The Lady finishes her latest toke of her pipe and points it at Salazar, "Now, I never said nothing about being sure. That note is stirring rumors that Clan Borune's working with new mech even larger than the proud Redrickson Ironclad. Some feat that would be, right boys!?" She thwaps them all in her mirth.
Continuing, "Nothing is ever sure in these parts, so you make up your own mind there. Clan Borune or Clan Redrickson? That decision may cost you or bring you fortune, especially now. Better hurry though, the match is startin' soon." She slyly grins and raises a glass, "You can call me Lady Smoke, some will know the name, some will wither beneath it."
The lads chuckle at the name and then yell, "WITHER!" She raises a fist and then makes a motion with her hands. A servant appears with mugs and brew for the group's box and begins to pour all of you a pint. (It's not the cheap stuff, neither.)
With one minute to go on the clock, the atmosphere grows gradually more and more tense. The lights begin to dim. Final bets are made, at increasingly feverish odds. Ankarg brings in your chosen beverages, handles the final arrangements, and politely shuts the door, blocking out the slowly rising shouts and cheers from the crowd outside. Not completely, however. Two opposing cheers spread like wildfire across the stands, fans roaring and screaming at the top of their lungs to add their piece to the tidal flows of sound crashing through the great underground arena. The seconds tick down. 6...5...4...3...2...
The sound of a pealing bell. You do not so much hear it as feel it, the noise itself reverberating through solid stone and metal, through blood and gristle and bone. Again, another peal. In a flash of reddish lights, tall, loping figures burst from concealed doors on one end of the arena floor. Lanky mechs, lightly armored but disturbingly quick in their movements, scurry onto the field, dropping to a nearly four-limbed lope, covering enormous strides in the blink of an eye. Bipedal and humanoid in design, their long limbs reach nearly to the ground while standing. They take positions near the back of the field. Following them are two mechs, half again as tall as the first. More heavily armored, it appears that the Redrickson team practices a certain consistency in design. Bipedal, muscularly shaped bodies sporting broad armor where practical, long limbs with wide reach and, over all, a certain grace in their movement that speaks to incredible strength restrained.
Another ringing bell sound.
This time, it is accompanied by a visible star of light, the afterglow of a hammer blow. The Ironclad appears.
Twice again as tall as any of the preceding mechs, its armor plating would look more fitting adorning castle battlements than a mechanized construct. The consistency of design remains, though taken to new heights in terms of sheer scope - enormous sheets of armor, hardly nicked or scratched over the course of months of brutal fighting. Long limbs, reinforced with layer after layer of integrated machinery and plate armor - every aspect of the creation has been honed down to a single, titanic purpose: to absorb damage, and deal it out with vengeance. With closed fists, the Ironclad's clap resounds like anvil strikes, filling the room with a spire of red sparks and the smell of incinerated metal. Hanging on its broad back, a tall red banner sways with the long, resounding steps of the Ironclad. Team Redrickson takes their positions to the sound of a thousand beserk fans.
Then team Borun takes the field. No fanfare - not even a chant. Just sleek, metallic shapes, appearing as if from the shadows themselves. Already, differences in craft are immediately apparent. Where team Redrickson is clearly defined by function, each mech design accomplishing purpose but united in manufacturing, the Borune team sports mechs identical in both appearance and size. Sharp blades protrude from oddly jointed limbs, seemingly too lithe to allow for onboard piloting - and yet, no officials whistles are blown. The section dominated by Borune blues tries to start a cheer, but quickly stops as their team strides onto the field in lockstep unison, not making even the slightest sound beyond the dull rasp of metal passing over sand. Approaching the center of the field, they spread into a V shape, the central mech raising the tall blue banner high. Light seems to slide off of the oddly faceted carapaces of the Borune mechs, refracting strangely in the muted, colored lights. Between their perfectly synced movements and their sudden appearance, an announcer flusteredly begins booming out the pregame statistics. A second voice in common overlays the words of the announcer, translating as follows.
