How I Wonder What You Are [The Hobbled Gobbler]

[Anton]

F I A T • J U S T I T I A

Searing 34, 122 Age of Steel

One o' clock in the afternoon
Two hours into the Doom of Zaichaer

It had been about half past noon when all aboard the Every Waking Moment realized that they were on a mission of rescue - at very best. Earlier in the voyage it had almost seemed as if the Dread Mists that hung about then-distant Zaichaer were beginning to disperse, and the airmen had taken to placing bets on how the affair had begun. Such levity vanished when it became clear that they had been only witnessing a lull, the already massive rift hanging above the city's skies soon joined by a second - before they combined.

No one would have thought less of Anton if he had ordered them to turn back as they surveyed the scene. Half of the Knob was simply gone, and the Presidium was as well. Mists spilled out over what seemed to be the whole of the city, a horror unseen by mortal eyes since the Sundering of the World centuries ago. Anton himself almost gave the order, but as the lord's sightless eyes examined the the ruins of Zaichaer, he saw hope yet alive in its depths.

"Intercessor save me, it's the Gobbler," he cried with a bark of nervous laughter, to mixed cheers and muttered whispers of concern among the crew. Despite his attempt to maintain a calm facade, everyone aboard the airship knew that Anton was beginning to crack. While unable to see, he saw the horrors within the mists far worse than any of them could. Swirling symphonies of chaos and pain and death surrounded him on all sides - while above the Maelstrom's little brother cooed sweetly for him to throw himself into its embrace. But that was not all. The building itself was swathed in some of the fiercest wards the Augur had ever witnessed, all but blanking out his arcane sight. Outside of its walls though were soaring strains of heroism and defiance, a struggle without end.

"Vanessa," he continued softly, finally cutting the power to his rune. He was beginning to tax himself, and the notion of using magic within the storm seemed foolhardy in the extreme. "Please." He wouldn't order the woman to take her ship into the swirling pit that had once been Zaichaer, but both knew his heart.

[Vanessa Quill]

The crew was small, as none were made to return that did not truly wish it in their hearts. Most were above deck when they came near enough to what had once been Zaichaer. Most recoiled at the sight, even from a distance the devastation was utterly unthinkable. Entire blocks were gone, some no doubt where these servants had been born or raised. The death toll was unthinkable, and Vanessa had trouble even imagining a reality where every single person she had ever passed on the street was dead. That was for the best, as the reality was already beginning to have its effect on less composed members of the crew. None outright retreated below decks, but many were too stunned to move, the ship's rigging still clutched in their fingers as they watched on in horror.

She followed Anton's gaze, hoping it would do her some good. She squinted, staring past the smoke and rubble from behind the captain's wheel. The nose of the Every Waking Moment was still pointed directly at the squall, her engine roaring with renewed power as it churned with newfound aether. She had a few crewmen watching the engine, ensuring it wasn't going to drown in raw magic now that they had gotten so close. For now, she was holding.

"What the fuck?" Was all Vanessa could say after seeing it with her own eyes. It was an infinitely small pocket of calm among the wreckage of the city. Then, she barked a laugh too. "That crafty bastard." No one else would have chosen that place to make a last stand against the darkness. It had to be Franky. The old man was cashing in his chips, it seemed. She had to hand it to him, it was one hell of a play.

"I'm bringing her in." She called back to Anton, cranking the wheel and bringing the nose dead center towards the Gobbler. Every Waking Moment*'s figurehead, a veiled woman with her arms outstretched, stared impassively at the devastation below, her gesture a hauntingly welcome one to whomever turned their eyes skyward.

"Any of you see anyone trying to flag us down, or any flares, you shout. Get the ladders ready."

Then she grabbed a lever beside the captain's wheel and heaved it backward. The nose of the Every Waking Moment tilted forward, wind snapping the sails to full bellow as Vanessa swung her ship in low, lower than some of the buildings had once been, now sitting as little more than rubble. Vanessa sent an order through her horn to let the engine loose, and a moment later there was a triumphant roar from below decks as the magitech engine gorged itself on aether, sending the ship screaming forward with Vanessa at the helm, knuckles white

She had seen anti-magic wards before, pulled the vessel up just a few feet above the haven. trimming the sails and firing a harpoon from her cannon into the cobblestone street to serve as a makeshift anchor.

