The Visitation - Part Two

[rubyrubyruby]

Bolted to a nearby beam there is a rough assemblage of levers along with a rope arranged similar to a dumbwaiter. There's some moisture along the rope, and others that descend into the darkness below. Rhythmic puffs of hot air issue out from somewhere down there and rise slowly up the shaft in faintly visible vapour. Down there...a scraping noise and the movement of shadows. A sound like an intake of air, echoed by a handful of others. Snuffling sounds as animals starting to rouse. The noises coming from down there are dull and muffled, obscured by a heavy atmosphere.

Sidonie approaches the opening of the shaft and examines the lift. She grips the wall and leans her head to look down, hoping to maybe see whatever conveyance is attached to the dumbwaiter levers. Her voice is very quiet, meant to only reach those immediately in her vicinity. "Fishy business, this. Maybe we can get down there."

Merrisol touches each of the levers in turn, while the surgeon peers down into the darkness. "I could bring the car back up.." he offers, "though the noise would warn whoever used it of our following. What's strange about wet footprints on a rainy day, if you don't mind me asking?" Perhaps he could think on the strangeness for himself, but it would help to know what she's thinking. With a nod to the set of taut cables running straight downwards, he hand-signals the suggestion that they climb down to the level all stealthy-like.

Wynter makes her way into the room with a flame in her palm as light. She's not seen or heard any strangeness as of yet, having recently been trumpped over by Ruby. She pauses apon entering the room and glances over those gathered. "Greetings?" She asks in an unsure hello. "What goes?"

With the amount of cross-beams making up the cargo shaft, one could very well travel down it, if one is nimble or has a penchant for the swashbuckling attributes, with varying degrees of stealth or panache.

Sidonie whispers to Merrisol, "It might be nothing. But somebody has stolen medical equipment in the middle of the night and is sneaking about this ship down unsafe, rickety rope shafts. Either they are doing something dangerous, or they need help, or both. Either way, I'd like to find out." She looks back to see Wynter enter, and holds her finger to her lips for quiet. "Investigating a theft, Miss Wynter. We're going to go down a bit to check." She nods to Merrisol and gestures to the cross-beams. Ready if you are.
Long distance to Moxon: Ruby would collect the Frig out of stuff if I won a lottary.

Merrisol checks that his equipment is still secure on his harness, nodding to Wynter. "Alleged theft," he says, but tips a sober wink, still up for going down. "Suppose it's quite odd for anyone to need *all* the tools on any given job," he decides quietly. He gauges the tension of the ropes, then opts to step onto the scaffolding instead, for now. Plenty of that to go around. Leaning out, he grabs and puts his weight on the far beam before swinging down to drop to the dimness of the next beam down. And so on, with care, to reach the roof of the lift.

Wynter lets the small flame go out and she sighs softly. "I can't believe this ship. It's far to large for it's own good. And packed with children!" She stiffles her own voice and sighs once again, moving to the edge of the shaft and stepping off onto the air with words spoken aloud. She hovers in the center of the shaft, looking down after checking up.

The thick timbers that make up the shaft don't creak a bit as they're used as an over-large ladder. They're big and stout and connected to the superstructure. Passing down multiple decks, one can peer down similar hallways that are purported to harbour critters bound for Ruby's home shadow. When she's said she wanted to reseed or jumpstart the diminished realm...she wasn't kidding. Like all ships, it leaks a little. And the deeper you go means a greater chance of slick wood, mold and whatnot. Too much ship to keep completely pristine.
The shaft doesn't travel too much farther upwards, if one is looking. The lift terminates level with the main deck, and the alcove in the upper ceiling has more pulleys and coils of ropes on cogs than theatre rigging.
Descending, the shadows are not so thick and reveal the platform lurking at the very bottom of the shaft. Wet footprints and spatterings of moisture can be seen, along with bits of damp feathers. There are two means of exiting the shaft on that bottom level: One going towards the bow and one towards the stern. The footprints lead towards the bow and there are dozens upon dozens of stables occupying either side of the hull if one traverses that way.

Sidonie chooses a rope closest to a side beam and grabs onto it, using it to swing to the closest crossbeam. She clings to it for a moment, the sound of her breathing feeling extraordinarily loud in her ears. Once she feels like her head has stopped spinning after a leap she had only guessed she had the skill for, based on an overwhelming gut feeling, she works her way down with increasing ease. Ever couple of timbers she pauses to look about in wonder, upwards then into the decks containing home-bound animals. Extra care is taken as they move progressively downwards due to the slickness of the timbers. Once she reaches the platform at the bottom of the shaft, she notices the footprints. "Just exploring, right?" she says to herself, now having doubts about this enterprise.

