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Shackled City Epic: "Vengeance" (story concluded)
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<blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 2782977" data-attributes="member: 143"><p>I've been fairly nebulous on this deliberately; all will be explained in time.</p><p></p><p>This week we find out what another Traveler's been up to.</p><p></p><p>* * * * * </p><p></p><p>Chapter 510</p><p></p><p>The common room of The Cutter’s Folly was an amalgam of every tavern cliché on any of a thousand worlds, from the stink of sweat and spilled beer, to the raucous laughter and boisterous jeers of its diverse inhabitants, to the steely faced bartender and the pinchable wenches who ran a steady circuit between the kitchen, the bar, and the forty tables scattered across the wide open area. The place only had a single story, but there was a hall subtly situated in the back corner that offered access to additional rooms to patrons who were willing to pay for a bit of extra privacy. </p><p></p><p>The clientele of the Folly was a mixed lot, even by Sigil standards. They tended to fall into the middle of the spectrum; the worst fiends and the purest celestials usually preferred to gravitate toward their own establishments, both for the services that catered to their particular needs and for the need to avoid confrontations. Sigil was a place that had a reputation for being rough, but the city was officially Neutral, and open conflict drew the attention of the Lady. </p><p></p><p>That certainly did not mean that the Folly was a “soft” tavern by any means. A number of the stains that had all but obliterated the original color of the hardwood floor were more than just liquor, and most of the furniture had the look of having been repaired more than once. A pair of hulking ogrillons in mithral shirts provided obvious muscle to discourage trouble, and the bartender hung a blast crossbow in obvious view over the bar, but even so only a fool came to the Folly if he, she, or it couldn’t handle themselves. </p><p></p><p>Thus when the swinging doors parted to reveal a newcomer, a face not familiar to the bar’s regulars, most quickly returned to their own concerns. The newcomer was a human woman, quite comely in outward appearance, clad in a light-colored tunic and breeches with a pale cloak trailing down across her shoulders and down her back. A few gazes lingered upon the woman, either out of lascivious curiosity or because of the veritable trove of magical auras about her person. But one look at her eyes was enough to encourage even those to return their focus to their beverages or their companions. </p><p></p><p>She walked boldly into the center of the common room, and just stood there. A few conversations at the tables around her quieted as their attention returned to her, but while her stare was challenging, she said nothing, just scanning the faces. </p><p></p><p>Finally, she crossed over to the bar. The bartender, a bariur of considerable age, nodded at her. “What’ll it be?”</p><p></p><p>She replied in a voice designed to carry clearly across the room. “I want Barrat Ghur.”</p><p></p><p>A number of looks were spread across the room, behind the woman’s back. The bartender betrayed his reaction just for a moment, then he lowered his eyes to the bar, running a dirty rag across the polished surface. “Lord Ghur no longer frequents this establishment, ma’am. Perhaps a glass of Aelendur firewine?”</p><p></p><p>A rumbling behind her alerted the woman. She turned to see a mountain of a man step forward, his bulk all but blocking out her view of the room behind him. He looked to be some sort of combination of a minotaur, ogre, and fiend all in one, with the least appealing features of each. He stood a little under seven feet tall, only a bit more than a foot taller than the woman, but he had to be almost that much again wide. His shoulders were broad enough to serve as a table for four men, and each of his arms were thicker around than the woman’s entire body. </p><p></p><p>“No trouble in here,” the bartender said. “Take it outside.”</p><p></p><p>The hulk ignored him. “You look puny, human woman,” he growled. “Why you want Ghur? Oogok show you plenty good time.”</p><p></p><p>The woman’s lips tightened in disgust. “I’d sooner smear myself in goristo feces,” she said. “As it is, I can barely stand the stench of being in the same room with you. Go away.” Dismissing him with a wave, she started to turn back to the bar. </p><p></p><p>Oogok snarled and reached for her with a meaty fist. But the woman spun smoothly, a red glow erupting around her hand as she reached out and splayed her palm across the massive expanse of the hulk’s chest. A fierce red glow spread outward from that point of touch, seeping into the body of the fierce monstrosity. Oogok’s eyes widened and he staggered back, his upper body quivering as an ugly mewling issued from his mouth. The woman maintained her touch until the red glow had faded. A spray of bright crimson blood fountained from the hulk’s mouth, pouring down his chest, leaving little flecks upon the otherwise pristine cloak of the woman. He fell to his knees, staring up at her with eyes wide with terror as she looked down at him, a cold look in her eyes. Then she turned back to the bartender. </p><p></p><p>“I think I’ll pass,” she said, turning and walking past the cowering hulk toward the door. No one moved to stop her; in fact everyone in the room suddenly seemed quite intent upon doing something other than appearing to pay any attention to her. By the time that the doors swung shut in her wake, the din of conversation and activity had returned to its former level of intensity. </p><p></p><p>Oogok, kneeling in the center of the room in a puddle of his own blood and piss, finally toppled forward, coughing up gobs of gore from his shredded lungs. </p><p></p><p>Sighing, the bartender gestured for his bouncers to help him heave the crippled creature out onto the street.