2017-05-23: Skyfall
- Log: Skyfall
- Cast: Cassidy Cain, Jude Moshe, Noah Hawthorne, Morgan Newkirk
- Where: Castle Adlehyde, Adlehyde
- Date: May 23, 2017
- Summary: Takes place the night before the Invasion. Cassidy Cain, Jude Moshe, Noah Hawthorne and Morgan Newkirk embark on a risky gambit to break into Castle Adlehyde and attempt to sabotage the Lolithia. They soon discover that getting in is the easiest of the challenges that they have resigned themselves to facing. Dealing with three golems, the worrisome discovery of the missing fourth, the ancient messes left behind by the Elw and the fact that King Justin Adlehyde may have been too prepared for the coming of these golems all hit the dynamic foursome just before Dr. Lucas Maurier's letter reaches the captain of the Royal Guard...and ends with all of them being arrested.
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
A couple of days before the planned sabotage, Morgan Newkirk would find the following instructions sent to him by a trusted courier in Cassidy Cain's flowing, feminine script:
Time to call in a favor to your friend, Delvin. I did let myself get set on fire for his shit after all.
She knew little about the man at the time save for the fact that his goods were being targetted specifically by a pair of lovers who inserted themselves in the workings of the Adventurers Guild in Adlehyde, a bit of a problem in which she helped Morgan considering her particular set of skills, but that bit of information was enough to give the blonde some idea as to who to turn to in the initial stages of the break-in. What she has asked Morgan to do was very minimal - largely that he ought to contact Delvin, figure out when he was due, next, to ship some goods to Castle Adlehyde. In her estimation, there was bound to be quite a few, especially now that the preparations for the festival were in full swing. She may be worthless in a Tomb, but she has always had a fine head for numbers and a good nose for the flow of commerce given enough time in a specific place, and the economy in these few days before the Exhibit's official kick-off is booming.
Once Morgan got the goods from Delvin, he, Jude and Noah will deliver it to the palace. Cassidy's suggestion was that the goods be foodstuff of some kind - meat, produce, or alcohol, and enough to make the load so cumbersome that castle personnel will need the help in loading and unloading. She also suggested that the crates carry a secret compartment for weapons, as there were bound to be inspections.
For disguises, the only advice Cassidy gave was: try not to be suspicious.
Either she is giving them free reign to do what they want just to see what happens, or she trusted their utmost ability to play whatever role necessary to get in. Chances are, probably the former, if not just for the sheer entertainment value.
There is no sign of her in the rally point, at least not in the outset. The palace's eastern gate has always been historically set aside to accept deliveries from local suppliers; blacksmiths, farmers, grocers, the mail, they all made themselves known in the patrol assigned to that part of the construct. The guards waiting for them are four in number - two on the parapets directly above the gate, and two below flanking the actual ingress in. Their first obstacle in the evening is a man and a woman dressed in the Royal Guards' crisp jackets and trousers, rifles tipped with bayonets slung on their shoulders. Their caps are pulled low over their heads.
A low conversation between the two is occurring as they approach.
"What are you doing after your shift this evening, Ensign?"
The dark-haired woman's lips quirk upwards in the corners. Green eyes with gold flecks slant sidelong at the other guard.
"Probably sleep," she muses. "It is getting late. You know, sir, I did just finish that fifth session on protocols and procedure. You know, that chapter on no fraternization."
"Ah hah hah hah." The other guard rubs the back of his neck. "Was I that transparent?"
She flashes him a grin. "A little."
Catching a glimpse of the delivery boys, the woman lifts a gloved hand. "Halt! Who goes there?"
To Cassidy's very infinite credit, she manages to say the words without breaking out into laughter immediately. In fact, she sounds very stern. And authoritative. And absolutely lacking that distinctive brogue. At last, those much-mentioned acting talents are being put to good use.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
Try not to be suspicious.
Not suspicious while still in a disguise is a difficult thing for one Morgan Newkirk. Since those ears give it away. He even tried the whole ten-gallon hat idea that Jude had before before he discarded it as being. Well. Dumb. Because it made him look dumb. And it made his ears itch.
Neither of which put him in the best of moods.
The lack of a Cassidy at the rally point didn't really bother him that much. She always had her own plans. Their job was to get inside the place.
The delivery was easy enough to procure. A quick chat with Delvin, right before the bastard got out of town to join with other merchants, netted them prime stock. Extra foodstuffs for the royals personal pantries. Fine wine, meats and fruits that were a rush delivery due to spoliage. The wine barrels intentionally ever so slightly unbalanced in order to cause them to need help to deliver. A hidey hole in the box of fruit for all the toys that they need. That one was the easiest to find of course. Since Morgan knew where a few of those were stashed.
On the surface? Looks fine. Nothing wrong with the cargo.
The horse drawing the wagon is gunpowder gray, head down. Dosile looking little thing. Tired from long days of work.
The man at the reins? Well a beastman, with a couple of workers around. No gauntlet on his hand, no gunbelt at his side. Nope. The bandana tied around his head flattens his ears back along his skull. Which has to be a bit uncomfortable. However he survives.
For now.
"Rush delivery for the castle," The fox calls back. Is tone a touch more provincial. A touch slower. His clothes are drab and a bit tattered. All is grays and browns. Just another worker. Nothing to see here at all. Move along.
Move along.
...of course his companion workers might have something to say about that.
<Pose Tracker> Noah Hawthorne has posed.
Perhaps destined to disappoint Cassidy's characteristically reckless open invitation to the absurd, Noah is wearing 'what he usually wears, without any of the leather truss for supporting his Drifter kit, and therefore none of his Drifter kit.' His clothing on any given day is simple, unremarkable but well-made, well-suited to the wear and tear of physical labor and nothing that would be out of place for the role he's meant to play. It has the benefit of being familiar and therefore something he looks natural in. Noah's no expert in the broader field of subterfuge, but he knows how to tell an excellent lie.
Part of that lie is looking bored when he's anything but. It helps that he's sitting on the back end of the wagon, feet over the side and propped on the small lip that stops the drop-down tailgate, so he's not facing the guards when he hears a voice that's still familiar in spite of the lack of the brogue.
He shifts the mint-soaked toothpick in his mouth from one side to the other and squints disinterestedly: he is a man waiting to do a job and go home, and that radiates from every line of his posture.
And that is true, insofar as it goes...but inside of his chest, his heart is ticking along like an engine running hot.
<Pose Tracker> Jude Moshe has posed.
Just one piece of advice. Don't be suspicious. It's like a challenge, in and of itself.
Which is probably entirely why Jude Moshe doesn't seem to rise to the occasion.
No -- the man's usual, finely-tailored ensembles he usually selects for himself have fallen by the wayside today. Nothing fashionable about him, nor particularly striking besides, perhaps, his hair. A dirt-smudged, white shirt, plain tan vest, what looks like a pair of cheap and very well-worn breeches that make one wonder just where, exactly, he got his hands on them, and a similarly worn-down pair of boots make a less than compelling ensemble that seems to make him just naturally blend into the browns and whites of the wagon like he was part of it.
And the ten gallon hat he wears fits it all perfectly too.
Leaning back against the crate of fruits in the back, thumbs tucked into the waistband of his breeches, Jude waits in comfortable silence in the back alongside Noah. He seems to take to this naturally, at least -- the man looks perfectly at home amidst these meager goods from the countryside, going with the flow in a way that frankly raises more questions than anything else.