Merri's descent consists of straightforward hangs and drops, no flippy-do's that might let knick-knacks skitter from his pockets or rattle the gear on his harness. After passing down three more deck levels of the dark, musky zoo, he crouches, running his gaze preoccupiedly between Sidonie and Wynter. Once they are within soft conversational range, he relays, "Critters are restless on this floor. Still doing alright, however.." He shadows the others to the next level down, then pauses, frowning as he makes empathic sense of the scattered vocal noise from the sleepless menagerie, "They're spooked.." he whispers, looking more convinced now by Sidonie's original suspicions. Then the next floor down, perched just above the drop to the grimy platform, he looks all around with alarm, perhaps no longer needing to whisper. If the bump of bodies caroming around stalls and the echoing squeals and grunts aren't indication enough, he says definitively, "Something's very wrong... on this deck," he gestures to the opening of the corridor leading to the ark's fore, despite the platforming hanging out on the very bottom level. "One of us should check below, the others head off the threat through here," he advises, making ready to drop the rest of the way down.

Wynter nods slowly to Merri as she comes even with him. Waiting until he is headed down to join Sidonie and the two are out of sight before moving along the beast strewn passage. She glances about at the sounds and movements of uneasy beasts, trying not to look to hard at critters that don't seem normal but on guard as well. One never knows with the beasts that Ruby finds. One only has to look to her ship and it's strange plant guards after all. Wouldn't do to be eaten on the way to cutting the thief off at the pass.

Unhelpfully, there aren't any lights lit near the stables. As it's so late, the standard practice is to keep it dark to ensure the critters get proper rest. The shaft does have hooks for lanterns, but they've been recently extinguished and their wicks are soaked.
The stalls that Wynter passes on her alternate route are full of subdued critters. They barely seem to breath, like they're holding their breath due to some invisible tension. The hush there is doubled where Sidonie and Merri stalk along. Each stall is a shadowed nook where each of the animals must be lurking at the very back of the hull and avoiding the hallway. The bottom level, following soggyfeets the air holds a coppery scent that wrestles with the scent of manure, feed and general muskiness of animals for dominance of the olfactory senses.

If one has keen peepers, thin rivulets of blood can be seen trickling, impossibly, from each of those stalls on the bottom level, threading in random curves and arcs, following the deck no matter how the ship may be tilting. Easy to miss as they are so miniscule.

Just wishful thinking on her part, then. Now that they are sure there's something very not kosher going on below deck of the Fleet's most valuable ship, the frown on Sidonie's face deepens. "They went that way. Footprints," she confirms to Merrisol and tilts her chin fore-side. Not waiting for him to land, just knowing that he'll catch up, she makes her way down the hallway. She goes progressively slower though, as what little light available from the shaft is farther and farther away. She holds one hand out to guide her, the other rests on the pommel of her cutlass. She does not see the blood at first, but she smells it all around her as she steps on the trickling threads, and it makes her pause and squint down at the floor. "What..." she whispers low in dismay.

Merrisol comes up as a faint silhouette against what meagre light trickles down the shaft they've left behind. He's peering into the occupied stalls, whispering low greetings infused with gentle earnest to invoke an emotional response from the miserable creatures cowering within. When Sidonie appears to take dire interest in the thick planking of the floor, he hunkers down, his right hand cupped over his left fist, to shield somewhat the effect of what happens next. A veiny network of inked designs over the back of his left hand that hadn't been observed before now, pulses into a steady white glow that casts a fair amount of light over Sidonie's discovery. The trickle of blood, where it comes from, where it's going, and also the evidence further along the corridor that much more than one animal has suffered some amount of harm. The light snuffs after they have seen enough. "Let's keep going," he urges Sidonie.

RPG: Merrisol declares that he owns this token:
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Author: Ruby Held By: Merrisol
Date: Sat Apr 18 13:01:48 2015 Focus: 3
Title: Merri's Flesh Light
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Token Description

Circling Merrisol's left wrist like a cuff is a sampling of reef coral, tattooed to his skin with artful realism. Mint green blending to depths of azure bring out the ruffles and rucks of texture that are purely illusory. Lighter accents of rose lace coral, a delicate and pale species which spreads in many angular branches, dangle onto the top half of his hand. They are fairly stark upon his deep tan, and the middle most ornament in particular tends to resemble a complex fork of lightning whose path happens trace the main vein of the hand. It reveals itself to /be/ that thunderbolt when the tattoo's power is invoked, causing it to flash on his skin before fading to a mere after-image. Ancillary to the main effect, the lace coral can be made to grow out in longer branching polyps until the design covers the expanse of his hand, including some delicate wisps beyond each knuckle. Further directed concentration results in the lattice developing a glow that builds to a radiant light source, as though his whole hand is sizzling with deadly bio-electrical currents.

