Celeritas: Jupiter Feretrius

[DB_Explorer]

Michael pulled his jacket closer about himself as he glanced up and down the docks. No location where the air was made by men had any right to be this cold he thought with distaste. The ships cargo hold had been cleared out promptly with their arrival - well promptly once air traffic control got over the ship being over a week earlier than the earliest time they thought was possible.

The delay in docking gave you all a fine view of some excavation that was occurring some distance from the colony - it looked far advanced with a massive tower of some sort rising from the center of the pit of ice.

You looked up from your thoughts and glanced down the dock, the indicators of a handful of docks signalling their occupation with dim glows. Not five minutes had passed since the cargo had been offloaded when the port authority had declared every ship grounded, all ships were forbidden from leaving - or arriving. The soldiers that came into the docks all claimed the same thing - there was a fugitive on the loose but you already heard talk from others on the port that this was all just an excuse for the governor to seize cargos or demand bribes. Eventually one of the ships would try to defy the soldiers and the anti-air guns and make a break for freedom.

Hell, you saw the docking fees, if they keep you here too long you might be the one to try it… your pilot would likely enjoy the attempt at least.

 

[Dragontrapper]

Martina took a deep breath of the chill evening air of Thebe, her eyes looking over the stark cityscape of the colony with a small hint of nostalgia. It had been quite a long time since she'd been on Thebe – decades, easily. The place had not changed too much.

What made her less nostalgic was that dig site they had flown over. Her long passed benefactors had run a lab on Thebe, and the idea that somebody might be digging for their lost secrets. Secrets that could include her.

The very thought disturbed her enough to sent Mephistopheles thrumming under her skin and in the back of her mind. She quickly calmed him as she focused on the more immediate matter – Sophia Von Gothe.

She'd never met the girl that the news displays and intercom messages were announcing the colony was after, but she was very familiar with the family name – one did not get as deep into the world of Corprate research and development back in the day without knowing about the Von Gothe's. They hadn't worked strictly in Martina's field, but as she recalled it the Von Gothe's made up for a lack of specialization with a breathtaking breadth of knowledge, their fingers into many proverbial pies.

But she hadn't heard of anything about the family in over a decade – why would they show up here, now? Unless…

Her blood ran cold as pieces clicked into place – It was not inconceivable that Von Gothe was after the Marlowe family's lost research. If anybody could find and act on such a lead, it would be that bloodline. And if Sophia Von Gothe succeeded then she might just learn about the Mephistopheles project. And one Martina Ruland.

And then they would come after her, and they'd have the means to pull it off.

Martina couldn't entirely contain Mephistopheles as she headed down off the Celeritas and onto the dock proper, the nanoswarm sending her coat billowing around her as she walked. Around her, several of the other crew headed off to handle their own issues and to them she made sure she looked as nonplussed as she thought about what to do next.

Chase down Sophia? No – no reasonable lead. She was a doctor, not a bloodhound.

Then… perhaps the dig? If she could figure out what as down there, she could work out if it was actually a risk to her – and, if need be, destroy it. And if it led back to Sophia, it might get the blockade lifted. She could do math as well as anyone else and she could guess at what the captain's credit balance was at the moment. They didn't want to dawdle here. But where to start…?

Martina started simply walking down the dock, seeing what she saw. Port officials talking among themselves, guards on patrol, a lot of angry ship captains. A good deal of military hardware was at what looked like the far end of the dock, near where the plating ended and the rough regolith began. Interesting…

A quick stop at one of the dock's directory terminals indicated that the far end of the docking pier had been reserved for Colonial Operation Logistics. A quick scan of the dock logs showed something she hadn't expected – shuttle runs. As in ground shuttles, at a very impressive clip for months up until very recently. Hrm…

A lead in hand, Martina headed toward the far end of the dock, pacing around until she saw who she was looking for – a young lady leaning against a bulkhead, a lit cigarette in her hand and wearing the uniform of a colony technician. Martina strode up next to her, flashing her best bedside manner smile as she leaned against the wall with a sigh. "Ah – fresh air. Nothing better then it after a long cruise through the dark," she glanced toward the tech and did her best to look apologetic, "You wouldn't have a spare smoke, would you? I'm good for it."

The tech gave a snort before pulling a pack out of her pocket and and held it out to the doctor, "Sure – I'll hold you to it though."

"If you need to find me, I'm on the mid-bulk about halfway down," Martina replied, pointing at the Celeritas as she took a cigarette, "Just ask for Dr. Martina Ruland."

"A doctor who smokes, eh?" the tech said as she watched Martina light the cigarette and take a long draw from it, "Just call me Naomi – Shuttle driver for the colony."

"You look tired, Naoimi," Martina commented as she lowered the cigarette, "Long day?"

"Been shuttling soldiers back from that stupid dig ever sense they locked the colony down," Naomi grumbled, "Up until recently it had just been techies, since they finished digging the place up, and their nice enough. And industrial cargo doesn't talk. But these damn military types," she gave a long suffering sigh, "You'd think they didn't get any tail in the bars, the way they act."

"You make it sound like they found something out there," Martina said as she took another draw from the cigarette.

"Yeah – some sort of old lab that had been buried in the ice," Naomi said with a shrug, "I just know that these runs have been a pain in the ass..." She spent the next several minutes bitching about leaking chemical tanks, botched cargo manifests, rushed orders for personnel transport, and a dozen other little headaches. "Now though, I ain't moving shit," she said as she finished her cigarette and pulled out a second. She nodded in thanks as Martina offered her a light and she gladly accepted. She took a quick draw before continuing, "Once they ordered that lock-down, the governor ordered just about every single soldier we had there back to the colony to help hunt down some bitch. They got some people there and its on lock-down, but still..."

Martina raised an eyebrow at that, "Isn't that dangerous?"

"Eh, that lab is older then I am," Naomi said dismissively, "What's anyone going to steal? Scrap metal?"

Martina chuckled at that, "Fair enough, I suppose..." Martina took another draw from her smoke before taking a glance at her chronometer, "Ah – looks like my free time is up," he gave her a polite nod, "Excuse me – Doctor things to do. If you ever see me, remind me to buy you a drink."

Naomi gave her a curt nod and a grin, "I'll hold you to that. Have a good night, Doc."

"Take care of yourself, Naomi," Martina gave her a polite wave farewell as she headed back down toward the Celeritas and started debating her next move.

A missing Von Gothe and an abandoned research lab. Interesting indeed...

((A/N: lemme know if I misrepresented anything))

 

[DB_Explorer]

Michael swirled his cup of tea before taking a sip with a grimace - the second time wasn't any better than the first. "There is tea is shit." He said as he set the glass aside on the table.

