Number Twenty Three and Immaculate Kestrel arrived at Sector 5, Sunder Street to check up on a factory contact, Copper Crane, one of the Freerunners' clandestine suppliers of metal components and armaments. Crane had not been in communication for at least a week, and now the time had come to ensure continued business, or if necessary, his safety.

At the same time, the workers of the Sector 5 factories were engaged in yet another strike. For several days straight now they have been cutting their own hours short or outright refusing to work, and as the days went by, more and more factories were impacted by the trend. Though the strike was not in fact Freerunner-instigated, many of the workers picketed and shouted slogans all but connecting them to Free and his organization, calling out for the Celestials that had freed themselves from the collars. Clamoring to be Free as they are, rather than a nameless cog in the great machine. Clamoring to be saved by them.

Though the demonstrations were originally peaceful, held primarily in South Diamond Park, smack between the major industries of the Sector, the local industry leaders and security personnel were getting worried. Too many guards, monks and automatons were being diverted toward reports of Celestials breaking free and wreaking havoc, and the remaining few lacked the manpower to keep the strikers in line. Nor could they simply appease them, for what they asked extended well beyond a few more vouchers for food or booze. With the above districts putting pressure on the Earth industries to deliver resources and goods, someone had to do something!

That something apparently meant violence. Tension between the protestors and the loyalists quickly escalated into full-blown conflict. Workers with weapons stolen from the factories rose up in great numbers against ill-prepared but desperate Sector guards, while factory owners, local merchants and others hurried to flee from the firefight. Looters and anarchists flocked like moths to a candle, and the industrial sub-sector went up in flames and amidst shouts, bloody altercations and shattering glass.

And Twenty Three and Kestrel in the midst of it. Back to the wall in an alleyway, within sight of a group of pipe-wielding workers cornering a wounded Terrestrial, while a warehouse just across the street features filthy opportunists coming to blows over makeshift sacks of goods. Another group chasing a horrified well-to-do pair turns into another side street. "Hurry up," someone shouts, "before the Peace Force gets here! It's that burning bitch, Jedevra!"

Just a block down the street is Sunder Street Metalworks, where Copper Crane is expected to be. Or 23 and Kestrel can opt to get out. Some distance westward, Freerunner leader Irjin Edgestrider keeps a safehouse, or so they recall.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:55, Thu 23 July 2009.

"Hey! Stop that!"

Immy... probably wasn't the best girl to do that kind of thing. By and large, hey! stop that!"s should be reserved for large, hulking men between the age of 18 and 30, preferably with a you-sized axe of some kind. Dripping blood. "Stop that"s from people like Immy probably didn't work unless she was your mother, and they tended to be too young for that sort of thing.

In fact, in the right contexts, most people would probably take it as encouragement; but then again, that's why she had a sword, right? Swordy swords. Swords added a lot of weight to any argument, because they were stabbity and incisive. A little like tongues, really, but you couldn't poke people with tongues, and you could poke people and arguments with a sword. They were useful like that.

Um. Where was she?

Oh, right. "Now!"

They turned around. One of them leered a little. People do that a lot and a lot. It was the face, you see; it distracted them from other things. I mean, you'd think people would see the sword first, right? It was, was pointy and stuff. Obviously, when you look at something, you look at the things that can hurt you first, because otherwise you'd get distracted by the pretty things and you find a sword up your gut or something, arrgh, arrgh, kick kick collapse die.

She had some personal experience with that kind of thing.

But in the end she didn't need to stab them, because they saw the dripping sword and thought better of every kind of thing and ran off, so she helped the person up and smiled. "Be careful next time, ok?" He nodded (very quickly!) and ran.

Oh well.

"Immy, we don't have time to fix every slight wrong in our way."

Mmmhm.

"It's inefficient. Completing our duties would further this cause in far less time."

Mmmmhm. Pause. "He's over there, right?"

"Yes, Immy, he is."

"Oh, ok." Her sword itched slightly, so she held it in her mind until it bonded to her again. "Let's go, then!"

He sighed. Kestrel wondered briefly if she should whistle.

