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Post by Henley on Jan 24, 2022 22:14:43 GMT -8
"You can have your cake and eat it too. We can make that move happen. Not just us. I'll run this up the flagpole to my Queen." He shrugged, water bubbling around him as he moved. "Think about it. A new shoal, created far from the Dark... with the glamour falls running into a river that siphons into your new home far away from here."
There were people that could do that. Fuck. Outback was the bomb. Tonight, they'd proved it, and he'd go get the right people on it. They'd even help.
"We grow from your hard work to recover the icons, and you and your mermaids will grow mightier on the bounty of the Tsarina's waste in return. You can have so much more. You musn't be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling. The future could be so bright, with your people and our Freehold growing together."
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Post by Krakenbox on Jan 25, 2022 0:03:12 GMT -8
The mermaids grinned and swayed in sync with their cousin's inspiring speech, lending favour to one whose mien was riddled with familiarity. He had gathered quite the crowd as they peaked from the edge in a tiny mimic of the Trove Guardian, or wrapped around the pillars as they chewed on eel and showered him with beads and eroded glass like rice at a wedding. Others watched Gavin nervously as the mammal paced, with the same innate sense of his role among the Goblins. Yuan received some curious interest as well, though the feeling was more like mermaids of legend as they beckoned him over to play. The titan straightened a bit as shimmering gold flecked to bubbles around the Fairest of Zephyr ringing with the frequency of the Duke Itself. "We have a deal, then. Though we will test this Bane's integrity to guarantee its quality."
The group sensed the Wyrd binding the agreement, with the same opportunity they always had to bat it away. The psionic sympathy confirmed, though the voice that was speaking was a smaller jellyfish that sat on the Guardian's shoulder, deadly stingers trialing harmlessly over the cliff of a shoulder. She held a tarnished silver tray aloft, with what appeared to be a crystalized human heart with a...stake...pinning it. Others of a similar make had salvaged dinnerware of different cultures, as they offered the contents within to their respective patrons. Mitch was left out. His attention landed on the heart on the tray, expression twisting with confusion as the jellyfish drew the shard that was embedded in the organ. She held it aloft, miming a slow stabbing motion with the clear intent to not finish the gesture. However, as the shard drifted closer to the Icon, a low ring hummed through the atrium as if someone had struck a tuning fork that was slowly increasing in volume. The Dancer opened his mouth to say something, and it became clear that the ringing was coming from inside him, drowning out his own voice. He blinked with the revelation, expression twisting further as discomfort increased the closer the shard came to the heart. His eyes watered as cracks started blooming across his face, before the Mask shattered with a high pitched screech and slicing wings forcing their way from the cranium. It punched through the water in a sonic blast as the alien noise blanketed all senses as the Fairest dropped to his knees. For the other Zephyr Lost, there were layered meanings he could understand, weathering the frenzied migraine of a God as the Vision failed to meet Its standards, revealing Its own imperfections. Mitchell's constant smoothing when under stress took on a new context. The entire shoal's attention drifted upwards, following the sound with tuned senses as soundwaves drifted through the water. The Icon corrected itself on its own as the symbol flickered and the shard was one with the organ again. Mitch's face and head was restored as well, face stained with stunned tears as he panted and shook from the experience. "A shard of the Whole. The Duke is as vain as His rival, it would seem and leaves Him vulnerable in the literal sense."
The Guardian flickered amusement as her head cocked heavenwards. The context of legendary Archons descending from the High Throne chuckled through the motley's minds as the jellyfish spoke. "Perhaps the Huntsman will forgive us if we return His lost shard to the fold. But to keep this pact, we are to trade with you instead, yes? Have your memory, then, as agreed," she slid the tray along the floor to match his fallen position, enjoying taking the piss out of a Sovereign. "And then you will understand who you have betrayed. Your Huntsman will want that as well. Maybe you shall buy it?"The Trove Guardian dangled another Icon—a scroll in a bottle to keep the water from damaging it. "Or will we meet a real Herald of Metatron to broker peace? What do you offer the Trove Guardian for your salvation?"The clock was ticking before Carr's Huntsman picked up the trail and blitzed to their location. The Hobgoblin was having fun, now, indulging the Bedlam as it reminded the Fairest of the food chain.
