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Post by Fureya on Mar 1, 2016 19:58:37 GMT -5
Tamryn Manor, or the Manor as it's more commonly called, is located a couple of miles away from the City Proper and at a higher elevation. The outline of the Manor can generally be seen from most points in the City in fair weather, but not enough detail to offer any sort of intimate view of the comings and goings of the City's Benefactor. The Manor is very literally built into the side of Mt. Tamryn, with only about a quarter of the actual structure visible from the outside. There are several access points to the Manor― the most obvious being the grandiose double doors that serve as the actual entryway to the "main house." The other access points are known only to staff or to a few trusted with the information. The interior of the visible portion of the Manor is very open: there are very large windows lining the front face and a foyer with space and height enough to rival some of the older palace-type structures in Azaleth. Though not gilded, the interior is clearly of fine make, with richly cured hardwoods and granite accents. The furnishings are simple but the craftsmanship is apparent. There is a second level above the main entrance that has no visible access point to the outside: this second level helps to form the impression that the Manor is only marginally larger than what is immediately seen. In keeping with the design of the lower level, this portion of the Manor has separate rooms and a relatively open design.
Outside, there are other structures that are part of the estate but are not physically connected to the Manor. There are stables for a rather large selection of horses and what seems to be living quarters for some of the Manor's staffing.
The Manor is not unsecured, no matter how serene it may appear. Any trespassers will be quickly questioned and directed elsewhere. Those who with more tenacity are dealt with accordingly. . .
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Post by Dragos Syrkhan on Mar 1, 2016 22:02:18 GMT -5
Their trek through the town, thankfully, wasn't nearly as exciting as their arrival at its outskirts. Despite his size, the Son had a way of moving through a crowd that made him easy to dismiss; by letting his posture stoop somewhat and keeping his gaze down, he could very likely be presumed to be the worker whose cloths he'd taken. Granted, it was just as likely a very genuine fatigue after the day's events. In any case, despite his movements, his attention to his surroundings was exceedingly sharp. Turquoise eyes peered from beneath the hood that did well to conceal his white hair, and he was careful that his gaze did not shift so often as to appear erratic. Granted, while he'd never truly traversed the streets of the town, the distant manor nestled into the cliff side was all the guiding beacon he needed, even if he had to suppress his thoughts every time he looked at it, in favor of staying in the moment and remaining alert.
Admittedly, doing so became became more difficult the closer the pair got in proximity to the manor. As the pathways and buildings thinned, giving way to the Manor's perimeter, Dragos's mind became more centered on it. In his somewhat brief stay here, he'd never really left the grounds until his actual departure, and as such, the rise of his familiarity with his environment brought memories with them. While the venture here had been wordless unless Es had felt the need to break the silence, the air about Dragos became all the more reserved as they bypassed the gate and approached the Manor proper. Only once did he think they'd be stopped, but at the lowering of his hood, the distant watchman went wordlessly on his way. He glanced at the occasional groundskeeper in the distance, each going about their tasks quietly, but his attention was largely held by the Manor's upper level. That this was to be his shelter from harm now for a second time, yet again after he'd walked away from failure, and even more, when his mind was ill at ease, did not escape him.
As they approached the door, he realized that he wanted to turn back. As uncomfortable as he was with using the townsfolk and comparatively tightly packed buildings as shelter, the potential for harm to both the staff here and the very structure itself kindled a sense that the location was precious to him. Given that its conclusion led him to why that was the case, the day's earlier events were made soberingly real, and connected in a way he didn't want to address. Lifting a hand to knock on the door when he very likely could have just entered, he waited. If it perplexed Es in any way, she'd get no explanation unless she addressed it. For him, interacting with the staff on some level was as vital a component as any to whatever plan they would formulate once inside. Yes, he knew his way around the Manor well enough to eventually find what they needed, but he wouldn't leave those on the grounds ignorant of what trailed behind its latest visitors. In the best case scenario, perhaps they could collect what they needed and then opt for a different, more remote location.