"We have bigger things to worry about then the crap service." The aging captain of the Caroline rumbled. "Like Lafarge here." The man continued waving at the women seated across from them. "If you think," he continued directing his words towards the women. "That pile of tripe you're trying to sell is true then I got a condo on Caelian Astra to sell you!"

Michael sighed as you wondered if it was too late to try to order something stronger than tea. This wasn't the first time the two had argued since Lafarge had convened this meeting of captains - really the only one not here was whoever ran that private yacht, but they seemed to have been her for a couple of weeks and likely didn't care if they stayed a few more.

"What's tripe Arendse?" Lafarge replied. "That the governors so called soldiers are inexperienced? That his anti-ship batteries are useless because of that? Between all of our crews we can escape if we work together." Lafarge pressed to her counterpart across the table, her lithe frame a contrast to Caroline's captain's own rotund frame. "The governor has no right to interfere with honest commerce. He's just going to use this as an excuse to demand bribes." With that she leaned back in her chair, resting her feet on the table which, combined with the neo-colonial attire in vogue around some areas of the belt, gave her the air of a sailing age pirate.

Which likely wasn't far off given what you've seen of Lafarge's crew and their ship the Saint Lazure. Far more crew than the Celeritas even if the Lazure was a bigger ship. Useful for salvage work… or damage control during a fight. Ship like the Saint would be in Lazure to take advantage of the governors willingness to do things off the book… help avoid tariffs. Taxes - the oldest reason in the books to be a smuggler and the corporations levied enough of them to make it a common business plan.

"Williamson, what do you think?" Lafarge asked, directing her gaze to the end of the table where the young captain in charge of the Union freighter Ferdinand sat.

"Don't pressure the boy Lafarge." The Arendse said disapprovingly

"Sod off, your worried he'll actually care. Some of us are moving things more valuable than a load of ice!" Lafarge replied before entering into the sixth argument with Arendse for the meeting.

Michael sighed as he looked toward the other end of the table at the last member of this impromptu council. He didn't quite understand the meaning behind the name of the Queen Bowsette but her captain seemed nice enough. Though you didn't know what was more distinct, the horns and reptilian tail or that she could give Morgana a run for her money in terms of physique and stature.

The salvage captain noticed Michael's attention and gave a small shrug at the ongoing argument. The Queen, much like the Caroline, didn't have much to worry about with the blockade - Thebe's location and cheap supplies meant it was an idle stopover for a salvage boat between jobs, and in the meantime her captain could sell her wife's baked goods to visiting ships.

The scones were excellent.

"The governor can't keep this blockade up forever - he's not letting anyone in or out." Arendse argued. "All his imports, exports, docking fees - all of those are gone while he denies anyone a chance to dock. Either he finds his thief or lets us all go - it's just a matter of time."
"I'm surprised you're brave enough to even get close to an ice cube." Lafarge replied. "Coward that you are." Michael sighed as the pair descended into another debate and started looking for staff to flag down.

He still had enough time to get drunk, he thought.

 

[tankdrop24]

The words 'The Orbital Shot' hung in midair, next to a cartoon depiction of rocket spinning around Mars. Below was the titular bar, a fetid, ramshackle looking place, that nevertheless, seemed free of crime, if for no other reason than the colony seemed incapable of support large amounts of that activity. At least in its current situation.

Oswald Flowers waved his arms out, presenting the bar as if it was a solid gold statue of Mother Teresa surrounded by goddamned halos of heavenly light. "And here we are at the Orbital shot. Famous for..." Oswald peeled the depths of his brain, summoning a plausible enough piece of bullcrap for the gibbering idiots accompanying him. "where Ross Holland famously exchanged his wedding vows with Rudolf Herman, before they were both tragically lost in space on their honeymoon."

Before anyone could object to his claim's reality, Oswald strode inside, leading the rest of the gaggle in with full confidence. This was supposedly a pub crawl he was taking them on, after all. Though in truth, Oswald had let not a single drop of the stinky piss water pass his lips to addled his brain. He'd stuck to the mud-like concoction that passed for tap water in this place.

The inside of the place was dull gray and metal, with the closest thing to actual decoration being the red lighting.

Oswald scanned the crowd and smiled. He'd hit the closest he'd come so far to a jackpot.

Plenty of the garlic-brained Saturn cultist, hanging around in the nooks and crannies of the social spaces in the rooms. Whispering to each other in their pretentious little rhymes and riddles. But better than that was the potential audience to tonight's real main event. A bunch of blue collar grunt workers, exhausted and paranoid from the bullshit that had been going on. Staring warship alloy-grade daggers at the gang of fanatics. They were probably rightfully angry at the crusaders of the insane, and could at the very least be counted on to stand aside while Oswald did what needed to be done.

Oswald guided his party to a single empty table in the corner. "So, what'll want to try here? I'm pretty sure this place is famous for.... something! There's something here that's supposed to be fucking great, I've been told.

He made a brief glance over his shoulder at the cultists. Just a couple more microscopic fucking steps and he'd be back on track to getting off this rock, with the possibility of even being on the way to finding out where space pebble heap he'd need to burn down to get justice for what these dark god fearing disciples had done to him.

 

[Daraken]

Nathan should have known better. He really should have. But no, he had to let that tiny spark of hope live, to think that Oswald actually had a heart somewhere under that crusty facade of his. That he'd pay for a night of drinks as an apology for the whole nightclub bullshit and actually try to make amends.

So of fucking course the older man drags them to this shithole of a bar, spouting some inane trivia the whole way. Now, Nathan had been to some hole-in-the-wall places before that had served amazing food, but even he could tell this was more of a hole in a sewer pit. And it smelled about just as bad. No way in hell this going to be a simple night of drinking. No, that old bastard was planning something. Again.

With a grimace on his face, the communications officer followed Oswald to the corner table, carefully ignoring the unidentifiable stain and stickiness of the seat as he sat down.

"So, what'll want to try here? I'm pretty sure this place is famous for.... something! There's something here that's supposed to be fucking great, I've been told."

Click to shrink...

Resisting the urge to grab the loadmaster by the collar and violently shake him, Nathan instead settles on glaring at the man, arms folded together. "Cut the bullshit Oswald. You've obviously dragged us here for some godforsaken reason than actually drinking," the ex-specialist says in a low voice, trying not to be overheard by the rest of the bar. "So if you don't tell me what the hell is going on, I'm going to punch you in the gut and leave you here to get rolled by the patrons of this fine establishment."

