dismallyOriented
Posts: 215
4/6/2014
|
Now her people were coming under fire. Teresa thought it was only fit to shoot back. Getting into a sniping position, she pointed her gun at the crowd in the street.
For a moment, she had moral reservations. Killing people? She'd backed out of jobs before because of that. But she shook those thoughts off. Death didn't mean so much here. They'd come back. Just like the men who sent death threats to her while in Wolfstack. Just a round of fun, sneaky sniping.
She fired at the crowd heading for the door. A window shattered. One man went down, nailed in the torso.
Meanwhile, the rats turned their attention to the brawl going down in the street. Their team was being attacked. Surely, that would be something worth retaliating for. But the Tomb Lion? Saving a cat?
Their moment of indecision was halted by a very distinct smell. Rats held renown for their keen senses, and there was nothing a rattus faber could smell faster than the smell of explosives.
"There's a bomb, there's a bomb!" they shrieked, fleeing from the building. "Every man for themselves!"
edited by dismallyOriented on 4/6/2014
|
|
|
0
link
|
Owen Wulf
Posts: 715
4/6/2014
|
Wrestling it to the floor, the Tomb Lion went out with a wimper as my blade found it's throat. Before I could could fully stand and renew my attack upon the vagrants surrounding me a nearby explosion took me off my feet...
---
edited by Owen Wulf on 4/6/2014
--
 Owen Wulf's Profile  Lanzo Hoffman’s Profile  Lukas Uller’s Profile
|
|
|
0
link
|
Zeel
Posts: 257
4/7/2014
|
Jass jumped down into the explosion, the smoke concealing her presence, Hazel shortly behind her. She checked the door. Definitely weakened, still locked. Damn. And she was surrounded by the Foolsman's people. Immediately she jumped to one side, Hazel jumping the other. The smoke cleared, a moment passed, the Tomb Colonists' guns all aimed at the door. They noticed her, and immediately all the guns were turned on her. Hazel had surprisingly vanished, Jass knew she'd come through when the moment was right. For now, she smiled charmingly and looked at the crowd. Ah, a familiar face, or as familiar as a blur could be.
"Foolsman" she said, smiling and giving an innocent expression. "What a pleasure to see you again"
--
http://www.fallenlondon.com/Profile/Zeel - Zeel, also known as the Hollow Hellion. A soulless, heartless, empty individual who will only deal with those who are advantageous to him.
http://www.fallenlondon.com/Profile/Jass The Sly Socialite, or the Devious Rogue, depending where you see her. Jass lives a double life, alternating between the God-fearing, popular socialite and one of the many crime-lords of London.
IF YOU WANT A PARABOLAN KITTEN please send me a social engagement or menace reduction to either account, preferably not Coffee at Caligula's.
|
|
|
0
link
|
The Foolsman
Posts: 88
4/7/2014
|
Standing at the receiving end of an explosion was nothing at all like fiction had made it out to be. It was rather more like getting a bear hug from a clay man who’d suddenly burst into flames. Simile hurt significantly more than most rhetorical figures. The Foolsman became aware that the valet was on top of them, batting away the embers.
“I think I may have used too much, Kallinikos…”
“Perhaps a little too much, sir.”
The pair stood, dusting themselves off. Before the valet could stop them, The Foolsman wandered past the line of Tomb Colonists to check the door. Still locked, though the hinges had taken a beating. A few strong shoulders could push it down. They turned and became aware that everyone was pointing rifles in their direction. Or rather, at the woman who had seemingly appeared from nowhere right beside them.
“Hello Jass!” they said, “First windows, then explosions…can you jump out of anything else? I have this wonderful idea for a salon…also, why are you here? Are you stalking me? Please say you are. All the best people have stalkers.”
edited by The Foolsman on 4/7/2014
|
|
|
0
link
|
Zeel
Posts: 257
4/7/2014
|
"If I were stalking you, you wouldn't know about it" Jass replied. "However, I must wonder what you're doing here. I'm here on official business, or as official as it gets in this particular trade". Jass looked at all of the Foolsman's Tomb Colonists.