[Private to GM: All That Glitters on the blade, 1m committed. Ril says he's going to be insanely busy for a bit, so take it I'm posting for him. :)]

Twenty Three and Immaculate Kestrel cross the street and head down to the Sunder Street Metalworks. The building is already in the process of being ransacked, most of the effort concentrated on the first floor. Not everyone is there to take goods so much as to simply smash what's there.

Goods from the front storehouse are already spilled all over the street. Things like metal pipes, receptacles and kitchen items, nails and bolts, hammers and wrenches and other mundane tools. Nothing crucial -- yet -- though the two Exalts also know that the harmless mundane items are just scraping on the full range of products at the Metalworks, which includes magitech components, armor plating and blades, most of which are sent toward higher districts to be finished and enchanted.

A rioter could arm themselves well here, if they knew where to look. They could also gleefully destroy production at one of the major providers of metal parts for the complex industries of Fire District. Everything is a disaster in the making, here. A cluster of disasters, all converging in the same location.

As 23 and Immy skip over into another alley, climbing a rear staircase to the second floor office Crane usually keeps, they feel several eyes glancing their way. Curious stares. Greedy stares. The door at the top of the stairs is locked, and though they cannot have a clear view of the street from there, the pair hears the smashing of rubble and upending of boxes continue. There are worse sounds, as well. Between the spirited shouts of rebellious workers and the distant report of cannons striking crumbling walls, are the unfortunate victims of society imploding in on itself.

But for now, the door. It is metallic and solid. "W...who's there?" shouts a sharp, paranoid voice from beyond it.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:56, Wed 15 July 2009.

Tch. Silly, silly people. Metal bits strewn here, and there, and everywhere really. There was... aw.... there were little bits of forge on the floor. Why would there be forge on the floor? Aside from the bits that were supposed to be, but Immy was pretty sure the insides weren't supposed to be down there! On the road! Outside the building! And the poor little nails! Bending, she picked up a handful and stuck them in a pocket. Poor little things; wrong place, wrong time, and anything could happen to you. Picked up and put in a plank of wood, no doubt, and used to hit people instead of fixing pretty things. She picked up another handful. And maybe the little god of the storehouse could come along too, right? After all, the Free had plenty of storehouses, here and there, so maybe she could share some space with another nice little god, and they'd provide extra special double spirit powers to it. She tapped a nail against the wall to let the little god come on, and stuck those into a pocket too. Maybe that meant her pocket was a warehouse now.

Hmmm.

(There were people staring at her, but she ignored them a little. People stared at her a lot and a lot. People could be very odd.)

(Then she got bored of ignoring them, so she turned around and waved a little. Hello!)

"Hello! It's Immy! Are you Copper Crane?" Ooooh. Hmmmm. Hmmmm. Hairpin, hairpin, hairpin... oh, here! A lick of bright pink hair tickled at her ear, but she ignored it. Big door! Hairpin hairpin in, good hairpin, second hairpin, click click, hmmm. "Hello!" The sound echoed faintly. Aha! Tumbler here, here, and here.... eek. Too heavy.

...hey! I have a pocketful of nails. Humming happily, she drew one out. Not the warehouse nail? Not the warehouse nail. Warehouse little godnail, help me open your warehouse door? Um. Because it's a really big door! And, um, and it's in my way. (Not really.) click! Push it in and...

[Private to GM: 20:37, Today: Immaculate Kestrel rolled 3 successes using 8d10 with the White Wolf Exalted system with a target of 7 with rolls of 5,8,2,7,8,3,3,3. Hairpickdoor!. ]
This message was last edited by the player at 12:48, Wed 15 July 2009.

It's not certain whether there really is a little god of the storehouse that just hopped onto the nail. But certainly, if that entity were to exist she may well find the gesture rather endearing. To all inspection the nail is just a nail. Maybe if Immaculate Kestrel came up with a nice attractive prayer to the Sunder Street Warehouse she could make sure, though what little she knew of prayer was likely based on common superstition with dubious success rate, or Immaculate texts, which forbade worshiping spirits altogether.

