DoT: An Unwanted Interrogation

The drumming had been a message: Come to me. We must speak. 

Lochlain left the two urchins behind with some misgivings, and opened the front door. Ilana and Tara were standing behind him, ready to bar it once he left; they might not understand what was happening now, but they knew how things could be. Both girls were armed, Tara possibly better than Ilana, but he couldn't afford to think about that any further. 

He stepped out onto the small platform at the base of the ladder. 

"Over here," said a woman's voice, soft, from the underside of the spoke. 

The spokes connected the island's central tower to the stone and soil of its outer crescent, and supported the various cables and bridges and structures that formed the multi-layered habitations of the island of Hinnom. The hideout was suspended from the bottom of the lower eastern spoke, probably the least fashionable area outside of the mists which covered the ground along the eastern side of the crescent. It was a curiously liminal area; anyone living here was balanced between dropping further and joining the Mistlings below, or rising to some better prospect. 

The woman looked like an elf, but clung to the bottom of the spoke like a spider -- and Lochlain recognized her. He scrambled around the side of the hideout, launched himself up to the bottom of the spoke, and clung to it as well. He considered simply walking upside down, but decided it was better to follow her more discrete example and press himself against the eldritch pseudo-stone. He scrabbled forward until they were face to face, separated by a foot and a half of distance. 

"Lochlain," she said. 

"Kalla," he acknowledged. She was the chief Stalker of the Liverscar pack, and she hadn't approved his venture to the surface -- not least because he hadn't asked. He hadn't meant to overhear Darvas conversing with the surfacers in the Engulfed Cathedral, but having done so he couldn't resist coming up to take a closer look... and when given the opportunity, joining with them. 

"No trouble from the Forgotten?" she asked.

He paused, startled that that was her first question. Then he shook his head. "No. No, but... my surfacer friend and I left a tavern when two of them came in... and one of our charges ventured into the Temple and got herself infected. Hexblade, it looks like, but you know how little that means here."

"Are they looking for her?"

"If so, they haven't come down here. At least, not yet."

Kalla settled back, considering that. "You don't hesitate. It's good to see that you're still loyal to the Pack."

Lochlain hesitated, then said: "Yes. This was curiosity, not rebellion. Darvas is also in touch with these surfacers."

Kalla huffed thoughtfully. "As you say. And I think you've grown stronger from this exploration.Very well. I will trust you with this, and advise Elder Pallas to do the same. If you find yourself in need of guidance, speak to me or Darvas -- your presence here is not widely known, and for the sake of the Pack -- for now -- it should not be. I will visit you again if that changes."

Lochlain studied her. "You're worried we're headed for another Ravage." He hesitated, then added: "You should be."

"I'm not the only one," she answered. She hesitated, then said: "Protect the girl. Support her. An accidental Forgotten, outside of their organization... She might become a valuable ally. I will speak to Elder Pallas of this as well."

Lochlain nodded. "I would have done that anyway -- she's still a child. But it's good to have the clan's support in this." He hesitated, then asked: "How is Shethlana?"

Kalla smiled. "She is well. She asked after you, which is what brought me here. She grows, she learns, and she does not mind the darkness."

"She never did." Lochlain smiled fondly. "Tell her I am well, if you would. My time in the light has not harmed me."

"I will," said Kalla. "Good hunting."

"To you as well."

Kalla released the spoke, and fell away into the mist. Though he couldn't see her revert to her Ghūl form, he heard the faint clap of unfurled wings as she caught herself on the air and angled away towards the Engulfed Cathedral.

DoT: A Busy Morning

The main group had gone to see if they could locate Old Piter, the missing Mist Eyes fence, and left Lochlain behind to watch over the Urchins. The Ghūl could have been disappointed, but in this case he didn't mind; the interactions of the surfacer gangs didn't really interest him, except where they might affect his new friends. He was here on other business, and interacting with... well, mortal children... was bringing back memories he'd long ago forgotten.

Of the four urchins, Teagan the halfling was a little ways into the spoke, baking with the woman Shonya at the Bread and Board; Tara was still recuperating from her ill-considered attempt to infiltrate the Forgotten; Ilana was working on a series of locks that Krintal had left for her to practice on, and Pickle was off studying with the druids. 

"Finished!" said Ilana, just as Tara emerged from their shared bedroom. It was a lucky thing the urchins got on well enough to share a room;  Lochlain generally tucked himself into a small storage room to sleep -- essentially a closet -- or simply curled up in the entryway once everyone was back inside. He didn't need to sleep, but as a Stalker he could re-assume his mortality, and the urge to sleep came with that. It was strangely soothing, too, to relax so completely that he once again dreamed as mortals did. 

Tara was still yawning. "Food?"

Lochlain nodded. "Jans left some scones and a bit of tea. Let me..." He positioned the tea pot beside the sink, then hung the warming stone inside it. A minute or so, and the water would be back up to temperature. Tara was already halfway through a scone,  and Ilana came over to help prevent the tea from boiling by staring at the pot. 