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Post by Es Kauvrian on Mar 2, 2016 17:50:43 GMT -5
Es Kauvrian followed Dragos in relative silence as he led the way to the Manor, though her lack of conversation in no way came from a desire to keep her current travelling companion at a distance. Instead, the female Arc’s mental focus was primarily directed elsewhere, to both drawing a general map of the Town’s layout in her mind as they passed through it and, additionally, to formulating the specifics of how she intended to implement her plan of creating a no-teleport zone within their chosen battleground. Calling on what little she understood about planar boundaries and the Risis Mage’s apparent ability to very, very easily move through them, Es had the workings of a solid design in mind to accomplish her objective of keeping the silver-haired witch grounded in place, therefore keeping her from relocating one or both of them to some prison inside the Tower. Unfortunately, Es’ plan would also take an incredible amount of energy and attention to complete, meaning that her fighting ability would be significantly diminished. That was where the weapons needed to come in – Es only hoped that Fureya’s armory of tools would be enough to make up for the combat gap created by Es inability to fight energetically and keep them from being whisked away on the ethereal winds.
As they neared the manor, however, Es’ thoughts turned in another direction: where they were ending up was significantly off the beaten path, which meant that there was a chance that their pursuers wouldn’t even manage to find them in the first place. While, in theory, avoidance of conflict by hiding was a pretty good strategy, it also meant that the whole attempt to capture Viers would end up being what amounted to an utter, unmitigated failure. Es wanted them to live, of course, but she knew that they wouldn’t gain back any lost ground unless they inflicted some kind of injury on their pursuers or, better yet, eliminated one or both of them. That meant, carefully, Es also had to be able to set up the confrontation, on her terms, which might mean drawing the pair to them. How to do that exactly might prove challenging – for the moment, Es shelved the idea, intending to revisit it once she had assessed the situation inside the manor.
Reaching the door, Es watched Dragos knock with some degree of amusement. She knew, from Achréiøs’ memories, that Fureya had purchased this place with her own resources, which were apparently considerable, and that it was something of a seat for Fureya’s organization of Assassins, but the Arc was still not exactly sure what to expect from the place. Was it manned at all times? How did Fureya keep up with the day-to-day operations of her organization, handle payroll, and keep her people loyal when she was off with Achréiøs for such long periods? Es was interested to see, but for now she would reserve judgement and follow Dragos’ lead . . . though not without comment.
”What, do we need a password?”
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Post by Staffing of the Manor on Mar 2, 2016 18:35:01 GMT -5
The main doors to the Manor glided open at the knock of the white-haired visitor. A woman with bright green eyes and steel-colored hair― the kind earned by age rather than magical effect― held the solid wood loosely. She was much older than she looked to a cursory glance and the reason why that was would become obvious on further examination. The woman had enough presence for three people.
"Ah, Master Syrkhan. . . I see the Lady's mission was a success then. Welcome back, young Sir," her voice intoned low and mellow, with the same heavy lilt to her accent that marked those native to Vascxious Sigma.
Her jewel-toned gaze swept the length of him, clearly measuring his current condition before the dark haired woman with him was given her own once-over. The pause was slight enough that anyone else might have missed it but very shortly after their path was freed: she stepped aside long enough to admit them and closed the door the moment they were inside.
"Should I expect Lady Fureya to be returning as well, or. . ?"
Whatever the answer, the woman's chin would dip in acknowledgment before she swept a short bow.
"Pardon my rudeness. My name is Mæven Hearn. I'm the Manor's current Keeper."
She smiled in the other woman's direction before shifting her focus back to the young Master.
"Do I need to have a room made up for our lovely guest?" Without hesitation, "The Lady's rooms are as you left them, Master Syrkhan. I can have a fire started for tonight if you wish. I'm sure you'll want to get cleaned up. We'll have to shake up a change of clothes for you."
She watched him expectantly with a sharp gaze. Clearly his presence was not unwelcome and their arrival did not cause any dysfunction to Mæven's estimation.
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Post by Dragos Syrkhan on Mar 8, 2016 23:17:44 GMT -5
Dragos turned his gaze over his shoulder in response to Es's quip, his brow furrowed, and his expression dark and humorless. Every passing second served to nurture the realization of his feelings about the location, and therein, why. Furthermore, his knee-jerk reaction to suppress these emotions and their implied attachments was proving nigh impossible due to the emotional fatigue brought on by the day's events, and with sagging shoulders he stopped trying. Fortunately, he was left little time to dwell on this at the Manor's door.
