The Lost Files (C:TL/Dresden Files) (CK2-ish)
- Thread starter The Laurent
- Start date
Sworl
Sparky
[X] Autumn Court Sorcerer Team.
I don't follow some of what is happening this interlude.
I don't follow some of what is happening this interlude.
Is this the Fiddler's ritual she is refering to? How much does she know of that and does she consider it a priority?
What does the White Court or its #1 hitter have to do with anything?
Who are 'them' and how is he tracking them?
- Pronouns
- They/Them
1) Yes, she knows about it, but not the specifics. She knows there will be a ritual on Halloween, but Stoneguts and the rest aren't back. It's been over 24 hours since they left.
2) Remember how they were present outside Gabe's house?
3) Jason Smiles, and thus by implication, the Fiddler.
[X] Autumn Court Sorcerer Team.
I don't know whether to be glad that Cora might have this in hand or annoyed that the heroic portal jumping might not be necessary.
I don't know whether to be glad that Cora might have this in hand or annoyed that the heroic portal jumping might not be necessary.
Sworl
Sparky
Oh, right.
It occurs to me though that Cora is too calculating and practical to make such demands out of petty spite and lust for vengance alone. She would have to see some practical benefit in pursuing retribution.
So doesn't that mean that irrespective of whether her friends and associates survived or not, she will still demand that the White Court give up their #1 hitter?
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- Pronouns
- They/Them
That'd be for you to vote in in Turn 6, I think, if all comes to that.
[X] Malthus and Anton LeFay.
The mention of perhaps the Fiddler being a spirit reminded me of the conversation with Laurent about the nature of things in Dresden Files and the Fiddler being a demon/spirit/???. It's using slightly OOC though so I'm not sure how Laurent feels using this reasoning.
The mention of perhaps the Fiddler being a spirit reminded me of the conversation with Laurent about the nature of things in Dresden Files and the Fiddler being a demon/spirit/???. It's using slightly OOC though so I'm not sure how Laurent feels using this reasoning.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Vote closes Sunday night.
Arkatekt
Harbinger of Shitluck
Can't really do much about it at this poi8nt, but I have to wonder why people chose the 'Make a rushed escape' option while we were dealing with a heavily injured, near death, woman who we couldn't risk moving much due to risk of bleeding out.
Also, what happened to the rest of that Winter strike team that was there?
Not\ sure who to vote for at the moment, so I'm probably going to abstain this round.
Also, what happened to the rest of that Winter strike team that was there?
Not\ sure who to vote for at the moment, so I'm probably going to abstain this round.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
The idea is that they're going to dig in and get rescued soon.
The plan involving waiting them out would specifically make sure to leave no man behind.
So yes, rushing out of here sorta leaves them high and dry, or at least having to temporarily hide while rescue is planned. Which is Triage, but also sorta shitty, admittedly. You could write in a plan to try to save them, of course, but right now Stoneguts has a dying girl on his hands.
Arkatekt
Harbinger of Shitluck
I was confused about the strike team because I was assuming they were with him, rather than off hiding somewhere during the fight and aftermath.
I was more concerned with choosing the GTFO ASAP option while carrying near-death Abby almost immediately after being told by Ms. Whitmore that moving her could cause her to bleed out. Unless there is a Sorcery or Contract that will put Abby in stasis or something, I don't see how the option doesn't end with Abby dying, short of ridiculous luck.
edit: Holy shit, this new keyboard is so fucking sensitive... typos everywhere.
though, it probably doesn't help that I'm either lying on my bed, above the keyboard entirely, typing over the edge of the bed or typing on a pillow.
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- Pronouns
- They/Them
Stoneguts deems that she's stabilized enough that there's...decent odds that she'll survive a short run if people carry her to a portal. It's not good for her, and there are people who would say that 'decent (but not great) chances of not dying' is...like, the lowest possible bar to clear.
deadcrystal
Slaaneshi Cultist
- Location
- The Warp
Best of bad options.
Abby needs more medical treatment they don't have access to. I read staying there as just accepting her as lost.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Vote closes tonight, remember. Once I get back from work.
- Location
- Scotland
[X] Maggie the Zookeeper.
- Location
- Tarn-Vedra
[X] Autumn Court Sorcerer Team.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Tally.
- Location
- Scotland
[X] Autumn Court Sorcerer Team.
No. of Votes: 6
Noxious
Captain Hunt
silentspirals
Sweece
veekie
zinay
[X] Maggie the Zookeeper.
