When neighbors come to call.

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When neighbors come to call.

Post by NPC-Roster on Sun Jan 24, 2016 6:52 pm


The land had been abandoned, at least that much was apparent. The winter air was still, and only a sliver of light was provided by the moons. A fine layer of sleet having coated the earth. It crunched beneath the feet of the force coming slightly from the North-East from the coniferous swamps. They trudged along, scraps of metal, leather, and wood adorning their bodies, moss and lichen growing upon the shells, even as they grew on the bodies concealed by the garments worn by the mutated.

Behind the force were another group. Slaves. They had bundles of cloth around them, if only for the fact their captors did not want them dying of exposure before they had a chance to work. As it was, they were pulled by their necks, collars around them attached to chains strapped to a woolly beast of burden that was larger than a bull, but smaller than an elephant. Perhaps some kind of auroch or buffalo but not quite. One of the mutates rode the beast as it trudged on, his "armor" and weaponry apparently superior to the rest. At the head of the force was a humanoid. It had no ears, nor even a nose. All it had was a mouth, and instead of eyes two prehensile insectoid antennae. Garbed in various leathers and animal skins, and carrying a staff which rattled with the various bones and charms that hung off the end of the gnarled cedar.

The force stopped after the first march, about 1/2 a mile from Soren, letting the mountain overlook their position. The "Shaman" raising two long digits into the air to indicate it was time to do so. Those antennae swiveled in place for a few a moments, as those spider-like fingers traced the air lightly. After a moment the others began to circle around and lay down their packs. Taking out sticks, and wrappings to set up camp.

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Re: When neighbors come to call.

Post by Røse on Thu Jan 28, 2016 11:27 pm

Firelight broke the still darkness behind Redpointe’s distillery compound. Huge, insulated silos of grain hid both Whinnie and Rose from any prying eyes, say, belonging to the children or those of hired hands such as Harken and Anton. Both likely wouldn’t have snitched on the girls for lighting up with what most certainly wasn’t tobacco but something filched from the Madam’s stash of more exotic herbal blends: marijuana with passionflower and whisky soaked marshmallow leaf.

“Oh my god, you’re giggling like a got-damned goat, Whin. Calm down!” one voice whispered harshly; followed by a deluge of equally goat-like giggling. A fine bit of hypocrisy. Rose flicked the grill lighter again while grinning and held it over the carved stone pipe for Whinnie Sloane to sample. A bit of coughing and phlegm being expelled ensued after they’d completed another trade of the pipe.

They’d come out to smoke as usual because it was so very boring around the compound these days. In the dead of winter there’d been a lull in snowfall this close to the border between the general moist and temperate evergreen woodlands and the Taiga. Sleet littered the ground, the plows were currently slotted in the garages with full tanks and frosty windshields. The food stores would be full for months to come and the Helion steeds and hounds were all well behaved and no pregnant mares or bitches were due for weeks.

Sophonax was out west on yet another distribution run. With everything going so smoothly and their third, Khooey, wrapped around the finger of the King of Space’s son, as Rose called him, what more was there to do for young adult women than get a little stoned, dip into the whisky stores and spend the night baking and being generally vulgar?

And speaking of vulgarity, the subject turned eventually to one of the mainstays who’d join them last year- Harken, the sullen firebrand who topped nearly eight feet in height and seemed to spend more time frowning than much of anything else. Rose seemed to have a slight obsession with him: both seeing him as a bit of a tumor on the face of the ranch but also having a bit of an obvious crush on him. The young mother had a thing for exotic men with attitudes as horrid as her own.

Just as they had begun to discuss his theoretical anatomy in ways unsuited for children’s ears the matching cuffs they wore on their right wrists (required for ranch security) lit up; a circular object made out of a white, milky metal attached to a loop on the leather band began to jingle and pull at the air as if tugged. Most would mistake it for fancy Northern-Bohemian jewelry that both girls wore as a fashion statement when actually-- they had a utilitarian purpose.

