Keaton:

From the rampaging metallic monstrosities menacing her and her companions, to the sudden arrival of the Mer mistress heralded in the whirling maelstrom which instantaneously eliminated the aforementioned zombie-bots, everything was quite overwhelming to Keaton's dizzied and delirious mind. Frustrated rage and exasperation bloated in the pit of her stomach and swelled to a distorted extent as the zombie-bots simply regrouped after the party's assembled assault, but she couldn't help but feel some slight satisfaction at knowing she had successfully beheaded her selected adversary. Too bad it hadn't amounted to anything. Any further disgruntlement Keaton could have expressed properly dissolved shortly after the group was besieged by gunfire, apparently dispatched by some hidden turrets, or, she imagined, robots.

Fortunately, most of that bombardment was mostly inaccurate in its mark, at least because Keaton was thoroughly active in her efforts to evade each shot. Not all of her attempts to dodge were successful, however. For her troubles a few bullets - no, shrapnel - grazed by her shoulder, one splitting the skin behind its trail, another doing the same to her hip. It was quite disarming. Yelling, Keaton nearly doubled over, but managed to gather her strength again around the time the fallen bomb detonated in the middle of the group.

Keaton leaped to the side, gasping. Her mind, once more, was moving too fast for her to register the battle's progression, and kept leaping from irrelevant thought to irrelevant thought, mostly predicting their oh-so-inevitable downfall, or sometimes dwelling on issues which had no significance to the situation at hand. Lapsing into dementia again. Keaton could feel her brain swell, as though she was keenly aware of each palpable pulse and struggle her brain emitted within her skull. She couldn't break down, though. Couldn't break down, couldn't - couldn't -

A thunderous clap and a blinding flash of light. Keaton shrieked and shielded her eyes from the unexpected glow. Her already panicked mind kicked into overdrive, rapidly flipping from thought to thought until she was clutching her head and trying to keep herself from screaming. Her eyes peeled open just in time to witness the lightning lancing through each zombie-bot, effectively obliterating the abominable antagonists. Keaton heaved, shaking a little, her pupils pinpricking. Oh God, it was the fucking apocalypse. There was no other explanation her mind could conceive, because it was too busy ruminating on the absolute worst options to produce something realistic.

One by one, the Mer appeared. Keaton wasn't sure whether to be relieved or scream. Great. They had invited the wrath of the most wretched Creatures to ever dwell underwater. Somehow. She had no idea. Her head hurt, but there wasn't any buzzing, at least. Just that Mer woman talking about Pandora. Part of Keaton wanted to scream in exasperation and shout, "Take her, for God's sake!", but for some reason Keaton refrained. Instead, her gaze darted frantically from Mer to Mer, observing their weapons and equipment, and the almost catastrophic power they possessed. They didn't - they didn't stand a chance, Keaton realized, or at least not with that leader still there. Attacking her when she was open and vulnerable wouldn't be a smart idea, but they had to do something. Negotiating with these Mer wasn't going to work. They were single-minded in their purpose.

Cross was looking at Keaton in a way which suggested he was expecting for her to do something. For once, Keaton was quite at a loss, not being in a very stable position to be a leader, or an authoritative figure in the first place. Probably a side effect of the "sickness," combined with being under someone's heel for most of her life and getting what she wanted through victimizing and brutalizing. Hand raking through her hair, Keaton shakily attempted to compose herself as she glanced toward Cross, her ears flat -

Bang.

There was a gunshot. Keaton managed to interpret the sound as such when, initially, her first impression was of a harbinger of a dreadful thunderstorm. Instantly, her gaze switched to the leader of the Mer, expecting to see her conjuring the beginnings of a new storm in her impatience.

Instead she was greeted with the sight of her eyes, wide and vacant and pearlescent-pale against the blood running down her face from the gaping hole in her forehead. A split second after Keaton saw this - saw the hole, perfectly pockmarking the center of her head - the Mer-woman collapsed to the ground, devoid of life and support to keep her upright. Her followers gaped openly, staring in abject shock at their fallen leader. There was an almost simultaneous shudder amongst them as the sound of the impact broke the silence, one which transferred directly to Keaton's body. An almost electrical pulse ran through her bones. She felt her muscles tense.

Blood pooled around the dead Mer's head like a sanguinary crown.

And then she realized this was the moment of anticipative vulnerability she was waiting for.

Seizing Catastrophe, Keaton belted out an immense warcry and charged forward, swinging her mace for the nearest, thunderstruck Mer. Dumbstruck as he was, he hadn't expected for one of the others to attempt an assault, or at least not in the moment where the world had been sealed out of his perception, and was minimally prepared for the surprise attack. Just as his trident came up as a defensive maneuver, Catastrophe plowed effortlessly through the barricade, reducing the spear to splinters and crashing into the Mer's face, spikes-first. The unfortunate Mer released a bloodcurdling cry and buckled, flailing, attempting to pry the weapon off of him, which Keaton obliged. Catastrophe was freed with a twist, then, whirling around, Keaton delivered another blow right to the Mer's side. This one crashed right on its mark, with additional results: the Mer was sent flying with a cry, leaving him crumpled to the ground.

Keaton stood there, heaving, and hefted Catastrophe again. She had her orders. "Take them all OUT!" Keaton shouted.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

This was not quite what Cross had expected, but it would do.  Keaton was the Alpha, after all, and they could probably round up Cog afterwards, if he didn't run into the Family or the police and suffer the very fate he had warned Cross of.  Thy will be done, he thought and vanished into half-visibility.

Checking his gun he skirted around the confused Mers, selecting a target and aiming between the eyes, just as their unknown benefactor had done to the late Ms. Flowright.

Witt's eyes lit up like the house of a fifty-year-old Christmas light freak with a budget bigger than the GDP of a small country, and he promptly ran towards Ty, shouting "Hey! Big guy! Gimme a hand!", one hand outstretched, his spines lifting up, and his knives, which had leapt into his hands, sliding away again.

He hit the huge saurian's right hand with his own, and latched wrists. As he spun around the pivot point, he rolled up into a huge ball, all spikes on the outside, ready for what happened next...

Tyrannus turned toward the shout and grasped the spikey little man's wrist, already whirling to throw. Two spins to pick up speed and released, and Witt went flying toward a more densely packed-together bunch of mer. Ty soon followed, barreling forward with a roar to smash down anything that didn't take the brawler's hint and just lie down.

After smashing into the pile, Witt unrolled, incidentally extracting his spines from the last of the poor unfortunate Mer who had cushioned his landing, and rolled to one side, reaching out one paw to latch solidly around the ankle of one of the fallen. Spinning around, he and his new flail hammered into the stunned Mer like a rocket-sled into a wall of jello, swinging the poor unfortunate over his head and spreading mayhem as far as he could reach.

He kept the spinning, swinging mess going as he ploughed his way through the ranks towards the end of the ranks, clobbering Mer and sending them flying away in all directions, much as a snowplough sends snow sheeting away...

Right then, it didn't matter to Aisha that she had been seen for what she was.  Eyes of crimson were just kept on the Mer leader and the ranks that had surrounded them, the Demon jaguaress just ready to rush out of there or plough straight through them...anything to use the energy that was ready to be unleashed.

Suddenly, before the leader could be reasoned with, a shot rang out and cut through the almost-silent air.  In her forehead there adorned a hole, blood flowing endlessly as she stood with an almost painful, frozen expression...and then fell.

Whoever had sniped the Mer, the opportunity certainly wasn't lost on Keaton, who ordered the group in an instant to converge outward on the remainders and take them out.  The group complied.  And the demoness bared a mouth full of dagger teeth.

"Don't mind if I do, muchacha," she growled, smirking almost as if she were a child at play.  In her right hand, the boomerang turned from glowing hot to actually igniting, a magic ring of fire surrounding the magic surface.  In her left, the chain did the same thing.  Her wings flared outward and gave the impression of a size greater than what she was.

Then, she whirled quickly on her own group of the Mer, certainly whose bodies were delicate-skinned enough from living in water to burn in an instant...at least that was Aisha's thought.  Before one could charge, it found its neck wrapped in the searing, flaming chain after it flew like a grappler for it.  An inferno engulfed the robes as the Creature was pulled to meet its doom in the bladed projection of her boomerang through its stomach.

She pulled it clean out, the blood burned off of it, and let it fly for the next unfortunate one to come after her while disengaging the chain...a fiery sawblade.  Her face had a dangerous, predatory look to it as the first individual was left in a burning heap.  The proper way to dispose of corpses.

And yet, while she made for her own bit of mayhem, somewhere in the back of her mind she told herself, if they choose to run, you will LET them run.  Don't be like the others.

When the shot from the blue ended the mer's advantage and Keaton gave her battle cry Penny was ready. Turning in the opposite direction from where the hedgehog was causing mayhem she fired the bolt she had previously loaded at the nearest group of mer. Too bad none of the high ground looked stable, she had a preference for shooting from above. Cocking the crossbow and dropping the next bolt in she looked for the most advantageous spot to place an explosion.

   Arcwelder and his five-monster guard got to the back entrance, which was nothing more than a large ragged hole in the fence/wall surrounding The Junkyard. Arcwelder looked down, remembering the two wounds he had, in his arm and leg. Hissing at it, he walked over to the nearest scrap pile and picked out a sheet of metal. His right mechanical arm then seemed to unfold into a multitue of machining tools. He quickly cut out two small pieces. One after the other, he fitted them over the wounds, the fused them into place with a little green electricity. Satisfied, he led his entourage through the hole in the wall.
   Within sight, there was a wooden shack next to a small hangar. Arcwelder smiled, and ran up to it, his bots lumbering behind. When he got to the door, he found it was heavily deadbolted and padlocked. He chuckled. "Oh Pandora, why must you spite me so?" He held his mechanical hand up against it, and a torch sliced all the bolts. He opened the door and walked in.
   "Fellow mechanic," he said, "where are you?" He walked around the dark shack. She was nowhere to be found. Arcwelder grinned again. Maybe this was a good thing...He walked back outside, and looked at the hanger. He knew she was building something. In the (very few) times he had actually met her in person at her home, ususally to trade parts, she would never let him see what it was. She refused all help. Well, she wasn't around now, so she wouldn't know if he decided to take a little peek...
   He walked to the door of the hangar, which was similarly secured in the same way as her front door. He cut through it just as easily. His metal hand grasped the dorrhandle, and pulled it open. He walked into utter blackness, but felt around, and sure enough, there was an electrical switch. He pushed it up, snapping it into place with a ZAP. Lights above flickered, then illuminated the hanger. Arcwelder's jaw dropped.
   "Great Scrap!"

The mer were in disarray, there leader was dead and they were being attacked by mad beast. Epyon having realized there was no place to really hide did what any coward would do. He drew his weapon, his enchanted sai's and attacked the Mer closest  to him.

With his eyes open he could see the shift in the Mer's moods and energy. It wasn't much of an edge when he was this scared but it made haggling easier when at the marked place. not that he should be thinking about that right not but it was better then thinking that any second he could be erased form existence.

Anton continued to float in the air. He really didn't like what was happening but he new why it was happening. They were in a horrible place filled with horrible things and when beings and creatures are faced with that their morals go away and no good can come of it. Anton hovered in the air still pondering how to get them out of the junkyard. He got an idea and move further up into the air and started to map through the junk in his head to get a way out of the junkyard.

Watching Witt's short flight and landing into a bunch Paige grinned, two could play at that game, though she planed to do it with finesse and with her own style.

The female wolf began muttering words of power, directing her will and strength into Winter's Bite. Suddenly she stopped, and threw the now glowing sword into a tightly packed group of the Mer. It speared into the ground with a thud, quivering for a second before it released its energies.

A sphere appeared where the sword had landed a full fifteen meters in diameter, its appearance was that of a snow globe...but with a full fledged blizzard inside instead of a few flakes. Of the Mer inside no one could see.

With a shout of glee Paige, with her fighting claws in her hands sprinted inside.

It took a lot to actually shock Fal'taq. He'd been faced with a number of unpleasant surprises over the last hour or two, but none of them had made him jump almost out of his fur until someone — he couldn't see who — unexpectedly shot the Mer leader and blew her brains out. He was more than a little incredulous that the woman hadn't been using a shield spell, but he wasn't about to turn up his muzzle at such a generous gift.

Not about to make the same mistake himself, Fal'taq promptly raised his own shield, making sure it was properly set and anchored this time. By the time he was ready, Keaton had recovered from her own surprise at the sudden turnaround and ordered an attack on the rest of the Mer. Fal'taq grinned viciously at the jackal as she charged, swinging her enormous mace with an ease that spoke of considerable magical enhancement. It had been quite some time since he'd... indulged himself, hadn't it? A thrown trident bounced off his shield, but he ignored it.

Still grinning, the mole looked back at his new playthings and raised his arms towards them. From one outstretched hand a bolt of raw power roared out towards a wide-eyed Mer. He clenched his other hand into a fist, and from it came a glowing lash, looping around his head as he gently waved his arm. A quick flick, and the lash curled, almost lazily to begin with, then it snapped forward, heading straight towards another Mer.

...Axiyne:

As far as Arcwelder could tell once he entered the hangar, there was no one there. The atmosphere was surprisingly tranquil despite the mostly rustic appearance - as he proceeded deeper within Pandora's workshop, it became increasingly apparent. Various instruments used for repairing and building lay strewn across worktables or hung up in their display cases; cogs, gears, and the other innards of machines were piled in disarray or mounted on the walls as well; and outlandishly crafted inventions of unknown origin or function were resting in their respective spots, safely out of harm's way. For reasons Arcwelder couldn't immediately conceive, a few outdated creations were sitting rather reverently among those inventions - they were partially recognizable as modified and advanced versions of antiquated machines long abandoned in favor of more useful models in public use. A sophisticated system of ubiquitously turning gears ticked consistently into motion along the wall, churning out a monotonous cacophony of clicks and ticks. Sitting on the far wall was a portrait of an elderly-looking avian, innocuous in appearance, but rather conspicuous among the steampunk ambiance of the workshop, if only because it was the most expensive object in the place.

The hangar, however, was much more sanitary and less cluttered than the adjacent chamber. Or at least with the finances its caretaker could afford - or what was discernible amidst the shadows obscuring Arcwelder's sight. From where Arcwelder stood, he could make out an immense silhouette, draped in darkness. Nothing else was readily visible. Once he uncovered the light switch, however, and activated it, its identity was quickly known. Up above, one by one, the lights stationed throughout the ceiling flared into activity, bathing the room in an acrid glow.

And illuminating the figure resting in the heart of the sanctum.

It was immense; a mechanical monster of a masterpiece. From where Arcwelder stood it easily towered over him - actually, it could rival  a particularly large Dragon in size at its estimated length of at least three hundred feet, from aft to stern. Diameter-wise, it was equally gigantic, but somewhat stouter. Oddly-shaped, it seemed to be comprised of a number of metallic chambers linked to one another, ending, at the front, with a great tapered nose. Strange platforms - wings of sort - flanked the sides of that aforementioned nose, even rising vertically from the two tails on the opposite end of the machine. Nestled atop the nose and further back was a cabin. There were numerous, enormous propellers built into the machine's body, the most prominent pair angled at the ceiling from above two vertically-positioned shafts. Judging by looks alone, this machine - this metallic marvel of Furrae technology - possibly demanded countless hours, days, maybe even years, for it to be finished. During its gradual construction, it was apparently only accessible through the networks of platforms around the vessel's bulk as it escalated in height.

From a true appreciator of the art of invention, it was magnificent. By no means similar to the ramshackle and misshapen concoctions Arcwelder had bypassed in Pandora's workshop.

Before Arcwelder could further marvel the vessel in its near-perfection, his reverie was interrupted by a startled voice calling to him from the entrance of the hangar. "HEY! Who - who's there?"

Standing there on all fours was a diminutive Gryphon, unusually unremarkable in size, even in comparison to his smaller brethren of Gryphon "B," as was classified. The Gryphon's chocolate-brown plumage was very bedraggled although he seemed to be in good health, with wide and bright eyes staring owlishly at Arcwelder. His right eye was outlined in a pattern of burgundy rings, beginning with a thick circle tracing his eyelid, then progressing through three others, all which grew progressively thinner. By itself it would have been an interesting marking, but it was abruptly disrupted by a thin scar trisecting the fur and feathers there, tarnishing the ruby-red of his right-eye gaze. Other scars scathed his form, apparently the product of claw marks, determined from the shape. Rather unusually, he was wearing a set of heavy and highly complicated goggles on his forehead.

"Who - " the Gryphon padded forward. Even with his depth perception ruined he still had excellent eyesight in his undamaged eye, which was a ocher-brown slightly brighter than his primary fur color.

One look at Arcwelder and his abominable posse and he squeaked, his curiosity vanishing in favor of abject shock. The Gryphon's talons moved rapidly as they worked to propel him backwards, up until they grated against the floor and resulted in him tripping and landing unceremoniously on the floor with a squawk. On the ground, he moaned slightly, clutching his head and attempting to straighten his now-crooked goggles. His disorientation didn't last for long, however, as he was reminded of his predicament by another glance at Arcwelder and leaped back to his feet.

"Ah... ah..." the Gryphon glanced, horrified, between Arcwelder and the individual zombie-bots. "Who are... you?"


...Keaton:

Not long after Keaton had ordered for their elimination, the Mer, from the combined efforts of the party, were easily overwhelmed in their leaderless state. It didn't take long for their numbers to dwindle down from the thirty individuals which once composed the crowd. Shortly after Keaton disposed of the first victim, the Mer lurched into action, hefting their weapons and directing their attentions to the impending threat. Keaton surmised that they did not possess the weather-manipulating powers of their dearly departed leader, though she reminded herself that it was probably quite rare for Mer to possess magic to Jazamin's magnitude. These stragglers, however, were like sheep, utterly brainless and desperate for a shepherd's guidance.

Cross's bullet met its mark, the projectile piercing right through the Mer's head and evacuating cleanly through the other end of his skull. Unlike Jazamin, however, he did not linger - he dropped dead, not suspended by the exaggerated animation of the Furrae mind's shock. Following this death, Witt was sent sailing by Tyrannus toward the nearest gathering of Mer - the more perceptive of the group dispersed to avoid the impending death-curled-in-a-ball, but the majority of that assembly were affected by the brunt of the blow, especially when Witt unfurled and started violently assaulting them like a whirling dervish of destruction. The dead Mer Witt used as a blunt object was surprisingly effective - both on a physical and psychological level. Many Mer were pulverized or bludgeoned to death or incapacitation, the latter quickly transforming into the former once each fallen water-creature endured enough blunt trauma. Some attempted to jab at Witt with their tridents, but he or she was disarmed or knocked away once Witt swung. One unfortunate Mer which managed to dodge the chaos was quickly reduced to blood and brain matter by Keaton. Determined from the overjoyed, manic smile on her muzzle, she was more than content to murder the survivors of Witt's assault, who she dispatched by quickly smashing their heads. A little boring in comparison to running around and actively pursuing, but it brought the bloodshed.

It wasn't completely audible over the screaming, but one could almost hear Keaton singing.

Aisha's fire-licked chain easily ensnared victim after victim, leaving them to scream and smolder as they disintegrated into ashes or charred, mangled corpses. Penny's bolts lanced through the air and met their marks, although quite a few managed to escape off to the sides with their lives. Even those individuals didn't get off lucky, as the resulting shrapnel ejected by the explosions slashed and swiped at their bodies, sometimes embedding in their limbs or flesh. Those survivors were shortly engulfed by the icy dome conjured by Paige, however, so they didn't have the opportunity to savor their lives. The Mer sealed inside the bloating, impenetrable sphere - well, no one could tell, yet, but they were likely flayed to shreds by their antagonist's blade. Fal'taq's whip efficiently eviscerated, dismembered, and decapitated.

By the end of the confrontation, only one Mer remained. One very fortunate, very horrified Mer, stripped of his weapon and peppered with the blood of his comrades. Keaton spotted him out of the corner of her eye, but he was already scaling, with great effort, up the nearest junk pile. Pieces of detritus and garbage were thrown and tossed by his rapidly flailing feet. Growling, Keaton was about to pursue, when -

Another gunshot was fired.

The escaping Mer let out a hideous, penultimate shriek of horror as he glanced in the direction of where the gunshot originated, the sound petering out just as the bullet fired tore through his neck. The Mer pivoted on the junk pile, his webbed hands petrifying around the failing chunks of garbage he was clutching and his body falling limp. The junk gave way, and he fell forward, slumping. His body, no longer supported by the quickly-diminishing junk pile, rolled lifelessly down the meshed mass of garbage until he came to a halt before Keaton's feet.

Keaton stared down at the corpse regurgitating blood on her combat boots.

Again, the silence was shattered, this time by a triumphant cry exclaimed in a husky voice, cried from where the Mer had glanced before his untimely death. To be precise, behind the nearby mountain of garbage the group had once been cornered against.

"HA! YES!"

Shock shot up through Keaton's body as she glanced from the Mer's body to that other junk pile. Her hands clenched around Catastrophe's pommel again for preparation. Shit, more trouble? Concentrating a little, Keaton focused on Catastrophe's bloodstained head and body, manipulating the surface to ripple and swallow up the blood offending its surface until it was completely spotless. She didn't clean herself of blood yet. Too much immediate effort.

There was a subtle shifting among the trash in the nearby garbage-mountain, then the subaudible sound of footsteps. "Bloody 'ell though, did yeh folks do those bastards up."

Another rustling sound, a silhouette lurching into life at the foot of the garbage. It wasn't immediately distinguishable in gender, nor was it in voice, as its speech was greatly burdened with an overdone Liverpudlian accent. One more step forwards, and Keaton braced herself.

Approaching them, holding an elongated sniper rifle smoking at the barrel, was a human woman.

The presence of a human was a bizarre event by itself, but when observed from a neutral perspective, on her own, the human was most unusual. She was abnormally tall, almost seven feet, although the awkward length of her ludicrously long legs attributed greatly to the majority of her stature. Her arms were equally as peculiar in length, making her appear very disproportioned and ungraceful, almost a comical caricature of humanoid anatomy. Her skin was an olive tone and her hair, which was extremely disheveled and mostly flattened by the leather pilot's cap crowning her head, was an obnoxiously bright bubble-gum pink. Probably the result of a hideous dye-job performed on her own. The human was wearing nothing a pair of specially-tailored overalls which managed to preserve what little modesty she had, which were stitched and decorated with abstract, fluorescent flowers and splattered with tie-dye, all in shades of pink. Other than that, completely covering her arms were a set of armwarmers, bedecked in white and pink stripes.

Perfectly unperturbed by everyone's likely-aghast stares, most especially that of Keaton's, the human set her oversized, glove-clad hand on her hip and lowered her sniper rifle so to remove the pretense of being a threat. She probably didn't stop to consider that the fact she was ostensibly a human provoked such a response in the first place. "A' ease, good people," she said amiably. "I come in peace. I'd love t'chat an' all, but lemme jus' get the shit outta th' way. You all" - she gestured for the group to follow her as she carelessly turned around - "follow me. We gotta get goin'."

"WAIT." It was at that moment that Keaton seemed to have her speech momentarily restored. The human glanced in Keaton's direction, looking quite awestruck. Seething a little, Keaton barked, "And why should we trust you? And most of all, who the hell are you?"

The human seemed to pout thoughtfully for a moment. She sighed, and something in her bruise-colored eyes flashed unnaturally. Her olive-tanned skin started to melt and swirl like oil pastels along her body until it gradually vanished, smeared out of sight. In its place, feathers and fur began to sprout, colored a vibrant shade of pink which simply couldn't have been natural, painted with tattooed splotches and patterns in different shades of pink. The human's face distended grotesquely from the nose and mouth, straightening into a bizarrely sharp shape and hardening into a blackened material, until it was distinguishable as a beak around the time the colored feathers started sprouting around her face, forming more abstract, painted patterns. At the end of that fluid transition, the human woman was gone, and in her place was some form of avian - a woodpecker. Looking somewhat pleased, she reached up and ruffled the long crest of feathers which sloped out from behind her hat.

"Name's Pandora Rosendahl," the woodpecker introduced herself, "Yer bosom buddy Navarro said y'guys were in a bit o' a tiff with' my junk dealer. 'e sent me. Now come on." Pandora gestured for the group to follow her, striding forward. "I'll lead ye all t' my shop. It's safe."

Keaton stood there for a moment, absorbing Pandora's newest transformation, and the revealing of her identity. Despite her argumentative nature, she wasn't going to dispute her command. If this was really Pandora, then something, for once, had gone right in this godforsaken day. Somehow, that woodpecker-Were was going to get them off the island. Sighing in resignation, Keaton craned her head around to face the others, and said, "Come on, guys. We're getting out of here. Follow."

And with that, Keaton started to walk forward. Suddenly, Pandora froze in her tracks, leaving Keaton to bump awkwardly into her rear, having not anticipated that sudden pause. Gesturing for everyone to stay where they were, Pandora happily waltzed over to the nearest Mer corpse - the body of Jazamin Flowright. She leaned down, thrusting her legs out in a way which would accommodate her lanky and oddly-proportioned body, and started rummaging through Jazamin's belongings. One by one, the articles of jewelry which once festooned Jazamin's form disappeared into the woodpecker's pockets, with the exemption of her most extravagant necklace, which was proudly draped around the woodpecker's neck. Cheerfully eyeing a ring pinched between her bony fingers, the woodpecker chuckled and pocketed the accessory before climbing back to her feet.

"Okay," she said, resting the muzzle of her rifle against her shoulder. "Now we're haulin' arse."

And so, she kept walking.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

   The giant machine impressed Arcwelder. Never before had he imagined anything of this scale. But Arcwelder was almost as surprised to find an odd creature he'd never seen before in the hangar, a strange four-legged winged thing. It then asked Arcwelder a question.
   "Me? I am a friend of Pandora. I give her parts which she could not find anywhere else. Speaking of which, where is she? I need her help. And while we're at it, who the hell are you? I've never seen you around here."

...Axiyne:

The Gryphon seemed visibly intimidated by Arcwelder's countenance, but managed to respond easily enough, although his voice was slightly enunciated with stuttering. He fidgeted in place for a moment. The likelihood of Arcwelder actually being one of Pandora's companions seemed slim to him, but he didn't question the other, even if his identity remained ambiguous. Pandora might have mentioned getting parts from him before... yes, he remembered now.

"I-I'm Axiyne," the Gryphon explained, "I'm Pandora's assistant. I live here. As for Pandora, she'll probably be back soon..." His ears twitched inquisitively. "A dog named... C.C., I think... came in earlier and told her there was something going on in the junkyard. She went to take care of it."


...Keaton:

In the midst of a step, Keaton realized from the extremely cold temperatures sustained nearby that Paige was still encapsulated in her ice-encrusted environment. Considering her usefulness in battle, Keaton didn't think it would be a very intelligent move, to leave her behind. Signaling to Pandora to wait for a moment, she jogged over to the giant sphere. From what she could tell, it seemed impenetrable, but she hoped some sort of sound or external provocation would transfer to its inhabitants...

(Like a pretty snowglobe?)

Stop it.

"Paige?" Keaton tested this theory. She didn't dare touch the surface of the globe, though, at risk of triggering some sort of reaction, or somehow becoming absorbed within the cage. "Are you in there?"

Paige didn't answer, but something else did. An enormous ripple passed over the sphere, and the mangled body of a Mer staggered out with what seemed to be a tremendous effort. Most of his body was maimed and partially-frozen, rendering his right arm a useless mass of mutilated ice and encrusting the frills and fins of his form. He let out an inhuman croak at the rather disgusted Keaton, a wordless plea for help.

An alabaster tentacle whipped out from the globe and snaked around the Mer's waist. The Mer shrieked again - the sound was quickly swallowed up, along with the rest of him, as he was dragged back into his frozen prison and into the hands of his tormentor. Keaton twitched distastefully. Just moments after this happened, another tentacle extended, this time sporting a hand-like appendage, and seized Keaton's nose with two of its digits, tweaking it. Keaton, taken by a thunderstruck shock, could only stare as this occurred, and as the same tentacle gestured in a manner she assumed meant "one moment, please."

She blinked, rubbing her nose.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Witt looked around for more Mer to introduce to the remains of his flail, and seemed somewhat disappointed in how rapidly they'd all been dissuaded. He shrugged, and looked at the detached leg in his hand with a slightly surprised - and somewhat amused - look on his face, before tossing it onto the pile of bodies around him.