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Post by Gavin Graves on Jan 25, 2022 12:06:29 GMT -8
At the threat of an alert Huntsman, the Beast immediately extended his control over time to the immediate area slowing the relative progress of the outside world to a crawl. It would be more accurately described as speeding up the flow of time within the area, but to those experiencing the shift it would seem the rest of the world had slowed down.
Gesturing to his wrist as the universal reference to time, he then indicated with a forearm an exaggerated slowing of the ticks on a clock to his friends. They already knew he could do this, it was simply a reminder that he had done it to pump the brakes on the pressure and buy some time.
Gavin had registered that the leviathan seemed to be communicating psionically earlier. Now he was going to test whether it would listen if he directed thoughts toward it. Holding out a hand to his friends, he gestured 'one second' before swimming a little closer to the titan to indicate he was speaking now.
Yes. Yes. Big scary Huntsman comes to take us away. Nothing new for us.
Except, I have slowed time outside here. So that possibility is a bit further off now.
And if it does eventually come your trove is then known to it and to Metatron. Your secrecy is gone and all your work becomes imperiled. You don't want that, and nor do we.
Worse, it coming here doesn't buy you any leverage with us or it because I would simply drive it off.
So there would be no deal with it.
You would then be forced to protect what you could of your trove by rushing to move it ahead of the Host arriving to take it and we would leave while you were busy, perhaps with less than ideal, but we would leave. If you made the mistake of focusing your attention on preventing us from leaving instead of safeguarding your collection, time would be altered in an unfavorable direction to make you reconsider your priorities, among other things.
Or... if you want a working relationship instead of this precarious brinksmanship, I could weave this into a favourable change around here.
In exchange for the Icon and safe passage for me and my Motley to return to the Trod, and not selling us out to the Fae or its minions, I offer the warp I have prepared along with the full force I can bring to bear in a shaping of this place to your desires, within reason. Including perhaps making it and its entrance hidden to outsiders with only us, and you and yours knowing the key to get in. We can then return later and build on this relationship and mutual understanding with the additional and more formal backing of our government.
The touch of Autumn's influence reminded everyone of their vulnerability when looking at the Beast.
The Razorhand would have looked like a smug bastard if it weren't for the breathing apparatus distorting all expression into 'mouth full of rubber' face. Through his sheer audacity, he hadn't considered either that it just might not be listening to his 'loud thoughts', such was the assumption of his ego and his instincts in this moment.
The reasonable limitations he was considering if somehow the creature had probed deeper into his thoughts were that he wouldn't create a scenario where he could predict a lot of harm to the Freehold or to the mundane world from the request. There would be no permanent magic door to the mundane from the Thorns right next to Arcadia, especially not to Vegas.
With the flow of Glamour nearby, it would technically be possible to make multiple joint effort Paradigm shifts for the creature, but they would additively draw more and more attention to the place, thus defeating the purpose.
If it ignored him, he had still bought the others more time to do their thing and nothing was lost.
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Post by Henley on Jan 25, 2022 14:35:28 GMT -8
Henley accepted the offered Icon with a nod before the brinksmanship with Mitch began.
Gavin's move was a good one, countering the pressure of time by weaving a slowdown into the mix. Good.
"Ah. Time to think."
He looked at Carr, face stony. This was a moment to engage the client.
"Mitch, listen. You're not responsible for this mission; Gavin and I are. You're the client. Don't let it fuck with your head. We decided to do this; we're not going to just let you be taken. We accepted the risks. If a Huntsman comes and kills us trying to get to you, the Guardian gets nothing from the Freehold and doesn't get any more of that sweet, sweet juice because we're too dead to go home and do our part to help these Hobs gain that power." The Nymph shrugged, maintaining his position in the negotiation with a stone-cold assessment of the scenario and maintaining his position in the water with a little flick of his tail. "Oh. It might get Baron Samedi's size twenty-two boot up its ass for getting His favorite Razorhand killed because it overplayed its hand, if Metatron's hunter forgives it at all for knowing."