No. of Votes: 2
NemoMarx
blue_daisy
[X] Malthus and Anton LeFay.
No. of Votes: 1
Neptune
Total No. of Voters: 9
No. of Votes: 6
Noxious
Captain Hunt
silentspirals
Sweece
veekie
zinay
[X] Maggie the Zookeeper.
No. of Votes: 2
NemoMarx
blue_daisy
[X] Malthus and Anton LeFay.
No. of Votes: 1
Neptune
Total No. of Voters: 9
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Update today once I finish protesting something about the site's altered formatting fucking with my update.
The Decisive Moment, Part 3
- Pronouns
- They/Them
The Decisive Moment, Part 3
Sometimes, in misery, one finds amusement. And sometimes one finds pain. Jason had not been having a good time, he was tired and exhausted, and he'd been snatched from safety at the last moment, and yet what he remembered when he sat there, tied up, in some warehouse of the Fiddler's, was what Jonathan had asked him. "What's it like, having special powers?"
And when Jason had pointed out that wasn't he a Talebound or whatever it was called, and didn't that give powers, Jonathan, that adorable goof, had said, "But those, those are just...they're just there."
And Jason had laughed, and he wasn't someone who laughed that much. There was a little too much worry in him, a little too much awareness of just how fragile any happiness was. He had thought he was happy with his parents, but then he'd started to come into the powers that he'd felt since he was a child.
Back then, when he was seven or eight, he could only read the minds of dogs, cats, that sort of thing. It had taken time to work his way up, and at around twelve, the dreams had started. Cora said that his area of specialty in prophetic dreams was that he dreamed of minds, of mindsets. He dreamed of a flash of something that showed what another person thought, or what they might think.
He might dream of a person who fell in depression and see them cutting themselves, or of course, far more abstract things, and considering how helpless he felt in the dreams...it was no blessing.
His powers were his powers, and using them exhausted him, and left him drained and listless if he pushed it too far.
Every time he'd been in the Fiddler's presence, he'd pushed it too hard, in the hopes that he could see something. But no, that mind remained a closed book. He'd tried to do what he could with Abby, the woman who had been with him, but if anything it was her reassuring him and protecting him.
He hated feeling this weak, because he knew what people said about...people like him. He had to be strong, to show them they were all wrong, but scared and barely fed--the Fiddler seemed to forget that humans needed food unless prodded--trapped and leered at by that psycho, he had barely kept together.
And now he was tied to a chair.
"How do you humans do it?" the Fiddler asked, "All of this nonsense?"
He was still bleeding badly, though he'd had the time to patch himself up just enough to keep stumbling around. The Fiddler clearly wasn't in a good way, but Jason had no idea when he'd fall down. If he'd fall. The warehouse stank of fish guts, and Jason had already thrown up. He was just too stressed, and when he was stressed his scar hurt, and when he was afraid sometimes it all just fell apart. He had a headache, and he didn't want to play these games, whatever it was the Fiddler had planned.
He didn't know, in fact he was pretty sure that he was the one who knew the least about what was going on.
After all, he'd been ambushed by a half-dozen angry women who had beaten him until his whole body hurt, stripped him naked, and carried him to some sort of portal as a sacrifice for their master. At least, that's what he thought had happened.
At the time, he'd been confused and in pain, trying and failing to lash out, curling up in a ball to keep the blows from hitting somewhere vital. And then he'd been blushing at their leers, the way they all grinned at him once he was stripped down.
He hated being naked, at least like that--
The memories were too fresh, and he wasn't going to play along.
"C'mon, talk to me. We're going to be together for a while longer, after all. Now that she's gone, I might as well just kill you, but explain to me. These cell phone apparatus, how do they even work? I know there's numbers and I've memorized what to punch in, but…"
The Fiddler growled in frustration, and then thrust the phone at Jason, who had one hand that was sort of exposed. "And it's so small!"
It wasn't, really. It was a year or two old, and he'd seen smaller. But he nodded, in a way that he hoped would not lead to him being beaten to death with a fiddle. At the moment, he just wanted to live as long as he could, and hope that the cavalry, his...Jonathan's mother's people, those strange not-monsters, would arrive from wherever they'd been in time.
And that meant not insulting the Fiddler's complete lack of understanding of technology.
"Now, punch in the numbers I tell you. 3142879528." He said it that way, all in a rush, rather than separating it out into the three sections, like most people did. Jason typed, closing his eyes when the phone rang.