"Er. Uh. Well crowd, we are, uh, here tonight as you know for the... the Redrickson-Borune rematch finale! Winner take all the glory, fame, and honor on this one! We've got a strong showing to be sure on both sides, and while team Borune has certainly taken some significant losses earlier in the season, they appear to be showcasing their new models tonight - a whole new category of mechanized armor systems called, and I'm just receiving this now, the Shrike-A line. Now, we have no statistics for you here tonight on the Borune combat systems, but I assure you their opponents need no introduction. Undefeated victors, the Ironclad design has proved to be one of the most resilient and capable combat options in the league, showcasing a variety of adaptable strategems head and shoulders above the rest. And, of course, the Ironclad-44 itself, unparalleled in every category: size, strength, speed, you name it. We can only hope Young Borune's confidence in his new line models is well-deserved, or else it will be an all to short match. Without further ado, the contestants will signal when ready by exchanging banners, as is traditional. Now, Let the Game Be-!"
With a flow of movement too fluid to be artificial, the Borun banner carrier sprints for the Ironclad-44 and, with a strike so quick as to deceive the eye, rips the Redrickson banner from its outstretched claw, snapping its own in place before bounding back across to its own side, lit in an actinic glare. After a collective intake of breath, both the crowd and you realize that the Borune mech took not only the banner from the Ironclad's hand, signalling the start of the match, but also came away with a little more. The thumb joint of the Ironclad-44 now dangles, shattered and broken, from one of the four outstretched fists of the first Borune mech.
Salazar pockets his coins and sits back down. I take it that’s not supposed to happen. Those Borune creations... they don’t look forged, more like they were born. Interesting
Anansi looks over both teams of figures in surprise. "How did people who can build these kinds of things for fun lose the war? Surely no drow soldier can stand up against one of those."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Gronk in Bastion, Kingdom of Medrin Elixisysin Talaveroth (Team 2) Uthal in Lost Continent of Theviranne
Before the countdown hits zero, Gadus walks to the box's door and lets Bekate out -- the bird flies over arena to get a closer look. As the match begins, Gadus becomes noticeably quiet as he tethers his senses to that of his familiar.
At the sight of the dimming lights, Sereena withdraws her hand understanding that the time has already passed to place a bet and places the gold back in her pouch. She progresses with the rest of the group to watch the match.
The rippling of crowd changes in the discolored lighting. Cutting through their cheers, the occasional rending sound as the Redrickson mechs probe at their strange opponents. Their cheers swell as Bekate crests over the theater, but even the familiar's powerful sight struggles to keep pace with the flowing movements and lightning blows of the melee. Gadus, his eyes gently clouded as his senses roam elsewhere, narrates over the struggling dwarf announcer, who almost immediately lags behind the rapidly evolving state of the field.
"The Borune's strike first, beginning the match and inflicting some damage on the Ironclad-44. They're spreading out across the battlefield, covering most of their territory and threatening the Redrickson flanks. There's the Red's response - a light mech dashing to the center with their intermediary-sized variants in support. The flag is only a few steps away..."
Gadus's voice trails off as a series of bright flashes illuminate the room in stark relief. The flanking Borune constructs, in a fluid blur, cover the large gap in seemingly a single uninterrupted stride. Their motions in perfect unison, they twist forward, upper hands grasping the Redrickson light mech at the shoulder joints. With bright flashes, their lower hands score its carapace, filling the smooth polished exterior with fist-sized holes in a matter of moments. They step back. A second passes, and the light mech topples to the ground. The Borune crowd stands in applause, met with an obscene level of screaming from much of the rest of the stadium. Clearly, nothing like this has ever happened before.
The ground shakes abruptly, the first pulse hardly registering before the next three are already passing through the floor. The supporting mechs engage with practiced, battle-hardened energy, but their strikes quickly turn defensive as the relentless bladed constructs strike home again and again, scoring and shearing armor like so much paper. The sheer friction of contact begins to show, the Redrickson mechs smoking as their ventilation struggles to cool metal already glowing scarlet. The Borune mechs are similarly affected, their appendages taking on bright yellow streaks as heat from their piercing strikes, channeling it through the forearms back towards the spines adorning the backs. The air shimmers with displaced heat and the continued flurries of exchanged blows.
"Left side! The Borune banner carrier engages the remaining Red light. It goes down like the first. In the center, the Red armor seems to be holding - there it goes!" With another bright flash, one of the heavier support mechs goes down - the third Redrickson to fall this match. Outnumbered, the remaining mech backtracks, beleaguered by the two Borune mechs until it passes within arms reach of the heavy Ironclad-44. As quick as the Borune's were, the Ironclad's fist returns blow that can be registered only as a distortion of light and sound.
A resounding anvil-strike, and the first Borune casualty is reduced to a smoking hull and a few thousand crystal shards, twinkling brightly in the lights that have gradually grown more and more purple, now rising again to blue tints and highlights.
