Higura, Nanaret, Saffron and the refugees emerge into a cavernous room with metallic walls, dimly lit with essence lamps. There are nine hulking shapes standing in the gloom -- warstriders, some of them missing panels or significant parts of their limbs, rendering them all but useless.

But these are not the jade construction one would expect of a massive fortress/factory ruled by Dragon-Blooded. They are all of rare magical material: 3 orichalcum warstriders, 4 moonsilver warstriders and 2 starmetal ones. Only one of them look like it might be functional though. It's been both cleaned and repaired in a rather quick fix, jury-rigged fashion, probably no more than minutes before. The functioning warstrider is of orichalcum construction, one of the common warstrider types.

Outside the (currently closed) bay doors the group can hear the roar and rumble of a large amount of people engaged in combat somewhere outside. There are screams and shouts of defiance and essence weapon blasts, with the stern voices of the peace officers calling out in amplified voice, "Citizens, lay your weapons down. Cooperate or pay the price!"

The doctor gazes ahead, and lifts his chin slightly. As he hears the sounds of battle and the voices outside, he inwardly lets out a low hiss - the situation is hardly one for civilians and prisoners, and handling it would prove rather difficult and hazardous. And then, for a moment, his eyes rest on the hangar itself, and on the constructs lying therein...

The thought of using them crosses his mind, but seeing the state in which the warstriders have been left simply extinguishes the hopes of putting this particular plan to execution. Unless... As he scans, his eyes rest on the one functioning suit, an orichalcum construct that had been repaired only moments prior it would seem, at least to his untrained eye.

Maybe...

"Miss Saffron." He asks suddenly, in a hushed voice. "How confident would you be about piloting one of these suits? It would seem the one operational construct is your fit..." He looks over at the rest of the fugitives, and his brow furrows.

"I... am aware of how much you despise fighting, but this might be one of our best options in keeping ourselves alive..."

Nanaret closes the trap doors, as well, when she sees that everyone has gotten through. She almost thinks of trying to bar the doors shut, but realizes that if there are others besides their own group still trying to escape from below, they'll need to get through here.

If they can get past harpies. The Lunar shakes her head, her dark face grim, almost irritable. Though she does not speak her feelings, something inside her is saddened and sickened at the deaths that will occur below. She fought because she had to, and because it was the one thing she was good at -- but she never truly approved of the use of artificially bred lifeforms for entertainment. It is a cruel thing, playing with nature that way, and the part of her that is touched by Luna finds it especially abhorrent.

"We should not stay here long. Time still counts down. If you wish, Doctor and Healer, I will go to check situation outside. Try and figure out big metal statues in the meantime, yes?" Nanaret's long stride takes her swiftly to the bay doors, stopping close enough to touch them before she whirls back around. Her eyes, no longer yellowed but dark once more, stare down the uninjured refugees. "Any of you can fight?"

The harried looking refugees look a little bit startled to be singled out. A few of them nod at Nanaret, though not all of them are armed.

Unfortunately, the weapons lying around in the warstrider storage are much too large for a normal man to carry. They are all mundane weapons sized for the 'striders -- a wide array of them, from gigantic swords to huge, crushing hammers to devices that launch projectiles as big as javelins.

"The Peace Officers are swarming this whole floor," offers one of the refugees. "We'll get slaughtered out there..."

"But there's no where else to go. Who knows how much time we have left??" points out another, terrified but nonetheless antsy to get moving.

Others start to crowd near the door, including the wounded who can move or be carried. There are a few too exhausted even for that, though, including the one that was slashed by the harpy. He clutches his bloody wound, his face pallid as he sags against one of the walls. "Leave me..." he gasps. "Kill me if you have to... I'll thank you... in the next life..."

Nanaret purses her lips. "Those, there." She points at the warstrider-sized projectile launchers -- and their ammunition. "They may be just right size for wielding. Those who can fight, take them. I will scout situation outside, but yes... we should hurry."

Nodding once to her companions, she turns to the bay door and lifts it up with her bare hands, digging her claws underneath it to pry it upward manually. (It seems she does not want to be bothered with technology, if she can help it.) As soon as there is a human sized space for her to roll under, she peers through it to ensure there is nothing immediately outside.

