Chapter 1: Reach for the Sky

[Khakhan]

CHAPTER ONE: REACH FOR THE SKY

As the nearly endless arcane wars between the nations of Nex and Geb devastated the very land itself, magic became unreliable within the realm of the wizards’ conflict. It became a vast, ravaged desert named the Mana Wastes. Few now tread there on purpose, for the creatures that have survived in the wasteland are bizarre and powerful. Yet amid this dusty cradle, a settlement of inventors, alchemists, and survivalists constructed a haven for their unorthodox ideas and creations. They developed technology to rival the most powerful spellcasters by harnessing clockwork, primordial steam engines, black powder, and the secrets of alchemy.

Now, in the soot-covered city of Alkenstar, the largest settlement in the Mana Wastes, industry and innovation continue to abound. The wealthy citizens of Skyside harness the erratic but potent magical energies all around them to create colossal constructs, mighty horrors of wood and iron, and weapons of dire portent. Meanwhile, in the smog-shrouded neighborhoods of Smokeside, gunsmiths forge firearms of exquisite beauty, toxic ammunition that defies logic, and armor capable of withstanding the gruesome armaments. Throughout the entire city, inspiration and innovation fuel a vast industry of thunderous technology, explosive discoveries, and cataclysmic powers.

The race for finding the strongest weapon creates fierce competition between factions both legitimate and illicit. Power shifts to whomever claims control over the newest innovation, and patrons are willing to pay top dollar for inventors able to produce results. Occasionally, an inventor or alchemist devises something so dangerous and volatile, it threatens to topple the balance of power completely.

This is one of those moments.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Draw." Bang! A crack of thunder fills the air. The smoking gun, held by a powerfully built orc man wearing leather chaps, vest, and a shiny sheriff's badge, holds everyone's attention. The orc slowly lowers the firearm, stowing it back in his holster. He carefully and deliberately walks up to a bloody dwarf, surveying his handiwork.

"I'm sorry it had to go down this way, brother. You picked the wrong side and that I can't abide." He removes his pinched-front hat, holding it over his heart. After a moment, he lowers his head.

The entire saloon erupts in applause as the pianist begins to play. The orc bows deeply, then helps the dwarf to his feet, who also bows to the attending patrons. The two walk to the bar, arm in arm, and order a bottle of whiskey.

"Thank you for attending!" A female dwarf stands on the bar top, addressing the patrons in a loud voice. "Whiskey is only two silver for the next hour, and that includes top shelf. Come back next week for the conclusion of Hearts at High Noon and our after-party! Enjoy yourselves!"

The dwarven woman, Foebe Dunsmith, hops off the bar onto the sawdust-covered floor and heads to a back room, where a round table and private bar await. She props one foot up on a stool, leans forward on her knee, and casts a suspicious eye around the room. "Now that the show is over, let's talk business. I brought you all here because we share some common enemies. With your help, I can make them pay—and get you rich in the process. But first, I want you to tell me why you deserve a job that could pay your weight in gold."
 

[Amy]

Gemma Investigator 1 AC 16 HP 17/ 17 Fortitude +4 Reflex +6 Will +7 Perception +7 Status None

Leaning against the wall, Gemma huddles into her duster, a wide-brimmed hat hiding her features.  She'd come across the wrong people doing the wrong thing, and now her coin was nearly gone, she was kicked out of the program she came to complete, word had been sent to her home about how she wasn't what her village knew - that last bit Gemma knew wouldn't be believed, but she had to clear her name, there were other people's lives an reputation depending on it.  Lifting her eyes from the floor, Gemma scans the room as well, trying to take the measure of those in the room with her.

A roll of her shoulders is the first answer Gemma gives the dwarven woman.  "It isn't about the gold," Gemma offers with her countryside accent.  "I'm more looking for the papers.  Maybe a few silver to make it through the day.  But it's the evidence I'm after, not to get rich."  Gemma shrinks back into her duster again, leaning a little on the cane at her side before she lets out a slow exhale.  This sort of work was repugnant - necessary, but repugnant.  Gemma loathed getting her hands dirty, but the law here was corrupt, and so making the wicked and corrupted pay was not going to happen with complete clean hands.  

"If you want to know more, I need to get to know you better first."  A pause is given, and Gemma rolls her shoulders once more.  "I suppose dinner would be a good start," she drawls, attempting a bit of humor.

[Basil_Bottletop]

The show had been good but Canaan had been barely paying it any attention. His fault really, he could have used the pick-me-up. Both elbows were planted on the table and his chin rested in two fists above an empty mug which sat in the safe haven he'd created with limbs and head. 

 

"Cuz this is it." He replied, coldly. "If this isn't the job to get me back, then there ain't nothing in Alkenstar for me." Canaan pulled his head up from his fists and looked around, realizing too late that nothing he said made him worth the job and probably revealed more than he wanted. "I'm sorry." he muttered before picking up the mug and inspecting it for any last drops of ale. 

