|
|
Post by Krakenbox on Aug 27, 2021 11:21:55 GMT -8
The ghostly overseer never manifested, and for a moment the group wandered if they were doomed to wander the ashen plane until they succumb to whatever dark fate the King had decided on. In a ripple of parting shadows and swirling dust, the lift finally greeted them, returning them to the fiery pulse of the citadel with rusted screeching.  The spider-like automaton that busily carved faced returned to view, pausing to regard them through the welding helm of multiple scopes. As the lift paused, their stomachs sank as the giant machine charged with a speed that had Gavin's claws forward in a silent snarl. The lift tilted sharply as they were pulled to the side, the metal shifting and stretching to accommodate, the grate falling to create a clear platform. The carver itself was still, simply holding the lift and eerily silent as the Broker unstuck himself from the crevice in the back and advanced like nothing alarming had happened.
There was a moist steam to the air, coating everyone quickly in a sheen of sweat as they tasted iron and salt. The hands in the cracks of the workshop reached towards Wayland in particular, waiting for meat and material to hold alongside the already still and pale bodies. The reek from above wafts as chains tug, the hands undulating as a corroded leash is hauled downwards. As the guttural squawk from the monstrous entity vibrated through the wet and dripping walls of the humid kiln, their hair stood on end and looked to Archie's Hobgoblin for an explanation. The low light was cut off from Grendel's Arcadian mass, with the gladiatorial falcon cap forcing blindness as the Gristlegrinder sniffed and bit at the hands, head swinging as he picked up the scent of the group and started shimmying down the wall in an hungry gait.
"Restored to his senses, King Machina, that was the spirit of the deal!" the Broker shouted, the Hob's stress causing his voice to crack slightly. The spider emerged, unceremoniously hauling on the chains to pluck the great beast off the walls of the cavern like the weight was no more than a kitten, slamming Grendel to the floor below in a thunder of raptor screaming and dented metal. As wings and kicking limbs were pinned, the glowing maw sheared the closest one to his mouth clean off with felfire and acid. The falcon cap was ripped off and a series of flashing lights bore from the spider's welder mask, sending the Ogre into a pained frenzy. Bones and sinew bent and cracked back into something that was closer to man, the Gristlegrinder's beak snapping and tearing the flesh from his own skull as he fought against two realities, struggling to stretch and free itself from the prison of humanity. Corrosive vomit burned his own skin from the shock as the vulture blinked with eyes that were glazed and confused.
The motley's approach was met with the giant flinching, with cowed body language that resonated enough with Gavin. Whatever crimes Grendel had committed to the Freehold, whatever he had been through in the Market had eroded the Lost's will. Whatever trick the Broker pulled to gather a proper negotiation was beyond him; Grendel wasn't going to be up for any deep conversation until his mind had had some time to calibrate.
What was most alarming, however, was the Fall Mantle. Black smoke rolled from the crack of dry, kindling bone as the sickly cold flame of the dead burned with the building pressure of radiating coals.
The meeting between Leviathan and Riley had been a tense, distant negotiation where his allegiance had been simple a brush.
Grendel was Autumn nobility. |
|
|
|
Post by Krakenbox on Aug 27, 2021 13:09:42 GMT -8
-- The Ningyō-shi's shop was in the Red Light District on the very edge of the second level, the architecture slanting with sympathetic spirals. Without the Torchlight Rogue, some of the denizens started to emerge with shutters opening with smoke and activity. Grendel was standing his full height now without support, but only seemed to respond with sighs and thick growls. Eventually, Archie Hartman got a Seal for him to keep his nose clean. The Ogre didn't seem particularly grateful, but he might have also been considering that this was a fucked up prank. The signage was a pixie-like figure painting a shattered woman, and Riley double checked with the Broker if the tattoo artist was what they were looking for. When Gavin broached if this Hob dealt with the Flesh Market, the cheshire cat said it depended on the day.  The pale Hob's eyes were hollow, much like the Knight of the Dying Light. She had an ageless look to her that was powdered and bloodless. The large silk kimono ran the length of the stool she was perched on, hiding most of her body. A cluster of childlike imps running around the shop to provide ink pots and brushes, squinting at Sorsa and grinning with sharp teeth as they held up needles dipped with pigment."A new skin?" the Doll Maker asked, pursing her lips as she concentrated on the freshly decapitated head tied to the end of her hair. "I don't need to flay you for a simple patch job. The leather of your hideous complexion is cheap and worn."
She floated rather than walked, sailing across the clean-swept floor as the kimono dropped to her hips to reveal the automaton sewn into her back. The woman pulled a box from one of the hundreds of drawers. The hideous mannequin's grin stretched, sounding far older and gentler than the maiden.