Turquoise eyes met Maeven's, and the Son instantly felt this feeling—this guilt—multiply.
“Mission?”
His brow quirked, and perhaps Dragos's genuine confusion could mask the notably softer tone he used to address the woman than he had to anyone else in the day's entire span. Granted, it was only a moment's hesitation before his eyes cast down to the ground, and he gave a slow nod.
“The mission. Yes.”
Fureya had turned up in Marru'Khyr shortly after he'd been taken, and through her, Achreios. A mission. To save him.
As the elder woman stepped aside, the larger Dragos stepped inside and out of the cold, and yet despite his general imperviousness to it, he swore that it came with him. It was only when Maeven continued speaking that he pulled himself from the depth, or weight, of his thoughts enough to lift his gaze and address her with a shake of his head as answer to Fureya's potential arrival. From there, he silently allowed his gaze to roam the building's entrance hall as the Keeper introduced herself to Es. As her occupational duties began to emerge in full—and not without a matronly touch that Dragos may or may not have imagined—however, another negative inclination was given, his attention fully upon her, and his expression grim, yet earnest.
“I...” He searched for the words, or took a moment to overcome the difficulty of saying them, before continuing. “None of that. It's likely that we will be tracked to this very location by another party with hostile intent.”
Though he didn't outwardly apologize for the danger he had brought upon this house and those that dwelt within it, to the keen, or familiar, eye, there was a definitive uneasiness to his posture and movements. Most of all, and quiet, almost mournful inflection to his voice.
“You and the rest of the staff need to leave the premises immediately, and for a duration that I cannot immediately determine.”
His brow furrowed as he tried to assert whatever minimal authority he might have as a compatriot to her Lady, but even as he forced it he felt its invalidity. If only they would listen, so that they might be spared the equally regrettable damage that the Manor itself was likely to sustain. That of course, was without mentioning whatever farther reaching implications for the Manor the future confrontation was likely to enact, even if he and Es were successful in, at the very least, surviving the encounter.
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Post by Es Kauvrian on Mar 11, 2016 17:51:29 GMT -5
Es Kauvrian blinked when the older woman opened the Manor door and gave the traveling pair of Arc’s the once over. Kauvrian wasn’t sure exactly who she had been expecting, if anyone at all, but the striking, matronly features of the apparent caretaker of the building they sought to more-or-less invade apparently hadn’t been what Es had in mind. She stepped inside regardless, though, letting Dragos do the majority of the talking while she glanced around the interior space where she now stood.
The large foyer space that they were now in was not extravagant in anything but space, but it was still impressive, though decorated in a fashion that most Vascxious Sigma natives might have considered ‘rustic’ rather than modern. The front windows made the area exposed, and because of that fact alone the Arc disqualified this particular space from being a potential staging area from which to receive their pursuers attack. Still, the manor was built essentially inside of a mountain, so Es was confident there were more defensible positions to be found.
The Arc’s green eyes met with Maevyn’s when she was finally addressed completely, and though Es didn’t return the bow, she did give a polite nod of greeting to the older woman before speaking in return, her voice intentionally kept smooth and soft- Es knew how startling her physical form could be to certain types, and she took steps in appropriate moments to try and soften her demeanor and presentation in some of the few ways she could manage to do so. She didn’t smile though – her mind was still too tactically preoccupied to go that far.
”A pleasure – I’m Es Kauvrian. I’m also an associate of Fureya’s, and I appreciate your hospitality, though I’m fairly sure we won’t be able to enjoy the majority of it at the moment.”
Kauvrian didn’t comment on the ‘mission’ – she had a good idea of what both Dragos and Maevyn were referring to, and it didn’t require her comment. Dragos’ comments, however, did require a bit of intervention, and with a small smirk finding its way to her lips, Es held up a hand to add a cautionary note to the male Arc’s alarmist commands.
”He’s being a little dramatic. What he’s saying is right, there are two people tracking us, but we don’t intend to put anyone here in harm’s way, and if we work quickly, there won’t be a need for any kind of evacuation.”
