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May 16, 2005 | |
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Plains Outside Vrokk City...
This is a wide-open plain covered with metallic-looking grass, tinted a slight blue. Above, the sky burns red-black like a scattering of hot coals. Set against the sky to the east lies Vrokk City itself, a towering gothic gear-like structure composed of twisted black metal and concrete. Thudding music and the grinding of gears emanates from the city, as though the monstrous clockwork it seems to be a part of still works, turning still behind the black walls.
Jurt decides he's gonna follow up on Yo's message she sent last week. He tracks her via fount and finds her at Vrokk, just off the emerald shore in the plains.
Jurt appears for a single second as a faintly shimmering outline, followed quickly by the rest of him.
Average height, light build, heavier through the shoulders, he is a young man whose rather handsome features seem ready to twist into a snarl or a sneer. Dark hair is cut close to his scalp, Caesar-style. Deep green eyes channel his expressions into a tight focus, while smooth hands are sources of constant activity; gesturing, flexing, gripping.
They creak, from time to time, bound as they are in dark fingerless leather gloves. Likewise the odd lunge or flex plays the light across trousers of similar make, of the same oily calfskin whose true shade is obscured by myriad instantaneous possibilities. Both are sewn in concentric rings of the overlapping hide, the fit exact but unrestrictive. Over it all is belted a wide and sleeveless tunic, simple and well-worn linen.
As you trek over the plains of Vrokk, in the distance is the figure of a woman. Auburn haired and claid in fine linked chain and leather. About her, a multitude of spider-like machines that stand no more then six inches in height. Is that Yosannah?
A blue white spike of energy protrudes from the woman's fist. She flails the spike at the spider creatures as their fragile looking arachnid legs scurry to and fro, darting at her quickly and then retreating just as readily. Those that are fortunate enough to get close to her discharge an electric bolt in her direction. She winces in pain at each assault.
Jurt wears a slightly annoyed expression. There is a moderate stomp to his walk, as if he didn't like having to do it. Spotting the figure he perks up a bit, a small rock in his hand - he'd been trying to skip them along the ground as he traveled what felt like miles to him.
A small red eye sits atop the body of these creatures, roaming the area. The auburn haired lady thrusts the energy spike into one machine as it leaps from the ground and thrusts itself in her direction. It falls, abruptly, to the ground. In but a moment it rises. The small red eye now glowing blue, it turns on the nearest red eyed monstrosity and attacks.
Jurt picks up the pace a bit and jogs towards the woman, closing the distance.
The woman is accosted from the rear as two more creatures fire their bolts at her back and into her thigh. As Jurt closes the distance it is obvious this is his friend. Yosannah drops to her knees, teeth clenched. The energy spike dissipates and her right hand goes outstretched.
At the same time, the single blue eyed machine disengages itself from its assault on its companion who now dons a single blue eye atop it's body. The two units target adjacent red eyes and attack.
Jurt stops a healthy twenty yards from the gathering - closer than most people would consider healthy. Dons a pleasant expression, flashing Yosannah a smile. He calls to her, "Hey babe - looks like you're having a good time. Interesting game - can't say I recognize it." He can't make out her expression well, standing off to her side, but his eyes narrow a little as she drops to her knees. They look over the spiders, curious but a bit blank, as if he was trying to figure the whole deal out. "Or is this maybe some kind of unorganized free for all."
As if hearing Jurt's voice call out over the plain the spider creatures nearest him halt, pause, and turn a slow eye upon him. A number of Red Eyes quickly redirect their attention on the Chaosian, legs scurrying in his direction. The whole affair is like a bad Orson Wells flick.
Jurt sobers a bit at the new found attention, a quick mental fight in his head between craving attention and concern for his own hide. At first, faking a smile, "Hey fellas, how they hanging? Small but hard, I imagine..." As they begin to approach, he starts to slowly backpedal, gripping the rock a little harder. "Uh, don't mind me guys, I just came to visit a friend. There was no door to knock on." As the self-preservation instincts start to take over, he tentatively whips the small rock at the closest spider.
