RE: The Vivacious Deadlock: S3G6: Round Three: The Sable Masque
08-08-2013, 12:28 AM
(This post was last modified: 08-08-2013, 12:29 AM by Akumu.)
For a split second, the handle of the iron door glowed red, then white, then splattered into droplets as a fist punched through. The remains of the handle skittered across the stone floor, between the shelves crowded with boxes of seemingly random items. The door, lock and latch destroyed, slowly swung open.
“After you, Princess Harmony,” Cedric said, standing aside to make way. Harmon curtsied before entering the room and starting to rifle through the boxes.
“You’ve seen my device, Sir Cedric. Parts of it were confiscated from me,and I need to get them back. Let me know if you find them. Is there anything they’ve taken from you?”
“Sigrar,” Cedric answered, and then at Harmon’s blank look, “My sword.”
“Are swords usually named where you come from?”
“When they have distinguished themselves in battle,” Cedric paused in his search, staring into the distance for a moment before continuing and speaking again, “It was my father’s before me. It has served us both well.”
“We’ll make sure to find it then.”
They rummaged in silence for a minute. Most of the items in the room were either simple weapons, daggers mostly, or devices so baroque their purpose was completely obscure. Harmon tried not to accidentally activate any of them. If the people around here could solidify the air, read minds and control chemical reactions with their thoughts alone, the idea of what they would need technology for was terrifying.
In among the clutter, Harmon spotted a thin red scabbard with inlaid gold. The sword’s handguard, sticking out the end, was arranged to look like a rising flame. It wasn’t what she recalled the knight’s sword looking like, but then again, she’d been wearing jeans and flannel when this whole thing started.
“Cedric, I think I found Sigrar!”
“Good! I think I found your... thing.”
“Put it on the desk up front, would you?”
Harmon made her way through the rows and found Cedric setting down a mess of metal, glass and wires. Excellent. She was one step closer to getting out. Of this dungeon, this palace, this whole damned situation. She handed the sword off to Cedric.
The knight pulled the blade part way from its scabbard, giving it an appraising look before nodding with satisfaction and expertly sliding the whole assembly into a waiting belt loop. He grinned at Harmon.
“There, a full man again! I’ll stove a man’s head in with my fists alone, but there’s no substitute for a sharp blade.”
The scientist had already started spreading out her damaged equipment and the android parts, looking for how they could interface with each other. She suppressed a grimace and looked up.
“I wouldn’t know. Where I’m from, in our society, there’s not a need for violence. I’m not used to it.” Harmon tried to strike a balance between making Cedric feel appreciated and not debasing herself.
“How would you gain power, then? Bring glory to your name?”
“Words and ideas, convincing others that you can create solutions.”
“Sounds dull as a sack of rocks. Valthen must despair when he turns his eye on your world.”
“Whoever Valthen is, I don’t think he ever does.”
Cedric snorted, “And why would he, by the sound of it. Don’t worry, I have enough of his favor for the both of us.”
Harmon smiled without feeling. The chances of cultural exchange here were small, to say the least. “Could you keep a lookout for more of those machine men? I’m surprised we’ve been left alone for this long.” With that, she turned her attention back to her impromptu workbench.
Ivan had two rules. They had served him very well in the time since he escaped from CARET. Rule one was don’t get caught. By CARET, by the local cops, by the boss of the day when your hand’s in the till. Getting caught meant being held in one place, and keeping on the move was the only way to stay alive. Rule two was, when you do get caught, cooperate. Know when you’ve lost, and keep the jailer happy long enough for him to turn his back.
So, where Klendel had tried to twist the truth as a matter of habit, and Harmon had tried to escape as a matter of pride, Ivan simply stood in front of the Kings, fiddled with the buttons on his waistcoat, and told them what they wanted to know.
“Thank you, Master Norst.”
“It is so welcome to have a straight answer for once.”
“A breath of fresh air.”
Ivan choked back a laugh at that last expression, because he wasn’t sure if it was meant as a joke and also because laughing meant breathing, an action he was trying hard to minimize.
“Your Majesties, you’ve asked which of the six of us is most dangerous to you. I think that’s the wrong question. It is the battle itself that is dangerous. And the battle is the Spectator. You should focus on what it is and how to stop it.”