Es glanced sidelong at Dragos, but her eyes held a very firm message to simmer down. Returning her attention to Maevyn, Es dipped her head again in a gesture of respect, but also crossed her arms, a posture that made her physical profile grow more imposing, due to the spread of her shoulders.
”The reason we are here is for access to Fureya’s weapons – in order to have an advantage against our pursuers, we’ll need to borrow some. We are also looking for a defensible location we can use to deal with the people after us – since the Manor is built into the mountain, I thought there might be a more protected room, cave, or tunnel network nearby we could use. Do you know of anything that might fit that description?”
In order to belay any potential nervousness, Es smiled softly and followed up her statement with another, this time with her gaze focused again on Dragos.
”We don’t intend to bring any trouble directly into the Manor if we can avoid it, and the property won’t suffer any damage so long as neither of us gets carried away . . .”
Kauvrian’s comment was obviously directed at Dragos, and its meaning was pretty evident: she wasn’t planning on blowing anything up, meaning that it was his job to keep his propensity for heavy-handed action in check if he wanted Fureya’s ambitious abode to remain intact.
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Post by Staffing of the Manor on Apr 3, 2016 20:24:44 GMT -5
Mæven spared a small smile in the young Master's direction before one of her brows rose at his assertion. The older woman's posture was already iron but somehow she managed to straighten at his words. Green eyes narrowed slightly before she glanced to the self--identified Ms Kauvrian, her head tilting slightly as she measured the unfolding situation carefully. In all the time the Lady Fureya had possession of the Manor this would be the first time any of her business followed her home. Her silver-haired charge had always exercised a high degree of caution, but because of her line of work Mæven was surprised to find that she'd ultimately taken it for granted for quite some time that the Manor had remained the sanctuary Fureya had intended for this long.
But it had finally happened: trouble had followed one of her charges home.
"Your concern is appreciated, my dear boy, but no one is leaving the Manor. Especially not if there are threats afoot."
The Matron cleared her throat before eyeing Kauvrian evenly.
"Are you certain you've been tracked to the Manor, or have you only been tracked to the territory of Tamryn?"
She stared at the other woman, clearly unaffected by her stature. Age had an interesting way of lessening one's ability to be intimidated. Without further ado Mæven motioned for the pair to follow her to a second set of heavy doors that led to the true interior of the Manor. She set a brisk pace for them to follow, leading them down a very large hallway that contained the odd door and here and there. Dragos might recognize one specific oaken portal― currently closed― the Matron brushed them past. Soon enough she opened an unassuming door leading to a descending staircase, fluorescent track lighting casting cold illumination against steel. The steel-haired Matron didn't wait for her entourage choosing instead to begin the downward climb.
"The only part of the Manor that is somewhat vulnerable to the outside is the front foyer. We're already inside the mountain part of the interior. Once shut down from the inside, it's near impossible to penetrate with an outside force. There is a connection here to a network of caves― old tunnels that were here long before Tamryn had its name― that lead to the outside, far from the entrance to the Manor. The Lady had them reinforced during the construction of her sanctuary so that there would be little chance they'd collapse in case she ever had need of them. "
After a couple flights of stairs Mæven reached for a mildly tarnished silver panel, opened it, flipped a few switches, and then paused as the lights flickered on one by one. The sheer expanse of the room revealed might surprise the young Master and his companion: the space was a veritable warehouse. Fureya's collection left little to be desired and definitively lived up to the full meaning of the term "armory." What was contained in this room were weapons and armor enough to outfit the Azalethan Army in its prime. Swords, spears, hammers, bows. Shields, breastplates, gauntlets. The Armory was like a candy store for anyone interested in war. Exotic weapons hung on the walls. Rack after rack lined up like aisles. The utter magnitude might lead both Dragos and Es to wonder what the hell led Fureya to keep something like that around. . .
"Will this meet your needs?"
Mæven turned to face Kauvrian with an expectant stare, her arms clasping behind her back.