"That was the Ironclad - those hands seem to have once been actual anvils, repurposed to deliver exactly that kind of payload. The remaining Borunes regroup across the Red line, the damaged Red stays behind the Ironclad, and it seems we have a stand-off. Anything that walks within arms reach of the Ironclad gets wasted, but anything beyond it will get ripped to pieces."
Smaller scurrying figures dart onto the battlefield - Sereena notices with an unfamiliar shock a resemblance between some them and herself, in both build and skin-tone, though the figures on the field are yet larger and more ungainly. With practiced efficiency, they work together in teams, some with long prybars to open the smoldering carapaces of the downed mechs, and other's in heat-resistant gear rescuing smaller figures inside. Two from the downed Redrickson's are completely limp as they pulled from the broken wreckage, as is the Borune pilot.
The crowd quiets as the tension again mounts. A few shout encouragements, or insults, but neither team advances for the moment. The room takes a collective breath.
Seeing the broken figures emerging from the wreckage, Ankarg lets out a slight groan and darts down the stairwell. The other dwarves reclining around the woman who spoke to you earlier mutter amongst themselves. They seem displeased with the way the match is going. "It's too quick!... Where's the fun if it's just a show of violence?... There's no honor in those Borune mechs... Unnatural... No honor is losing neither."
The Lady, with steepled fingers, leans forward, eyes absorbing every detail with cool attentiveness.
Salazar is more interested in watching Lady Smoke, her lack of obvious emotion reminding him of his lost brood. He notes that this is beyond unusual. There could be opportunity here, he needs information and what better way to get it than to trade something new and unusual for it
Quietly slipping along the stairwell, you follow Ankarg into the raucous crowd outside. He continues to look concerned, but doesn't notice you as you follow. He follows the outer edge of the arena, ignoring the hushed stillness over the playing field, and approaches another smaller door built into the wall. Withdrawing a small, black key, he unlocks the door and hurriedly passes inside.
The Lady leans back and takes another large swig of ale, then sighs heavily. Her coolness gains and losses an edge as she pans the crowd for their reaction during the lull. She thwaps a few of her lads as they start to get too grumbly and out of order.
Knocking her pipe out, as she glances over at Serena, "I'm surprised yoo don't already know. Doesn't yoor piousness drive yoo to work with the low born and newcomers? Perhaps those Redrickson's (dipping her head down a bit to see over her beard to repack her pipe)you work witharen't as high and mighty as they claim to be."
Igniting the herbs, her face scrunches up a bit as she puffs. She then waves a hand dismissively to bring herself back to her point, "Nevertheless, those down there are what make these bouts possible. They're work is dangerous, and they make good coin from it. I hear there's a waiting list to fill their ranks."
Regarding Serena in earnest, "Looking for a better position?"
Sereena nods to Lady Smoke. And gives a soft chuckle at the way she keeps her people in check.
”Well, you are partially correct. You recognize the Ilmater worshippers? Or are you part of or working with Clan Redrickson? And yes I do strive to work with and support low born and newcomers as you call them. But I am new to town, and still trying to figure out the inner workings of how the Lowlands work.
Do you have something against Clan Redrickson? I have yet to meet them, as we have only communicated by letter. But I would not say they have claimed to be high and mighty. They do seem willing to work towards the betterment of the Lowlands.
Where do you stand on the way of things, especially now that the drow are here, seemingly for the long haul? Do you desire a change and a light shone in this darkness? And what do you mean by ‘better position’?”
Sereena leans forward to watch the match. She marvels at the power behind the mighty creations and their ability to give and take damage. “This truly is a remarkable show.”
The Lady folds her arms against her sizeable chest and eyes Serena. She takes a good long puff and exhales heavily, "Bah! Betterment. That's a good one! And, I guess if I was new to town I'd be full of questions, too." Placing a hand over her heart with a mock swoon, "Our beloved Lowlands is the picture of betterment...even with a Drow infestation. Right, lads?"
Her minions all answer back with a well-practiced yell of approval, then go back to their predictions and conversations. She gets a glint in her eye, "Let me give yoo some insight, lass. This place is like an onion, no matter how much yoo peel, there's always another layer. If yoo can get used to that, even turn it to yoor favor, then yoo can make it here in Rothy's Pit. If you can't, then there's no hope for yoo."