"I could use your keratin to thread the hair with one of my projects. The Norn's threads bind your image to the sun... The pinky and thumb, preferably. To balance the wear and tear... I would love to help you be happy again."
|
|
|
|
Post by Krakenbox on Aug 27, 2021 14:23:01 GMT -8
-- The Broker explained that Tokens were everywhere in the Goblin Market, the Maker just needed to know what she was actually looking for. As for materials for Hedgespun clothing and smithing... Following the molten canals, the Broker appeared to be leading Wayland to a more coordinated section of the Red Light District, as the architecture became streamline and severe. The smells of the forge were familiar even through the liquid metal and city squalor. To the left of descending stairs, there was a statue with a crucible pouring molten gold over a black stone skull, along with the epitaph pulchra mori.  The hall was wide enough to fit Ogres and monsters a like, and in this case a team of Changelings. The shop proper had an array of weaponry and alchemical substances that flashed and glimmered behind warded jars and angry scrolls. The leathers of fantastical beasts were stored on large rolls, with some of the better examples stretched and hung for a craftsman to peruse. It took a few moments to realize the massive statue embedded into the stonework was watching them.
Once addressed, the giant detached halfway from the wall, flinching from how stuff it felt as his jaw cracked. The serious expression was rapidly replaced with a large, tooth grin and booming voice,
"The spirit of adventure visits Colossus this day! Come in, come in, take a look around," he rumbled, banging a fist against the wall as more hobgoblins streamed out to offer coffee or mead. "I ask all my patrons to give us a story before we do business. It's the rules. I can't have my wares on boring layabouts!"
"I need the blood and flesh of thieves for the leather of a dagger we have been handsomely commissioned. I can give you some of my own material if you promise to flay a pound from a human caught stealing."His dismissive spit was lava, just missing one of the scurrying smiths with a hiss. |
|
|
|
Post by Krakenbox on Aug 27, 2021 23:18:09 GMT -8
--
 Securing a trade of Goblin Fruit was all the way back on the top level, which made things a little breezier than Gavin anticipated. Apparently fruit wasn't that rare for the Market, and once he realized the crow was in fact, hawking what he was looking for, he followed the buzzard back to the rest of the flock. One had adorned itself with a shawl, but as it spoke the entire murder cried along in unison.
"Good cousin! I see you are wishing to trade with us! A shipment of goodwill is acceptable, yes. Payment upfront for the first go, we just want a playdate in the real world-" the conversation broke as the murder chatters excitedly, nodding as one.
"I will blend right in, no one will be none the wiser; we are good actors. Very talented. But ah- yes, the Amarantine. Much harder to come by but we offer you a fair price. We are the herald of transformation, and death is a change of state. We would like the tool used on a person who is no longer here, to transition from one state to the other."
|
|
|
|
Post by Wayland on Sept 1, 2021 13:14:05 GMT -8
This place is both familiar and unfamiliar to her. It seems too large and severe, too bright and loud, too genial and inviting. Somehow it reminds her of a snare that has been baited and camouflaged, tempting both in what it offers and in a presumed assurance that you will leave safely. And that’s what’s wrong about it; not that it’s a trap, but that it appears so blatant and benign. Instead of hidden, and dangerous, and offered only to the most desperate or determined. That said; it’s working. Wayland’s eyes roam the offered wares, and she can feel the peculiar kind of hunger that aches in at her center, makes her silver fingers curl and flex, fills her head with possibilities. All making is magic. Transformative. Begin with something and end with something else.
And magic is addictive.
The cover-charge the Colossus requires tugs at her center, a small, sinking feeling in her chest. Much as in her encounter with the Goblin King, there is a sense that… this could be her. She could be playing this role, if her life had taken a different path. Perhaps she had. Did they come to her too, adventurers with grand stories to tell? What price did she extract from them to hear their requests? It’s that thought that stops up her mouth for a moment, curbs her Making hunger. Reminds her; she is here on her own terms. She Makes on her own terms. No one else’s. Her heart beats steadily in her chest. (Despite the echo of hammer on anvil that resounds with each beat.)
“Adventure,” she answers after a moment, “Is ill-luck befalling strangers far away.” She tears her gaze away from the wares and focuses it on the Colossus, looking the fellow creator in the eye, ignoring Archie’s attempts to inspire her to tell a story or tale of her own. “When it happens to you, it’s just trouble. And I don’t think that we’re such close friends yet, that we share our troubles with each other. Do you?”
|
|
|
|
Post by Gavin Graves on Sept 1, 2021 23:04:18 GMT -8
"Yes, quite right," Gavin admitted the corvid Hobgoblin had the essence of what he was after. He began smiling immediately at the fellow bird's request. "Sounds like fun. What did you want to get up to?" The question was more curiosity than interrogation. He was aware that these innocent appearing requests were sometimes cover for spying on something or someone or some other kind of opportunism. This one however was charming enough in its request that it wasn't the forethought in his mind. It was going to be yet another thing to report to Bastille on the return. It wasn't likely to be much of a problem though. A text to the right person at the right time to keep it in bounds.
The entrepreneurial vendor's second request might prove to be a bit more challenging for Gavin personally, but was definitely not outside of Freeholders' reach to acquire something like that. He waved off Riley and Archie when they moved to help in the negotiating process; it was supported by a thankful smile. Turning back to the vendor, "Alright. Yeah. I'll see what I can do about your request. These are reasonable prices. I agree and will do what I can, right." The prices were very good. He figured the creature was smoothing the path to ongoing business with the Summer quartermaster in the future by discounting the business today. Pressing for better was not the play. It was shrewd. Shrewd in a way that worked for everyone for the time being.