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Rivea
Initiated
Posts: 11
Title: The Unmade
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Post by Rivea on Jun 14, 2017 15:50:43 GMT -5
Rivea's appearance in the Main hall of the Manor didn't come with any fanfare - if anything, the Unmade stumbled a couple of steps backward from Callixta's push across space, causing the short-statured woman to look like she mis-stepped through the air itself because of an upturned rug corner. Luckily, There was no one immediately around to see her appear, meaning that the Unmade was given a few moments to get her bearings - not that she needed them.
A look of amazement came over Rivea's face as she glanced around the carefully-decorated structure. Making no attempt to be quiet, the Unmade immediately began talking to herself loudly, her youthful voice echoing in the overlarge hall area.
"Wow, Fureya lives here? Its so nice!"
Rivea narrowed her eyes as she glanced around, looking for the people she was supposed to be distracting. Seeing no one in the immediate vicinity, the Unmade frowned, and quickly proceeded to yell near the top of her lungs.
"HEY! ANYONE HOME!?"
Did Callixta miss the mark? Not likely - what was more likely is that the people Rivea was supposed to be messing with were somewhere else in the Manor. Without waiting for a response to her call, Rivea would immediately start travelling down the same hallway that Mæven and the others had gone down, stopping to peek her head inside any open rooms, her stomping feet making quite enough noise to alert anyone around to her presence. Still, as she journeyed down the hall towards the door on the end, Rivea looked around carefully, admiring the construction of the Manor and its extremely well-done decoration.
"I wonder if Fureya had a decorator? Maybe I could get her to decorate my room! We could have fun after, too."
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Post by Dragos Syrkhan on Jun 14, 2017 19:17:49 GMT -5
He was not being dramatic. Had they not just left the site of an avalanche caused by his and the bastard Viers' magics? Frustration started to rise at Es for her comment, expressed only in the slight furrowing of his brow, but he held his tongue as she continued, observing even through his displeasure the decidedly relaxed stance she had on the matter. Either she was trying to assure Maeven, or Dragos, as evidenced by her indication of his go-to tactics. He felt strikingly not relieved.
When the Matron replied, his annoyance lessened, or rather, left to cool as an anxiety he wasn't comfortable analyzing in any great detail took hold.
“Likely only to Tamryn, initially, but I've little doubt that the ability to track us that far makes pursuing us to the Manor a certainty. Es is...right, in that it's better for all parties that we don't stay long, but,” he hesitated at the Matron's sudden departure from the foyer, but followed, “I'm not convinced that you shouldn't leave as well. Those on our heels aren't the kind to be taken lightly.”
This feeling was one he found great discomfort in. Concern for a building, and the people in it. Danger was easier to manage when he was his only responsibility, and furthermore, he'd done a fine job today proving just how capable he was at that task alone, hadn't he? Falling quiet as they passed a portal that was indeed weighted with a time that seemed so long ago, he reflexively shot a glance over his shoulder to Es, brow furrowed, as if he needed to express that he wasn't happy. Still, Maeven's words took the forefront of his attention as they followed down a path that, admittedly, was entirely new to him.
“We can use the tunnels, then, to get away. As soon as we're armed, we leave.”
Had he convinced either of them, now, of his command of the situation? He hadn't convinced himself. Still, it was important that he convince Maeven in the short time they had; he wasn't sure what the mages following them would do to find out where Dragos and Es had gone, and that was if they escaped at all.
“Even if the Manor can withstand a siege, you can't--” When the lights flipped on, even he was distracted. Weapons and armor in a quantity that seemed almost laughably absurd. Pieces with signs of mass-production, and more exotic, individual items obviously displaying the characteristics of a smith's personal touch. Exotic and simple, and all alike in what he presumed to be deadly or sturdy, respectively. When he disregarded his doubt in simple weapons being a game-changer for the future exchange with their pursuers? Yes. This just might do.
He turned to Maeven again, and just as his lips parted, he felt something shift. If he wasn't already on edge, he might not have noticed it. If he hadn't already seen repeated instances of a manipulation so smooth and precise, he might not either. But something had shifted, if for an instant, in the Manor above them. Then? Nothing. He felt nothing, and his gaze snapped to Es, his features tightening with preparation.
“Did you feel that?”