Wynter floats along at a slow walking pace,trying to match the pair underneath her. Once she gets a good distance in she pulls her blade and increases her flight speed dramaticly until she is at yet another vertical shaft just like the one the trio came down in.
She pauses then, ear cocked to try and listen for anything above the animal sounds. Not hearing anything she lifts her blade above her head in both hands and begins to float down to the lower level. And once there her golden blade bursts into a pair of flames that wraps tightly around the metal, brightening the darkness and chasing away the shadows.

On the bottom level...
Up ahead a glow of light builds.
Gaining upon the source of the footprints from behind...and Wynter's heading-them-off-at-the-pass, a brazen introduction of more light will reveal quite a bit:
A small procession is solemnly making their way towards the bow. A figure in a glistening robe can be perceived stiffly leading two shorter individuals that are holding aloft simple bowls. Mahogany coloured, the leading figure is making those wet footprints, and the rivulets of physics-defying blood join into tributaries that snake to those holding the bowls. When the blood gets close enough to their heels (that levitate a scant few inches above the deck), they flow upwards to collect in the simple chalices. Ragged veiny structures that should be covered with wings sprout from the two gaunt cherubs that obediently follow.
Halos of glinting steel that slowly orbits them. They consist of pilfered medical instruments of the very sharp and serrated kind. As they pass the stalls on port and starboard, there's the sound of hoofs scrabbling to either stand or move within...and then just stop. A sudden ~fip~ sound precedes a quiet wheezing of an animal into silence. The figure in the lead has an index finger held to their lips in a constant ~shhhh~ gesture, giving benedictions to the left and right. Coppery scents build in the air, competing with the whiffyness of manure and animals.

The briefly flashing sight of the bloody design on the deck floor makes Sidonie's heart lurch, and she instinctively and briefly grabs at Merrisol's arm in dismay. The amazing flashlight tattoo on the man's man is noted, something to gawk at in delight at another time maybe. She lets go of Merrisol's arm and does as he suggests, time to keep going.
The flash of additional light from Wynter's fiery blade reveals an even more horrifying sight. Sidonie unsheathes her blade. What is that!

Merri shades his eyes against the flare ahead since they're already seeing spots from his own light stunt. At first it looks like the culty culprits have begun to glow like the angelic figures they resemble, but then Wynter's form below the lofted sword becomes discernible and the pirate captain grins sharply with the realization that they have indeed managed to corral the interlopers at both ends of the passage. As the details of the blood magic are rendered more starkly, his mood darkens accordingly, and he starts down the passage towards the group while tugging the spring mechanism of his harness to release a brass hook on a metal chain into his left hand. The saber stays sheathed, too long a blade to be good in a corridor fight. "Harm one more creature.. your own blood will join theirs!" he shouts his presence to their backs.

It takes Wynter a moment to take in the details as the light of he blade soaks into the passageway. Her feet come in contact with the deck and her face is grim as she notes the use of magic and blood together.
Another word and the flames from her blade drop to the deck where they hiss against the dampness and rise up like serphants, heads bobbing softly and attention apon the cultists. "I have to agree with Master Merrisol. Yield. Now."

The holy procession stops their tour of the deck when they're revealed and accosted. The creepy trio must have been serenely walking the decks in the pitch black, bloodletting a sampling of penned beasts and collecting the blood in the wooden chalices. A tithe of life sustaining fluids from animals that are unable to do anything to defend themselves from deadly sharp blades that sought them out unerringly in the inky darkness.
The skeletal cherubs follow like zombies, albeit floaty ones, tugged along by invisible tethers like the creepiest of low-flying kites. Their hooded robed leader is a woman, lovingly carved from wood, but capable of movement. The wood is animated somehow, though the carven fabric does not stir as would maleable garmets. The grains of the rich wood are like veins. She looks like she could very well strike an impressive pose at the front of some mighty vessel under different circumstances. There are gouges along her robes and torso that ruin the craftsmanship of her, suggesting having been on the receiving end of some brutal melee. And she's trailing seawater from these dramatic wounds, which allow her to leave such a copious trail of footprints.
The cherubs make movements to offer their chalices towards their leader, whose free hand starts to reach in answer. The scalpels and other bladed instruments are fewer, but spin in faster and faster orbits, making audible sounds in the air with their passage.
The animals not yet reached by the group start stamping their feet and bleating in alarm. Their hooves and feet making dull clompy-stomps, their eyes rolling in their sockets, showing white.