More Blue Eyes. And though their numbers seem to increase at an exponential rate, the Red Eyes still outnumber them ten to one. Jurt's retreat draws a frenzy of response in his direction as the creatures begin the same dance for him, darting to and fro, waiting for an opportunity to get close enough to discharge a bolt in his direction.
Yosannah mutters something inaudible amidst the fray and the opaque white stone at her wrist flashes brilliantly.
Jurt spares a moment to scratch at the back of his head and glance in Yo's direction, looking a bit confused for his next step. By the time he's made a decision, he is indeed facing dozens of his own in a growing arc before him, steadily flanking. "I always preferred unorganized sports." He informs the spiders in a talking tone. "Who wants to memorize a bunch of rules." As one jumps in front of him he gives it a nimble little kick, sending it flying. Starts to joke, "I have a thing about personal spa-Ow!" A zap in the back of his other foot, from behind. A scowl across his brow, like a growing storm. "You little fucker."
She makes a meek effort at detaching the Reds from her body as they dive atop her. Under the scraping of and scratching sound of metal on metal and electric discharge calls her voice, writhed in pain, "...Jurt... I can't..." Then her voice is lost in the commotion. The white stone at her wrist pulses slowly...
Jurt, a veteran of no few amount of battles, quickly realizes: "Well fuck me, this ain't gonna cut it." A quick glance in Yosannah's direction, some concern breaking through his thickening scowl. As the spiders attempt to surround him and close in, Jurt relocates - disappearing from sight and reappearing fifty yards away in the span of three seconds. He eyes the gathering critically, lifting a thumb as if to gauge, tongue poking thoughtfully out of the side of his mouth. He decides, "Definitely the driver." And reaches forward with his right hand. From out of a small shimmering of green and yellow light he pulls a heavy looking golf club. The material looks silver, with a nice rubber grip around the top of the shaft. Of note are some runes etched in the silver at intervals, with a larger one on the driver's clubhead. Never the best of losers, Jurt has shadowfound this club to get a boost out of his game that Tiger Woods himself would be jealous of.
At his feet, she grunts meekly. From her wrist the white stone ceases its rhythmic pulsing as a wave of energy is dispersed outward. It is felt, deep in the chest, rather then heard or seen. A low rumble like a pulse wave, washing over the plains.
Maybe it's the pulse-wave, maybe it's the sight of Jurt who dons his uber-club... In either case, the machines freeze and, in a heartbeat, begin to fall, one by one. Reds and Blues, in a heap.
*Buzz* *Buzz*
*Fizzle* *Pop!*
The retrieval takes Jurt all of ten seconds - hesitation at wanting to take a few practice swings before starting takes him another two, the thought shrugged off by Yosannah's prone body. Eyebrows raise at the pulse he both feels and sorcerously senses, but he doesn't spare the time to think about it. The club is pulled back just before teleporting to Yosannah's side, the obligatory, "Four!" called out before he completes his swing, knocking two of the spiders off her body and sending them a good distance down the fairway in his mind. "Six!" A reverse swing strikes another one on her with less impressive but still effective results. He keeps swinging, unmindful of the spider's reactions to the pulse, until Yosanah's immediate vicinity is clear.
Yosannah is still, limp. Her face crushed into the ground. Sweat pours off her forehead, her body. Her hair is matted about her face. Makeup runs down about her eyes. Their is a light in the stone at her wrist but it is fading. Dim. And then gone. Dark and cold once again.