 

[Hydrokinesis]

It had started as a relatively good day, in Morgana's opinion. Get up, check over the ship to make sure nothing was funky or wonky in ways they shouldn't be. Get a good workout in and get a nice pump going. Down a bunch of coffee and protein then into a nice revealing little number for the bar crawl. Something to show off the muscle as well as the curves with a butch overtone, the finger-less combat gloves probably helped tight camo pants.

The towering elf nodded along to what Oswald was talking about though she didn't pay what was said too much attention. She had a feeling there was more to the whole situation especially when after the first few stops only had them down a few drinks before quickly moving on. When they walked into a room that was about as bad as some of the worst places Morgana had ever encountered she watched the load master just a little closer, catching the look he shot towards the cultists.

When the group stopped at a table Morgana did some quick math, not her strongest suit, to work out how many cultists per each one of them. She didn't just fly off swinging but instead leaned onto the table they were surrounding. She didn't get to the point she was at now just by jumping the gun, having at least some idea what the problem was prior definitely helped.

Spoiler

Oswald guided his party to a single empty table in the corner. "So, what'll want to try here? I'm pretty sure this place is famous for.... something! There's something here that's supposed to be fucking great, I've been told."

Click to shrink...

Resisting the urge to grab the load master by the collar and violently shake him, Nathan instead settles on glaring at the man, arms folded together. "Cut the bullshit Oswald. You've obviously dragged us here for some godforsaken reason than actually drinking," the ex-specialist says in a low voice, trying not to be overheard by the rest of the bar. "So if you don't tell me what the hell is going on, I'm going to punch you in the gut and leave you here to get rolled by the patrons of this fine establishment."

Click to shrink...

"I'm guessing it's famous for the cultists? Just, a hunch based on how Oswald's been eyein' them up some hard." Morgana offered to Nathan in a relatively quiet voice of her own. "I'm down for punching them as much as the next guy, but I'm gonna need way more booze before I sleep with one. Speaking of which... Should probably get a drink before we get tossed out." For her part the deck hand is just amused, and either one honestly works. Any day she gets to be productive is always a good day, even if the concept of 'days' gets a little iffy in space.

 

[Sketchy Lurker]

Spoiler: if this is spam checked

DB has specifically checked with us about continuing this, and we've... sorta dropped the ball on that. See image:

Ergo, I'm trying to help start the ball rolling again.

Gale tapped at her IB-X3, frowning. There was some serious interference controlling their drones, and it had taken them... admittedly a lot longer than they'd like to admit. They huffed as they checked the time, flushing in embarassment. That took far too long, but at least they'd figured something out.

First, it was either military, or someone was putting in a decent amount of effort to make it look that way. The two soldier they'd seen were definitely dressed to,,, well, to kill was probably the wrong wording here, but oh well. Military-grade EVA suits, very dangerous-looking firearms, support drones, the works.

They pulled out their datapad, trying to get in touch with the rest of the crew.

G.Harper: Anyone looking in the direction of that weird ruin? It's got some pretty heavy security, which means we should totally check it out!

They looked around, and then down at themselves. With a start, Gale realized they'd never changed, and dashed back to the Celeritas to change into something more suitable for public than pajamas. Maybe a cute dress? Or, there was that other outfit they hadn't worn yet, maybe that?

 

[Dragontrapper]

Martina had just about reached the ship when personal datapad pinged. Pausing in surprise, she unpocketed the device and took a quick look at the message.

Anyone looking in the direction of that weird ruin? It's got some pretty heavy security, which means we should totally check it out!

Click to shrink...

Smirking, Martina quickly typed out a reply of her own.

How interesting. A little birdie just told me that they'd pulled all of their guards from the site~

Click to shrink...

With a tap, the message was sent out. Satisfied, Martina pocketed the datapad again before adjusting her route and angling toward the port proper. If one of the others was looking at the site, no reason she couldn't tag along. Now - just had to find where Angry Eyebrows and company got off to.

((A/N: Navy things are time-consuming. Forgive my tardiness.))

 

[Hydrokinesis]

"Alright, well. I'll give the non-violent route a shot first and see where that gets us. It's not like we'll be leaving until we sort out whatever it is we need to sort out, right?" Those were Morgana's parting words before she slipped away from the group she sailed with and approached one table with a trio of cultists at it. She probably should have planned things out better, or at least thought more about what she was doing than just 'drink with them and be flirty'. Unfortunately, that was all Morgana was thinking and the results of such a thing went pretty much as expected.

As in, they mostly worked. At least, she managed to get drinking and talking to the three cultists she approached. It wasn't long before the three were all eager to actually spend some time with the gene-modded elf which meant they were in her pocket, relatively speaking. Then it was a simple matter of promising them each a round one at a time and taking the first person out of the building. Once outside Morgana managed to get the first cultist knocked out cold but there was definitely the sounds of a small fight. The next people to come outside would see Morgana quickly moving to carry the one she knocked out away to somewhere a little more private. Basically, trying to hide the body before dealing with the other three.

 

[tankdrop24]

Resisting the urge to grab the loadmaster by the collar and violently shake him, Nathan instead settles on glaring at the man, arms folded together. "Cut the bullshit Oswald. You've obviously dragged us here for some godforsaken reason than actually drinking," the ex-specialist says in a low voice, trying not to be overheard by the rest of the bar. "So if you don't tell me what the hell is going on, I'm going to punch you in the gut and leave you here to get rolled by the patrons of this fine establishment."

Click to shrink...

"I'm guessing it's famous for the cultists? Just, a hunch based on how Oswald's been eyein' them up some hard." Morgana offered to Nathan in a relatively quiet voice of her own. "I'm down for punching them as much as the next guy, but I'm gonna need way more booze before I sleep with one. Speaking of which... Should probably get a drink before we get tossed out." For her part the deck hand is just amused, and either one honestly works. Any day she gets to be productive is always a good day, even if the concept of 'days' gets a little iffy in space.

Click to shrink...

Oswald took a deep, long sip of his drink. It didn't matter if they had caught on, he had gotten them to a bar with cultists, so at this point getting the damn dogs to do their jobs would be relatively easy. One way or the other.

He slammed his drink down on the table, little a few drops burst out and land on it's surface. "Look, I know you don't give a shit about me and my own injustices, but I can tell neither of you want to be stuck on this rock for longer than we have to be. And if for whatever reason your egg-rotten brain doesn't, then trust me, you really should. I have some personal damned experience with these cult bastards, and it's going to fucking explode soon enough if those rats are crawling about."