They alerted the wearers when one of the nearly three hundred invisible wards on the vast expanse of the north in Redpointe territory was breached. Those who breached the security ward would likely remain completely unaware unless they were ‘tapped in’, as they say, to the conduits of power running throughout the land; juxtaposed between the strange and dangerous anomalies littered throughout the evergreens and the Taiga.

Both girls, one somewhat stocky and well built with crimson eyes and short hair so dark in color it shone blue and the other of too large silver irises, browner skin and tresses that shone like a puddle of gasoline froze and raised their arms in unison to observe the strange glowing ring. The shine from the preternatural metal was electric blue-- signifying more than one person, a party and both non-djinn related. No sign that they were able to consult the Lines or see the wards or anomalies were given. Both charms pointed north east and none too far from Søren’s peak.


The charms hadn’t lit up in nearly a year-- and what was someone, or several someone’s or anyone doing in such a direction? Most living on Sanctum weren’t even aware of the mines.

“It could be those wolves again. The weird ones?” Rose would nearly croak; grimacing already at the possibility they were going to have to ride north and re-confirm the wards.

Whinnie, always more pragmatic shook her head. The time for getting high behind the grain silos had come to an abrupt halt.

“Get your gear on. We ride up in five. You know the rules…I’ll go get Gwen.” before she turned away; her buzz failing to inhibit her sense of duty as she stalked away.

Rose knit her brows and took one last hit before rolling her eyes, tapping the ash against her palm and stashing the piece under a rusted old tin coffee can they tilted against the base of the silo.

“Whatever.”
she grumbled; understanding the task was inevitable.
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Re: When neighbors come to call.

Post by NPC-Roster on Fri Jan 29, 2016 3:01 am

The Shamans antennae continued to swivel in place as light crackles happened between them. "Sssst." a low hiss came from his lip-less mouth. He was trying to "tune in" so to speak, a Shaman after-all was meant to be tuned in to the land. However unlike a typical shaman, this one was inherently corrupted. He drew a dagger from his sash, and cut his palm letting it fall into the frosty ground, as the winds picked up. He knelt low over the almost black patch created and began to make strange hissing and chittering noises.

Meanwhile the slaves and some of the warriors began work on digging a small area, while others began setting up aluminum tin and copper beams. planting them into the dirt, while others simply set up large wooden stakes. They worked as the Shaman did, setting up for their stay, as they trudged upon their task. It was snowing lightly, which was good at the moment, but when it stopped things would get much colder rather quickly. Even so the Mutants themselves could stand a large amount of cold considering their environment, but their slaves on the other hand, and of course the horde would rather spend time in some relative comfort rather than toughing it out. There was more to this task than just seeking to create shelter however. As those beams now put into the dirt would attest.

The Shaman would stop just short of "grazing" the lines of power intersecting the land with his mind, the waves of psychic-influence pulsing from the mutant. He might be able to tell they had already tripped some sort of "wire" as he tried to "hack" the area and his perception was broadened on the various spectrum's.

The blood acting as a medium between the shaman and the earth amplifying the connection as the beams set in the dirt amplified this ability further. He was only originally seeking to see what was in the mines, but now he had found the complications the warding presented. The Shamans access to what was known to others as "The grid" was more limited than some, be that as it may the corrupting blood sought to broaden the Shamans influence on the surrounding area as well, yet not quite touching the warding just yet. He was rather into his work and would not notice the group still distant from the fledgling encampment.




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Re: When neighbors come to call.

Post by Røse on Wed Feb 10, 2016 11:52 pm

Twenty minutes later and mostly thanks to Rose dragging ass— she’d been a bit ill affected ever since all the drama had erupted on Redpointe grounds— they had on their field gear and had mounted their Helios’ to make way further up north into the true Taiga. Why had it taken so long? A woman who’d birthed children reared by Redpointe hands had met her end at Rose and Gwenna’s doing and intentionally at that. Ever since Rose had been acting a bit funny. For all she’d been through prior it had taken that strange, high octane scenario to leave her with some form of PTSD.