He says nothing when he hears that familiar voice. Gives nothing a way as he looks up towards the two guards with a warm and genial smile that seems so down to earth and natural and yet -not- to anyone remotely familiar with him.
All he does is tip his hat in a friendly way to both the guards and offers a simple greeting, his voice laced with a subtle accent from Southern Adlehyde.
"Howdy sir," he looks the female guards way, and his smile doesn't miss a beat.
"Ma'am."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
"You know the drill, boys," the lieutenant drawls from the gate. "Open them up and let's take a gander."
"I'll do it," says the ensign, eager to prove herself already, taking the clipboard from Morgan where the inventory is listed. There's a long glance at Morgan's bandanna where his ears have been flattened before she moves to hop on the wagon and does just that. Her post was simple enough, easy - too many missing uniforms would ring alarm bells, and the captain of King Justin's guard isn't an idiot. Just one, though, can easily be overlooked and the operation is sensitive enough for Cassidy to make those decisions. This does mean that inspections at the gate would be easier - even if the boys managed to slip up hiding their contraband weapons, she'd be able to wave them on through.
And even give them an escort.
Which she volunteers with a lift of her head. "Looks clear, everything on the list is accounted for," she tells the lieutenant. "There's a lot of goods here though, sir. These guys will probably need to be turned around in the service loading deck by the kitchens and the cellar. I'll go with them, though, make sure they get to where they need to be."
"Fine." They aren't lacking in backup anyway, given the riflemen at the very top of their position. He signals someone from beyond the gate to wheel it up and the heavy, wrought-iron affair starts lifting upwards. He waves the wagon on through and Morgan will be able to steer the nondescript gray horse into the courtyard. Hooves clop noisily on the cobblestones and once through the gate, they'll be able to see that they aren't the only ones. Other like wagons have been parked close to the double doors leading into the palace's kitchens and down its cellar. The presence of guards there, ensuring all the cargo being brought in is in order, would be enough to make any thief or ne'erdowell nervous. Orders ring out in the half-light of the encroaching twilight. A page is running around, busily lighting up torches to ward away the darkness.
"Are you kidding?" cries one of the merchants, arms around two giant wheels of cheese. "What do you mean you can't tell the difference between manchengo and havarti? They can't just stay in one cellar together, they need two different kinds of temperatures..."
Cassidy, still in her guard get-up, winks at the rest of her crew before she picks up one of the lighter crates, hopping down from the wagon to head over to where the man in charge is being accosted by the cheese enthusiast. Harried by what he perceives is a ridiculous argument about cheese ("Cheese is cheese, god damn it!"), he impatiently waves off the ensign, who signals the rest on the wagon to bring their cargo inside.
It'll take them a while to get them all loaded off, and transferred into the kitchen, but that was part of the plan also.
"Kitchen staff uniforms are in the lefthand closets," she murmurs to the three once they've got their crates and enter through the double doors. "We'll just vanish one at a time in the middle of this traffic. Noah can go first, followed by Jude then Morgan. Don't worry about the wagon. Just pretend tae be busy until you can get tae them. Wait by the statue." What. "Trust me, you cannae miss it."
It is utter madness in the kitchen.
Probably why Cassidy selected this specific hour in which to strike; the king's cook, a broad-shouldered man with a large pot belly and clad in formal chef's dress is in the middle of dinner preparations, barking orders through the perpetual haze of wood smoke permeating throughout the cavernous space. It is decidedly hot and humid inside, preparation tables taken up by apprentice cooks and black-and-white clad pages and maids bustling about with bowls of fruit and cheese to be taken towards the castle's formal dining hall.
"Dinnae worry," she murmurs, before leaving the boys again. "Everything will be fine."
The most famous of all last words.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
"I hate it when she says that," Morgan grouses as he picks up a barrel. The beastman is stronger than he looks most days, but he puts on a show of huffing and puffing under the weight of the thing as he starts to bring it inside. "I got to say, Cass." He mutters as he moves. "You look good in uniform."
The fox though struggles to get the barrel inside and set it down before he glances at the pair of men arguing about cheese. "...did you pay the cheesemaster or are we just lucky he cares about cheese that much?" He asks as he glances up for a moment before moving back to the cart.
Look busy. That he can do.
He's calm on the outside, inside though. Inside he's trying not to grin. This is the best part of this type of thing. That moment of truth. Will you get inside or won't you. The plan comes together or the jaws of fate snap shut. He smirks slightly to himself as he glances over the chaos of the kitchen.
Its true. No one is going to notice them with everything going on here.
He'll just has to keep his ears pinned.
Urgh. Its the worst.
<Pose Tracker> Noah Hawthorne has posed.
And in they go, just like that.
The security presence is substantial, but then so is the chaos, and chaos is Noah's element. Some of the tightness in his core unwinds and releases. He drops off of the back of the wagon and back onto his feet, hoists something that seems to need hoisting, and follows the flow of frenetic energy through the double doors and into the swampy, smoke-filled morass of the kitchen. Someone relieves him of the crate quickly once he's there, problematic in that it leaves him with empty hands and nothing to do. One of several downsides to his stature: he makes an extremely noticeable obstacle in busy lanes of foot traffic.
To minimize the likelihood of being noticed in that way he makes a tour of one side of the kitchen, picking up produce in one place and spices in another, looking -- as Cassidy said -- busy. When he sees an opening to slip into the closet space he cuts that way immediately and dumps all of the produce, spices, utensils, cheese and whatever else into a large pot full of simmering liquid en route.
He drags the closet door to a close behind him and spends a moment surveying the offerings. One uniform on a hanger after another is lifted and held up to the front of his chest, the swapping of these increasing in momentum as his brows knit until he stops and stares, realizing that not a single one of them fits.
"What are these, uniforms for ants?"
It takes him a little bit longer to secure adequate clothing than it may take the others--
(Bound in roasting twine for tying up turkey legs with a dishrag tied tightly around his head and stuffed in his mouth, a very tall, narrow page sits in his drawers in a pile of sludgy runoff from the kitchens overhead. There are cabbages under his backside. His toes have been doused in some sort of bernaise. Even as he sits there, further refuse slides down the chute in the wall-- as he had only minutes ago-- to land on him. Eggshells and onion rinds. He is having a very bad night.)
-- but he does eventually manage, though the waistcoat is still too small. He finds his way to the statue, eventually.
Cassidy was right about that, at least: it would be very, very hard to miss. An enormous, ostentatious, horrendously gaudy black horse covered in, seriously, rhinestones.
Standing there being actively offended by its existence, he tilts his head ever-so-slightly over to the side and wonders about the creeping, uneasy sensation of deja vu that comes over him.
<Pose Tracker> Jude Moshe has posed.
"I don't know. Cheese is a pretty heated subject."
This is Jude Moshe's lone conversational insight to all the hurried madness gripping Castle Adlehyde. Hefting a crate of goods with both hands, he leaves his hat behind as he follows along after the others, offering amenable little nods and close-ended 'how do you do's of greetings to the stray merchant or guard as he passes by. Clattering pots, shouting workers, and the clamor and heat of many people moving in very cramped spaces hits him facefirst as he enters the kitchen area. Bright amber eyes shutter in a blink, his head tilting.