Oswald cast a hateful glance at the one of the creepy bastards before turning back to the group. "Now, as for why I've brought you here. For one thing that damned alcohol you lot love to poison your internal organs with makes you're thick skulls just a little bit thinner and easier to get some sense into. But more important is that woman that's the cause of all this, Miss Measles van Gothic or whatever her name is. The point of it all is, the crap she's flinging about is the same crap these little religious fanatics are here for. Maybe she's one of them, maybe they just like the stink she's making. No matter what, if we find out what one of these creeps know, we're a least a single step closing to finding our ticket off of this crumbling rock."

"Alright, well. I'll give the non-violent route a shot first and see where that gets us. It's not like we'll be leaving until we sort out whatever it is we need to sort out, right?" Those were Morgana's parting words before she slipped away from the group she sailed with and approached one table with a trio of cultists at it. She probably should have planned things out better, or at least thought more about what she was doing than just 'drink with them and be flirty'. Unfortunately, that was all Morgana was thinking and the results of such a thing went pretty much as expected.

Click to shrink...

"Ugh, well so much for our goddamned muscle." The elf had slipped off before Oswald could explain the rest of his plan. "Alright, Feng, I'm going to need to you go make a short little trip to the restroom. Don't worry, I don't need you to spill your guts again, though you can feel free to piss yourself all you want. But I do need you to pull some wires, set off the-"

As in, they mostly worked. At least, she managed to get drinking and talking to the three cultists she approached. It wasn't long before the three were all eager to actually spend some time with the gene-modded elf which meant they were in her pocket, relatively speaking. Then it was a simple matter of promising them each a round one at a time and taking the first person out of the building. Once outside Morgana managed to get the first cultist knocked out cold but there was definitely the sounds of a small fight. The next people to come outside would see Morgana quickly moving to carry the one she knocked out away to somewhere a little more private. Basically, trying to hide the body before dealing with the other three.

Click to shrink...

"Huh." The idea of using that kind of approach always made Oswald's stomach twist. The people he dealt with deserved piss and vinegar, not honey, even as bait. And he suspect there was a very good reason why the most productive nations always had their reproductive rates drop. But he couldn't question results, not with his piss poor resources.

He looked back at Nathan. "Get out there and makes sure she bags one of those freaks. I'll make sure the rest of their lot can't do anything about it."

Oswald stood up, and thrust a long, accusatory finger at one of the remaining cultists in the room. "YOU!" He said with a full lung of a air. He spread his arms out, gesturing to the local yokels. "You all hear those noises don't you? My friend just walked over to one of these... these... cowardly... crookdly... criminals! She went over at them, asking to see if those supposed 'fine gentlepeople' had words worth listening to. Well they took her outside, and now you can hear all they value! All their goals, and all they hold dear! Now, imagine that if these religiously castrated bastards are willing to pull this in front of bar that's packed like sardines, what are they doing in the shadows and crevices of all your homes. You people are humanity's greatest, hardest workers, who gives spacers their mineral lifeblood what you make your homes out of. Are you all just going to stand back, and let these dark heralds wreck their havoc? Well, are you?"

Various cries of no and other drunken gurglings seemed to indicate that his words had struck a chord. Various locals were starting to stumble to their feet, and Oswald felt a sense of being a small, furry animal caught in the headlights of a large oncoming armored vehicle coming from the cultists. Not bad for stream of random shit Oswald had vomited out.

Now to get out of here before any of the cult freaks got a good look at him, or the local enforcers arrives.

 

[Daraken]

He looked back at Nathan. "Get out there and makes sure she bags one of those freaks. I'll make sure the rest of their lot can't do anything about it."

Click to shrink...

Resisting the urge to throw his hands into the air in frustration, Nathan strolls casually out of the bar, careful not to make a scene in the process. Of fucking course no one actually bothers hammering out a plan beforehand. No, it's the usual fly by the seat of your pants bullshit again. Some things never changed.

So instead they had Morgana running an off the cuff honeypot while Oswald went ahead to presumably start a barroom brawl. An easy enough task for a bastard like him. Meanwhile, good old Nathan was left to be backup muscle of all things. All over a bunch of cultists! Why the crew of Celeritas has to be the ones poking around this mess escaped him. Damned meddlesome old man, this wasn't what he was being paid for!

Grumbling to himself the whole time, the communications officer settles into a secluded spot outside within eyesight of the bar. His old battered tablet in his hand, Nathan begins to pretend to fiddle with it, his attention focused on the doorway even as he hears some sort of ruckus breaking out within. This was all going to end in tears.

 

[Dragontrapper]

Martina had been having a good night.

Had. Past tense.

A shame, too. Things had actually been looking on the up for a brief moment. Some old ruins to poke around in - which was always fun - an opportunity to bury more leads that could be traced back to her, and some of the people she was working with actually seemed competent. Sadly, though, it seemed it was only some of them.

She was about a block away when Mephistopheles started thrumming under her skin in agitation, it's attention locked onto the bar up ahead. a few people were already quickly walking away from the establishment with quick looks over their shoulders even as others were crowding around the door to take a quick peek inside. It was only as she got closer though that she managed to catch the tail end of what was drawing the crowd. A diatribe about Hard working miners and dark heralds that was being received with a surprising amount of drunken approval.

None of that would of really ruined her night though. No, what ruined the night was the fact that she, unfortunately, knew that voice.

She reached the door to the bar - whose name she didn't even bother checking - just in time see a good chunk of the bar's patronage stumbling to their feet, along with a gaggle of robed figures. And in the middle of it all was the known visage of Oswald.

Martina didn't even bother to suppress the groan of annoyance that escaped her as she brought a hand up to her face. "Bar fights. Why is it always bar fights?" she muttered to nobody in particular, though Mephistopheles thrummed briefly, the nanotech swarm trying its best to comfort its host.

With nothing else for it, Martina started to push her way into the bar. At the least, she'd be close by for when people start breaking things.

 

[DB_Explorer]

Michael pulled his trench coat tighter around him and cursed the governor's stinginess with the power supply. They had the entire Jovian magnetosphere outside to give free power if they threw out a few lines but instead the man had his entire colony colder than a witch's tit. At least his merchant officers uniform came up a nice coat – back on Ceda with its farming optimized controlled climate it was a pointless accessory; here it was a god send.

He turned down the path toward the more leisure-oriented side of the business district where the handful of bars the colony had were. He suspected, and hoped, his crew had decided to spend their shore leave getting drunk, though he was expecting his deckhand to bring someone back to the ship she seemed…the type. Hell, maybe he could hire whomever she brought in, he hadn't heard head or tails of their pilot or the chief engineer since they landed.

