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04-07-2016, 06:36 AM
(This post was last modified: 05-27-2018, 12:10 AM by Magikeeper.)
Stop me if you've heard this one. A guard, a fey warrior, a crocodile and an amnesiac walked into a bar. Some of them came there intentionally while others stumbled in by chance, they all left with the same purpose.
The group of warriors and brawlers had been brought together to help out the refugees of a town who had been displaced by a group of bandits from Tiburon who called themselves the Crimson Murder. To this end they had convinced a trader in a neighbouring town to cart them at least part of the way in his wagon. It was a cramped little thing, usually meant for carrying many smaller items on its built in shelves rather than accommodating four armed strangers, but seemed to be doing the job.
They rolled in the direction of Maroo, a town famed for its brilliant red dye and recently taken over by their quarry. The plan was fairly simple: stop nearby the town, cut off their morning water run and hopefully catch the Murder in a lessened state after a night of partying.
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Randall had tugged what seemed to be a roll of coarse fabric off one of the shelves and draped it down to protect the shelves from his back and vice versa. He didn't look terribly comfortable, but it was difficult to find comfort in such a cramped space.
"So, while we're stuck. Any questions about the Murder? I've crossed paths a couple times so I'll try to ans -oof- answer what I can." the guard said as they went over another bump in what had generously been referred to as a road.
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Riesig did his best not to destroy things around him and also keeping his mist close and shaped like a gauntlet. "Well, you said there were a couple aspected guys. How strong are we talking here? And do we have anyone to turn them in to, or is it just going to be whatever justice is meted out?" He asked during a brief lapse in bumps. He wanted to know how much he could roast them.
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Randall nudged the bag of chains and manacles stashed in the corner of the wagon, the metal clanked and rattled audibly.
"I'd rather have to use these than not. That said, these people caused a whole village of people to leave their homes behind and may even have killed some of them. If its one of them or one us..." the guard glanced down at his hands, which he was wringing together.
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Riesig simply nodded in understanding. It would be whatever they could manage with a leaning towards capture.
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"As for the level of resistance... My squad in Tiburon have been able to subdue or run them off a couple of times and out of those four guards only Doran has a gift for it. Seems like they might have stepped up their game since then." Rand cracked his knuckles before continuing.
"Their 'Boss' if you want to call him that, is definitely a storm aspect. He leaps through the air like he can fly and its difficult to pin him because he uses the wind to divert things and people off course."
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04-10-2016, 08:40 PM
(This post was last modified: 04-10-2016, 08:40 PM by Magikeeper.)
Arl nodded along with the conversation, having taken up a surprisingly comfortable position near the front of the wagon. That is not to say it was comfortable - it wasn't - but the level of contortion involved to secure a view outside had left the woman in a position that looked downright painful.
She hadn't said much during the journey - Riesig and Randall's discussion had already covered most of her concerns. It was a welcome change from some of her early, more cut-throat experiences with her teacher's associates.
Satisfied by her companions thoroughness and morality, Arl set herself to carefully keeping watch on the road ahead.
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"The twins, we should probably assume they're fire aspects... based on what the villagers said. I'm pretty sure they hail from Kuanepi originally, but they took to gang work quite well. I've only ever seen them hurl fireballs, but things change." Rand continued.
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Riesig nodded and closed his eyes to rest as they traveled. He had no more questions.
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It might have been the late hour, it might have been of their own volition, it might even have been the soothing feeling of being jostled in a confined space over a bumpy, rocky excuse for a road by a jittery merchant. Regardless, each of the group eventually must have fallen asleep because soon the wagon was stopped and their drive was bashing on the wooden frame. Sunlight filtered in from between the leather curtaining at the back of the wagon and the sound of trickling water met their ears not long after the banging.