 

Canaan looked hard-pressed trying to look presentable. His jacket was dusty, his hair was an oily mop, and the fingers of his gloves were worn to the skin. He looked both tired and frisky at the same time. The mention of dinner lifted his spirits a bit, no doubt it'd been a few hours since he'd last eaten. "...and I ain't going to go cheatin' none of ya'll. That should be reason enough."

[Chimi]

The misshapen figure across the table from Canaan looks up. It wears a voluminous poncho, woven in desert sands and sky blues, with a hooded garment underneath. At the dwarf's entrance and the commencement of the meeting it looks up and its right hand, grey and mottled with amphibian texture, pushes the hood back to reveal a froglike head. A wide mouth, two nasal pits. Its right eye is glossy black and large, while the left side of its head has more than a dozen small eyes, most the same unnerving black, a handful not unlike the eyes of the common races (though one is hourglass-pupiled like a goat).

Satisfied, now, that this isn't an ambush, it moves the ornately detailed rifle from its lap to leaning against its chair. It reaches out to the bottle of whiskey in the middle of the table and pours a measure for itself with an even hand. It pauses for a moment, considering Canaan and his words. Then it reaches across the table, pouring another measure into the human's ale-mug. It lifts its left hands from beneath the poncho. Seeming to split at the elbow, two small forelimbs, each with long three-fingered hand. One of these small hands takes up its glass, and it pours the liquid within into its wide toothless mouth.

"I like that promise. It is a good promise." Its mouth doesn't move with the words, they're shaped deeper, gurgling out of its flesh. "Ambrost Mugland, a snake, thief, and liar, cheated me. Took everythhhhhing. Hech. I want to gun him down. And..." It fills its glass with another tot of whiskey, its big mouth curling up into a smile, "I would do a lot for my weight in gold hechhhhh."

[Basil_Bottletop]

For a moment, Canaan tries to watch the man -is it a man?- across the table from him. Its movements and actions and words all call for it, but at its unveiling of head, arms, and other bodily design, Canaan loses his nerve and returns his attention to his mug. He blinks uncontrollably as whiskey is poured into his mug. After the bottle is pulled away, Canaan ponders his options for a moment before bringing the mug to his lips; an easy enough way to avoid further contact.

 

At the name, he flinched. If he had a poker face, he forgot it at home. For a moment, he forgets who -what?- said that despicable name. "Mugland." He murmured. "Bastard."  

[Chimi]

Arac's many beady eyes don't fail to catch Canaan's averted gaze, and the toadlike creature bristles, a black blush spreading up from its grey throat. "Bastard, and a pisspot." Arac agrees, voice rising, "But at least that pisspot had the ghhhuts to look me in the face before he stabbed me in the back!" Clawed hand thumps! the whiskey bottle on the table between them then points in the human's face. "What kind of person's ghhhot double-cross on their mind that it's the first thing they say? A rat, or I'll be hung! Unless this jhhhhob needs someone to stare at a table, I say we cut this one loose!" 

[Amy]

Gemma Investigator 1 AC 16 HP 17/ 17 Fortitude +4 Reflex +6 Will +7 Perception +7 Status None

Gemma's first response is the urge to confiscate the whiskey - it was obviously not doing any good.  Swallowing that, the woman holds her tongue as she thinks around the problem, watching Dunsmith's reaction in her periphery. 

"By that logic, your statement is the sort made by someone that wants a bigger cut, and will do whatever it takes to get it,"  the young woman finally offers.  She isn't particularly looking either man(?) in the eye herself - the amount of eyes was, admittedly, a little unsettling.  But a grudge against Mugland was something both men(?) seemed to have, something she shares with them.  Gemma will attempt to work with them, if it was possible was another thing, altogether.

Giving a shrug then, Gemma lets herself fall silent, the other man could defend himself, she has stuck herself between them, where she doesn't belong, enough. Thankfully Gemma isn't the superstitious sort, because this was a very inauspicious beginning.

Edited February 1, 2023 by Amy
Extra comma in there & a missing word (see edit history)

[Basil_Bottletop]

Canaan startled at the man's confrontation, but didn't shrivel up. His glare shot from the bottle of whiskey and up to the proximity of the frog man's own gaze. He couldn't meet any one eye best, and so he was stuck with staring blankly at what was the equivalent of the bridge of his nose. Canaan pulled the mug away from mouth to protest, but he wasn't fast enough. Another spoke first.

 

In the very brief moment since her introduction, Canaan had forgotten the woman standing just a feet away from the table. Her words were cutting and Canaan wasn't entirely sure she wasn't referring to one or both of them. He couldn't even remember what exactly he'd said about getting a cut, so he couldn't be sure he'd not said  the wrong thing. Pricks of defensiveness crept up along the back of his neck. 