Michael sighed, his breath fogging in the air as he approached one local establishment, a flicking neon style sign proclaiming it to be the 'The Orbital Shot' to all who passed by. Nathan's presence on the street corner across from the bar suggested the rest of the crew was inside, maybe… at least he found Nathan.

The captain raised an arm to call out to the communications officer when the bars front window shattered as a pair of locals tumbled out into the road, the sounds of a full on bar brawl spilling out of the bar into the colony's artificial night.

"Oh what the hell…"

 

[Daraken]

Tapping at the screen of his tablet and doing nothing in particular, Nathan continued to grumble under his breath. There was definitely quite a bit of yelling going on inside the bar by now, and Morgana was still nowhere in sight with her prey. At the sudden sound of shattering glass, the communications officer's head jerked towards the source.

"Ah hell," Nathan cursed quietly as he watched the two locals crash onto the road, the fight Oswald had set off to provoke finally erupting. "Ah hell," Nathan repeated again more vehemently as he finally caught sight of his new captain on the scene. How was he supposed to explain this whole mess of a situation to him?

"Captain Waters." Jogging up to the other man, the communications officer turned the matter over in his head before finally coming to a decision. Fuck Oswald.

"Flowers took me and Fallowfield out for some drinks. Which turned out to be some subterfuge about grabbing a few cultists and shaking them down for info. Uh, then Fallowfield went off to seduce some of them while Flowers tried to start a fight, I think. This was all sprung onto me awfully abruptly sir," Nathan reported in quickly, a faintly embarrassed tone in his voice.

"Pretty sure Flowers is stuck somewhere in the middle of that," the martian native continued, head nodding to the broken window. "No idea about Fallowfield."

Nathan paused, then shrugged. Time to pass on the buck. "Any ideas on what to do, captain?"

 

[Dragontrapper]

GM invoked Extra flaw ' Overly Protective of its mistress'; Fate Point added (Current Character pool: 4)

Roll: -,+,-,- = -2. +2 from will = 0. Vs +4 = miserable failure.

Click to shrink...

The sounds of things colliding and breaking filed the air as Martina forced her way through the riotous crowd of the bar. It had taken only seconds for the patrons to devolve into disorganized violence and now everyone seemed to be taking the opportunity to vent their grievances against each other or the population in general.

Or just let out some steam through old-fashioned violence. It was either-or, most likely.

It wasn't the first bar fight she'd been in the middle of, but even with a century to gain experience she still tried to avoid them like the plague for a simple reason.

Said reason was currently bristling just under her skin.

Mephistopheles thrummed with agitation every time somebody brushed against or tumbled into her. Even as she side-stepped the worst of the fighting, a hundred warnings twinged at the back of her mind, the nanoswarm residing within her marking out nearest potential threats and preparing its systems for a seemingly unavoidable confrontation. Martina tried to sooth the paranoia of the AI, but it was hard to concentrate as she was jostled about by a crowd of drunkards. Needless to say, her attempts to keep Mephistopheles calm were not working well.

And by 'not well' she meant 'at all'.

A bar patron stumbled mid-punch as he stepped past the good doctor, looking down to see what he tripped on but not spotting the tendril of inky blackness that was coiling around Martina's ankle and slowly stretching out across the floor. Her blouse shifted in a non-existent breeze as more nanomachines filtered out of her skin and coalesced around her, thin lines of black spreading across her skin like a web of veins. Martina bit back a string of curses as she tried to cover her arms. "No, no, no, not here you stupid thing," She muttered quickly under her breath as she glared down at her limbs, "Are you trying to get us caught?"

Her luck was running out quickly.

As it turned out, more quickly than she thought.

Another patron - a large, burly looking man. Probably a miner or engineer of some sort - crashes into her, and this time Mephistopheles keeps her grounded. Spikes of black dig into the keep artificial wood of the bar's floor. Instead of sending the slight form of the pale outsider stumbling, the man find's himself bouncing off of her and falling to the floor. While down there, the gentleman find himself kicked a few times - by mistake or on purpose, it doesn't matter - and by the time he gets back to his feet it's clear that he's seeing red.

Which is why Martina decided to try and get out of arms reach as quickly as possible.

Unfortunately, the man seemed to have no intention of letting her escape. With an shout of swears in her direction, the man grabbed a chair and charged at Martina.

Martina, cornered by the mass of the crowd, brings her arm up to block. Mephistopheles decided to go a further.

Black tendrils lashed out from her sleeve as the man brought the chair down in an overhead swing.

Wood explodes and somebody screams.

The entire crowd around them went silent as they turn to look at the strange sight. The man has collapsed to the ground, crying and cursing as he nurses the cauterized stump that is all that's left of his left hand. said hand sits a few steps away, surrounded by the splinters and scraps that are all that's left of the chair.

Around Martina, black tendrils coil and whip threateningly. In the dim glow of the bar, the pale-skinned, red-eyed outsider stares down a crowd of drunken fools for a long, silent moment before finally speaking.

"Fuck."

And then, of course, everyone panicked.

 

[tankdrop24]

Oswald smiled slightly as he looked out over at what the bar had become. By using a technical (but revealing) falsehood he had recontextualized the cultists in the eyes of the miners, and made them realize what they had needed to do all along. Now the fair but very simple people of this rock would take things into their own hands and drive those cult scum from this dirt hole, and perhaps the even spread to the rest of colony. A job well done like this gave Oswald a small particle of satisfaction before it faded and Oswald got onto the next shit sandwich he had to deal with.

Now all that Oswald had to do was take a bow and exit stage life, and near certainly have to help the other two pull their heads out of their asses.

And then he saw the Doctor enter.

The sounds of things colliding and breaking filed the air as Martina forced her way through the riotous crowd of the bar. It had taken only seconds for the patrons to devolve into disorganized violence and now everyone seemed to be taking the opportunity to vent their grievances against each other or the population in general.

Or just let out some steam through old-fashioned violence. It was either-or, most likely.

It wasn't the first bar fight she'd been in the middle of, but even with a century to gain experience she still tried to avoid them like the plague for a simple reason.

Said reason was currently bristling just under her skin.

Mephistopheles thrummed with agitation every time somebody brushed against or tumbled into her. Even as she side-stepped the worst of the fighting, a hundred warnings twinged at the back of her mind, the nanoswarm residing within her marking out nearest potential threats and preparing its systems for a seemingly unavoidable confrontation. Martina tried to sooth the paranoia of the AI, but it was hard to concentrate as she was jostled about by a crowd of drunkards. Needless to say, her attempts to keep Mephistopheles calm were not working well.

