[Off Shadowpath Adventures] #23 - Romance (part 3)

[quinlan_cobra]

We begin where we left off; in the shadow of the Dancing Mountains, the statue that held the first soul now crumbling stone dust. Dirk's been called away to deal with some matter having to do with penguins, leaving the amulet in Moxon's hands.

Moxon says, "One down. So, uh, does this thing vibrate? Hum? Glow?"

Quinlan nods toward Moxon, shouldering his bag. "Just hold it. It knows where it wants you to go."

Nikandros stands, looking off in the direction Dirk departed in with silent disbelief, before turning to look at Moxon. "Well, it steals souls, at least. And tells you where to go to steal more. At least I suppose."

Moxon waits, considering the bauble. "... aaand we're off." He heads as directed.

This new trail doesn't seem to take them farther from the Dancing Mountains, but it does traverse Shadow. Around them, the rocky wasteland starts growing greener. Saw edged grasses, then shrubbery that waves without wind, and then ...not forest, but jungle fit to win the respect of the most dauntless Cibolan. There are sounds, now and then. In the distance, but sometimes not far so, the sound of artillery fire.

Nikandros pauses at the sound of artillery fire with a frown, looking around slowly. "What was that, Philosophos?" he asks Quinlan. "If you know."

Moxon urges the group down, suggesting 'right now would be an excellent time to crouch and move carefully' as the sounds of battle intensify. With the other hand he clutches the amulet, carefully picking his way toward their goal.

Quinlan does as Moxon suggests, getting down low and keeping his grip firm on his staff, though it may not do much good. "Artillery fire," he murmurs to Nikandros. "Think...cannon, but bigger. A lot bigger. And the shells often explode on impact."

Moxon says, "Arm yourself, Pathian, and look lively. Ever seen a land-mine?"

Nikandros gives Moxon a frown, crouching. "I suppose it would be something in the ground that explodes? And I suppose you can't feel through the ground. I'll see if I can feel anything odd."

The closer they get to the sounds of battle, the trickier the route becomes. Huge swathes of jungle have been leveled by explosive impacts, leaving craters in their wake. Now, too, there are corpses and pieces of corpses to be found.

Moxon says, "If you see an ankle-high wire, do /not/ trip it."

Quinlan nods. "If you sense anything, Nik, be careful to leave unusual things alone."

"Helpful," Nikandros says with quiet sarcasm, before he murmurs a few words under his breath. "Which way?"

Moxon keeps the group low and inconspicuous, particularly avoiding being visible to those who man the artillery. He doesn't give verbal direction, attention instead on Not Being Detected.

Quinlan is apparently keen on following the directions of his guide, but then battlefields were never exactly comfortable locales for him.

Nikandros keeps low and ready, hand lifted to catch anything that may try to strike out here. In the strange environment, he keeps close to the guide.

Moxon picks suspiciously through the abandoned camp not far from the fighting, eyes alight for anything that might 'come in handy.' He gives the group a moment before indicating the sealed metal hatch. "Down there. Any tactical brilliance beyond flamethrowers and grenades?"

Quinlan blinks at Moxon. "We can ward against fire and at least reduce the problem of shrapnel. Is the door trapped or something?"

Nikandros tilts his head to the side. "Or do you want to know if there is something else there we can detect?"

Moxon nods. "You're welcome to not touch anything while providing what information we can get. Any chance we can see in there before we breach the door?"

Quinlan nods. "We can, yes. Give you a map of what's down there. That's where we're going, then?"

"As long as it is touching the ground in some way, at least," Nikandros affirms. "No guarantees about flying dangers."

Moxon checks the skies, pronounces: "We've got some time. Clouds rolling in. Think I'll make them bigger."

Quinlan bends, putting his hand on the ground by the door, murmuring a spell. "...There's a lot of space...shelving I think. But only one person."

Nikandros nods, and steps forward, reaching out to put a hand on the door. He starts murmuring under his breath, before stopping. "If it is only one, no need to scare," he says. "Shall we knock?"

Moxon laughs. "Oh, let's."

Quinlan purses his lips. "Uh. This guy's alone, in a bunker, in a warzone. Who knocks?"

Moxon suggests, "... the genuinely curious and courteous."

Dirk is walking into the wonderful scene. Rockets red glare bombs bursting in air all that good stuff.

Nikandros considers a moment, then shrugs. "Very few people," he says, "except those who don't want to hurt you, possibly. It certainly couldn't be worse than me making the door disintegrate."

Quinlan shrugs. "Hopefully he doesn't throw out a grenade," he says, and bends to rap on the steel doors with his staff.

Moxon watches, curious.

Dirk says "I am back, did you guys miss me?"

Nikandros ust takes a step back from the door, murmuring. At least, he does so until Dirk distracts him. "Uh, please, stay low, so nobody tries to drop an explosive on us."

The door is answered, after a few minutes, with a pale arm holding a machine gun. Reasonably fit in an office-worker sort of way. It's pointed, in turn, at all of them. But it's also immediately clear why this man was alone in the bunker. The entire other half of his body was at one point burned to the point that three of the fingers on his other hand have fused together, and that entire side of his body has a decidedly melted look to it. "Who the hell are you guys?"

Quinlan offers a hopeful smile. "Strangers passing through hoping not to get shot at or blown up?"

Moxon exhales.

Dirk nods and says nothing since he wants to be helpful.

"So, please, put that down," Nikandros says quietly. "You look like you'll hurt yourself if you try attacking."

"THIS arm works just fine, jackass," growls the man, and the gun points at Nikandros very steadily to demonstrate. "Did Ishkara send you?"

Moxon asks the group. "Do we know an Ishkara?"