</p><p></p><p>* * * * * </p><p></p><p>Dana Ilgarten did not go far after leaving the Folly. Idly rubbing a fleck of blood on her cloak with a fingernail, she concentrated on the ring she wore on the third finger of her right hand. </p><p></p><p><em>Do you have him?</em> </p><p></p><p><em>Yeah, I got him. Took off like a shot out the back way, just like you said. Hey, how’d that big bastard look when you </em>harmed<em> him? Always thought Oogok had it coming…</em> </p><p></p><p><em>Focus on the matter at hand,</em> Dana thought through the telepathic link. </p><p></p><p><em>Yeah, yeah. Okay, he’s going into the Hive. You want me to—what am I saying? Of course you do. Have I told you yet today that this plan is crazy?</em> </p><p></p><p><em>Just do it,</em> Dana thought, already walking briskly in that direction. Her sense of direction around Sigil was still a bit vague, and she thought she’d never get used to the way that the terrain ahead curved up, or the way that she could glimpse the far side of the torus <em>through</em> the wisps of cloud above. Sigil lay on the interior of a massive ring, existing in defiance of all of the physical laws of the world she knew. </p><p></p><p><em>If he goes deep into the Hive, we’ll lose the bastard,</em> Dana thought. She hadn’t intended for that to get out through the link, but a moment later she heard the retort, <em>Well, maybe that wouldn’t be… wait! He’s ducking into a warehouse… it’s just a few blocks from the main drag. I thought I saw a bruiser let him in, damn, the place looks like a fortress.</em></p><p></p><p>Dana came to an abrupt stop. <em>Give me a fix on your location, and a relative direction and distance to the target.</em></p><p></p><p>There was a momentary pause. <em>Dana… are you sure that’s a good idea? Remember the last time you tried that…</em></p><p></p><p><em>Just DO IT!</em></p><p></p><p>She felt a slight surge along the link. The rings had been damned expensive, and having the <em>status</em> power added to the <em>telepathic bond</em> had put a hefty premium on the devices. But they’d already proven their worth several times over even in the relatively short time she’d been here. The thought made her regret her harsh tone over the link. She was getting frustrated, but it made no sense to take it out upon her cohort. </p><p></p><p><em>Apology accepted,</em> she heard, through the link. <em>All right, it’s sixty paces coreward and fifteen rising arc from my position. Should put you right behind the door, or damned near it.</em></p><p></p><p><em>Thank you, LL</em>. </p><p></p><p><em>Be careful; if there’s trouble I’ll try to get to you, but…</em></p><p></p><p><em>I know,</em> she thought, then she spoke a word and vanished through a <em>dimension door</em>. </p><p></p><p>The bustle of the street was replaced by the dank interior of the warehouse. She was in a roughly square chamber thirty feet on a side, mostly empty save for some debris cluttered against the walls. Iron posts reinforced the ceiling, and the few murky windows tucked under that roof, thick with the accumulated muck of years, were both incredibly narrow and warded with thick iron bars. There were two other doors besides the one that led outside; presumably they led to other quarters of the building. </p><p></p><p>And standing directly in front of her, his back to her, was her quarry. </p><p></p><p>Her arrival had not gone unnoticed. Mocker Darr turned, his disfigured face twisting into a scowl as he saw her. Behind him, near the door, stood a pair of bugbears, clad in black chainmail that blended with the deep shadows of the room. The door itself was built like the portal of a vault, with a heavy iron wheel mechanism in its center that drove four thick bolts into the surrounding threshold. </p><p></p><p>Dana reached for the tiefling, but he was faster, his reflexes obviously supernaturally empowered as he leapt back several feet, between his goons. </p><p></p><p>“Put this berk in the dead-book!” Darr snarled, drawing two daggers with a flick of his wrists. Even in the bad light, greasy smears were visible along the lengths of the blades. The bugbears produced ugly jagged-edge shortswords that also probably were poisoned, and started menacingly forward. </p><p></p><p>Dana uttered a <em>holy word</em>. </p><p></p><p>As the echoes of the pure syllable faded off of the heavy iron plates that made up the walls of the place, the priestess of Selûne stepped forward to stand over Mocker Darr. She kicked the daggers out of his hands, and then knelt beside him. The tiefling lay quivering upon the ground; the bugbears were both unmoving, blood trailing in soft red currents from their ears. Dana took a few seconds to expertly search the tiefling, then looked down at him. </p><p></p><p>“I know you can hear me,” she said. “Your eyesight will return in a few moments, but you’re not going to be able to move for a rather longer than that. What happens after that… well, that’s up to you.”