[Iron Kingdoms] The Age of Rust.

[Dirigible]

PRELUDE: The Ironfields. 100 years ago.

The bodies were piled up like sand.

Overhead, the sky wore a mourning shroud of ash, poison tears falling to consecrate the butcher's yard below. Twisted and broken, the walls of a stone tower remained barely standing on the peak of the mountain, a cripple's finger beckoning to the Gods.

Twisted metal contraptions lay broken alongside the remains of fallen Thralls. Bones, burned and charred, indistinguisable from the sprockets and cogs, acid etched and soot-besmirched intermingled with them. Further up the slopes, a bonejack shuffled on it's broken leg, barley functional after meeting the buisness end of an ogrun-thrall's warcleaver. Fire lanced from the sky, a falling comet, and the necromantic construct was momentarily silhouetted by the inferno, rering up in pain. Then it was no more.

The last two figures upright on the field of carnage of their making moved towards each other. Arcane energy rippled between them.

"My Samara. Dead by the gauntlet of your steamwork abomination." This voice, tired in spite of tirelessness, rasping like a tomb being violated. Bone fingers caressing an ebon wand.

"YOUR. EMPATHY. DOES. YOU. NO. CREDIT." This, harsh, metallic, precise, slow. Hollow as the echoes of a gunshot.

"Fool. Compassion drives me no further than a whip drives the kaelram. Look for my motives in spite, defiance and contempt. The Master was unwise to spurn my plans, and moreso to trust in you and your kind."

"YOU. ARE. BENEATH. MY. CONTEMPT. PITY. ONLY. ARE. YOU. FIT. FOR. YOUR. DAY. HAS. PAST. WE. SHALL. SHEPERD. AND. BE. SHEPERDED. INTO. GLORY."

The larger figure shifted slightly, producing a shard of crystal held within a metallic vise, holding it threateningly.
The smaller smiled fleshlessly, and raised it's wand.

"Shall we see whom is the swifter, pawn?"



One walked away.

 

[Dirigible]

ACT I.

Corvis, City of Ghosts. Armourer's Bourg.

Kneecap Thrillgrog:

Hands thrust deep into pockets, collar pulled up as high as it could go, the gobber skulked through the fog of the lower city, his eyes flicking from doorway to doorway, alley to alley, watching both for the Law, his predator, and the Unwatchful, his prey. Or at least, the unwatchfiul were not his predator, and that was good enough for him.

Kneecap ran the directions through his mind once more, satisfied he was heading in the right direction. Which, for anyone not expected, would surely be wrong. Fatally wrong. That he was expected made Kneecpa no safer, though; this part of town was still within the Gertens Family sphere of influence, and someone even slightly associated with a rival gang would find not a scrap of mercy here.

A flabby human lumbering out of a door, surly-drunk sent the gobber sliding to the edge of the street, trusting in the darkness, fog, and his natural abilities to avoid notice. A townhawk squaked and took flight from a crumbling balcony, high on the spires above, as the gobber found the alley he was looking for, crammed between a metalbeater's workshop and an overflowing brewery, barrels stacked high all around it's front door. He headed down it, looking around.

Tyra Thornwood:

The Armourer's Bourg, being practically home, brought no excitment to the Rynnish gunslinger as she walked confidently down the street, mist curling around her boots. Though a woman walking alone anywhere in Corvis could find herself in trouble, one with a pistol on her hip and an air of knowing what to do with it made anyone in this part of town think twice before starting something. No one in the Armourer's Bourg was desperate enough to risk that.

If what she had been told was right, this man Gleiner could be just the sort she was looking for; a man with the connections to point the way to excitement, danger, profit. In short, adventure.

Ahead of her, Tyra watched a large, intoxicated man stumble across the street, just managing to hold himself upright on the wall. He was to busy emptying his stomach into the gutter to notice her walk past.

As she went down the alleyway she had been directed too, Tyra saw the metal-bound door swinging closed, as if someone else had just gone through it. She hurried forwards, shooting out an arm to stop it from slamming home.

Eyvind Radvir:

The tall Kossite strode down one of the narrow, winding streets of Corvis, his braid swinging as his boot's rap was muffled by the cool, dank air. Though his purse was still heavy, the scout never felt comfortable sitting still, and Marx Gleiner's offer had come at the end of a particularly dull day.

Eyvind barely spared a glance for the heavy set man that turned from the wall and gave him a woozy look, wiping vomit form his mouth. As he waked past, the man collapsed slowly to the paving stones with a sigh and a THUNK.