If she sees nothing, she will crawl outside, and proceed forward stealthily to assess the situation and potential routes for escape.

Outside Nanaret sees... nothing, at least initially. The bay door opens into an abandoned alleyway that appears to be unguarded, one of many such narrow streets lined with the boxy, nondescript low-income housing of Lower Residential.

Most of the noise is coming from the nearest adjoining main street. Once she gets a clear view of the street, it's not difficult to understand the source of the sound. A throng of residents been stirred up into a riot as the truth of their predicament dawns upon them. The announced purge was never meant to save them -- only the officers and officials that would soon be leaving towards the safety of the upper levels.

The mass of angry, desperate people clogs the entire street. Nanaret can see, distantly, the shadow of the nearest district staircase leading upward. Two scales of Peace Officers and their dragon-armored leaders block the way, attempting to 'make peace' with the citizens shouting vitriol and swinging fists or makeshift weapons. 'Peace', of course, means a massive display of force. Blasts from Essence cannons and force weapons systematically mow down row after row of rioters, while blades finish off the rest, until their bodies begin to pile up near the stairs like some sort of macabre battlement.

Two more individuals are also in sight of the very same spectacle, but closer to it than Nanaret. Grinning Turtle and Third Beneficiary of Orderly Knowledge are ensconced in their own separate vantage points, having gotten this far by their own wits and strength once their collars mysteriously deactivated. Unless they've ducked behind complete cover, Nanaret will be able to see them, but they cannot see her, as she creeps silently and carefully closer...

As the three look on, something unusual begins to occur. A soothing choir hymn begins to rise all throughout the residential floor. It starts as a chorus of low baritones thrumming in unison, joined by progressively higher ranges as the paean rises in complexity, singing mellifluous praise to the Immaculates and -- in particular -- to Danaa'd, to whom this Coil has been dedicated.

For a moment, all fighting ceases.

---

OOC: Ok, Turtle and Third can post here. You're currently on the outskirts of the riot. If you like you two can assume you've at least worked together up till now, even if you don't know each other's names -- it's probably a good idea! [Private to Grinning Turtle; Third Beneficiary of Orderly Knowledge: also assume you're around 10m 2wp down, since you've already been fighting beforehand just to get to where you are now. This means you could have already activated some scenelongs too, if you wish.]

At this point the purge count is starting to approach the T-15 minutes mark. Oh, also, the people still in the hangar will be able to hear the voices, as well.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:57, Thu 27 Nov 2008.

Grinning Turtle squats with his back against a metallic wall, craning his flexible neck around the corner to observe the slaughter with a disapproving gaze.  Currently in his war form, the turtle-human creature is nearly as wide as it is tall, both dimensions a bit under six feet.  A distant observer could consider the reptilian form comical from a distance, with its undersized legs and long arms dangling down to its knees, rounded shell-covered body and thick flexible neck.  However, as proportions and details alike resolve, the observer would quickly find much less about the reptilian humanoid amusing.  Long, jagged silvered claws top each of its stubby fingers and toes, and the creature's massive beak is lined with the same silvery material, giving its jaws a more than passing resemblance to a guillotine.  Aside from the silvered highlights, Turtle is a mixture of brown tones, ranging from the deep brown of its shell to an almost yellow brown on its underbelly.

From her approach, Nanaret can easily make out the details of the reptile-man - the wall he has chosen to crouch behind was selected to obscure its bulk from the Peace Officers and Dragon-Bloods holding the stairway, not to conceal it from the stealthy Exalt's position.  He doesn't appear to be hiding from Third Beneficiary, either, while occasional glances he directs to the other Exalt the reptile-creature is obviously aware of his presence.

The human-turtle hybrid turns its neck, obviously about to address Third Beneficiary when the strange chanting begins.  Craning his head upward, Turtle considers the chanting for a few moments before speaking, mouth opening slightly to give its features an approximate expression of amusement, "Well... now what, hmm?  An opportunity, perhaps, new friend?  Or just a distraction, from the task at hand, hmm?"  The creature's voice comes out in a low, bass rumble, spoken with a gentle rolling cadence.