"Could we practice fighting?" asked Ilana, looking up at Lochlain. 

"Well, let me--" There was a soft patter on the roof of their hideout: not an animal, but a gentle drumming, conveying a message that only he could translate. He'd only missed it at first because he was used to hearing it through stone. "...Ilana. Tara. Stay down here."

Ilana nodded and ducked back towards their bedroom; she came back out with a pair of daggers, and slid one across the table to Tara. 

Tara looked uncertain. "I'm not as good as you--"

Lochlain was halfway to the front door, but he hesitated at that. "Tara, I want you to focus on that dagger. Make it yours."

He paused, watching, and was rewarded by seeing the faint swirl of misty power that flooded out from the girl's hand and sank into the weapon. "Stay here. I'll be back."

"Will you?" asked Ilana.

"If I'm not," he replied, "use the boat to escape."

DoT: Lochlain's Tale

I wasn't really much of anybody. I wasn't part of the guild, I wasn't a clerk for one of the merchants, and I didn't know nearly enough maths to work for any of the bankers or lenders. I did odd jobs around the docks: hauling cargo, which I wasn't especially good at; cleaning and repairing ships in dry-dock, where I wasn't good but I was persistent; painting and lacquering and carrying messages, which were all things at which I did fine -- but none of them paid well. 

To put it simply, I was eking out a living, and there was a girl... a woman, really. Gods, she was beautiful: smart, quick, and sharp. I could barely keep up with her, and I liked that. 

She wasn't... she wasn't unkind. She let me down gently. By then she was working as a clerk for one of the merchants, so she could afford to take me out to eat. She told me that, well, she admired my willingness to work, but she needed a partner with better prospects than I had to offer. I mean, what could I say? She was right. She deserved better than me. Or... No, that's not quite right. But to get where she meant to go, she needed someone who could get her there, and I couldn't do that.

The corpse-pits aren't the only way into the tunnels. You can ask around, or search around, and find others. I didn't see my prospects changing any time soon, so that was what I did. I took a lamp, and some food, and I went down. No, I wasn't dead... but I might as well have been, for all the good I was doing in the world.

They found me, of course. Offered to guide me back up, at first. I didn't yet know it, but this was the Liverscar pack. Told them no, I didn't want to go back. So they gave me two more options: they could leave me to starve, and then devour my corpse; or they could make me one of them. 

I guess you know which one I chose. 

We aren't entirely like other ghouls. I was bitten, and several times to make sure. Then... No, I can't tell you that part. Not yet. But I became part of the clan, and after a while some of the others started asking me about what I might like to do to contribute, beyond simply consuming the dead and the remnants of their deaths. I asked if I could go back to the surface -- I was always better at being quiet and clever than strong or magical or whatever else.

So they set me to a particular diet, one designed to adjust me to what I am now: a Stalker, capable of returning to a mortal appearance, assisting the clan with subtlety and stealth. We're the only ones who regularly venture up from the tunnels, the only ones who can take on a living form, and the by far the best at ambush and surprise. We keep an eye on the surfacers, like I am with you.

The woman? Nathalia? She married up. He was a fellow clerk, but he's been good to her and risen to a manager. Their oldest child is expecting her first child at this point, and they're well settled. Mostly, I'm happy for her. I only get jealous every once in a while. It would have been nice to have that life...

...But I have more important things to do. 

Neverworld: Lenore's Desk

Lenore Caskill had long since given up on ever leaving her desk. She enjoyed her work, and prided herself on being uniquely suited to it. Plus, she was the head secretary for the Chief of Operations, Derek Bond, and she liked her boss and was absolutely loyal to Telomere Industries. 

She hadn't been rooted here forever, she remembered. There was time when she'd moved around, gone outside, done other things. She didn't remember much about it, but she didn't miss it. Life had been more complicated then. Working here had shaped her, remade her, given her purpose after... whatever it was that had happened. 

She kept track of Chief Bond's calendar, sent him reminders when he needed them, and followed the online gossip when she wasn't busy. The city was well-run and orderly; she'd had an apartment out there somewhere, but everything she really needed was here in the office. It was better to just remain here: more convenient than commuting, more sustaining than having to cook and clean for herself, and safer. 

Telomere Industries would take care of her. Telomere Industries always had. Her life had only really begun when she came to work here; everything before that was a disappointment, better forgotten. 

And now her boss had a Prospect, and he'd asked her to set up an interview for him! Sure, Chief Bond would get the credit for bringing in someone with potential, but Lenore was a vital part of that process and proud of her role in it. This was going to be a very good day. 

Azzizazz: Fungus Rat King

"Lightning's not gonna work too good," said the Gith in the linen suit. 

Aziz looked at him, but Mac had his head slightly tilted. Feeling the monster out with his mind. 