Whinnie-Sloane clearly didn’t appreciate the delay. While she did appreciate Rose’s friendship and understood she was as important to the ranch constables as Khooey had formerly been— she was going to have to get over blowing that woman’s head off at some point. And soon. It was really putting a cramp in team cohesion. As they took off toward Soren’s peak; Whinnie seemed to have nothing to say to Rose until both of thier bangles seemed intent on rattling with enough power to lift their arms in the direction of the unwanted guests if either girl wasn’t consciously trying to keep the limb tucked at her side.

“We’re less than two miles from whoever’s come to ground….” from Rose; her brows knit down toward the bangle. Whinnie grunted something; more than likely assuming they were more traveling vagabonds who’s wandered into dangerous grounds and would likely get themselves killed by the more violent anomolies or one of the spots where the Conduit had broken ground and enacted little warps in space/time throughout the land.

“Yeah, I don’t— “ Whinnie-Sloane was cut off and both girls bristled; eyes narrowing as they shivered and turned their heads toward what had disturbed their discourse. One of the conduit lines was roaring with feedback; something had been introduced to it which was foreign and not unlike a taint. Whatever blood based magic the Shaman was doing had disturbed the tier three wards even fifty miles from their active area.

“Okay….that ain’t wolves and that ain’t vagabonds.” From Rose who pulled her protective mask down. “Get on the radio and call for Gwenna to join us but come up from the other direction and start tapping into the conduits. Bring out new temp wards and try to lock them in...whoever they are. Lets go in silent. Don't know what they're doing this close to Soren's peak, but I dont like it. Might have to temp ward the whole damned mountain face”

Now, a different approach was in order and they even dismounted their Helios’ at two points to keep vigilant and quiet.
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Re: When neighbors come to call.

Post by NPC-Roster on Fri Feb 12, 2016 12:02 am

Animal skins, and leather were put up around the stakes, wrapping along the poles and intersecting to create a large makeshift tent. A ditch was soon made by the slaves and some mutants, and they were kicked into it, while a skin was set over it, to keep them from dying. Some of the men sobbed, and one tried to fight, only to quickly have his ear bitten off, and then to be clubbed over the head to be dragged away.

The Shaman continued his work, creating a perimeter of corruption along the encampment, establishing a metaphysical foothold along with the actual one. A dark blessing as it were. It enveloped the area, that corruptive influence a byproduct of the Shamans mind attuned to some permeating source, which opened a gateway to that tainted influence. The result would be the shifting of the soil along the camp, as properties gradually changed.

A physical perimeter was formed soon thereafter, with sentry standing watch in alternating patterns along the area. They were armed with automatic-weapons, machetes, and hunks of steel and iron they used as makeshift shields, along with their composite armor. Though the rest of the horde were making smaller tents. A few scouts had scattered from the area, three scouts headed towards the mines, while two each fanned out in the other remaining directions, one such group heading towards Roses location. These were armed with bolt-action rifles, machetes, hatchets, and knives. Though it would be a bit before they reached them, being scouts they moved quietly and sought cover if at all possible, moving behind pills and staying low to the ground. Dark clothing allowing them to bend in.

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Re: When neighbors come to call.

Post by Røse on Tue Feb 16, 2016 11:19 pm

We got some kinda blindspot now. Right where the dousers were pointing.” from Whinnie-Sloane who then cocked a brow and looked to Rose with a pointed expression. Things were getting more complicated by the moment. They both had an inkling of what it meant: magic user of some sort.