Stepping over to the rails, Vanessa helped the crew toss over two sets of rope ladders secured to the main mast of her ship, which were long enough that they nearly reached the ground. Once done, she brought her speaking trumpet to her lips and delivered the message with her full chest "Anyone alive that needs to escape can come aboard, no questions asked."

Then she waited, each painful second adding to her dread. What if no one had survived, or were too weak to get themselves aboard? What if they were too late?

But she had to try.

[Franky]

Franky stepping outside as he heard Vanessa's voice shouting, looking up to see the airship overhead. "No other pilot would have the balls to come back here," chuckling to himself. Franky looked down the street, seeing that, for the moment, it was clear of monsters. The rope ladders were tossed down and Franky pulled the door open wide. "Move out! You'll have to climb the ladders to the airship. Focus on keeping your footing and grip, not going as fast as possible!"

The first of those let out and guided to the ladders, as they began to scramble up them. Franky and Weston stood between the ladders and the rest of the road, keeping eyes out in case any other monsters came. But it seemed that, for a brief bit, the storm had stalled a bit as the rift grew. It was strange. As Franky's eyes continued to scan back and forth from watching the people scale the ladder and the road for danger, Weston looked over at him. "I'll stay too."

Franky didn't look at him but grinned, "Somehow I don't think I can convince you otherwise."

Weston shrugged, "What else am I gonna do? This is my home and we promised to keep the Gobbler going, no matter what." He pointed lazily with his metal arm at the building, "She's still standing, she needs a caretaker."

Franky snorted, "Do you even know where the mops are?"

Weston laughed heartily, for only a pair of veteraned soldiers could be laughing right now. "I think business is going to slow down a bit. I'm sure I can find them."

They both looked over at the giant rift in the sky, Weston speaking more somberly, "You and the mage are going there, aren't you?"

Franky was silent.

Weston nodded, "If you somehow make it out of Eikaen's Arsehole alive, I'll keep the Gobbler for you. Just make it back."

Weston's eyes fell on the line of people coming out, as one broke away from them all. A beautiful, green skinned woman, wrapped up in her multicolored shawl, her eyes red, "You can't."

Weston nodded and stepped away down the road, his pistols drawn and eyes vigilant.

"You can't do this!"

Franky's lips were a thin line, as she whispered, sobbing, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her into his chest. "If you go there, I won't get you back..."

Franky kissed her forehead, "I have to. If I don't, then who?"

She pushed angrily against his chest, stepping back from him. "You're not some mage! You're not one of the gods! You're just a man! What can you do?"

Franky smiled softly. He stepped forward to close the difference between them. He tipped her face up with a curled finger to look at him, "I can love my dear wife, say my goodbyes, and know that at least in death, I tried to do what was right, for once."

She wrapped her arms around him, crying into his chest, and he softly wrapped her up, "Dalma, they will need your guidance and help."

"Shut up, idiot. You know I will."

Franky chuckled. She squeezed him tight once more, then looked up, pressing her lips hard against his. She stepped back from him, "If I see you still alive after this..."

Franky nodded, "I know."

"Good."

She pulled away from him, rushing over to the ladders, casting him a last glance before starting the climb up the airship. Franky took that moment now to take a deep breath and quiet his mind. He then brought his thumb to his mouth, puncturing the skin with one of his sharp teeth, and pressed it to the diamond on his finger. The gemstone pulled the blood it required from him and Franky felt his body burning and melting and twisting. It was horrible, just as it was that first time, but he endured it with composure. HIs skin turned green, his long red hair grew back, his muscles stretched his skin taut.

He would need everything he had for this. He heard a gun shot and looked over to see Weston having sniped out a lone creature a couple blocks away. Weston was looking at Franky, "Haircut?"

"Something like that."

Franky walked over toward Rickter, giving him space until he was ready. Soon, the ship would be loaded and it would be time. He watched each of the people of the Knob, humans, goblins, races of all sorts, united in tragedy and solidarity. That was what he loved about this home of his. So much togetherness despite so many efforts to tear them apart.

It was a good run, the Gobbler had brought Franky a peace after his time in the Imperium, a peace he never thought he'd find. He could never thank her or the staff or the customers enough. Every day had been a good day, a great day. He wiped away the tears from his eyes. Now it was time to make sure everyone else could have some more good days.