"Wow. All the..." he tries to find the right word for it. "... smells. Amazing."
Really.
Crate distributed, he makes his way through the confusing labyrinth of bodies that has become Adlehyde Castle's kitchen, scooting this way and that, stopping here and there to offer brief, helping hands where possible to do so in short order.
That's probably why he takes his sweet time to taste test some stew on the way out, face scrunching just a bit as he shakes his head.
Once he's sure Noah's gone, he makes his way towards the closet, slips his way inside... and frowns at the selection.
"Seriously?"
A few minutes later, that poor bound page is met with another tall, middle-aged chef, muffling out protests against a handkerchief stuffed into his mouth as he barrels into his newfound companion ass-over-ankles.
WMPH
Poor, poor page.
Seconds later, Jude emerges, looking refreshed with a plucky, optimistic smile of a fresh kitchen recruit, adjusting his pristine white and now very well-fitting uniform. He takes up one of the food carts and makes a good show of carting it off, looking busy as he makes his way towards...
... towards...
"... some people have way too much time on their hands," utters Jude as he stares at that horse statue, scratching the back of his head. He leans in. Squints at the nameplate.
"... 'Mister Goiter'? What kind of a name for a horse is that--"
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
The other two gone, and the kitchen staff mysteriously down two members, Morgan takes a moment to make his escape. Or exchange. He could think of some other words for what the kitchen smells like. However instead of that he heads out to the cart one more time. That fruit box is the next one to be brought in.
And when no one is looking, he slides out the case containing most of the little groups equipment. Quickly stashing it under a kitchen cart he starts to wheel it towards the exit. The closet in question is glanced into before he figures out there is a distinct lack of beastmen working in the kitchens.
"Dammit."
A few moments later the door to the scullery opens again and in is tipped a kitchen servent. One that looks very confused. Tumbling down in a heap with the cook and the page.
Morgan just stares at that a second. Great minds? Or. Something.
"You're safer in here anyway." He grumbles quietly before turning back to his cart with his new kitchen servent uniform. One with a towel tucked into the back of the trousers. To help hide the damn tail.
Squeaka. Squeaka. Squeaka.
Up rolls the cart to the other two by the statue. "...sorry it took a bit. This damn thing won't turn left."
His eyes though then go towards the cart. One eyebrow slowly quirks up as he just stares at it. "Someone really loved their horse." A pause. "I mean really loved it. In the biblical kinda way. Thats the only explination for something like this."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
You look good in uniform.
Cassidy inclines her head over her shoulder at that, smiling winsomely at Morgan. "You say the sweetest things, Morgan Newkirk, but dinnae get used tae it." It's almost as bad as when she pretended to be a priestess.
Somewhere in the kitchen, His Majesty's Sous Chef, who doesn't know any better, dips a ladle into the stew that Noah has summarily ruined by dumping additional ingredients that don't belong in it, and that subsequently Jude tasted, before closing the tureen and placing it on a silver platter carried by a passing page. "That needs to go to the Royal Chamberlain's quarters," he instructs. "He's not feeling well today, stew is just the thing."
"B-but...I'm supposed to bring the appetizers next..." says the page.
"Well where the hell's the guy who's supposed to bring up the stew??"
"I don't know! He was here a few minutes ago!"
"OH MY GOD I CAN'T THINK UNDER ALL THIS RACKET!" cries the sous chef with a frenetic wave of his hand, and backhanding the page carelessly at the flail. "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON? IT'S LIKE WE'RE SUDDENLY UNDERSTAFFED FOR SOME MYSTERIOUS GOD DAMN REASON. AM I GOING CRAZY? AM I TAKING CRAZY PILLS? FIX THIS!"
One by one, the members of her crew slowly get re-dressed and venture out into the palace proper; the gaudy, rhinestone-covered horse is situated in the middle of a marble rotunda from which various other hallways stretch out. Given the dinner rush and the fact that the sous chef had just lost his mind inside of the kitchens, a few of the apprentice chefs and pages pile out of the kitchen under the guise of serving...well, anything. Right now. Because none of them want to face the sous chef when he's losing his temper. Apparently, he does this a lot.
Eventually, Cassidy finds them, glancing at the carts, and places the tureen of the ruined stew that she had taken off the hands of the traumatized page (at the moment sobbing, probably, somewhere in the cheese cellar) on top of the cart that can't turn left. "Come on, lads," she murmurs. "This way."
There's enough activity in the palace in connection with the festival preparations that it is easy to overlook a guard escorting three kitchen staff members carting out a bowl of soup and some additional foodstuffs; it's been a hard day, and people are famished. Some jealous eyes do fall their way, but it has less to do with the fact that they aren't supposed to be there, and more to do with the fact that plenty of them are hungry and they haven't been fed yet. Maids and butlers are busy polishing the floors and hanging up decorations, others still are buffing the windows and dusting the drapes. Patrols of guards march past, keeping an eye on the more important avenues of the castle, though most of these are centered around the formal dining room, where the king and his guests are about to have dinner.
Each room they pass is what they would expect from a castle of this size; marble pillars and floors, and thick stone walls. The ceilings are high, and considering how long the construct has been standing in the kingdom, it carries with it a distinct, musty note of age. They pass the large library and a few sitting rooms, but they are narrow and modest in size, much like the rest of the rooms in the interior of the palace, save the cellars and the kitchen, though that was understandable - left over in the days when the castle fully expected a siege or several, and needed a hefty supply of food.
Cassidy eventually leads them to a wide hallway that appears newer than the rest, though not so new to suggest that the wing is a new construction - certainly compared to the rest of castle, it is, but stonework suggests it had been completed a few years ago. Situated in some of the most guarded parts of the palace, and sandwiched in walls within walls, the space in which the golems are securely housed prior to their grand display at the festival are kept under tight lock and key by two guards standing on either sides of the double doors. The master key dangles from a keyring in the ranking guard's belt.
There is probably no going around them sharing the same fate as the other pages the team have already victimized.
They do smell the ruined stew however. The ranking guard peers at the party. "That for us?" he wonders with a furrowed brow, pointing at the tureen. "Thought dinner was gonna wait for us back at the barracks as usual?"
<Pose Tracker> Noah Hawthorne has posed.
The ease with which Noah acclimated to the bustle and noise of a miserably hot and overcrowded kitchen evaporates off of him like the humidity of the bubbling kettles from his skin, and this happens the moment they pass into the depths of the castle itself. It's hardly an opulent palace, but the unavoidable veneer of aristocracy still hangs like a veil over everything. He's already shown marked and active disinterest in subjects concerning royalty before, and one supposes this is a related distaste. Hardly any surprise, really: Noah is about as far from prim and proper as it's possible to get on the spectrum of human behavior. One imagines spending a lifetime rooting around in dusty, muddy, dangerous forgotten places would set a man ill at ease with places like this, for lack of familiarity if no other reason.
They make brisk progress, though, and it isn't long before they're standing in front of a pair of doors with matching set of guards, these observing them with skepticism.
For all his subtle stiffness, Noah doesn't hesitate for a moment. Whatever he knows about the dynamics of nobility extends at least far enough to cover 'the way that help naturally reacts to people with greater authority than they have.'
"So..." He glances sidelong at his companions, then back at the guards. "You don't want it?"