"Ten! Eleven! ... Fifteen!" Jurt cheats the numbers a bit, sneaking a glance at Yosannah to see if she's paying attention. Apparantly not. Commentating for himself, "For the eagle ... yes!" "Oh no, out of bounds - that'll cost young Jurt a stroke." "Jurt 'Babe Ruth' Sawall is really on his game today." His swings are mighty, the aim not perfect but good enough to damage the spiders and/or sending them far enough away it'll take them a bit to get back. He doesn't react much to their new inert, and much less dangerous state, sweat on his brow from the concentration and exertion ... but someone perceptive watching would say he was enjoying himself. It's only when a few minutes of this driving range practice passes, and he's cleared a wide area around Yosannah, does the repetition start to turn into boredom, and Jurt finally halts with a huff.
She's not moving, that's pretty obvious as Jurt stands over her in a huff.
*Snap* *Buzz*
*Pop!* *Snap*
Her pants are torn about her calves where the machine's bolts ripped into her skin, bloody.
Jurt leans on his club for a few seconds, not gravely concerned about Yosannah. He does attempt, "Yosannah, hello? Anyone home? Your hero is here..." With a frown from the lack of reaction, he kneels besides her body and scoops her up onto a shoulder.
A grunting moan escapes her lips as she is hoisted up.
Jurt carries her effortlessly. A final look around the plain, slightly hopeful, search... the expression falls when he sees nothing but still spiders. "An impressive victory, and not a soul to witness it. Not even the damsel. What a gip." He's about to fount home when he pauses, considers, and moves to pick up a still spiderbot. Souvenier. And with that, he concentrates...
Jurt's Byway in Sawall...
The walls in this split-level chamber are solid rock, covered in tiny cracks that glow with a greenish iridescence. The lower half of the room is a semicircular platform of stone, with a wide moat of liquid green ooze separating it from the curving walls. Up a broad flight of steps, mostly curtained off by black drapes, is a sleeping area of sorts. A huge bed, several bookcases, an armoire, and a gun rack occupy points of interest on the upper level.
Apart from a burning hole in the wall on the lower level, there don't seem to be any exits.
The air is somewhat sulferous and damp.
Jurt appears next to his own bed, lowering Yosannah onto it.
It's difficult to tell what might be the cause of her state. Many of her wounds continue to bleed, bust most are superficial. She seems more physically exhausted then anything else. Yes, her breath comes regular albeit a little heavy. She stirs a bit, eyes starting to roll under loose lids. "..mm."
Jurt wipes the generally small amount of sweat from his brow. As her blood stains his bed, there is a frown at his own lack of foresight in that regard, but it's shrugged off. Walking away, he drops the undented club back into its bag with the rest of his clubs, leaning against a wall. A towel hanging on a hook is grabbed, and on he begins tearing it into strips as he walks back to the bed.
Jurt slides besides Yosannah on the bed and starts to bind the spots on her that bleed. While far from a doctor, his first-aid is solid and he gets the right spots and tightness.
Her hand stirs and slides to his wrist as he works. Her fingers are cold. So cold. They tremble. Yes, she is awake. Her eyes are weary as they look upon him. There is something tragic there. Lonely, perhaps. She mouths a silent 'thank you'. It is all she can do.
Jurt gives her a quick smile. Conversationally, "You never call, you never write - I was starting to think maybe you'd gone lesbian on me." Maybe a little nervous, but nonetheless confident that Yosannah will survive. "Unfortunately - unless those were all female robots and that was some sort of sadomasochistic orgy - that wasn't exactly what I was hoping to walk in on." He finishes binding your legs and arms, eyeing the chainmail thoughtfully. "I should probably strip you down. Check for other wounds, internal bleeding, stuff like that..."
Jurt rubs his head.
An agreeable grunt. Or maybe not, it's hard to tell. Her fingers drift over her mid-section to her adjacent wrist so that she might grobe at the trinket thereon. Satisfied at its presence lets her eyes flutter closed and mouths, "...never." What this might be in response to is not entirely clear. Does it really matter?
Jurt half crosses his arms over his chest, considering you - on arm is lifted to let him drum fingers on his chin. "What to do, what to do ... I know if I were you, I'd want a beer about now. But that's me." He closes his eyes, continuing his dialog, "Lets peek in the phone book and see who is home..."