Franky's staff were intending to be the last to board the ship, teary eyes all around, having already figured out what he intended to do. They had seen his transformation, they knew it was him. Glasha, the only one who recognized him from his younger days, stepped forward starting to speak and Franky held up a hand, "No. All of you will go, take care of each other, and take care of them."

Tears flowed freely down his face now, speaking to all of them. "It has been my hon... no. It has been my greatest pleasure working with each and every one of you. I'm so proud of what we've been able to do together." He pressed his hand to his chest, "The Gobbler lives in here, always."

Gug was bawling openly, the chest of gold coins clinking in his arms. The kitchen crew were all crying with each other. Bob was nearby, holding his box of puppies in one arm, his head hanging a little lower than normal. Oaky was climbing the ladder now, but caught Franky's eyes and nodded once. The bar staff, all carrying clinking bags of booze were somber, and Meriel kept her chin high and face composed, but her eyes glistened.

"Goodbye, all of you. Live on."

[Rickter]

How I Wonder What You Are

Searing 34, 122nd Year, A.o.S.

Hope had come yet again but this time it was a sign Rickter couldn't follow, no matter how much his heart pined for him to, because looking beyond the airship that came to their rescue revealed something bigger. Far bigger than what Rickter ever dared to look at. The Great Rift loomed above them now as the second rift that had formed now joined with the first one, likely evaporating any small chance they had at successfully closing the damned thing.

And yet...

"Hey, our ride's here! We won't get any other chance like this." His companion urged as she watched him just stand there, never once moving his eyes away from the storm. "Rickter?" The hard gulp came as he reflected on everything up til now, the training he put in, the duty he kept to his prince, the pack he had been so god damn fortunate to build on his own. Rickter knew he would the risks of this plan just from looking at it, and whatever Franky's idea was, it certainly had to be a long shot compared to any other idea they had. Oh, he could do it. Two years spent refining his physical form, cultivating the magics that he'd gathered, it all led to this one moment where he had to decide... where his destiny would take him.

The wolf's eyes finally moved to somberly fall on the woman standing next to him, her brown eyes briefly widening before she narrowed them into a glare. Yep. He knew that was coming. "No!" He started to open his mouth but Hannah refused, her eyes squinting as she started to fight back the anger. The tears. "No, no, no, NO!!" She threw her fists onto him and he quickly brought his hands around to hold her, taking every soft punch she threw onto him as her head came to rest on his chest. "It's not fair! Why do you have to be the one to do it?! Why!?!"

"Because this is bigger than me... Than all of us." Rickter assured her softly, somehow able to buy the bullshit reality of the situation even now. His forearms stung and his hands even moreso when he stroked fingers through her hair, the rogue's warmth felt on his sternum as tears soaked the fabric of his shirt. "Who else but me, Hannah?"

"And what of Telion, huh?" She flatly declared with reddened eyes up at him, his gaze somber as he too had to fight back the tears. "What about the twins!?! You really expect me to leave you here?! I promised I'd bring you back, Rickter! Promised!"

"I know..." The wolf murmured as she clung tighter to him now, his thoughts back on the ones he'd probably never get to see again. Telion, Isaac and Kendrick, Patrick even... His Bondmates who were waiting on him, hoping that he'd come save them from the Imperium. Everyone. All the people he knew back home in Kalzasi, and all the new friends he'd made here within the Gobbler... coming to Franky's nearly every damn night just for some of Chestnut's godly cooking... All of it just piled up on him so suddenly now, so much that every fiber in his being felt determined to stay put. No matter how badly he wanted to, he could never get on that ship with the rest of them. "She was right you know."

Hannah's mournful eyes focused on him, almost lost at what he referred to when he expressed that sentiment. "What Lyra said yesterday... It's been you protecting the pack this entire time. You've always looked out for us, for me, just like you always look out for them now."

"Don't you dare," she was almost seething as she spoke through clenched teeth, "don't you fucking dare talk like that, Rickter! If you don't come back from this, I swear to the Gods above..." She didn't know what she'd do, otherwise her threat would've carried on. It was strange but... Rickter took solace in that, knowing how deeply she truly cared for him... and for the rest of his pack.