[Private to Third Beneficiary of Orderly Knowledge: Unless you object, I'd prefer we go with the GM's suggestion and say Third and Turtle have been working together since their collars died.  Despite his appearance, Turtle appears to be thoughtful and cheerful, though the latter appears to be slightly suppressed since he also obviously dislikes violence.]

[Private to Gatekeeper: Turtle's already shifted into his Beastman form.  He activated Halting the Scarlet Flow and Claws of the Silver Moon as his Gift Charms, then Armor-Forming Technique on its own a bit later.]

Third, in turn, looks relatively human, perhaps. It's... beautiful, certainly. In a deeply androgynous way, the Solar dressed in a tightly belted robe that offers no further guesses to it's gender. It holds a slashing sword, still sheathed, in one hand, and the stance of the Solar suggests that it's holding some sort of weight on it's shoulders. It stands behind the same wall. It looks on the carnage with... indifference. It seems to take it as simply there. It's hair is about shoulder-length, ice-blue, and it's skin is so pale as to be almost albino. The creature's stance with the weapon has it prepared to leave the scabbard at any moment.

Nanuet's gaze probably isn't quite as clear of Third as Turtle's, but it's still obviously there. It seems to be waiting patiently, but it also seems to be subtly shifting on it's feet, never stopping it's movements as it watches the crush of people as they try to escape. It can appreciate that.[Private to Saina Nanaret: As to anyone else, it's gender is unknown, but you can feel free to declare what you think it is, if it strikes your fancy.]

It's eyes move upwards, regarding the music blankly. "This is a moment of opportunity. We must escape. Waiting will lead to our deaths." There's a moment where it's eyes flash with an unusual intensity. "We cannot fail." It steps back, looking up to the Lunar, to make sure that he will be ready to join the run, legs tensed to sprint.[Private to Grinning Turtle: That sounds reasonable to me, Third is probably pretty clearly insane in the brain. And it's an it, at least until somebody collapses the quantum waveform of it's gender- Of course, feel free to assign your own gender, for more fun.][Private to GM: The character probably has Flow like Blood up, that's the only scenelong, and to be perfectly frank, it's very wise for him to have it up. Do the motes come from Peripheral, or Personal? It's anima may be flared at least partially, if so. Probably not past the glittering caste-mark, though.]

Nanaret, too, is displeased and utterly disgusted at the loss of life and the selfishness of their Dragon-blooded keepers. The hymns of the Immaculate may be beautiful, but they represent something more sinister to her: the use of organized religion to subdue an entire people.

They would slaughter their flock, then sing to them as they die. Somewhere far above, in that sky she has only seen in dreams, Luna surely weeps and rages for what they have done.

Perhaps Luna has seen fit to bring her hope, though. Her sharp eye picks out the lumbering shape of the turtle-man, and she sees in him what can only be an ally -- another taken from the Coils' downtrodden citizens, tattooed and forced to work for the pleasure and convenience of their masters. She slips nimbly behind the wall, coming up from behind to address the man and his rather androgynous companion.

"I am friend," Nanaret pronounces softly to announce herself as she seems to all but materialize in the dark hiding space. As soon as she has their attention she touches her forehead, allowing for a moment the crescent of her Caste show clearly. "Such waste... they care not for the people beneath them. One day, it will be their undoing."

"If you will go now, I will not hinder you. But my group be close behind."

(OOC - sorry! I realized like, way belatedly that I posted after Third did.)
This message was last edited by the player at 19:49, Fri 28 Nov 2008.

The turtle-man turns its long head around at the abrupt appearance of the other Lunar, fist-sized eyes blinking twice in slow surprise before he responds, "Oh ho.  Two new friends, in one day.  Lucky me."  Turtle bows his head deeply in respect, coincidentally allowing Nanaret to make out the subtle glimmer of the Full Moon mark where a human would have their forehead, "Grinning Turtle, I am.  A pleasure."

Turtle swivels his head around again to address Third, "Haste we should make, I agree.  But I think waiting, for the newer friend's friends, might be the wiser course.  Strength in numbers, and we face many foes.  They are close, newer friend?  We will wait, then, high-strung one?"  The last two sentences are in the same deep bass rumble and rolling rhythm, only perceptible as questions by context.