“We are intrigued by this being.”
“There are many things that we will be investigating, in the future.”
“The next hours are about keeping order.”
Ivan cast his eyes downward in deference, with a small frown. If he could turn these people’s powers against the Spectator, or whatever was keeping the battle running, there was some small chance that it could be stopped before Cascala ripped his blood out through his skin. If that wasn’t going to happen, at least they could keep him safe for the rest of the round.
“Yes, your Majesties. I’ll advise you as best I can.”
“We do not have the time to oversee you directly.”
“You will advise the Stones.”
“We are sending you to them now.”
The throne room seemed to grow around him, getting dimmer as he shrank down to a point, inverted through himself and expanded back to normal in a room of glowing images lining the walls. Those images immediately went red as a klaxon started sounding. The three occupants of the room spun away from their stations, raising their hands in a gesture that evoked both a shield and a pointed gun. Only the voices of the Kings cutting out of the air kept Ivan in one piece after the first half-second of his appearance.
“Norst is a willing informant, use him as you see fit.”
One of the men waved his hand and the klaxons cut off, and the screens returned to their original images.
“Opal, see what he knows about Cascala. Malachite, stay on the main hall. Don’t let these Outsiders distract us from the usual suspects.” He turned back and re-enmeshed his fingers in the glowing strands of data.
The shorter of the trio jumped up and clapped a hand on Ivan’s shoulder. He was still disoriented from the porting and stumbled along at Opal’s prodding.
“Come on, Norst, let’s see what you can do for us.”
“And here.”
Cedric put the tip of Sigrar against the two wires and hit them with a brief pulse of heat, fusing them together. Harmon flipped a switch and the mish-mash of technology whined to life.
“Alright! Now let’s see...”
She swung the probe back and forth, watching the needle on the cobbled together gauge. She nodded in satisfaction.
“It seems to be working. And... there seems to be a dimensional cross-over in that direction,” Harmon said, pointing the probe towards a point on the ceiling. “We can get out of this place, and we can keep running until we lose the Spectator, and then we can see about getting home.”
“Home sounds good, but running doesn’t. There’s no glory in it.”
“Don’t worry,” Harmon said as she secured the device its satchel of torn leather strips and slung it on her back, “I’m sure she won’t let us go without a fight.”
“After you, Princess Harmony,” Cedric said, standing aside to make way. Harmon curtsied before entering the room and starting to rifle through the boxes.
“You’ve seen my device, Sir Cedric. Parts of it were confiscated from me,and I need to get them back. Let me know if you find them. Is there anything they’ve taken from you?”
“Sigrar,” Cedric answered, and then at Harmon’s blank look, “My sword.”
“Are swords usually named where you come from?”
“When they have distinguished themselves in battle,” Cedric paused in his search, staring into the distance for a moment before continuing and speaking again, “It was my father’s before me. It has served us both well.”
“We’ll make sure to find it then.”
They rummaged in silence for a minute. Most of the items in the room were either simple weapons, daggers mostly, or devices so baroque their purpose was completely obscure. Harmon tried not to accidentally activate any of them. If the people around here could solidify the air, read minds and control chemical reactions with their thoughts alone, the idea of what they would need technology for was terrifying.
In among the clutter, Harmon spotted a thin red scabbard with inlaid gold. The sword’s handguard, sticking out the end, was arranged to look like a rising flame. It wasn’t what she recalled the knight’s sword looking like, but then again, she’d been wearing jeans and flannel when this whole thing started.
“Cedric, I think I found Sigrar!”
“Good! I think I found your... thing.”
“Put it on the desk up front, would you?”
Harmon made her way through the rows and found Cedric setting down a mess of metal, glass and wires. Excellent. She was one step closer to getting out. Of this dungeon, this palace, this whole damned situation. She handed the sword off to Cedric.
The knight pulled the blade part way from its scabbard, giving it an appraising look before nodding with satisfaction and expertly sliding the whole assembly into a waiting belt loop. He grinned at Harmon.
“There, a full man again! I’ll stove a man’s head in with my fists alone, but there’s no substitute for a sharp blade.”