She leans forward, "Do yoo get what I'm saying, girl? Darkness, Light, Redrickson, Drow, High, Holy, Low, or Newcomer...none of it matters. It's all different mech, playin' the same game."
Salazar nods along to LadySmokes comments. The only way to win the game is to learn the rules. What we need is to show us the ropes and maybe a sponsor. My dear Lady Smoke, what would it take for someone as learned in the game as you to take us under your wing?
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Listening to Lady Smoke, Sereena just takes it all in stride. She knows that she is still a stranger in this place and should not push to many buttons to soon, especially not having even spoken with Clan Redrickson yet.
”I hear you. However, you twist my words by saying the drow have made this place a picture of betterment. My conversation with Redrickson was prior to this mess we find ourselves in now. The task set before any of us, is obviously changed and made more difficult by their presence. But thank you for realizing that as a stranger I, or those with me, would have questions.
I also acknowledge that there is more to this place than meets the eye. I have only been here a short while and will admit I still have much to learn. But to demean someone without any real tangible advice is worthless and pointless. What Salazar says makes a lot of sense. You talked about a better position and filling ranks but you have yet to answer that question or any of my questions really. All I have really heard is...well...smoke. No substance, no answers, just fluff. So maybe your name is fitting, Lady Smoke.”
Sereena grabs her mug and takes a deep drink. As she sets it down she intentionally does not break eye contact with Lady Smoke.
Lady Smoke chokes on her brew at the earnestness of their comments and then laughs uproariously. "You young ones slay me! Did you hear that fools?(thwaps)They want ME to be their sponsor. Bwha!" She laughs for a little while longer and then eyes them both back up, "Yoo know, I should...just to see how the others would react." She pauses, clearly thinking over possibilities, "But, they'd never let me keep yoo, not now. Besides, I highly doubt that yoo would approve of my onion peel."
She leans back to pat her belly and throws you a grin, "Yoo both are right, of course. I am full of fluff and you do need someone to show yoo the ropes. But, let's be clear, I dinna twist yoor words, it's called sarcasm. It's our bread and butter in the Pit, yoo would do well to polish up that skill, lass. Yoo would also do well to thicken that hide."
She sobers a bit and gestures to the arena, "Even here, eyes and ears of those who would thwart you are everywhere. Why say what you mean, when you can simply dance around it." She visibly thinks for a moment, "If there is hope for yoo, there's really only one person who could help yoo find it...and, he no doubt is here." She snaps her fingers and a younger halfling appears at her elbow. The Lady whispers an instruction into her ear. The young one looks at your party each in turn, then scurries off into the crowd.
Looking back over as she settles in again, "What I could do for yoo has been done. What yoo do with it now is yoor own hands. Do know that not many can sit there and banter back at Lady Smoke. It's been amusing at the very least." She gives you all another sly grin, "If Lord Wicker does seek you out, tell him the Lady sends her love."
The last bit amuses her even more, as the crowd rallies up again. Suddenly, another young halfling appears at elbow and cups their hand to talk into her ear. Whatever news they bring, it's not good. Her face falls and her lips pierce. She nods in finality to both of you, "Good luck out there. Yoo're going to need it."
Gadus winks at elf.
The Lady finishes her latest toke of her pipe and points it at Salazar, "Now, I never said nothing about being sure. That note is stirring rumors that Clan Borune's working with new mech even larger than the proud Redrickson Ironclad. Some feat that would be, right boys!?" She thwaps them all in her mirth.
Continuing, "Nothing is ever sure in these parts, so you make up your own mind there. Clan Borune or Clan Redrickson? That decision may cost you or bring you fortune, especially now. Better hurry though, the match is startin' soon." She slyly grins and raises a glass, "You can call me Lady Smoke, some will know the name, some will wither beneath it."
The lads chuckle at the name and then yell, "WITHER!" She raises a fist and then makes a motion with her hands. A servant appears with mugs and brew for the group's box and begins to pour all of you a pint. (It's not the cheap stuff, neither.)