Because my job, says that statement, isn't good enough for me to fight you on this, nobody is paying me shit, and a lot of other people want soup, and I honestly don't have the time or interest in convincing you to let me feed you, so whatever. And also, I'm not interested in what you're guarding. Not even a little bit.
<Pose Tracker> Jude Moshe has posed.
"Do you think they put rhinestones on the actual Mister Goiter?"
A troubling question that Jude Moshe lets linger in the open air before he comfortably goes along escorting the cart. He takes up the rear, tugging idly on his chef's coat as he looks one way or the next, that cheerily optimistic demeanor reasserting itself like it was a second skin as he offers a friendly wave here or there -- and offers meek, apologetic smiles to every jealous stare that comes their way.
He'd tell them it's definitely not worth getting envious over because it tastes like steaming garbage, but it might blow their cover.
Instead, he just subtly takes in the layout of the castle the deeper they go, commiting paths and halls to his memory. It is large, and stone-walled, and aged. Like he said: seen one castle, seen them all. It lends him a certain kind of familiarity to his walk, at least, and a decisive lack of interest in the old architecture.
It's only when they get to that decisively newer region that he starts to truly pay attention, looking at the guards in the distance. Two ahead. His head tilts, briefly, behind them, disguised as the slow cracking of his neck to relieve pent up pressure. It looks clear from there, as well, as far as he can see. But only two guards for the golems?
It's a thought that lingers in his mind but not in his smile when he greets those two guards with the most cheerful of waves. "Food's here!" he declares, chipper as a ray of sunshine. He looks to the cart as the guard's brow furrows. Towards the guard. He frowns in disappointment, rubbing the back of his head. "Aw. They don't want it? That's too bad. C'mon guys, let's bring it back," the redhead says, building off Noah's own words as he moves to take hold of the cart.
"I think I heard one of the other guards back there saying he'd take some--"
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
"Do you really want to know the answer to that question?"
Morgan's words are low and quiet as he pushes the squeaky cart, laden with the garbage stew and their hidden equipment behind him. He looks like a perticularly tall and lanky chef's assistant following behind Jude. So he plays the part, at least Cassidy seems to know where they are going.
The fox tries to keep his tail behaving too, but the thing does have a mind of its own sometimes. The towel over it helps, and the fact that everyone is busy keeps most of the heat off of him.
Its just damnably uncomfortable.
"Maybe they'll appriciate your work, chef." Morgan replies to Jude as the other Digger reaches for the cart. The story is already rolling, so he just snowballs right on with it.
"Just be careful of Squeakers here. One of the wheels stick. I'll just go ahead and push her on back..."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
They're starving. It's been busy. And they will probably die if they're not fed right at the present moment. While the guards' faces remain stoic at the food deliver guys' statements, a loud, undignified growl rumbles from the younger guard's stomach. He is shot with a look from his immediate superior.
"Alright," the man grouses, picking up a cup from the cart and handing it towards the kitchen staff. "Give it here, then."
The effects of the first sip are immediate.
Jude must've developed some kind of cast-iron stomach in his travels, but what didn't kill him in the kitchen is making a mess of a pair of guardsmen's stomachs as their complexion turns gray and chalky, and cups are placed on the cart as they run for the nearest loo. The older man brushes violently by Cassidy as he lurches forward, nearly tripping over the plush crimson runner lining the floor.
"YOUR STEW SUCKS!" yells the younger guard to Jude, as Morgan has handily heaped the blame on the red-haired reporter.
"YOU!" says the older guard to Cassidy. "KEEP WATCH UNTIL WE GET BA--HHRGGHH!!"
They hurry. Because the maids just cleaned this floor, and if either of them want to get laid again, they have to make it to the nearest bathroom.
"Yes, sir," Cassidy murmurs, before taking a few steps towards the double doors, spinning the master key in her fingers and fitting it into the lock. With a flourish, she pushes both doors open, as if she were entering some posh countryside villa's balcony and not a relatively new addition to Castle Adlehyde, and sweeps a welcoming bow to the rest of her team.
"After you, lads."
The chamber is massive.
It fits the pattern of the rest of Castle Adlehyde's architecture, to the point where those who are unobservant would easily identify this room as something that has always existed in the complex. Here, the ceilings are higher than anywhere else in the palace - at least, from the areas which they passed. There are no windows, the better to keep this area additionally secure. Save for the crown molding and the polished stone walls, the air smelling newer here than the antique varnish-laden musk and musty stone that dominate the rest of the castle, the temporary resting place of the Lolithia is relatively unadorned. The towering golem rises high from the floor; almost as tall as the double doors that the blonde conwoman had just pushed open. The ancient Elw monstrosity gleams with its copper-colored plating, with a tiny head and a puffed out chest. Large spikes protrude from its hands, calling forth images of relatively huge simians in the wild; the 'arms' extend almost all the way to its massive, platform-like feet.
And the moment they step inside, it's clear that the job is complicated already. Because it isn't alone.
Two other golems are flanking either sides of the Lolithia - a broader, squatter cousin encased in crimson plate, and one with a wide-legged stance, its armor faintly greenish slashed with gunmetal gray. Its protruding muzzle is reminiscent of a mounted cannon, if cannons ever came at this size, its arms resting flat in front, hunched over as if ready to charge.
Cassidy stares. She's only heard of the one.
"Ah, shite."
She has always been blessed and cursed with an expressive face. As the blonde takes a few steps in the room, waiting for the rest to follow, she slowly closes the double doors. They don't have a lot of time, but it's clear they've already underestimated the breadth of the job.
And something about the set-up is nagging her.
An uneasy look rests on her features as she takes a look at the room.
"Spent a week ingratiating myself as a new recruit," she tells them - working from the moment she and Noah decided that a sabotage was going to be necessary. "So I know there's nae any traps here, at least. Too many personnel going in and out tae study it and primp it up or whatever. Was wondering why there were so many people...until today. Never got a chance tae find my way intae this rotation, y'ken."
Her lips turn downward.
"But..."
<Pose Tracker> Noah Hawthorne has posed.
Cassidy is surprised by the presence of two additional Golems. Noah is momentarily surprised by that...and then he isn't. What he's surprised about, instead, is that there are only three, and not four.
"Lolithia," he says, pointing. Then, at the greenish, cannon-like Golem: "Barbados." And after an uncertain pause, his brows skew, and he points at the one in red plate. "...Diablo?" Not sure. to gauge from his tone. His brows skew toward one another. "So where is Leviathan?"
Because the truth is, Noah may have been incredibly hung over when he attended the Exhibition Fair at the lecture where things went very decidedly south in very short order, but that doesn't mean he didn't pay attention to the materials on offer. He is absolutely certain that they mentioned four Golems that would be in the unveiling.
The look on Cassie's face is what stops him from immediately hurling himself into their decidedly daunting task.
"What?"
Not rhetorical. There's something she doesn't like, and he wants to know what it is, because instincts -- his, sometimes other people's -- have kept him alive.
<Pose Tracker> Jude Moshe has posed.
Proud chef that he is (right now), Jude just looks confused as the two men look as if on the verge of hurling up all their internal organs. He rubs the back of his head as they blow back, knocked slightly to the side in the fervor of their rush.