After that, he quickly rifled through a few of the corpses, looking for those handy little items that might be of use later, transferring them rapidly to his many pockets, before ripping the robe from one of the corpses and walked off after Pandora, whistling cheerfully and wiping blood, off his face and hands, on the robe. He paused mid-step, and his gaze sharpened at one of the piles of junk. "Now, that looks fucking useful, there." he muttered, and wandered over to pick up a helmet from the pile. He slung the rag over one shoulder for a moment, and turned the helmet over in his hands, reading the banner across the front. "Hmm. Mit Gott F Fuerst U Vaterland. Well, that's made it fucking worth coming the hell in here, all right." He seated the spiked helm on his head, and grinned from ear to ear.

Glancing around, he noticed that Keaton had stopped, and sauntered jauntily back to where she was waiting for the snowglobe. As he reached Keaton, he proffered the robe to her. "Here. You've got a bloody bit on your face. So to speak."

He then looked over at the globe, and spat experimentally into it, watching the globule freeze as it crossed the interface. "Cute. One hell of a cold shoulder, but cute. Shall we, as your new friend puts it, 'haul arse'? Or are we gonna wait for Shake-n-Freeze there to settle?"

Keaton and Witt had only a little while to wait before the sphere suddenly dissipated and a flurry of snow flew around before settling, revealing a macabre set of ice sculptures. Mer frozen in place, some with deep gashes and glistening blood trails frozen in mid-air, others without a scratch but turned to ice all the same. 

In the middle stood Paige, arms wrapped around the last mer in a lovers embrace, her lips locked against theirs, white wings (both sets) at full extent.

Slowly Paige released the mer and stepped back, a sultry look on her face. Without warning the mer fell over, shattering as it hit the ground.

"Oopsie." Paige said grinning with a hit of fang. She was almost glowing...As if the last poor mer had just had it soul sucked out...

At first, the figure had been almost leaping about and frantic with her attempts to convey the message that they needed to move on. When that failed, she had turned, and almost left, preparing to make a hasty exit over the heads of the group and their assailants. However, when even this was quickly broken off. Now, she was standing... well, not really struck dumb, but pretty much frozen with her shock and the speed of recent events. Not as frozen as some of the disfigured corpses littering the ground, though...
   It took a few minutes to gather any sort of sense in the midst of the situation. The figure regarded her 'companions' very skeptically, and was just about to turn around and walk away again. She looked with distaste as the last Mer hit the ground, more at Paige than her victim though, and then regarded the rest of the party. Smoothening her clothes out and brushing splinters of frozen flesh off one of her sleeves, her eyes finally settled on Keaton. If that one was the leader of the group, and things were going this way... It was utter chaos. She must understand. She had to make the girl realize that, even if the psychedelically-colored thing from before really had tried to give them only one option just then, they really had to try and work things out and not just charge headlong into more calamity. She only had about half an hour of haphazard information to go on herself, and if she was to make any sort of sense of things...
   Steeling her nerves, and preparing to run damn quick, lest she end up like the Mer littered around them, the figure approached Keaton and tugged on the jackal's arm.

Witt raised an eyebrow at the white winged wolf.

"What a lovely set piece. Pity about that last shattering experience. If you're all done playing here, we need to get the lead out, cause Pandora, that feathery chick over there, is heading out of here, and if we don't keep the fuck up with her, she'll leave us behind. I suspect that's probably a bad idea."

With that, he shrugged, and sauntered jauntily off after Pandora, whistling to himself.

When the last of her own Mer victims fell by her flaming chain, Aisha stood back and watched the body burn in its agony with an unreadable expression.  To say that the demoness hadn't any pity for the Creatures was an exaggeration...but she always said that it was their own fault if they were to have a life of fights.  Doubtless, perhaps, she had unwittingly avenged some victims by the Mer's own hand.

But that was all past.  As the panther turned to glance over the rest of the group, her wings pulled back against her shoulder blades and the fires on her weapons doused, leaving behind their normal silvery hue and well enough to put back over her belt.  Any wounds she received disappeared due to her quickly-hardening flesh.  She smirked then, looking at the others.  Quite creative ways of dealing with the unfortunate adversaries.  Only one was left...until it was promptly shot.

Aisha turned to glance at the voice that had shouted with exaltation.  A...human?  It couldn't be...

But, to Aisha's skepticism, not really.  Only one Creature type had the natural ability to be human.  Before them stood a new stranger, an avian Were.  The felid's eyebrow quirked at the introduction.  So SHE'S Pandora.  Brilliant stroke of luck.

"I'm definitely all for getting out of here," Aisha muttered.  In a very casual, uncaring fashion she took the bracers from their place on her belt and locked them back on her wrists, one after the other.  The wings appeared to dissolve back into the holes in her armor, as well as her power starting to wane until she was basically the magical strength and appearance of a Being.  There was only a pause to break Paige out of her icy barrier before moving with the others.

 "OhshitohshitohshitohSHIT..."

The ground beneath Cog squished wetly as he ran, the group behind him left far in the distance - in the distance, he could see the familiar outline of Pandora's workshop, overshadowed by the larger shape of the hanger that sat next to it. Each breath coming in a panting gasp, Cog slid on the mud a few times as he tried to stop, and slammed into the chain link fence next to the ragged hole that served as Pandora's personal entrance into the junkyard. Fumbling, his hand caught on the side of the jagged metal, tearing a bright red line of blood in the wolf's hand. Still stumbling, Cog hissed as he breathed in, and sucking on the ragged cut he ducked through the narrow opening into Pandora's back yard.
"Dammit, aw hell..."

"PANDOORRAAA!" the wolf screamed as he ran into the yard, headed for the mechaic's workshop. It was likely that's where the wolf could find her, as that's where the majority of her time was spent. As he sprinted for the smaller building, he noticed the hangar doors swung open wide. Cog's eyes, ever-wide, locked onto the phenomena.
The lights were on.

"PANDOOOORAAAA!" the wolf screamed, sprinting for the hangar doors. His breath was coming in quick gasps, now. "Ah, SHIT, Pandora..."
Cog could make out the small figure of Axiyne at the hanger door, his brown body capped with the strange little hat and goggles that the Gryphon B always wore. Cog called out to the little guy.
"Axiyne, where the hell is Pandora, I-"

Cog paused about where the four-legged gryphon was standing, the wolf's shoes squeaking slightly on the hangar floor as he looked at the monstrous necromancer-mechanic from before standing calmly in front of him, surrounded by five of his strange, glowing robots. Cog paused, stopping silently, and despite himself, just slightly tilted his head.

And then he screamed.

Cross looked with interest at Pandora.  By the looks, she was a Were.  Cool.

He glanced with distaste at Paige.  Despite his own rather questionable occupation, one thing he really didn't like was soul-slaying, and he'd seen that expression enough for it to be pretty clear what had happened.

"That sort of death is a very bad habit," he said, and returned to the corpses.  Two of his fingers sharpened for a moment.  There were a series of flashes, and he shoved the grim, time-frozen trophies into one of the large pockets in his trenchcoat.

Mer ears... Master will be very pleased with me...

He stood up, and hurried after the others.  Time was of the essence now.  The Mer were a very powerful faction and they'd just killed a bunch of them.  In short, they were in even deeper shit than they had been before.  And it would be worse still if they ever realised that one of their number had been soul-murdered.

   Arcwelder was about to make a comment about 'damn straight something's going on in my junkyard', when he heard someone screaming Pandora's name. Arcwelder cocked his head toward the voice, until someone burst through the doors of the hangar. The man looked at Arcwelder, was silent for a moment, then started screaming.
   Whatever 'calmness' Arcwelder had before was lost when he saw the wolf. His half-metal face screwed up in a look of rage. "You. He snarled in a horrible voice, and took a step toward him. "You and those other...full-flesh people...tresspassed in my territory...and led a horde of...monsters!...to...INVADE MY HOME!" He yelled, taking more steps toward the wolf the whole time. "And then...they...they...KILLED! ALL! MY! FRIENDS! Every one! Zap, all gone! This has been a REALLY...BAD...DAY."
   Arcwelder was now a mere pace away from the wolf, the insanity in his (one good eye) clear. It almost looked as if he were close to tears. The five zombiebots had followed him close behind, and were now spread out menacingly. In something close to a whisper, he said, "And there is going to be hell to pay. Dearly."

...Keaton:

After the disbelief faded, Keaton remained where she was before the giant snow-globe structure, her free hand on her hip and her foot drumming a curt, intolerant tattoo against the trash-laden ground. After a very insignificant amount of time, she raked her hand through her hair and emitted a frustrated sigh. What was taking so long? They should have been at Pandora's workshop by now. Hell, she could have run a marathon around the junkyard within the time this was taking. Of course, this was an exaggeration, but Keaton certainly didn't think so. Once Witt approached her and proffered the robe, her ears perked and she glanced, surprised, in his direction, a little stunned by this act of charity. Even moreso, she was bewildered by the unusual, spike-crowned helmet Witt was wearing.

"Huh? Oh, thanks," Keaton responded, accepting the robe. She started to clean her face with it, wiping away the meager dapples of blood besprinkling her features.

She concentrated slightly, and the remaining blood on her body started to swirl and warp, slithering along her limbs until they seemed to peter out of existence. Another assessment of her body made Keaton conclude that she couldn't affect the blood on her clothing. She'd have to shapeshift herself a new outfit. Enough wiping and rubbing with the robe managed to smear away the congealing blood, though. Keaton turned to address Witt. "Well, we -"

Before she could finish that statement, the globe started to disintegrate, unveiling the disfigured ice statues standing, petrified, amongst the ice and snow. Some of them sported distinct expressions of horror caricatured by the accenting, jagged pinnacles of ice layering their forms. Others, on the other hand, like the one cradled lovingly in Paige's arms, were treated to a less fortunate fate: a swift soul-sucking. It was the only possibility Keaton could reach, especially when Paige's face was so similar to how she'd look shortly after devouring someone's soul. Kytharion particularly liked that. He liked having his enemies eliminated for that indefinite period of time. His approval almost perverted Keaton's addiction to soul-stealing, making her uncomfortable.

Not many people seemed to enjoy Paige's display for what Keaton could only assume were sentimental issues. Being nurtured on the concept of soul-stealing for her life, Keaton didn't understand what the fuss was about. Sure, the idea was probably disturbing, but a Cubi needed to eat - they needed to get stronger, who wanted to die at an Adventurer's hands at the meager age of early three-hundred? - and most of those souls were undeserving of tangible existence anyway. Furrae were wicked creatures. Life was cruel. Why should the afterlife be any different?

"Right, right," Keaton said, trying to keep herself from staring lustfully at the escaping, diaphanous soul-essence drifting through the air, just before it was siphoned into Paige's body. Made something in her stir painfully, like Keaton wanted to grab the soul and cuddle it affectionately, and then suck it dry herself, like Cogidubnus would to his precious drugs. She clapped her hands a few times to get the party moving, ignoring how the sounds irritated her ears. "C'mon. We don't have all day. We -"

Yet again Keaton was interrupted, this time by an insistent tugging on her sleeve. Keaton froze in place and spun around, her irises angling themselves up to gaze at the hooded figure standing there. Oh, the newcomer. She had forgotten about her. Thought she didn't survive the skirmish at first. Keaton inclined her head to the side, then gestured for Sal to follow her. She started walking. Getting the message, Pandora also started to walk, ambling casually and with a confident swagger to her stride. With this accomplished, Keaton craned her head around to look at Sal.

"Right, you're the new... whatever," Keaton shrugged. "What do you want?"


...Axiyne:

As Cogidubnus barreled into the hangar, screaming out Pandora's name, Axiyne's ears pivoted upright and he snapped his head in the approaching wolf's direction. Just before he could ask Cog what he was doing here and why he appeared so distraught, Arcwelder suddenly began to openly scream something about - something about his children, and that they had been murdered by monsters. Monsters? The idea puzzled Axiyne. At first he started to panic about the concept of a Gryphon attack, that would have been a nightmare, especially since he would probably be responsible for attracting a member of his enormous brethren.

Now wasn't the time to let his mind wander away from the present, though. Especially when they were being surrounded by a large group of irate-looking zombie-robots. Oh shit, oh shit, oh SHIT... Axiyne repeated in a mental mantra over and over again, starting to back away from the formation. His first instinct was to run, but he couldn't abandon Cog to be at the mercy of these things. Shaking a little, Axiyne's hackles rose, he planted his talons to the ground, and he attempted to snarl in a manner which he hoped sounded intimidating.

It didn't.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

"Cogidubnus," said Cross.  He was addressing Keaton.
"He is no longer with the party.  If he is critical to the mission's success, we will need to search this hellhole for him."

And if he isn't, you'll need a new Beta, he added mentally.

This time the figure actually had the time and felt stressed enough to make a few flickeringly quick hand signs, before grasping Keaton's complete obliviousness and immediately stopping short, before slapping her palm straight to her face. This in turn gave the Cubi ample time to examine the woman's hands, no longer covered by gloves as they were. Smooth and glossy black, they looked almost as if molded from some polished metal or lacquered ceramic, only a few thin segments and lines sliding gracefully over their well-shaped forms. There was no separation from her claws and the tips of her long fingers, and though they looked slender perspective revealed that her hands were actually quite large. Before Keaton had the chance to comment on anything though, that hand across the figure's face slipped up to the head of her cowl, and pulled it back.
   In all of her years, it was easily the strangest face that Keaton had ever set eyes upon. Far from the most unpleasant - quite the contrary in fact - but still. She could not help but notice first of all the four pairs of gleaming eyes that set on her, two large ones placed centrally like her own, and six significantly smaller ones situated around those, all dark, dark maroon toward the edges but growing clearer toward the center until they were ruby red in the middle. The stranger's face was quite human-like, but lacked a nose, instead having simply a bump over the shapely lips of her mouth. A prominent seam parted her lower lip, and went all the way down under her chin, and to the corners of her mouth two large, metallic gray fangs were clearly visible. Slight dark red markings over her polished black skin accentuated and beautified her already comely features, and as a finish to it all her head was topped with somewhat short, ruffled and spiky hair, dark red at the roots but growing blood-colored toward the tips. It was the sort of face that creates insecurity, though not from fear.
   Again, the woman, obviously some sort of spider, moved her hands and gestured. This time though, it was much easier to see what she meant. She made a sort of walking motion with her hand, and then jerked her thumb in the direction of the exit, then almost leaned in and examined Keaton with a questioning look on her face.

Cog stopped screaming about as soon as Arcwelder started moving towards him, the yell morphing into a high-pitched whine as the robot necromancer moved closer to the diminutive gryphon and himself. He took a few shuffling steps back, nearly falling over himself as the twisted, half-metal construct began screaming at him about mobs and the destruction of his home and various other crimes he felt the wolf responsible for. Cog simply whined in response - rather than being sad, the bedraggled wolf simply looked pathetic.  As Arcwelder finished his tirade, and next to him, Cog could hear Axiyne's talons digging into the floor, and the sound of the little guy growling at the assembled robots. Cog glanced at him, and then back at Arc.
Axiyne never had been good at being intimidating. Seeing him try to be, for Cog, made the wolf pause.

Arcwelder had leaned in close to Cog's face, green-glowing eyes only inches away from the wolf's own yellow orbs. The brim of Cog's straw hat was just about touching the metallic necromancer's brow - it took all of Cog's willpower not to scream again, staring into those whorling orbs of dark magic.
Specifically, it took the sound of Axiyne's growling. There weren't a lot of people...nice, to Cog. Pandora and Axiyne were two of them.

Cog did the only thing he could. In the blink of an eye, he extended two fingers of his hand and poked Arcwelder straight in the eyes, claws extended, and practically jumped backwards as he turned and ran.
"Come on!" he yelled at Axiyne, and ran through the slightly damp grass outside towards the smaller building of Pandora's workshop.

If Cog could remember correctly, Pandora kept a few things in there that might come in handy, right about now...

By the time Fal'taq had run out of Mer still standing he was breathing a little hard from the exertion. Perhaps he had overdone things a little, but after the frustration of having to run from the fight at the docks, in which he wasn't sure if he'd managed to do anything constructive, it was a pleasant change to face someone with the courtesy to fall over and die when you ripped them in half or blasted holes through them.

As the mole leaned — cautiously — against a hulking piece of junk catching his breath, he saw the mysterious Pandora character they'd been looking for make her appearance. A Were, fascinating. I wonder what she has that Cogidubnus thinks can get us off this wretched island? And where did he run off to, anyway?

Fal'taq looked around just in time to notice Paige's reappearance. Another 'Cubi? he thought. Then he realised what she'd been doing to the Mer she'd imprisoned with her, and remembered what he'd once wanted to do to the wolf. Oh my. Pleasant as it might have been, I think I had better forget all about that. Then an idea struck him. Weres... 'Cubi... Demons... how many of these people are actual Beings? As he walked off after Keaton and Pandora, he cast a suspicious glance at the fisher with the crossbow.

   When Cog did a double-eye claw to Arcwelder, it was only partially recieved. One of his eyes was the black one, on the flesh left side of his face, but the other was little more than a green light on the right metal side of his face. Nevertheless, it did have the intended effect, and Arcwelder reeled back, howling in agony. His five zombiebots went ballistic, but didn't actually make anything go boom. Yet.
   Arcwelder was doubled over for a few moments, clutching his now-ruined eye with both hands. After a few moments, he straightened up, face still gritted in pain, flesh eye bleeding black oil. Slowly, he reached up with his mechanical hand, which itself did slightly resemble a claw, closed the pointed fingers around the socket, then ripped the whole eye out.
   The torn black orb fell to the ground.
   When Arcwelder refocused with only one 'eye', the wolf and the feather-creature were already gone from the hangar. No matter. Arcwelder would find the wolf and destroy him later. The feather-creature, on the other hand, would make a very unique test-subject...
   That is, if he got his home back. Which is why he now stood still, waiting for Pandora to return. This was her home. She had to come back sooner or later.

The fight had ended too fast for Ty to do much beyond slamming a few Mer down before they could do anything inconvenient. Watching the rest of the group's reactions afterward he couldn't help a mild twinge of distaste. The wolf, seeing to the Mer corpses with a knife. The woman who had been rather good with those battle claws, gathering souls. The mole in general just struck him as worrisome. What manner of persons had he involved himself with?
Amongst them, it would appear, were weres. He tried not to openly stare at Pandora when she stepped out in human shape; regardless of the actions of the others, he would at least try to be polite. He visibly relaxed when she reverted to furrae form. He joined the others following her, eventually catching up with Witt.
"Pleasure fighting alongside you, by the by," he nodded to the porcupine with a smile, barely remembering at the last second that one with teeth like his kept their mouth closed to make a good impression. "That was rather quick thinking back there, most impressive."

Witt looked up at the big saurian. "You're not so bad yourself - and thanks for the assist."

He swaggered on for a bit, then continued "There's not so much fucking thought to it, though. You wanna fight, you fight. No bloody pussyfooting or fanny-arsing around, you just hit the cocksuckers hard, and hit fast. That way the bastards don't get a chance to argue the fucking point." He spat reflectively. "Pity about the bloody Mer shorting out all those gods-forsaken bots, though. They would have been more fucking fun."

He nodded to the wall of muscle, then sauntered onwards, catching up to the woodpecker, slowing his saunter down to match her swagger, and idling along at her side for a moment or two.

"Nice fucking shot." He glanced up at her, and grinned. "You a weapon-smith, or something?"

Cogidubnus wasn't the only missing member of the party. Edge disappeared early in the fight against the junkman after a multilimbed mechanical monstrosity chased him over a tall heap of scrap metal. Nobody had seen him fight the Mer, at any rate.

Once the sounds of battle died down, a scrawny feral rat poked its head out from under a pile of debris. Nose twitching, the tiny animal sniffed the air and looked around. It regarded the victors intently for a while and then ducked back into the trash.


"So... you can make yourself new friends when the old ones break. Does that work for eyes as well?"

The owner of the voice was perched up on the scaffolding surrounding the gargantuan... whatever it was that inhabited Pandora's hangar. Arcwelder could recognize the black panther as another of the trespassers from before. His black leather coat sported a thin tear across the left shoulder--a scar from the battle with the zombie bots, perhaps. A matching hat partially covered his hair and eyes. He didn't appear armed. Where was the sword he'd been wielding in the junkyard? The nasty black blade could slice through metal like butter.

The feline hopped lightly down to the ground and advanced on the wounded junkman. His posture didn't seem threatening, however. If anything, it was incongruously casual and familiar, as if the necromancer and his deadly posse were old friends. One could read anything in that smile.

Blood and death. Epyons world had kind of blurred for a few moments and now as it came back into found he found himself among more dead. His sai's were dripping clear of the blood that he'd dirty them with in his frantic attack and the sounds of battle had somehow stopped. not really thinking he began to clean his sai's as he looked around a little mystified as to what had happened and why he was still in the lad of the living in his not quite living state.

As he calmed down and put his sia's away he saw the life energy or souls of his victims behaving oddly. Worried about it he took a sia and went to each body beheaded it and removed the brain. He would not be responsible for bringing more undead monstrosities into this worlds he existed in. his grisly task down he walking towards the group only to see that leader following a pink bird with and odd Aura. the bird stop to examine a mer body then moved on. He followed the group and looking around again. the spell blade had changed some how. Then he saw it, she had more life energy some how and the souls he'd seen but they were gone. Were the two connected? He shuttered the think so.

Penny followed behind Witt and Ty, scanning the piles of junk as they moved towards the exit. With no idea where the trash monster had gone she was in a hurry to get out of the junkyard. She half expected him to attack again now that they had taken care of the mer and were all strung out along the winding path.

Other than her hangar, Pandora didn't lock very much at all - people tended to stay away from the mechanic, believing her and the strange gryphon she kept with her to simply be two individuals asking for trouble. Going to see them was also asking outright for trouble, especially from the rather large, antique rifles that Pandora collected and restored.
She'd even shown Cog how to load and fire them, once.

Cog disappeared inside the building for a few moments, and after a brief pause he emerged again, holding an extremely long rifle in one and and a tube of black powder in the other. It only took him a moment to bite of a piece of his own shirt, and using the ramrod he stuffed it and a steel ball he lifted from his pocket down the barrel quickly. He slid the ramrod back down into the compartment just below the main barrel, and cocked the gun.
His hands were shaking again, and in his pocket, one could also see three strange, cylindrical shapes.

He was about to run in front of the open hangar doors, intent on firing on the junkman and his goons - a hopeless mission, considering how tough those robots were, and how slow it was for him to fire, but the panicked wolf hardly had a better plan. Before he took his first step, however, his eyes slid towards a set of stairs set up next to the hangar doors. A small door was located just above them.
Cog paused a moment, and ran towards the stairs. Taking them three at a time, he reached the top after only a few moments - the door was set just above the hangar doors proper, and reaching for the silver knob. He twisted it.
Locked.

Cog looked back down at the ground, and back at the doorknob, and taking a jittery breath he stood back and aimed the gun straight at the small orb of metal. He wiped a bit of sweat from his brow with his shoulder, and closing his eyes as he braced himself, he fired.
A tremendous roar exploded out from the gun, the small ball of steel, about .70 calibur in total at point blank range, blew the knob off along with most of the door that had been attached to it. The door opened of it's own violition.

Even squinting and grimacing from the noise as he was, Cog could still see the small glass-framed windows of a control booth, and the  controls set up in front of it. Cog's eyes widened, and he stepped inside quickly. The small room already smelled of the acrid scent of black powder smoke.
He reached for the items needed to reload the weapon - the place would make a very nice sniper's nest, after all, when he noticed all what was around him. The controls were not overly complex - the were, in fact, consisting of three levers, an ignition with the key in it, and a large red button. Cog's eyes slid upwards.
Dangling from the roof was an extremely powerful electromagnet, the type used to transport tons of metal at a time. Cog took a moment to take in the situation, and promptly dropped the gun.

The thing was currently suspended over the entrance to the hangar - apparently, it hadn't been used in some time. Still, Pandora had left the key in the ignition, and with a quick check as to the relative position of the magnet to Arcwelder and his goons, Cog twisted. Somewhere, a generator roared to life, and underneath the red button a light came on. Cranking on the third bar, measured in Teslas, all the way to the top, Cog slapped the big red button.

It was apparent why the device hadn't been used in some time - airplanes are generally made of aluminum and titanium, which aren't magnetic. Arcwelder and his robots, covered in rust as they were, however, were obviously made of a great deal of iron. While at first seemingly a distant feeling, as the device warmed up, the rust began to practically lift from their frames, and then they felt a bit light on their feet. It took a moment to realize that they weren't actually on the ground anymore.
  Cog flipped another lever, bringing the magnet closer to the five of them. Rather abruptly, all five of them began to levitate off the ground, and continued to gain speed towards the giant magnet as it continued to warm up.

As he walked through the maze of junk piles with the others, Fal'taq kept all his senses alert for anything else happening. He was fairly sure the mechanical creature controlling the attack hadn't been destroyed by the Mer weather-witch; possibly damaged, possibly not damaged badly enough to prevent it attacking again. Pandora, their new guide, certainly hadn't had a chance to shoot any holes in it. He couldn't see anything, though, in the fading late afternoon light, or hear anything beyond the group's footsteps splashing and squishing in the muddy path. It was his more esoteric senses that first detected something odd. Fal'taq's sensitivity to Earth magic meant he could sometimes feel the approach of a natural earthquake or landslide: among other things, it simplified the process when he wanted to cause one. Right now he could feel a vague sense of "oh, that tickles" from somewhere ahead, coming right out of the ground and up through the pads of his feet.

The mole walked faster until he'd caught up with Keaton and the bird Were. "Pandora," he called quietly, "should there be anything... energetic going on ahead? It might or might not be some magical effect of the green fire that mechanical thing used, but there is a disturbance quite close by. Somewhere near the edge of the junkyard, but whether just inside or just outside, I can't tell."

   As Arcwelder was standing around with his guard, waiting for the return of Pandora, He heard some clanks and clatters overhead. Suddenly, he felt his metal bits and limbs being tugged at by an invisible force. He spun around, and all five of his zombiebots suddenly flew up and affixed themselves to a huge electromagnet crane above.
   Arcwelder's face contorted into rage.
   "No one..."
   His distinctive green electricity started crackling and gathering around his right arm. A lot of it.
   "Uses machines..."
   He pulled his arm back, as if to throw. The energy collected in his fist.
   "AGAINST ME!!!"
   He pitched his arm forward, and a multitude of lightning bolts wrapped around each other shot towards the crane, and into it. When it latched onto the crane, it almost seemed to solidify into a rope or leash. He certainly grasped the bolts like so. Using his power to temporarily 'bind' himself to the machine, similar to what he does with his zombiebots, he found a connection where the current was running, powering the electromagnet.
   With a roar, he then yanked on the 'leash' of green lighting as hard as he could. The electricity severed the connection by rusting it to dust instantly with mechanical necromancy. The electromagnet lost it's power, and the zombiebots dropped back down to the ground. Arcwelder got out of the way just in time. When the bots got back up, they were a little broken around the legs, but nothing irreparable or particularly detrimental at the moment.
    He looked up on the upper levels where the crane was controlled. His bots followed his gaze, and the three with ranged weapons readied to fire if they saw so much as a hair of a full-flesh person.
   They scanned the levels above, just in case something else happens.

The magnet, as large as it was, was suspended from two horizontal crossbars by a series of chains and metal bars, and those crossbars it was attached to bolted into the frame of the entire hangar. A series of large motors seemed to control the direction and motion of the magnet itself. Arcwelder's rope of necromantic magic seemed to do the trick, however, generators out somewhere distant shorting out and causing even the controls to emit sparks. Cog dove for his life in the small box room, staying beneath the windows, and scrabbling around once again for his gun.

The magnet's electricity turned off, the metal conduits rusted to pieces, and Arcwelder's robots fell like rocks onto the concrete floor below. Undeterred, they stood and looked up, searching in vain for some sign of whatever might have activated the device. Cog was, however, nowhere to be seen.
Metal creaked.

High above, half-rusted support chains and metal bars keeping the multi-ton piece of electromagnet groaned, and then snapped. Previously merely a circle against the high overhead lights, the shadow cast by the giant magnet pancaked around Arcwelder and his robots like a disc. Arcwelder only had time to gape as it slammed into them with a ear-shattering BANG.