Phone book? Home? What's he driving at. Her jaw clenches and a tightness forms about her eyes.
Jurt murmurs to himself, "Sleeping ... sleeping ... oop, probably should watch that... nice ass ... sleeping ... What the hell, is it Chaosian Thanksgiving? ... Ah, he's awake...."
Jurt's eyes go distant as he opens a trump connection.
Mirth appears, grasping Jurt's hand.
Resting upon Jurt's bed is the form of a woman, weary. There are gashes about her body, mostly her legs; cuts and tears. Several of the more bloodier versions have been attended to - perhaps by Jurt. She swallows at the sight of the new arrival, her expression is a touch put out over what might be perceived as fuss and frivolity. One arm lays over her mid-section so that she might clutch at her adacent wrist and a trinket thereon.
Mirth squints a little at Yosannah.
Jurt informs Mirth, "You know I started out pre-med ... just turned out not to be my thing."
Jurt steps aside so he can see Yosannah better.
Jurt admits, "She may be hurt under the chainmail, I'm not sure."
Jurt says "Looks like kind of a bitch to get off. I hate armor."
Mirth looks at Jurt.
Mirth says "I don't have any background in this at all."
Mirth smiles wryly.
Mirth says "Maybe we should call Emily."
Jurt glances back at Mirth.
Jurt says "What do you mean. Of all the nephews, you were the smart one."
Mirth says "Might be able to pop the armour off most effectively with the Logrus. Unless she'll make it fizzle."
Jurt accuses Mirth.
Mirth says "Dammit Jurt, I'm a linguist, not a doctor."
Jurt's brow knits a bit. "Really? Any particularly interesting languages?"
Mirth says "A lot of the more obscure Hadesian ones."
Mirth says "But I don't think I'll be talking her better."
Mirth says "Especially not in those languages."
Her voice is a quiet tenor, interrupting the banter over her, "...stop, please. You're both..." A breath, "just be quiet." An exhale.
Jurt frowns some, looking disappointed. "I thought you'd be "well-rounded" <he makes the quotation marks gesture> ... you've been the House Head for umpteen writhings."
Mirth comments to Jurt, "I'll call Emily."
Jurt nods a bit, "Yes yes, do that."
She exhales again, obviously nobody is listening.
Mirth says to Jurt, "I am, I just delegated the 'medic' bit."
Jurt sighs a little. Tells Yosannah, "Save your breathe, babe - you need your strength."
Yosannah lets her head roll back. Exhaustion, or annoyance. It's really hard to tell when you're not a medic... or your too stupid to really look.
Jurt reminds Mirth, attention on him, "There were a lot of the little robots. Maybe hundreds, I couldn't count in the middle of it all. Very deadly - fast, agile, lots of razors and pointy bits." He jerks a thumb at Yosannah, but the concern doesn't make it to his voice. "She could be dying, you know."
"... not dying..." Exhale. "... jesus.."
Mirth says to Jurt, "Why don't you get her armour off, gently."
Yosannah lifts her eyes to Jurt, obvious effort in the gesture. There is a plea there, agreeable on Mirth's point. Someone might note the sweat beads that glisten at her forehead, along the line of her hair. Black make-up is caked about her eyes.
Emily appears, grasping Mirth's hand.
Mirth says to Emily, "Jurt for some reason thought that my being part of being well rounded included medical expertise."
Emily steps through, glancing around herself watchfully, and blinking a few times as her eyes adjust.
Resting upon Jurt's bed is the form of a woman, weary. There are gashes about her body, mostly her legs; cuts and tears. Several of the more bloodier versions have been attended to - perhaps by Jurt. One arm lays over her mid-section so that she might clutch at her adacent wrist and a trinket thereon.
"Sure, sure." This at Mirth. As Jurt is finally given some direction, he focuses on Yosannah. After a few seconds, the Logrus becomes visible before him.