"There's nicer ways to say that, y'know," he says, voice pitched just so to sound downtrodden as they go. And, in full commitment to the bit, he lifts the ladle and takes a slight, slurping sip of the contents, lips smacking just. So.
"... I mean, maybe it could use a bit more spices..."
And it's only once they've gone that he just drops the ladle back into the stew with a frown. "I'm never gonna hear the end of this from the other chefs." Sigh goes here.
Truly, he is committed.
Still, he is happy to follow after the rest, that facade bleeding away as he locks his hands behind the back of his head. His gait goes from spritely and vigorous to meandering and nonchalant, leaning into a nearby wall as they make their way into the main chamber. He looks up. He whistles.
"Wow," he utters, suitably impressed, and his voice echoes off the largely vacant halls. He looks around. From Lolithia, to Barbados, to Diablo, as Noah identifies each. His head tilts. He doesn't look surprised, per se, but he does cast a questioning stare Cassidy's way, only to catch that stare. Something feels off. About all this.
"Well," Jude says in lieu of anything else, crouching down to start freeing his toolkits from the really, really ridiculously good-looking cart that can't turn left without so much as missing a beat, "guess we oughta get to work one way or another, huh? We don't have a lot of time for deep musing. Is it gonna be a problem that Leviathan isn't here, Cassie?"
Seeming wholly unconcerned with the perturbing feeling that something's amiss.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
"Its too easy," Morgan's comment comes as he reaches up to pull the wrap off his head. His ears slowly unfold, snapping back and forth to see if he can catch any little hint in the room of something off. "Who leaves your countries biggest assets in the care of two guards, with no traps or tricks to catch a thief."
His eyes scan the room before falling on the giant machines of war with a frown. "I mean they could be counting on no one being able to get them out of here, but..."
But he wouldn't count on that.
"That would require the right biometric sequence to activate..." A frown then as he glances towards them. "...so basicly these things are magical AMWS." He's distracted as he thinks on the best way to go about wrecking them. Then he pauses as he realises what he just said. A glance out of the side of his eyes towards the others there before he adds. "Gears. They basicly are advanced, magical-based gears. From what I can tell at least. Ain't sure if they need a pilot, but they might need knees and elbows. If we can find maintaince hatches of some kind, might be able to work some kind of subtle sabotage to stop em from taking a stroll."
There is a glance back towards Cass then before he nods. "Only three...its defintally big enough for four..." He frowns again. "...well she's right. We ain't got time to find a fourth one right now."
Crouching down next to Squeaka the cart he pulls out the case he brought, sliding it open to reveal a selection of personal weapons and various tools.
"Look for weapon ejection ports, sensor hatches, some way to get at the guts of the thing. That'll be the easiest way to get some work in thats not noticed..."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
"It's nae that," Cassidy tells Morgan, when he says it's too easy. "Sommat else. Just...let me think about it for a second."
Is it gonna be a problem that the Leviathan isn't here, Cassie?
There's a small, if not somewhat helpless smile at Jude. "Probably," she tells him. "Even if we're able tae do what we can here, that means there'll still be one out there that's fully functional, ay? Dinnae know much about these things, but pretty sure one of them running around in full capacity's going tae be bad enough."
Pressing her fingertips to her lips, she blows a kiss to the rest of her crew. "Good luck, lads." There's a wary eye cast to the golems. "Better you all than me. Nae going tae chance touching those things and make it worse."
With that, she slips out from the double doors and shuts it quietly behind her.
As the rest of the boys start going towards the golems, there are plenty of panels. There are a few around the joints, as Morgan suggests, and it jives with what Noah had heard from Emma Hetfield when he and Cassidy had come for a consult. Still, it sounds like the fox-man knows what he is talking about also; Cassidy may have had the good fortune of having recruited some mechanically-able people for this specific enteprise.
The artifacts themselves are hardy, ancient, and old. It will take some brute force to even disengage the paneling in these massive behemoths - climbing will have to be necessary, as the knees are located a few feet off the ground for some of them, and the elbows are even higher. Weapon ports are not obvious, though they'll be able to find a few, and all protected by thick, metal paneling. Barbados' would be the most obvious of these, considering it's pretty much a massive turret with hands and feet.
Once a few are pried away, on each, they'll find....
A mess.
A mess of Elw technology, of the likes nobody has seen before in god knows how many centuries. Wires upon gears upon wires and circuits thread through any of those open panels in indiscernable patterns, symbols etched within boards lined with soldered blue-white metal. It would take experts years, and that's a conservative estimate, to even decipher what goes where. The team of three will have to make their best guesses in the best ways to sabotage these golems or, alternatively, if they aren't too confident in their efforts, somehow commit what they see to memory in the event of failure, in the event that they'll have to try and do this again at a different date.
The problem is that there is no guarantee as to what will happen after today.
Meanwhile, the blonde conwoman is outside, still frowning, still thinking. Emerald green eyes and gold flecks fall on the newer corridor, lashes falling closed over her eyes and taking a deep breath of an atmosphere different from the rest of the castle.
<Pose Tracker> Noah Hawthorne has posed.
Cassidy's uncertainty about whatever it is she believes is 'off' does nothing for Noah's confidence. The fact that she believes something is, and cannot lay her fingers on what, just tells him that whatever it is, it was likely intentional, and that's the worst kind of unforseen obstacle.
"Right," he says under his breath as the doors close behind them. He flicks a glance at Jude, then Morgan, and stoops to retrieve the tools bound around his right calf and ankle and the knife lashed to the other. the leather palette of tools he binds to his upper left arm for quick access and to leave his hands free; the knife sheath he secures to his belt, and then it's time to--
Ugh.
And then it's time to climb shit.
He opts to explore Lolithia itself, and demonstrates no hesitation at all in wedging that knife into seams between panels and using it to lever them violently open as necessary. No...all of his reluctance is held in reserve for damaging the complex, beautiful, mysterious inner workings of things that survived long centuries unmaimed, quiescent after their period of service in a bitter, bloody war. And now...
Hanging from one of the Golem's limbs, staring into the window that yields a view of its internal mechanisms, he sighs. "This is gonna hurt me more than it hurts you," he tells the Golem, and though that's intended to be a commentary on his regret over what needs to be done, it's also the expression of a private fear, because they are doing this blind. He is going to get in there like a petulant toddler and just begin wrecking whatever he can see that looks as though it can be disabled, and who can tell if it'll matter, ultimtely? Even his many years of doing this, taking things apart and putting them back together, didn't prepare him for what he's looking at now.
"They're primitive Gears actually," he tells Morgan conversationally as he reaches into the panel and just...begins...making terrible sounds in there. "Protogears. Historically speaking."
He may have missed the mysterious acronym. Maybe.
<Pose Tracker> Jude Moshe has posed.
So basically these things are magical AMWS.
Jude pauses in collecting his tools to stare at Morgan for a short, pensive moment.
Gears, he adds, and just like that Jude returns to work, as if nothing had even happened.
Pulling free a simple case, he pries it open and gets out his essentials. As he works, the shining head of the redheaded reporter's steadfast mechanical companion pokes out, looking around with wide, shuttering eyes. Jacob frees itself with a chirp, flying towards Diablo as Jude makes his preparations.
"They don't," he says, as Morgan wonders over their need for a pilot. "These things were automated. Human input would have just been a hinderance for what they were designed to do. You don't put a squishy human inside a machine to fight things that can casually punch through steel." His shoulders roll.