Henley's speech was partially for Mitch, giving the noble the out that was fearless companions who weren't going to back down easily, but more importantly, he could play brinksmanship games too. Bedlam had given Henley big, brass balls, and sometimes in a negotiation, you had to draw a line.
"A fair deal is fine, but don't fuck yourself out of guilt."
It was a good sell. Beneath the wanton glee and the competitive twist and the sheer desire to make shit burn, though, Henley was scared shitless. Would it know? Would Mitch?
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Hua Yuan
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Presence 2 - Nostalgic; SL 1 - Flawless
Posts: 304
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Post by Hua Yuan on Jan 26, 2022 19:27:31 GMT -8
The barely contained anticipation made Yuan giddy. Part of him wondered what would be presented to him, but Mitch's warning rang in his mind - what he might be getting back wasn't necessarily a happy memory. Still, curiosity prevailed and the Peacock approached the platter.
A young boy was running through the dirt street of the village. The recent rains had turned it muddy, but it did nothing to deter the small child. With feet and smile bared, he hopped from puddle to puddle; to his eyes, they oceans unsailed. Tang tang tang. The sun was still high in the sky, warming his skin to a peachy colour. In the distance, his mother reminding him not to stray too far. His father was reading a newspaper nearby. Tang tang tang. He didn't have a care in the world. His tiny fist was wrapped around his favourite toy, the wood smooth with use and varnish. The villagers were smiling at him, content to watch him play. That was the only thing expected of him - to behave and to enjoy his childhood. Because he was worth it.
Tang tang tang.
It was too much to bear. The red rattle drum was comically small in his hands, an ironic reversal from the last time Yuan had seen it. Still, he wrapped his hands around it like the most precious of treasures, because to him it was. He twisted the handle between his fingers, causing the weights to draw the strings on opposite sides of the drum taught. Tang. A memory of a better and simpler time, but also a reminder of a powerful truth. Under the the glass dome of his diving suit, the Playmate wept silent tears of relief. Something was stirring in him, a balm that flowed into the jagged edges of his mind and filled the cracks. For the first time since his Return, he felt a little more whole.
The next time Yuan looked down at his hands, the drum was gone. The pleasure of it was short-lived, as his motley mates drew him back to reality.
"Mitch, it's trying to get to you. Don't let its blackmail get to you. Think things through, Gavin made us some time." The Playmate's voice was hoarse from emotions, but he tried to keep it together. Later, there will be time to bask in it later.
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Post by Mitchell Carr on Jan 29, 2022 17:02:59 GMT -8
Carr didn't so much blink as twitch as the Icon was shoved before him and the racket of his Arcadian madness split and shook the words of everything around him. He inhaled sharply as he tried to process what had just happened—whether his had just come apart or if it was just a trick of the Fae. Bits filtered as he registered snapshots: Huntsman—Icon—threat—Gavin throwing himself in front of a titan—Henley's threats in turn—Yuan's reassurance—
He was done, digging his fingers into the silvery organ as it vanished and snapped his spine straight alongside the reality of the Hedge. The cracks and shaking sealed and stilled, though the Fairest's expression was unsteady as it flickered through a myriad of emotions. Without the ground trying to trip him with every movement, his motion to stand was almost liquid in its flow. Attention drifting to the secondary Icon, he held a slight, detached frown as if the whole business was annoying.
"Well. If you feel the need to broker a truce, I can do one better." The Sovereign's hand gestured in a hypnotic motion from the Icon to the mermaids. "Art for art. I'll take back the song, but offer to train your hive in further splendor. Splicing your enemies to paint the water with your power."
Mitch blinked, the marble clicking over the raw metallic sheen from his earlier distress. Beautiful, horrifying images were directed across the link of shards embedding into the joints, twisting to split and shatter and cast controlled fractal patterns of viscera. There was a double edge of pride and disgust.