Dirk shrugs and shakes his head. "I don't."

"May have met one once," Nikandros says. "Exotic names are difficult to remember at times, but I'm pretty sure nobody who introduced themself as Ishkara sent us this way."

"She'd have introduced herself," says the man firmly. "She's good about protocol. But if she didn't send you then who did?"

Quinlan coughs. "Travelers," he repeats. "Kind of...looking for someone and hoping to wait until the artillery fire dies down?"

Moxon suggests: "We do have better provisions than you'll find out here. How long's it been since you had a real glass of wine? Grass-fed beef?"

Nikandros gives Moxon a sideways glance, eyes sliding down to his amulet before turning back to the man, considering.

Dirk just stays quiet. He looks at the sky though.

The man's one good eye studies Moxon, then lowers the gun and steps aside. "Sure. Shelter for supplies, a fair enough trade." The stairs down are lit behind him. It does rather have a military sort of low-rent illumination.

Moxon gestures to the door. "Gents."

Quinlan wastes no time in getting down there, out of the open. "Thanks!" he almost chirps.

Dirk follows Quin and stays quiet.

Nikandros rises to a more stately crouch and starts walking down into the bunker. He stops near the entrance, looking at the soldier. "So, how long-" he starts, before catching himself and shaking his head, moving into the bunker.

Moxon is last in. He shuts the door, locks it, checks the fit between door and jamb, might even oil the lock or knock out a pesky dent. He murmurs, to their host: "... you have gas attacks? You might want a seal on this seam. Molded rubber, or something spongy. Maybe work activated charcoal into the liner."

The man closes the steel doors after everyone's inside. The bunker looks like it was meant to house about thirty people, but only one bed's been used at all recently. Everything else has that trim, scrubbed look military quarters develop when there's enough time between fights. Only one desk in the dozens still has paperwork on it. There are long tables for dining on. "No gas attacks. Ch'thonis likes fireballs and acid grenades, doesn't bother much with gas. Too much chance of a windy day ruining her fun."

Moxon says, "Asbestos, then, or ceramics."

Quinlan looks around with quiet curiosity, but doesn't contribute just yet.

Dirk turns around in a circle.

"Ahh. Exotic witch?" Nikandros asks, then looks to Moxon. "We're on track."

The burned man takes a seat at the only busy desk. "You really are from out of town."

Moxon removes his wineskin. "One of you make some ice? Find a bucket, some glassware. This isn't gonna be a port-and-walnuts sausage-fest."

Quinlan sighs. "I can do stoneware, Moxon, but not glassware. No sand around here. And we do have to find someone."

Moxon says, "We're here, Quin."
Moxon says, "... just getting the man a drink."

Nikandros grimaces, then holdss out his hand, mururing a few words. Stone appears in his hand, and he begins to mold it. "A good meal?"

Dirk winces and sighs.

Moxon says, "Hospitality, Pathian, hospitality."

Quinlan blinks at Moxon, giving him an odd look, but does get a bucket and starts filling it with very cold water. Not ice, but...pretty close to slush.

The burned man watches all this magic going on warily. "So you can use magic, but you've never heard of Ch'thonis. Or Ishkara. And you were looking for me? Why?"

Moxon sets his wineskin in the slush. "Anyone else packing? Wine's better when it's cold." He starts setting out a variety of crackers and slices of dried meat, sausage, some herbs. The best he can do, but at least none of it's canned food-substitute.

Dirk drops a couple of candy bars into the mix.

Moxon nods approval.

Quinlan thinks it over, then draws a little bag out of ...cooked, shredded chicken meat. Finger-food, perhaps.

Nikandros finishes making a stone cup, holding it out to Moxon."I know what you're trying to do, Ranger," he says. "I approve, in a way." A glance to the soldier. "I do not know them. They are likely unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Witches of an out of the way reality. Who are you?"

Moxon mutters to Nikandros, "... creating... I have. Take... can find... A... of... pause... a lack... A..."

"Sayel,"says the man. "And Iskhara was my CO. She was the last of this unit besides me, but she went out two weeks ago and she's...overdue enough that I don't think she's coming back."

Moxon serves Nik his stone cup of wine, then their host, Dirk, Quinlan and himself in turn.

Quinlan sips his wine, and says, "...We're here for you, Sayel. There are some decisions that need to be made."

Dirk sips his wine and looks around quietly.

"For me," Sayel echoes. "Not that I can fight anymore. Is this your idea of a last meal or something?"

Moxon says, "Just a break from what's going on outside. Glass of wine, real venison, and a talk."

Dirk keeps drinking.

"So talk," says Sayel. "I've been *asking* why you're here. You keep talking about food."

Moxon says, "We were guided here. We're supposed to unite two lost souls."

Sayel blinks, or possibly winks - with one eye fused shut it's hard to say. "Your timing could stand to suck less."

Moxon says, "... care to explain?"

Sayel gestures with his good hand to the empty bunker. "I was here when every bed was full. And the camp above was full too. Then I got caught in a blast and put on desk duty because I lived. And the camp got smaller and nobody was left. And the beds got empty around here, too. Ishkara was the last besides me and that was weeks ago. And *now* the good fairies turn up?"

Dirk exhales and takes a candy bar out of his pocket and eats it. It looks like its green and sounds crunchy.

Moxon says, "Magic doesn't mean perfect timing, or everybody lives, or happily-ever-after, Sayel."

Dirk takes a candy bar and hands it to Sayel.

"So that's not why you're here," says Sayel. "So why *are* you? What is it you're bringing, besides dinner?"

Moxon holds the knife up between two fingers. "Ever seen one of these before?"