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Post by Es Kauvrian on Jun 14, 2017 21:13:47 GMT -5
Es followed their host in silence as she led them down the hallway and deeper into the Manor's apparently-dense construction. Even just at the first set of stairs,. Es herself had the feeling of going deep underground, as she had before, long ago, beneath the ruined city of Vascxious Sigma. The Arc listened to Mæven's descriptions of the Manor's layout with interest, her quick mind already scanning through the possibilities. The tunnels sounded like they would work nicely for their purposes.
Es didn't miss Dragos' concern for the people of the Manor and the imminent danger they had been placed in through the Arc and Son's arrival. That Dragos seemed so concerned was as revealing as it was potentially hindering, and though Es herself clearly had a different set of priorities and, likely, a different acceptable level of risk from Dragos, outwardly she seemed to take his concerns into consideration. On the second flight of stairs, the Arc even seemed to partially agree with Dragos' suggestion.
"The tunnels do sound like a perfect escape route, and likewise, potentially a perfect place in which to stand our ground against our pursuers. Can you let us into the tunnels, and then close access behind us? If so, Dragos is right - you should get the manner staff to a safe distance. Our pursuers both can likely access the tunnels even if they are sealed, through magical transportation, and are not likely to target you if you are all far enough from us when they arrive. If they follow us into the tunnels, we may be able to defeat them there - or at least escape and lead them off if not."
Es fell silent as the armory was revealed - unlike Dragos, who seemed somewhat shocked, Es immediately stepped into the armory and began picking up weapons: a large, broad, circular shield made out of some kind of emerald-colored metal was immediately strapped to her right hand, and a quick survey of a wall full of straps and belts quickly had the Arc outfitted with several holders and holsters for various weapons.
Es was in the middle of taking down a particularly-large broadsword to sheathe at her side when she stopped, mid motion, and cocked her head to the side. At first it may have seemed that she was listening to Dragos' question, but the Arc was instead expanding her senses to register what she had just heard -very loud footsteps. Whoever had arrived, they were calling out and making themselves very well known, but they weren't either of the mages whom they had fought earlier: this one was new. Es spun on her heel and immediately started issuing clipped orders, first to Dragos, then to Mæven.
"Grab whatever you can carry - swords, spears, and maybe a shield. I need enough metal points to create a containment circle. You - how do we get to the tunnels? We'll have to engage and lead them into the mountain. Can you keep the rest of the staff safely out of harm's way?"
Es never stopped moving, even as she was speaking, and by the time she had finished with her orders, she had the shield, one broadsword, two short swords, one riding lance, and a war axe all strapped to her body or held in her hands. The Arc's eyes glowed green as she looked to Dragos, who hopefully had gathered up a few things.
"Someone is here - but not the same someone we had been fighting. Be ready for anything, and do whatever you can to try and lead them deeper into the mountain. That's the only place we'll have a hope of containing them."
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Post by Staffing of the Manor on Jun 14, 2017 21:47:52 GMT -5
Mæven unobtrusively observed the tension between the young Master and his companion. Whatever plot was cooking had the boy simmering. Much had changed in his demeanor since the white-haired Prince had last been sheltered by the Manor. To some extent the Keeper could chalk it up to trauma suffered at the hands of his captors in Marru’Khyr, but Mæven couldn’t help but consider perhaps the fraying of his composure had more to do with the green eyed woman beside him and the tangle that seemed to hamper both of them.
”Your concern is always appreciated, Master Syrkhan, but this is the Lady’s Sanctum. We of the Manor are tasked with its safekeeping and would be forsaking our duty if we were to abandon her home to anyone.”
Her tone left no room for negotiation.
Meanwhile, upstairs Rivea would find no errant member of the Staff drawn to her cries. Perhaps as a stroke of luck― certainly more for the Staff than for Rivea― she would find those rooms to be empty as she progressed closer and closer to her target.
At his inquiry the Keeper glanced to Ms Kauvrian, her steel posture unflinching. Her instantaneous reaction seemed to be taken in stride: Mæven appeared to be unperturbed by the revelation that her charges pursuers had arrived. Her hands unclasped and one gestured to the far end of the warehouse-sized armory.