Then again, prayer is not very far off from theatrics, all things considered. One just had to mean it more. [Private to Immaculate Kestrel: I figure you were doing typically Immy ramble, but cause I like to give options, you COULD always try to do a prayer. It's Cha+Performance and you're fairly good at it. You could even sacrifice a nail! (resource 1.. though the base diff is 7-resources of sacrifice)]

In any case, their contact is probably more important for now. The heavy door between 23 and Immy, and Copper Crane, is easily unlocked. The mechanism clicks for her readily once she has the tumblers all jiggered in place.

"I am Copper Crane... wait! Don't open that door!" The voice inside is male, but strained enough with worry that it squeaks now and then, almost girl-like. "I've got a firearm and I'm not afraid to use it!"

Chk--WHOOOMM! As soon as Immy has the door open, a strong force blasts it back shut, hard enough that if she were not so acrobatically fit, she may have fallen right on her rump.

Then a brief silence, and a clearing of the throat. "Uh... sorry. Did you say Immy, as in, Immaculate Kestrel, Immy? Is Twenty Three there as well? My gods ... I ... did I hurt you? H-hurry, get inside! The rioters, they're everywhere!" As if they needed him to tell them that. Fortunately, the door is no longer locked, just shut (and with a bump in the middle of it. Whatever he shot at it hit pretty damned hard, considering the door's thickness.)

Twenty Three sighs and clicks out something to Immy.

'What did I tell you about picking the locks of people we like unless I tell you to do so?'

And then there's that lovely, lovely voice you expect when Twenty Three shows up. For 'lovely', read 'good god, it's like there's three people under that hood...'

It's always been uncertain whether this is a natural effect or something that's artifically created to maintain his...her...anonymity. Many people have tried to find out, but failed.

In any case, Twenty Three's voice is instantly recognisable by anyone who knows hir. It's a constantly shifting array of voices, just slightly out of sync...

"Crane. Report. Do we have to evacuate you?"

"Yep! But I'm ok! Just my dignity!" Wow, that was a. Really big bump. Curiously, Immy traced her fingers over the raised dome. "Ooooh. Can you do that again?"

click click

'What did I tell you about picking the locks of people we like unless I tell you to do so?'

"Don't do it, not even for practice, or if you think there's something interesting, or if you hear something interesting, or, Immy are you listening, if you see, smell, psionically detect, feel reverberations through the floor or in any other way sense, Immy, sense that there is something vaguely interesting, yes, even if there is someone shouting for help, hm, actually, hey, what are you doing, Immy, Immy!"

Pause. At least, that's what she thinks had happened. There was this simply beautiful chest over there, see, and the lock was like the size of her head. You don't pass up a chance like that. And people kept telling her she tended to embellish her memories or something, but not like there was anything wrong with that, right? I mean, otherwise, remembering things would be so boring. Why would you just want to see the same thing twice?

"That's what you said the last time, anyway. The time before that, you told me not to do it if it was just standing there in front of you, or for the fun of it, or if I would just lock it again right after, or even if I accidentally fell against the door and the picks slipped in just right and it's obviously the will of Heaven and would offend all my ancestors if I didn't. But you didn't mention that the last time, so I figured they weren't important anymore." Her winning smile could have won over rocks.

...

"Awwwww. Please? They just kinda stare at me! And if I don't my fingers will rust and I'll need to oil the joints and all and then they'll start to squeak really loudly when I go into places and then I won't be able to sneak places or steal stuff for you anymore, and then you'll dump me into a gutter somewhere and I'll have to fight for food and table scraps and then one day I'll drink some poisoned water and die." She waved her fingers in front of him. Squeak squeak. Squeak squeeeeeak.

So a little later she was fiddling with the godnail across the not-a-warehouse wall, scratching little prayers to it in the brick. Party pooper. Oh, well. At least it gave her time to feed her little god, right? Skrrrrch. 23 and Crane were talky talking, but she was Ignoring Them for awhile. Nobody understood her.