"So I've heard from books and legends, anyway. Who even knows what's true, really? Maybe you turn them on and they're just oversized robots designed to dance crazy all night long."
Jude Moshe -- ever-thoughtful.
"Considering some of the things you find in ruins, I wouldn't dismiss it out of hand."
Regardless, he rolls one shoulder and then the other and then makes his way towards Diablo. Without a word he grabs onto the leg of the machine and starts to scale up it, hopping from hip to hand and up the shoulder until he can get to the neck of the thing. He takes a moment to catch his breath as he sits upon the massive automaton, even as Jacob beside him curiously pecks at panels along the neck -- as if looking for weak points to be exploited.
"So, what's an AMWS?" the man decides to casually ask out of nowhere before inching his way towards the neck of the Golem. He produces what looks like a simple crow bar, looking for a loose panel to latch it onto before offering a simple out just as generously,
"Some kind of colloquialism?"
Hidden behind the head of the Diablo, that crow bar starts to heat up along the edge, suffused with magical energy until it just starts melting an opening into the strange alloy its made of.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
Pulling out a selection of tools as he slides a compact little harness for carrying them on his back the pilot starts towards Barbados. He hoists up on its knee, balancing and shimming up the hardened armor to find a pannel he can pry open.
Out comes a little camera from the tool belt to snap several pictures of the inner workings of the thing. The camera is lowered as he frowns at it.
"None of this makes sense." He grouses. "I mean Gears at least follow some kind of discernable pattern. Some kind of logic." A smirk. "I mean I hesitate to use that word arond this group but they do...this..." He gestures at it the guts of the machine. "...I'm not sure if its beautifully technical or just annoyingly haphazard."
Still he fishes his hand into the inner systems, pulling out one of those cards for a few more pictures. Then beginning to scratch though lines that might be important, subtly dislodge gears and systems that have sat there since time-out-of mind.
"Sorry ol' girl," He murmurs towards the machine. Part of him sad to treat them so, but the other part of him not wanting them to become a problem in the future.
"Er...AMWS? Yeah. Somethin' like that. Just something else to call a Gear. Pet name I guess, for the really old ones. Hope to get my hands on one of them one day."
"So. Unmanned protogears. I guess that makes sense if ya had to fight things like a Metal Dragon. Had to be some kind of desprite ingunity to get these things working."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
It doesn't take much brainpower to try and wreck as much as he can in that potentially vulnerable hinge the relic-hunter manages to find on the golem. Dead wires emit no spark when he dives into the relic and attempts to wreak as much havoc in its internal systems as he possibly can. It isn't much by way of strategy, but hopefully it is effective, and he manages to keep the paneling intact for him to return to the golem and leave no trace of his vandalism behind - until someone else opens it up anyway.
As Noah does his best three year-old impression against the Lolithia's thigh, Jude's trick with his crowbar enables him to melt off enough of the edges of Diablo's head plating just enough that he'll be able to pry it open the rest of the way with some effort. He would find much of the same thing Noah does once he's got his paneling out - a mess of ancient Elw technology that would take about a lifetime to decipher, considering how long it has been since these things have seen the light of day. There's no possible way he'd be able to understand it in the time they have, at least with the know-how he has, but he at least has a camera bird that's handy with a few things than just standing there and singing pretty.
Morgan finds a mess in his open panel as well, and the quiet snaps of his picture-taking fill the room, freezing the inner-workings of ancient Elw technology in his film sheets as he fastidiously records them before dismantling whatever he can find. Much like Noah's efforts, there are no sparks, a clear suggestion as to what the men in the room already know - these things will absolutely not move without specific biometrics, though one has to wonder what these things use as a power source. They might even be worrying for nothing, considering just how dead the circuits seem.
But they're rogues, on some degree or another. No other type of character is more familiar with the idea that looks can be utterly deceiving.
And speaking of rogues...
The doors crack open once again and the blonde conwoman slips back inside, having found a break within the moving patrols to chance sneaking back into the workspace of the rest of her crew. Her brow is knitted over and as she shuts the doors behind her, she leans against them. Emerald eyes take in the room they're in with a fresh look, now that she's spent a good amount of time staring at the newer corridors of the castle and breathing its air.
And now, here in this room. This massive chamber that's also new, but not too new. Bigger than the rest of the chambers in the castle, tall enough to house three or four golems. Even the doors are big, if not just to...
To...
"This entire part of the castle has been around for a few years," she tells the rest. "Obviously not as old as the rest of the palace, but it's not too recent, and the dimensions....they fit. Even the door. You can fit these things through perfectly. Newer, ay, but not new." She gestures to the golems.
"Dinnae want tae sound paranoid, lads, but for shite that's supposedly just been found, I think His Majesty's been planning this for a while."
<Pose Tracker> Noah Hawthorne has posed.
One panel down, Noah is ascending to the one on the opposite side when the door opens. The way he lifts the hand holding that knife suggests the very real possibility that he's prepared to throw it if the wrong face comes poking through that splitting seam.
Lowered, inserted into the panel when it turns out to be Cassidy, back to the work at hand.
He listens in silence as she lays out the realization she's had, and glances up to examine the height of the doors, the height of the golems. She tells them that this wing isn't actually newly constructed, and that's news that quirks one of his brows.
"Well," he says, "Lolithia was found by Hetfield..." His expression tightens as he mangles things inside of that very thing, tendons and sinews standing out on forearms as he warps, bends, and rips whatever is within reach. "But I don't know about the others, and I probably should've made it a point to find that out." His exhale is self-chastizing. That's his wheelhouse; therefore, his fault. He sheathes the knife, closes the panel, and begins to descend. "I'm gonna blame the liquor from Lunar, though."
Booted feet hit the floor. He dusts his hands on the outsides of his thighs and casts a curious look after the other two saboteurs. "I want some of those, Newkirk," he says, of the pictures.
<Pose Tracker> Jude Moshe has posed.
"Huh, neat," and with that aside for Morgan, Jude just gets back to work. Jacob, above, shutters the lenses of its eyes; when they reopen, they zoom in on the inner wiring and strange, archaic architecture of the golem beneath its would-be metal flesh, head cocked curiously. Jude looks back to the bird, and nods once; it takes flight, to look over more of the thing, even as he casually shoves his hand inside those workings.
The soft sound of sputtering sparks goes largely muted against wiring as the respectable reported fries out inner circuitry and wiring without so much as a second's thought.
"The people who made this stuff don't use the same mechanical principles we do," Jude explains to Morgan. "According to what I've managed to find on the subject, all this stuff is more like a fusion of magic and... I dunno. The natural world, or something." He shrugs helplessly as he drags away from the neck of the behemoth towards the shoulder, this time doing the dirty work of prying open a panel by hand as Jacob swings past Lolithia, watching as Noah does his tragic butchery of an ancient relic with the lifeless flicker of lenses.
"Y'know, I heard these Elws have like... weird--"
But whatever he was going to say is cut off by Cassidy's entrance. Amber eyes blinking, Jude looks up just as he pries free another panel. "Something up?" he asks, the hand holding his crowbar subtly relaxing as he watches her just lean, and... think. His head tilts.