”One of the entrances to the network can be found at the end of that hallway. There is a lever that activates the lift: it will take you down where the tunnels begin. Follow the sounds of the water and look for the glow― it will lead you to the Springs. You can escape into the range from there, away from the City.”
The Keeper was unnervingly calm.
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Rivea
Initiated
Posts: 11
Title: The Unmade
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Post by Rivea on Jun 14, 2017 22:15:12 GMT -5
This place was awesome.
Rivea couldn't help but admire the Manor as she moved down the hallway looking for her targets. Had she not been on a specific mission, the Unmade knew she would get lost in the many rooms and lofts. Oh, maybe she and Fureya could play hide and seek there later! That would be so much fun - almost as fun as what she was going to go do now.
Rivea peeked her head in a few open doors, but otherwise made her way to the end of the hall and down the same stairs Mæven had led Es and Dragos. It didn't take the Unmade long to retrace the matron's path - the woman seemed to have a sixth-sense as to the way the three had traveled, as though her tiny little nose could pick up their scent in the wide Manor hallways. From the time of their noticing her presence, those in the Armory would have roughly a minute before Rivea would stroll on through the doorway to the armory - though, Rivea would stop just in the doorway in order to gape at the assembled weapons in awe.
"WOW! I thought Fureya had cool toys UPSTAIRS!"
Depending on where Es, Dragos, and Mæven were in the room, it might take Rivea a few seconds to notice them, but as soon as she did, the woman's girlish features would shift into a particularly-devious hyena grin that had become her trademark of late. Crouching down slightly, her strong legs tensing like a coiling snake, Rivea would scream out in delight at her discovery.
"AHA! I FOUND you!"
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Post by Søren Kiirkegré on Jun 14, 2017 22:28:48 GMT -5
Søren smirked as she watched a very excited Rivea be sent on her way, and moved close enough to Callixta to take her compatriot's hand so they could step from one location to another. Once arrived, the Death Guardian stepped away from Callixta just enough that she had a clear berth and again extended her Ether, blanketing the area in a thin layer of energy so that she could gauge the location of those they were hunting. Immediately she caught a sense of where Rivea was, in the Manor's center where their targets had been only moments before - it didn't take the woman long to find the others, deeper inside the mountain and lower within the manor hallways. Eyes closed, Søren smirked and canted her head in Callixta's direction.
They've moved deeper into the building. From what I can tell, the structure goes back into the mountainside, and that means, if the designer was smart, there are tunnels or some kind of secondary exit out the back they are probably hoping to take advantage of."
Søren kept most of her focus on tracking the location of her primary targets, but the Counselor also took stock of other life signatures in the structure. Most of the human life signatures seemed to be focused on the top floor, though there was at least one human alongside their targets. The humans seemed to be moving in the direction of Rivea, meaning that the girl was doing a fine job of making herself obvious, as expected.
"It looks like the staff is going to be filtering down to follow our girl in, so if we follow her we'll have to deal with some of them. I can only pick up maybe five humans in the whole building."
Søren opened her eyes and turned back to Callixta, keeping her awareness tucked away in the back of her mind as she regarded her compatriot.
"I think they'll try to go out the back - any chance you can deposit us in their escape path?
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Post by Callixta Trëguere on Jun 14, 2017 23:01:43 GMT -5
Callixta Trëguere paused, surveying the Manor closely once both of them had solid ground beneath them. Everything seemed quiet until a faint reverb of Rivea’s shout reached them. The petite mage couldn’t quite keep the ghost of a grin from her features and silvered hair shook with her before she calmed and refocused.
”I’ve always suspected there was tunnel access to the Manor. There was no way to ask the townsfolk without calling attention to myself. “
As Søren continued to speak Callixta was already nodding along. Paying mind to where the other woman indicated the diminutive mage spread both gloved hands wide, raising them to eye level. With a sharp gesture, one that sent both arms wide in opposite directions, Callixta seemed to wipe away the space directly in front of her, revealing an over-the-shoulder view of what Rivea could see. The planar mage used the remnants of her own workings to pinpoint the tiny juggernaut as well as Søren’s direction the thin the river enough that she might see the path before them. Surely the effect created a visible ripple that any in the room might notice, but by the time any would think to react Callixta had already secured that which she desired. A gentle swipe corrected the planar barrier and another deliberate caress gave her the right fold to slip between. . .