"I'll do everything I can... to come back to you. Til then... look after them for me... please?" The fury in her expression finally softened a little, as she looked up to him once more when she swallowed down another bout of tears.

"Promise me..." She eyed him sternly then, before glancing at the airship, clearly uncomfortable with leaving him here inside this madness. "Swear to me you'll come back Rickter." Now that felt like a pretty large request to do at the moment, given the fact he felt prepared to die so many times before. Yet out of all those moments, never was there a shadow of a doubt over his own life... until now.

"I promise." He feigned with a soft and genuine smile down at her, the rogue's fingers gripped tightly at his shirt and suspenders as she reluctantly started to release him. "Now, take my featherlight bag, and get the hell out of this insanity. Soon as you're able... get back to Kalzasi."

"I.... I will..." Hannah muttered as she finally unclasped her hands, her arms quickly brought to wrap around her abdomen for comfort. "Don't fucking die on me, Wolfman." He nodded to her as a finality before she started off, marching back toward the entrance of the Gobble to weave past people that came out. While the wolf stood there, still in place, with his eyes locked on the Rift once more.

"I promise..." He wanted those words to mean something, more than anything, but felt them more as comfort words as he stared at the sky. It was either victory or oblivion from here, no time for second-guessing himself anymore. He had questioned himself over and over again since the Chaos Storm had hit, but now it would seem that those questions would have to answer themselves.

If I gave all my heart, even until it tore me apart... Then would this all feel better? Would everything... feel better? It would undoubtedly destroy him completely to go all out, to unleash every ounce of power he had into whatever that thing in the sky was. The wolf took as deep of a breath as he could, before looking down to start shredding the sleeves of his dirtied shirt from the wrists all the way up to his upper arms. Using the fabrics he tore into strips as wraps he coiled them around each forearm, applying some small pressure to their application as to bandage his forearms. The aether burns there would've likely healed with some scarring, if he didn't plan on going into the unknown without likely dying from it. It mattered no longer now, as he slipped the straps of his suspenders off his shoulders, and did a minor rotation to pop some of the tension out of the joints within them.

"Every side attacks you when you don't pick sides."

"Common" "Synskrit" "Norvaegan"
"Rickter" "Hannah"

[Hector]

TIMESTAMP: 5th Sun's Zenith year 122
NOTES: -

► Show Spoiler

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Context:
When Stars Fall
Chaos in Full Bloom
Bloodstream

Finally, the two made it. Both vampyres had passed this establishment many times but neither had ever entered– not for any particular reason, just that they'd never had a reason to. It was such a familiar sight yet so alien at the same time as it sat beneath the prismatic light of the barrier.

They approached slowly, Hector limping heavily and leaning on Vergil for support. It was obvious his right leg was out of commission and on the surface, it would appear that he was missing his right arm as his companion half carried him over to the building. For Vergil, he had lacerations across the left side of his face and his left eye was clearly blinded. The two of them were also suspiciously lacking any blood on their clothing or bodies for the level of injured they were.


There was commotion outside as people said their goodbyes to one another– apparently some of them intended on staying behind. What fascinating decisions…but really, who were either of them to pass judgment on anybody? This situation was a horror show beyond anyone's wildest dreams. It was simply not their place to judge how others reacted.There was no reason to intrude on their affairs, so the pair walked past those still on the ground doing their best to not interfere. They'd heard a woman yell overhead claiming that all who wished could board her airship, and while this was very much something the two of them wanted, they'd reached a conundrum.

Both Hector's right arm and leg were badly injured. His right arm, being bound to his chest, was entirely unusable. It would be a feat of balance on his end to climb the ladder without falling.

Vergil sighed…loudly. Of course their escape route would involve one last obnoxious hurdle.

"Injured party boards first." While there was some reluctance in his tone, Vergil was very much serious.
He'd not climb that ladder until Hector was safely aboard, refusing to risk the ship flying away without him for whatever reason, splitting the two apart.

Hector blinked, intimidated by the task at hand, staring at the hanging ladder for a full minute before moving at all.
"Fine…" he muttered, not really having a choice.

One step at a time, he thought. Just one at a time….and don't look down. Heights…bothered him too.