A could of dust rose from the impact, and just to the side of the giant magnet, there was a slight gap, just about a half-foot off the ground - a stack of aluminum had been sitting right next to the necromancer as the magnet fell. It was perhaps the only reason he was alive, now.

Anton kept to the air as he follow the rest of the group. Having eyes in the sky gives you an advantage no matter how you see it. He started to look out for anything that would be attacking, if any. He started to wonder about where this party was going to go after this. If we have to go through another fight in this junkyard, i am just going to wait ouside for them. If they get hurt, which not a lot of these people do it seems like, i can heal after they are done with this place. Almost like he was promising himself that, he nods his head for no good reason.

...Keaton:

Although not savvy in the art of sign language, Keaton was easily able to interpret Sal's message when she tried a more direct method of displaying her intentions. However, any response she could have concocted was delayed by utter bewilderment, particularly because she was outright stunned at Sal's arachnidesque appearance. To an extent, she tried to detach herself from her shock so to analyze her visage, so that way she could pinpoint her exact race. She was obviously a spider of some sort (Keaton hated spiders), so she assumed she was an Insectis, but somehow she just couldn't reconcile the idea of this creature being something other than extraordinary. Too bad she couldn't talk, as far as she could tell.

Keaton frowned a little. If this spider-woman was capable of weaving together webs of near-indestructible strength (or, well, webbing strong enough to disable Izria), she didn't want her to flee the party. Not until she didn't  need her anymore, at least. For now, she simply tried to postpone the spider-woman's departure until she could conceive an idea to keep her in the party. Being unable to directly understand her was a major detriment to her negotiation skills.

"Look, I know you want to go, since there's some fucked-up shit going on here," Keaton tried to reason with Sal. "But we're almost out of here, okay? Just, um, stick with us for a little bit longer." She gestured to the woodpecker at the front of the group. "See that bird-gal over there? She's our ticket out of here."

Then Cross approached her. Keaton frowned at the message he delivered, and then the realization that Cog was, indeed, absent struck her like a ton of bricks. Panic instantly flaring in her, she shrieked an outraged "WHAT?!" and started whipping around in every direction, her eyes rapidly scanning the garbage-strewn environment. Fucking Hell, she hadn't even noticed Cog was gone! The bastard hardly ever participated in any of the fights, so she assumed he had merely retreated for shelter. If he had been abducted by one of the mechanical monsters they encountered earlier, or drowned in the maelstrom, she didn't want to imagine how horribly it'd set back all her plans...

In-between her panicking, Pandora finally realized what was amiss and strode back to the group, resting her large hands on Keaton's shoulders, anchoring her in place. Keaton froze on instinct and slapped Pandora's hands away reflexively, spinning around to face her. Pandora, although visibly bemused by Keaton's token overreaction, simply interjected. "'Ey, I wouldn't worry 'bout i'. All o' yah cool i'. If I know Cog - which I do, mind you - 'e's probably back a' my shop. Look, if 'e ain't there, y'can search the junkyard all yah like. But I wouldn't recommend it an' all, seein' as the locals wouldn't appreciate that much. In case yah'll run into something I c'n give yah some of my babies t' help."

Without so much as clarifying her ambiguous usage of the word "babies," Pandora turned and strutted away. Keaton arched her eyebrow, but resigned with a sigh. She looked to Cross somewhat tiredly, anxiety hovering behind the backdrops of her chocolaty irises. "You heard her," she mumbled, rubbing at her eyes. "Right now we need to keep moving, but hopefully Cog's back at this batty chick's house...."


...Pandora:

Quite visibly satisfied with her earlier solution to the problem while remaining utterly oblivious as to whether or not her theory would actually work, Pandora paraded back to the head of the group and gestured for everyone to move again. From what she could tell, according to the very familiar piece of wreckage resting near the furthermost garbage pile, they were nearing the scrap heap, where the various discarded metals were organized and left to smolder, constantly awaiting a fate of obliteration that would never arrive. It was there Pandora had made her home, as that location was not only on the edge of the junkyard, away from the more malodorous matter, but it provided ample material to craft her inventions.

Pandora hummed cheerfully, unaware of Witt approaching her. When the diminutive hedgehog-thing (Pandora had no idea what the little bugger was) caught her attention, she glanced amiably down at him, blinking. "'Eh?" She realized he was asking her about her weapons.

A look of absolute elation spread over her features. Nobody, other than her grandfather and Axiyne, had ever expressed interest in her inventions, even less her weapons. Probably because she hardly ever left the junkyard and she had a reputation in Holiday for being a lunatic, but those were all small details anyway. Still maintaining that delighted and slightly comical grin, Pandora hefted her sniper rifle, admiring its sleek metallic hide. "Oh shi', is i' thaaaaat obvious?" she asked, feigning humble embarrassment. Five seconds later this facade vanished, and she answered with a cheerful, "Yeah, yah c'n kinda call m' a weaponsmith. I'm inventin', mostly. I usually make more outdated models but I figured I needed a lil' somethin' with more kick-"

Before she could continue with her rambling, Fal'taq interrupted with a most unusual announcement and query. At first Pandora didn't think much of it, being more irritated than anything that someone had demanded her attention after she was finally stroking her pent-up ego, but when he mentioned the precise location of the disturbance he had detected, she paled visibly beneath her vibrant plumage. With an amount of horror which seemed unnatural for her Liverpudlian-laced voice, she croaked, "Wha'?"

A minute passed in relative silence.

It was broken in a gravelly obscenity. "FUCKIN' 'ELL, MY SHI'!" Pandora screamed, and sprinted off, her absurdly long legs propelling her into motion almost instantly, but nearly tripping her over once or twice as she struggled to adapt to her accelerated speed. All throughout her run, she started barking out an assortment of profanities which would have made Witt shed a tear.

And standing in her dust, Keaton could only stare after her in surprise, wondering what the hell had happened, and if she had said ship, or shit. However, the matter faded quite quickly out of her concern when she realized her ticket to the Kamei'Sin Capital was running away for some Gods-fucked-up reason and she broke in a run after her. "Follow me!" Keaton shouted to the rest of the group.


Pandora had been mortified to discover the mangled metal that used to protect the front door of her hangar, and had wasted no time in pounding an extra round into her rifle and charging in, her body quickly warping back into her furless, magic-tolerant human form during the few milliseconds it took for her to pass through the doorframe. Keaton, accompanied by the rest of the group, reached the doorframe moments after she stormed inside the hangar, allowing whoever needed to to prepare themselves for any potential assaults. Arming herself with Catastrophe, Keaton burst into the hangar, and then almost immediately stopped cold when she saw the vessel seated in the center of the hangar, among the nest of platforms and crossbars.

"Holy shit..." Keaton murmured.

"WHAT TH' 'ELL IS GOIN' ON 'ERE?!?" Pandora screamed, a look of utter fury etched into her formerly comical features. For a moment, she looked absolutely horrified as she stared around the chamber and her eyes locked onto the fallen magnet resting atop something she couldn't see. Instantly, she assumed the worst. "Axiyne!?"

Much to her eternal relief, the familiar brown ball of feathers (or so Pandora would affectionately refer to him as) poked his head out from the box room. The Gryphon had taken sanctuary there along with Cog before the magnet fell. "Pandora?" he asked. His pilot's cap was askew and his eyes were wider than usual, the scarred one dully contrasting with its opposite companion.

"Fuckin'... Christ, Ax -" Pandora breathed out a heavy sigh of relief and ran over to the Gryphon, skidding to a halt and crouching next to him. Almost instantly, her arms went around him and she pulled Axiyne close to her in a bone-crushing bear hug. "GOD Ax I was SO WORRIED I'm so sorry I left ya all alone an' unprotected an' OH MY GODS it'll never happen agaaaaaaain..."

Axiyne would have responded, but he couldn't seem to be able to breathe. He tried to get out some sort of word of precaution, but fortunately that was no longer necessary, as Pandora relinquished her grip on the avian-creature a moment later. "Wha' 'appened, Ax?" Pandora asked.

Axiyne shuddered heavily, massaging his neck with a talon. "S-Somebody came," he explained in a short breath. "H-he had these... things with him, and he - he said he was a friend of yours, but he got really angry when Cog showed up... He's over th-there." To prove his point, Axiyne pointed over to the magnet, and the body partially wedged under it.

Pandora turned her head towards Arcwelder, her eyes narrowing as she struggled to identify the mechanical madman. Moments later, revelation almost pleasantly illuminated her face, and her humanoid features started to melt away. In a few seconds she was restored to her standard woodpecker form. "Arcwelder?" she exclaimed.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Witt's eyes lit up when he realised the bird had -built- the gun, not just maintained it. By the gods, if she'd built that, she could build just about anything. Which meant he could either get some more ammo, or get something else that had more ammo, in her workshop.

He was about to broach this idea with her when Fal'taq interrupted, she broke off, and took off. Before even Keaton had shouted, Witt was already on his way. No -way- was he going to let a chance to get some serious firepower slip by. Besides, he might manage to make himself useful, and that wouldn't hurt.

The profanities she was uttering were an interesting mix, too. Heck, he might even pick up a new one...

However, by the time he arrived, she already had the situation, such as it was, under control. He returned the knife and the gun to their places, and sauntered jauntily over to the stuck necromancer - while making sure to stay out of reach.

"Well, well, well. What have we here. You look like you're in a fucking pickle, there. Need a bloody hand, you weasely cocksucker, or should we just jump the fuck up and down on the top?" He raised an eyebrow at the semi-crushed metallic monstrosity, and grinned, nastily.

The black jaguar stood unflinching as tons of metal came crashing down in front of him. Somehow none of his clothing or gear had been affected by the electromagnetic field. The dust settled. After such a deafening clang, the whirling gears and droning clicks of the hangar seemed that much quieter by comparison.

Tipping his hat back, the dark feline raised an eyebrow. He looked up at the freely swinging chains where the magnet used to hang, then over at the control booth. He sighed and shook his head.

He crouched by the trapped figure. The mechanical necromancer had been too preoccupied to notice him earlier. Squashed under several tons of industrial equipment, the strange man-machine certainly wouldn't offer much sport now.


"You might need to yell a bit louder. He's out cold for now."

Having temporarily lost interest in the junkman, Edge had wandered off to study the strange vessel. He came over to greet the new arrivals, stopping next to Witt and the fallen magnet.

Witt sighed. "Bugger." He leaned over, and tapped the metal "half-helmet" of the head poking out from under the heavy magnet. "Strange bastard, he is. I wonder what his story is. Probably not worth the effort of not killing the motherfucker while he tells you, though." He shrugged, and stood up again.

"So. What now?" He gazed around at the workshop, at the various things around the walls, with an eye to possibly adding to his weaponry - assuming Pandora was willing, of course.

"So," said Cross, entering the hangar, frowning at Pandora and ignoring the apparently-dead Arc on the floor.  "Ms. Rosendahl...  We now face a problem.  The Family are after us.  Following their attack in the harbour, it seems the police are after us as well.  And now that Paige has committed soul-murder upon at least one Mer, they are after us as well - or will be as soon as they put two and two together - and, I'm sorry to say, that in taking us here, our associate, Cogidubnus has probably visited all these plagues upon you and most likely your Gryphon friend as well."

"Anyhow.  Cog told us that you may be able to take us off the island.  To be honest, I was somewhat sceptical," - so was he -   "...but it has since occurred to me that a skilled engineer could easily construct an airship or similar vessel.  That, I suspect, is why the Mer were after you.  Either way, we are all in the same boat and it is sinking fast."

He let the question hang.

Hearing Cross' words clearly as she walked in, the spider-woman gave him a look that clearly said something along the lines of 'speak for yourself', and then cast a long glare at Arcwelder under the pile of magnet and crap. She would have showed concern or friendliness toward Pandora and her companion under normal circumstances, but at the moment she was too shook up and distraught to manage anything more than a sympathetic gaze. Instead, she sneaked around behind Jakob and walked over beside Witt, looking down at the... creature between them, a frown on her face.
   Cog had just about found his piece and poked his head out of the control room again, and Pandora almost released Axiyne when the spider managed to catch Keaton's attention. Out of habit, the arachnid made a quick sign-language gesture for 'bothersome', and then got down on her knees. Holding the jackal's eyes as well as she could, she half-reached for Arcwelder's head with both her hands, then made a hard, twisting motion with them, as if she were holding it between them, and looked questioningly around. It was obvious what she was asking; 'Should I snap his neck and get it done with?'

As she walked alongside the group on their way out of the junkyard (and hopefully without the godforsaken smells of the dead alongside), Aisha had nothing much to add...just to simply think about the situation and what was going to happen next.  Echoing the dark gray wolf's point to Keaton in her thoughts, probably they weren't about to go anywhere without their runaway comrade.

That's when Fal'taq made Pandora and thus everyone stop in their tracks with an observation...a disturbance of some kind.  Aisha quirked an eyebrow...being a demon she could have probably heard something to go with it.  It was hard to tell whether or not it could be picked up by anyone.

Regardless, the avian's response was priceless as she dashed off in a flurry of curses that made even Aisha's ears pin back to the skull.  Following Keaton's harried order, she reached behind for her bow and dashed after.

When the group reached the scene of the destruction on the inside of the hangar, even the panther's eyes widened.  Pandora made sure her own comrade was safe while the place was assessed.  So Cog was there somewhere...and under the massive magnet, Aisha's ear quirked upon hearing that they had also found their second-to-previous adversary unconscious under the thing.  In fact, people were already calling dibs on putting the pain to the ass.

As the silent hooded stranger made her intentions mostly known in a rather brutal signing motion and expression, the panthress's hand rested on the handle of her boomerang.  "Por claro...Normally I'd say let him try to talk now that he's under our mercy now, but seeing what we've seen, I doubt I have objections to getting rid of him either," she said with a dark grimace, pointing with at them with the jerk of a thumb.

As Fal'taq ran behind Keaton and Pandora — far behind, and getting farther behind every moment — he decided it might not have been such a good idea to tell the bird-Were so bluntly that there was something odd up ahead. She'd run off as if he'd said her house was on fire, with Keaton right behind her as soon as the jackal realised their guide through the junkyard was getting away.

Argh... getting... too... old... for... this, Fal'taq thought as he huffed and gasped for breath. He was running along with the rest of the group, but only the occasional sight of Keaton's tail vanishing round the next corner proved they weren't just rushing about at random through the junkyard.

By the time he'd reached the hangar and scrambled in through the wrecked door, Fal'taq was almost ready to fall over. His legs felt like rubber, and there was a twinge in his back. He propped himself against a wall and concentrated on getting his breath back... or at least not sounding like a leaking bellows.

"The Mer already knew, dammit!"

A voice called out from the control room located about a story above the hangar floor, followed by the sound of something large and metal clattering about, and then Cogidubnus's head popped into view. The wolf's eyes flashed at Petersohn for just a moment before turning somewhere else, and the wolf appeared a moment later descending the stairs bolted to the inside of the hangar. A massive, black-powder rifle was slung over his shoulder, and the shapes of three cylinders of something jutting out of his pants pocket was unmistakable. He walked towards the party, his face a mask of confidence over the sheer terror that still flowed through his system.

He didn't give any explanation for his running off, simply giving the trenchcoated wolf another dirty look as he approached Pandora. "Why the hell do you think the Mer were there in the first place? Us?" the wolf shook his head. "Stupid sunuvabitch, you walk into a hangar with something like this in it, and you wonder why those fishheads were after us? Fuck, they even asked for her, and you think we're her big worry?" He said, looking towards Pandora.

His eyes instantly lost the anger they had towards Jakob, his face showing a bit of shame. "And...the asshole here is...kinda right." he said, making a somewhat chagrined expression. "I...may have gotten you into some trouble." he said, not quite meeting the woodpecker's eyes. He looked outside the hangar again before speaking.
"We...well...it's a damn long story, Pandora, and I know I've sorta disappeared off the face of the earth for awhile here, but damn do I ever need a favor. The Mob is...really after my ass. And...you know those sirens, earlier?" he asked, giving a weak grin. "That was us."

He scratched his neck. "I think you're going to need to go anyway, though, Pan." he peered for a moment at the massive magnet sitting on top of the insane, mechanical lunatic. "I...well. The Mer were looking for you. I think they know."
Cog fell silent , his gaze cast low. He removed his hat and scratched his head. "I...sorry about your magnet, too."

That seemed to remind the wolf of something, and he turned at looked at the yellow jackal twitching her ears at all of this. He made a halfhearted grin, and nodded to the body of the clearly incapacitated Arcwelder. "I got the guy, though!" he said, clearly fishing for some sort of praise from the yellow jackal.

Sheathing her claws Paige stalked into the hangar, whistling at the sight of the mechanical mass that was suspended there in.

"I doubt anyone could reconstruct that body well enough to tell Mr Pettersohn, why else do you think I froze and shattered it hmm?" Paige said poking her tongue out at Jakob. 'Wasn't even a decent meal either, but beggars or people wanting food at short notice can't be choosers' She thought outside her shield

"Oh! I'm the so called soul murderer, but most call me Paige." Paige said impishly as she waved to Pandora, her head tilted to the side and her wings folded comfortably against her head and back.

Cross was not at all pleased with Cog, but held his temper.  He is probably unique, he reflected... The only person to call Johan Cross an idiot to his face and actually walk away from it.  It was a struggle to keep things that way, but from the panic Keaton had shown, the junkie was evidently critical to the venture in some mysterious way.

"Excuse me for not wanting to watch as someone's afterlife is destroyed," he said, briefly flashing a sour expression at Paige.  "The specifics don't matter so much as the result - regardless of who did what, we are in deep shit, with three major powers after our hides and/or souls.  We must escape now, or die.  If Pandora is able and willing to help us in that, excellent.  Otherwise, we will have to teleport the entire party elsewhere - an exhausting process, even with the large number of Creatures in our party."

Paige waited for Jakob to turn back to the others before whipping a tentacle over so it was directly behind his head. Morphing the tip of the tentacle to resemble a pair of floppy rabbits ears, Paige wiggled them about before retracting the tentacle before the gray wolf could notice.

Epyon looked around most of the people here were in fact creatures like  Peterson had said.  he placed his had on the winded mage and mutter a short revitalising spell. it wouldn't making his young again but it's ease the fatigue of the day and tap some of his body's stored enters and using it to restore his stamina for a while. it was pretty much a win win for the mole as he'd feel better and probably loose a few pounds of unwanted fat.

Epyon wasn't sure why he preformed the spell right then and there but maybe it was the realization that unlike the bird and the spell blade. even the junkie wolf  was some kind of creature from how similar he looked to the bird. the mole and the thife were probably the only beings there. the he remembered to close his upper eyes again. it was like drawing a shade over the room as everyone's inner lights seems to wink out. he wondered if anyone had seen him but at this point it didn't really matter did it? most everyone's had show there colors why should he be different? because he was different that's why. he needed to be careful and that was that. dying once was bad enough he wasn't about to do it again any time soon.

When Penny got inside the hanger the first thing that caught her attention was the large airship, quite naturally since it was so huge. It was only when the cloaked newcomer crouched down beside the large hunk of metal on the floor did she realize that the homicidal loony with the animated garbage minions was trapped beneath it. When she mimed snapping his neck Penny nodded agreement, and kept her crossbow pointed at him in case he tried anything. She'd blow him to bits if he even twitched in a threatening way. Not that she thought he would actually be killed, creatures always stood up for creatures and she didn't expect today to be anything different. She did smile a bit despite the stress when the two cubi started squabbling and Paige made bunny ears behind Pettersohn's head.

Anton landed behind most of the group and walked inside of the hanger folding his wings back to their normal position. He got a sense of suspicion from the group as they entered but he was feeling a little bit better. He took a look around and was in a little bit of awe of the large ship. His attention was then drawn to Paige and Cross and almost blurted out laughing and turned it quickly into a feasible cough.

Witt raised one eyebrow at the hand movements from the cloaked stranger, and blinked. Then he responded. "Yes, the bastard is bothersome, and it'd be downright handy if he wasn't to survive, but I think he might be a friend of the lady in wings, since she knows his name, and she might take it pretty fucking poorly if we were to off him."

He coughed. "Plus that's a bloody big gun she's got there, so I'd rather not be on the wrong fucking end of it, if you get my drift."

Having said his piece, he sidled backwards a bit - at least out of blast radius if the arachnid decided not to take his advice, and shrugged out a knife to clean his nails. He glanced up at the trench-coated wolf, and commented "You've got something in your hair, there." before swapping hands with the knife. When he was done, the knife vanished again, just as smoothly as it had appeared.

Witt's response caused the spider to flinch, and lose all her attention on the grotesque under the magnet for a short while. She looked at him, then blinked with all eight eyes in a strangely telegraphed sequence. Hesitantly, she brought her hands up, then signed a few more times with her hands. It was Khachin sign language, developed by the original mute Khachi people, more advanced and at the same time more compressed than the adapted forms of sign that had been adopted by mutes of other races, who hadn't developed under the same circumstances. Not to mention it was significantly harder to understand. But if this thuggish hedgehog could understand it...
   You understand what I am saying, is that so? The spider's fingers flickered and angled, using a combination of questioning and colloquial form. The ending form to the question, not to mention her expression, should also have told him that she was quite doubtful.

Fal'taq blinked and took a deep breath as the effects of the restoration spell flowed through him. He murmured a few offhand words of thanks to Epyon, but his thoughts were not quite so grateful. Why did he do that, I wonder? What does he hope to gain by helping me like that? He'd glimpsed the winged fox in the fight with the mechanical creatures, then against the Mer. An adequate fighter, Fal'taq thought, but there seemed to be something else about him. Those eyes — he's a Mythos. That might... complicate... matters if I try to suborn him as one of my tools. Perhaps one of the others, then, now that I have seen them fight?

Witt was still a possibility, if you ignored his tongue. The mole watched him as he taunted the unconscious machine-thing lying under the wreckage. The fisher, Light, was another. Whatever her skills as a thief, she was a good shot with her crossbow; but did she use any other weapons? Some of the party, though, were definitely unsuitable. Paige for one: the wolf might act like she was a mere decorative fluff-head, but a 'Cubi was much too dangerous for him to use. Particularly one who cheerfully boasted of eating souls... Pettersohn had been dropping unsubtle hints left and right about his nature: if he wasn't another 'Cubi, or a disguised Angel, Fal'taq would eat his hat. And the Demon, Aisha... he suppressed a shudder. The black jaguar would probably turn him inside out just for daring to threaten her, so his usual methods of persuasion should definitely be avoided.

Edge looked down at the unconscious mechanic and shrugged.

"So do we pull the tin man out from under there or put him out of his misery? He could still be dangerous if he isn't too badly injured."

The jaguar raised an eyebrow at Paige's blatant display of Cubi abilities. He hadn't been present for the more dramatic show during the Mer battle. Was she already comfortable enough in this company to flaunt her race so casually? He shook his head, and his expression soon softened into a smirk at Petersohn's expense.

"If you've pissed off the Mer, then escape over sea could be... interesting."

He jerked his head towards the enormous airship and directed his gaze towards its apparent owner.

"Does that contraption even fly? And do we have supplies enough to make the journey?"

The jaguar was not the first person to have giggled at Cross, and that made him suspicious.  He glanced around, and suddenly noticed the enormous vehicle behind him for the first time.

It was like nothing he'd ever seen before, some monstrous love-child of a dirigible and a VTOL aircraft.  When he glanced back at Pandora, there was awe in his voice.

"My word.  You built that?  On your own?  Without access to a wind-tunnel or a mainframe computer?"  It'll never work, but I guess we'll have to try it, or swim.  I hope she sees our point of view.  Having to kill her and steal it would be a waste.

...Keaton:

Her disbelief at having seen the unknown vessel faded, Keaton quickly edged her way to the giant magnet which currently held Arcwelder immobilized, where Witt was antagonizing the unconscious mechanical-madman. Keaton found it quite fortunate that Arcwelder, to her knowledge, was not endowed with super-strength, and that he wasn't awake to hear some of the insults the diminutive hedgehog was liberally dishing out. Around the time she approached the magnet, she realized that the formerly-absent Cogidubnus was nearing her, and her ears perked. Relief flooded her, and she allowed herself a relaxed sigh. Good, the wolf was in one piece despite his encounter. Keaton didn't want to imagine how she would have had to alter her plans without Cog involved.

He seemed angry, though. He was talking loudly, which quickly agitated Keaton, judging by the way she grimaced and winced. Then it made sense to Keaton when she looked at the vessel one last time. The Mer wanted Pandora because of that thing. There was no other explanation for it; she just couldn't imagine what it was for. All those propellers and jet-things... at first she couldn't think it belonged on the water...

"I got the guy, though!" Cog had said, with maybe just a hint of awkwardly-conceived pride there.

Keaton closed her eyes and muttered begrudgingly, condescendingly, "Yes, Cog. You got him."

It seemed everyone else's attention was momentarily divided from Arcwelder to the matter of whether or not the thing could fly. The idea made Keaton boggle, slightly. Fly? That explained why the Mer were so dead set on finding Pandora. If someone had an alternate method of transportation outside of their "protected" boats, they'd be out of business if it meant evading the high prices and seedy, unscrupulous background. Keaton managed a skeptical sneer. Only an idiot would defy the Mer like that.

Oblivious to how Keaton was looking at her, Pandora glanced to Cross, then grinned. "Well, uh, Axiyne 'elped me a lot with this. Couldn't'a gotten th' shi' finished withou' 'im. 'E got me parts, and worked as a model..." Pandora gestured to Axiyne. "It's m'baby. It should fly... as for supplies" - Pandora glanced to Edge - "I think I've go' some stuff in m'shop. I stockpile stuff. It's all cheap shi', tho', and mostly liquor. I can't afford bull."

Pandora was walking over to the magnet and checking Arcwelder's body for signs of life, much to Keaton's befuddlement. The woodpecker looked rather confused, at first, having no idea if there was some sort of special method of measuring someone who was part machine's life, but tentatively determining him to be alive. Axiyne, the little Gryphon, scuttled over, his head canted quizzically. "Pandora, what are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm tryin' t' figure ou' a way t'get Arc ou' from under 'ere," Pandora explained, much to Axiyne's (and Keaton's) visible shock. She stood up and addressed Tyrannius, assuming he was the strongest one out of all of them due to his immense countenance. "'Ey, you. Big guy; I could use some 'elp over 'ere. C'n y'lift this?"

"WAIT WAIT WAIT, what the hell are you doing?!" Keaton exclaimed. Her ears fell flat and she fixated her face in a snarl, outraged. Why was she helping him?

Pandora looked up at Keaton. She looked kind of confused, again. She probably didn't know why Keaton was so angry, or was wondering why she got angry so quickly. Then she looked slightly intimidated, even as she answered, "Uh, didn't ya 'ear me? I said I'm go -"

"YES I know that!" Keaton snapped in retaliation. "But why are you helping him?! He tried to kill us!" Quite obviously, she mirrored Sal's sentiments about snapping Arcwelder's neck after how he accosted the group, judging by how she gestured to her. Axiyne was watching the movements of Sal's hands with a great deal of fascination.

Pandora frowned in a way Keaton didn't like. She assumed Pandora was belittling their situation. Pandora responded after a moment of consideration, "Look, I know, I know. But I need Arc 'ere. I need more 'elp around the shi', an' 'e knows a lot 'bout mechanics," Pandora narrowed her eyes. "I've been meanin' t'ask 'im f'r a while. It's no' like there're people on th' market t'ask 'bout this. Axiyne's jus' a little guy - no offense, Ax - an' my significan' other..."

Pandora breathed in, then exhaled furiously. It looked as though she was angry, and the way she grumbled only confirmed that. "She's pissed a' me. Wants nothin' t'do wit' me, she said, after she caugh' me wit' the painkillers 'gain. But look, tha's tha'. Arc's comin' wit' us."

"You -" Keaton looked quite aghast. Her ears flattened again, and she snarled, her eyes narrowing. Her chocolate pupils shifted from Arcwelder's prone, vulnerable form, and she felt the urge to run over and rip Pandora's throat open, then storm after Arcwelder start to swell inside of her. She wanted blood, and this bitch was depriving her of vengeance! The only thing - possibly - which prevented Keaton from acting on her impulse was the reminder that they still needed Pandora, and as far as she knew they had to adhere to her wishes. As Keaton struggled to keep her emotions in check, this left Pandora to kneel beside Arcwelder and glance back up at Tyrannius.