Emily is already taken by the potential patient, releasing Mirth's hand with a squeeze and a chim of her bracelets to cross to the bed. "I could train you..." she notes distractedly. "Oh..." she realies who it is after a moment or two. "Shit."
Mirth asks Jurt, "Who is this exactly?"
Emily sits on the bed.
Shattered glass orbs, filled with constantly changing colors that bleed through the fractures, are set in a vaguely handsome face framed by auburn hair. He is somewhat above average height, slender, and moves with certainty. He wears a fitted white t-shirt, faded blue jeans, and a pair of battered combat boots. On his left hand is a gold ring tempered with platinum depicting a waxing moon and on the right is a platinum signet engraved with a seven ray starburst.
Hers is an impression of chiming bracelets and a dusky contralto. A multitude of honey-colored braids are apt to veil green eyes, so pale they are nearly white, and the rich caramel of her sharpened-mulatto features. A tall, too-thin body is clothed in a flowing gauzy tunic-top of pale green, embridered with golden thread around the neckline with long, boot-cut jeans, brown leather boots, and a matching handbag. Golden beads are braided into her long, tiny dreds. (+details)
Jurt explains, "This is Yosannah, of course. A lot of us know her. Me. Merlin. Despil." A little sniff, as if some disdain had snuck in.
Mirth says "I got that bit, I meant in the broader sense."
"But!" Jurt shrugs off his thoughts with the exclamation, stating, "She's a very cool chick, all-around. It'd suck if she died." He starts manipulating his Logrus tendrils, taking ahold of the chainmail at various points.
Mirth says "Yeah, I just wanted to make sure you weren't about to get zapped, is all."
Jurt says "Bah. She's all Shadow."
Emily says, "She's not going to die..." and is touching Yosannah on some unwounded piece of fesh. Blue sparks shimmer in the air around her.
Emily exhales, and the sparks coalesce, spinning with terrifying rapidity before Emily's eyes as she looks at and through the images they form, at Yosannah. "How'd she get this way?" she murmurs, scratchy-soft.
Mirth says to Emily, "Jurt mentioned that some of the damage might be electrical."
Jurt starts to pull the chainmail apart, tearing it in half: horizontal to the bed, vertical to the woman. The top first, easiest, link after link snapping under the strength of Jurt's mind. Distracted, he explains, "Little spider robots. Hundreds of them. Very powerful, lots of blades and shooting bolts of lightening. I don't know how long she held them off before I showed up, just before she was overcame."
Her dry lips let out an exhale of breath as Jurt's tendrils work at and remove the chain shirt. Relief is evinced in her expression as the cool air hits her body. The blouse underneath is soaked and wet with perspiration.
Emily's distraction is considerable. She is totally focused on Yosannah, yet still murmurs the question, "What the hell is that thing at her wrist? And... don't take it off, not yet. I don't know if that would make it worse."
Jurt finishes, pulling off the front half of the armor, leaving the back beneath her. He sniff the air, tossing the remains of the chainmail casually into the moat of green ooze below.
Yosannah senses Emily is attempting to establish mental contact with you. Low-key.
Jurt points out, "Someone needs a shower."
Mirth steps back a pace or two, watching things.
Jurt looks at the wrist trinket then, shrugging. "Hell if I know."
Yosannah's fingers tighten about the thing at her wrist. Damn straight nobody is taking it off, not if her gesture is any indication of her intent.
Jurt says "Probably magical. She's decent at that sort of thing."
Mirth asks Emily, "How's she doing?"
Yosannah lets a soft groan escape her tired lips, "...mm fine."
Emily murmurs, "Heat exhaustion.... physical exhaustion... and the gashes. She'll be okay, but I need to do a few things, first. Someone should make sure there's a ot of food and a /lot/ of food water on hand."