Clearly in pain, he limped over to the thing and gripped the rope of the ladder with his left hand, then took the first step with his left foot. Gingerly, he lifted his internally mangled right leg onto the ladder's rung, flinching at the weight he'd put on it. Nervously, he loosened his grip with his left hand and slid it up the rope, then repeated the steps upwards with his feet. Any weight on his right felt like a combination of sharp pinches and electric shocks. This was…extremely painful. He should've asked Vergil to cast Pheromancy again to warp the pain; how unfortunate it was that he'd forgotten.

This whole process was deeply uncomfortable, incredibly painful, and somewhat embarrassing. For one thing, he was very, very slow. He doubted he'd even be able to do this if he were still mortal considering the fact he was having to take full advantage of his unnatural endurance and strength to keep him climbing up this ladder as it hung precariously in the air. For anyone watching, the fact that he could manage this at all would be astounding.

Vergil watched from below, anxiety spiking any time Hector fumbled the placement of his right foot. This hurt to watch. Every second felt eternal, but eventually, the young elf finally reached the top. However, his landing into the airship itself was anything but graceful– not that the older vampyre could really tell from where he was standing, though.

Gripping the side of the airship, he pulled himself over with his left arm and ended up falling flat on his face. He didn't care or bother to get up.

Once Hector was out of sight, Vergil took his turn to climb the ladder, making it to the top in a fraction of the time it took his companion. Swinging a leg over and boarding the ship, he noticed Hector simply laying in a heap on the floor and exhaled, letting out a deep sigh.

Looking around, Vergil had zero idea who was in charge of this ship. Addressing nobody in particular, he spoke.
"He's…got several broken bones. I can fix him, but is there anywhere…er…stable I could use to cut him open?" The inquiry was genuine– he wanted to make sure Hector's bones healed properly so he wouldn't have to rebreak them.

____

'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"

[Euripides]

She supposed that this was as close to an answer to her prayers as any. An airship to carry them away, and have them suffer in some other place. Lips pursed, she watched as the survivors moved quickly. Climbed the ladders as others said their goodbyes hurriedly. Not so hurriedly for the tavern owner. A hobgoblin she did not know much about outside of having some dealing with Lyra. Which didn’t matter so much, but there was a clear connection that went beyond employer and employee as she passed him speaking to several other workers.

The bard had only ever had a job that didn’t involve music once. A short bout of working for a merchant to sell wares. She had been…subpar at best. Too distracted with a head full of music and love. Or had it been lovesickness in its entirety, manifesting in lyricism that both mourned and exalted her lover? Euri paused to think about it and in the process collided with a person behind her. For this, she didn’t care; they moved around her and quickly made their way up the ladder like everyone else.

The tavern owner would need a song. Maybe. Probably. Would he survive? Only the gods knew and even then, that was a gamble. Just as much of a gamble as Rickter staying behind. The pup that had been ordered around the Mistress, very unlike herself. She snorted. She remembered that woeful memory of his. Or had that all been a dream? A shakiness to her conscious recollection of it, steps carrying her toward him before she halted. No; he would get his own song. Would they all need one? A cliff note in the side of history in this event. The laughter she had left behind in the basement threatened to bubble forth once more.

“Rickter!” Menacing, like she had something worth saying. Maybe. But the smile that stretched over her face as she skipped-ran toward him was nothing short of manic. Too wide, too many teeth showing. The angle of her head wouldn’t have been anymore inviting. Already smaller than the other as her boots stomped down to carry her to the rathari. “Rickter, you misery-ridden puppy.” Sing-songed like anything else she’d ever said. “I understand you’ve decided the path of idiotic heroism, following in the steps of the doomed Legionnaires for which I’ve stood beside.”

Did she sound too cheerful? Maybe.

“I will commiserate with your widow over fine mead and good meats with a song for you to carry on the memory of your valiant effort to save a dying city.” A hand placed on the rathari’s shoulder as she nodded decisively. “Yes, I shall do that and for all other poor bastards that will inevitably die a gruesome end at the fleshy graspers of whatever awaits in the mists.” Another resolute nod and pat on his shoulder before she walked off to climb the ladders as everyone else did.

Her first experience on an airship and it would be to flee from the pressing threat of death.

That felt about right.