Tamlynn [Pic] | Half-Elf | Ranger, Horizon Walker - Lvl 6 | Talaveroth (sub-campaign 3)
Hadar Ilkin [Pic] | Half-Orc | Ranger, Gloom Stalker - Lvl 4 | Bane of Kerakys
Mistress of Game | Death Inspectors
Mistress of Game | Into the Werewoods
With one minute to go on the clock, the atmosphere grows gradually more and more tense. The lights begin to dim. Final bets are made, at increasingly feverish odds. Ankarg brings in your chosen beverages, handles the final arrangements, and politely shuts the door, blocking out the slowly rising shouts and cheers from the crowd outside. Not completely, however. Two opposing cheers spread like wildfire across the stands, fans roaring and screaming at the top of their lungs to add their piece to the tidal flows of sound crashing through the great underground arena. The seconds tick down. 6...5...4...3...2...
The sound of a pealing bell. You do not so much hear it as feel it, the noise itself reverberating through solid stone and metal, through blood and gristle and bone. Again, another peal. In a flash of reddish lights, tall, loping figures burst from concealed doors on one end of the arena floor. Lanky mechs, lightly armored but disturbingly quick in their movements, scurry onto the field, dropping to a nearly four-limbed lope, covering enormous strides in the blink of an eye. Bipedal and humanoid in design, their long limbs reach nearly to the ground while standing. They take positions near the back of the field. Following them are two mechs, half again as tall as the first. More heavily armored, it appears that the Redrickson team practices a certain consistency in design. Bipedal, muscularly shaped bodies sporting broad armor where practical, long limbs with wide reach and, over all, a certain grace in their movement that speaks to incredible strength restrained.
Another ringing bell sound.
This time, it is accompanied by a visible star of light, the afterglow of a hammer blow. The Ironclad appears.
Twice again as tall as any of the preceding mechs, its armor plating would look more fitting adorning castle battlements than a mechanized construct. The consistency of design remains, though taken to new heights in terms of sheer scope - enormous sheets of armor, hardly nicked or scratched over the course of months of brutal fighting. Long limbs, reinforced with layer after layer of integrated machinery and plate armor - every aspect of the creation has been honed down to a single, titanic purpose: to absorb damage, and deal it out with vengeance. With closed fists, the Ironclad's clap resounds like anvil strikes, filling the room with a spire of red sparks and the smell of incinerated metal. Hanging on its broad back, a tall red banner sways with the long, resounding steps of the Ironclad. Team Redrickson takes their positions to the sound of a thousand beserk fans.
Then team Borun takes the field. No fanfare - not even a chant. Just sleek, metallic shapes, appearing as if from the shadows themselves. Already, differences in craft are immediately apparent. Where team Redrickson is clearly defined by function, each mech design accomplishing purpose but united in manufacturing, the Borune team sports mechs identical in both appearance and size. Sharp blades protrude from oddly jointed limbs, seemingly too lithe to allow for onboard piloting - and yet, no officials whistles are blown. The section dominated by Borune blues tries to start a cheer, but quickly stops as their team strides onto the field in lockstep unison, not making even the slightest sound beyond the dull rasp of metal passing over sand. Approaching the center of the field, they spread into a V shape, the central mech raising the tall blue banner high. Light seems to slide off of the oddly faceted carapaces of the Borune mechs, refracting strangely in the muted, colored lights. Between their perfectly synced movements and their sudden appearance, an announcer flusteredly begins booming out the pregame statistics. A second voice in common overlays the words of the announcer, translating as follows.
"Er. Uh. Well crowd, we are, uh, here tonight as you know for the... the Redrickson-Borune rematch finale! Winner take all the glory, fame, and honor on this one! We've got a strong showing to be sure on both sides, and while team Borune has certainly taken some significant losses earlier in the season, they appear to be showcasing their new models tonight - a whole new category of mechanized armor systems called, and I'm just receiving this now, the Shrike-A line. Now, we have no statistics for you here tonight on the Borune combat systems, but I assure you their opponents need no introduction. Undefeated victors, the Ironclad design has proved to be one of the most resilient and capable combat options in the league, showcasing a variety of adaptable strategems head and shoulders above the rest. And, of course, the Ironclad-44 itself, unparalleled in every category: size, strength, speed, you name it. We can only hope Young Borune's confidence in his new line models is well-deserved, or else it will be an all to short match. Without further ado, the contestants will signal when ready by exchanging banners, as is traditional. Now, Let the Game Be-!"
With a flow of movement too fluid to be artificial, the Borun banner carrier sprints for the Ironclad-44 and, with a strike so quick as to deceive the eye, rips the Redrickson banner from its outstretched claw, snapping its own in place before bounding back across to its own side, lit in an actinic glare. After a collective intake of breath, both the crowd and you realize that the Borune mech took not only the banner from the Ironclad's hand, signalling the start of the match, but also came away with a little more. The thumb joint of the Ironclad-44 now dangles, shattered and broken, from one of the four outstretched fists of the first Borune mech.