And by 'not well' she meant 'at all'.

A bar patron stumbled mid-punch as he stepped past the good doctor, looking down to see what he tripped on but not spotting the tendril of inky blackness that was coiling around Martina's ankle and slowly stretching out across the floor. Her blouse shifted in a non-existent breeze as more nanomachines filtered out of her skin and coalesced around her, thin lines of black spreading across her skin like a web of veins. Martina bit back a string of curses as she tried to cover her arms. "No, no, no, not here you stupid thing," She muttered quickly under her breath as she glared down at her limbs, "Are you trying to get us caught?"

Her luck was running out quickly.

As it turned out, more quickly than she thought.

Another patron - a large, burly looking man. Probably a miner or engineer of some sort - crashes into her, and this time Mephistopheles keeps her grounded. Spikes of black dig into the keep artificial wood of the bar's floor. Instead of sending the slight form of the pale outsider stumbling, the man find's himself bouncing off of her and falling to the floor. While down there, the gentleman find himself kicked a few times - by mistake or on purpose, it doesn't matter - and by the time he gets back to his feet it's clear that he's seeing red.

Which is why Martina decided to try and get out of arms reach as quickly as possible.

Unfortunately, the man seemed to have no intention of letting her escape. With an shout of swears in her direction, the man grabbed a chair and charged at Martina.

Martina, cornered by the mass of the crowd, brings her arm up to block. Mephistopheles decided to go a further.

Black tendrils lashed out from her sleeve as the man brought the chair down in an overhead swing.

Wood explodes and somebody screams.

The entire crowd around them went silent as they turn to look at the strange sight. The man has collapsed to the ground, crying and cursing as he nurses the cauterized stump that is all that's left of his left hand. said hand sits a few steps away, surrounded by the splinters and scraps that are all that's left of the chair.

Around Martina, black tendrils coil and whip threateningly. In the dim glow of the bar, the pale-skinned, red-eyed outsider stares down a crowd of drunken fools for a long, silent moment before finally speaking.

"Fuck."

And then, of course, everyone panicked.

Click to shrink...

Well, Oswald had felt something off about the Doctor since she'd first stepped onboard the ship. It wasn't anything major, just a confluxation of a menagerie of tiny odd details about her that someone without Oswald's years of experience in security would miss. In short, to Oswald's instincts, she'd smelt wrong.

Though he had guessed she was had past experience with selling drugs as a side hustle or something. Her turning out to be some kind of horrible shadow monster was something of a surprise.

But that was a problem for the lowlives who were going to still be in the bar five minutes as well. For Oswald, the Doc turning out to be a shadow beast wearing some poor girl's skin was just something he hold over Waters and use as evidence to convince the other poor sods on his rustbucket that one iota of Oswald's experience was worth more than ten of whatever Water made to earn that bucket of bolts.

First though, he had to actually leave the bar. Oswald run and dodged through the crowd. And then he found himself face to face with three tall cultists looking dead straight at him.

Shit.

 

[DB_Explorer]

The captain pushed his way into the bar dodging around several small scuffles. Spilled liquor washed across the floor as curses, yells and the assorted sounds of melee filled the bar. Michael mutters a few choice curses for his loadmaster as he makes his way deeper into the bar before stopping as he spots the distinctive pale hair of Doctor Ruland in the crowd.

Frankly the doctor was the last person he needed getting hurt, given they were supposed to handle anyone being hurt. Michael shifted his course towards the doctor when he paused… there was something off about the doctor. Her blouse shifted as if in a breeze despite the stifling air of the bar lacking any such thing, her shadow flickered in the steady lighting.

Michael tried to move when the main charged Ruland with a chare but the press of the crowd had made that impossible with any speed. Instead his attempts gave him the perfect vantage point to see Ruland's shadows slice the hand of her would be assailant clean off.

The entire bar stilled as the shadows coiled protectively around the doctor, a contrast to her own pale complexion. The moment of shock passed and the entire bar descended into chaos again, renewed by panic more then fighting.

Michael needed to get his crew out of the bar, but that was not a straightforward task given the current chaos. This crowd needed to be directed in a more useful direction – namely somewhere away from his crew.

"You all call yourself miners?!" He yelled as a cluster of locals, pressing on before they could react. "Space tries to kill us in enough ways! We don't have time to worry about something that's not trying to kill us, and that!" Michael waved toward Ruland. "Doesn't seem like it trying to kill us, more like its going after those idiots in the robes!"

A heavy moment passed before a handful of miners yelled in challenge before throwing themselves at two people Michael assumed were cultists. This triggered a renewed charge from the rest of the locals who ran headlong into the outsiders.

Caught flat-footed a third of the cultists crumbled under the attacks from the miners, being thrown into tables, out windows or just plain knocked flat out.

Michael moved toward Ruland, he had no idea what was going on with her but the ships medical suite might be able to help. Even if it couldn't it would be away from all this commotion.

A scuffle to his left gave the captain enough warning to duck under the punch. Turning toward the source Michael found himself confronting a trio of cultists. It had been a long while since Michael had been in a bar fight, he thought as he threw his first punch only for the cultist to dodge it.

Then again it seemed the same was true for his counterparts who failed to land a solid hit on Michael despite having numerical advantage. "Look you fops, I don't have time for this."

The head cultist sneered before the crack of a gunshot went off, and the sound of ozone filled the air.

…shit.

 

[Daraken]

Right. So apparently the plan was to wade into the thick of it and hope for the best.

Wonderful.

Following behind Mike, Nathan's own attempts to avoid the various smaller scuffles erupting in the bar prove to be a bit more time consuming than the captain's. By the time the communications officer catches up to the other man, he only hears what seems to be the tail end of an inspiring speech. It must have been an effective one, given the renewed efforts the miners seem to throw at the cultists in their wild charge.

Which doesn't stop three of the bastards from making a go at the captain. Without another thought, Nathan grabs a nearby beer stein and chucks it at one of the cultists. It's not the headshot he was hoping for, but the glass shattering on the target's torso is enough to stagger the man for a bit, long enough for Nathan to get to Mike's side, his fists up and ready for a fight.

And then since the world hates being simple, things just had to escalate with a gunshot.

Fuck.

 

[tankdrop24]

Oswald pulled out his pistol and waved it around at the three overgrown hooligans. "You shitstains think that your fancy little beliefs in the fucking elder gods or whatever corn rubbish it is can hide your vile stench. I do not have one second spare to deal with you garbage, and I'm going to make you pay each extra instant you take from me with a gallon of your fear and pain. You can and run at me and fall on the floor with all the blood in your body on the outside. Or you can just run away and piss yourselves."