The Kossite walked down the alleyway he had been down previously, listening to the water sloshing under the surface. This being Corvis, it could be the river or sewers, making the sound. Stema curled up from grates at the mouth and far end of the alley. Eyvind's eye caught sight of a tall, slim woman entering the door to Gleiner's office ahead of him, and he cocked his head, wondering.

Dark:

"No... no... not listening... hehehehe... no...shut up!"

The sorceror shuffled along the street, muttering to himself, tugging on his tangled hair. As he walked, he suddenly stumbled, barely keeping his balance, and with a snarl of rage planted his boot into the unconscious man on the ground in a few choice kicks.

The Red Lady had told him where to go... surely, she knew what was best to do. This rumourmonger would be able to point him on the next stage of his quest... yes...

The man known only as Dark entered the alley, ignoring the large man going into the door in front of him. That man might not even exist, he thought, and with a high pitched, single giggle, he went on.

 

[Dirigible]

All:

Marx Gleiner's office is a small, dingly and not a little dirty. A pair of spindy wooden chairs and a sofa with most of the stuffing sticking out of moth holes are pressed to the walls, and a small wooden table, stolen from a gambling den by the look of it, round sout the furniture.

Opposite the door is a counter with a metal grill preventing anyone getting in. A draw is fitted to it, allowing money and goods to be passed through. Shelves, crammed with cheap jewlery and other trinkets can be seen behind the grill, along with a massive ledgerbook.

A loud voice calls out from somewhere in the back room beyond the counter. "Sounds like I got visitors! I'll be with yer in a mo'"

The four of you stand, uneasily eying each other. Anything could happen now.

(OOC : Feel free to introduce yourselves and so forth...)
To clarify motivation:

Kneecap, Tyra: The natives to Corvis, you both seek Gleiner inhopes he can set you up with lucrative and exciting work.

Eyvind: You already know Gleiner, and also are looking for work, plus enough money to acquire a good hunting rifle and supplies for the trip north.

Dark: You believe you have been given an ill-defined holy quest, and this information broker is the first step.

 

[Shadowfane]

The last man to enter the dingy office is tall and thin. His features, largely obscured by a curtain of unkempt, damp black hair, are pallid and covered with grime and mark him as a Rynian. His eyes, arresting eyes, glitter darkly with forceful presence. The man wears a filthy leather great coat that hangs loosely from his reedy frame and mismatched boots that have seen much wear. Beyond his dishevelled appearance, there is something definitely odd about the lanky stranger, an almost subliminal, underlying menace that speaks to a primal instinct of the observer. Perhaps it is the way that the shadows seem to behave oddly in his presence, clustering a little too close and falling in the wrong place as though he is slightly out of step with the world and its rhythms, or maybe it is the way his mouth moves silently, shaping words that if heard would surely be disquieting.

As the door swings shut behind the Rynian, he thrusts his hands into the deep pockets of his greatcoat and glares at those assembled in the grubby room. At the sound of the voice he jumps visibly and takes to glaring at a seemingly unobtrusive corner of the room with such menace that you swear the air temperature rises.

“Dark!” he exclaims loudly, then falls silently back to his mouthing and glaring.

 

[KaintheSeeker]

Thyra

She smiles as the door's inward swing was halted by her gloved hand. There was a thrill over her gun hand that put her on edge, with a casual flick of her wrist she pushes the door aside and steps in, her nose flaring and wrinkling at the smell of smoke, sweat, and other less savory smells.

Her eyes flick back and forth, taking in each in turn every one that looks over her way. The Gobber with smoke power burned hands looking like a fellow gunsmith, the others who look up. No immediate threat at head she notes with a cheery smile as she stride across the room, her duster open just enough to show her embrossed pistol in it's holster, it's empy sister hidden behind her back. The mix of roses and thorns on her gleaming in the fitful light of the bar, her blade banging on her thigh as she walks up to the bar and looks to the grate. "Oi.. Gleiner.. Lady Rose (her pistol) and I are looking for work." nods to the others. "G'day.." winks cheerfully to the others.


(She's .. curvy, even under her armor and jacket, with firey red hair down her back and a face that would put an angel to shame.. or in current terms..she's stacked lol )

 

[DJ_Colossus]

KNEECAP

Kneecap is a gobber of moderate height-- about waist-high in comparison to humans. His skin is a purple-gray hue and his nimble fingers don't seem to keep still. They twiddle, move from pocket to pocket, and tug on his wide ears.

"Ah, pink-skin tall-folk. Well met. My name proves unpronounceable in human tongues, however you may call me Kneecap."

Kneecap turns towards Thyra.

"Lady Rose you say? Many pistols have I seen, and few look as remarkable as the pistol you hold in your hand. Who was its maker? A fine heirloom it must be."