"Well?" Pandora asked.


What Witt had picked up from raiding the Mer's corpse was basically an esoteric collection of objects and personal possessions; a small amount of gold, a gutting knife, and a chunk of iron cut crudely into the shape of a wave. A loop of leather, long enough to fashion the trinket into a necklace, was wound through a perforation in the iron shape. Any sufficient magic user could probably detect a faint, but dormant magical pulse emanating from it.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Cross regarded Arc for the first time.  He'd assumed the thing was dead, but now he thought about it he could detect the faint wisps of an unconscious mind.

"If she needs... that... to maintain the ship, I suppose we will have to bring him," he said, trying to appease both Pandora and Keaton.  "We will need to prevent him attacking us, but I'm sure we can do that somehow.  In the worst case, we'll kill him and trap his soul.  With the right kind of container, Pandora will still be able to ask him questions."

Witt raised an eyebrow at the quick signs, and signed back - albeit somewhat rustily, significantly more colloquially, and hence less likely to be used in polite company, or indeed any company you'd find outside your average dockside bar - Ooo, give the lady a big fuckin' hand, there. Yes, missy, I do. It's been a fair bloody while, though, since I last used it.

At about that point, he was suddenly distracted by Pandora's comment about the stores. "Liquor, you say? Did you want some help shifting that shit, then?" He rubbed his hands together. "Somethin' like that, I can get right fuckin' behind that, no trouble."

He grinned, hopefully. "I'll carry the liquor, you carry the supplies?"

Now that he wasn't preoccupied gasping for breath, Fal'taq could pay more attention to the huge interior of the hangar. Including what hung from the scaffolding overhead: he'd glanced up at it when he entered, but no more than that. The mole's eyebrows went up as he realised what he was looking at. "Oh my word," he muttered, "she built one of those? Yes indeed, the Mer would be after her head for such an... unwise move. No wonder that weather-witch was so insistent! Pettersohn and Cogidubnus are right, they must have known about this, or at least suspected." Fal'taq's remarks weren't directed at anyone, but a few of the others were close enough to hear what he said.

Anton's ears twitched as they all pilled into the ever stretching hanger. He loved to see new things, it was the reason why he left his teaching job. He started to take it all in. He had sooooo many questions but he guessed that they had to wait until they boarded the thing. He wanted to know everything about this, how it worked, what spells it used (or if it even had any spells). His body was reflecting his curiosity. His eyes were large and cute as he continued to stare at it. His entire being was in wonder so much that he ran into Fal'taq and fell over him. Being knocked out of his moment of awe, He tried to help the mole up. "I am soooooooo sorry. Did i hurt you?"

 Cog took a furtive look around them room, and sighed.
She does this. Gets distracted, and all. Well...perhaps for the best there. Can't say I didn't fess up or nothin'.

Cog walked a bit closer to the kneeling bird, and leaning over quite closely and coughing quietly suddenly yelled in the bird's ear. "PANDORA! WE NEED TO USE YOUR DAMN AIRSHIP."
He waited a moment for the inevitable explosion.

* * *

Although nobody was there to hear it, the sound of many feet squelching wetly in the mud and rusty, brackish water, and thumping into tinkling pieces of metal and motionless flesh. They stopped for a moment, and all was again quiet in the junkyard.
Two moments later, a starburst flare rocketed into the sky from the junkyard's center, it's blue-and-green fireworks explosion visible from practically the entire Island, a thunderclap in the sky. All eyes in the hangar snapped towards it, the blue-green glow tinting the inside of the metal building for just a moment.

"Well that can't be good." Paige said as the hanger was lit by the flare. "Who wants to go look and see whats that
about?"


Paige willed her wings into her body again.

...Pandora:

Despite how obvious Witt's intentions were, Pandora was perfectly oblivious to his ulterior motives. At the moment she was blinded by momentary gratitude at the concept that she wouldn't have to carry the rest of the liquor into the aircraft alone. Most of it had already been carted inside, but she was hoping in getting in all of it. She was in the process of moving most of her belongings and necessary equipment (including her most beloved inventions and prototypes and the most satisfactory weapons in her armory) on the ship before Navarro alerted her to the skirmish in the junkyard, anyway...

"Oh sure, that'd be jus' great, thanks," Pandora said cheerfully, "I've got most'a th' stuff on th' shi' but there's jus' a bit left..."

Before she could continue that tangent, Cog leaned in and emitted what Pandora perceived to be the vocal equivalent of a bullhorn into her ear. Her reaction was instantaneous; she shrieked and leaped to her comically-oversized feet, her gangly legs pivoting slightly as she struggled to maintain balance. Looking somewhat deranged in her panic, her hands slapping atop her pilot's cap and goggles to keep them plastered to her head, Pandora spun around to face Cog. Her ears only partially conceived his words, but it was more than enough to deserve her reaction.

"WHAT?!" Pandora shouted, her boisterous voice surprisingly intimidating when elevated to such a surprising volume. Probably could be attributed to those lungs of hers. "Why th' FUCK d'you need t' do tha'?!"

Keaton managed to recuperate from Cog shouting so she could interject. "Because, the mob's after us and we need to get to the Kamei'Sin Capital." She said it as though it was the most trivial subject in the world.

Pandora squawked indignantly. "Are y'fuckin' OFF Y'R ROCKER?" Pandora retorted. She snapped her head in Cog's direction. "FUCK, Cog, I can't get the fuckin' MOB after me! Y' know wh -"

"Hey, you happen to be the dumb bitch who decided to go up against the Mer!" Keaton retaliated viciously. She was clearly losing her already limited patience with the woodpecker. "This should be nothing."

The corner of Pandora's eye gave a very unhealthy spasm. "Oh, y'r jus' askin' f'r a bullet in y'r brain, cocksneeze," she snarled, and hefted her sniper rifle. "In y'r eye. In y'r goddamn eye."

"Pandora, don't -!" she heard Axiyne's panicked voice. The Gryphon knew as well as anyone that Pandora did have a tendency to behave on impulse, most especially when angry. If she made a threat, she followed through.

But before she could follow through on that threat, the resounding roar of a deafening thunderclap swarmed her eardrums. Light washed over the interior of the hangar, bathing it in a surprisingly tranquil transition of turquoises and cyans. Her first thought was that the Dragons had finally decided to blow up the island, or someone had invented the Furrae equivalent of an atomic bomb. Or some Mythos had been experimenting with a volatile spell. But as the light started to die down and Pandora realized what it was, she found those earlier options much, much more preferable than their current threat.

Pandora stared in dumbstruck horror at the windows of the hangar. The vestigial light which had once drowned out the monotonous gray clouds in the sky was retreating back into its shriveling heart.

Paige was the first to speak. That seemed to snap Pandora out of her petrified horror. Quickly, she spun around to stare at Paige, her pupils very, very small. "NO!" she shouted, shaking her head. "No no no no no no NO NEED. NO NEED. WE HAVE TO GE' OUTTA 'ERE. NOW." She turned her attention back to Cog. Forcing the kind of saccharine-insincere grin which could be seen on a car salesman, Pandora gave him the thumbs up, although there was a certain desperation to her voice. "Cog, buuuuuddy. My shi' is y'r shi'. Welcome aboard and tally ho and all that. Right?"

She didn't wait for the "right." With that, Pandora frantically sprinted for the nearest ramp which led up to the networks of platforms. "Axiyne!" she shouted. The shellshocked little Gryphon flinched instinctively and glanced up at her. "We're takin' off! Come on! All o' yah! Big guy, get Arc out from under tha' thing!"

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Tyrannus observed in silence, for the most part. Polite behavior dictated that he left such deals to those who obviously had more expertise in such matters, himself usually needing naught but a kind word and an open mouthed grin to get people to be reasonable. Apart from that, Pandora scared him slightly. There are individuals in this world who, upon gaining possession of a firearm, become something new and terrifying as compared to the people they once were. This woman appears to have been born carrying one of those things. Guns were how Civilized people killed each other. He didn't understand them, and she obviously did to a worrisome degree.
However, he didn't let it show. Guests in her home, after all.
To Ty, letting Arc out from under the magnet made sense in terms of outright propriety. Mercy for ones enemies. One doesn't get more "surrendered" than trapped under a large weight. He lifted the magnet with one hand and dragged the steel-clad figure out with the other, hefting him over a shoulder before letting the magnet down.
"Of course, madam." He lumbered after Pandora, shooting a glare at the squabbling cubi in a manner that could only mean, in the politest manner possible, Is now really the time?

Epyon didn't know what that light was but Pandora obviously did. her sudden lets go additude  bothered the fox but he knew enough know that when every was running away or getting ready to run away then wherever you were was not someplace that you wanted to be. Looking around he realizing that the mole might have trouble with the ramps he grabbed him picking him up.

"Do forgive me mister mage but the birds in a rush and we don't want to be left on the ground when she takes off do we?"  With that in mind the began to follow the bird and saurian to the ship. "still..." Epyon mussed as he ran "do we really want to open this box" he wondered aloud as he made his way up the ramps.

"I call dibs on his soul if he acts up." Paige called out after Ty hauled the Junkman out from under the magnet. The succubus then followed Pandora up the ramp and into the airship.

"Wow this is cool." She said once inside "You made this all by yourself?"

Cross looked at Pandora, his eyes narrowing.  The woman was clearly deranged, but that would have to wait.  Whatever the blast outside was, it couldn't be good.  It was most likely some kind of posthumous distress signal from the dead Mer.  Or maybe their companions had found the bodies.  Either way, they had to flee.

"Pandora has already said she'll need his help," he said to Paige, as though explaining it to a child.  "He cannot do that if anyone eats his soul.  If he needs that kind of punishment, we trap it in a Hahnssen jar, so Pandora can still talk to him."

"Now, Ms. Rosendahl... I very much hope that we can be allies, if not friends.  However, I must beg you not to threaten Keaton ever again."  He paused and his voice became grave and sorrowful as if he was talking of a lost loved one.
"You see, I work for Daryil, alias the Honey Monster.  Her mission, if it succeeds, will greatly benefit our own organisation, so we need her to remain alive at all costs.  Whomsoever kills her will have their soul brought before him on a silver platter."  He'll probably keep it as a pet.

"Anyway.  Now we've got that unpleasantness out of the way, we'd best flee.  What do you need us to do?"

 Apparently the wolf knew what the green flare meant as well, and looking at Pandora quickly he grinned widely and returned her thumbs up. "Of course! I'll just go get the shit in the workshop then shall I?"
It was only a moment later when he turned to run for that small wooden shack outside the house that he heard that stupid Cubi start ranting on again about what he would and would not tolerate from the people about to save his very suddenly principled neck. Cog gave him a nasty look as he ran by.
"Shove it up your ass, Pettersohn. Don't bite the hand and all that." he said, thinking very strongly about smacking the Cubi across the back of the head.

The silver wolf disappeared around the corner for a moment, and after a few moments came back carrying two rather large sacks in either hand. Witt noticed that one of them clinked when the wolf took a step.

* * *

The flare did not go unnoticed by the rest of the Island.

Bathed in the light of the green flare, Sheriff Boney and Wilson both watched it from the rather tense atmosphere of the guard house. Papers written in rather strong language, declaiming that whosoever signed these documents was in a shitload of trouble, and would be doing community service for a very long time indeed instead of being thrown over the seawall with a large weight, reflected green light from between the shiny black ink. Wilson stood.
"Maybe we should go and see what that-"

  "You sit the hell down, Wilson."

* * *

Elsewhere on the Island, SWAT teams dropped what they were doing, and after staring at the sky for only a moment began to race towards the origin of the lurid firework. Sirens again began to blare, and most of the entire police force began to move away from the docks area and towards the junkyard.
Linos let out a hissing sigh.

He could see them, even though four walls and a broken window separated him and Izria from the busily searching police force. It'd taken some doing, but his sight was perfectly suited to evasion, and he'd managed to throw them off the pair's trail for a bit. What had made them leave, though...
Linos couldn't see color very well, but he could hear, and there was magic enough in that flare to be seen from miles away. He held his guitar rigidly, the instrument resting on his lap, and vaguely wished for a cigarette.

"Well..." he volunteered. "This could be good anyway. Just as good as a death sentence, yeah?"

Aisha had been standing by herself on the edge of the hangar, having cautiously put her bow onto her back and crossed her arms while the rest debated about whether or not to let the one they called Arcwelder come along with them.  The panther still had her doubts...the bodies skewered, and the welcoming committee...it was easy to see the unconscious--well, it was probably more accurate to call him more a "thing"--was a few parts short in the head.  It was Pandora who decided that perhaps they'd take him.  She had to admit, even not one to follow a more monstrous Creature's way of doing things, the idea of a soul hostage was probably fair enough for him too.

Then her attention shifted up with the others, and the normally-calm feline's eyes widened, round as dinner plates.  "Holy friggin' all-seeing shit," she muttered.  Of all the things they expected to see, was it really an airship?  For a while the panthress had more the idea of a water-bound vessel.  It would have been interesting...the demon herself could fly (or at least glide), but not at the highest distances where one's ears would pop.  Of course it was expected that the use of it was out of the question, after Cogidubnus finally state the point...but then, how were they to...?

Then the flash came...like thunder, the suddenness of which made Aisha's ears ring.  She uncrossed her arms and stood on alert, watching, before Pandora turned around.  To the surprise of some, the avian relented, and quite eagerly.  Now what the hell could be out there...?

And what does it matter yet, chica?  Move your feet.

So, fleet-footed as she could, she did.  Shadowed form was quick, taking the ramp and passing the short banter between the two wolves...looking for something to do.

Witt glanced out at the fireball, shrugged, and signed at the spider-lady After you?, then glanced around to see who was left outside the airship.

He smiled to see Cog heading back in, particularly when the bag clinked, settled his hat on his head, shrugged his spines back into place, and sauntered onto the airship, idly pausing in the doorway to glance back at the few remaining folk left standing behind.

"Well? Get the fucking lead out. You don't think there aren't gonna be people coming to find out who sent that bloody thing up, do you? Sheesh."

And with that, he vanished into the interior, looking for Cog, and the clinking bag...

Cross gave Cog a sharp look.  "Don't be an asshole" is not a valid reply to "How do we help?", you dipshit.  It was getting harder and harder to avoid doing something drastic.  Such a pity Keaton needed him alive.  Anyhow, the ground crew seemed to have done their piece already, so he hopped aboard with the rest.

Pity it's a closed cabin... otherwise Cog could fall out.

Caught up as she was, the spider almost missed Witt's gesture. Even then she just caught things with two eyes. For a moment she stood trying to gather what was going on. Airship. Woodpecker. Honey Monster. Eating souls. Green lights.
   Either I'm hallucinating, she thought, or all this is actually going on, in which case it is completely crazy and will probably make exactly everything go to hell. If I'm hallucinating, it doesn't matter if I get on that ship. If I'm not, I don't like the alternative to it, and I want to be able to say I have the guts to get on that ship. The reasoning itself seemed crazy. Her thought processes seemed distant and disconnected. But they were all she could cling to. So I'm getting on that ship. Funny. It seems to be one of those moments again...
   Managing a little bitter smile, and a last look out the hangar doors, the spider then stepped up and ascended the ramp, entering the airship.
   I'm going to die.

...Pandora:

On her way up the ramp, Pandora glanced incredulously back at Cross, as though she hadn't expected for such a proposal to come out of his mouth. Or, rather, anyone who belonged to this collection of loonies. Seeing someone who exhibited some common sense was rather refreshing.  However, Pandora's momentary gratitude that she ran into someone sane faded when Cross mentioned serving up her soul on a sliver platter. Okay, maybe he wasn't entirely sane after all.

Pandora's pace faltered as she was ascending the next ramp after her immortal soul's well-being was threatened. Axiyne scampered at her heels, sprinting past her, unaware of the current statement. Pandora looked quite distraught, initially, her features wilting at the mention of Daryil and the illustration of the consequences of her further antagonizing Keaton. Her beak hung open. Being quite well-versed in many of the mafia-esque forces that reigned over Furrae's underground, she was quite aware of Daryil's existence. She had to be knowledgeable in those who would possibly want her dead in anticipation of any assaults.

Pandora lifted her index finger, her mouth open as though she wanted to say something. Whatever she wanted to say vanished after a moment's consideration, though, and she paled a little as the idea of her soul being used as a demented Incubus's paperweight for the remainder of her eternal afterlife floated through her head. At least the fucking Mer didn't have soul-stealing technology, as far as she knew. Pandora didn't tolerate being insulted, but at the risk of getting her soul stolen? Fuck, she'd open-mouth kiss someone (at risk of her on-again, off-again girlfriend's wrath) if they wanted her to if it meant she'd get her soul spared.

"Um... 'kay. Y'got y'rself a deal, good sir," Pandora said hesitantly, though sincerely. "No more picking on th'jackal lady. Gotcha. As f'r wha' I need you all t'do..."

Pandora seized the handle of the door in front of her and slid it open. She beckoned the group inside, Axiyne leaping within the aircraft. Keaton gave the aircraft a shaky once-over and then followed inside, just behind Paige. "Jus'... hang tight. I'll take you all where ya need t'go, but I'll need some 'elp around th'ship. Arc'll probably 'elp out with th' mechanics as long as I 'elp 'im get 'is little robot buddies back on their feet... I think I 'ave some parts for that... but th' ship's real big an' I'll need some 'elp around it. Nothin' too big."

~Keaton the Black Jackal

"No problem, Ms. Rosendahl," said Cross politely, with a friendly smile as though he'd just warned Pandora that her shoelace was undone.

"Argh... oof... put me down, you idiot!" Fal'taq wriggled in Epyon's arms until after a few moments he slid free, running to follow the others before his feet even touched the ground. The mole limited himself to showing only irritation on his face. These two might have some important part in Keaton's plan, it might upset her if he dismembered either of them. For now. In the privacy — he assumed — of his own head, though, he was less restrained. That idiot child should be on a leash, he thought savagely as he glanced over at Anton, then to Keaton, Paige and finally Aisha. I wish I could remember more of that old book of Creature lore... do 'Cubi or Demons eat hassenpfeffer, I wonder?

Fal'taq put his grisly musings on hold as he reached the top of the last ramp and and entered the airship's cabin. One last thought ran through his mind. I hope this contraption works...

Penny scrambled up the gangplank after the others. She surreptitiously rolled her eyes at the pompous declarations and threats of Pettersohn, or at least more discretely than the mole. How she would love to introduce Pettersohn to the boss. Someone with enough power to not need to be a petty bully. Still, until such time as she could contact the boss she was glad for the anti-cubi defenses she had been provided with. Although she wished for a flight spell just in case this thing didn't fly better than it looked.

Epyon made no effort to resist Fal'taq bid for freedom. "as you wish" he said moments before the mole slide free. "but i would think that your energy would be best used once on the ship." with that the my fox looked around realizing that like many eccentrics the bird Pandora was not going to leave with out a good portion of her belongings. now to speed their escaped he'd be forced to help move them, or would he? 

ooc: Sorry for absence, but college prep stuff took precedence over my posting in this forum.

Navarro neither knew, nor cared what was going on in the hanger. He was sitting in a corner, eyes closed, and hands clasped. It was only when he heard the clanking of boots on the gangplank when he got up. Silently, he followed the group into the airship and took a remaining seat, placing his rifle next to him.

Tyrannus stepped onto the airship, and looked around. As with many such designs, the inside around the edges was really just a corridor leading to various rooms. The mythos was faced with a conundrum; the cooperation of the junk-comprised man was required, and thus it would be neither prudent nor polite to leave him lying in the hallway at random. However, neither could he be left in comfort to his own devices. Ty was not the best at the whole civilized behavior thing, but he was not a moron.
Fortunately, after a little searching, the problem solved itself.
In a small, salmon-colored cardboard box in what was by far the pinkest room Tyrannus had ever seen, there was a selection of restraints. Some seemed extremely impractical, the silk ones in particular looking as though anybody with some decent upper body strength could snap through them whenever they wanted, but he managed to find a nasty looking set of chains with some fuzzy substance on the cuffs (also pink) that looked as though they would hold the fellow in question. Deftly connecting Arcwelder by the wrist to the luxurious, four-poster bed (again, pink) he left the room. Now what...?
He showed some attachment to his machines. Perhaps bringing two along, in a different room of course, would better warrant his assistance? He glanced back over his shoulder as he went to acquire the devices. He did so hope Pandora didn't mind that he'd used her room.

Well on board, the spider woman lost herself in looking around for a short while, but kept herself close to the main part of the group for obvious reasons anyway. She had no wish to make them think her suspicious, or to lose them from sight only to have them do something foolish or dangerous to her without her knowing. And once she realized that she could not explore the interior of the ship fully, and that it would not matter either way, she focused herself on more immediate matters again. Not that there was much for her to do, it seemed. None of the others seemed either wounded, in need of assistance or particularly interested in her. Which would have suited her fine, if it weren't for the fact that she somehow felt that she had to speed up their departure somehow.
   Finally, she could wait no more. Unfolding her arms from under her breasts and adjusting the frown on her face, the spider stepped away from the wall which she had been leaning on, and sought out Witt. He was the only one she could communicate properly with, it seemed, so he would have to act as her relay to the rest of the group. Once she found the short fellow, she gently seized him by the shoulder and turned him her way. Her hands flashed out in the intricate sign language she was used to.
   If I wish to speed our leaving, whose ass will I have to rake? She wanted to be straight to the point. She had no reason or wish to be anything but blunt as it was. And the formulation on 'rake' was far from the action that's associated with the garden tool.

"Ashley, I have felt a disturbance in the force...", Daryil began, as the lynx handed him a fresh plaice.

"...as though millions of souls screamed out in terror?"

"No," said Daryil, carefully nailing the fish to the wall.

"My Lord?" Ashley sounded puzzled.

"You've been watching Star Wars too much.  Cod."

Without a word, Ashley passed the fox a large cod, which he promptly crucified.

"Actually it was more like a couple of hundred people screaming out in terror and I sense the Family is rather unhappy.  I would say that Jakob has got off to a flying start.  What do you think?"

"Very good, milord," said the Lynx, "...but won't the fish fall off as they rot?"

"That's what makes it fun.  We can take bets on which species hits the floor first."

Hearing that Pandora was in need of Arc, who she assumed was the Junkman, Paige set off to find where the big mythos had left him.

Walking past what she assumed was the armory on board Paige stuck her head in. "Oooh shines, but later."

Spotting the big saurian leaving what looked to be Pandora's living quarters, very pink living quaters. Grinning at TY as she pasted, Paige slipped into the room and closed the door once she saw Arc handcuffed (With fuzzy pick handcuffs no less Oooh!!).

Bringing her wings back into existence Paige wrapped her tentacles around the...'Hmm just what is this guy' Paige thought as she got a tight hold. Picking the handcuffs's simple lock she brought the unconscious being of the floor so that his feet were dangling.

Brining her hand up to his temple, Paige pumped enough healing magic into her captive to wake him up and no more.

"Why hello there." Paige said, grinning with a lot of very sharp teeth.

   The magic did NOT go down well with Arcwelder. As Paige put the 'healing' magic into him, Arcwelder started twitching. Badly. Random fluctuating green glows emitted from around the metal in his head, and green electricity sparked around. He started making a choking sound.
   But he did not wake up.

Witt wandered back from the control room. He'd sauntered in that direction, looking for Cog, and run out of airship to search, so was heading back, poking his head into all the rooms and cupboards he could find.

Either he was going to find Cog, or he was going to find the drinks, sooner or later. Either way, there were all sorts of interesting corners to look into, so he wasn't bored.

Being cornered, as it were, in passing, he paused, then responded to the spider lady. "Fucked if I know - and that's only if I'm lucky. I'd say find that Were Cock and ask her. She's made herself fucking scarce, but since I'm looking for the drug-addled skinny bastard of a wolf, I might run across her as well. Want to tag along? Either we'll find the fuckers or we'll be out of the blasted way while they get things done."

Poking his head into the very pink room in time to see the sparks off Arcwelder's head, he raised one eyebrow at Paige, and commented "If you want to fuck the bastard, do it after we get the fuck off the bloody ground, hmm? Until then, put a gods-damned ribbon on him and dump him in a corner. He probably needs a bloody chance to sleep off the arse-raping headache. Have you seen that fucking druggie? I'm sure he's got a drink, and I could murder one, I swear."

Just a little bit shocked at the rater annoying result of her magic fizzling, Paige was caught off guard by Witt.

"Gods he wishes he was that lucky...But your right I think he isn't going to be much help right now. I like the ribbon Idea thanks!" Paige grinned at Witt. "I'll help look I got nothing better to do."

Summoning a spool of fluro pink ribbon Paige set about hog tieing Arc and then tossing him towards a corner.

"Right so where do we look first, Witt wasn't it?"

The spider looked a little astounded and less than charmed by the copious amount of profanities that managed to leave Witt's mouth in the lapse of a few short sentences. If he thought he was impressing anyone, he was fooling himself. But at least he got his point across. In response, she just shrugged, and fell in behind the hedgehog, looking over him and into the room where, evidently, Paige was molesting the ugly figure from before. When the Cubi decided to join them instead, she couldn't help but feel a bit uncomfortable, but she barely showed it and just stepped back from the door, waiting for the other two.

"Yah, I'm Witt. You said you're Paige, right? Sod if I know where the hell he's gone to. I've looked towards the front of this fucking contraption, but nada." He glanced around, and took his helmet off to scratch his head.  "Which leaves the back half, and the other blasted levels. God alone knows how bloody many of those there are, but there can't be too fucking many, or we'll end up outside the gods-forsaken ship."

He put the helmet back and waved a hand at Sal. "The spooky lady, there, wants to help out, too, so she's looking for the Were to ask her what the hell she wants done. Probably a good plan, but we'll see who the fuck we find first. Or what."

He shrugged, and turned back to his search, pausing only momentarily to sign to Sal If you pry into the doors on that side, I'll poke into the fuckers on this side, and we'll catch up down at the end and see if we found anything, ok?... with ribald, if not out and out licentious, meanings inherent in "at the end", "pry", and, if you stretched the idea a little, "anything", and "poke" as well.

He turned, then turned back, and quickly signed Amazing how it all comes back to one, isn't it?, grinned - quite evilly - at the spider, and sauntered off.

It was hard picking up on the spider mythos' mental unease of her, but Paige caught it and turned to Sal. "I'm sorry I don't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. As Witt here said I'm Paige you are? Just think it I don't know signs sorry..."

Half turning to the hedgehog Paige pointed out a sign with an arrow labeled 'Galley'. "Cog had the liquor right? I'd start off there." she said smiling.

"But as for Pandora? I don't know do you want me to look upstairs?"

Penny had somehow managed to lose sight of everyone before she reached the top of the gangplank. As odd as most of the creatures in the group were they had probably scattered and were tearing through the place like kids in a toystore. The fisher could almost feel bad for Pandora and her property if she wasn't just as loopy seeming as the rest. Just as she was about to pick a direction to start searching the big mythos appeared and was making his way back to the gangplank. "Um, sir," always good to be polite to someone so much larger than her. "Do you know where everyone is gathering for the ascension?"

Ty gave a start at Penny's approach. Odd, really. You'd think I'd notice a being in this company. "Hrm... Actually, I don't think I do." He smiled politely, again remembering a split second in not to show any teeth, "I shall have to ask the captain about it as soon as I'm done retrieving her associate's devices. Rrr..." He tapped at his chin thoughtfully. She seemed like a nice sort, and suggesting that she simply find someplace with things to hang on to struck him as unsuitable. "Try heading toward  the front of the vehicle. I would presume that's where Pandora is, and it would stand to reason that wherever she would be would be safe for furrae presence during takeoff. Now, if you'll excuse me I should probably finish seeing to the angry young man's devices before we need to leave." He continued along the gangplank and, with no small amount of rearranging and sudden grabs at things falling out of his grasp, hefted the five zombiebots. Hoping the ugly scrape of one of them being dragged along the floor by his tail he went back, wondering just where he would put these.