Salazar pockets his coins and sits back down. I take it that’s not supposed to happen. Those Borune creations... they don’t look forged, more like they were born. Interesting
Anansi looks over both teams of figures in surprise. "How did people who can build these kinds of things for fun lose the war? Surely no drow soldier can stand up against one of those."
Gronk in Bastion, Kingdom of Medrin Elixisys in Talaveroth (Team 2) Uthal in Lost Continent of Theviranne
Before the countdown hits zero, Gadus walks to the box's door and lets Bekate out -- the bird flies over arena to get a closer look. As the match begins, Gadus becomes noticeably quiet as he tethers his senses to that of his familiar.
At the sight of the dimming lights, Sereena withdraws her hand understanding that the time has already passed to place a bet and places the gold back in her pouch. She progresses with the rest of the group to watch the match.
As seen in part through Bekate's eyes...
The rippling of crowd changes in the discolored lighting. Cutting through their cheers, the occasional rending sound as the Redrickson mechs probe at their strange opponents. Their cheers swell as Bekate crests over the theater, but even the familiar's powerful sight struggles to keep pace with the flowing movements and lightning blows of the melee. Gadus, his eyes gently clouded as his senses roam elsewhere, narrates over the struggling dwarf announcer, who almost immediately lags behind the rapidly evolving state of the field.
"The Borune's strike first, beginning the match and inflicting some damage on the Ironclad-44. They're spreading out across the battlefield, covering most of their territory and threatening the Redrickson flanks. There's the Red's response - a light mech dashing to the center with their intermediary-sized variants in support. The flag is only a few steps away..."
Gadus's voice trails off as a series of bright flashes illuminate the room in stark relief. The flanking Borune constructs, in a fluid blur, cover the large gap in seemingly a single uninterrupted stride. Their motions in perfect unison, they twist forward, upper hands grasping the Redrickson light mech at the shoulder joints. With bright flashes, their lower hands score its carapace, filling the smooth polished exterior with fist-sized holes in a matter of moments. They step back. A second passes, and the light mech topples to the ground. The Borune crowd stands in applause, met with an obscene level of screaming from much of the rest of the stadium. Clearly, nothing like this has ever happened before.
The ground shakes abruptly, the first pulse hardly registering before the next three are already passing through the floor. The supporting mechs engage with practiced, battle-hardened energy, but their strikes quickly turn defensive as the relentless bladed constructs strike home again and again, scoring and shearing armor like so much paper. The sheer friction of contact begins to show, the Redrickson mechs smoking as their ventilation struggles to cool metal already glowing scarlet. The Borune mechs are similarly affected, their appendages taking on bright yellow streaks as heat from their piercing strikes, channeling it through the forearms back towards the spines adorning the backs. The air shimmers with displaced heat and the continued flurries of exchanged blows.
"Left side! The Borune banner carrier engages the remaining Red light. It goes down like the first. In the center, the Red armor seems to be holding - there it goes!" With another bright flash, one of the heavier support mechs goes down - the third Redrickson to fall this match. Outnumbered, the remaining mech backtracks, beleaguered by the two Borune mechs until it passes within arms reach of the heavy Ironclad-44. As quick as the Borune's were, the Ironclad's fist returns blow that can be registered only as a distortion of light and sound.
A resounding anvil-strike, and the first Borune casualty is reduced to a smoking hull and a few thousand crystal shards, twinkling brightly in the lights that have gradually grown more and more purple, now rising again to blue tints and highlights.
"That was the Ironclad - those hands seem to have once been actual anvils, repurposed to deliver exactly that kind of payload. The remaining Borunes regroup across the Red line, the damaged Red stays behind the Ironclad, and it seems we have a stand-off. Anything that walks within arms reach of the Ironclad gets wasted, but anything beyond it will get ripped to pieces."
Smaller scurrying figures dart onto the battlefield - Sereena notices with an unfamiliar shock a resemblance between some them and herself, in both build and skin-tone, though the figures on the field are yet larger and more ungainly. With practiced efficiency, they work together in teams, some with long prybars to open the smoldering carapaces of the downed mechs, and other's in heat-resistant gear rescuing smaller figures inside. Two from the downed Redrickson's are completely limp as they pulled from the broken wreckage, as is the Borune pilot.