"But I understand you, right, little warehouse god? You're a poor little kid that was trying her best for everything, untill all of a sudden bad stuff happened and it wasn't your fault, but they hurt you for it anyway and started pulling you inside out because they were very silly bad people. And you were trying to do what you were supposed to, even in these bad times, but all of a sudden the shipments weren't coming and the everything wasn't working and you didn't know what to do. And now bits of you are scattered all over the floor and you're scared they'll probably burn you down instead of fixing you again. Because people are mean." The nail jumped and shivered from knuckle to knuckle, followed by a second, then a third. "But it's ok, because now you're with us, right, little god? And I promise, I'll take care of you for a little. Immy doesn't really know what's going to happen, either, but nobody does, anyway, and she'll try to fix you up with a cute little god and then you can live together forever and ever and call me up for cups of tea. But then you'll have to come upstairs, because Immy's going to the surface, ok? And we can go see the sun!"

Jump. Twitch. Shiver. Screech. The nails looped in and out of each other in time to her words, taking their turn to bounce off an increasingly complex pattern on the wall; the strange, flickering steps of an old, old dance, whispering praise and glory to Lord Sol. "Oh. Do you like to dance, littlegod?"

[Private to GM: 1 wp for Compassion! 21:33, Today: Immaculate Kestrel rolled 7 successes using 14d10 with the White Wolf Exalted system with a target of 7 with rolls of 6,8,1,8,10,1,10,3,4,3,9,6,4,3. The godnail... actually, hmm. It seems to be a godnail combination Inspirational Speech cum Nail Dancing.]
This message was last edited by the player at 14:52, Thu 16 July 2009.

"Must you even ask? It's a warzone here! I'd rather not leave the place to be ruined like this, but there's really no choice. My bosses at the storehouse have already skipped out with whatever they could carry -- I have no idea if they've made it or, got beaten to death somewhere along the way..." 23 could almost hear that shudder through the door. "I stayed behind in case you would come... but... suffice it to say I won't be able to supply you from here for quite a while."

"D..don't stay out there, come in. I'm still... getting... ready." Whatever he's doing in there sounds rather exerting, and anyway, in the meantime a group of several workers/rioters/petty criminals/whatever they might be are rounding the corner into the alleyway where the staircase and door is. Their impromptu leader appears to be an impressively large tattooed man that might well have some bull-man blood. Typical heavy laborer stock.

Then the fzzzzt of a public address system coming online gives everyone pause. The voice that resounds through the streets and alleys of the industrial zone is strong, female and obviously expects to be obeyed. "Workers and Citizens of City of Pasiap's Resolve, Sector Five. This is Winglord Sesus Raves Jedevra of the Fire District Peace Force, commander of Burning Feather. As the official representative of the Council's law, you are ordered to cease all acts of violence and rebellion, terrorism and larceny. Drop your weapons and proceed calmly with your hands up toward the corners of Granite, Glass, Steel and Crystal."

"Should you cooperate peacefully, there will be no incident. You will be handled by Peace Force officers, searched, questioned, if necessary punished to the full extent of the law, but you will be treated as citizens and not as enemies of the Coils. However, should any of you resist arrest, we will be compelled to use necessary force. You will be considered enemies of the state and your lives and rights will be forfeit."

"I will not repeat this twice. Drop your weapons and proceed calmly with your hands up toward the corners of Granite, Glass, Steel and Crystal. Cooperate with the directions of the Peace Force, or your lives and rights will be forfeit!"

This does give Immy plenty of time to busy herself communing with the god-that-might-be. The nail jumping in her hand trembles, and finally takes on a life of its own, hovering by its own volition. Several other nails rise up from the ground or shake themselves free of her pockets, and swarm together as if magnetically attracted to one another -- forming the vague impression of face, a pair of hands. Could the nails be smiling at her? A voice resonates in her head. [Private to Immaculate Kestrel: "I have heard your prayer, Sunchosen. If you can find me a new sanctuary, I would be pleased and indebted to you."

(OOC: Also I have no idea where I am going with this! Though it's possible a little god of this stature may be able to do small benedictions on you now and then if you pray on your 'lucky nail'. I would be incredibly amused if you had multiple little gods following you around. This one is very minor though. You could come up with whatever name you want for it, unless you'd rather I do.)]