   In the pink room, green electric bolts started crackling around Arcwelder. He twitched a little as the bolts raced around his body, mostly around his metal parts. On the metal side of his head where an eye would be, a green light flickered, then came on. Arcwelder shifted a little, still bound tight, but his mind wasn't fully 'rebooted' and he thus didn't consciously register anything around him. Other parts of him did though. Part of his metal arm unfolded, revealing a little circle saw. In short order, Arcwelder was free and his bonds in pieces on the floor. He just stood around for a moment with a blank stare on his face. Eventually, his mind finally engaged. He finally realized where he was, but all he knew was that it wasn't his home.
   He didn't like it. Not because it was all pink. Because there was no metal, no machines.
   'Where...where am I?" He sputtered out, turning and looking around. "Where...is my home? Where are my friends?" He started panicking, and stumbled around. "I want my friends! I want my home! Where are they?" He then ended up stumbling out into the metal hallway. Now in a somewhat-familiar environtment, he calmed a little, but was still uneasy. He took a few steps, then stopped abruptly. He turned towards one of the walls. He walked up to it, and placed his hands on it. His 'eye' suddenly got brighter.
   "Machiiiiiine!" He said to himself. He pressed his body against the wall. "BIG machine!" Being so attuned to metal, robots, machines and the like, Arcwelder could almost feel the whole ship. "Talk to me machine, talk to me...let me know what you sound like..." Arcwelder stood in his position for a moment, then set off at a fast pace.
   In short order, he found himself in the ship's main engine room. Arcwelder stood in awe at the mammoth machines, maze of pipes, and other things that greatly attracted him. His 'eye' was a tiny dot of green super-brightness. He walked around the engines and pipes and all other things, liking the place more and more. Eventually, he noticed areas that seemed rushed, neglected, or could just be made better.
   Arcwelder's metal arm then unfolded. In a second, it was no longer an arm, but a writhing mass of spiderlike or tentaclelike tools. Though they were rusty like the rest of his metal, that certainly doesn't mean they aren't effective. Arcwelder immediately set to work on the nearest section that could use attention. He just did what came naturally to him.
   Working for some time, Arcwelder toiled all around the engine room, tweaking, optimizing, retooling everything he could reach, and occasionally adding a touch of his ill magic. He didn't really understand what he was working on, or even who it belonged to. He didn't care. It wasn't his home of mountains of scrap, junk, and rusting machine carcasses, but it would do.
   Pandora should get an odd surprise when she finally starts her ship and reads the engines operationg a few pars above expected paramaters.

Epyon watched the creature and beings (though he used the term loosely). a mage a thief thew clocked woman whom was mute. he was almost certain that she was some kind of inset or maybe and mythos like him. but still now was the time to garb random stuff and shove it on the craft and hope that contrary to appearances it could get off the ground. Epyon busied himself grabbing large heavy barrels of what he hoped where either water of fuel.

The spider obviously got Paige's message, but the moment she mentioned 'thinking' the response back to her, the arachnid felt the urge to execute another facepalm maneuver. It seemed that the Cubi hadn't thought further than the emotions, or she'd have felt. It was impossible for anyone to register her thoughts from afar. She'd been 'processed' to just that effect...
   Seeing as how the hedgehog seemed to be the only one she could communicate with properly, and he had seen it fit to leave, and furthermore she didn't give a dirty nickel about much save getting out of there, the spider thus realized she should see to two main tasks; firstly, to get something she could write on, and secondly, to find whoever was responsible for actually making them depart and jostling them a little. Having concluded that, she began walking toward the front of the ship, making occasional stops to look around for any sign of a pen or paper, or a bushy yellow tail or pink feathers.

Some of the group might not even have noticed Fal'taq slip away as soon as he entered the airship: that was just what the mole intended. His spells of concealment might not be as efficient as the one he thought he'd noticed Pettersohn use back at the docks, but he only needed to be hard to notice for a few seconds before he was out of sight. A little quick exploration was called for. No doubt the others would soon be tramping about the airship, poking their snouts into everything; for now, a general idea of what was where would suffice.

As Witt investigated all the unlocked doors along the corridor, he met Fal'taq coming the other way. "Ah, Witt," the mole said with a nod that could have been mistaken for friendly or polite in poor light. "Have you seen the bird-Were, or either of our "gallant leaders" anywhere aboard this contraption? There is at least one more corridor above this one, but I have not found them yet." He didn't say anything else, though, about what he had found. Let the hedgehog make his own discoveries: if he showed enough initiative, he might be useful enough not to dispose of later.

Witt glanced at the mole, and responded to the urbane request "Nope. The bastards'r fucking hiding, I think. Either that or they're bloody looking for me in the same fucking way I'm looking for them. The lass with the hands is looking for that furless rugmuncher with the rifle and the hammy accent; said something about being fucking helpful, and up and bloody vanished."

He glanced around, and, noticing the galley sign Paige had earlier commented upon, just -after- he'd left, he continued "Ah, fucking brilliant. That'll be where that motherless bastard is hiding!"

Why is this taking so long?  Cross fretted as he walked through the aircraft.  His own natural curiosity for mechanisms had taken him to the engine rooms.  The junk-monster seemed to be harmless enough at the moment, tinkering with the ship's systems, but that meant it was no longer guarding the yard.

They'll be here soon.  Arcwelder is on board so he won't stop them.  And they have that gods-cursed energy weapon!  If this thing is using hydrogen for lift, we'll go up like a fucking bomb!

...Pandora:

The room everyone had entered once they first stepped onto the vessel was a very large, hollow chamber, not really impressive or particularly furnished. It was easy to assume that after completion of her beloved aircraft, Pandora had minimal time to decorate aside from a few rudimentary chambers. Sleek metal composed the structure of the chamber and the various parts built into the walls, as well as the interiors of the hallways branching away from that chamber. Once she entered the airship, Pandora immediately made her way toward another hallway, one she had memorized rather intimately. On the way, she adjusted the gloves encasing her comically large hands with a methodical disinterest, tugging the strap looped around her wrist a little lower.

Up a few ramps and walkways was her destination: another chamber almost resembling the cockpit of an ordinary airplane. Instead of a mundane leather chair was something a bit more grandiloquent: a throne of some sort, large enough to accommodate Pandora's gawky and disproportionate body, and in her signature shade of pink, placed before a giant glass dome-shaped window and a wide system of control panels. Each control panel was encrusted with buttons, levers, and other mechanisms undoubtedly intended for manipulating the airship. Considering Pandora's ostensibly unassuming countenance, it was an unnaturally complicated sort of thing to see. The aging ashtray, still filled with vestigial scraps of charred detritus and nest to a wide variety of cheap-looking cigarettes (and the occasional cigar), resting on a table safely away from anyplace it could cause any damage, surrounded by other articles of garbage added a certain amount of humanity to the otherwise unbelievably mechanized cockpit. At the same time, it was one of the only glaring imperfections in the otherwise, uncharacteristically immaculate chamber.

Pandora strode over to the throne, moved it around with a flamboyant twist of her wrist, and then took her seat, cracking her knuckles outward in a practiced motion. For the majority of the time people were loitering around the airship, she spent that time preparing, rearranging everything that wasn't in place and flipping a few switches in the panels above her. They were easily accessible with her long, gangly arms. Most of those switches slid some of the preparatory engines into place or activated various safety settings on the airship. Through the window, Pandora could get an excellent view of the hangar stretched before her, as well as the nose of the airship, which the cockpit was nestled above.

Another switch activated something in particular. The giant metal doors looming before the airship started to creak open, forced to life by some sort of mixture of magical-mechanical trigger. The gateway slid open soundlessly, albeit with grandiose slowness which Pandora couldn't be arsed to care about. By the time the doors opened, everyone was in the airship, or so she had assumed. Judging by the little radar she had, it could detect all the presences on the ship - the reading couldn't specify the identities of those aforementioned presences, but the number was precisely the amount she had counted before, including her and Axiyne. Amazing, how magic and machinery could be mixed, given the potential. Another fine example was about to demonstrate itself. Grasping the sinuous neck of what appeared to be a large funnel, its opening flared outward, Pandora directed it toward herself.

She spoke into it, and her voice was warped from her exaggeratedly-accented inflection to a pleasantly-accented and attention-grabbing murmur usually chosen for documentaries or announcing. Pandora's enhanced voice was amplified and projected throughout the airship, centered on the rooms the presences had been indirectly detected on the radar.

"Attention. The LZ II Perihelion will begin taking off now. Please, for safety concerns, please find a secure place in whichever room you are in to stay in until the ship is airborne. Thank you."

Pandora heard the shuffling of talons behind her, and then Axiyne appeared to her side, seating himself in a smaller but very cozy-looking chair (a bit like a miniature throne) built beside her own. He leaned back, flexing his wings and fluttering them into a comfortable position against his back. Quickly, with ambidexterity rarely witnessed in a Gryphon, he started to tweak and adjust a few levers and buttons on his side of the control panels, finally slapping a large button hooked to a more conspicuous device among the cockpits. Pandora watched the little meters and gauges indicating the Perihelion's status roar to life, a sudden, anticipative shudder flashing through the foundations of the airship as the engines started to piston into activity. As Pandora observed the parameters, she realized that, much to her surprise, the activity and quality was far beyond her original expectations, or what was demonstrated in the few tests she'd staged. Of course, she had never flown this thing before – everything was mostly speculated, and calculated precisely by measuring the power produced by the engines. According to those assumptions, the level of power previously achieved was enough to lift the Perihelion's massive body into the sky, but with these readings...

It was probably enough to maneuver the Perihelion past any land-bound adversaries. Smirking wickedly, Pandora pushed up a few more levers, and pressed one last button, and the Perihelion started to move.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

As Eypon brought up the last barrel containing quantities of some dubious, paint-varnish smelling substance, the main hatch began to close behind him with a slight sucking sound. As the zombie set the metal drum down, the entire plane seemed to jerk for just a moment, making the barrels wobble dangerously for a moment, before the ride smoothed out somewhat.

Everyone milling about in the hallways would notice the way the ship was set up was rather straightforward. Each level was made up of three main hallways stacked on top of each other, and each serving a different purpose for the ship. Beneath them was the engine deck, which was accessible by a ladder placed surreptitiously at one end of this hallway, and largely filled with only cargo space and the engines themselves. This deck that they were on seemed almost unfinished, somehow, as though opulence would have been something to be installed later - branching out from this hallway were numerous rooms, and in the middle was another hallway that led to yet another corridor. Witt noticed that the wolf seemed to have disappeared in that direction.

Poking about in the engine room was sounding less and less a good idea to Cross as the various mechanizations roared to life, almost making the incubi wince at the outrageous noise the engines began to make. Around him, mechanical parts began to click and whirr, and strange liquids inside various pipes gurgled for a bit.

Above them all, however, Pandora and Axiyne sat in the control room, the third hallway that was placed above the other two. In front of them was a giant domed window, and was clearly designed so that a brave viewer could walk out onto the flat glass.

* * *

All around the town, the sound of pounding feet and jangling weapons could be heard running towards the junkyard, towards where the green flare had gone off. The entire mustered police force of Holiday, which after the earlier events of the day consisted of almost every police unit on the Island, the mercenaries that belonged to the trading company, and the special SWAT unit all heading in a ground towards that pile of metal and scrap.

Inside the junkyard, webbed feet slapped quickly across muddy ground and then under the hole in the chain-link fence, running desperately towards the open hangar with weapons raised.

   Arcwelder had continued tinkering around right up until he noticed Cross standing in the same room. Arcwelder's eye immediately lit up more.
   "No!" He cried, rushing to the mechanical module nearest to Johan, and throwing himself over it. "Mine! My machines! Mineminemineminemine! I found them! They're mine! Not yours! Go away! Gogogogogo! Go! Leave me alone! My new home! Not yours! All mine! My machines! My-"
   Arcwelder was suddenly cut off as Pandora's amplified voice came throuhg the engine room. He instantly stopped raving, slowly getting back to the floor, and craning his head to look directly up at the ceiling.
   "Pan...dor...a?" He said, very slowly. He had recognized her voice.
   Then the engines finally began rumbling, lowly, then gathered in power as they cranked up to starting capacity. Arcwelder watched, utterly and completely entranced by what, to him, was one of the greatest spectacles he had ever experienced. His broken mind had completely lost the fact that Johan even existed in that room.

Aisha, being her old unnoticeable self, was never much for chores; or whatever work that was required of everyone else to do...at least people already seemed to get a jump on exploring the rest of the ship.  The demonic panthress certainly didn't waste time on taking that idea as well.  At least perhaps she could find a seat far away from certain foul-mouths.

The interior did leave her slightly impressed, even though it was rather plain in appearance.  The demon, though she had wings and minimal flying experience, did always prefer staying on the ground.  What would it be like once this gargantuan thing made the impossibility a reality and started lifting off the ground?  Elevator, she guessed when it came to thinking about what it would feel like, and hung around behind the group for a while.  Her ears caught a few anomalies of sounds around the walls, though they were rather indiscernible.

Ears pinning back to her skull, Aisha almost felt like falling asleep before deciding to kick herself away from the wall and start exploring the place...as a feline was wont to do.  She craned her head up over the vast ceiling above.  The other floors could have something interesting.  Hell...who knows if they might mind a few things missing.  From the slight grin on her face, one could tell that her instinct for adventure was still quite strong.

Then the voice came, amplified and echoing around for as far as could be heard.  All present and accounted for then, I wager...

The lurch came rather suddenly, alongside the feeling through Aisha's being...like hearing, but more innate.  It could have been the growling of the engines swiftly coming to life, or it could have been the way that she remembered--and hoped--that it could escape whomever was sure to pursue them.

Maybe it's just airsickness, dammit.  With a growl, she grabbed the nearest stable thing and braced herself as things moved.

Fal'taq was just about to reply to Witt when Pandora's announcement echoed through the airship. At least, he thought it was Pandora's voice, although the accent was very different from what he'd heard from her before. The mole snorted and looked around the bare corridor. "Hold on to something, the woman says," he muttered. "Hold on to what? There isn't much furniture on board, I hope at least the engines are more finished than some of these rooms are!"

Paige was a little put off that the spider woman didn't immediately respond. Putting out a few magical feelers Paige sensed that the arachnid mythos actually had a closed mind. 'Well thats rather annoying' she thought with a slight frown.

As Witt left to find Cog, Paige headed up the stairs in the interest of exploration of this strange vessel. She had just reached the upper deck when Pandora's message echoed though the airship. Being in the hallway meant there was nothing to hang onto, and as the Perihelion started to move Paige hurried to the room she could see at the front end.

As she reached what she assumed was the bridge of this strange craft, Paige realized she didn't want to touch anything  and so braced herself in the doorway.

Cross morphed his inner ears as the engines came online, deadening the sound.  Ducking out of sight of the junk-monster as he was distracted, the incubus braced himself for takeoff.  It wasn't hard... the rough, unfinished interior left a lot of gaps in the structure where various fittings would have gone.  And if all else failed, the option remained to use his wing-tentacles to steady himself.

Lets see what this thing can do! he thought eagerly.

Moments after Paige, the coat-clad spider entered, looking around with her red-black eyes and watching the ongoings inside the cockpit. The junkyard was coming into view through the windows, and for a moment she wondered whether if the craft was adequately insulated and pressurized. She didn't appear to even mind the movements of the vessel though. Even though the ends of her coat were beginning to slant and shift, and the machine lifting and turning was easy enough to feel for everyone, the spider appeared to be standing as steadily as if it had been solid, unmoving ground. She even began walking, after a short pause.
   It was with obvious ease that the spider thus strode up to Pandora. She almost leaned over the were's arm, but when she observed the apparent anxiety on her face and the busy manner with which she was attending to her task, she hesitated. She didn't fully understand how anyone could be so occupied with just one task though, so after a little while she gently tapped the woman's arm with a claw, and then made a few movements as if she were writing something on a drawing pad, then looked at Pandora with a questioning face, all eight eyes watching whether if she had managed to catch her attention.

When the announcement that she had to hold on for dear life boomed through the air Penny had just stepped into a storeroom looking for the wolf. She grabbed onto the shelving as the ship began to vibrate and dearly hoped that the shelves were securely attached and that the items on them were properly stowed so that she wouldn't be dodging boxes as the airship ascended. This wasn't her prime choice of a secure spot. She certainly wasn't a lucky Penny today.

Epyon was more then a little grateful to feel the ship move below him though he had to grab a wall to steady himself for a bit. "at last" he muttered the he was not aware of anyone being there to hear him. taking a moment to secure the barrows in place Epyon decided to  try ti fine the upper layers of the ship until he had a sudden craving. he was getting hungry. not a good think. "better hit the galley" he said starting off " if i can find it that is"

Witt moved off through the cross-corridor, reaching the far end - and sighting the galley - just as the take-hold warning went off. Ignoring it, he took two steps towards the galley, rocking slightly with the light movement of the ship... and promptly tripped over the sack Cog (presumably) had left outside the galley, started rolling down the corridor, and, exacerbated by the acceleration of the ship, accelerated down the entire length, arriving at the end with a thump, and, of course, a profanity.

"Gods damned messy bastard of a motherfucking wolf!"

He unrolled, pulled himself to his feet, swore viciously, again, and stumped back up the corridor - holding on to the walls, this time. Turning into the galley, he paused in the doorway, and glanced around, looking for likely places to find the clinking bottles that Cogidubnus had been carrying. Or, of course, Cogidubnus himself, if there wasn't anything better around.

it too a little searching to find that place but  following his intestines and his memory of water ship.  when he arrived they he found first that the galley was not empty and second that he was still hungry and seeing the hedgehog there wasn't killing his appetite. "hey er... Witt wasn't it" he asked by way of greeting before he starred going though the cabinets. he needed something to curbing this craving he was getting. Why was he getting hungry so soon?

...The Galley:

The galley of the Perihelion was a surprisingly spacious room. While made of a compact and sleek metal like the rest of the ship, it sacrificed breathtaking precision for quaintness. Suitable for a galley, many addendums such as shelves, cabinets, closets, and other storage capacities were built into the walls. Bolts and shackles were used to secure the hatches and doors and keep the contents from spilling out. A counter was built underneath an outcropping of shelves, possibly where food was supposed to be prepared. Two doors were at the other end of the room: one large and metallic, emblazoned with bold print reading "Fridge," with a glass porthole over the wording, while the other was similar to the automatic doors seen throughout the airship. "Drink Storage" was labeled on the door.


...Pandora and Axiyne:

Despite her internal glee at how smoothly the procedures were going thus far, Pandora remained uncharacteristically composed throughout the process. Her gaze was cemented on the gauges and meters which estimated the Perihelion's performance, relentless aside from the moments she'd glance up through the window to watch the closely-approaching hangar exit. In her excitement and concentration, it was feasible to imagine her being unaware of Sal's entrance. After all, the spider was just about silent in her entry.

Up until Sal interrupted her task by tapping her arm, Pandora remained quite oblivious. The woodpecker-Were yelped and jumped in her seat, nearly stumbling comically out of her throne as she lost whatever balance she maintained with her gawky, disproportionate body. Fortunately, the presence of her hands against the dashboard, safely away from any buttons which would disrupt the immaculate procedure, kept her from falling over. Beside Pandora, Axiyne's reaction was less exaggerated: all he did was glance up at the spider-woman he was fascinated with earlier.

Despite her shock, Pandora didn't act impolitely. She reached up, adjusting her pilot's cap, and glanced at Sal. "Oh, it's - um -" she didn't know Sal's name. Damn. "- you."

Come to think of it, the gal didn't say much of anything. Must be shy or a mute - that latter she assumed when she remained persistent in her silence by illustrating, with her hand movements, her need for a piece of paper and a writing utensil. "Y'want... oh." Pandora scratched her head from under her hat. "Gotcha. Here."

She reached over and grasped a clipboard, with a stack of papers pinned efficiently to it, resting off to the side with one hand, then retrieved the matching pen. The first sheet of paper on the clipboard seemed to be some overly complicated scales which indicated predictions, estimations, and approximate levels of power necessary to achieve flight; the second one some sketches equivalent to the drawings Leonardo da Vinci made of his inventions, complete with measurements, perhaps a history of possible flying machine designs; and the third a few scribbles of bunnies which appeared quite primitive in comparison to the earlier etchings of flying machines and some tic-tac-toe games Pandora seemed to have lost. The rest of the papers were blank.

"Now, I recommend y'sit tight. This ride is goin' t'get bumpy," Pandora told Sal, and then turned back to the dashboard.

Cracking her knuckles outward again, flexing each calloused and scarred finger, she seized a pair of levers and pushed them forward, until the lights resting over their slots illuminated affirmatively. The Perihelion shuddered around them, then, suddenly, it accelerated with a great burst of speed.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

"Don't talk about my mother, than-" the wolf paused, looking out from the side of an open refrigerator. He gulped. "I...uh..."

Cog was suddenly distracted by the pile of bags at his feet. He had already emptied one, it being mostly full of the sort of cheap food that Pandora could afford (at least, that she could afford while building something like this) - various colored packages of sunflower seeds, and a few small packets of the sort of meats that were put into the bargain bin a few days before the trash can. He brushed the other bag aside and started pulling bottles out of the other, equally-large bag. Two bottles of some clear liquid went into the fridge with a small sound of metal on glass before the ship lurched, knocking Cog backwards off his feet and bringing the contents of the fridge crashing down on top of him.

* * *

The group of Mer standing in front of the Hangar entrance paused abruptly when they saw the Perihelion idling inside the metal building with a deafening roar, twin rotors at it's sides picking up speed and it's engines beginning the long, slow whine of powerful turbines warming up. It was the screeching of some unreal beast of nightmare, and when the ship suddenly lurched forward, the entire fifty Mer took a step back as one. The engines began to scream as the ship began to roll forward, jerkily at first, and then gaining smoothness. The ship, sleek and silver, and a painting of a gryphon flying in front of the sun on the side, rolled it's way out into the sunlight.
It was the first airship to see light in a hundred years.

  One of the Mer, standing in the back and wearing a large, grey pea-coat jacket snarled something that sounded like a mixture of a hack and a drowning badger, and snatched a long-barreled rifle from a mer standing at his side. He raised the gun, and as one, the rest of the Mer raised their weapons as well. One of the Mer fired. Flames shot out from the barrel.
Somewhere on the ship, something went "plink".

If the Mer could have seen into the cockpit, they would have seen Pandora give something like a smirk and a giggle through the large-paned glass dome, somehow saying What, you think I didn't think anybody would shoot at it? as she flipped levers and knobs.
More of the Mer opened fire, gouts of flame rising from each barrel as they shot. The chorus of gunfire was deafening, but the sound of the screaming turbines could be heard still. The ship seemed to suffer nothing more than a scratch on the paint.

It didn't seem quite possible, but the turbines seemed to scream yet louder, and the whirl of the propeller blades became simply a blur, a sort of semi-transparent disc attached to the rotors. As close as the Mer were to the ship, they felt the gust coming off the blades strongly, the wind even knocking a few of them down. Pieces of trash went flying, clearing the runway like the world's larget leaf blower. This seemed to continue for some time, until something seemed to shift about the ship - somehow, through the metal that could repel numerous rounds of fire, something glowed blue through it.
The ship bobbed up, and back down, and then suddenly it wasn't touching the ground anymore.

Even the Mer paused. This hadn't happened in over a century. And despite what they had been told of what such a ship would do to them, they had to pause in admiration for just a moment. It was, very simply, amazing.

The ship gained altitude swiftly, quickly surpassing the height of the hangar itself, and then the tallest buildling upon the Island - until finally, it was truly in the sky. With another strange roar, like the scream of some primeval beast, the propellers shifted, falling forward.
And the ship began to move, flying higher and faster with every moment.

* * *

Around the town, people paused to look up - for the first time, the screaming of an airplane engine could be heard roaring through the skies. Here, among all places, it was impossible to forget what that meant - the Mer would be furious, and somebody was going to be bleeding by the end of the day.
But just for a moment, it was amazing.

* * *

Farther down the street, around two shallow furrows in the ground, a soft, almost background-esque song played softly as the people craned up to look in the sky, and a chitinous hand darted out to grab something off the ground before the music seemed to fade into the distance.

Witt glanced at the grey fox, and nodded. "Aye. And your moniker would be...?" As he spoke, he moved in from the doorway, with the intent of glancing into each cabinet as Epyon opened them. At that point, Cogidubnus spoke up from behind the fridge door. Witt gave Cog an even look, and muttered "Well, fucking respond rather than skulking off." He glanced down at the bag, and his eyes lit up.

He reached for one of the bottles Cog was extracting from the bag.

Unfortunately, just as he did so, the ship gave a mighty lurch, and threw him through the door. Fortunately, it wasn't the Fridge door. He landed with a thump and swore. "Cocksucking motherfucking son of a BIT.... "

Sudden silence ruled, as he looked up from his landing spot. Covering the walls, all carefully tied back soas not to shake loose in transit, was bottle after bottle after bottle - rows upon rows of them, containing what, judging by the hand-written labels, could probably be used fairly effectively to clean out the engines, in a pinch. Or to remove adhesive.

Climbing carefully to his feet, and holding on to the scenery, Witt gazed at the rows of bottles with a look very much like awe on his face. "Oh, that's more motherfucking like it! Gods damn! Fucking A! We've just hit the motherlode!"

He reached up, and extracted one - just one - bottle from the rack. Cradling it carefully in one hand, and holding on firmly with the other, he pulled the cork out with his teeth, spat it on the floor, and upended the bottle.

And stood there, braced solidly, while the bottle drained smoothly, evenly, and, above all, completely.

He finally brought the bottle down, licked his lips, belched, and reached over to put it back where it came from. "Ahhhh. Now that was a nice drop. Heavenly..."

And he reached for a second bottle.

 Rustling softly in the meat and sunflower seeds for a moment, Cog looked bug-eyed at the hedgehog down almost an entire bottle of Pandora's special and very probably illegal brew. He sat up abruptly. Meat and seeds rustled and scattered about him.

"Look, before you burn a hole through your shirt with that stuff, help me get this stuff in the fridge. Pandora'll be pissed if you drink all that anyway."

* * *

The Perihelion continued its flight unhindered - for those sitting in the cockpit, or who were near a window, the ground of the town began to form a small grid, and it was impossible to even make out the waves anymore. The thrumming of the turbines and engines could be heard and felt throughout the entire ship.

Epyon was wretched forward and had he not been holding the cabinet door op pen he'd ave likely been knocked to the back of the galley wit the hedgehog and wolf. as it was he found himself bombarded with the contents of the cabinet which included lots of jars of spices and some bags of grains. Some whats disgruntles he started to pick them when he saw Witt downing something that was probably bad for his health and the wolf standing among  a large amount of packaged meat and seeds. sunflower seeds. it figured. ignoring the  mess that was partly his fault he walked over  nodded a short curt nod the the wold and  rummages the the meat picking out something that looked tasty. he could have cooked it but he didn't feel liked it. he open the pack and nearly began to eat it right then and there but stopped himself. first hes' clean up this mess then the find some place more private to  feed his hunger. away for the eyes of his allies.

As Fal'taq felt the floor begin to vibrate, he suddenly realised he was almost exactly between doors in the empty corridor; the nearest was several yards away. He just had time to reach it and cling to the door frame, when the floor under his feet lurched and bucked. From somewhere behind him there was a loud crash, followed by even louder swearing, probably Witt.

As her claws dug into the back of a seat, Aisha waited until the ship had nearly halted in its ascent and was going a little more smoothly.  Smooth, that is, except for the humming engines that made themselves present in waves beneath her bare feet and even across the very air.  But at least she was glad that no airsickness had developed after all.

With a sigh, the demon stood up and looked around.  Most of the others had departed for their own explorations...pretty much all of them, as she saw none in the chamber with her.  Her hearing was compromised with the airship sounds, but she could almost swear that there was the sound of an impact of some sort.  Her ears pinned, and she decided to keep them there until she was used to the atmosphere.

For now, there was the curiosity on where the others were gathered; those who seemed competent enough to Aisha from the beginning.  Perhaps the cockpit.  With a hum, she started up the levels of stairs and past cabins and rooms, until finally she reached about the epitome passed a good-sized window from which to pause and stare out of.

Outside, the land looked like a small moving map.  The panther could pick out distinguishable land and water forms, things constructed with a person's hands, and any life forms themselves were nearly gone from sight.  Her head tilted...what a sight the ship must have made, making birds faint at the very appearance of this alien thing in their midst.

"So now what..." she muttered...with the thickness of her accent coming in quite apparent when she wasn't bothered to speak clearly, it even felt to her like she was saying something else, while the concepts still formed in her mind.  It was too easy like that to get lost in her mind when bored.  Her claw traced the pattern on one of her bracers.  "Don't think I really trust this monster, but for once it's nice to imagine being right out of reach."