The crowd quiets as the tension again mounts. A few shout encouragements, or insults, but neither team advances for the moment. The room takes a collective breath.
Seeing the broken figures emerging from the wreckage, Ankarg lets out a slight groan and darts down the stairwell. The other dwarves reclining around the woman who spoke to you earlier mutter amongst themselves. They seem displeased with the way the match is going. "It's too quick!... Where's the fun if it's just a show of violence?... There's no honor in those Borune mechs... Unnatural... No honor is losing neither."
The Lady, with steepled fingers, leans forward, eyes absorbing every detail with cool attentiveness.
Salazar is more interested in watching Lady Smoke, her lack of obvious emotion reminding him of his lost brood. He notes that this is beyond unusual. There could be opportunity here, he needs information and what better way to get it than to trade something new and unusual for it
Anansi decides to follow after Ankarg, doing his best to keep out of sight of the dwarf. He's curious what gave him that reaction.
Stealth: 17
Gronk in Bastion, Kingdom of Medrin Elixisys in Talaveroth (Team 2) Uthal in Lost Continent of Theviranne
Anansi:
Quietly slipping along the stairwell, you follow Ankarg into the raucous crowd outside. He continues to look concerned, but doesn't notice you as you follow. He follows the outer edge of the arena, ignoring the hushed stillness over the playing field, and approaches another smaller door built into the wall. Withdrawing a small, black key, he unlocks the door and hurriedly passes inside.
Anansi waits a moment and then tries to door himself, trying to sneak it open and slip inside with as little noise as possible.
Stealth: 25
Gronk in Bastion, Kingdom of Medrin Elixisys in Talaveroth (Team 2) Uthal in Lost Continent of Theviranne
Serena looks at lady smoke takes in her appearance and demeanor. She tries to understand which side the lady is on.
”Lady Smoke can you tell me about those poor souls down there on the field going into the danger zone pulling people out of the mix?“
The Lady leans back and takes another large swig of ale, then sighs heavily. Her coolness gains and losses an edge as she pans the crowd for their reaction during the lull. She thwaps a few of her lads as they start to get too grumbly and out of order.
Knocking her pipe out, as she glances over at Serena, "I'm surprised yoo don't already know. Doesn't yoor piousness drive yoo to work with the low born and newcomers? Perhaps those Redrickson's (dipping her head down a bit to see over her beard to repack her pipe) you work with aren't as high and mighty as they claim to be."
Igniting the herbs, her face scrunches up a bit as she puffs. She then waves a hand dismissively to bring herself back to her point, "Nevertheless, those down there are what make these bouts possible. They're work is dangerous, and they make good coin from it. I hear there's a waiting list to fill their ranks."
Regarding Serena in earnest, "Looking for a better position?"
Tamlynn [Pic] | Half-Elf | Ranger, Horizon Walker - Lvl 6 | Talaveroth (sub-campaign 3)
Hadar Ilkin [Pic] | Half-Orc | Ranger, Gloom Stalker - Lvl 4 | Bane of Kerakys
Mistress of Game | Death Inspectors
Mistress of Game | Into the Werewoods
Sereena nods to Lady Smoke. And gives a soft chuckle at the way she keeps her people in check.
”Well, you are partially correct. You recognize the Ilmater worshippers? Or are you part of or working with Clan Redrickson? And yes I do strive to work with and support low born and newcomers as you call them. But I am new to town, and still trying to figure out the inner workings of how the Lowlands work.
Do you have something against Clan Redrickson? I have yet to meet them, as we have only communicated by letter. But I would not say they have claimed to be high and mighty. They do seem willing to work towards the betterment of the Lowlands.
Where do you stand on the way of things, especially now that the drow are here, seemingly for the long haul? Do you desire a change and a light shone in this darkness? And what do you mean by ‘better position’?”
Sereena leans forward to watch the match. She marvels at the power behind the mighty creations and their ability to give and take damage. “This truly is a remarkable show.”
The Lady folds her arms against her sizeable chest and eyes Serena. She takes a good long puff and exhales heavily, "Bah! Betterment. That's a good one! And, I guess if I was new to town I'd be full of questions, too." Placing a hand over her heart with a mock swoon, "Our beloved Lowlands is the picture of betterment...even with a Drow infestation. Right, lads?"