</p><p></p><p><em>Hey, are you going to let me in or what?</em> came a voice in her mind. </p><p></p><p><em>Sorry</em>, she thought, standing and stepping toward the door. </p><p></p><p>She hadn’t covered the first step when one of the room’s other doors burst open, and a chittering horde of mezzoloths poured into the room, screaming for her blood.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Lazybones, post: 2782977, member: 143"] I've been fairly nebulous on this deliberately; all will be explained in time. This week we find out what another Traveler's been up to. * * * * * Chapter 510 The common room of The Cutter’s Folly was an amalgam of every tavern cliché on any of a thousand worlds, from the stink of sweat and spilled beer, to the raucous laughter and boisterous jeers of its diverse inhabitants, to the steely faced bartender and the pinchable wenches who ran a steady circuit between the kitchen, the bar, and the forty tables scattered across the wide open area. The place only had a single story, but there was a hall subtly situated in the back corner that offered access to additional rooms to patrons who were willing to pay for a bit of extra privacy. The clientele of the Folly was a mixed lot, even by Sigil standards. They tended to fall into the middle of the spectrum; the worst fiends and the purest celestials usually preferred to gravitate toward their own establishments, both for the services that catered to their particular needs and for the need to avoid confrontations. Sigil was a place that had a reputation for being rough, but the city was officially Neutral, and open conflict drew the attention of the Lady. That certainly did not mean that the Folly was a “soft” tavern by any means. A number of the stains that had all but obliterated the original color of the hardwood floor were more than just liquor, and most of the furniture had the look of having been repaired more than once. A pair of hulking ogrillons in mithral shirts provided obvious muscle to discourage trouble, and the bartender hung a blast crossbow in obvious view over the bar, but even so only a fool came to the Folly if he, she, or it couldn’t handle themselves. Thus when the swinging doors parted to reveal a newcomer, a face not familiar to the bar’s regulars, most quickly returned to their own concerns. The newcomer was a human woman, quite comely in outward appearance, clad in a light-colored tunic and breeches with a pale cloak trailing down across her shoulders and down her back. A few gazes lingered upon the woman, either out of lascivious curiosity or because of the veritable trove of magical auras about her person. But one look at her eyes was enough to encourage even those to return their focus to their beverages or their companions. She walked boldly into the center of the common room, and just stood there. A few conversations at the tables around her quieted as their attention returned to her, but while her stare was challenging, she said nothing, just scanning the faces. Finally, she crossed over to the bar. The bartender, a bariur of considerable age, nodded at her. “What’ll it be?” She replied in a voice designed to carry clearly across the room. “I want Barrat Ghur.” A number of looks were spread across the room, behind the woman’s back. The bartender betrayed his reaction just for a moment, then he lowered his eyes to the bar, running a dirty rag across the polished surface. “Lord Ghur no longer frequents this establishment, ma’am. Perhaps a glass of Aelendur firewine?” A rumbling behind her alerted the woman. She turned to see a mountain of a man step forward, his bulk all but blocking out her view of the room behind him. He looked to be some sort of combination of a minotaur, ogre, and fiend all in one, with the least appealing features of each. He stood a little under seven feet tall, only a bit more than a foot taller than the woman, but he had to be almost that much again wide. His shoulders were broad enough to serve as a table for four men, and each of his arms were thicker around than the woman’s entire body. “No trouble in here,” the bartender said. “Take it outside.” The hulk ignored him. “You look puny, human woman,” he growled. “Why you want Ghur? Oogok show you plenty good time.” The woman’s lips tightened in disgust. “I’d sooner smear myself in goristo feces,” she said. “As it is, I can barely stand the stench of being in the same room with you. Go away.” Dismissing him with a wave, she started to turn back to the bar. Oogok snarled and reached for her with a meaty fist. But the woman spun smoothly, a red glow erupting around her hand as she reached out and splayed her palm across the massive expanse of the hulk’s chest. A fierce red glow spread outward from that point of touch, seeping into the body of the fierce monstrosity. Oogok’s eyes widened and he staggered back, his upper body quivering as an ugly mewling issued from his mouth. The woman maintained her touch until the red glow had faded. A spray of bright crimson blood fountained from the hulk’s mouth, pouring down his chest, leaving little flecks upon the otherwise pristine cloak of the woman. He fell to his knees, staring up at her with eyes wide with terror as she looked down at him, a cold look in her eyes. Then she turned back to the bartender. “I think I’ll pass,” she said, turning and walking past the cowering hulk toward the door. No one moved to stop her; in fact everyone in the room suddenly seemed quite intent upon doing something other than appearing to pay any attention to her. By the time that the doors swung shut in her wake, the din of conversation and activity had returned to its former level of intensity. Oogok, kneeling in the center of the room in a puddle of his own blood and piss, finally toppled forward, coughing up gobs of gore from his shredded lungs. Sighing, the bartender gestured for his bouncers to help him heave the crippled creature out onto the street. * * * * * Dana Ilgarten did not go far after leaving the Folly. Idly rubbing a fleck of blood on her cloak with a fingernail, she concentrated on the ring she wore on the third finger of her right hand. [i]Do you have him?