Cross, who had developed a habit of taking sabbaticals in other planes when the burden of his rule became a chore, was likely the only person aboard who had ever flown in an aircraft before, but even he had never flown in a combat situation.
Judging from the turbulence they were under attack from the Mer and their allies.  This was to be expected, of course - the very concept of an aircraft was an affront to their monopoly.  He offered up a prayer to the gods that whatever enchantments and armour Pandora had fitted the craft with would hold - adding under his breath that the energy weapon would not be recharged before they had left the island altogether.

As the ship's motion seemed to settle down and become less erratic, Cross removed himself from his impromptu bracing and turned his mind back to the problem of Cogidubnus.   He would have to be tackled soon before Cross lost his temper and did something regrettably permanent to him.  Gods willing, we can come to some sort of gentleman's agreement, he thought.  If not... Well.  I would not like to be in his position.
Keaton obviously needed him alive - but whether she needed his mind to work as well was another matter entirely.

He made his way to the cockpit.  As he did so, another nasty thought occurred to him.

"Pandora," he asked.  "The Mer have no doubt sent our description to every major continent.  Do we have a plan for dealing with this when we arrive - wherever it is we're actually going?"

Witt stopped, with the bottle halfway towards being opened, and raised an eyebrow at the grey wolf.

"All of it? Fuck it, mate, I couldn't drink all this in less than six fucking hours!" He waved the hand holding the bottle at the walls of the room. "There's got to be three or four hundred bloody bottles here, at least. Not to mention the gods-damned barrels." He shoved the bottle into a pocket somewhere, stumped out, grumbling to himself, to where Cog was half-buried under the pile of packets, packages, bottles, and plates, and started rapidly sorting it all back into the fridge, both hands whirling like dervishes, the clinking of jars on the shelves peppered with complaints, profanities, and obscenities - pausing only to watch Epyon grab something and look around like a caffeine freak on a starvation diet. The door to the drinks room slid shut behind him, unnoticed.

"Gods damned bird food. Fucking crap." He placed it in the fridge anyway. "Can't see why the stupid cock would bother eating it, when she's got fucking teeth. Oh, and sliced meat. Sure, get the thin bastards, where the cocksuckers run the bloody stump through a fine-tooth fucking comb and give you the skin off the fucking end." Without breaking the pattern, the bottles of clear, somewhat viscous liquid ended up in his pockets, while everything else went into the fridge. IN a sing-song voice, he went on. "Packets and bottles and jars, oh my!" Dropping back into his normal tone, and glancing at the labels on the various items as he went on. "Fan-fucking-tastic. More crap. Junk. Bloody waste of fucking space. Who ordered this crap? Ah, and yet more bloody birdseed. Where are the fucking eggs, for fuck's sake? More meat, some cruddy fucking joke of a cheese. And one wolf."

Finishing, he flicked the door to the fridge shut, dropped the catch over it to stop it opening again in-flight, scooped up the remaining broken bits, threw them into the bin, grabbed Cogidubnus by the shirt front, hefted him from the ground, and set him back on his feet.

After which, he leaned against the opposite bench, extracted one of the bottles of clear liquid, opened it, and downed half. And then lowered it, gazed across the galley at the grey wolf, and belched. "Sorry, did you want some?" He offered the bottle, the fumes clearly visible from the neck - not to mention the label on the side, which seemed to suggest that this liquid would be useful for sterilizing medical tools, and probably shouldn't be treated carelessly, or opened near naked flames...

As Pandora finally gave her the means to communicate with the rest of the crew, the spider's face was tinged with a brief expression of relief. She took the clipboard and pencil, and then hesitated a moment, wondering whether if she should 'say' something to the woman. Since they were already in motion though, and since there was little to be said or done, she decided that it would be better to speak to someone who seemed to be sitting with the information. And thus, there was just one person to consult, it seemed. Even though Cross seemed to act as if he knew everything... She was not sure where Keaton had run off to, but it was not that huge a ship. It wouldn't take too long to search. And if she were correct, she had seen her just before she left that damnable hedgehog, near the galley...

Tyrannus had finally made his way to an empty storage room when the airship gave a sharp lurch, bowling him from his footing with a thud, a crash of rusted machinery falling on and around him soon following. grumbling slightly and shoving zombiebots off of him the mythos got to his feet... Only to be sent flat on his face in the hallway when the airship put on a burst of speed later. Ty rubbed his snout and said things that One Did Not Say in Polite Company. All of this, and it was only now occuring to him that he was stuck in this situation and had left his usual armor and weaponry at home. Perhaps there was some manner of armory on board that Pandora wouldn't mind his investigating...
Finally braced for the current velocity, Ty got back to exploring the airship.

When the rattling and shaking had settled down to a vibration and Penny thought that it was as safe as it was going to get she jumped over the one box that had worked it's way loose and followed the sound of cursing to what appeared to be the galley. Cog seemed a bit worse for wear, the undead was holding something bloody, and the hedgehog seemed to be consuming the airship's fuel supply. Feeling unable to deal with either of the first two she commented on the last. "You'd better leave some of that for the engines. Who knows when or if we'll be able to refuel."

Epyon could almost sense fear in penny. it wasn't great just the kind of fear one might put out where they are  facing a situation they would rather avoid. and avoid she did looking past him ant talked to the hedge hod.. he shrugs and shoves the packaged meat into a pocket a much as would fit know it should hold and resumed restock the spices and grains that had hit him when the ship shifted.  he wondered what had bother her for a moment as she was one of the few beings on the ship and not some one he'd want to alienate. but then he was probably just feeling a little wistful for company. how long had it been since he'd tried to tale to anyone in an actual conversation? not renting a place or buying something but and actual conversation? he couldn't remember. his last talk was probably when he was trying to wheedle information about the fountain that restored life to the dying and recently dead. it was a legend but then he was dead with little left to lose in searching out legends.

His task completed he considered grabbing another packages of mat or maybe cooking the one he had. he didn't want it cooked he wanted to tear into it and revel as he swallowed down mouthful after bloody mother full even as the though revolted him it appealed to him. but then being around these three while eating would be a problem. he dare not try to control himself long enough to cook. ah well. he stepped carefully past penny his body giving off the scent of a wounded but still living fur and still warm to the touch. how much was illusion and how much was due to his near constant using of healing magic to try to cling to life even in undeath was unknown. Epyon wasn't even aware of his scent most of the time so long as his flesh was not torn and he didn't smell of death.

"i don't know about you three but i'm off to see if i can find a place to call my room. at least for the duration of this crazy flight."
With that he was gone disappearing down the corridor.

Even to the far-eyed Islanders, the Perihelion was becoming a simply a distant dot in the evening sky, the outline of the strangely-shaped airship beginning to become lost in the depths of the setting sun, and the darkness that was beginning to fall. Dusk always fell early on an Island that stormed eternally, and hours later not even the moon would be visible. The Perihelion, however, in a bid to stay away from the Mer's long reach, climbed yet higher over the clouds, into the cold air above even the black clouds.

* * *

Cog slipped out from under the hedgehog's grasp fairly quickly, somewhat bewildered by the speed at which Witt moved the various grocery items into the fridge. Cog absently wondered if they had enough to feed as many people as this, and quickly set about not worrying about it. Three small tubes in his pocket called out to him, very softly, and yet oh so loudly...
The one who'd managed the 40 gallon drums by himself scampered off somewhere, past the fisher who seemed to be looking for something to eat, and muttered something incomprehensible to Witt. In some ways, he couldn't care less if the damn spiny thing drank himself pickled. There was enough rotgut there to preserve a body, and possibly strip it of the flesh. Maybe he'd actually get it all down.

He passed Penny and stumbled out into a hallway, where he slipped into the well-documented step of the down-and-out wastrel trying to avoid detection - rather silly, considering his circumstances. Nevertheless, being so surreptitious as to attract attention, he slink into the median hallway between the two main corridors and opened the first door he came to. The whirr of machinery and the smell of heavy oils greeted his entry.
Maintenance access. Cog slipped behind some thrumming contraption, and carefully pulled a single glass syringe from his pocket. It was filled with a sickly orange fluid, one that Cog recognized instantly.

Pandora's specials... he thought, pulling the plastic safety tube off the needle.

* * *

Epyon quickly found himself going the opposite way of Cog, and at the end of the corridor was faced with three doors. The ones to the right and the left seemed to have yet been painted, instead just plain metal with a brass knob, while the middle one had a nice pastel and a small brass plaque adorning it. All the rooms seemed to be quiet at the time.

* * *

Tyrannus quickly found that the ship was not as incredibly large as he might have thought. Standing at the corner of the main hallway, and passing a viewing window about every fifteen feet, he found himself standing at a T-shaped intersection - he could turn right, or go straight, it appeared. In front of him, about another fifty feet down the hall, a ladder seemed to climb up into the third level of the ship, and voices could be heard gradually echoing down it. To his right, the faint sound of cursing echoed down the corridors.

Epyon hovered uncertainty for a few moments before optioned for the room on the right.. the middle one was pastels painted and while that was nice it was probably claimed by the ship's builder. the room on the let would probably be reserved for her four legged assistant the griffin what was his names again Axel? Axis? ah well he'd ask if it came up. the room on the right however would likely be free and it it wasn't they it would still probably be empty long enough for him to eat and quites this cursed hunger. opened the room he steeps inside  switching on the lights before he reached for the meant packets hidden in his  jacket.

Witt raised an eyebrow at the fisher, then glanced down at the bottle. He then looked over his shoulder at the door, re-read the label on it, considered how much was in there, then looked back up at the sleek mustelid, with a mildly incredulous look on his face.

"Ah.. you fucking sure? I mean, I like a drink as much as the next bastard, but..." At which point Cog exited the room. "Ok, well, maybe not him, then." He grinned. "But, even so... unless we're stuck up here for weeks, there's no bloody way I can drink all that shite." He waved one arm at the door while speaking - fortunately, not the one with the bottle in it - and winced, a little, then swapped hands, took another absent-minded swig, and ran his right hand over his left ribs, looking for the cracked one.

"Oh, sorry, almost forgot." He offered the bottle to Penny. "M'names Witt. Didya want some?"

The bottle fumed, gently, into the space between them.

Penny waved the bottle away, "I'm Penny, and not now thanks. Maybe later." Later when her mind caught up and realized how much trouble they were all in now. Maybe then she'd be scared enough to consume paint remover. She noticed that Witt didn't have full range of movement in one arm. She debated with herself for a second then offered, "You seem to be hurt. I've learned a simple healing spell. It isn't much but it makes life a bit easier until you get to a real healer. I'm willing to try it on you if you're willing to be a bit of a test subject. I've never used it on anyone but myself."

Witt shrugged at the decline. "Well, if you're not." And he took another hefty swig, leaving somewhat less than a quarter of the bottle left.

When Penny offered healing, he blinked. "Oh, it's not so bad. Just busted a rib on those bloody Mer back there - it'll knit in a coupla days. If you're wanting to practice, though, feel fucking free." He paused for a moment, then asked "Is it likely to hurt? If so, I'll want to numb the bastard a bit." He waved a hand at another pocket, indicating the bottle in it, and drained the current anaesthetic supply before swapping the bottles over.

The spider had reached where she thought that the jackal had been last, but seeing no sign of her yet, and hearing that Witt was clearly up to something that he shouldn't be doing, that took precedence. While maybe she should have minded her own business, she did have some common sense, and both a bit of morals and principles in her. And someone acting like that became everyone's business when they were bunched in together as they were.
   Somehow I doubt that would even help, came a quick flash of hand gestures as Sal entered the room, eight eyes looking hard at Witt from within her frowning face. She didn't really care if he caught the words. Who is going to pay for that? Have you thought of where it might be needed? she let her hands flash, before she stepped over to the hedgehog, bent down, and with an iron grip yanked the bottle from him.

Witt let the bottle go without resistance, and blinked at the spider woman, before retorting "Me."

He pulled out another bottle, which was promptly confiscated as well. "And of course I thought of where it was bloody needed."

A third bottle appeared, and another, much longer arm - with much larger claws - appeared from under her coat to extract that from his grasp as well. "I bloody needed it."

Yet another bottle appeared and was removed. "After all that fucking stress back there, I damn well needed to relax."

A fifth bottle appeared from a pocket, only to be confiscated by a large claw. "I would have thought at least someone would bloody well understand that."

Still another bottle appeared, and was confiscated. "Besides, if you'd wanted a fucking drink, all you had to do was ask."

A seventh bottle appeared, the top was removed, and he clinked it against one of the random bottles floating in front of him. "Cheers."

And with that, he took another drink.

The spider scowled, and almost dropped a bottle in the urgency to convey her irritation. When she realized that all her hands were full though, she looked around and toward the cabinets stacked against the wall. Gathering up the clinking bottles, she stuffed them in the nearest one she could find, then smacked the doors shut, and rummaged into her clothes. In a moment, her right hand - the one actually in a sleeve -  came back out with a thread of thick silk, and grabbing that, she quickly spun the doors closed. Then she turned back to Witt, planting her hands on her hips and just glaring down at him for a good while, before she signed something anew.
   I don't believe that you could pay that bottle, even, the way you look, she flashed. And if you think this is the right time... She paused, thought for a second, and then snatched the bottle he was holding from his grasp, taking a hefty swig herself. Then she smacked it down on top of one of the cupboards. I think I've deserved that more than you have, the way you act. Now, if you are going to keep making a bother of yourself, I think it might be a better idea to knock you out. Just to keep you from troubling us others.
   The spider glowered, all eight eyes hard and outnumbering Witt's lone two. She looked very much like she meant what she'd just 'said'.

Penny had just held out her hand to try the healing spell on Witt's ribs when an angry spider stormed in and took the hedgehog's bottle away from him. She took a step back, deciding to hold off on the healing until the commotion was over.

Witt straightened up, his eyes flashing, and waved Penny off for a moment, superfluously, before responding angrily to the spider.

"Of course I can pay for my drinks. Do you think I want a knife in my back?" He seemed unaware of the change in his language - and spoke surprisingly clearly for someone so drunk. "As for the right time - We're now in the air, right? At this point, there's nothing I can do to assist, other than providing ballast, or jumping overboard, and our 'fearless leaders' appear to have slunk off, without providing us any further orders." He looked around. "I don't see anything that particularly needs my assistance right now. If someone does, I'd be happy to oblige. If not, this is as much out of the way as anywhere else on-board, despite the apparently high volume of traffic." He glanced at the others standing around, and shrugged. "I might as well stand here as anywhere else. And I'm pretty sure that if someone needs me to jump overboard, being sober isn't going to help."

He considered. "At least, sobriety won't help me much. It might help them..."

Finally, he glanced up at the bottle, and opened his other hand. On it lay the cap. "You seem to have forgotten to close that, as well. If we make any more evasive manoeuvres, it'll fall over and spill."

He flipped the cap, spinning, into the air.

Without blinking, the spider whipped her hand out. Witt caught just a quick glimpse of the white thread as it latched on to the cap like a frog's tongue onto an insect, and brought it back to her hand with a flick of her wrist. It was hard to tell if she had been looking at the thing with any of her eyes, but even if she had been, it was an impressive feat. Slapping the cap onto the top of the bottle, she straightened.
   Whether we need your assistance or not, she signed, there is no excuse for this, and no use in it. Just stop. That's assistance enough.
   Having said what she wanted, she turned away and began walking off to seek out Keaton, as she had intended from the start. It seemed that the spider was like other women in that way at least; always the last word, and if Witt should try and say something to defend himself next, that meant he was starting another argument.

...Pandora:

For a Cubi like Cross, the absolute elation present in the room was glaringly obvious, and was clearly radiating from the pilot's throne. From where she was seated, Pandora was grinning with such an amount of happiness it almost seemed insane, her large hands grasping a metal apparatus in front of her. Judging by the way the thing was structured, with the two twisted bars of metal she was using as handles, it sufficed as some form of steering wheel. Being as fixated as she was on the sky in front of her and simply marveling in the fact they had finally lifted off, Pandora hadn't detected Cross's appearance.

The woodpecker reacted quite predictably when Cross unexpectedly made his presence known, despite the gentleness of his voice. Letting out an indignant squawk, she slammed her heels into the floor and jerked her throne around, swiveling the entire chair on a small, piston-like contraption keeping it nailed to the floor. Axiyne's expression was less graphic - really only affected by the exaggerated outburst of his companion. One look at Cross and Pandora's defensive countenance faded in favor of pseudo-pleasantry - she hadn't forgotten their discussion earlier. Seemed that she was having unnecessarily bad luck with members of infamous mob divisions. First one of Sabanethei's scorned concubines, most likely, and now Daryil's... whatever. Probably an enforcer. Either way, Pandora wasn't too keen on the idea of her soul being stolen, so she recovered quickly enough.

"Oh, uh... 'ey there," she chuckled nervously, attempting to grin. "It's, uh, you. Right. Whaddya need?"

Whatever false, saccharine-facade Pandora had forged faded as Cross stated his concerns. Her expression faded, and she looked almost pensive for a moment, before she answered, "It's like this, see. We're gonna fly above th' clouds," she gestured out the dome, toward the diaphanous halos of midnight-hued fog dissipating against the spear-like nose of the flying machine. Against the backdrop of black, the clouds were just barely visible; the only evidence of their existence being the vaguely-translucent outlines of the blanketing clouds. A quickly-vanishing, soft gold light radiating from afar indicated the sinking sun. "That way we c'n avoid th' Mer's weather magic. When y'r outta their range, they can't do shi'."

Pandora leaned back and sighed. "Other n' tha', I've go' nothin'. Y'guys showed up 'fore I could pull somethin' outta my ass."


...Keaton:

(Miss, my head hurts.)

(Spins! The room spins!)

All of you SHUT THE HELL UP.

The long-absent jackal was currently limping, with a great deal of exhaustion to her normally sinewy, practiced stride, down one of the hallways of the Perihelion, her downcast head cradled in her hands. Her appearance was quite obviously disheveled, with her hair askew in messy, tangled tendrils and her fur bedraggled - and if her face was visible, it would have been, quite clearly, a very sickly shade of green. Given her state of mind and condition, Keaton didn't recuperate from the Perihelion's liftoff as effectively as the others in the party. In fact, with each step she took and each bump she made as she swerved drunkenly against a wall, she was keenly aware of each microscopic shudder that quaked imperceptibly through the mechanical body of the Perihelion, which only continued to disorient and dismay her. After feeling the forth, unnatural pulse ripple through the machine as it lurched in her head, she started to wonder if she actually was feeling the Perihelion move and if it wasn't just her sick, sick head coming up with this shit.

Keaton's only instinct was to find Cog, or somebody. It was impossible to navigate the Perihelion on her own when she was feeling so sick. She shouldn't have decided to explore after she entered this contraption... now she was far away from all the others.

My head hurts. That buzzing isn't coming back. Why is the floor moving?

...Who am I talking to?

With an exaggerated pivot, Keaton swaggered past a sign she only barely acknowledged and around a corner, after which her eyesight began to fluctuate. Amidst the blackness she stumbled blindly, until she felt her nose collide with something hard and flat. Almost immediately, her eyesight blinked back to clarity. Keaton was staring right at a door.

A closet. Sounds like a lovely place to throw up in... Keaton thought as she violently resisted the urge to regurgitate her last meal.

She gracelessly fumbled for the doorknob until she finally felt her hand clench around the cool steel. Once she seized it, she twisted the doorknob and wrenched the door open –

-and stared with something akin to absolute shock on her features as she stared down at the gray wolf huddled in the closet. Cogidubnus was brandishing a sharp medical syringe worthy of being the instrument of a scientific madman, pushing its slender needle into his skin and steadily injecting himself with its glowing, golden-orange contents. One look at the wolf and the syringe and its ambiguous contents was enough confirmation for Keaton. Any and all nausea she experienced shriveled up into a tiny, cancerous knot and simply disappeared like acrid smoke, as though it was devoured by the sheer rage swelling in her chest. There was absolutely no opportunity for her to think rationally. Her body moved on its own. She lunged into the closet with an obscene growl and slammed the closet door behind her with a thunderous BANG.

Those closest to the closet – the members of the party assembled in the galley – were able to hear the piercing shriek of horror.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Once the airship's lurching had settled down, Fal'taq had kept himself occupied by investigating the rest of the rooms along the hallway. The only one of any real interest was furnished as a bedroom, or possibly a boudoir, decorated in more shades of pink than the mole could stand. He raised an eyebrow and smirked, though, at the pile of rope and fluffy pink restraints on the floor.

As he approached the end of the hallway, he came to a stairway leading up. It was hard to tell over the noise of the engines, but Fal'taq thought he could hear voices up there. He climbed up and found himself in the control cabin. The mole stared in slightly horrified fascination at the view through the large front windows. The ground was so far away...

"His confidant," Cross said, answering Pandora's unspoken question about his relationship with Daryil.  To anyone else it would make little sense.

"Flying high is a precaution that will do for now," agreed Cross, "Indeed, I'm curious to know what your ship's ceiling is.  But we can't remain aloft forever.  At some stage we'll need to work out some more permanent plan for when we have to make land."

"Oh, yes.  And the junk-monster is aboard.  Tinkering with the power systems, I believe.  He seems to know you so I hope that's okay.  If not... well, something regrettable may have to happen-"

There was a scream.  Cross' fur stood on end.  If he had not been in Being form, his wings would have fluffed out and probably hit the gryphon.

"Holy shit," he said.  "That sounded like Keaton.  Excuse me..."  He ran.

Witt raised an eyebrow at the spiders back, shrugged, licked his lips, and started patting down his pockets, looking for another bottle.

At about that point, the scream resonated through the room.

"Oh. Sounds like the bat-winged brush wolf found the canine candy consumer midway through his latest dose." He could have been observing the time, his voice that flat. "Pity. He was fun to taunt." His hands paused in their searching through his pockets; removed his helmet, scratched his head, put the helmet back, and continued their search, until he came up with the iron wave he'd pulled from the corpse of the Mer.

He glanced over at Penny, and dangled the thing in her direction. "What'd'ya make of this, anyway? Hell of a thing to be carrying around. I wonder what it is..."

 As Epyon opened the rather spare-looking metal door, the interior of the room inside lit up brightly, showing one bright-white ceramic sink and toilet bolted onto metallic walls and floors, with a unframed mirror suspended with four more screws into the metal wall. It seemed to be fairly cool in there, and there was a lock on the door to, if the zombie required privacy. There was, however, a disconcerting, airy sound coming from the direction of the toilet.

* * *

Ahh, that's the stuff...

Pandora's Specials were an inventive little concoction that, unsurprisingly, Pandora herself had cooked up one day, when she was in-between salvaging parts and trying not to starve to death. It was made of a variety of substances, mostly painkillers and a few muscle relaxants and a few other odds and ends, and although it wasn't really a hallucinogen as much as a simple depressant, it was like squirting pure joy into his veins. Getting it in there had been tricky, of course, but he'd wrapped an old mop string around his arms to make the veins stand out, and then he was golden. He felt the various wounds he'd suffered fade softly away, and felt his muscles slack, and the soft, soft feeling of drug-induced bliss begin to seep into his brain. He was only about halfway through this one, too, and he had three more to go. His headache was fading too, the glass-and-alcohol feeling washed away in a chemical tide...
Cog sighed just a little bit to himself, leaning back on a thrumming piece of machinery. Maybe they'd just leave him alone in here, and he could just rest, rest until they landed, if they could even find him then.
He closed his eyes.

SLAM

Cog's eyes, almost fluttered close, snapped open, exposing every bloodshot vein in those yellow-irised orbs. He was almost done with this entire needle, and someone had to...
Cog's drug-addled brain caught up. Someone's here. Oh. Oh shit. Is...

Cog's head whipped around, blindingly fast, and when his eyes focused again the wolf's entire body attempted to go taut like a bowstring - had the muscle relaxants not been in effect, the wolf would have tensed down to his very toes. In the circumstances, the lupine simply screamed. Loudly. The needle clattered to the floor, sticking in his arm for only a moment as the wolf began to move backwards, tripping as his own jelley-like legs betrayed him, and tumbling back to the floor. He began to crawl backwards, the wolf quickly reaching the outer limit of the small, enclosed space that was so comforting before. He crawled, all the way to the corner.
"Oh god Keaton I...please, no, no no, don't..." the wolf's voice nearly choked, Cog taking a ragged breath. "You don't understand!" he yelled, neatly curling up and into the far corner of the room. "It's...it's not....I can't, alright! I fucking can't!"

Tears were on the edge of the wolf's voice, and already beginning to well in his eyes. Keaton's face was a masque of rage, her hands clenched into fists, and her footsteps were heavy with the sound of boots.

* * *
Cross neatly ran into the large dinosaur from before, both of them meeting neatly in the middle of the second-level corridor. Big as he was, Ty somewhat blocked a bit of the path, and the Cubi didn't see any immediate sign of the jackal or the other wolf. Behind Ty lead two paths, one to the right, and the other straight back to where they entered the ship.

* * *

As Fal'Taq admired the view, it occurred to him that part of the large, dome-shaped canopy was built to be walked upon - the bubble went out some distance, and a little ways out from where it connected with the floor, the glass was flat and even with the metal, extending outwards until it would gently curve up and over the viewer, encasing them in sky.

* * *

Outside the ship, the evening sun began to set low, and the flaming clouds floated far beneath the Perihelion, the ship sailing over the sparkling ocean and the sky. It would be dark soon.

Abso-friggin'-lutely incredible.

Aisha's mind wandered along with the land below the airship's belly; as it seemed to rise higher and higher, the ground rolled faster and faster, and painted an intricate mural of a grid before the hazy mist of clouds got in the way.  The demoness still stood on a platform near one of the windows on the higher levels, which rose into a conclave of glass over her head.

Clouds.  We're in clouds.  Never thought that'd be possible; unless you count the idiot daredevils who want to test their wings and got altitude sickness.  There was a small indiscernible smirk on the black jaguar's face; hard to tell exactly what she was thinking, truly, but nevertheless, amazement outweighed amusement.

It was about then that she heard footsteps; one of the other smaller members of the group walked in to observe the windows as well.  What was his name?  Fal'Taq?  Meh, I never made an effort to remember names.  The calm assassin payed no mind to whomever walked by anyway, though she did wonder why the heck it was so quiet...maybe people were finding places to settle.  After all it looked to be getting dark.

Just then, her ears seemed to wrinkle back to her skull along with one of her eyes shutting tight.  If anyone had normal hearing, they probably wouldn't have gotten the disturbance.  But Aisha was a demon.  She could only tell that it was a scream; somewhat high-pitched, mid-range, leaning towards male, but hard exactly to guess.  Somewhere far down.  "Who else heard that?" she hummed, looking around.

"Por amor de dios" (For the love of god), she then murmured, eyes rolling briefly.  But nevertheless, the feline's curiosity was piqued.  If they had an attacking stowaway, then it ought to swiftly be dealt with.  As she made way for the stairs, no doubt, there were others who heard it too; there was the sound of trampling feet in other areas.

A rest room. Epyon thought as he opened the packaged meat. well it's not like that made any difference to him. as he looked around he caught sight of his face in the mirror. he looked almost normal. there was a look of hunger in his eyes and his forehead seems wrinkled but there was very little to say he wasn't a normal winged being so long as his eyes remain closed. then he say his eyes again. there was a golden glow coming form them again and the look of hunger intensified as he could smell the meat  form his nearly opened package of meat. it was likely meant to be a roast but now it would serve to curb his hunger. he turned away for the mirror not wanting to seem himself eat.

It's funny how things worked.  he  had worked to hard to control signs of undeath. to hide his mythos heritage. he was even worked hard to stay healed and practicing  the reactions that he'd held in lift to injury that he could barely detect anymore but some things alive or dead still affected him the same way. one of them was sound. Blood dripping from his chin he was taking a second or was it third bite from his pilfered meal when he heard the scream and choked.. "it scared him and made him worry for the safety of his companions and then for himself. as he worked to cough up the meat in his throat before he remembered he no longer needed to breath and calmed down.  opening his mouth he simply reached into his throat ad pull out the offending morsel.  before re chewing it.  he shivered. if any being had seen him do that they'd lynch him for being and undead freak.  still his mini crisis handle he needed to assess this scream and see if it required his attention and if he'd have to literally jump ship.

turning to leave he saw himself in the mirror again. his eyes had stopped glowing but he had blood dripping from his chin. he'd have to tend to that before anyone else saw. "he chuckled. good thing he was in the right room as the turned the handle on the faucet intending to wash his hands and face.