Her minions all answer back with a well-practiced yell of approval, then go back to their predictions and conversations. She gets a glint in her eye, "Let me give yoo some insight, lass. This place is like an onion, no matter how much yoo peel, there's always another layer. If yoo can get used to that, even turn it to yoor favor, then yoo can make it here in Rothy's Pit. If you can't, then there's no hope for yoo."
She leans forward, "Do yoo get what I'm saying, girl? Darkness, Light, Redrickson, Drow, High, Holy, Low, or Newcomer...none of it matters. It's all different mech, playin' the same game."
Tamlynn [Pic] | Half-Elf | Ranger, Horizon Walker - Lvl 6 | Talaveroth (sub-campaign 3)
Hadar Ilkin [Pic] | Half-Orc | Ranger, Gloom Stalker - Lvl 4 | Bane of Kerakys
Mistress of Game | Death Inspectors
Mistress of Game | Into the Werewoods
Salazar nods along to LadySmokes comments. The only way to win the game is to learn the rules. What we need is to show us the ropes and maybe a sponsor. My dear Lady Smoke, what would it take for someone as learned in the game as you to take us under your wing?
Persuasion if needed 26
Listening to Lady Smoke, Sereena just takes it all in stride. She knows that she is still a stranger in this place and should not push to many buttons to soon, especially not having even spoken with Clan Redrickson yet.
”I hear you. However, you twist my words by saying the drow have made this place a picture of betterment. My conversation with Redrickson was prior to this mess we find ourselves in now. The task set before any of us, is obviously changed and made more difficult by their presence. But thank you for realizing that as a stranger I, or those with me, would have questions.
I also acknowledge that there is more to this place than meets the eye. I have only been here a short while and will admit I still have much to learn. But to demean someone without any real tangible advice is worthless and pointless. What Salazar says makes a lot of sense. You talked about a better position and filling ranks but you have yet to answer that question or any of my questions really. All I have really heard is...well...smoke. No substance, no answers, just fluff. So maybe your name is fitting, Lady Smoke.”
Sereena grabs her mug and takes a deep drink. As she sets it down she intentionally does not break eye contact with Lady Smoke.
Insight 12
Lady Smoke chokes on her brew at the earnestness of their comments and then laughs uproariously. "You young ones slay me! Did you hear that fools? (thwaps) They want ME to be their sponsor. Bwha!" She laughs for a little while longer and then eyes them both back up, "Yoo know, I should...just to see how the others would react." She pauses, clearly thinking over possibilities, "But, they'd never let me keep yoo, not now. Besides, I highly doubt that yoo would approve of my onion peel."
She leans back to pat her belly and throws you a grin, "Yoo both are right, of course. I am full of fluff and you do need someone to show yoo the ropes. But, let's be clear, I dinna twist yoor words, it's called sarcasm. It's our bread and butter in the Pit, yoo would do well to polish up that skill, lass. Yoo would also do well to thicken that hide."
She sobers a bit and gestures to the arena, "Even here, eyes and ears of those who would thwart you are everywhere. Why say what you mean, when you can simply dance around it." She visibly thinks for a moment, "If there is hope for yoo, there's really only one person who could help yoo find it...and, he no doubt is here." She snaps her fingers and a younger halfling appears at her elbow. The Lady whispers an instruction into her ear. The young one looks at your party each in turn, then scurries off into the crowd.
Looking back over as she settles in again, "What I could do for yoo has been done. What yoo do with it now is yoor own hands. Do know that not many can sit there and banter back at Lady Smoke. It's been amusing at the very least." She gives you all another sly grin, "If Lord Wicker does seek you out, tell him the Lady sends her love."
The last bit amuses her even more, as the crowd rallies up again. Suddenly, another young halfling appears at elbow and cups their hand to talk into her ear. Whatever news they bring, it's not good. Her face falls and her lips pierce. She nods in finality to both of you, "Good luck out there. Yoo're going to need it."
Tamlynn [Pic] | Half-Elf | Ranger, Horizon Walker - Lvl 6 | Talaveroth (sub-campaign 3)
Hadar Ilkin [Pic] | Half-Orc | Ranger, Gloom Stalker - Lvl 4 | Bane of Kerakys
Mistress of Game | Death Inspectors
Mistress of Game | Into the Werewoods
My thanks dear Lady, we shall pass on your complimentss to Lord Wicker. Salazar looks to the others and nods towards the stairs questioningly