Twenty Three's either ignoring the rioters or hasn't noticed them. Perhaps they've been classified 'Not a threat'.

"If we're going to evacuate you, you're leaving now. If you're still getting ready you're too late. Cut losses and move."

Hir head turns to look at the nails and Immy having...apparently, fun, and swivels back to the door. "You have five seconds. After that, we're going to evacuate you by force, or let you deal with the Peace Force alone. I'm inclined towards option two. Five."

Halfway between 'three' and 'two' Copper Crane hastily shoves the door open. He is a short statured man with short hair of a rather fitting copper color, currently mussed and matted. He wears a soot-stained grey coat and dark pants. A hastily fitted breastplate covers his chest over a once-white shirt, and he wears a pot as a makeshift helmet.

He carries a large firearm, likely a fuel bolt launcher from the size and shape, though he doesn't at all look accustomed to wielding it. He also keeps several sheafs of documents in a messenger bag slung close to his body. Round glasses perch on his pointed nose, and the blue eyes behind them are concerned and frantic.

"All right... all right! I'm h -- hey! Those men are coming straight for us!"

Jedevra's speech only gave the thugs turning into the street a moment of pause. In the end it only seems to have riled them up all the more, and they let out a cry of triumph, seeing more 'victims' to prey on. Carrying makeshift clubs, stolen knives and chains, they are a group of 10-12 men, and step forward to surround the staircase 23, Kestrel and Crane are standing on. In a rather crude intimidation tactic, they start pounding their weapons on the staircase railing, daring the small group to jump down or descend the steps to fight them.

---

OOC: well... there are multiple ways you could deal with this, you could try to social this group, or you could try the jump and run (may incur fall damage, so Crane could need some convincing) or you can just fight through them (in which case you roll Join Battle).
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:15, Sat 18 July 2009.

...ooooh. Hello! Oh, oh, how silly of her. Of course the warehouse littlegod would need more than one nail to live in! I mean, gods were able to do that entire big-and-small thing, but that doesn't mean it'd be nice to squeeze you into a cupcake, right? Probably made you feel like... like those old super-sealed military foods they looted two weeks ago. You probably wouldn't die or anything, but it made you feel all squished up and uncomfortable. "Oh, call me Immy! No need for all the Sunchosen stuff, ok? I don't go around calling him," she waves a hand at 23, "Starman, and nobody calls Free the Moon Dude. It'd be like calling you Warehouse Person, or something." Pause. "Unless you are called Warehouse Person. Do littlegods have names? I've never talked to one before." Or, rather, she had, but they never responded. She always thought they were mute, or something. Like Xiiri. [Private to GM: Random Person!]

But then there was a pounding and a sounding, and it was like there were a dozen pe--oh. There were a dozen people. Although they were just pounding on the stairs, not having a party on the landing.

"...silly people. Um. Where was I? Um. Oh! Do you have a particular type of warehouse in mind, littlegod? The Freerunners have quite a plenty, but they all tend to be deeper down then this, although I'm certain we can like sneak back up and place you if you really want to be here. There are Plans Going On. Or something." She should really pay attention some more, but then people were always talking about boring stuff. Logistics this, caravan that... can't people just carry what they need? If she was Free, that's what she'd do, anyway. Everybody! Take what you need, and I'll see you over there! So much faster and all.

thoom thud thud

"Stop that! People are trying to talk up here!" That was when she noticed Crane out. "Oh, hello! Nice to see you. People have been talking a lot about you, y'know?"

"Those men are coming straight for us!"

"Oh." Um. She exchanged a look with the littlegod, and shrugged. "Should I make them go away?"

So she's sliding down the staircase banister, trying (her best!) not to giggle as the wind whips away at her face. No, no, she was Serious Immy, Serious Scary Immy. Scowlllll. Scowwwwwwlllll.

(It made her face hurt a little.)

(Oh, forget it.)