Third has the sword halfway out of it's sheath before it's eyes flick over the new Exalted, and sheathes it again. "Bring your friends quickly, Third and you must move quickly. There is no guarantee of how long this will last, and Third and you do not have very much time to escape from this area." The androgynous human has a twilight caste mark on it's forehead. "How many people are you bringing along with you." it states. It's voice is a monotone, barely changing in pitch and tone as it looks off into space. "Let Third think."

It studies it's memories, trying to remember if it had any information on this floor's schematics, eyes closing as it concentrates. It doesn't speak, waiting to see if it's swift mind pulls up any information.[Private to GM: Going to try to use it's Lore to see if it remembers anything about shortcuts, or a way for everyone to get to the next floor with minimum difficulties.]
This message was last edited by the player at 03:01, Sat 29 Nov 2008.

While Nanaret scouts ahead, Higura watches over the remaining fugitives, making certain that they remain relatively organized and none of them fall prone to fear and panic. As he walks around, granting reassuring nods to the assembled runaways, he still keeps an ear open to possible threats, and to the sounds and happenings outside of the Hangar.

It tugs at him - the hymns, and the sounds of combat. There is a strong current of disapproval in his thoughts and feelings, and although he does not like or approve of the methods of his captors, he still has the feeling that there is more to these emotions that meets the eye. Another piece of the puzzle, perhaps? He wonders, silently, as he struggles to make sense of these deep-rooted reactions.

It had begun with a simple letter he had found stashed in his personal belongings - a simple note with only a few words scribbled on it. When you find this, the cycle can begin. Know that one path to freedom resides in yourself. It is locked, but this is your expertise - you need no key, only knowledge of the lock. The actual message would not have held much ground for the doctor... If it had not been scribbled with his own handwriting.

Vigorously, Higura shakes his head. Now is not the time for him to ponder the possibility of having previously placed a cypher on his own brain, after all. "Be prepared to move out soon... We do not know yet how long this area will be safe." The words are swift, but not threatening, as he speaks to the assembled fugitives. "Now more than ever, we will need to be vigilant, and watch out for one another."

With that, the doctor quickly moves on to the Hangar entrance, keeping an eye on the group behind him as he does so, and puts his back to the wall, right next to the door. Peering outside carefully, he lets out a short, silent breath as he scans the area outside for signs of Nanaret.

Nanaret nods brusquely to Third, understanding the need for haste. "I am Nanaret. Down the next alleyway there is a storage room with very large armor-machines and weapons, two, three times as tall as a man. Perhaps is useful to you, perhaps not."

"I will return shortly. Be careful -- monks maybe worse than Peace Officers." She slips away and returns back the way she came, retracing her steps and avoiding open spaces. As soon as she reaches the hangar door she ducks under it to rejoin her other companions. "Doctor, Healer and all. We must move out quickly. I have met two others who can help us, in the next street. You, refugees, stay behind us and out of sight, do not fight unless absolute threatened. It will be dangerous."

Nanaret waits only long enough to ensure everyone is ready to move before pushing the bay door up the rest of the way, giving the others space to exit upright. She assumes Saffron has been preoccupied healing the injured ones, so does not question her silence.

"We go."
This message was last edited by the player at 13:12, Sat 29 Nov 2008.

With Nanaret scouting ahead and Higura keeping the refugees (and his own thoughts) orderly, Saffron has taken the time to give emergency medical care to whoever needs it: staunching bleeding and preventing infection for those who are wounded, providing a draught of stimulant -- just enough -- to keep people alert and moving. She does not seem at all amenable to serving as a warstrider pilot, or simply too concentrated on her task to do anything more.

The hymns, however, appear to have a disturbingly calming effect upon the ordinary mortals, particularly those weakened by ill health or injuries. At least two thirds of them simply smile blissfully and stay put, or mill about the room aimlessly, or actually fall on their knees murmuring tremulous, exulting prayers to the Immaculate Dragons. Only the strongest and most determined among them remain unaffected, clutching the barbed javelin/short spears that Nanaret had pointed out. Some of them shake desperately at their fellows, yelling "snap out of it!" and "this is no time to sit still!" and a few more stir, straggling to their feet to follow Nanaret, but the rest do not move.