[/i] [i]Yeah, I got him. Took off like a shot out the back way, just like you said. Hey, how’d that big bastard look when you [/i]harmed[i] him? Always thought Oogok had it coming…[/i] [i]Focus on the matter at hand,[/i] Dana thought through the telepathic link. [i]Yeah, yeah. Okay, he’s going into the Hive. You want me to—what am I saying? Of course you do. Have I told you yet today that this plan is crazy?[/i] [i]Just do it,[/i] Dana thought, already walking briskly in that direction. Her sense of direction around Sigil was still a bit vague, and she thought she’d never get used to the way that the terrain ahead curved up, or the way that she could glimpse the far side of the torus [i]through[/i] the wisps of cloud above. Sigil lay on the interior of a massive ring, existing in defiance of all of the physical laws of the world she knew. [i]If he goes deep into the Hive, we’ll lose the bastard,[/i] Dana thought. She hadn’t intended for that to get out through the link, but a moment later she heard the retort, [i]Well, maybe that wouldn’t be… wait! He’s ducking into a warehouse… it’s just a few blocks from the main drag. I thought I saw a bruiser let him in, damn, the place looks like a fortress.[/i] Dana came to an abrupt stop. [i]Give me a fix on your location, and a relative direction and distance to the target.[/i] There was a momentary pause. [i]Dana… are you sure that’s a good idea? Remember the last time you tried that…[/i] [i]Just DO IT![/i] She felt a slight surge along the link. The rings had been damned expensive, and having the [i]status[/i] power added to the [i]telepathic bond[/i] had put a hefty premium on the devices. But they’d already proven their worth several times over even in the relatively short time she’d been here. The thought made her regret her harsh tone over the link. She was getting frustrated, but it made no sense to take it out upon her cohort. [i]Apology accepted,[/i] she heard, through the link. [i]All right, it’s sixty paces coreward and fifteen rising arc from my position. Should put you right behind the door, or damned near it.[/i] [i]Thank you, LL[/i]. [i]Be careful; if there’s trouble I’ll try to get to you, but…[/i] [i]I know,[/i] she thought, then she spoke a word and vanished through a [i]dimension door[/i]. The bustle of the street was replaced by the dank interior of the warehouse. She was in a roughly square chamber thirty feet on a side, mostly empty save for some debris cluttered against the walls. Iron posts reinforced the ceiling, and the few murky windows tucked under that roof, thick with the accumulated muck of years, were both incredibly narrow and warded with thick iron bars. There were two other doors besides the one that led outside; presumably they led to other quarters of the building. And standing directly in front of her, his back to her, was her quarry. Her arrival had not gone unnoticed. Mocker Darr turned, his disfigured face twisting into a scowl as he saw her. Behind him, near the door, stood a pair of bugbears, clad in black chainmail that blended with the deep shadows of the room. The door itself was built like the portal of a vault, with a heavy iron wheel mechanism in its center that drove four thick bolts into the surrounding threshold. Dana reached for the tiefling, but he was faster, his reflexes obviously supernaturally empowered as he leapt back several feet, between his goons. “Put this berk in the dead-book!” Darr snarled, drawing two daggers with a flick of his wrists. Even in the bad light, greasy smears were visible along the lengths of the blades. The bugbears produced ugly jagged-edge shortswords that also probably were poisoned, and started menacingly forward. Dana uttered a [i]holy word[/i]. As the echoes of the pure syllable faded off of the heavy iron plates that made up the walls of the place, the priestess of Selûne stepped forward to stand over Mocker Darr. She kicked the daggers out of his hands, and then knelt beside him. The tiefling lay quivering upon the ground; the bugbears were both unmoving, blood trailing in soft red currents from their ears. Dana took a few seconds to expertly search the tiefling, then looked down at him. “I know you can hear me,” she said. “Your eyesight will return in a few moments, but you’re not going to be able to move for a rather longer than that. What happens after that… well, that’s up to you.” [i]Hey, are you going to let me in or what?[/i] came a voice in her mind. [i]Sorry[/i], she thought, standing and stepping toward the door. She hadn’t covered the first step when one of the room’s other doors burst open, and a chittering horde of mezzoloths poured into the room, screaming for her blood. [/QUOTE]
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