No point in letting this go on. Once it becomes clear the bloody trio is not going to answer, Sidonie runs up and launches into an attack at the closest ghastly cherub without a word. She goes for the closest one to her, the one on the right, in an upsward slashing swing of her blade.

RPG: Sidonie challenges a difficulty of 8. Sidonie chooses Resolve and the gifts STY-PI and STY-SW. Sidonie succeeds.

Merrisol stays to his side of the hallway, giving Sidonie all the room she needs to tear through and offer some what-for to the holies. They may technically have ceased the puncturing of animal hide, but the already collected blood looks like it's going to be bad news. Perhaps worse than the painful promise of those bristling halos. Lengthening his stride to keep pace with the fighty surgeon and her fabulous cutlass, he draws another length of chain loose from his back, then launches the hook from his hand to shoot between the hovering servants in an attempt to knock at least one of the chalices from their claws.

RPG: Merrisol challenges a difficulty of 9. Merrisol chooses Force and the gifts STY-PI and STY-SW. Merrisol succeeds.

Wynter's blade goes to the on guard position as the blades that whilr around the wooden woman remain the first obvious threat. Her snakes of flames remain poised and ready, the 'trio' blocking the way towards the bow firmly. "I think I'm not letting you get to the front of this ship, cast-off. No.. no I am not." Her lips begin to curl at the ends in a vicous kind of grin. Two words are barked form her "Deorsum Inspiratione!" And the air preasure within the passageway changes, making ears pop. A violent thrust of air pounding downwards apon the wooden woman and her blades, trying to force her and her weapons to the deck.

RPG: Wynter declares that she has the Mastery of Air (ARC-MA) gift.

There is an attempt to intercept Sidonie's blade by the whirling dervish that creates a horrible halo on one of the servants of the Martyr. The devout attempt to offer forth the ghastly chalice is cut short when the cutlass kills the servant. The cup 'o blood falls from hands that go claw-like and twitchy. The only blood spilt is that which was collected, but the wounds suffered upon the creepy blood-collector are grevious and it careens upwards with the slash, is lifted a few inches and then lurches hard to the floor amongst a clattering of random blades that spin themselves in a myriad of directions. Duck! The whirlwind spins apart with an expediture of vitality that was lacking in the defeated cherub's form.
The serene expression on the hooded Martyr becomes gravely displeased.
It becomes downright disgusted when Merrisol's hook streaks out and strikes the other chalice of ruby red liquid. The crime scene murder splashes of the crimson fluid create wild sprays like abstract wings of a bird in flight, radiating from where the trio stands. The carven woman cannot appreciate the coincidal artistry of the moment when the offerings have been denied her. An outstretched hand still awaiting the sacrifice...closes and produces a squeal of pressure and friction.
As Wynter drops the hammer on all those spinning or wildly flying deadly projectiles, the remaining levitating cherub collapses inwards. Its resolute attempt to stay upright means it is caught between its divine oaths and Wynter's mastery of air. It folds like a patio chair with all the gross bone grinding that that entails. The martyr is without airborne projectiles or floating servants now, but fails to be brought to her knees. She stalks purposefully towards Wynter and her twin firey serpents with the care of juggernaught. Water sloshes from her wounds, and the hand that was expecting a chalice or two, reaches towards Wynter's neck.

Sidonie's blade swings back down and she along with it to duck down, arm covering her face, against the onslaught of spinning blades. Most whizz past her, but the surgeon is grazed at the arm and shoulder by two of the projectiles, and as if that weren't enough, she is splashed by the blood offering as it falls to the floor.
Letting out a cry, of either pain or disgust or both, Sidonie lurches back up, now looking rather baleful with blood on her face and grit teeth. She swings her fantastic cutlass at the wooden phantasm.

RPG: Sidonie challenges a difficulty of 12. Sidonie chooses Resolve and the gifts STY-PI and STY-SW. Sidonie fails.

Merrisol stops the fall of the hook with a sharp tug that brings it sailing back to his grasp, though not in time to stop a smattering of scalpels and clamps from pelting his person, opening a gash in a couple exposed spots but thunking off his coat otherwise. Sidonie's deft strike on her target was observed peripherally, though when the second cherub collapses, that is perhaps more of a surprise. He seems to be aware of the changing pressure in the space but doesn't flinch from any resulting physiological discomfort. Wynter's guessing at the rampaging figurehead's nefarious purpose aboard the ship resonates dreadfully, and he also gives chase. Sidonie lunges first, and he lends support by swinging the chain itself out in a loop to noose the wooden watery tart before her grabby-hand can touch the Pathian.