[Jane Farraway]

Searing 34th, 122. The Hobbled Gobbler, Zaichaer

More debris was flung through the window with unnatural strength, shattering every window and splintering the walls from the outside in. The torch bombs did nothing against the abomination that raged just outside the wall of protection that surrounded the Hobbled Gobbler. The moment they flew past that barrier they came undone at the very molecular level, the glass shifting and accelerant morphing into strange forms at random, rendering them useless against the monster. Regardless, Shel and Haroth continued to throw them wildly in a desperate attempt to stave the creature off, which seemed to inch closer with every minute. The ward would not hold for long; They all knew that it was only a matter of time before it would give way. Brix was emptying wine bottles onto the floor to make more torch bombs and Bob went from window to window to restore their barricades, earning himself a number of dents as he was struck. Jane, meanwhile, assisted were she could, but soon realized they were more than overwhelmed.

The creature that assaulted them had once been a stately maple tree that stood outside a neighboring shop near the Gobbler, but now it had transformed into a serpentine creature that roiled within itself, the very Dread Mists that gave it life both knitting it together and tearing it apart. It raged against its own existence and everything surrounding it, having enough sense to realize that it could not pass the ward without splintering apart into the wood it had once been. Still, it seemed to use this to its advantage in its attack, lunging its limbs through the ward to send projectiles at the crew. One of them pierced Shel's shoulder and her arm fell limp with a bloodcurdling scream. Haroth handed her off to Brix who tried to stop the bleeding as best he could.

“We're pinned!”, Haroth yelled towards Jane, his voice nearly drowned out by the barrage, “Go down and get help!”

Just as Jane was about to run down the stairs, the loud, humming engines of what sounded like an airship caught both her and the other's attention. The harsh sound even seemed to cow the creature and it thrashed outside the ward, halting its attack. Bob rushed to a window on the other side of the floor, peering outside.

“There is an airship evacuating the building. Quickly, we go.”, Bob declared, his usual deadpan voice almost urgent.

Haroth rushed to window, a smile of disbelief twisting his mouth, “Well I'll be damned...”

“Come on! Let's go!”, the Lysanrin corralled the crew, gingerly picking up the injured Shel and cradling her in his arms. They looked into each other's eyes. Had she not been gravely wounded, it would have been almost romantic. They all rushed down the stairs, joining the crowd as it moved outside. Bob made a slight detour just behind the bar and pulled up a loose floorboard. Reaching down, he produced a box of puppies, no doubt hidden by him in an effort to protect them against the attack.

A scene which would have been filled with panic was strangely calm, Weston and Meirel doing their best to quell any fear by establishing order among the evacuees. Jane looked around desperately for her mother, finally seeing her clinging onto Oaky's arm, who had to tear her off of him to get her to the climb the ladder. Such a feat was far from Carmen's usual level of activity and while daunting, she began to slowly ascend, rung by rung. Those behind her prodded her impatiently and she whipped her head back to throw a venomous glance. As she did, she spotted Jane in the crowd and her face fell, icy even in the face of death. Carmen turned back and began to climb a little faster now.

Jane then searched for Franky and noticed the main Gobbler crew crowded together. Surely he would be with them. They all ran to join them and much to everyone's surprise they stood around a large, imposing Ork—or perhaps a Hobgoblin—with fiery red hair. Jane's stomach dropped as she noticed him holding Franky's sword and shield. He must have fallen in battle, this warrior taking up in his arms to hold his position. Foolish old man, Jane thought to herself as she rubbed bitter tears from her eyes, pushing himself to very end...

But the familiar way Weston regarded this man confused her, as did the others as they came up to give tearful goodbyes. There was a strange resemblance that Jane could not shake until the warmth of his eyes struck her. So little about today had made sense that it made this transformation somewhat more palatable. What had he done to himself? Magic? Some mutation brought on by the Dread Mists? Regardless, the time for questions had ended hours ago. Jane approached this revitalized Franky hesitantly, unsure of what to say.

She pulled out the blue ribbon that held up her hair, letting it fall down her shoulders. With a trembling hand she tucked it into one of Franky's shirt pockets.

“Thank you for believing in me. You were the first one that did.”