Jurt remarks. "Aww. She's thinks I look fine." He looks down at himself. "It /is/ a good look, isn't. Brand new outfit - my tailor just did it. In fact, it's what I was coming to show her."
Yosannah senses Emily's mind is reassuring. She offers a pool in which to Yosannah can float, intact. She shows, wordless and instant, she just wants to bring Yosannah to a natural, healthy state. She lets a bit of her own personality leak through, uninsistant: a perfect and deep-rooted desire to heal. To heal and to heal, to heal Yosannah, to heal the world. That is all she is doing.
Jurt looks around. "Food and water." He checks with Emily, "Will beer do?"
Jurt's Logrus hovers around him, visible ... and if possible, looking bored.
Emily senses "Yosannah acquiesces to the contact. Tired, weary... she lets herself drift into the comforting zone offered by Emily."
Mirth looks Jurt over.
Yosannah's visage softens. Her breath comes even, steady. The fingers that clutch about her wrist relax and her eyes settle, immobile behind closed lids. She might be asleap for her stillness.
Emily just says the word again, "Water." She's very distracted.
Jurt mutters to himself. Looks at Mirth. "I'll do the food, you do the water. Deal?"
Yosannah senses Emily starts to shift things, then. To create and shift at once. Moisture. Water. Cells are oxygenated. The inner wounds start to knit.
Mirth says "Sure, I'll see if I can manage that."
Jurt lifts his hands and extends his tendrils through Shadow, searching.
Her skin flushes pink once again as Emily works healing magics through Yosannah. The tightness about her eyes resolves, her skin smooths. The visiable gashes seem to fade, slowly at first and then... they are gone save the remnants of dried blood left behind.
Mirth glances at Jurt. He smiles vaguely.
Mirth reaches. His hand disappears into prismatic light.
Jurt summons forth a table, first - his room lacking in a lot of basic amenities. Before long he's stocked it what he deems reasonable food. It's not as fatty as one would expect from Jurt, normally, and is an almost passable imitation of what Mandor would do... at least in content. The presentation is plain.
Emily doesn't quite heal them ALL the way. There are surface traces.
Mirth produces a plastic bottle of water when he brings his hand back.
Long minutes pass before Emily heaves a breath. "That must be some trinket," she murmurs...
Mirth sets the bottle on Jurt's table.
Yosannah senses Emily is about to withdraw her mind, but offers, if you wish, to help your body fall into a natural sleep.
Jurt then moves off to the side, just watching.
Emily senses "Yosannah's mind resolves... yes. To sleep... to dream..."
Emily breathes, and sits back, moving her hand off of Yosannah. "She's gonna zonk out," she murmurs, and looks around ravenous.
Mirth says "Hm, maybe we should leave her be for now?"
Emily stumbles to her feet. She suddenly looks like crap. Sallow. Exhaustion... "Uh huh..." but she reaches for the water bottlle.
Emily chugs it, more or less, in one go.
Mirth blinks slowly.
Mirth says "Glad we got that."
Emily breathes a hard breath after. "Oh god. Can we get more?" She starts randomly eating things, not paying too much attention to what.
Mirth says "I think I'm out."
Mirth says "Want a beer?"
Emily kind of peers at Mirth for the first time, and wrinkles her forehead, gulping some grapes with one hand as she also holds a slab of meat in the other. She shakes her head no. Still peeked she mumbles around a mouthful of something or another coq-a-vin, "I think I'll trump home where there's water."
Mirth explains to Emily, "I need to restock the fridge."
Mirth says "I suppose we can come check back later."
Mirth smiles at her, "Thanks for your help, Em."
Emily smiles back, exhausted. "Anytime," she murmurs, pulling a trump out of her purse. "It's her wrist-ring that did this, by the way. Not sure how it works, what it does. Powerful, though. I think it did this turning itself 'on', you know? So now it's on."
Emily talks to the card a moment, then, and vanishes on someone's scaly hand.
Mirth says "Later, let me know if you need anything more."