There were some, no doubt, who would count Aziz as a monster as well. He was a dragon, after all, and he'd given up on trying to pass himself off as a human some time back. But the druid was a halfling, the paladin was a centaur and thus his own special mount, their explosives specialist was an Efreet, and the thing they were facing was a giant, monstrous amalgamation of purplish fungus and warped, infect rats. 

Aziz had really been hoping to blast it with lighting. Even now, after they'd worked out magical protections to keep from getting infected, he really didn't want to touch it. But lightning breath and a couple of low-level spells aside, he didn't have a lot of other options. 

This spell better work, he thought, and launched himself into the air. 

It wasn't what one might consider an elegant, dignified attack. He slammed into their opponent like an angry cat, clawing and tearing and hissing and spitting, buffeting it with the points of his wings. Adonis the paladin was attacking with his spiked chain, and Zaratas the Efreet was busy finding out that fire didn't work much better than lightning would have; it was simply too damp down here. 

They kept at it, and Aziz felt the moment the abomination came apart under his claws. He fell back, spitting and brushing at his tongue. Gods, he was going to have nightmares about the way that thing had tasted. 

Mac handed him a flask of water and said, "Good job, lad," and Aziz sagged. 

They'd done it. Somehow, they'd done it. And he didn't feel the tingling of the abyssal fungus' poison on his skin or in his mouth, so the protection spell worked. Which meant he could fight these things if he needed to. 

He had a feeling they'd need to. 

Blackhand: A Perfectly Ordinary Lunch

Mike -- Blackhand -- sat down at the table and looked at the girl across from him. "Do you mind telling me what you can do?" he asked. 

Robin smiled. "Oh, that's easy: I move air around. I think Ms. Salvatore classified it as low-level weather control."

Well, that doesn't sound too dangerous... Mike smiled back. It was easy to smile at Robin. "How much can you do it? I mean, could you use it to fly, or...?"

Robin was already shaking her head. "Push a door shut, blow some papers off a table, maybe knock over somebody's glass if I really tried. Nothing fit for the teams, or for support work. I can make my hair billow dramatically, but that's about it."

"Huh," Mike said, thinking that over. 

"Are you disappointed?" she asked. 

He shook his head slowly, still lost in thought. "No. I'm thinking that might be better than what I got, in some ways. You can't hurt people with it, accidentally or on purpose. It's just enough to be interesting, not enough to put you at risk."

"Really?" she asked, brightening. 

"Really," he told her. "I got recruited for the Hounds when I was... eleven or twelve? They wanted me because I could spot other D-- Anomalies, and because I could use my power for violence. And the result of that was, well... when it really came down to violence, I barely survived Harbinger."

Robin shivered. "I've heard about him. Scary stuff."

"Scary?" asked Mike. 

Robin watched him, and after a moment he admitted: "Maybe." He sighed. "But I can't help thinking that we brought that on ourselves. If the Program hadn't kidnapped him and most of his team, if the Alpha Hound called Mongrel hadn't deliberately picked a fight, he wouldn't be a mass-murderer."

Robin studied him for a long moment. "You... you like him?"

Mike shrugged. "I don't know about that. I know he let me live, along with two others, and I know he's been trying to make up for killing our Hunters." He hesitated. "You know how that works, right?"

"One Hunter, One Hound," Robin recited. "Yeah, there were a couple of emailed announcements."

Mike nodded, looking around the cafeteria for a long moment. "Let's just say I don't hate him. I can't, at this point. He set me to work on my powers with Jade, and she... she offered me a place on Team Phoenix."

Robin studied him for a long moment. "Are you going to take it?"

He sniffed. "After she pounded the shit out of me, and forced me to do things with my powers that I didn't know I was capable of?" He hesitated again. "Maybe. I'm thinking about it."

Robin reached across the table, touched his hand gently. "If it helps any, I hope you do. I'd... kind of like to have you around." 

Valthor: A Sister Unrecognized

I should have known, he thought. It wasn't just that the elvish wizard had abandoned her plans for escape to go after him instead, it was way she'd done it: slipping into the same style of Bladesinging that his mother had practiced. Likely the woman hadn't even been a half-sister, but rather a full sister that he hadn't known about. One which either his mother or his father had been holding in reserve. My mother, most likely, he decided. 

It would have been nice to have her as an ally, but clearly that hadn't been in the cards. And her blade... the scimitar was cursed, as Sy had made clear. The rapier, though... 

He pulled on his gloves, then took a handful of his cloak in his hand for good measure. Careful not to touch the weapon itself, he slid it back into its sheath and picked the whole thing up. He needed a box, to lock it away until someone could take a look and tell him whether or not the thing was safe to add to his own arsenal. For the moment, he could likely tuck it away in his locker.

The blades were another indication that this sister was one of their mother's tools. Their father hadn't sent his children out with anything more than minimal equipment, but these blades could easily be their mother's work. If she had held his sister back, trained her, equipped her... 

Oh, she's going to be furious if she ever finds out about this...