The scientist had already started spreading out her damaged equipment and the android parts, looking for how they could interface with each other. She suppressed a grimace and looked up.
“I wouldn’t know. Where I’m from, in our society, there’s not a need for violence. I’m not used to it.” Harmon tried to strike a balance between making Cedric feel appreciated and not debasing herself.
“How would you gain power, then? Bring glory to your name?”
“Words and ideas, convincing others that you can create solutions.”
“Sounds dull as a sack of rocks. Valthen must despair when he turns his eye on your world.”
“Whoever Valthen is, I don’t think he ever does.”
Cedric snorted, “And why would he, by the sound of it. Don’t worry, I have enough of his favor for the both of us.”
Harmon smiled without feeling. The chances of cultural exchange here were small, to say the least. “Could you keep a lookout for more of those machine men? I’m surprised we’ve been left alone for this long.” With that, she turned her attention back to her impromptu workbench.
- - -
Ivan had two rules. They had served him very well in the time since he escaped from CARET. Rule one was don’t get caught. By CARET, by the local cops, by the boss of the day when your hand’s in the till. Getting caught meant being held in one place, and keeping on the move was the only way to stay alive. Rule two was, when you do get caught, cooperate. Know when you’ve lost, and keep the jailer happy long enough for him to turn his back.
So, where Klendel had tried to twist the truth as a matter of habit, and Harmon had tried to escape as a matter of pride, Ivan simply stood in front of the Kings, fiddled with the buttons on his waistcoat, and told them what they wanted to know.
“Thank you, Master Norst.”
“It is so welcome to have a straight answer for once.”
“A breath of fresh air.”
Ivan choked back a laugh at that last expression, because he wasn’t sure if it was meant as a joke and also because laughing meant breathing, an action he was trying hard to minimize.
“Your Majesties, you’ve asked which of the six of us is most dangerous to you. I think that’s the wrong question. It is the battle itself that is dangerous. And the battle is the Spectator. You should focus on what it is and how to stop it.”
“We are intrigued by this being.”
“There are many things that we will be investigating, in the future.”
“The next hours are about keeping order.”
Ivan cast his eyes downward in deference, with a small frown. If he could turn these people’s powers against the Spectator, or whatever was keeping the battle running, there was some small chance that it could be stopped before Cascala ripped his blood out through his skin. If that wasn’t going to happen, at least they could keep him safe for the rest of the round.
“Yes, your Majesties. I’ll advise you as best I can.”
“We do not have the time to oversee you directly.”
“You will advise the Stones.”
“We are sending you to them now.”
The throne room seemed to grow around him, getting dimmer as he shrank down to a point, inverted through himself and expanded back to normal in a room of glowing images lining the walls. Those images immediately went red as a klaxon started sounding. The three occupants of the room spun away from their stations, raising their hands in a gesture that evoked both a shield and a pointed gun. Only the voices of the Kings cutting out of the air kept Ivan in one piece after the first half-second of his appearance.
“Norst is a willing informant, use him as you see fit.”
One of the men waved his hand and the klaxons cut off, and the screens returned to their original images.
“Opal, see what he knows about Cascala. Malachite, stay on the main hall. Don’t let these Outsiders distract us from the usual suspects.” He turned back and re-enmeshed his fingers in the glowing strands of data.
The shorter of the trio jumped up and clapped a hand on Ivan’s shoulder. He was still disoriented from the porting and stumbled along at Opal’s prodding.
“Come on, Norst, let’s see what you can do for us.”
- - -
“And here.”
Cedric put the tip of Sigrar against the two wires and hit them with a brief pulse of heat, fusing them together. Harmon flipped a switch and the mish-mash of technology whined to life.
“Alright! Now let’s see...”
She swung the probe back and forth, watching the needle on the cobbled together gauge. She nodded in satisfaction.
“It seems to be working. And... there seems to be a dimensional cross-over in that direction,” Harmon said, pointing the probe towards a point on the ceiling. “We can get out of this place, and we can keep running until we lose the Spectator, and then we can see about getting home.”
“Home sounds good, but running doesn’t. There’s no glory in it.”
“Don’t worry,” Harmon said as she secured the device its satchel of torn leather strips and slung it on her back, “I’m sure she won’t let us go without a fight.”