"Tell your lackeys to lower their weapons. I'm not going to hurt anyone. If I was, I would have had one of my people on the rooftops attack you or them by now. No, I'm just here scouting out what's behind the door".
She nodded behind her, to the damaged but still sealed iron door. "It's my business to know. Still, seem to be an awful lot of gangs in the area tonight. I'm the only one here without an army behind me. I'm also the only one who's certain to survive the event. The only question is, are you going to survive with me?"
--
http://www.fallenlondon.com/Profile/Zeel - Zeel, also known as the Hollow Hellion. A soulless, heartless, empty individual who will only deal with those who are advantageous to him.
http://www.fallenlondon.com/Profile/Jass The Sly Socialite, or the Devious Rogue, depending where you see her. Jass lives a double life, alternating between the God-fearing, popular socialite and one of the many crime-lords of London.
IF YOU WANT A PARABOLAN KITTEN please send me a social engagement or menace reduction to either account, preferably not Coffee at Caligula's.
|
|
|
0
link
|
Owen Wulf
Posts: 715
4/7/2014
|
(switching to third person to match everyone else)
Groggily getting up, Owen Wulf made his way through the smoke to the printing house. The vagrants he had been attacking had backed off, probably until the smoke cleared or their leader issued a new order. Whatever was going on, it was far from over. He found his men taking cover in the entry way of the printing house, cheap blunderbusses bared at the rooftops. "Sniper, get down boss!" shouted Dredger, Wulf's ruthless henchman. Getting into the alcove, Dredger informed him that Moriarty was down, shot in the chest and like as not off to the boatman. "I'll have to give him a raise when he gets back" muttered Owen.
In the mean time, the printing house was shut with a magnificent steel beast of a door and nothing at hand looked able to the task of prying it open. The lock itself was of unusual make, and he had only seen it's sort in the vaults of the Bazaar... What the D***** H**** had he gotten himself into?
"We'll need more than our muscles to get it open. Hang on - that's it!" Pulling out his whalebone whistle Owen Wulf sounded off a single long shrill call, shortly thereafter followed by a playful bark. A wet, hard thump near the docks revealed the fearsome sight of a 15 foot armored seal making it's way down the street - bloody at the neck from some attack but still in fit shape.
"Lanius - good boy! See that door? Attack it!" The henchmen moved aside as the seal almost playfully charged at the door and thwacked it with it's plated head. Angered by the door's resilience, it thwacked harder again and again.
"Protect the seal, I'll cover the roofs with my rifle. And somebody find those rats!"
---
edited by Owen Wulf on 4/7/2014
--
Owen Wulf's Profile Lanzo Hoffman’s Profile Lukas Uller’s Profile
|
|
|
0
link
|
The Foolsman
Posts: 88
4/8/2014
|
“It’s always a line with you!” they replied to Jass, “Besides, they’re not lackeys; they’re a mix of professional people-hurters and amateur life-models.” The Foolsman paused at the sounds of gunfire. The whole thing was getting out of hand. “Look, if you help me, you can explore to your heart’s content. I only want to borrow the building for a few minutes anyway…”
The bandaged-raven flew through the shattered window, and settled on the valet’s shoulder. “It’s getting messy out there, sir.” he said, relaying the information, “Also, Miss Teresa is here.”
“Ooo, déjà vu...McCaan, summon us our escape contingency,” this they asked of the raven, before turning to the company, “Break down the door. Anything you can do to assist us, Jass, would be rewarded with continued friendship, and possibly me not feeding you to the Bifurcated Owl. Are we in accord?”
|
|
|
0
link
|
dismallyOriented
Posts: 215
4/8/2014
|
Professionalism was key for a good criminal. This was why Teresa made a rather poor one. As she watched Owen kill her tomb lion--her own pet, any concerns about the job were dropped in favor of angry vengeance. It had become very personal.
She fired at Owen with abandon, before ditching her post as lookout. "Take him down!" she cried. Where were her rats? The spy and the Clay Woman were running into the fray, but the rats should've been closest--
There they were! Out came the little pistols and knives. With a shrill battle cry, they went after him, jumping and crawling about on him.