The same effect seems to have overtaken the majority of the rioters outside, and even some of the armored Peace Officers. The choir, the Exalts realize, is issuing a powerful compulsion on the entire populace, broadcast from unseen speakers throughout the entirety of Floor B29, encouraging them to put down their weapons and quietly accept their fate. Marching from the central sector of the residential floor, coming up behind where Third and Turtle now crouch, a procession of Immaculate acolytes and their pristine, white silk-clad Master swiftly approach the heart of the uprising.

Another figure standing rigidly among the Peace Officers, closer to the district stairs than any of the others, has a clear view of the procession. He is a head taller than most of the Peace Force, a man who appears not only armored but actually fused with his armor, a grotesque amalgam of magitech alloy and flesh. Alus Tycho (also recently and inexplicably freed from the collars' forced servitude) can see at least a dozen young Wood and Water acolytes in hempen robes accompanied by two senior monks in undyed linen and jade armaments, striding in strict formation as the Earth Dragon master leads them in song and praise:

"Be not afraid, for the Immaculate Word is Law! Obey the will of the Immaculate descendants, the Dragon-Blooded who guard your safety and protect you from wickedness! Citizens of the Coils, put down your weapons and your fears, for your peaceful cooperation is for your good and the good of all!"

The Jade Officers of the Peace Force seem unaffected, even expecting of the spectacle, and begin to order their men to fall back toward the upper levels!

---

OOC: Sorry, rather large post, but a lot happening at once. Also, Tycho can start posting here. :) Coming right after this, Third's post giving the floor layout and all possible options of escape he might know of. (12 successes is a lot! o.o)
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:27, Sat 29 Nov 2008.

Through this, Third remains quietly focused upon his meditative recollection of Five Coils lore, drawing in his mind's eye a map and potential plan for escape.

[Private to Third Beneficiary of Orderly Knowledge: Third recalls a nearly photographic memory of the entire Water District layout. As mentioned in the Five Coils info, each floor is circular in shape and a few miles in diameter. Third and Turtle currently face the far end of the northern main street. The closest stairs at the very end are the north district stairs, which if climbed would reach all the way to Floor B26, the top Water floor. Third is certain that if any floor were to contain the control panels that initiated the 'purge', they would undoubtedly be on that floor.

The other district staircase is due south, and would be a miles long run -- not to mention cut through the central sector from which the Immaculates are now approaching. It is possible to bypass them via side streets, but Third is certain that with a little more than 15 minutes remaining it would be a stretch for all but the swiftest and most tireless Exalts to make in time.

The next option is the east and west district elevators. These would still take about 5-10 minutes to reach, and are undoubtedly well-guarded as well, though perhaps not as numerously as the group amassed at the northern stairs for riot deterrence. The central elevator, from which the Immaculate force has likely originated, would require strict authorization -- or lacking that, codebreaking or some lucky misdirection of the governing AI, both of which would also take time and immense skill.

Lastly, there are two more obscure, but less distant options Third might consider.

1) If the group could reach the NW or NE sections of wall unscathed, it is possible that skilled climbers can ascend the main interior piping up to B26. However, this piping also happens to be how thousands of gallons of liquid will be pumped into the Coil of Water once the purge commences, drowning the entire remaining populace in the area. Climbing too slowly -- or worse yet falling down that shaft would mean being washed to the bottom level and submerged in a watery tomb!

2) The Water Residential City Hall, due south-southeast, connects the three residential Water districts, B29-B27. It's possible this building is less guarded, now that the majority of officials are evacuated upward. That path would not lead all the way to B26, and they've no idea of the situation in B27, but there would be fewer bodies in the way. They would still have to either evade or get rid of the Immaculates, though.]
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:03, Sat 29 Nov 2008.

Tycho stands apart from the rest of the Peace Force, both physically and in appearance. He is a hulking mass of gunmetal-gray magitech prosthetics, with the barest scraps of a mortal’s torso and head stuck onto them. What little flesh he has to call his own is either bound in a skin-tight suit styled loosely after a Jade Officer of the Peace Force or else deathly pale. Both his hands are full, the human hand gripping tightly to the bulk of a curved riot-shield and the thick fingers of his mechanical hand wrapped around a brutal looking club.