That seemed to do the trick. The three vomit lickers ran off, with their tails firmly between their legs. Now Oswald had to do was get outside and help Feng and Muscles secure those captures cultist and then-

The captain pushed his way into the bar dodging around several small scuffles. Spilled liquor washed across the floor as curses, yells and the assorted sounds of melee filled the bar. Michael mutters a few choice curses for his loadmaster as he makes his way deeper into the bar before stopping as he spots the distinctive pale hair of Doctor Ruland in the crowd.

Frankly the doctor was the last person he needed getting hurt, given they were supposed to handle anyone being hurt. Michael shifted his course towards the doctor when he paused… there was something off about the doctor. Her blouse shifted as if in a breeze despite the stifling air of the bar lacking any such thing, her shadow flickered in the steady lighting.

Michael tried to move when the main charged Ruland with a chare but the press of the crowd had made that impossible with any speed. Instead his attempts gave him the perfect vantage point to see Ruland's shadows slice the hand of her would be assailant clean off.

The entire bar stilled as the shadows coiled protectively around the doctor, a contrast to her own pale complexion. The moment of shock passed and the entire bar descended into chaos again, renewed by panic more then fighting.

Michael needed to get his crew out of the bar, but that was not a straightforward task given the current chaos. This crowd needed to be directed in a more useful direction – namely somewhere away from his crew.

"You all call yourself miners?!" He yelled as a cluster of locals, pressing on before they could react. "Space tries to kill us in enough ways! We don't have time to worry about something that's not trying to kill us, and that!" Michael waved toward Ruland. "Doesn't seem like it trying to kill us, more like its going after those idiots in the robes!"

A heavy moment passed before a handful of miners yelled in challenge before throwing themselves at two people Michael assumed were cultists. This triggered a renewed charge from the rest of the locals who ran headlong into the outsiders.

Caught flat-footed a third of the cultists crumbled under the attacks from the miners, being thrown into tables, out windows or just plain knocked flat out.

Michael moved toward Ruland, he had no idea what was going on with her but the ships medical suite might be able to help. Even if it couldn't it would be away from all this commotion.

A scuffle to his left gave the captain enough warning to duck under the punch. Turning toward the source Michael found himself confronting a trio of cultists. It had been a long while since Michael had been in a bar fight, he thought as he threw his first punch only for the cultist to dodge it.

Then again it seemed the same was true for his counterparts who failed to land a solid hit on Michael despite having numerical advantage. "Look you fops, I don't have time for this."

The head cultist sneered before the crack of a gunshot went off, and the sound of ozone filled the air.

…shit.

Click to shrink...

Right. So apparently the plan was to wade into the thick of it and hope for the best.

Wonderful.

Following behind Mike, Nathan's own attempts to avoid the various smaller scuffles erupting in the bar prove to be a bit more time consuming than the captain's. By the time the communications officer catches up to the other man, he only hears what seems to be the tail end of an inspiring speech. It must have been an effective one, given the renewed efforts the miners seem to throw at the cultists in their wild charge.

Which doesn't stop three of the bastards from making a go at the captain. Without another thought, Nathan grabs a nearby beer stein and chucks it at one of the cultists. It's not the headshot he was hoping for, but the glass shattering on the target's torso is enough to stagger the man for a bit, long enough for Nathan to get to Mike's side, his fists up and ready for a fight.

And then since the world hates being simple, things just had to escalate with a gunshot.

Fuck.

Click to shrink...

So, he really was a worthless idiot after all.

"For the love of your damned parents, Feng! Did a parasite eat your goddamn rotting eardrums! I gave you one fucking job! I thought even a useless fucking pretty boy like Waters would do better than to abandon one of his own to snarling fucking beast!"

Without giving Mike or Nathan a second to say anything back, Oswald stormed past the fighting miners and cultists and out of the bar.

It seemed like the elf was going one here who had yet to prove themselves completely incompetent (there was the blonde kid, but they were a kid, so that pretty much disqualified them from competence right there) and knowing his luck, Oswald was about to find her lying dead in a pool of her own blood.

 

[Dragontrapper]

Martina barely had time to react. Actually, correction - she hadn't had time to react. One moment the entire bar is in chaos due to her very visible display of apparently preturnatural dismemberment and the next you spotted the sneering face of one of the fanatics as he aimed a gun in your direction and fired.

Mephistopheles was faster to react then you, to no surprise. A mass of shadow tendrils was already coalescing in front of you as the man aimed, and when the round hit it buried itself into the mass of nanotech.

Across the neural link, Mephistopheles screamed.

The mental feedback was nearly enough to drive her to her knees, the shock making her stumble back until she caught herself. Around her, the pulverized remains of countless nanomachines drifted to the floor, a dusting of graphene composites covering the bar around the doctor. Her ears felt like they were ringing, and spots of light danced in front of her vision for several long moments. As she blinked them away, she managed to catch sight again of her would-be shooter.

Mephistopheles didn't need any more encouragement. Something had hurt it. Something had tried to kill its mistress. Something would die.

The agitated nanoswarm lashed out with tendrils of shadow at blinding speed, even as its internal systems tried to deal with the damage to its gestalt. Martina had a brief moment of satisfaction from seeing the gunman's eyes widen in shock and fear before he dodged behind a table. Mephistopheles chased after him, smashing through tables and chairs as it hunted its prey. But the target was more agile then the machine, enraged and damaged as it was.

With the immediate threats against her person, Martina quickly looked around. She'd been trying to get her crewmates out of this quickly devolving situation. Oswald, in particular, seemed keen on getting himself beat to a fine pulp. Now though, Oswald had managed to bluff his way out of his own fight and the captain was facing his own trio of cultists, the ships Communications Officer a step behind him. With a steadying breath and one last glance in the direction her would-be shooter had ran off, Martina started to stagger her way toward her current captain.

((A/N: Mephistopheles 1 Shift Stress box, 2 shift Concequence box checked))

 

[Hydrokinesis]

If Morgana was being honest, which wasn't always the case, she was about maybe one more attempt at getting the upper hand before trying to leg it. Dumping the cultist she'd knocked out into a large trashcan that littered the alley way was easy enough to do, it wasn't like this was the cleanest sort of place to be in. In fact she'd probably call it one of the lower end places she'd been in but that was neither here nor there. Since when on the run enough life shows you all sorts of locales but never the nicer ones.