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Post by Krakenbox on Jan 30, 2022 12:56:16 GMT -8
The Trove Guardian's amusement flickered through the link, unused to such spirited brokers. It was quite the shift from desperate and confused escapees that were plucked from the shores and sometimes added to the shoal. Eyes peeled back across the flat plane of its mien; the edges so many nerve endings that pulsed with the chromatic ripples of the skin as they rolled individually to focus on the Razorhand hovering in front of her face.
Gavin's confrontation buzzed to white noise as synapses were overwhelmed with the direct attention of an elder brain. A psychic taser fired off his senses into overdrive, pulled into the visions and cacophony of thoughts, flicking off his connection like a switch as the others twitched from the backwash of static. Their motley oath didn't bend in protest, as the Trove Guardian took no further action than simply quelling the living weapon for the time being. The jellyfish relaxed as well, easing her defensive grip on the trident.
The eyes folded shut in a ripple across the face, with the lightshow continuing to bloom and hold the Autumn courtier sedated as Mitchell brokered his offer.
Interest was piqued—the little orphanage had grown, and now the Fairest was offering to turn them into effective combatants. Henley made sure to put down time restraints and expectations, before more glamour was expended as the offer was solidified in fate and binding oaths, and the Fairest was handed the message in a bottle without further fuss. He seemed lost for a moment as the vision takes him, but as expected the Icon meant for another does not vanish with his contact.
The mermaids were excited that the sudden peacocking from all parties had not devolved into a feeding frenzy, taking up a celebratory song as they joined the Lost. The last question was how they were going to cover their return trip with the upcoming Huntsman.
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Post by Henley on Jan 30, 2022 22:03:47 GMT -8
Wave after wave struck at Henley's stability as the weight of magical impacts to his sanity struck him. He'd won, achieving his objective, but his sanity was battered by the experience. With a shaky hand, the Nymph reached out and seized the joined wedding rings that had been presented on the silver platter -- A deep, weary disappointment lurked in her teary blue eyes as she stood on the opposite side of the black Beamer, staring back at him. Looking at her, Alex knew instinctually that this was going to be the last time he saw her for a while. It wasn't going away for the weekend to see her best friend in Baltimore, it wasn't 'taking the kids to see her parents for a week while he sorted things out at work' -- no, this was the stark, brutal reality of years of neglect finally having the bill come due.
"You can pick them up on Saturday... if you can spare the time."
Not spiteful, just resigned, like they'd had conversations on the theme of his time so many times that she was sick of it. It was said in a way that told him that she didn't think he would, and deep in his heart of hearts, he knew he wouldn't.
"Alysse, come on..."
The door closed with a final click. His daughter, a beautiful girl of five with curly black hair and her mother's sparkling eyes, looked over at him through the window of the back seat with worry in her eyes. She raised her little hand to wave, clearly aware something was wrong, but not having context. His son of three was in the seat next to her, his stupid mushroom cut that Alysse thought was adorable bobbing as he played some game on the tablet. Oblivious. Too young to understand.
"Fuck."
As the BMW pulled away and faded from view beyond the lawn hedges, anger filled his heart and he sat down on the stoop, swearing and staring at the wedding rings in his hand. It didn't click that he'd chosen the office over his family one time too many. It didn't click that he'd fucked up.
--Henley gasped, water filling his mouth as he choked back a cry. Spring's blessings poured through him, the wash of vague calm that usually came off him adjusting in the wake of startling Clarity as he finally understood why he wanted what he wanted with added context of tragedy. It was like an unburdening, letting stress go and finally just being able to relax a little. Like being on vacation, or choosing to do something or be with someone you loved. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, Guardian. Let's go."He put his hand on Gavin's shoulder and, murmuring calm words, he swam the Razorhand out so that Gavin could plot their course home. Once they were out, he explained that they'd made a fucking wrecking path with the storm on the way in. Did they want to take the route they took in and rely on the chaos to throw off the Huntsman, or go for stealth some other way?
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