"Good, now, we're going to be getting out of here in just a few minutes. Ten at the most. Sit tight. Think...whatever it is humans think."
And then the Fiddler left. cradling the phone to his ear. He began yelling into it before long, as if that southern, mephistophelean bastard thought he was trying to shout across the room.
Jason stayed there for almost a minute, trying to breathe, trying not to panic, which was when he heard something.
When he looked up, he was looking at a woman he knew, crouched among the boxes. She was wearing what looked like robes, and her hair had been cut short. Her expression was determined.
Eva.
What was Eva doing here?! He didn't know much about her, but he'd seen her in meetings a few times. She held a finger to her lips and began to move, as quietly as she could, towards him.
Jason tried not to make a sound as he read her mind. It was a feeling like a headache, and then suddenly he felt it. Her thoughts were clear and easy to understand. She was going to rescue him, she thought--
She thought that she had been led here by something, something greater than her that she had begun to feel again. Again? Yes, that was the thought, and Jason tried to concentrate and focus. Something had changed, or was changing, and she wanted to save him. Wanted to take him away from here, and thought she'd be able to do it..[1]
But...if he left, what about the Fiddler, a part of him asked. The Fiddler might get away.
Another part of him asked, 'What about the Fiddler?' He needed to get clear, and if the Fiddler got away...it was better than risking death.
Jason can probably find a way to 'communicate' with her, perhaps through gesture or shaking of heads. What does he suggest, as it were?
[] Go with her plan. Attempt to escape. But what if the Fiddler has a chance to get away?
[] Hide in the warehouse. Perhaps if the Fiddler is busy trying to almost catch them, it'll slow him down. If Eva has found them, then surely others will, given time?
[] Plan some sort of ambush of the bastard. He's hurt, badly, and maybe...maybe something can be done.
[] Write-in.
[1] This was one of the two or three pieces that would have also possibly come into play if you'd waited until the day of the Feast.
A/N: And so here we go, here we go. This is the third perspective flip, and as you might guess, everything is coming to a head. Yep, Eva shows up! You had probably forgotten she'd disappeared, hadn't you?
Also, can someone test something? Can they write two paragraphs in google docs, with a proper space between each of them, copy and then'paste as plain text' them in this thread? Because I've had a shit-ton of problems regarding extra spaces, and I want to see if other people are experiencing it.
Sometimes, in misery, one finds amusement. And sometimes one finds pain. Jason had not been having a good time, he was tired and exhausted, and he'd been snatched from safety at the last moment, and yet what he remembered when he sat there, tied up, in some warehouse of the Fiddler's, was what Jonathan had asked him. "What's it like, having special powers?"
And when Jason had pointed out that wasn't he a Talebound or whatever it was called, and didn't that give powers, Jonathan, that adorable goof, had said, "But those, those are just...they're just there."
And Jason had laughed, and he wasn't someone who laughed that much. There was a little too much worry in him, a little too much awareness of just how fragile any happiness was. He had thought he was happy with his parents, but then he'd started to come into the powers that he'd felt since he was a child.
Back then, when he was seven or eight, he could only read the minds of dogs, cats, that sort of thing. It had taken time to work his way up, and at around twelve, the dreams had started. Cora said that his area of specialty in prophetic dreams was that he dreamed of minds, of mindsets. He dreamed of a flash of something that showed what another person thought, or what they might think.
He might dream of a person who fell in depression and see them cutting themselves, or of course, far more abstract things, and considering how helpless he felt in the dreams...it was no blessing.
His powers were his powers, and using them exhausted him, and left him drained and listless if he pushed it too far.
Every time he'd been in the Fiddler's presence, he'd pushed it too hard, in the hopes that he could see something. But no, that mind remained a closed book. He'd tried to do what he could with Abby, the woman who had been with him, but if anything it was her reassuring him and protecting him.
He hated feeling this weak, because he knew what people said about...people like him. He had to be strong, to show them they were all wrong, but scared and barely fed--the Fiddler seemed to forget that humans needed food unless prodded--trapped and leered at by that psycho, he had barely kept together.
And now he was tied to a chair.
"How do you humans do it?" the Fiddler asked, "All of this nonsense?"