 

"I have more rights than you -you, Wastelander- to be here." The stumble in the middle caused Canaan to not fully commit to the rest of the words on the tip of his tongue. He just paused and stewed, not sure he wanted to share further. "You've got the nerve..." Again, his voice died out far sooner than he had intended. Suddenly, he brought the mug to his lips and downed the shot of whiskey that had been poured into it a few seconds ago. A thought occurs to him, "All dem eyes you got, it got you seeing things. Things that ain't there." Satisfaction finally slipped into his lips and cheeks. 

Edited February 2, 2023 by Basil_Bottletop (see edit history)

[Khakhan]

Dunsmith thumps a bottle on the table, directing attention back to herself. She sits quietly for a second, looking over the gathered individuals, before waving to server to bring some food.

"Alright, here's the game," she says. "Ambrost Mugland has a decent portion of his funds invested in an old bank called the Gold Tank Reserve. It's a rundown temple of Abadar in Ironside Quarter that's mostly used by ranchers and crooked politicans. I happen to know they've sent half their clockwork handlers out for maintenance and won't have them back until tomorrow afternoon. This is our chance to hit Mugland where it hurts."

"All you have to do is bust up the few clockworks remaining, get the vault key from the bank manager, and fill a sack with gold. Once you're done inside, run out the back."

"Mugland's got a few crooked shieldmarshals on his payroll-including that damn bastard, Deputy Loveless. She and her goons will be hot on your tail, but don't even try to fight them: they'll gun you down if you give them the chance. Just run away and they'll look like fools, caught with their pants down. Nothing's sure to fry the deputy's egg like crooks she can't catch, trust me. You can lose them in the Wailing Scrapyard just west of the Reserve. There's a sewer entrance in there; from there, it's a straight shot back to this saloon, where you'll be safe."

She looks over the group again, taking a deep swig from the bottle. The server comes back and lays out some food on the table and Dunsmith doesn't take her eyes off the group until the server leaves again.

"Now, any questions?"

[Amy]

Gemma Investigator 1 AC 16 HP 17/ 17 Fortitude +4 Reflex +6 Will +7 Perception +7 Status None

A low, thoughtful sound rumbles in Gemma's throat as her attention turns back to Dunsmith.  "The sacks of gold are all you are interested in?"  she asks.  There was a good deal of clues and evidence to be found in a bank - but outright stealing them would taint them as evidence.  However, if she could get a look, get an idea where to begin pushing and pointing the not-corrupt Shieldmarshals it would be useful.  Just stealing a man's gold just serves to make him angry.  But gathering information about his illegal dealings and just who is on his payroll while he is distracted by his loss of money ... that was worth the risk.

"I'm wondering," Gemma continues, "What if Lovelass and her lackeys actually do their job well.  Are you sure we should be coming back here?  Isn't there a better meeting point?  Because a sack of gold ... that's going to weigh a person down and make flight a bit more difficult."

Gemma holds up both of her hands, one to either side of her, fingers wide in a non-threatening gesture.  "Loveless is a lazy crook, but she has training and she's smart enough to have gotten away with her corrupt ways and machinations for a while now.  Years, I'd say.  Maybe a decade.  Depends."  The young woman shrugs as she lowers her hands and leans back against the wall.  "Nothing is ever easy.  And when it comes to dealing with criminals, nothing is every safe until they are dealt with properly."

 

[Basil_Bottletop]

Canaan didn't stir during Dunsmith's laying out of the plan. More than once, he swallowed loud enough to wake the dead. Or at least, he felt as though his actions rang out like the watchtower bell.

 

Canaan's mind went not to the crimes to be committed, but the punishments that could befall him. He knew those punishments all too well. He'd watch men wither away in the prisons for less. He'd held the ear of men sentenced to civil justice, looking for a way to reconcile themselves before a public execution. Innocent men. Guilty men. They all looked the same after a few months in the depths of the gulag.

 

Her plan seemed too easy. Too simple. Canaan thought to interject, but his voice didn't come to him easily. Luckily for him, he didn't have to be the one to question it. The one that had come to his aid a few moments ago was now doing it again. For now, he remained silent, as best he could.

[TheWhitefire]

"If Lovelass and her cronies show up, I'll set off a bomb under their arses so big, it'd open up a new worldwound." Came a gravelly, surly voice from behind Gemma.

 

Gustav High-Hammer sat down at the table with the others. "Sorry I'm late. Some deputies caught my scent and I had to shake 'em. I'm here now, though. Sounds like we're just getting to the good stuff." He says.