The wards wouldn’t be brought under control by non-Djinn or untrained hands, but they would certainly fizzle out and eventually go dormant as whatever corrupted them disrupted the flow of energy throughout the lands. The Conduits however, they weren’t so easily corrupted. The illusion of success would present itself to the Shaman as he was granted a small, tertiary access to the power— but it also meant the protection from the anomolies would be severely lessened. The Sentinels knew this...those not native to the Taiga and the marsh would not.

Whinnie did as asked and bought out her four-way; attempting to patch in with Gwenna and finding that it didn’t want to work. She even rapped on the butt of the small belt-clip radio a bit and earned a “Whippin’ it aint gonna do shit but break it! It’s the interference from the lines!” scolding from Rose who then shook her head.

“Just us, then. Time to go.” Rose sighed and checked her armaments both manufactured and preternatural. She had the same full artillery attached to her horse as Whinnie— both manufactured by her hand in her workshop: Iron-alloy laced machete with dynamic construction for better balance, her Springfield customized 30.0.6, two eight shooters with prototype spellstorm bullets she’d picked up from Sune’ere (Whinnie had been given six herself. What better time to test them out?), a pistol and two extra clips stowed on the thigh of her minimalist body armor along with magnetic quick-release short rhombus-shaped blades in either gauntlet. Whinnie packed lighter….she had every reason to as she was insurance if the blades and guns failed. One semi automatic rifle with Fleschette ammunition also of Rose’s design, a single pistol and one of the meanest ‘unzipper’ knives her partner had ever had the pleasure of constructing.

Would it be enough against whatever was messing with the lines and invading their land? Only time would tell. Both girls pulled black hoods up over their hair and brought down padded masks before seizing the reigns of both there strange steeds and setting off at full speed. It was risky business searching for one of the small, unstable ‘tears’ on the land but luckily for them an oft used one a mile to the right of their current position was guaranteed a whopping seventyfive percent of the time to deposit them close to areas where the conduits concentrated power.

Just so happened one of those spots was an easy two mile distance from the source of their concern.

For untrained eyes though non surely were trained on them for the time being; there was a sort of window in the air. It was difficult to spot as it would only appear from certain angles— the trees stopped lining up correctly; the scenery seemed to shift and it could only be noticed from the front of the window. Behind it, the trunks of the coniferous growth were uninterrupted. Both girls knew the land enough that spotting the spacial anomalies were a walk in the park. On horseback, they appeared to vanish into thin air while riding. Not too far from the truth.

On the other side their Equus Helios’ appeared briefly aflame; the beasts glowing for a moment with violet flame which persisted seconds after passing through. Rose prayed they hadn’t been seen. Both sentinels lifted their dousing cuffs— they had a much stronger glow now.

“Aint far now…” casually from Rose. Good at pretending she wasn’t anxious at all about what could be coming over the horizon.

Both Sentinels took their horse on a circular path toward what the Dousers insisted was ‘ground zero’.

Y’ think they know about the Grinder? asked Whinnie; hardly above a whisper.Because whatever or whoever it is has got going on, its about to rain down hell ‘pon their pretty little heads. This aint the safest zone to go fuckin’ with the Lines. Next up...hot spots.

And just as she said that, coincidentally, one of the guards standing watch in the intruders’ camp would, without warning or time for him to vocalize, suddenly be lifted, twisted and crushed before ripped to shreds by an invisible enemy. The shaman would likely be able to sense a localized concentration of strange energy in the area it had happened in— hovering like a ghost over what was now only so much ground meat and bone.

The nickname for the anomaly wasn’t simple hyperbole.
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Re: When neighbors come to call.

Post by NPC-Roster on Wed Feb 17, 2016 1:53 am

The Shaman was what one might call a "hedge-mage" , but not a complete idiot. He was not going to push his luck with unfamiliar spell-work that operated upon a different source than what he was used too. As it stood, he consolidated what remaining influence he could muster to the encampment itself, not seeking to do anything else with the conduit. Essentially for now he would leave the deeper wards and charms and even possible latent curses to their own devices. He then began to circle the encampment to further the metaphysical fortification drawing a circle in the dirt with his staff, and brushing small icons at separate points aligning with the iron-stakes they had placed earlier. This would act as a focusing mechanism, as it was completed he would feed a bit more power into the loop, generating his own "dark ward" that would seek to quarantine whatever lay within the circle from beyond.