Penny was reaching out her hand to attempt the healing again when Witt produced a small metal object on a cord from his pocket and asked her opinion. Quickly switching gears to art appraisal mode she carefully looked over the small ornament. "Mer art can be valuable, if only from how seldom any surfaces on dry land. This unfortunately appears of fairly recent manufacture and simplistic style, limiting it's value to collectors. Iron is an odd choice for mer art considering the rust issue, which does increase it's interest a bit."

Penny didn't have much magical skill but she had carefully honed an ability to read enchantments. She never knew when objects she found had been trapped and this pendant seemed to have the feel of magic about it. "Hmmm... what do you have to say for yourself little thing?" It took her a moment to read the pattern, she hadn't dealt with mer magic often. "It is a breathing charm. It allows you to keep breathing no matter what is around you. I'll hazard that the mer wasn't one of the land adapted type. It should work in reverse for you."

Penny suddenly had a strong sensation that she should check the item again, much more carefully. Bending closer to Witt's hand she gave it a much more intent look. Abruptly she straightened up. "It's a tracking device.  The mer have a tracking spell on it."

Witt straightened. "Tracking? That's not good. Can you remove it? Failing that, can you tell how strong it is, whether it responds on request or is permanently signalling our location, and how far away they could locate us from?"

He thought a moment, then grinned evilly. "Should we slip this into a pocket on that trenchcoated wolf, or not?"

Ty, after only a little poking around, had decided to rest near one of the windows. The sky looked nice from up here, you could see sides to the clouds that they never revealed to the public eye. The various colors created by the light catching on them, the wafting shapes, it was all simply breathtaking. He did so hope this manner of transportation caught on. The mythos' brows furrowed momentarily; the Mer made their livelyhood on transportation, they most certainly wouldn't enjoy that. Then again, perhaps a deal could be made with them that would allow the incorporation of such devices into their craft so that everyone got their fair piece. After all, people were Reasonable.
Failing that, I could always offer my services in bludgeoning them until they allow these- gah, Tyrannus, former scourge of Verdele, shook his head and smiled ruefully. Twelve years, and I still think in such ways sometimes. The addiction to ones own strength has a withdrawal of a lifetime. However, if I'm half as strong as I think I am I'm most certainly strong enough to resit urges like THAT He strode off down the hallway again. I wonder what the others have gotten up to...?

--

He arrived in the galley just in time for the discussion of the tracking device. "Hrm?" The saurian leaned over Penny's shoulder silently to take a closer look at the trinket. "I have a method for such devices; most enchantments stop working when the object is too badly damaged. If I may?" He held out one hand the size of the average being's face, the other hand politely tucked behind his back.

Paige relaxed from the doorway after takeoff and stood just behind the throne.


"Its pretty up here." She said to no one in particular, after Jakob had left.

Are any of these people fucking sane?!
   Not many moments after the closet had slammed shut, the door was again ripped open, and before either Cog or Keaton could react, both were roughly expelled from the dark space, Keaton being grabbed by the neck from behind and swung into the air, Cog being pulled along just by the speed of the movement. Shaken up, they were flung out on the floor outside the galley, finding themselves immediately and uncomfortably under the glare of eight red eyes. The spider's steps clacked a little against the floor as she shifted her stance, and her gaze, between them, glaring daggers at them both.

Witt looked up at the big saur. "If it's all the same to you, I was hoping to have the main enchantment still active, and merely remove the tracking. If that isn't possible, then yes, destroying both would be the way to go."

He considered. "Of course, that would also remove any value from the piece, at which point we might just as well throw it out a window." He looked around. "Seen any opening windows around here?"

"All right, what's going..."  Cross faltered at the sight of Keaton and Cog strewn over the floor while the strange spider-creature loomed over them.  This was not good.

Cross had been content only to hint at his heritage up to this point.  In light of the Dragon Wars this was only sensible as 'Cubi who went about in the open tended to end up ex-'Cubi.

Nonetheless, it had to be done.  Keaton was all-important and in any case the idiot junkie had blurted it out in front of all and sundry.  A gap formed in the back of his leather coat, from which the wings and their attendant tentacles extended.  His head was likewise crowned with feathers and his eyes were glowing solid amber.

"Let them go," he said, his voice cutting like a knife.

Penny began by answering Witt's questions. "I don't have the skills to remove it and while I could measure the strength and direction would take me more time than it's worth. Perhaps one of the herd of cubi would be able to rework the spell."

Epyon arrived to a less then pleasant vision of things. one wolf with tentacles coming out of his back. the two leaders looking thrown the the ground. the spider mythos  standing off with the tentacled wolf. what was going on? did he even want to know? he looked between the spider mythos and the wolf and decided that he didn't. he turned to leave wondering if he'd have to deal with choosing sides in a mutiny. he'd hope not but then he was not about to step into a power battle of unknown variables with out cause either. maybe he'd go finish his meat. thong not that the grip of the hunger had lessened that ideal seemed less and less pleasant.

The spider didn't know what had started the fight in the first place, though she could guess, and she thought she deserved an explanation. When Jakob stepped in though, she became quite a bit confused. What the hell did that one have to do with...?
   The shock hit the spider head on, causing all her eight eyes to snap wide open, and then narrow with loathing. An Incubus. A filthy, soul-sucking bloody shapeshifter! Suddenly, she didn't care what his deal was. The fingers of her right hand flickering briefly, the spider hunched together just the slightest bit, broadening her stance. Something moved under her coat, almost imperceptibly...

Knife, hmm? Cross thought and hardened his skin as a precaution.

"Now, now," he said.  "No-one has to get hurt.  But if anyone sabotages the mission by killing the jackal, they'll die too.  So just let them go, okay?"

It wasn't too hard for Aisha, following her ears to the source of the noise.  Of course, there was only one scream, and whatever struggle was going on if any would have been too muffled even for the demoness.  But she did follow the trail of the passerby, whose footfalls were none too discreet in echoing down the ship.

The panthress had doubts that there was really an intruder; with this bunch, it was easier to figure that one of them had just gotten into trouble.  If that's all it is... she grimaced and kept running until she had reached the room where there were voices.  She had come in just a few moments after the dark gray wolf.

"Alright, what's...?"  Aisha began.  With a skid on the floor as she braked in front of the doorway, Aisha was braced...for nothing, as it was suddenly apparent.  The strange spider-woman was holding herself over Keaton and Cogidubnus, both of whom looked somewhat ragged.  Not only that, there seemed to be a confrontation.  Jakob had two sets of wings out.  The demon had suspected that there may have been more than a couple of 'Cubi in the group.  But just how many were there?

"Nice..." she muttered.  Aisha took her hand away from the handle of her boomerang, eyebrow quirked, and leaned against the wall...she didn't know whether or not to step in or to just watch and see what happened.  Usually the assassin kept to her own business, but if there was dissonance between party members already...

Juust wait.

For a few long, hard moments, the spider merely stared at Cross, her gaze scathing. Was he serious? What did he think he could do? Now moments like these were the ones when she really wished that she could voice her opinion on matters, but...
   Slowly, the spider straightened and took a step back from Keaton and Cog where they lay on the floor. Fine. They could kick each other in the head all they wanted. She didn't have to give a damn, and she sure as hell was not going to try and help anyone there again if all she got in return were threats.

Fal'taq blinked and glanced briefly from the windows to Paige as she made her comment. The greenish tinge to his face couldn't be seen under his fur, fortunately. He couldn't believe the wolf had calmly admired the view, as if there was nothing wrong with being so high in the air: the woman was obviously dangerously insane.

After a short time the mole finally managed to tear his gaze away from the window and looked around the room. Some people were missing — wait, hadn't he seen them rush out? "That jaguar, and the wolf... Pettersohn, I think. Did anyone see where they went?"

"Thank you," said Cross.  "That's much better."
His eyes had stopped glowing and he was smiling.  It looked for all the world as if he had been forced to discipline a wicked child and was now pleasantly surprised that they had apparently learned their lesson.

He kept the gap in the back of his coat open in case the creature had a sudden change of mind, but every other aspect of his 'Cubi form began to subside.

"Now," he said, addressing Keaton and Cog, "are you two okay?"

Jesus, he thought.  What a dysfunctional party we make...

Epyon had not gone far. in fact he he was just out of of the corridor eating the last of his uncooked roast. He was not happy about this Crew he'd gotten tangles up with but he'd make do. he was a survivor and with the exception of that on trip in the cave looking for a fountain of life he'd survived everything thrown at him. "if was possible he'd survive this. if not well he was already dead or at least mostly dead." thought  guardedly imagines an image of his home land form before the wars started. 

"Mr. Mithlome," Cross said, "I think it's time I made a few things clear to you.  You seem to be under the incorrect impression that my arrogance is the result of my race.
"It is the result of having ruled for four centuries.  Across twelve kingdoms my word was law and many have tasted the pike for far less than calling me an idiot to my face.
"As I'm sure you appreciate, some drugs are hard to come down from.  Absolute power is one of them."

That will have to do for now, he thought.  Better to give it to him in small doses with an attention span like his.

Witt nodded.

"Yeah, that sounds like a plan. Let's see if one of our new 'friends' can work on it. Failing that, I'll get the mobile wall here" - and here, he grinned up at Ty - "to work his magic on it." He slipped the amulet into a pocket, straightened up, and exhaled - incidentally raising the alcohol content of the room significantly.

"In the mean time, shall we go see what they're slaughtering?"

Penny watched the amulet disappear into Witt's pocket with a shrug. The damage had been done as soon as it had been brought onto the airship, a few more minutes without throwing it out the window shouldn't hurt. It was a theory to work by anyway. She let the hedgehog take the lead when he suggested they explore the unpleasant sounds coming from the hallway. Penny's normal policy was to go in the opposite direction from screams, meaty thuds, and shouting unless they were a planned distraction.

On the other hand, there was no sense in rushing in. "Shouldn't I try fixing that rib first?"

Witt blinked. "What rib?"

Quote from: SpottedKitty on April 03, 2008, 06:01:24 PM
Fal'taq blinked and glanced briefly from the windows to Paige as she made her comment. The greenish tinge to his face couldn't be seen under his fur, fortunately. He couldn't believe the wolf had calmly admired the view, as if there was nothing wrong with being so high in the air: the woman was obviously dangerously insane.

After a short time the mole finally managed to tear his gaze away from the window and looked around the room. Some people were missing — wait, hadn't he seen them rush out? "That jaguar, and the wolf... Pettersohn, I think. Did anyone see where they went?"

Paige, her face locked in a oh so sweet smile turned from the window and faced the mole. "Why Mister Fal'taq, that is your name right? What ever could be the problem? Are you a little..." Paige gave a little laugh as she walked over and traced a finger down his jaw "air sick? Oh and going by the thoughts you've been having I think in comparison I'm by far saner than you, I mean think of the mess you would have to clean up."

"As for where the others went I have no idea sorry." She said as she walked back to her spot by the control throne.

 The view from the ship, if anyone inside had been watching, was incredible - the ship had possibly the best view for a sunset in all of furrae. What could be seen beneath grey stormclouds, the billowing cumulus that surrounded the Islands growing ever-thinner as the airship made it's way farther and farther out, was simply amazing. The sun was a ball of fire, big as the horizon, sparkling like a bloody ruby over a seafoam and sapphire ocean - a picture out of vacation postcards everywhere, rendered in real life. For those still in the control room, it was a magnificent sight. Soon, however, the sun sunk below the horizon, and darkness descended upon the waters.
Well, almost.

The midnight black waters did still sparkle, even in the midst of night - already overhead and shining bright, the moon peered down upon the ocean and made the waves shine like molten silver, the shimmering seas yet dark for all their flare, and serene for all their brilliance. The airship flew on, a too-loud bird in this peaceful scene, even as the rind of the moon began to peek through the windows of the ship.

* * *

As the situation between the wolf and the spider gradually defused and became less of a threat of a possibly dangerously destructive fight onboard the ship, Cog simply lay where the spider had tossed him and didn't move. One might have assumed that the cocktail of drugs that the wolf had injected into himself, including a somewhat powerful muscle relaxant, might have been the culprit to his seeming paralysis, except for the small tremors that seemed to be running down the wolf's body. His eyes were closed, and almost in a sort of childish attempt to disappear, hoped that if he lay still, Keaton would forget about him. It was certainly possible, as the spider may have redirected all that anger to another source entirely.
He continued to remain still, until he heard Jakob talking to him - the wolf opened his yellow, bloodshot, terror-filled eyes, and gave the wolf the most hateful, addled look the former ruler had ever seen. Cog was obviously not thinking clearly - now that his own 'cover' had been blown, he scrabbled for a moment to sit up, giving the yellow jackal a fearful look before turning his attention back to the wolf.

"Thish...thish really look like the f'ckin time?" he said, one eye clearly dilated a great deal more the other. "I mean, I...I... - I..." the wolf tilted his head suddenly, blinking rapidly. Obviously the drugs were affecting his mind a great deal more than one would have assumed, and the wolf swung his head rapidly, looking again towards the jackal. As conversations went on around him, a long thin line of drool suddenly suspended itself from the wolf's mouth, and with grotesque slowness descended to pool upon the deck. The wolf breathed in heavily, as though nauseous.

"Keatooon..." he said suddenly, staring straight at the vermilion succubus, his voice at the same time strange and humorous and somehow off-putting. "I...I feel..." Cog suddenly grinned widely, a smile full white teeth. As Petersohn and the others looked at the clearly hallucinating wolf sitting in the hallway in front of them, they found themselves somehow distracted by something moving. It was hard to perceive at first, but eventually one's eye was drawn down to the wolf's shadow, long and dark, with the rising moon peeking through the windows of the ship framing the wolf's shoulders, writhing madly on the deck.
"Ravenous." the wolf said, and for all intents and purposes exploded. It was sickening to look upon - bones shifted, muscles regrew and reshaped themselves in a disgusting display of magic and genetics gone horribly awry - like looking at meat going through a grinder, or flesh being crushed flat. His head shifted, becoming thicker in the jaws and wider, and his spine grew and twisted to accommodate the body growing around it. The thing was taller than the wolf, thicker, and infinitely more feral - at home on four paws as well as two, and looked as though it could tear through metal just as easily as a body. It's teeth gleamed white, the thing drooling, and it's coat was the color of the moon itself. No intelligence lurked in it's mind, nothing but hate and anger and infinite hunger.

To Jakob's horror, the blood-maddened eye swiveled at him, and with an almost gleeful light focused in recognition. Long, long yellow claws that somehow gleamed twitched, the things eldtrich weapons as powerful as the Wolf's teeth that could bite through both magic and metal - they twitched, and arced for the Cubi's stomach as the Wolf launched itself off the opposite wall at the incubus, the thing emitting a long, vicious growl and smiling a gut-turning, hungry grin.

Penny rolled her eyes. The white lightning anesthetic had done it's job too well. She put a finger into the area Witt had indicated earlier. "This one."

"Oh shit." said Cross.  That's how the assassination failed, isn't it?

Disappearing was an option, but then it would attack and possibly kill Keaton.

Another - highly tempting - option was to kill Cog.  There were numerous options - whatever he was, a .44 round between the eyes was unlikely to be survivable.  Even if it was, a neutron flux would still roast his insides, a simple death spell should probably work or failing that, his soul could come out.

But Keaton's panic in the scrapyard no doubt meant that she was treating Cog as her secret weapon, and since she needed his physical form for that, it removed even the option of keeping his soul in a jam-jar for future reference.

With a glance at the beast, he jumped aside, turned, and ran down the corridor.

Witt winced, hunched over the finger, and grunted.

"Oh. That one. Well, if you like, I gu-"

His agreement was cut off by the deep, dangerous growl, and by Cross heading past the door as if the very hounds of hell themselves were on his tail.

"Shit. Make it quick, I think we just ran the fuck out of time."

Aisha had rolled her eyes when the banter ended, still more or less on a tense note when the spider-thing acquiesced and dropped Cogidubnus on the other wolf's word and stepped back with a none-too-happy look on her face, watching as Jakob gave the other something of a lecture.  I hope ALL of the 'Cubi on this voyage aren't going to be condescending.  My uncle would have probably had everyone here ripped to shreds by now anyway.

Now at least a fight was prevented, leaving for hopefully a more peaceful evening (probably not for any of the others willing to stay there and listen to the rantings of a dirt-ridden dog). The jaguaress was about to turn out of the door...but something made her freeze and turn around again.  The voice of the haggard wolf had turned a trifle menacing...even enough to send a shiver up a demon's back.

None too soon did Aisha turn around to witness a silvery-white feral wolf in the place of Cogidubnus with its teeth bared in a hungry grimace...its eyes set on the incubus and making its move.

"Mierda!" Aisha cursed.  "Another Were?"

Nobody had time to think.  She ducked out of the way when Jakob dashed out of the door and only further enticing the beast to run after it, more than likely.  The demoness had her back pressed against the wall, watching the whole thing transpire and quickly trying to decide.  Go after it or let the incubus fend for himself?

Her choice was on the latter.  But then who knew how the fight would go and whom it would go after next.

Dammit, she sighed and took her chain from its position around her waist.  So much for a peaceful evening.

The expression on Fal'taq's face ran through half a dozen emotions — all of them either incredulous or violent — in as many seconds, as Paige sauntered back to her vantage point. His fury at the wolf's brazen presumption drained away, though, when he realised the only way she could have known exactly what to hint at with her words.

How could I have missed that? he thought with an icy calm. 'Cubi can do more than steal dreams and eat souls, she knew what I was thinking about! A hazy veil descended around the mole's mind. He had never considered this spell necessary while he was awake, but it should work just as well as when he was asleep.

Just then, a muffled thud reverberated through the deck plates, and from the stairs at the back of the control room, a faint spine-chilling growl sounded. Fal'taq glanced down the stairs, then took a few steps towards the front of the room. Now he could hear running footsteps. "Did anyone make sure we had no unexpected passengers, I wonder...?" he asked no-one in particular.

There wasn't much that the spider could do, and certainly not say. Awestruck, she slowly edged backwards toward the nearest wall, limbs quivering with both unsteadiness and tension and jaws slackening at the sight of Cogidubnus' transformation. It wasn't so much that she hadn't seen her lot of hideous creatures in her life, but rather the gruesomeness of the transformation that really caught her unprepared. One pair of her eyes caught Cross' exit, once the monster wolf had fully manifested, but she didn't move to intercept. She didn't do much at all, really, but cling to the wall and watch what was going on, wondering just how long they would get to live if things went on as they did.

Her hand already being in proximity to the injury Penny released the healing spell over Witt's cracked ribs and bruised skin. "I'm not powerful enough for this to work instantly so try not to hit the ribs for a few hours."  Even as she spoke she knew she lied. The spell was powerful enough to cause a near instant mending of the fractures. She rubbed at her right hand with her left as if she could rub the oddness away. Great, another mystery. They just kept popping up since her lost weekend.

...Keaton:

Thoroughly disoriented, the jackal laid, strewn out on the floor, after Sal had effectively swept her off her feet. Given her upturned position and her bedraggled hair, which sprawled out in dirty-blonde tendrils over her face and into her dazed, unfocused eyes, Keaton almost looked comical. Besides, since she was consumed with utter rage just seconds before, it was probably a welcomed metamorphosis. Pinpricking slightly, Keaton's pupils shifted in and out of focus as several multicolored blurs she individually identified as her party members chattered in warbled, lilting tones to each other, before one of them, Sal, departed in frustration. With the arachnid woman absent, a gray smear, now sporting a little pair of blurry wings on its head, that Keaton designated as Cross turned to address his audience.

Keaton was too delirious to be infuriated by her predicament. Slapping her hand palm-first to the floor, she attempted to climb to her feet, an act which was rather impossible in her condition. Whenever she tried to nudge her body, the world did a somersault, quickly diminishing her resolve and making her slump back to her disheveled and disorganized, lump-like state. Ultimately she compensated by remaining, partially, where she was, using one of her hands to massage her head and utilizing the opposite hand to keep her upper body propped upright.

A low groan which resembled her name pierced Keaton's confusion. With her eyes still dazed, she glanced in the direction of the source, Cogidubnus. His blurred gray body was indistinguishable in her blinding haze, save for the ephemeral gleam of saliva along his ajar mouth. At first she assumed he had overdosed on drugs, judging by his stumbling swagger and the intoxicated way he spoke. Amidst his mumbling, he suddenly seemed to speak with a certain amount of clarity.

"Keatooon..." the wolf was looking right at her. Keaton felt her throat dry up. "I feel...

"Ravenous."

In the next moment, all Keaton could do was watch the former subject of her brutality started to mutate and transmogrify in a manner with which she was, by now, very familiar. The formerly piteous, unassuming drug addict was exponentially increasing in size until he was towering at a monstrous height over the Succubus. Teeth glowed an eerie, immaculate white in enamel rows within the werewolf's jaws, muscles bulged beneath the contours of taut, fur-laden skin, limbs elongated, and eyes glowed a hideously bright saffron in the empyreal moonlight, until, at the end of his transformation, Cogidubnus was the barbaric werewolf which Keaton recognized as the one who defeated and liberated her.

Whatever nausea Keaton formerly possessed was no longer there. It simply evaporated in the blistering heat of her horror as she stared, jaw dropped, at the corrupt beast. In her shock, it could have been simple for the werewolf to devour her, but instead it turned its attention to an unlikely person. It leapt at Cross, leaving Keaton to stare after it as Cross bolted down the hallway. Forced into motion by this sudden shift, Keaton scrambled to her feet and clawed away, dashing to the furthermost wall.

The buzzing returned.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

 Like a sledgehammer, the Wolf slammed into the wall where Jakob had been standing just moment before. It's claws, not mere bits of hard flesh, punched through the metal like a sharp pen through paper. It had missed the Incubus by inches, and snarling at the deprivation of it's kill, the blood-mad creature ripped it's claws from the wall and pushed off. A roughly circular dent about the same size as the creature remained in the wall, and might take a good deal of hammering to pop back out - although under the circumstances, most could be forgiven for having larger things on their mind.

Running away is generally considered to be the worst way to get away from a dog - it triggers all the wrong sorts of instincts, and only makes them try and catch you faster. The Wolf was no exception, and it was much, much faster than Petersohn would have guessed. Getting away wasn't impossible, of course, under certain circumstances - but even when everything went right, getting away from the Wolf, a true lychanthrope out of nightmares, was very, very difficult. It was the epitome of the ravenous beast, a dark-blooded hunter, and it would not tire, and it would not, ever, give up.
Like a spring uncoiling, it lept, and as Jakob reached the corner of the two halls the Wolf fell upon him, not even touching the ground in between.

The wolf slammed into Jakob's back with a crunch, and with yet another gut-turning collision slammed the cubi face-first into the outside wall. It remembered the smell of these creatures, and it had beaten one before - almost. Something nagged at the wolf about the end of that particular fight, but the hunger quickly blotted out such thoughts. It bent it's head towards the Cubi's neck, intent on feasting upon fountaining blood...
It's bloodshot eye fell on a short figure walking along with a dark-furred one, directly across from him. He paused, jaws not-quite closed on the Cubi's neck, as a bloodshot eye regarded both of them hatefully. A low, double-toned growl emanated from the creature's throat.

Epyon lived his life by sight. for as long as he could remember his eyes were his most import feature all four of them. his lower eyes saw the world like many beings saw the world but his upper eyes. then saw this of a more spiritual nature as it were. but his eyes we his only sense.  his ears world fairly were and what he heard now scared him. it sounded like there was some big trouble going down. what could be happening? did the wolf and spider start fighting? it didn't sound like it but he was afraid to find out for sure. when he head the metal ripping he could only remember the words he'd barely herd. 'I'm ravenous"

The words scared him. They struck a Cord in what passed for his soul. Something bad was going on. Epyon was remind of the hunger of the undead. it was a curse that he himself had to deal with form time to time.  It was a hunger so powerful that it was painful even when nothing else made him feel pain him that hunger could and did.  Epyon stood watching the corridor his hand dropping to his sai worried that it would be enough to save him form what ever was happening.

Cross found himself pinned down by the Cog-monster.  Well, that wasn't the plan, he thought.    Punching a tentacle through its brain was definitely a last resort - Keaton wouldn't like it at all.

Teleportation was out, too... or was it?  He could limit the range so the beast wasn't teleported too, but at a pinch like this it would be slipshod work.  He'd probably come away with chunks of the beast - which would likely mean that Cog would be disembowelled in his base form as well when he reverted.  Keaton wouldn't like that either.

As the beast prepared to tear his throat out, he shapeshifted and shrank, becoming a feral wolf.  If he could wriggle his way out from under the creature, he should be able to outrun it this time.  Assuming it still wants me in this form, he added mentally.

A hulking monstrosity tore down the hall and tackled Cross. In Ty's assessment, situations of this sort were almost never fortuitous. How on earth did this get onboard? Stowaways? Some infestation of mythos? The last option was particularly worrying; there was no love lost between the various tribes of the mythos, and he was reasonably certain his had to be fairly disliked; after all, he'd never seen another. He approached cautiously ahead of Penny and Witt, hands out ready to grab should the brute come his way and a calculating look in his eye.
"If I may advise that the both of you inform the captain?" He took another slow, deliberate step, "I believe this may be of import to her."

Witt looked up at the thump of the giant wolf landing on Pettersohn. "How the fuck did that get on board?" As it started growling, his eyelid flickered.

He would have leapt in it's direction, not because he particularly liked Pettersohn, but because it was just, well, something he could kick it's goohuloog head in, but Ty offered advice first.

Witt blinked. "It probably is. You tell her first." And with that, he stalked out to the the corridor, stared the giant wolf in the eye, and growled right back.

The beast glanced up at Witt, distracted for a moment.  The Cross-wolf took the opportunity to scrabble at the floor, hoping to free himself.  "It's the junkie," he gasped.

It wasn't working.  Keaton seemed to need Cog, but Cross was buggered if he was going to let it kill him and whoever else it met just to keep her happy.  We all have to make sacrifices, he thought and closed his eyes. Four tentacles burst out of his back.
Three went for the monster's belly - the fourth streaked out ready to punch through its eye.  Cross was adept at using them, and could slice through rocks or steel with relative ease.  Would the Cog-monster be tougher than that?  He hoped not.

It looked as if things would end in blood. With Witt quite close to the monstrosity but not doing anything, and Ty seemingly approaching the situation in what could only be described as an overly procedural and cautious manner, no one seemed to be intervening for the Cubi at all. Cross defended himself in a desperate manner, lashing out with his tentacles, and the Wolf closed in... before they were both snagged by something.
   A metallic creak from a pipe, and the sharp twanging sound of a couple of threads snapping came, before everyone could completely identify what had just happened. A web - well, actually something more like just a few very accurately targeted strings - broad enough to cover the whole of the corridor and growing in thickness as more thread was added, had been strung up in a moment between Cross and the Wolf. More threads flew out and attached themselves to the wolf, the spider advancing from the door behind the lycanthrope, glaring. Cross was simply caught by his tentacles, sticky, elastic strands holding them in place, but the Wolf was caught somewhat more firmly, and the arachnid was adding to the bonds even as she walked, though with evidently thinner threads now that his bulk had been stopped. Witt, in his proximity, had just barely escaped a string that would have webbed his muzzle to the Wolf's, which was now holding the latter one's fangs away from the Cubi on the floor.

 Losing his grip upon the now-suddenly smaller creature, the Wolf simply fell atop Cross as it snarled at the small, brownish creature. Meeting it's eyes and growing back at it was probably not the wisest course of action to take, and the beast would have lunged for the hedgehog if not for two simultaneous occurrences.

Tentacles exploded out from Cross's back, and out of simple instinct the wolf reacted. Cross lying just a bit on front of him, the wolf reacted with an eerie speed, the tentacle aimed for it's eye scratching it's head and taking half of an ear - and instead of dodging the tentacles aimed for it's belley, it simply fell. Three spikes cut through it's midsection like a knife through hot butter - but this didn't seem to go quite the was Cross expected it to.

It fell forward.