Meirel gave Weston a tight hug as she ascended the ladder, the veteran giving Jane a warm, but sad nod as she left as well. He, Franky, and others that chose to stay grew smaller as the airship took them away from the ruins that had once been Zaichaer. The sheer scope of the destruction was farther than Jane had initially imagined. So many lives shattered. She thought of her friends, or rather, the friends that she had neglected. Brenner, Stefan, Eitan, her classmates at the Academy. She had not seen Ma'am anywhere around the Gobbler before the attack either. It would not have surprised her if that bitter old woman chose her greenhouse over her own life.

The Mists continued to pour out of whatever unworldly portals that were spawned by those accursed Kalzasi mages. The fact that they were capable of such a thing, and their willingness to subject millions of innocent people to this devastation, was beyond reprehensible. All of this for their Prince. One life in exchange for millions. Zaichaer had always been vilified for their ways, their nationalism, their xenophobia, but it respected the natural order. Kalzasi, meanwhile, saw it fit to tear reality apart, all from behind their sickening veneer of goodwill.

Something died in Jane that day. It was a feeling like heartbreak greater than any she had experienced. She stood on the deck of the airship, staring coldly at the destruction spread out before her, and pulled out a small notebook and pencil she had kept stashed away. Adjusting her glasses, she began taking notes, recording the appearance of the Mists and the effects they produced. Jane had nothing left but her studies. She decided it was now all that she needed.

[Anton]

A nervous laugh escaped Anton as he took in the sight of survivors. The Presidium was gone, and with it he had little hope for most everyone he had ever known. Florian. Eitan. Stefan. Brenner. Professor Haber and the others at the lab. Neighbors, friends, rivals, colleagues, all swallowed up by the whirling chaos and horror - but here, at least, there was life. There was something he could do, something to help.

Somehow, he simply accepted the fact that Franky was behind all of this, for if anyone would've it had to be the crafty hobgoblin. He had forced himself to respectability not just in the Knob, but Zaichaeri society at large, by sheer grit alone. Surviving the end of the world seemed the most obvious thing for him to be doing. Rushing to the railing, Anton cried down to try and get his attention, but the cry died on his lips as he realized that the old veteran intended to stay - along with a handful of Gobbler employees, and a man who he had never seen before but whose aura almost outsung the storm itself with its brilliance.

Franky seemed to know what he was doing, and had evidently made a powerful ally, so instead of begging Anton did the only thing he could to help. "Franky!" he cried down from the airship's side, as his fingers pulled off an ivory button from his shirt. "For luck, you look like you'll need it!" he shouted as a fine button carved with the griffin head emblem of House Michaelis flipped towards the hogblin. It wasn't much, but it was the only thing he had on hand. Everything else would be needed for the survivors.

Rushing to the ladder, the lordling treated the hobgoblin's wife with the utmost respect, Alodi ushering Dalma out of the way along with the first wave of the Gobbler's survivors. To his shock, most of Vanessa's usual crowd was among them, somehow having made it to the bar's protection in time. They, on the other hand, were entirely nonplussed that the old pirate was their salvation.

Such confusion was quickly banished as a boy with as many broken limbs as whole ones managed to bring himself up the ladder, his companion calling for a place to operate. "The surgeon's station is below decks, get him there," Anton barked to the makeshift crew before coolly regarding the pair. There was something... off about them he couldn't quite place, but the tinge of magic hummed about them both. "If you're a necromancer, we'll have need of you," was all he said. Questions could wait.

More people climbed and climbed, hurtling themselves to the only safety they could find. Except for one who... didn't. A jagged series of atonal symphonies announced her arrival, the woman moving as casually as she pleased - and with a guitar of all things strapped to her back. Ushering her onward, Anton was once again left unable to process the strangeness of it all before he was assaulted with the surreality of the all too familiar.

"Lady Farraway," he croaked out by reflex, staring at the matriarch in shock from behind his soot covered face. "This way, my lady," he continued, moving robotically as his body obeyed a muscle memory that it had not expected to use in such a situation. With Carmen safe, and no sign of her daughter, Anton felt his heart began to sink - a hope he did not have moments ago seemingly dashed. Pulling himself away from the rope ladder, he busied himself below decks for a time, helping to hand out water and bandages and what paltry poultices they had on hand.