There's a crown of nails encircling her head, and she chatters to it a little as they fall, a pink-haired girl grinning at a warping maelstrom of steel as she catapults down the dying rail of the warehouse stairs. The nails... well, one probably gets the sense that it is responding to her, although it was pretty hard to hear anything at all. But then, apparently, it says something to make her... angry?

Oh for Sol's and she's leaping off the hair-thin railing, her sword suddenly out with murder on her face, sound and fury filling the air around her. There's a crunch of brick as Kestrel kicks off against the wall,  her buckler (buckler?) suddenly out before her, hair streaming like a curtain of... pink. (The tiny clinks  are her hairclips, slowly tearing free, leaving her to join the suddenly agitated swarm.) And there's a crash, as she lands perfectly (beautifully?) atop what seems to be the gang's snarling leader, nose-to-nose, her shield pressing his cohort's blade against himself. She grins.

"Oh, hello! My friend told me you were involved in ransacking his house."

There's a blade against his neck, and a cloud of angry nails buzzing around his eyes. But even Immy can't keep that position forever (and, besides, he smells. Eww), and bending with impossible grace, she reaches down and kicks against his shoulders, knocking him back as she somersaults and lands lithely on the floor.

"The problem is, the four of us have Very Important Business elsewhere right now, and we can't stop to kill everybody who might get in our way." She actually looks... upset. "So they told me I have to let you run away, if you wanted to. But please say no?" Her blade suddenly crackles, and a surge of gold warps down the length of the blade, burning off the bloodstains from before. "I mean, you wrecked my friend's little house, so it's only fair I get to wreck yours a little, right?"

[Private to GM: You rolled 8 successes using 14d10 with the White Wolf Exalted system with a target of 7 ((7,2,1,6,7,7,10,3,2,4,9,2,10,6)). So, I should start asking about stunt die for both the previous roll and this one, because I just burned 2wp. *g]

The meaty looking thug leader that Immaculate Kestrel just willfully threatened gives her a look between angry and incredulous. He bares his teeth (just as fetid as Immy would imagine them to be), and spits on the ground. "You? A little girl like you is going to slay the lot of us? Listen to her talk, boys. She's pushing me around, and brandishing that toy of a blade."

Not all the other men (and women, equal opportunity thug life!) are completely in line with his bravado. They see the nails floating all around her, and the bloodied blade that just burst into a golden aura, and take a moment to contemplate just what they are facing.

That is not to say they turn and run, but they do pause, and stop their pounding on the stairwell.

The leader catches onto their concerns, focusing on the golden glimmer. He raises an eyebrow and prove himself to be more loquacious than the typical meathead. "And you've got some tricks under your sleeve, too. That make you one of the free Anathema, eh? Golden means Sun-demon, silver means Moon-mad, and black, well you better hope he's not lookin' for you. That's what they say. Have you heard the people chanting over in Diamond Park? They want the Celestials to come and save the day. They think that'll get 'em fairness in this world, to depend on a bunch of escaped ex-slaves."

"Well, we don't really care what they want. We're just looking to survive right where we are now, and get a few kicks while we're at it. How about it? Let's have some fun." Bolstered by his confidence, several men move to surround Immy, while continuing to block the way down. It looks like they may need some hands-on convincing.

Copper Crane, meanwhile shakily brandishes his fuel bolt launcher and exclaims tremulously, "I-I'll shoot!! I'm n-not afraid to use it!!" It looks like he really will, if not stopped, and his aim doesn't look all that great...

---

OOC: well, the group collectively Willpowered it--I feel like a heel, but I thought about it and I really don't think that they'll be intimidated without real combat, given what I know about their mindset and goals.

That said, cause this isn't a hugely crucial combat I'm not going to run it like ordinary. So you can talk 'em up more or bloody them a bit, (note even if we aren't rolling Join Battle/Debate I still want rolls for attacks if you make 'em, as the damage you deal will also determine their reactions), and we'll see how they're feeling afterward.