Three tentacles sticking out of it's stomach like macabre noodles, before the Cubi could even twitch, three hundred pounds of nightmarish beast slammed the Cubi's fragile, canine body into the metal deck, and grabbing it's head slammed it into the floor again with the sickening, meaty sound. Teeth snarled alternatively at the hedgehog it knew was above it, and the more imminent threat of the creature below it, intent on disemboweling it - not that it was or could be terribly worried.
Before it could slam the head into the deck again, a strand of something sticky bolted the creature to the walls - another creature, from the hall it had just left, was throwing strands of something at it. Like a glue it began to slowly paralyze the lycanthrope, and truly, it was caught in a spider's web. Mouth inches from Cross's neck, the creature snarled violently, bloodshot eyes staring hatred at the spider.
The thing wasn't a wolf, though, as much as it seemed like it. Incarnation of an old, dark curse of blood and hunger, it would never give up, never rest, and was much, much stronger than it seemed.

It snarled again, in rage and frustration, muscles as hard as iron flexing as it struggled against the spider's webs. Engineered perfection tried it's hand against eldritch darkness, and the contest would have been interesting to see if, alas, there wasn't a fatal flaw in the competition. A weak link, as it were. Even as gleaming claws cut twanging strings, the hallway suddenly seemed to explode.
Paneling ripped off the wall like paper, and reacting with that same, blinding speed, the wolf bunched the smaller wolf's tentacles with one hand, and with gleaming claws slashed. The tentacles in his stomach went limp, and with eldritch fangs bared, the wolf paused for a moment.
Too many targets. Too many foes.

Go for the closest.

Awkward, strands of stickiness and masses of metal paneling struggling against him, he dove for the hedgehog with claws bared and fangs gleaming.

Guhhh... Cross thought muzzily as the wolf-monster left him and went for Witt instead.  He was bleeding from three tentacles and it felt like one of his ribs had gone.  The pounding of his head against the floor had done him a power of no good and the blackness threatened to overtake him.

Not here... he thought feebly.  His paw twitched as he made the gestures.  It was so hard to think... moments later he was in the cabin, a bleeding wolf with four tentacles, three of which were severed at the ends.  He managed to staunch the bleeding, the rest would have to wait.

"Cog... in the corridor... wolf-monster... killing everyone..." Cross said, as clearly as he could.

"I... I can't remember which corridor..." he admitted in a slurred voice and promptly fainted, his task done.

Fal'taq looked warily back at the stairs as a metallic crashing noise came up from below, much too close for comfort. He'd just turned back to speak to Pandora when Pettersohn teleported into the middle of the room. The wolf was battered and bleeding, and Fal'taq nodded grimly as he saw the proof that Pettersohn was actually a 'Cubi.

"What was that?" the mole asked sharply as the mauled wolf muttered a few words. "The monster killed Cogidubnus? What about Keaton? Is it coming this way...? Oh, blast it, he's unconscious!" Fal'taq turned back towards the stairway and cast a hasty shielding spell across it. No matter how annoying he was, the newly revealed 'Cubi was a skilled fighter, and the mole didn't want to come unexpectedly face-to-teeth-and-claws with whatever had beaten him so thoroughly. If any of the others were still alive down there, maybe they could find somewhere to hide. If not... oh dear, how sad, never mind.

"Pandora," he called over his shoulder, "that noise a moment ago — has it done any serious damage? Can we continue safely?"

As the words 'wolf monster' escaped Jakob's mouth Paige swung round towards the door her claymore in her hands. "Damnit is it coming up here?" The succubus wondered aloud, not turning she addressed Fal'taq. "Do you think you can hold here? I'll intercept it if it is on its way up here and if not see if I can help the others."

She waited so Fal'taq would drop his shield so she could get through.

Epyon turns the corridor just in time to see the wolf clad in thread and pulling part of the corridor wall with him as he lunged for the hedgehog. Epyon gasp. he's expected many things but this was not one of them. his eyes flew wide open and his hand reached for his pole putting his sai back. there was no way in Furria that he wanted to get close enough to use his sai's on that thing.

The sheer strength of the monster evidently took the spider by surprise. All eight eyes widening until her face almost resembled some eerie sort of kaleidoscopic image, her almost permanently closed mouth slightly agape, she stiffened, and would have yelped as she felt the creaks and snaps and banging of the plates when they tore loose, had she been able to. This was insane! If this... beast was even stronger than her, then she had really best start thinking about escape alternatives. Unfortunately, she was already feeling herself running low on web, the typical aching sensation of having expended so much in such a short time without giving herself a rest to replenish, and a soreness in her fingers and spinnerets. But in a way that was all the more motivation. Even if she did not think of it directly, she was practically trapped on this blasted airship. She would not be capable of spinning a parachute to save her, and not likely even get outside should they go down. And if they were over the sea, she was practically lost. While she was capable of swimming, moving through water for more than half an hour would almost surely drown her. With these thoughts in the back of her head and the pressure of the situation on her, the spider stressed, beginning to feel a bit panicky.
   Still, there was little at the time that anyone could do but simply try harder to restrain the thing. And possibly... It might be risky, and would be quite uncomfortable, but what other choice was there? Deciding to exert herself more, the spider tensed up and began flinging more web, trying to tie the wolf down to every solid surface she could see, hoping he wouldn't rip some critical pipe or conduit out. Making a snarling, chittering sound, she moved forward, eyes on the beast's leg. If she could just get close enough...
   It was when the Wolf finally lunged for Witt that she saw her chance, the beast's hind legs straining against the webs and stretching out. Throwing herself onto it with a hiss, the spider opened her mouth fully, grotesque fangs flashing for a second, and then bit deeply into the thing's thigh. Blood and muscle pumping and pistoning very palpably under her jaw, she bit down hard, feeling the telltale squeezing sensation, and then kicked and thrashed backwards to dislodge herself from the hideous and ill-tasting thing as fast as she could, fangs still dripping with fast-working paralyzing venom.

"If you think it wise," Falt'aq replied, looking doubtful, "one moment..." He reached out, unsealed one edge of the shield from the wall of the stairway and peeled it back, leaving just enough room for Paige to squeeze through. He didn't reply out loud to the wolf's first question. Whatever his chances of holding the stairway, at least it was safer up here for the moment: Paige, he suspected, was bound for the wolf-monster's stomach. Possibly in instalments.

Dios mio, the thing's fast for a bum.

The demon grimaced, just trying to keep focus on the ravenous beast as it had torn through the corridor.  Aisha was pretty quick herself, being a skilled hunter, but even this feral thing seemed to have a sense of power coming from it.  Primal, natural, hard to describe.  Even she would probably be winded after this.  Her ears even caught the incubus's footfalls just ahead of it.

The panthress had the chain swinging in an arc above her head, ready to grapple it around a limb or, more hopefully, its neck if she were close enough.  After all it had to be Cogidubnus from what she'd seen, and a bit of twisted logic told her that he was still needed.  Alive.  Who'd have thought I'd be helping to save the lives of strangers.  And friggin' CUBI.

One lupine leaped for the other, eternal hunger versus intelligence, with the stronger seemingly having the upper claw, surprisingly.  It tossed Jakob against the wall like one more rag doll.  Now she knew it was probably risky to get close enough with the chain without being targeted.  Then as if out of the shadows came more to help.  Aisha only just barely got away with a loud curse, of her born tongue--and bringing back her weapon just as quickly--as strings of web hurled across the room and into the wolfen.

It barely worked...it was setting its sights on one smaller, the hedgehog Witt while taking a whole portion of the hall with it...more or less, the thought was easy to cross into one's mind that the ship could get a hole in it.  At least the maneuver provided enough distraction, as with a desperate lunge, the strange spider-thing did the next best thing to do to restrain it, biting its leg, it was observed.

As for Aisha?

"Gonna need something stronger than string, araña," she grinned and finally found the hole in which to toss her chain through...hopefully, to grapple the creature.  A limb, the neck, even to close the jaw, anything to wrap the chain around to contain it.  Probably going to be a grand struggle for a moment or two, but hell, the demoness liked the thrill.

Witt reacted to the lunge in the fashion of all small, spiny creatures when attacked by large, toothy carnivores.

He spun to his left, raising his spines and throwing his shoulder, covered with needle-sharp points, straight at the oncoming toothy maw. At the same time, he dropped a knife into each paw, and tucked himself up into a spiky ball in the blink of an eye.

And waited for the brief moments until all hell would break loose.

Left alone in the galley Penny peeked around the doorway to see what the noise was, even as she muttered something about curiosity killing the stupid fisher. When she saw the cause of the panic and the now missing section of wall she quickly pulled her nose back into the galley and reached for her crossbow and another one of her special bolts.

Epyon watched the spider Bite the wolf "poison" he thought  imidetly his voice echoing his thoughts. but would  it work on the beast? it seems more a magical juggernaut then a flesh being. it had a soul so that was a step in the right direction. but could poison stop it. he didn't know but he had to give it time to work. holding his pole on his arm he aimed and extend it harsley. he hoped to clip the beast in the back of the head and knock it senseless  with out hitting one of the numrous threads that were littering the corridor. he might have thanks the spider if not the the fact that he wasn't sure whats she was planning or why she was even here. well that and the web made and over hand swing impossible.

...Keaton:

Keaton remained where she was, against the wall, for some time. She felt she had no other option, petrified in mind-numbing fear and inaction. Only when Cogidubnus, motivated by bloodlust or some equally atrocious instinct, barreled after Cross, did Keaton finally feel her limbs jerk back into animation, making her slump down the wall's surface until she felt herself land unceremoniously on the floor. From where she was, she could clearly hear the results of Cogidubnus's rampage; the sounds petering away as the two sources trailed further and further from Keaton. It made a suitable barometer to determine when it was safe to move.

At the moment, Keaton didn't have any time to be disgusted with her (to her) cowardly behavior. She had to formulate a plan to get Cog to revert back to his ordinary body. The last time she encountered his werewolf form, she had barely escaped with her life after he had the misfortune of attacking her collar, involuntarily liberating her from the artifact's grip. Over the hundreds of years Keaton had been forced to wear that degrading, humiliating accessory, she could never remove it - the thing was nigh impenetrable. Only Cog's fangs and murderous intent had succeeded where she had failed. Under any other circumstances, if Keaton wasn't wearing that accursed collar, Keaton imagined her throat would have been crushed.

Keaton shakily stood up, and picked up Catastrophe. Right now, she had to find Cross, carrying the hope that he hadn't been eviscerated. With the mace in hand, Keaton started to trudge hesitantly down the hallway, until she finally burst into a full sprint in the direction of where she heard the sounds of Cog and Cross's skirmish originate.


...Pandora and Axiyne:

Pandora, meanwhile, was utterly unaware of the events occurring deep within the airship. Axiyne, however, with his decidedly superior hearing, started to detect the distant cacophony of Cross's approaching footsteps. At first he thought nothing of it. After all, he had no idea there was an emergency - not until Cross, having adopted a feral wolf form, teleported into the chamber in an unexpected flash. Pandora thrust her heels into the floor and jerked her chair around just enough, hands slapping the top of the dashboard. Her feathers were individually standing on end, quite similar to Axiyne's horrified state, as he cowered behind his throne.

"Wha' th' FUCK?!" Pandora exclaimed, shocked. At the moment she was rather shocked by Cross's current form, not being able to recognize the Cubi until the moment he collapsed. Her reaction was somewhat delayed by stunned shock, as well as the impact of Cross's message. Behind her, she could hear Fal'Taq continuously ruminating over the ominous message Cross had imparted them before he passed out, which made her increasingly worried as well.

Pandora stared down at one of the wolf's tentacles. Normal wolves didn't have tentacles. And unless she had smuggled aboard a strange breed of Mythos without realizing it, this was a Cubi in a somewhat different body. Regardless, Pandora couldn't dwell on the wolf's identity at the moment. If there was truth to his words, then she had to deal with that, first.

"I - I..." Pandora seemed rather bereft of her limited vocabulary, or at the very least at a loss as to how to respond to Fal'taq's words. She craned her body around to stare at the elder mole, her crest bristling. Finally, she shakily turned her head toward a petrified Axiyne, and pointed to him. "A-Ax," she said, "Keep th' shi' runnin'. Take care o' th' wolf."

Axiyne nodded hesitantly, and quickly activated the autopilot on the airship's settings. He walked to Cross's body and started to tend to his injuries.

Pandora turned back to Fal'taq and addressed him summarily. She seemed to have regained some sense of fatalistic calm to her features, at least because she was restoring her confidence. "You... I might need some backup."

Resting her hands on the ground, Pandora helped herself to her feet, swaying erratically but recollecting her balance in short order. She walked past Fal'taq and over to a heavily armored cabinet resting over the table holding her ashtray and cigar collection. The cabinet was labeled with a gaudy, striped band which read, in big, bold, red letters: IN CASE OF EMERGENCY, BREAK PADLOCK. Pandora seized the padlock strapped onto the front of the cabinet and wrenched it once, rattling the length of chains looped around the cabinet, and then, after fishing through her pocket, brought out a key and unlocked it. She reached inside of the now-open cabinet and removed a sizable weapon: an antique long rifle, characterized by its enormously long barrel. In comparison to Pandora's earlier weapons, the rifle was decidedly primitive due to its flintlock mechanism, but was augmented with a number of parts and apparatuses built into the rifle's structure. Carved into the rifle's side was a small, stylized bird.

Pandora retrieved a box of ammunition from within the cabinet and prepared her rifle, then lowered the obscene-looking weapon to the ground. Another attribute to the rifle was that it, apparently, had a rather large ammo capacity, as opposed to antiquated weapons of its ilk. She gathered two other weapons: a pair of flintlock pistols, and quickly hung them from their appropriate holsters on her cumbersome neon-pink belt. Breathing deeply, Pandora shuddered, rubbed her thumb over her forehead, and then gestured to Fal'taq, heading for the door. "C'mon, old timer. Y' c'n cast magic, right? I'll be needin' some 'elp."

~Keaton the Black Jackal

 Snarling, and nearly trapped by the broken webs and metal paneling, the wolf encountered the first defense of all small spiny creatures when confronted with a larger one. Spines longer than the wolf's face pierced it's mouth and muzzle, in some cases all the way through, leaving the spines poking out of the top of it's mouth like a bloody marsh-stick. More than a dozen needles sank into the wolf's flesh.
The true horror of the werewolf was not it's size, or it's strength, or its sheer unnaturalness, but rather the sense of hopelessness that the beast's tenacity could inspire. Pain did not stop it - wounding it, did not stop it - it knew not fear, and it knew not care. It let the blades of it's enemies sink all the way through, and drank their heart's blood anyway.

Not even yelping, the wolf twisted violently on the hedgehog's spines, hoping to break them into pieces.

Then, a dozen enemies descended upon it.

A dozen more strands of silk attempted to immobilize it yet again, and as the silk dried and stuck fast a sharp, burning pain flared from it's leg - trapped as it was, it couldn't even move to check what was happening, although it could feel poison pumping into it's system. The beast had never worried about such things - just as the ear it had lost no long bled, and the hole in it's stomach had staunched, so did it burn poisons off too quickly for them to be effective against it. Even so, the spider's venom was strong, and it could feel the leg go numb.
A chain, thrown by another faceless foe sailed through the web of silk and caught on the beast's neck, the long hook catching nicely. The beast did not feel despair, but frustration was beginning to mount in it's mind. When another foe struck him in the back of the head with prodigious strength, making the beast see stars, the frustration ignited into fury.

Opening it's mouth, it shook it's head until a few threads of silk caught on it's teeth, and it bit down hard. The strings snapped like rubber, and with it's entire body writhing it began to free itself, each string that it snapped allowing it to move just a little more. It managed to free it's right hand, and plucking a number of strings like a child's hand through a cobweb, or a knife though guitar strings. It twisted it's upper body around, scrabbling at strings, and snarled viciously at the spider attached to it's leg.
If there was one advantage to being covered in webs, it was that no-one could get close to it, for fear of being caught in the webs itself. A truly horrifying prospect, considering that the beast could free itself, eventually, even if you could not. Aisha felt the chain jerk in her hands, pulling her closer as the beast moved.

It could feel the poison being pumped into it numbing it's leg, and slowly working into it's abdomen. Baring long, gleaming fangs, the Werewolf clawed at the spider, attempting to ruin the obsidian, shiny eyes placed in her face. It's claws flashed in the low light of the corridor, the spider's webs about it lit by moonbeams into strands of silver.

* * *

Unbenoticed by anyone, a small green ship, looking for all the world like a small fishing boat, surfaced beneath the airship, and began to sail underneath the high-flying Perihelion.

they say that the dead do not know fear. they say that zombies wild charge mindlessly into their own destruction for the sake of achieve their goal most ofter to attack or feast on a being. they say a great many thing but not all of them are true, As epyon watched the juggernaut in the shape of a feral wolf  pulling and clawing it's way free. the look of horror on his face was evident.

Watching it he felt fear the like of which he had not felt since his father told him about the cure put on his family. when he escape the undead that wounded him and when he found out that the magic of the undead was still thrive in his body almost a year later when most victims of undead attacks were cured in a week if the survived the week. this thing was as close to death personified as he had ever seen and Epyon had to try to stall or stop it while it was still tangled otherwise he'd die again and this time he wasn't sure he'd wake back up.  Pulling his pole back he gripe it with both hand tightly and began to jab at the wolf as hard as the could as fast as he dared. Epyon couldn't stop him like this he knew but he could probably district and damage him some while  hoping that the others could stop him before the wolf got free and ripped them all to shreds.

Unconscious, Cross had reverted to his base form and lay in a heap on the floor.  Mere minutes after Pandora left the flight deck, he stirred slightly.

"The fishcakes," he mumbled.  Then his eyes opened.  Cross' head was pounding and he stared blearily into the face of Axiyne.   "I'm sorry, my Lord, I didn't get the ears..." he babbled, suddenly realising where he was even as the words left his mouth.

"Oh gods," he said, and tried to sit up.  "The junkie, Cog... He turned into some kind of monster.  Pandora knows him... where is she?  Does she know what to do?"

Paige reached the lower corridor as the monstrous Were started to free itself from the strands of spider silk. "Gods" she breathed as she saw the fury emanating from the cog-monster. Stepping closer she started calling energy to herself, the air itself seeming to grow heavy and small sparks lit off the walls and into Paige.

Winter's Bite eldrich energy curling and sparking lined up with the Were. At her peak Paige let her power flow down the claymore and at her target, the ice magics seeking to encase and trap completely.

Fal'taq glared at Pandora's back as the bird-were prepared her weapons. I might as well have installed a revolving door in this shield, he thought sourly. Oh, I will follow you, woman, but not at all closely. That way, the wounded, maddened monster — if you manage to shoot it — will eat you first. The mole glanced over his shoulder at the controls as the scruffy midget gryphon adjusted them. Before they took off, he'd briefly considered disposing of Pandora and Aixyne, and taking over the airship himself at some point during their flight. One look at the hideously complicated mass of levers, buttons, dials and switches — not all of them labelled — had changed his mind. Still, perhaps the gryphon could be suitably intimidated into obeying him if anything messy and unfortunate were to happen to Pandora.

"I shall leave the shield up behind us," Fal'taq said finally, as Pandora finished checking her weapons. He opened the side of the shield again and waved Pandora through with an "after you" gesture and an almost sincere-looking smile on his muzzle. As he followed her through and sealed the shield behind them, he spared barely a glance at Pettersohn lying on the floor in an untidy heap. If the 'Cubi lived, he might be weakened and easier to dispose of later if necessary. If not... the mole smiled grimly as he walked down the stairs, letting a gap open up between himself and Pandora. One less problem. And anyone connected to that lunatic Daryil frequently becomes a problem, sooner or later.

...Axiyne:

Even after Pandora and Fal'taq departed, Axiyne remained where he was, quizzically examining Cross's body. When the wolf unexpectedly reverted back to his original body, the tawny Gryphon let out a horrified trill and skittered backwards, talons jerking into fluid motion across the immaculate floor. One accidental sidestep and Axiyne went down in a tangle of limbs, but recovered quickly. He was back on his feet in moments and gingerly approached the unconscious Cubi.

Axiyne sighed and started to turn around to retrieve the first aid kit he knew was secreted in a nearby shelf, only to notice Cross stirring on the floor. Not long after, the Incubus was mumbling incoherently, apparently something about.... fishcakes. Axiyne had no idea why. Cubi were such strange Creatures. In his confusion, Axiyne didn't immediately realize that Cross was staring right into his visage until the next moment he spoke. At least he wasn't dead, Axiyne concluded, since the dead most certainly couldn't talk about fishcakes and move.  When he registered what Cross said, however, Axiyne wasn't sure what to think. Monsters? Furrae couldn't turn into monsters. Dragons, maybe, those could shapeshift, or Cubi if they tried hard enough... at the moment, though, Axiyne couldn't speculate or panic. He needed to keep a firm hold on the situation until Pandora got back. Carefully, he walked over to the shelf, and opened it, pulling out a white box simply emblazoned with a red cross.

"Monster?" Axiyne then shakily set the handle of the box between his beak, carrying it over to Cross. Once he was there, he set the kit down and snapped it open with a flick of his talons, folding open the box and starting to rummage through the medical tools inside. He quirked his ears, staring at the wolf-Cubi curiously. He fished out some rolls of bandages. "Look, you - you shouldn't talk. Yo... You're hurt and we need to take care of that."

Admittedly, Axiyne had no idea what was going on. While Pandora may have known about Cog's lycanthropy, Axiyne, unfortunately, did not. It was probably why he was remaining as (relatively) calm as he was.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

"I don't need to breathe," he said, as the gryphon fussed over him.  "Talking won't make much difference and it's much more important that Pandora and you know what's happening.
"The junkie, he... transformed into some horrible feral thing, something more powerful than I could handle.  I've never seen anything like it before.  He's on some kind of rampage... but I don't think it was deliberate.  I don't think he knows what he's doing."

Despite his words, Cross knew he was still too weak to get up.  He didn't try, but his hand made instead for the .44.  The gryphon started.

"It's not for you," Cross said, with a faint grunt of laughter.  "I don't know if it would stop the beast, either.  But if it comes down to it, I'm going to try."  And just in case any members of our motley crew try to kick me when I'm down.
He lapsed into silence and began mentally composing an apology an advance, just in case - Pandora was unlikely to appreciate that kind of mess on her walls.

As the huge muzzle twisted, Witt flew away from him, most of the spines slipping clear, but a few snapping off. The whole result was so quick, the knife that flashed out on impact missed the wolf's chin, and the spiny ball flew off down the corridor, spraying drops of blood on the walls, and cursing all the way.

"Aaaaa" *whump* "mother" *whump* "fu" *thump* "cking" *bang* "sonofa" *wham* "bitch"

He uncurled at the far end, upside down, and gazed back along the floor at the feet of the monster, and growled. The knives vanished, and Witt pushed himself up into a handstand, then dropped into a roll that ended up with him stalking back down the corridor towards the furore at the far end. On his way, he fished something heavy out of a pocket.

"Hey! You overgrown rug!" As he called, he launched the object down the corridor, at high speed, aiming for the monster's head - followed by Witt himself, knives out, spines raised, and teeth bared, hell for leather and all out for war.

Aisha felt a moment of elation as the chain made it around the feral wolf's neck and caught tight.  But soon after it did, she felt the muscles in her arms tighten in response to the great amount of force that they now struggled against; the strength of the beast was mighty enough to have the feline's feet dragged.

Still she held on to the chain, gripping it as it was wrapped around both hands.  She let go of some of the chain when it tried to take her along.  Slack and pull was the key to not having it tear her arms off...it was just like fishing, only more intense, and the prey tended to bite off more than a small metal hook.  With the claws on her feet extended she had them dig into the floor as much as they could to anchor her while the others made their own assaults.

The webbing, although it was slowly and surely being torn from the walls, was just as much an obstacle for those fighting as it was for the beast itself.  Were it not for the easy chance that she'd be caught, Aisha would have had her wings freed--and thus her full demonic powers--in a moment so that she could try to stun the thing.  But all she had was her physical strength...which she used in powered kicks attempted at the beast's head whenever she managed to pull it close enough.

Just...need...to...keep...it...still...the panther grunted at another tug.

The wolf's teeth snapped like a huge bear trap in front of the spider's wide, almost saucer-like eyes, yet her reflexes served her well enough that she managed to get out of the way, only having to deal with a scratch to her eyebrow and the foul breath and spittle. Scrabbling backwards over the floor in a disordered heap of limbs, she thrashed, snaring her coat with her own webs accidentally. Carelessly throwing herself out of that coat, at least one seam opening with a ripping sound, she backed up against the wall, all eight eyes fixed on the horrid beast and her limbs, all eight now visible as four large, previously folded arms sprouted from under the divided back of her jacket-like garment, claws out and pointing against the Wolf, tense like coiled springs. She was ready to bolt at any second.
   What was more, she was going to fucking kill him once he changed back!

For Ty there was, in a way, stillness.
Oh, not to be mistaken, the world was a maelstrom around him of people assaulting the monster. There was roaring, screaming, a chain flew by, allies joined or were removed. But for the mythos it wasn't entirely unfamiliar, almost relaxing. With the life he lead, calm was something you cultivated inwardly.
The spider was backed to the wall, with the monster rearing up on its hind legs before her. Limbs trailing webbing, mouth open in a scream. It was the stuff of epics. Ty was familiar with this. Now.
The mythos stepped forward slowly and deliberately, violence more inevitable than immediate, before lowering his head and lunging forward. The monster stood like a man, which made this next bit easy. Two saurian hands came up beneath the Beast's arms, hooking around it's shoulders before clasping together behind its neck. Tyrannus arced backwards, yanking the beast away from the spider and putting pressure where one in the hold wouldn't want it while entangling himself further in the webbing the beast was trailing. On the positive, it meant his enemy was now that much more restricted in movement. On the negative, he was now stuck to someone who rather wanted to kill him. Thus was life.

Cross glanced at the empty control panel and then back at the gryphon.  "I assume this craft has some kind of autopilot to keep us locked on course?"

 Epyon's continual jabs at the best seemed to be having little more effect on the creature than to make it madder, and as Sal skittered away and to safety and Aisha made the thing's head snap back with a perfectly executed high-kick, the beast saw something trail before it's vision, and with the instincts of a feral dog snapped at it.
It was the trinket from before, the mer-token that Witt had pried off a dead body – with an apparently more sinister purpose. Powerful magic was hidden beneath the relatively more mundane breathing enchantment; magic that acted like a beacon to whomever knew how to find it. The magic in it was strong, able to be detected almost anywhere on Furrae.
   As Ty grabbed the Wolf, the creature's jaws snatched it out of the air. As the saurian's arms lifted it off the ground, the Wolf's eldritch teeth bit through the charm, compressing, crushing and then puncturing the matrix that held these powerful magics.

It exploded, along with half of the creature's head.

 The air misted just slightly with blood, and in Ty's blood-slicked arms the creature seemed to simply melt. Soon, all that was left was the spindly, emaciated frame of Cogidubnus – whole, but completely unconscious, and blood pouring out one nostril.

* * *

Far beneath them, the little ship began to veer just slightly off-course.

Epyon watched in horrors as the creates head exploded. he could not believe whats he'd seen. he felt the tickle of a gag reflex trying to make him empty his stomach. he'd wanted the beast stopped but dead and in such a way? then as the body feel with the saurian he saw that despite his apparate death the wolf was still alive and it was it was the wolf that stated this crazy question the the jackals.  Weak in the knees he fell to leaning on his pole. are you still alive big guy? he asked the saurian since he was closest to the blast and the others had seemed to be okay.

Ty's thrashing charge sank its teeth into the ring, and for all intents and purposes the world exploded right in front of his face. That almost never happened. When Cog slumped and squished his way to the floor the saurian was still standing in the same position, stunned expression on his face and ears ringing. He licked his lips to whet his now-dry mouth, but that only served to remind him that his face was covered in gore.
Composure, Tyrannus. Remember, poise and composure. The mythos breathed in once and exhaled, slowly.
"... Ew." He finally said, when he felt he could properly rely on his tongue again. "And yes," He continued, that once phrase giving him confidense in his ability to continue without regressing to Most Improper Conduct. "I am very much alive, young man, thank you. Furthermore, I believe it would be wise for someone to ascertain whether or not the Afflicted Gentleman is, and conduct him to a makeshift mortuary or a room as appropriate." His snout crinkled briefly. "A room guarded by myself, if there are no objections. In addition, if someone could please inform the captain as to the events as they transpired? I believe she is most definitely entitled to know what has caused the damage to her property, and hence who to bill." He wiped some of the lycanthrope off his face and folded his arms behind his back. "If it isn't too much trouble."