Something rustles as he sets his heavy backpack down. The top flap opens, and a horrible little creature pokes its head out. Its massive frog-like eyes look around at those gathered, small lizard-like horns protruding from the smooth, dry skin on its brow. No larger than a particularly rotund squirrel, the abomination crawls free of its sturdy leather hovel and slowly, deliberately climbs Gustav's jacket sleeve. Gustav seems to pay this no more mind than one would to a common house pet doing the same, even as the creature perches itself on his shoulder, head tilting and darting about rapidly like a rodent's.

 

 

---

Gustav

Current Statuses: None

AC 17 | HP 20/20 | Fort +7, Ref +7, Wis +4 | Fire Resistance 1 | Speed 25 Feet | Perception +4 | Darkvision

 

More

Clan Pistol +5, 1d6 P; Concussive, Fatal d10, Dwarven
Throwing Knife +5 1d4+1 P; Agile, Finesse, Throw 20ft
Sickle +5, 1d4+1 S; Agile, Finesse, Trip

Infused Reagents: 1/5
Prepared Infusions:

• 4 Elixirs of Life (2 reagents)
• 2 Juggernaut Mutagens (1 Reagents)
• 2 Alchemists Fire (1 Reagent)

Waddles

AC 14 | HP 5/5 | Fort +8, Ref +8, Will +7 | Speed 25 feet, Climb 25 feet | Perception +5 | Low-Light Vision

More

Familiar • Tiny Minion • Neutral

Perception +5, Low-light vision
Languages Understands Dwarven
Skills Acrobatics +5, Stealth +5, All other skills +1
Str +0, Dex +0, Con +0, Int +0, Wis +0, Cha +0
____________________________________
Ac: 14 Fort +8, Ref +8, Will +4
HP 5
____________________________________
Speed 25 Feet, Climb 25
Familiar Ability: Climber Gains a climb speed of 25 feet.
Familiar Ability: Partner In Crime Despite being a minion, gains 1 reaction at the start of its turns, which it can use only to Aid its master on a Deception or Thievery skill check (it still has to prepare to help as normal for the Aid reaction). It automatically succeeds at its check to Aid its master with those skills or automatically critically succeeds if the master is a Master of the skills in question.

 

[Khakhan]

Dunsmith watches as Gustav makes his way in towards the table and sits, a look of unconcern on her face. Clearly, she had been expecting the newest arrival and wasn't worried about a sudden appearance.

She looks at Gemma and nods. "For now, the gold is what I want. I had a little birdie tell me Mugland's onto something and has dug deep into his pockets to get it moving. Taking this will put him in a tight spot, to be sure.

And I guarantee this is probably the most secure place in town. If Loveless tracks you to here, we all have bigger problems on our plates." She plucks some food from the plate in front of her and chews it for a moment, looking at Gemma before turning her attention around the table once more. 

"Anything else?"

[Blue Firebird]

 

Faeryn

A soft laugh drifts from one of the adjoining tables. There sits a tall Elf, leaning back in her chair, hands behind her head, long legs stretched out before her with boots on the lip of the table. Her hat is down over her eyes, yet wild red locks spill free—and looking closely, one can see that she's definitely watching. "Job's not even started and ye want to set at each other like mutineers," she says in a lilting tone with a faint accent. "There's money to be had..."

The Elf swings her legs out, plants her boot heels on the floor, and sits forward like a sudden cannon shot. Pushing her hat back, she fixes a deep blue gaze on the others. "... and, most important, there's vengeance t'be had, too. Sometimes the best treasure is the one needs no countin' but an accountin'." She takes her hat off and bows her head to Foebe, placing the hat in her lap and looking at the others in turn. "Right. Gold, some excitement, and a chance to make some trouble for that bastard Mugland, eh? I'm in. Name's Faeryn. "

Faeryn raises one hand, the other firmly on the grip of a flintlock at her belt. In her cupped hand, a crackling flame swirls to life, flickering and swaying like a candle caught by a seaborne breeze. Then she squeezes her long and seemingly delicate fingers into a fist, snuffing the flame. A mischievous smirk curls one corner of her lips, mirrored by a gleam in her eyes.

---

OOC

-

 

[Basil_Bottletop]

The table was getting incredibly crowded, but it wasn't the bodies that concerned him. It seemed half the tavern could hear their conversation and was chiming in as they pleased. The whole thing was a bit unnerving, especially with the intent that such an expedition was supposedly a bit of a secret. Canaan shuddered, thinking of all the things that could go wrong if even one wrong ear heard what they had in mind.

 

He looked to their host who didn't seem to mind the added volunteers. If nothing, that seemed to be something Canaan could latch onto in the coming storm of his mind. This has been quite the risk, he knew, and it certainly didn't feel any less risky with more people. He absently pushed the mug away from in front of him and looked across the table at the fleshwarp'd he'd run-in with a few moments before. He somehow didn't seem so bombastic anymore.