"... Guess I could see how you'd be paranoid about that," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "You mentioned some kinda prophecy nonsense, right?" No, he still doesn't take much stock in that. "These people are really, really, really obsessed with Guardian worship in these parts -- have you seen the Curan Abbey before, I mean the women there are just -- anyway, the point is, you get a prophecy of doom, and you think the planet's got a bunch of ghosts stuffed inside it like a jack in the box ready to spring," really, really doesn't put much stock into it, "you take that kinda thing seriously, right? Gathering all these lost weapons of mass destruction, bringing them all into one place..."
He leans back against the Diablo, staring up at the ceiling. "... That sounds like someone trying to build a very dangerous bomb shelter, to me."
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
"Sure sure, Hawthorne. I'll even give ya the friends and family discount," Comes the light banter from the fox as he dangles and stares at the odd workings of the interior of the gear. There is a grin on his face though, even as he ascends higher. Towards the towering gun-arms of the Golem.
Even if he can't puzzle it out, he wants to at least get a look inside those workings too.
Call it professional curiousity.
He grunts slightly as he moves higher, pulling himself up on one of the arms as he works at a pannel.
Again the camra comes to work before he starts to dismantle things that he...really should not be touching.
"We have no idea how any of these really work do we?" The question isn't an honest one. He knows the answer. "...I mean they look dead. But we have no idea how they are powered. Would help if we could figure that bit out, nothing takes care of a Gear other than taking the batteries out."
He's chattering as he works, but the entrence of Cassidy and the discussion of why this room even exists causes him to pause momentarily.
"Curan Abbey? Never been there." Maybe he should visit. But thats can wait till later. There is a frown though as he glances around the building. "...bomb shelter, or weapons bunker I wonder. If they could get the Golems working about, would be a hell of a deterient to anyone that wanted to try to knock on their door."
A pause as he finishes with this pannel, trying to decide where to go next.
"When did them Gebler folks show up and start making everyone nervous? If its around the same time could have had something to do with it."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
HALF AN HOUR AGO:
King Justin's guard captain is a no-nonsense man in his middle years, having paid his dues in the frontlines of a few wars in his youth. He served with distinction and when he was promoted as the man in charge of His Majesty's safety, his sterling reputation was already as such that nobody batted an eyelash - everyone else in the kingdom had seen it coming a mile away. But as with any career that involves bloodshed and clandestine dealings, it understandably takes a toll, and a man in his position must do what he must to keep himself physically, mentally and emotionally functional to carry on such a great responsibility.
So when a letter arrives to him by way of a trusted courier, and sees the familiar script at the back of the envelope that belongs to his alienist, he wastes no time breaking the seal and opening it. Its contents have him rising from his chair, his dinner forgotten. He barks immediately for his most trusted lieutenant.
A FEW MINUTES AGO:
The quiet search he has instructed his lieutenant to undertake yield a few discoveries - a couple of guards inundated suddenly with a case of food poisoning the likes the castle doctor has never seen, and not one, or two, but three of the kitchen staff bound and gagged in one of the kitchen's many pantries. Once the poor page bound up in turkey twine has been released, he clutches onto the guard that frees him with a sob, traumatized beyond belief. The story spills out. It is decidedly bizarre.
And while the stories are similar from the other two victims, the men weren't the same. Three different men mugged three different kitchen staff members for their clothes.
"I thought he was going to molest me," weeps Morgan's victim. Catching looks of skepticism from the guards, he huffs. "Oh come on. That's not so hard to believe, is it? I happen to be a very handsome man. Who wouldn't want to marry this ass?"
With the thread unraveling quickly, at the very least the fox man has been spared a seventeenth marriage.
NOW:
"Nae any way tae have figured we'd be embroiled in a scale like this, luv," Cassidy tells Noah as he hops down from the Lolithia, his work done. "Dinnae even know there were four found until the lecture, and dinnae even know three of the four are here. Fact that there's one unaccounted for is making my skin crawl."
Emerald eyes find Jude in the midst of his butchery of the Diablo, nodding once in confirmation. "Ay," she says, of the prophecy. "Was nae privy tae the details as tae how Fatima found out or who his source is, but you and I already talked about magic being most probably involved." His words about Curran Abbey has her furrowing her brows at him; not a devout woman and even a proponent of many hedonistic defilements, understandably she has probably not spent too much time in the Abbey's premises.
That sounds like someone trying to build a very dangerous bomb shelter to me.
"What I'm wondering more is why there's nae been any warning tae his subjects. We're doing all this sneaking around trying tae make sure we survive what's coming, and incidentally the rest as well." As Noah pointed out, with surprisingly sage wisdom, that heroism is occasionally a series of selfish intentions that somehow coincide with greater interests. "But nae a peep from the god damn monarchy tae batter down the hatches and stay out of the bloody way." Open disgust twists her features, potent and furious in its surprising vehemence, her disdain for authority of all kinds apparent in her expression and rooted on reasons so dark that she viscerally shies away from them most days.
Morgan's question is a good one, but she lets the two other men field it - she knows Noah had recently come from Aveh, and Jude makes it a point to be up-to-date on current events as a journalist. She instead cracks the door open to peer outside, catching a flurry of activity on the other end of the hall.
"If we're finished here, we better hurry and get out of here," she tells them. With that, she moves to slip out.
<Pose Tracker> Noah Hawthorne has posed.
Talk of prophecy has Noah watching Jude sidelong, pensive and even slightly troubled interest there. He brushes off Morgan's remark about paying the friend and family rate -- in the end, Noah's usual tactic is to make giving him what he wants considerably less time-consuming, expensive, and infuriating than trying to charge him for it, and he's very good at that -- and by the time Morgan gets around to mentioning Gebler, he's too busy bending down to strap those tools and that knife back into their hidden places under his trouser legs to answer -- if he even knows.
And then there's a muffled echo of something happening further up the hall as Cassidy opens the door, and the time to depart is nigh. He gives the other two a glance, then makes good on the departing, following the blonde without another word.
<Pose Tracker> Jude Moshe has posed.
Feeling the weight of Noah's stare on him, Jude just diligently continues his work, spoiling the circuitry of the Diablo's interior with a few delicate, careful prods of his crowbar.
WHACK
WHACK
WHACK
Cautious and--
WHACK
-- considerate.
"It's not that big a deal that you didn't know about 'em, Cassie. Adlehyde made a pretty big effort to keep them out of the public eye until the exhibit was announced. The excavations were all done discreetly. Prying eyes, and all that." His words are conversational as he continues, getting on his feet to carefully navigate his way to the other shoulder of the immense mechanical war relic. "Can you really blame him for not telling people about that whole prophecy nonsense, though? He just goes out one day and says, what? 'The spirits in the sky tell me you're all gonna be dead and this city's gonna be a crater. Oh, they mentioned cataclysm. A lot.' Best case, people just think he's crazy and he probably has to give the reigns up to his daughter or something. Worst case... they believe him. And then what?"
He pauses at the head of the metal beast, staring down at it with furrowed brows. His eyes shut, and he shrugs an ambivalent shrug. "Not to be cynical, but people aren't the best at processing bad news, especially when they're all mobbed up. He probably did what he thought was best. Like every person who's ever screwed up in life."
With that, he makes his way over to the other shoulder joint to begin his work anew, grabbing up some pliers even as Morgan poses that question.