RPG: Merrisol challenges a difficulty of 12. Merrisol chooses Resolve and the gifts PHY-ST, STY-CC, STY-PI, and STY-SW. Merrisol succeeds.

RPG: Wynter declares that she has the Wynter's Dragonblade (ITM-WD) gift.

Wynter's eyes stay glued to that oncoming hand. her brows rising a touch at the force of will behind the thing/being. It's one track mind powerful. She takes a single sliding step back and puts her blade inbetween herself and the wooden foe. The snakes of flame cut free of their invidible leashes and slithering forward to strike at the wooden woman and climb up her form.

The dogged advance of animated divinity strides onwards. Sidonie's passionate efforts strike true. It should have felled it, but comes into contact with a barrier of otherworldly resistance a whisker away from its form. The impact creates a flare of light that flashbulbs the hallway into temporary black and white starkness. It sends the nearby animals into a frantic state, bellowing and throwing themselves against the hull. Sounds of wood breaking are not long in coming. They smell blood and feel the weight of sorcery and dread all around them.
Merrisol's chain comes out of nowhere and loops around the neck of the Martyr. It miraculously halts it in its tracks before it is within grabby distance of Wynter. It's a near thing. There's an obscene amount of violent crackling where the chain comes into contact with the aura that protects the thing. The Martyr continues to strain against the noose, though it doesn't cut into its neck as it would a fleshy mortal. If it was all crackly and noisey and violent reactions from the physical strikes before, it's almost lit up like a candle when Wynter's fire serpents are set upon it. The combination of the previous physical attacks and mystical dragonblade action overload on the Martyr and the aura is sundered. If there were any windows nearby, they'd have been blown out. Cracks appear along the body of the robed figure, like logs splitting in a fire. It remains held together however, the fractures running along it severely, allowing more seawater to leak out to mingle with all the spilt blood. Squeals of tortured wood pop and whine, and it reach back to grab the chain about its neck and attempt to pull Merri towards it.

Merrisol firms his position on the bloody decking and hauls back on the chain once it wrangles the martyr's carved neck area. "Whoaah, gal.. claws in," he admonishes in a straining drawl. This pirate is also a seacowboy, don'tchaknow. The photoflash effects and spark-throwing come as a shock, though hopefully not literally, and he hastily drops the quips to concentrate on holding his ground. Just to keep the being immobilize while the others whale upon it would be more than fine. He darts a narrowed, harried gaze from Wynter to Sidonie, urging them on. Then, nyaaaah, there's that extra yank to his chain. He draws back on the chain, fighting the drag, skidding when sea water flows around his boot treads. The splashing rivulets draw his gaze lower, and with a desperate focus, he tries to draw the entire supply from the rigid figure's interior.

Sidonie feels her blade clash at an invisible barrier and ping off. She gasps in surprise and stumbles back, only to be pushed back further at the sundering of the Martyr's aura. Her eyes go round at the wooden figure, which is now crackling, on fire, and just horrifying. Merrisol's efforts at wrangling it spur the surgeon on. All bloody-faced and rather scary herself, she raises her cutlass once more and slashes at the Martyr, hoping for a better result this time!

RPG: Merrisol declares that he has the Water-Shaping (SEA-WS) gift.

Again Wynters eyes go wide as she finds herself leaning back and away from wooden fingers. But then the flash and crackle from the devine shielding makes her blink and the thing turns back towards Merri. She uses the opening provided her and squats down so she may overhand swing her golden blade at the thing's water weeping head. The firey snakes struggling to cling and burn, subduing the things shielding magics.

Smacking or slashing at the foe yields way better results. Whatever has been giving life to the substance of the entity seems to have limits. Wrangled into a static tug of war, it's unable to do graceful or nimble movements as the heroic mortals. Merri's efforts to leech the water are successful while its attention is divided and its protection diminished. Salty sea water is drawn weirdly from its innards. Far more than should be possibly contained is deposited to the deck, spreading to every crack and cranny. Convenient as Sidonie's ancient cutlass is coming in from one side, and Wynter is coming in from the other with her Pathian blade. It should sound like axes chopping into it, but the cracks of the wood splitting are more akin to smashing beautiful crystal goblets. Cutlass and Dragonblade tear great pieces out of it, or simply sever whole sections. The firey serpents have all manner of nooks to wriggle inside and play havok. In short order, the martyr is reduced to a dreadful state that cannot stand upright. With it's back broken and head cleaved in twain, the chain has nothing to remain looped around apart from a stump.