"Oh, ok then." She dances two steps backwards, eyes wide and considering, and the swarm of nails bobs up beside he ear. "Um... so... you, the fat one... you... oh, you and you broke the forge! But it was a nice forge! I mean, why would you break it anyway, you could just open it, and then you just left it there all over... and you! Did... oh, ok, no, you were nicer than the others, so I'll only stab you later." Pause. "Or maybe let you run. Um. Do I still have to let them run?" The last bit is shouted up to the waiting 23. "They were mean at me! Said I was a demon!" But the steel and iron features were working a slow frenzy, and Kestrel nodded.

The shine is back now, a pale glimmer that warps down and across naked steel, leaving it seem... sharper? Lighter? But no, perhaps that was just a trick of the light, and now the nails were flurrying into Kestrel's clothes, tucking themselves into folds and pockets and the top of her boots. One nail slips cleanly through her top buttonhole, it's head sticking out to watch the action. She whispers to it; it refuses to budge.

Silly gods.

Um, who was it again? Oh, right. The big one! She hummed a brief ditty under her breath, stepping backward once more for a flourish and a bow. "Littlegod, this is for you."

And then she steps forward and vanishes.

flicker

It's him first, of course, the big fat snarly one, big arms big thighs (I bet he eats a lot and a lot) probably wondering where she was so she pounds her buckler into his chin, his head goes up, head goes up big neck as well big jaw big everything and her blade dances neatly into the hollow between and neck and his mouth, crunch goes the sword, crunch goes his mouth, and then crunch crunch crunch go everything between his mouth and his brain. There's a little fountain of gore and stuff--no, not much brain, oh well--at the top when her blade peeks through, and his eyes start swelling blood and things, so she slides it out and goes for the next. Ew, no, wait, his teeth had been disgusting, so the rest of his mouth probably was, too. Poor sword. I'll clean you later, ok? As an afterthought, she reached out, and stuck a nail in his head. No, not her collarpinnail, don't be silly.

flicker

Then she cut it off.

flicker

One. Now, let's see... oh, you're two, right? You broke the forge. With him. Reversing the grip on her blade, Kestrel pats the man's soft belly, and brings her hand smoothly across its bulk. There was a moment when she wondered (vaguely) if his stomach would open and spill out all over her side, but she was still between moments--the line glimmered like a string of beads in the sun, slowly thickening and running together as the mouth yawned open and prepared to vomit itself.

flicker

The second got a slice up instead, because Immy wasn't one to just repeat herself, but then the tip of the blade hooked on something deep inside and she had to pull and to pull to get it out, so it wasn't a pretty line anymore. Kinda like a drill passed through or something. Um. A small boreworm? They had all those little crystal teeth and things, right? Normally they'd only go for rock and soil and stuff, of course, but then people always said that they secretly liked to eat people, and that their very little ones would kinda tunnel up inside you and eat all the way in, and, um

flicker

it'd probably look like that, wouldn't it? Except, of course, boreworms spat out a lot of stuff, so the hole would be more... filled in, something. Like soft earth. Um. Minced stuff? Ew. She almost doesn't make the hit, blade falling perhaps a little shorter than it should have, so she makes do instead with a cut cross his back. No spinning body of doom, sigh.

flicker

And the last one, for tradition, gets his heart cut out. There is a moment, like time stitching itself back together, and she... is still again, grinning with a slightly manic glee. "Ta da!"

Then things start to explode.


[Private to GM: 1wp, activating Combo. I need to name it. Another 5m 1wp on Iron Whirlwind.

6m for Forge, +2 to Accuracy, + 2 to Damage. Damage die is 4L + 2 Forge + 2 Str + 2 OrichalBracers