He watches the proceedings with sadness and disapproval, turned nearly as much towards the rioters themselves as the Dragon-Blooded who were gradually subjugating them again. His unblinking gaze can see this crowd for what it was – a scared, beaten, disorganized mob. These were not the hard and willing men he had known in another life. These were women and children and elders and simple workers, terrified at the prospect of what was to come. Willing to risk their lives in a desperate effort to keep them.

Poor fools he thinks to himself. They outnumber the Peace Force at least ten to one and the dragon’s almost one-hundred to one. If they struggled as a group, they might even have overcome them.

When the orders begin to come for the Peace Force to pull back, Tycho continues to stand aside, ignored as a weapon still in it’s sheath. The heavy respirator that engulfs the bottom half of his face rattles with breath as he waits and tries to figure out what to do. The simplest answer is to simply fall back with them, retreat to the upper floors, where escape in the confusion might be easier. Looking out at the mass of humanity that begins to bend their backs once again to the will of the Terrestrials though, he wonders if he truly can. Leaving now would be condemning them all to certain death. Some unknown force had turned off the collar and given him a second chance at life. Genocide seems like a rather poor way to start.

He reports to the Jade Officer assigned to hold his leash for the mission, kneeling before the Terrestrial with his head nearly to the ground. It was the way the collar compels him to speak to a superior. “I will proceed into the district and clear out any last pockets of resistance. My experience as a rebel leads me to believe saboteurs and organized bands of rioters will continue to cause substantial difficulties if not dealt with.”

He does not have to wait for conformation. He has, after all, always been a loyal dog and one whose insight into the mob mentality shattered many protests in the past. If he should be trapped down here and lost in the purge, the mild reprimand his superiors may receive would be nothing compared to the chastising they would get should the purge fail on account of some riotous band's ill-timed terrorist attack. Now, alone, he begins to march against the flow of the retreating Peace Force. His heavy footfalls sound out like the steady beat of a hammer. He wades into the crowd of bowing, praying mortals and into the district, on the hunt for armed and organized bands of rioters not already put down by the song ringing through the streets.

Perhaps they were still taking volunteers.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:56, Sat 29 Nov 2008.

"Doctor Higura!" Nanaret hisses in alarm, seeing the refugees still in the hangar faltering, or simply refusing to move. "What will we do?! Can you not talk to them?" She has vague, disjointed memories of Higura's calm, measured words, releasing her mind from the grasp of the wrathful persona that seizes in combat, filling her with irresistible bloodlust...

Then she turns her dark, impatient gaze to the mortals that have managed to resist the hymn. "Tell the others to shut their ears! Or do it for them until they snap out of it!" Her lip curls in irritation, which she just barely keeps in check as she addresses the silent healer. "Healer Saffron, you keep watching them -- I will rejoin the ones waiting outside. Perhaps can convince them we must stop the source of the singing. Time will soon run out if we dally here too long!"

The monkey Lunar dashes out the hangar door again, skidding to a stop almost immediately and flattening herself against a wall when she sees the procession of Immaculates passing through. She dares not rejoin Third or Turtle just yet, not wishing to give away their position.

But Ranavalona stirs again, tempting her toward violence and vengeance... They are here! They sing for a peace that itself invites slaughter! Nanaret grits her teeth, her eyes unfocusing, half-dazed for a moment as she feels that cruel, ancient, consuming anger rise in her, and attempts to maintain her sanity. Slay them, puppet, for they are fiends that garb themselves in gentleness! hisses the Bitch Queen in her mind. Rise up and SLAY them ALL!
This message was last edited by the player at 17:31, Tue 30 Dec 2008.

Turtle raises an over-sized silver claw to dig at his leathery scalp, considering the situation as quickly possible.  After a few moments of contemplation, he addresses Third, lowering the volume of his bass rumble as much as possible, "Hmm.  I regret interrupting your meditation, new friend Third, but I believe, very soon we shall be stuck, between the approaching monks, and the Peace Force.  Cut them apart, perhaps, by hitting the monks now?  It might be better, to fight one group at a time, rather than wait for them to join."