Clockwork Abattoir: Sordid Tales

[Ghostman]

[ic]
Xavier takes advantage of the head start he's gotten on these thugs, darting round a few street corners before scuttling into cover behind a large billboard advertising a cabaret of burlesque delights. In this hiding place he watches and waits for his pursuers to round the last corner, hoping that they'll fail to detect him and instead continue to press forward and past his position.
[/ic]

[ooc]
Stealth check, applying Grit:
[blockquote]Rolled 1d6 : 3, total 3[/blockquote]

Stat pools:
Might 9/10 (0), Agility 8/14 (1), Intellect 12/12 (0)
[/ooc]

[Rose-of-Vellum]

[ic=Mr. Nix]The streets are relatively quiet and sparsely traveled this morning. Even so, the ghul threads a maze that is fast-awakening with luckless laborers, poor souls rising to, or returning from, back-breaking toil. Their faces are soiled with the grime and glum of the Ebon Ward. A few scan the streets with apprehension, but most trudge on with downcast, listless eyes. Few seem to notice or paid heed to the furtive nightfolk as he dashes between the refuse-strewn shadows. Those who do, particularly those shoved by the neurotic grave-spawn, hound him with hateful gazes and shouted slurs. But none pursue him.

Mr. Nix' fears, nonetheless, seem justified when the ghul approaches his ramshackle abode. A wiry youth stands blocks his ingress. A cigarette hangs limply from his mouth, with a dozen others at his feet. Occasionally, the young man scans the streets, as if looking for someone.

His head snaps to attention, however, as he sees Mr. Nix bolt towards the building. The youth draws something from his duster, perhaps a gun? The ghul does not wait to see, but strikes the lad's mind with nightmarish hellscapes. The youth screams in horror, clutching his skull, and flees blindly down the alley.

The streets echo with screams, but Mr. Nix's path is clear. The nightfolk slinks into his hovel, grateful for the sanctuary from the rising sun. Vex follows, licking its jowls at the familiar aroma of fear, offal, and sin. Home, sweet home. [/ic]  

[Rose-of-Vellum]

[ic=Catena]Jarrow vomits, snarls, then slowly rises, his neck still suturing itself back together with sanguine thread. His eyes roll wildly, then lock onto Catena and her readied crossbow. His maw opens, unleashing an inhuman shriek and a flickering proboscis-like tongue that hungrily tastes the air.[/ic]

[ooc]You get your attack, and then can take another round's action before he is upon you. DC 2 to hit.[/ooc]

[Rose-of-Vellum]

[ic=Xavier]
True to Xavier's design, the Nine Eyes' thugs overlook his hiding spot and continue their search in vain. After waiting to make sure the trio are long gone, the assassin moves to descend from his concealing perch, but freezes when he hears a raspy voice call from the shadows:

"Well done, wing-martyr."

Pivoting around, Xavier sees a strange nest crushed between the painted billboard and the roof of a high-rise brothel. Reams and reams of soiled news-rags, tattered prints, and molted feathers form a bowl-shaped haven. A withered jatayu squats in the center of the mildewed heap. His plumage is sickly, with one wing bent awkwardly, and his pate is wrinkled like a sun-burnt prune. An amber monocle adorns his gap-toothed countenance. He smiles widely, spits out a shard of pigeon marrow he was suckling, and speaks once more in his dry, dust-bellow voice:

"No need to rush off, no need to fret. Sampati will keep your secret."

He wheezes, then pats the side of his nest as if inviting you in.

"Sampati likes secrets; they're stories that have been steeped. Aged through discretion and silence. Good vintage not wasted on the common ear, but saved for the closest companion."

There is a quiet patience in the jatayu's avian eyes. A resignation, if not contentment, that stands in sharp contrast to Skein's manic avarice.[/ic]

[Steerpike]

[ic]Catena fires her hand crossbow towards the regenerating, proboscidean horror.[/ic]

[ooc]Oh shit, it's that Slake (I think!).  Which means Gobble probably isn't far off.

[blockquote]Rolled 1d6 : 3, total 3[/blockquote]

Pools:

Might 5/13, Agility 7/12, Intellect 7/7

I'll wait till the results are in to decide on what to do next.[/ooc]

[Rose-of-Vellum]

[ic=Catena]The bolt dives into Jarrow's leg, causing the mad-man to lurch mid-stride. Violently, he rips the projectile from his flesh. By the time he drops the stained bolt, his leg has already scabbed over. Enraged and ravenous, he charges Catena.[/ic]

[ooc]Your turn, same DC to attack. Also make a DC 1 dodge.

As for that Slake, there is definitely a resemblance.[/ooc]

[Rose-of-Vellum]

[ic=Hadric]Hadric's stroll through the Violet Ward is placid. He arrives at Farelige's establishment, a narrow, third-story affair with a pseudo-elite clubhouse in its basement, without incident. Yet, as he approaches the bronze-wrought stairs, a gaggle of gala-masked youth block his path. The males are uniformly dressed in velvet-trimmed overcoats, drainpipe trousers, high-necked silk shirts, and brocade waistcoats. The few girls among them are adorned with drape jackets, straw hats, toreador pants, and dangling clutch-bags. At Hadric's approach, they look over the singed nobleman with blood-shot eyes as they pass around a pair of wine bottles and cigarettes.  