Total spent: 11m, 2 wp. Personal 4/15, Peripheral 35/35, WP 7/9

17:22, Today: Immaculate Kestrel rolled 13 successes using 15d10 with the White Wolf Exalted system with a target of 7 with rolls of 8,10,8,10,3,5,6,2,7,3,5,10,7,10,9. Oh, great, it's 15 die.
17:22, Today: Immaculate Kestrel rolled 7 successes using 15d10 with the White Wolf Exalted system with a target of 7 with rolls of 6,9,8,2,9,2,8,5,4,6,7,8,8,3,6. 2.
17:22, Today: Immaculate Kestrel rolled 8 successes using 15d10 with the White Wolf Exalted system with a target of 7 with rolls of 7,7,9,3,2,6,9,9,3,10,5,5,9,4,1. 3.
17:22, Today: Immaculate Kestrel rolled 8 successes using 15d10 with the White Wolf Exalted system with a target of 7 with rolls of 2,4,7,9,5,10,4,5,8,4,10,3,5,7,3. 4.
17:22, Today: Immaculate Kestrel rolled 6 successes using 15d10 with the White Wolf Exalted system with a target of 7 with rolls of 10,10,3,6,3,2,1,4,4,4,7,8,5,5,5. 5.
17:22, Today: Immaculate Kestrel rolled 8 successes using 15d10 with the White Wolf Exalted system with a target of 7 with rolls of 7,6,1,5,7,8,10,2,6,6,5,9,9,3,8. 6. ]
This message was last edited by the player at 11:12, Tue 21 July 2009.

Twenty Three knows Kestrel. Very, very well.

So the solution to this situation has already...presented itself, in the very obvious form of Kestrel. A little bloodier than Twenty Three would prefer, but efficient enough.

And not unnecessary, with thugs of this caliber. We don't want them around. We don't need this sort here. This answer is...acceptable.

Sie reaches out hir hands towards Crane. "Let her handle it." This is accompanied by gentle pressure on his wrist - thank you, drop your hand holding the trigger - and the other hand making sure it doesn't fall.

"And turn away if you have something against blood. Actually, turn. Let's start moving, hm?"

The pressure on his wrist shifts, to direct him towards the safehouse. "Have fun, Kestrel. Don't stay out too late. You should be able to catch up with us in...oh, twenty seconds is reasonable, isn't it?"

[Private to Immaculate Kestrel: Actually, I was actually wanting to roll the damage myself... I wasn't planning on making these guys all extras, they were going to be pretty meaty (i.e. more HLs, more Stamina, maybe mutations) and the big guy was supposed to be even more powerful than the others. But since you wrote it that way I'm not really sure what to do except roll with it!

Given that, I won't give you any stunt (though this has NOTHING to do with the writing, writing is *great!*), and ask you'll actually let me determine the strength of the enemies next time. :) further explanation: mostly, my concern is trying to give a sense of danger to the riot, which I seem to be sorely failing at. Not that I didn't think you'd cut them up anyway - I just wanted more of a say on the severity. ;)]

As soon as the leader's head falls apart, and half the dozen thugs collapse in messy splatters, no one's really retained a desire to fight. The others, slipping on the blood and guts of their comrades, either whimper and backpedal toward a corner, or try to get away, beating even 23 and Crane out of the alleyway should Kestrel allow them to go.

Copper Crane lowers the launcher, follows the Sidereal and even manages to keep his lunch in until they're away from the sight of the carnage. Then... lunch is lost, in a messy splatter against the nearest warehouse wall. "Uuughhh. That was HORRIFYING. Ulp." More vomit. "...S-sorry. We can g...gghhh..." A last upheaval and then a few dry gags. "Go."

Weakly, Crane manages to heft the launcher onto his shoulder and moves hurriedly along with 23. One wonders now if he is running from the rioting, or from Kestrel, whom unfortunately for him will be joining them again.

Emerging from Copper Street toward Sunder, 23 and Crane (and Kestrel, when she catches up) find the street occupied by a large concentration of rioting workers shouting and chanting. They have a trio of catapults on wheels with them, as well, and have already started loading and releasing makeshift grenades... incidentally, in the same direction as the distant safehouse. Several seconds later comes the first of the explosions, and the crowd lets out a rowdy, satisfied cheer! The process repeats several times over, the cheers building in intensity every time! "Burn the Peace Force! Smash the Loyalists! Death to Bitch Jedevra!"

Of course the wisdom of using crude weapons against professionals, and a Fire Aspect at that, is questionable. But Twenty Three has seen very little of common sense since stepping into this region.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:20, Thu 23 July 2009.