He was still bleeding badly, though he'd had the time to patch himself up just enough to keep stumbling around. The Fiddler clearly wasn't in a good way, but Jason had no idea when he'd fall down. If he'd fall. The warehouse stank of fish guts, and Jason had already thrown up. He was just too stressed, and when he was stressed his scar hurt, and when he was afraid sometimes it all just fell apart. He had a headache, and he didn't want to play these games, whatever it was the Fiddler had planned.
He didn't know, in fact he was pretty sure that he was the one who knew the least about what was going on.
After all, he'd been ambushed by a half-dozen angry women who had beaten him until his whole body hurt, stripped him naked, and carried him to some sort of portal as a sacrifice for their master. At least, that's what he thought had happened.
At the time, he'd been confused and in pain, trying and failing to lash out, curling up in a ball to keep the blows from hitting somewhere vital. And then he'd been blushing at their leers, the way they all grinned at him once he was stripped down.
He hated being naked, at least like that--
The memories were too fresh, and he wasn't going to play along.
"C'mon, talk to me. We're going to be together for a while longer, after all. Now that she's gone, I might as well just kill you, but explain to me. These cell phone apparatus, how do they even work? I know there's numbers and I've memorized what to punch in, but…"
The Fiddler growled in frustration, and then thrust the phone at Jason, who had one hand that was sort of exposed. "And it's so small!"
It wasn't, really. It was a year or two old, and he'd seen smaller. But he nodded, in a way that he hoped would not lead to him being beaten to death with a fiddle. At the moment, he just wanted to live as long as he could, and hope that the cavalry, his...Jonathan's mother's people, those strange not-monsters, would arrive from wherever they'd been in time.
And that meant not insulting the Fiddler's complete lack of understanding of technology.
"Now, punch in the numbers I tell you. 3142879528." He said it that way, all in a rush, rather than separating it out into the three sections, like most people did. Jason typed, closing his eyes when the phone rang.
"Good, now, we're going to be getting out of here in just a few minutes. Ten at the most. Sit tight. Think...whatever it is humans think."
And then the Fiddler left. cradling the phone to his ear. He began yelling into it before long, as if that southern, mephistophelean bastard thought he was trying to shout across the room.
Jason stayed there for almost a minute, trying to breathe, trying not to panic, which was when he heard something.
When he looked up, he was looking at a woman he knew, crouched among the boxes. She was wearing what looked like robes, and her hair had been cut short. Her expression was determined.
Eva.
What was Eva doing here?! He didn't know much about her, but he'd seen her in meetings a few times. She held a finger to her lips and began to move, as quietly as she could, towards him.
Jason tried not to make a sound as he read her mind. It was a feeling like a headache, and then suddenly he felt it. Her thoughts were clear and easy to understand. She was going to rescue him, she thought--
She thought that she had been led here by something, something greater than her that she had begun to feel again. Again? Yes, that was the thought, and Jason tried to concentrate and focus. Something had changed, or was changing, and she wanted to save him. Wanted to take him away from here, and thought she'd be able to do it..[1]
But...if he left, what about the Fiddler, a part of him asked. The Fiddler might get away.
Another part of him asked, 'What about the Fiddler?' He needed to get clear, and if the Fiddler got away...it was better than risking death.
Jason can probably find a way to 'communicate' with her, perhaps through gesture or shaking of heads. What does he suggest, as it were?
[] Go with her plan. Attempt to escape. But what if the Fiddler has a chance to get away?
[] Hide in the warehouse. Perhaps if the Fiddler is busy trying to almost catch them, it'll slow him down. If Eva has found them, then surely others will, given time?
[] Plan some sort of ambush of the bastard. He's hurt, badly, and maybe...maybe something can be done.
[] Write-in.
[1] This was one of the two or three pieces that would have also possibly come into play if you'd waited until the day of the Feast.
1d100=100
Mind Read: 2 sux
Stealth: 3 sux.
Mind Read: 2 sux
Stealth: 3 sux.
A/N: And so here we go, here we go. This is the third perspective flip, and as you might guess, everything is coming to a head. Yep, Eva shows up! You had probably forgotten she'd disappeared, hadn't you?
Also, can someone test something? Can they write two paragraphs in google docs, with a proper space between each of them, copy and then'paste as plain text' them in this thread? Because I've had a shit-ton of problems regarding extra spaces, and I want to see if other people are experiencing it.
deadcrystal
Slaaneshi Cultist
- Location
- The Warp
I...what? I thought the rescue team had Jason? Did I miss something?
- Pronouns
- They/Them