Callixta and Søren would step onto the cold concrete floor on the far side of the giant room the four occupied― the far side the grey-haired Matron had indicated not so long ago.
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Post by Dragos Syrkhan on Jun 14, 2017 23:22:54 GMT -5
The Son felt as frayed as Maeven might have observed, and more. While to think of him as simmering at any relative point in time was a fair, and highly accurate assumption, today was a fine day for failures. He was no less on edge, angry, or violent than normal, and perhaps even more so, but the mix of his repeated defeats or forced submissions, paired with an uncharacteristic concern for their location in it had birthed a frantic energy inside him, and one quickly ignited by the spark of their pursuer's arrival, faster than even he had anticipated. He hadn't looked beyond face value at Es's support of his proposal for evacuation, and, despite his initial flinching in response to the shift above, he felt somewhat numb as he made to carry out the Arc's instructions.
Detached as he was, he moved with an urgency that made his hands shake the faintest amount, possibly as a compounded result of his anxiety and previous fatigue, but he moved just short of clumsy, letting his body's honed motions nearly guide themselves. Suspended at eye level, he found a set of three, particularly heavy-looking javelins encased in something between a quiver and a scabbard, complete with a fastening strap. Slung across his back and carried upon his torso after only an instant's observation, his eyes darted this way and that to find what was easiest to carry. A few steps down, a sturdy-looking bastard sword, dagger, and scabbards affixed to a belt hung from a hook, and his affixing them to his waist was just as mechanical as the last items. It was as his digits wrapped around the handle of a round shield, its circumference ringed by metal, it's center a steel dome, and its wood covered in a sturdy leather, that something at the entry to the warehouse caught his attention.
He froze. Throughout the thing's astonishment at what it had found, and its childish exclamation of it accomplishment in finding its targets, Dragos didn't move. He didn't blink. He didn't breathe.
“You...”
It felt like minutes that time stood still, but only a second or two had passed. Taking the shield in hand as he turned toward the warehouse's newest entry almost entirely without meaning to, he faced the intruder at some distance of twenty feet or so, almost looking shocked. Almost.
What came next was like having his ribs ripped out again; the rise of burning fury and wrath inside him was so sudden and jolting that a step forward was almost a stumble, and the knuckles of his free hand went white under the pressure of his grip. He breathed deeper, his lungs expanding dramatically as his chin dipped, his brow furrowed, and his lips peeled back to reveal teeth grit in what was nearly a snarl.
The majority of his energy had been expended in the previous conflicts, but what use would it have been to him against this...thing? He remembered well; a failure that still haunted him. He was done with failure today. Even now, the Arcanum coursing through his veins burned as he called it to action, the veins along the surface of his skin nearly protruding as its strength flowed through his tissues like the very meaning of power incarnate. These weapons hanging from his form were but baubles and toys when compared to what he could do with his bare hands, and he was more than ready to put that strength to the test after all this time. And then it happened.
Just when he'd seemed stricken by the inability to move for more than several seconds, he snapped into action with blinding speed, using his forward foot as anchor and pivot as he spun, his free hand reaching to grasp one of those javelins at his back, bring it forward and, using the centrifugal force of his spin, launch it with what would feel every part the more modern interpretation of missile than the weapon's historic classification. It had been a blur, potentially faster than the drawing of a bow, but it didn't matter. Aimed for the creature's torso, it was only a distraction. The very instant he'd stopped his torque, he used his new forward foot as leverage to hurl himself forward in a charge, that shield raised before him, eyes burning a white-hot gold of fury as he let out the only sound his mind could comprehend, a bellowing howl of unending, savage rage.
That, he knew. Care, anxiety, and doubt, were but the faintest memory of feeling to the fury that would always be there for him, and be there to grind this thing into dust on the stone beneath them for what it had done. Damn the cost. Damn getting away. And damn whatever hellspawn was materializing behind them, at the far end of the room; Dragos's whole world was before him, at this moment, and he was going to burn it down.
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