"Gebler? Pretty recently. Officially, anyway. There were rumors about strange Gears helping out Aveh maybe a year back? But until a few months ago it was just that. Then their Prime Minister makes a big announcement..." Jude finishes his work, whistles, and works on making his way back down as Jacob follows Cassidy towards the door. Jude hits ground, and follows after, the same leisurely pace as ever.
"... and I'll give you a gella if you can guess what Adlehyde announces barely even a couple months after that."
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
For the record. MORGAN DID NOT MOLEST ANYONE.
Thank you.
The fox closes up his last panel and drops to dangle from the massive weapon before dropping. Bouncing off the knee of the Golem to come to a suprisingly light landing by its foot. He dusts himself off, slipping his tools back into their places before starting to repack them.
"No room in here, and it would cause a panic. But yeah. Doesn't seem very neighborly ta not warn anyone if you had prior knowldge." A glance towards Cassidy. "And apparently you're not the only one that did. Gwen was warning people something is coming too."
But then things are happening outside and leaving seems the thing to do, stepping up to slip back in his disguise. Hiding his most distinguishing features, that is his ears, again.
He clicks the case shut to stow it again. "I'm gonna go with 'Hey guess what we have in the basement!'." Morgan smirks in reply before he sighs slightly. "So prophecy or something similar started the building, Gebler made them nervous enough to announce it. And in a day or two...something else will happen that makes it even worse."
A sigh as he looks back to the huge machines behind them.
"Well. I hope what we did helps with something."
Then he's moving towards the door, following the lady 'guard' and the group of rogues.
The closest thing he has to family.
...terrifing ain't it?
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
"Nae one tae understimate the power of stupid people in large groups, luv," Cassidy tells Jude, stubborn to the core, when they join her at the door. "But nae preparations whatsoever? Nae even the kind of shite Noah's been busting his arse tae do in the last week? Would think if there was, Morgan at the very least would have known about it, being part of the Guild. But there was nae, was there? It's..."
She purses her lips, and lets it go, waving a hand to the side. "S'pose that's nae my problem. Just the same old shite in the same old trash fire, as far as they're concerned." Though there is a curious look towards Morgan as they all vacate the chamber, sealing the door shut and moving down the hall. "Who the bloody hell's Gwen?" she wonders.
Though the moment she asks that question, the moment they step out of the hallway leading into the rotunda...
Guards that are just about to enter that hallway pause. Rifles out and glowering at the group, ARMS are trained towards their direction. With a dead end waiting for them somewhere behind them, there's always the option of fighting their way out and making a break for it.
But there are quite a few of them, and the consequences of shedding blood inside the palace are many and dire.
"Them!" cries one of the recently released pages. "That's the one who trussed me up!" A pointing finger towards Morgan.
"YOU!!" cries one of the guards, the one who claimed, earlier, that Jude's stew sucks, pointing an accusatory finger right at the red-haired reporter's way. "My ass feels like ground beef, what the hell kind of chemical warfare did you put in that tureen?!"
"Hands in the air!" the ranking guard demands. "On your knees! You, drop your god damn rifle!" The last to Cassidy.
"....fook me running," the blonde conwoman mutters, slowly extricating the firearm from her shoulder, and her fingers lifting up slowly in a clear move to surrender. Heart jackhammering fiercely against her sternum, she slowly lowers herself on her knees. The rifle finds the floor, and with a push, the gun slides across the marble floor.
And looming above them all is the gaudy, large, black and rhinestone-covered Mister Goiter, his frozen, flaring nostrils and marble eyes glowering down at them.
For a horse that's not even alive anymore, it's got a very judgmental face.
<Pose Tracker> Noah Hawthorne has posed.
"People in charge don't always give a-- "
Noah's expression of disdain for not only authority but also privilege may never find expression. It clips off abruptly as they round the corner of the hall and come face to face with Adlehyde's finest (?).
To his everlasting credit his expression remains more or less the same, unusually stoic for a man who prefers cutting smiles and quick winks. All that enters it is a bizarre, fleeting flicker of annoyance, there and gone again in a heartbeat and a half.
It could be worse. They could have been caught in the act, rather than emerging from the hall. As long as they don't think to check Morgan's camera, one supposes the crimes they could be charged with will be few enough in number.
Maybe.
He pulls a long breath down into his lungs, lifts his hands, and then slowly drops down to his knees with all of the controlled grace of someone for whom this sequence of movements is very familiar indeed. And still, he says nothing.
<Pose Tracker> Jude Moshe has posed.
"Who knows? Make moves like you guys too early, and maybe it's all for nothing, or maybe you just end up doing exactly what the prophecy wanted you to do. Prophecies are a pain in the ass that way." Jude Moshe's hands lift up helplessly as Jacob perches upon a ledge near the door.
"Not really my concern either way. King Justin of Adlehyde's no doubt deeply troubled and profound thoughts about cataclyms and excessively inbred horses with rhinestone asses aren't really why I'm tangled up in this mess."
Amber eyes slide Cassidy's way for a brief moment. There's the vague hint of a smile there on his lips as the doors open--
-- and that smile is wiped clean by the presence of the rifle barrel he currently finds himself staring down. And the long jab of a condemning finger.
A second passes. His brows scrunch up.
"... How do you even know what ground beef would feel like--"
Hands in the air! On your knees!
Those amber eyes squeeze shut. Jude heaves a sigh. And with deliberate slowness to indicate he's no threat, Jude sinks down onto his knees, locking fingers at the back of his head as he's done so many times before, but now for entirely different reasons.
... Well. Mostly different.
"Hey hey, c'mon now -- I feel like I shouldn't be held responsible for someone's poor intestinal fortitude--"
Don't stare at him like that, Mister Goiter.
It's not his fault you're so hideously inbred.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
Almost out. ALMOST OUT. ALMO--
Nope.
The guards come around the corner and Morgan pauses. Sighs. Slowly raises his hands above his head. "I told you that you shouldn't add that old family recipie of ten special herbs and spices." The fox angles towards Jude as he too links his fingers behind his head and slowly sinks to his knees.
"...well." A pause. "...I guess I was needing a rest. I supose we have to think of this as a vacation eh?"
Always look on the bright side of life.
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
In that split-second before they're forced on their knees, at the very moment his gilded stare moves over to her, the redhead would find Cassidy's eyes already on him, her own smile on her lips. Glade-green irises with their golden fragments are eloquent in their determination....and apology. As always with the most telling things about her, the look is fleeting, like a spectre glimpsed at the corner of one's eye before it's gone again the moment a person turns around.
Soon, the cold clasp of shackles find their wrists, forced at gunpoint to head to the other side of the castle and down winding steps lit by torches towards the cells, their gear confiscated, including Morgan's camera, though the guards do not appear to be interested in digging into that just yet. Jacob is nowhere in sight; typically the most competent member of the party whenever the foursome are together, the mechanical automaton has made itself scarce, it seems, the moment the guards came calling.
They are ushered in separate cells, bars slamming and keys jiggling into locks, before they're left to await their respective visits to the castle's interrogation rooms. Undoubtedly, these would be delayed, considering the palace is mired in its preparations for the main Exhibit.
Meanwhile, in the distant horizon, glimpsed through barred windows too narrow to kiss them with freedom, glowing and stark in the deepening darkness of the evening, fire starts to fall from the sky....
TO BE CONTINUED