The ambient medium itself potentially under this influence, unless the warding spells reacted to this, though it was worth mentioning the Shaman was being fairly conservative. This might protect the area within the circle from random anomalies though only time would tell, and the Shaman was making a rather general and broad array of protection, nothing tailored against the specific problem, simply trying to cover the standard bases. It just so happened the circle was short of where the sentry patrolled, but upon the sudden ripping apart of the male the Shaman furrowed what might have been a brow atop his eyeless face. Antennae swivvelled, seeking to read the motion of the waves that ensued from the phenomina upon the typical forces.

Though the Shaman was not so learned to put it in those terms. He recalled the sentry as they jumped from the sudden burst of blood. He sought to get them into the circle, as he was able to make out the... Was it a living spell? some sort of primitive spirit. It was all id, and single-mindedness, simply need personified.

The Shamans first recourse was a grave one, not his final trump-card, but part of it, the witch-doctor was apparently rattled. He let loose a long-incantation which would take several moments, if uninterrupted at the end he would run a spider like finger over a green gem in his staff, as it flared to life. The binding came unloosened, as the captive entity was freed. A result of a composite of spells, bound together and given the simplest intent. In the Shamans mind this was the closest answer he had to whatever threat lurked beyond the ring of protection, which might very well not be able to hold it back.

The "sprite" was "primitive" by some standards, as creating such entities was considered by the true-creators of the art to be a highly prestigious and serious task. As it was, this particular entity had been dubbed Ogoro by the other mutants, who looked upon it as a totem spirit that the Shaman was capable of calling upon. In Truth "Ogoro" as it was called had been bound into being decades ago, and passed from shaman to shaman, with some occasionally improving it.

The mutants began to chant. Ogoro... Ogoro... as the area in front of the shaman darkened, a shadow cast by something not fully visible. Swirling hues of yellow, red, green, and purple swirled together forming a corona around a vague transparent sphere. Within the obsidian corona a pinprick of white light blinked to life, as that corona changed in shape giving of the impression of an eye.

The colors shifted to form something akin to a mouth, though the result was something like a negative jack-o-lantern, as the details seemed carved. The mouth extended to something akin to a grin and opened up as the colors faded taking away the sprites visibility to those without the means to see the composite of effects that were bound into a "nucleus" of sorts by virtue of the Shamans gem.

The manifestation sought to interact with the anomaly, seeing if it could be "smothered" with its own presence, which wad admittedly not the safest endeavor, but the entity was primitive as stated earlier. Nothing more than an Id with only the vaguest semblance to sentience. its own area of effect seeking to engulf the meat-grinder's and then hold the medium within the area in a state of tension though at the expenditure of energy.

Meanwhile as the girls moved forward, they would see two scouts. Unlike the ones that had headed for their previous locations, one was armed with a crossbow and a machete, as well as two makeshift bombs. The the other a bolt action rifle, and a long dagger. There was a chance not knowing the terrain very well, and with the fleet helios they would not be noticed.

Then again these mutants were scouts for a reason, having vision capable of seeing further and in finer detail than any typical human, as well as being far more accommodating to darkness, peripheral vision, and catching movement. There other senses were similarly impressive. Though the colder climate made it a bit harder. They had stopped to jump beneath a hill, seeking to evade a random anomaly, which vaguely reflected them, and seemed to distort the shape of the tree before them so it seem to contract and expand at odd intervals.

They cursed in their guttural tongue, speaking to each other seemingly irate and having some sort of cross-discussion. One of them looked up and thought he saw a streak of fire, browless forehead furrowing as he sniffed the air.

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