When it came to her current shortsighted goal... The first cultist had been easy, surprisingly so, to knockout but there was a complication. The first one she'd pulled away went down like a sack of potatoes, a solid grapple and choke hold was used and out like a light. The downside, and it was a rather considerable downside in hindsight, was that he went down with more than a little noise, kicking the trash bins and shouting before she could finally choke him out. For the two others she'd also ended up seducing this was more than enough to realize something wasn't quite right and come running.

With the two running after the noise the sight before them must have surprised them, or something similar, as they ended up trying to swing at the same time only to get into each other's way. A move that the dark elf tried to make use of though it didn't work in her favor. Instead the closeness of them together seemed like it actually made it harder for her to block their hits and get any in herself. A few blows were traded and the muscular elf was sporting a few bruises rather quickly. If she was going to come out of this on top then she'd either need an extra set of hands or one of the clowns to suffer some sort of accident.

 

[DB_Explorer]

@Daraken

Michael's reaction to the gunshot was almost instinctive. He twisted toward the source of the gunshot as he pulled his gun out, brining it up even as flipped off the safety in the same motion.

He took just long enough to make sure he wasn't going hit one of his own crew or the miners before he pulled the trigger. A trio of gunshots cracked the air, a rapid staccato compared to the cultists more sedate firing pace.

Despite the speed though it had been many years since Michael had pounded the deck plates as a hired gun. He was grateful for that but it also meant his skills were… rusty. Rather than driving the cultist naval officer to cover like he had hoped the man merely flinched as he felt the rounds disturbed the air around him.

It gave Nathan and him a moment of advantage, but only a moment.

 

[tankdrop24]

If Morgana was being honest, which wasn't always the case, she was about maybe one more attempt at getting the upper hand before trying to leg it. Dumping the cultist she'd knocked out into a large trashcan that littered the alley way was easy enough to do, it wasn't like this was the cleanest sort of place to be in. In fact she'd probably call it one of the lower end places she'd been in but that was neither here nor there. Since when on the run enough life shows you all sorts of locales but never the nicer ones.

When it came to her current shortsighted goal... The first cultist had been easy, surprisingly so, to knockout but there was a complication. The first one she'd pulled away went down like a sack of potatoes, a solid grapple and choke hold was used and out like a light. The downside, and it was a rather considerable downside in hindsight, was that he went down with more than a little noise, kicking the trash bins and shouting before she could finally choke him out. For the two others she'd also ended up seducing this was more than enough to realize something wasn't quite right and come running.

With the two running after the noise the sight before them must have surprised them, or something similar, as they ended up trying to swing at the same time only to get into each other's way. A move that the dark elf tried to make use of though it didn't work in her favor. Instead the closeness of them together seemed like it actually made it harder for her to block their hits and get any in herself. A few blows were traded and the muscular elf was sporting a few bruises rather quickly. If she was going to come out of this on top then she'd either need an extra set of hands or one of the clowns to suffer some sort of accident.

Click to shrink...

Oswald thanked whatever idiotic thing cursed this universe with existence. That pointy eared one wasn't totally useless! She'd even managed to knock one of the fuckers out.

Of course, that left two more dimwits cornering her. Muscles hadn't been able to deal with them on her own, but it looked like she'd taken a few hits nad was still standing, so a solid B+ performance so far. Her wounds were Feng's fault anyway, for not going out to back her up like he'd been told to.

Still, now that he was here, neutralizing the remaining two cultists scum should be easy. Oswald calmly walked up to the fight scene, his shoes clacking on the street.

"Alright, you walking piles of snot. Game over, put down your fists and leave pointy over there alone. You've been beat, and none of the pissholes you call friends are coming. Just lay down on the ground so you can do one useful thing with your miserable lives and make this simple."

 

[Sketchy Lurker]

Gale practically pranced out of their room, a yellowish sundress and a big smile their chosen outfit for the day. Hopefully ideal for a potential "Why no, officer, I got lost! I'm sorry!" situation, and... hopefully it would be enough to not get shot!

As they stepped out of the Celeritas, however, Gale's attention was drawn to the gunshots that rang out from the bar, hearing Michael's return fire as they sprinted in that direction, quickly donning their drone control unit. Control gloves were slipped onto their wrists, AR goggles over their eyes, the whole thing humming to life as they activated their drones.

Their drones went through the door first, getting a somewhat chaotic view of the scene as Gale dashed in, already regretting their choice of attire.
"HEY! HOW'S IT GOING, EVERYONE?"

 

[Hydrokinesis]

Oswald thanked whatever idiotic thing cursed this universe with existence. That pointy eared one wasn't totally useless! She'd even managed to knock one of the fuckers out.

Of course, that left two more dimwits cornering her. Muscles hadn't been able to deal with them on her own, but it looked like she'd taken a few hits and was still standing, so a solid B+ performance so far. Her wounds were Feng's fault anyway, for not going out to back her up like he'd been told to.

Still, now that he was here, neutralizing the remaining two cultists scum should be easy. Oswald calmly walked up to the fight scene, his shoes clacking on the street.

"Alright, you walking piles of snot. Game over, put down your fists and leave pointy over there alone. You've been beat, and none of the pissholes you call friends are coming. Just lay down on the ground so you can do one useful thing with your miserable lives and make this simple."

Click to shrink...

Morgana did at least try to pull her weight most times. She, admittedly, wasn't always the most successful but the effort was there. Her red eyes do light up a bit when she spots Oswald however, actually somewhat relieved that instead of yet more cultists there's a friendly face. Perhaps there was someone looking out for her, in their own sort of way.

The insults that flew out of Oswald's mouth after he approached them did exactly what the elf wanted. The cultists turned to him, surprised, leaving Morgana with an opening to take advantage of. Or, well, she tried to take advantage of the situation but damn were these cultists surprisingly sharp. She clocked one and got him down, but not out, though the moment the first one fell the second swung back around and had her dodging a counter-attack. She tried to get a few quick jabs in on him but he bobbed around her fists while his buddy stood up. The moment the both of them were up they were essentially gone, sprinting away and cutting their losses. As they passed around the corner of the building one paused just for a moment to give their downed comrade a glance before continuing on.

Stunned, somewhat, at the sudden departure it actually takes a second before Morgana shakes her head. "Uh, thanks for the assist. Now, I'll admit this wasn't my best plan but it seems to have worked well enough. The next step is to go and find ourselves a place to interrogate the guy. Got any ideas or are we both improvising?" As she speaks she hefts the only knocked out cultist up and onto her shoulder. Morgana seems to shoulder the weight with relative ease, a clear sign she'll probably have an easy time carrying the guy for a while.