Closing the deal, Gavin set his sights on his personal project. He wanted to peruse the market for mementos left behind by the Lost on their path to escape, in particular his own, but noting the presence of another's was still of value. He could easily earn some goodwill with a Freeholder with a timely report. It was only an off-chance that one might be available, but it was deeply important to him to keep an eye out. He craved the sense of self and memory that would come with it. It might just let him feel more comfortable in his skin.
|
|
Riley Sorsa
.
Presence (3) Captivating | SL(1) Stylish Mantle (2)Spring | Status(1) Entertainment
Posts: 913
|
Post by Riley Sorsa on Sept 2, 2021 13:59:22 GMT -8
Despite the Goblin's off-putting demeanor and cruel jabs, Riley kept a smile upon their face as the negotiations began.
A finger was far too much; why aim to remove blemishes only to create worse ones. However, for a moment, Riley glanced at their gauntlet and considered the possibilities.
First, they would try to negotiate the current price before offering something steeper under certain obligations.
The haggle goes back and forth, and the Darkling does a decent job keeping up with the Goblin but was not as accustomed to the process as the artist. Archie was distracted, and paranoia rampant was unable to provide much support.
|
|
|
|
Post by Krakenbox on Sept 2, 2021 14:38:36 GMT -8
"Well then, what do you propose?" Colossus huffed to the Maker. So serious and dour!
"I'd offer to just pluck a memory straight from your head and weave it to something to be seen and noticed, but you seem to be the modest sort!"
--
As Riley explains their position of swapping one mutilation for another, the Doll Maker rolled her eyes. "Keratin. The nail? Put something more interesting there like crystals instead," she suggested, drawing the torture device that would pry the Brightone's nails from their flesh with the slam of a switch.
She pushed it towards Riley across the table, resting her cheek against her wrist and looking bored as she waited.
--
The crows chattered excitedly, with the hooded one ticking its head side to side as it tried to imagine the possibilities. Alas, dreams were something to be purchased. There was an idea!
"We can go somewhere where we are inspired. Lots of looky-loos with ridiculous thoughts and potential rattling around in their brains, never to see the light of day with their idle hands and lack of talent."
|
|
Riley Sorsa
.
Presence (3) Captivating | SL(1) Stylish Mantle (2)Spring | Status(1) Entertainment
Posts: 913
|
Post by Riley Sorsa on Sept 7, 2021 17:29:52 GMT -8
Riley grits their teeth, placing their hand into the contraption. Softly beginning to sing a song to themself. Before the Pain begins to set into their hand.
Sudden tugging, peeling, ripping.
They gasp trying to focus on the song, their fingers spasm with each brutal tug. Their eyes catching only the smallest glint of the blood that spilt from their finger tips.
|
|
|
|
Post by Krakenbox on Sept 13, 2021 18:36:08 GMT -8
Riley traded one mutilation for another, embracing a new skin as a step toward the new. A spell was inked into the flesh, the peeling all too familiar as they desperately sought a spot closer to the beautiful light. -- Gavin asked about memories, and was told they were offered deep and below. Not always his, but valued all the same... He got the impression that Token purchases were likely affiliated with the Flesh Market trade and would be deeply buried and secure for would-be buyers that serve Keepers and Freeholds alike. Finding it would take some investigating, as warping the Hedge in the Goblin Market would likely pull enough ire to pose a very real threat to his safety. At least he knew it existed, likely somewhere between Pandemonium. |
|
Riley Sorsa
.
Presence (3) Captivating | SL(1) Stylish Mantle (2)Spring | Status(1) Entertainment
Posts: 913
|
Post by Riley Sorsa on Sept 18, 2021 7:15:21 GMT -8
|
|
|
|
Post by Krakenbox on Sept 24, 2021 11:56:36 GMT -8
In the wake of accumulated debt and the future promise of the Hedge Trod, Wayland makes peace with the fact that there will be other chances to strike a bargain. Colossus seemed to be a jovial hob fixated on journeys and symbols that stood the test of time. Trading in a retired weapon with a good story of its wielder, for example, would hold infinitely more value to this creature than the finest armour in the world hot out of the smithy.
Maybe if Wayland were to present someone willing to wear themselves to a quest? A dive into the fantastic for the blacksmith to receive the components?
With that thought being shared among them, Riley had their beauty appointment, Archie close to tears with the desperation his motleymate was subjecting themselves to, not did not argue their desires. The Twilight Dancer needed this win.
Gavin's bartering was a cakewalk compared to the rest of their trip, everyone listening with interest at the idea of a black market among black markets housing just about anyone's iconic memories. The possibilities of securing the personal treasure certain individuals was endless, whether nefarious or hopeful. A glance was spared to the Broker, who seemed oddly stoic on the topic as the Cheshire smirk twitched behind his lip. His magic guaranteeing the return trip for Riley and Hartman were a massive relief, all things considered, as Gavin and Wayland hacked their way back without the extra pressure of keeping their diplomats in one piece...
Grendel was going to be another story entirely.
|
|