Kneecap begins eyeballing the room around him, suspiciously.

"Indeed, a fine weapon. I used to forge ammunition. Bullets. See here? This is a fine example of my handiwork. Of course my own flint-lock is woefully broken. Alas, my career as a smith was cut short."

"And now I seek other types of ... heh... employ..."

Kneecap scuttles about the room, mumbling to himself...

 

[KaintheSeeker]

KNEECAP


Kneecap turns towards Thyra.

"Lady Rose you say? Many pistols have I seen, and few look as remarkable as the pistol you hold in your hand. Who was its maker? A fine heirloom it must be."

Kneecap begins eyeballing the room around him, suspiciously.

"Indeed, a fine weapon. I used to forge ammunition. Bullets. See here? This is a fine example of my handiwork. Of course my own flint-lock is woefully broken. Alas, my career as a smith was cut short."

"And now I seek other types of ... heh... employ..."

Kneecap scuttles about the room, mumbling to himself...

Thyra smiles as she listens to the gobber chatter, "A fellow smith, grand.. I made Lady Rose myself, with a little help from my father, a gun smith. She was my 'prentice test, and he hand gifted to me after I finished it. She compliments my gifts, and I look to further them with time. However to do so, as you so sincincely put it.. requires gold." nods and leans against the wall, her eyes alert and ready for any sign of trouble.

 

[linnorm]

Eyvind

Eyvind

Eyvind opens the door he saw the woman enter moments before, enters, and stops. He slowly scans the room, noting exits and hiding places. After sweeping the room with his eyes he steps away from the door to the spot that affords the best view of the room's exits and occupants.

At the sound of Max's voice Eyvind relaxes noticably, although he still eyes the room with a tinge of suspision. The outburst from the strange man who entered last makes him brush aside his coat and put a hand on the hilt of his sword. After nothing more comes from the man he takes his hand off the sword, but his eyes keep flicking back to monitor for any further outbursts.

 

[Dirigible]

All:

After a few tense moments, the pistoleer and the ranger standing condidently but warily, the magician and the rogue lost in their own personal world of nervous twitches, you hear a jaunty tune whistling it's way towards to grill.

A tall, bony man with a bald head and aquiline nose, wearing a black leather jerkin trimmed in grey fur swaggers out from the back room, scrubbing at his hands with a rag, as if trying to work oil or some other staining substance out. He cocks his head as he sees you, he tune breaking into a series of sharp notes as he eyes the dirty, shifty Rynnishman up and down...
...the gobber just down...
..and the redhead up and down and side to side...

He tosses the scrap of cloth to the floor, and steps up to the grill, sliding a viewing slit open so he can get a look at you all. He nods to the Kossite, and in his deeply back-streets Corvite accent says "Eyvind, me old china... good ter see yer again." And then, turning to encompass the group as a whole, "Weeeerl... punctchuality's a good trait..." he grinned. "S'not all there is to adventchuring, though, izzit? Tell me, what can yer all do that'll keep you alive in this buisness? Yer talent's'n such like. Convince an old man he ain't sendin' yer to an early grave..."

 

[KaintheSeeker]

All:

After a few tense moments, the pistoleer and the ranger standing condidently but warily, the magician and the rogue lost in their own personal world of nervous twitches, you hear a jaunty tune whistling it's way towards to grill.

A tall, bony man with a bald head and aquiline nose, wearing a black leather jerkin trimmed in grey fur swaggers out from the back room, scrubbing at his hands with a rag, as if trying to work oil or some other staining substance out. He cocks his head as he sees you, he tune breaking into a series of sharp notes as he eyes the dirty, shifty Rynnishman up and down...
...the gobber just down...
..and the redhead up and down and side to side...

He tosses the scrap of cloth to the floor, and steps up to the grill, sliding a viewing slit open so he can get a look at you all. He nods to the Kossite, and in his deeply back-streets Corvite accent says "Eyvind, me old china... good ter see yer again." And then, turning to encompass the group as a whole, "Weeeerl... punctchuality's a good trait..." he grinned. "S'not all there is to adventchuring, though, izzit? Tell me, what can yer all do that'll keep you alive in this buisness? Yer talent's'n such like. Convince an old man he ain't sendin' yer to an early grave..."

Tyra

Thrya smirks at the look overshe is given. "Why is it you give the same lecture? I've heard how you try ta rattle everyone that come through. I'm good with a pistol an got some skill in maigc," nods to the scout. "He looks to be good with that blade, the gobber is skilled with his hands...." her eyes linger on Dark. "And him.. wel... he gives me the twitchin willies, no offense Mate, and maybe he'll do the same with the other side." grins wickedly.