Returning up top to inform Vanessa that the wounded were secured, Anton settled in against the taffrail. "Just... take us back to the estate. I... We need to talk things over with the family," he murmured to his bodyguard, the weight of the day beginning to settle upon his shoulders. Relaxing, he froze in shock as his Semblance took in his surroundings anew, and there she was. The pendulum in his chest swung the other way as he took in that familiar score, someone who he morbidly realized might be his only living friend.

"Jane!"

[Hector]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

► Show Spoiler

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As Vergil collected his crumpled companion into his arms, somebody did address his question, though not him directly. A soft-looking man had ordered a crew member to guide him down to where he could fix Hector. Relief washed over him that there even was a place dedicated for this purpose, too– it was rather difficult to work with any distractions.

Hector himself lay limp in the other's embrace, unable to relax at all as pain rolled through his broken limbs despite Vergil attempting to carry him in a way that would agitate them the least. He'd had no time to process any of this, so he sat silently, breaths short and thoughts drowning in overwhelming confusion and despair. The only life he'd known was gone forever.

The older vampyre was about to turn away, wanting to follow the crew member and begin the repair of his companion but then, the same man who’d spoken earlier regarded him with a comment about his potential knowledge of Necromancy. With Hector held close to his chest, Vergil let a quick pulse of aether flow through him and into the other, casting Pheromancy to warp his pain as he began to respond to the stranger. For anybody without aethersight, this cast would be undetectable. Immediately, however, Hector's tense frame would relax. He was ever grateful for his mentor's care of his well being.

“Correct. I’m capable of Necromancy and I did bring my tools…I’m happy to help anyone in need, though my companion here will take precedence; please understand.” Vergil kept his voice level and formal, giving the other a shallow bow before following the waiting crew member. There wasn't time to talk now for either party.

____

'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"

[Vanessa Quill]

Vanessa heaved the survivors over the railings with haste, but lacked decorum. There was a single minded focus to her work, where little else mattered except saving getting as many people aboard as possible even if it meant being none too gentle. It was difficult work, her arms ached and hands throbbed. Sweat sluiced down her face, draining trails of soot and grime along with it in a mockery of war paint.

Now with haunted eyes, Vanessa helped a group of prostitutes onto the deck, their madam following behind. Vanessa recognized them, employees of The Tender Embrace. She was glad that some of them had at least managed to escape the carnage. By the looks of it, the capable women had also been instrumental in gathering other survivors, considering how many of the bar's patrons seem to hover near the even now waiting for further instructions. One of the women of the night fixed Anton with a curious stare, looking conflicted. Confidentiality be damned, she finally stepped over for just a moment, her unmistakable perfume still rising above the din of horror.

"It's good to see you," Meadow said with a heartbreaking kindness, voice and smile wavering under the weight of all she had already seen. Then, in a single steady breath, her mask was back on and she rejoined her cohort with an elegant air about her.

When the trail of passengers slowed, Vanessa left a few crewmen at the ladders so that she could tend to the situation below deck. First she stalked over to the flat surgeon's table at the aft of the ship and opened the pint-sized cabinet below it. From within she produced a wickedly sharp carpenter's saw, linen bandages, waxed thread and an accompanying needle that was definitely used to repair sails better than flesh. Lastly she placed a leather strop on the table as well. "Water's in that barrel there." Vanessa said to Vergil, nodding towards it. "If you need to amputate anything, get some of the crew to hold him down. Wait until we're movin', engine will cover the screams some." Her voice held the clinical harshness of someone who had seen this sort of thing too many times before. "Hope he makes it."

Then she broke open the rations, passing out heaping handfuls of hard biscuits and salted pork to whoever had the strength to distribute it. A single grim look from her was all it took to make sure everyone was granted their fair share.

Back up top, Vanessa cut the line from the harpoon at Anton's orders The Every Waking Moment eagerly rose, and the skeleton crew remaining above deck brought the sails down all at once. With a nod towards the stairs, Vanessa dismissed them and they gladly took shelter. After returning to the wheel, Vanessa took a moment to compose herself before addressing her charge. "Get yourself in the captain's quarters." There was iron in her voice, but beneath it a desperate need for him to just listen to her. "I don't... I don't know how bad this storm's gonna be. Safest place is in there." She paused again, an instant stretching into infinity before she forced herself to continue. "Please, I can't..."

I can't lose you.