"Farelige's not up yet," one of the youth offers, as if answering your unspoken question.

"Must have been a wild night," a younger lad suggests.

"Or a lame one-," a girl counters as she digs into her elaborately embroidered clutch, "-if she actually went to sleep."

Her remarks brings a salvo of snickers and a click of the wine bottles.

"Which was your's?" another sallow-skinned girl asks, smiling as she eyes Hadric's singed raiment and locks.[/ic]

[ooc]I should note that today is Writhing, which in Skein's calendar follows Guising, a day marked by its parties, celebrations, and so forth. Basically, its like the city's hungover post-party day. Ironically, it's also the primary day for religious devotions among the few non-atheists in the city. Just to provide some temporal context.[/ooc]

[Steerpike]

[ooc]Where is the chandelier in reference to Slake?[/ooc]

[TheMeanestGuest]

[ic]"My nights never fail to delight, young miss! To sail upon the coruscating skies of the Ae-Tringe, held aloft but by the feral stare of a cloud-panther. To taste the most obscure vintage of sadness in the crystal-gardens of Ker-Iz in the good company of departed shadows half-formed, and not at all remembered. To experience the singular and sublime apprehension as one sits alone upon the gloaming plain, awaiting the curtain's rise and the soundless applause of the audience; never have I seen more enthusiasm for the dramatic art than was aroused at the conclusion of the opening act of the Gibbous Prince! Truly, I could hardly be more satisfied." Hadric replies. The girl doesn't seem to know what to make of his response, her brow furrowing. "Ah. But Farelige has yet to wake? This day conspires to victimize me. But if I must wake, then they must as well." he continues, shaking his head. "If you'll excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, it is past time that business hours commence."[/ic]

[Rose-of-Vellum]

[ooc]There are three, one of which is right between the two of you, a step to the left.[/ooc]

[Rose-of-Vellum]

[ic=Hadric]Whether charmed or confused by Hadric's reply, the loiters let him pass and ascend the narrow staircase. True to their word though, Farelige's door, a brass-knobed leather portal, is closed and locked.

Yet, as Hadric stands before the threshold, he hears something. Muffled and muted, but still discernible. A series of crashes punctuated by high-pitched shrieks[/ic]

[TheMeanestGuest]

[ic]At the sound of screaming Hadric is momentarily taken aback, but his body seems to be taking action regardless. Drawing his kneaf, he shoulder-checks the door, trying to break it down. He calls down to the loitering youths, mustering some authority in his tone: "If I'm not back in four minutes, call the watch! If I'm back in less then one, well, at least this will have been some amusement for you!"[/ic]

[ooc]Might check for door breaking, applying one level of grit: [blockquote]Rolled 1d6 : 4, total 4[/blockquote]

Assuming success, Hadric will quickly proceed within in search of the source of the commotion.

Might: 11/13, Agility: 11[12]/14, Intellect: 6/9[/ooc]

[Rose-of-Vellum]

[ic=Hadric]Hadric batters the door open. Rushing in, he sees a clutter of overturned chairs, shattered mirrors, torn wallpaper, and scattered hairdressing paraphernalia. At the center of the chaos is an ulotrichous, ramping beast. Shrouded in long, woolly hair and crowned with a nest of tortuous recurved horns, the thing thrashes wildly. It kicks over a wig-stand, bleats shrilly, and urinates over the ground.

Beside it, the Farelige sisters, unmasked and half-dressed in nightgowns, shriek and fret. Carmine attempts to salvage a knocked-over periwig, but soon becomes caught in a losing tug-of-war with the hairy beast. Perse, however, notes Hadric's entrance, and frantically pleads for help:

"Please, sir -the beast, stop it!"

As if to punctuate her cry, the capric creature tosses Carmine aside, then begins greedily devouring the once-fine wig. Carmine, meanwhile, picks up a nearby broom and begins whacking the beast over the head, but to no avail. Her stream of curses likewise fails to elicit a desired response. Perse shouts, her arms waving desperately:

"We need it alive!"

It is unclear whether she is speaking to Carmine or Hadric.[/ic]

[TheMeanestGuest]

[ic]Suddenly coming up short in his headlong rush into the room, the bizarre tableau triggers a strange pang of deja vu. Perhaps he'd dreamed this scene before? Hadric shakes his head, trying to clear it of oneiric cobwebs. "I - what? Right! But you owe me a haircut on the house for this, Farelige!" he declares, putting aside his kneaf and rolling up his sleeves in the blink of an eye. Hadric dives onto the hairy beast, his arms grasping, attempting to wrestle it into submission.[/ic]

[ooc]I guess this would be a might check. Hadric will apply grit again: [blockquote]Rolled 1d6 : 1, total 1[/blockquote]

Might: 10/13, Agility: 11[12]/14, Intellect: 6/9[/ooc]

[Rose-of-Vellum]

[ooc]Please make a dodge roll, MG.[/ooc]