Meanwhile, the monkey had clambered onto the roof of the targeted building and spied a raven messenger. With quick hands, it grabbed on just as the bird flew past, snagging it by a fistful of feathers.
[Seems like someone's been ticked off. Whether this reckless charge is worth it, though, remains to be seen. Go ahead. Make me regret the decision to go this way.]
|
|
|
+3
link
|
Zeel
Posts: 257
4/8/2014
|
Jass nodded. "I'm with you. Betray my trust, and it's a knife to your head". With that, Jass made a few hand signals and a knife was launched, brushing her hair yet doing no damage to her.
"My second is very skilled at knife-throwing" she said, looking up at the point where Hazel had previously been. With that, she glanced back at the door, where a man and his gang was being attacked by a young girl and her crew. The girl didn't seem to be in charge, although the rest of them listened to her. She was split on who to side with. The Urchin would be a lot more likely to cheat her in some way, yet the man would be more likely to outright kill her. Perhaps she should just let them sort it out themselves? No, that would mean that she'd be left with the strongest foe. She decided the Owner of the Seal was the greater threat. The Urchin may well me dangerous, but they were disorganized, haphazard, something she could deal with. She signalled the roof again, pointing to the man's roof. Moments later, knives began raining down on them at incredible speed.
--
http://www.fallenlondon.com/Profile/Zeel - Zeel, also known as the Hollow Hellion. A soulless, heartless, empty individual who will only deal with those who are advantageous to him.
http://www.fallenlondon.com/Profile/Jass The Sly Socialite, or the Devious Rogue, depending where you see her. Jass lives a double life, alternating between the God-fearing, popular socialite and one of the many crime-lords of London.
IF YOU WANT A PARABOLAN KITTEN please send me a social engagement or menace reduction to either account, preferably not Coffee at Caligula's.
|
|
|
0
link
|
The Foolsman
Posts: 88
4/8/2014
|
They could admit to feeling sorry for Teresa, as long as the thought was never voiced aloud; in that position it would seem as though everybody and everything was raining hell down upon her. They could help. Send off a couple of volleys to scatter the enemy. Morally speaking, it would be the right thing to do. But they hadn’t been paid to fight anybody, not if they could avoid it. Business had to come first.
With four men pushing at it, the iron door fell down with a resounding boom. Almost at once a foul smell rushed out to meet the company. The air was fogged in motes of dust. The valet shuddered. He had spent time in the Sanatorium. The miasma cast off old flesh was not unknown to him. In the darkness beyond were echoes…the door had been locked for a reason. Something still lived in there.
Only one soul had a hint of what lay within. It was the whole reason they were there. The Foolsman suddenly became lucid: “Form up. Two ranks around the carriers. Somebody light the lanterns.” They walked over to the iron casket, and removed the locks, leaving only two strong iron bars to hold the lid shut. With the company assembled, they moved to the head and cocked their blunderbuss by the lantern-glow.
The valet pulled the throwing knife out from the wall, tossing it to Jass as they stood by The Foolsman. “I don’t make trick-shots unless I intend to hit something. Friendly warning.”
****
The raven struggled madly in the monkey’s grip, a blur of the furies, pecking and clawing madly at every inch of the creature she could reach. She fixed her beak upon its tiny black fingers, forcing it to let go with a shriek. Taking advantage of her temporary freedom she shot upwards into the air, croaking something (a certain word no decent raven should ever croak) at the monkey below.
edited by The Foolsman on 4/8/2014
|
|
|
0
link
|
Owen Wulf
Posts: 715
4/8/2014
|
The door was beginning to give when one of the lookouts shouted a warning. Down the street barreled a frenzied but elegant woman, a crew of armed rattus faber and a lumbering clay person wielding a sword.
"Take them out!" Shouted Owen Wulf, leveling his rifle to shoot the clay woman with unusual markings. His shot went wide, but his men showered the group with a hail of metal pellets from their blunderbusses (save for one poor chap whose own weapon blew up in his hands). Two of the rats went down and the elegant woman dove for cover, but the clay woman continued undaunted. One of the hoodlums from Owen's crew tried to attack her from the side but earned a punch that sent him flying for his efforts.
"She's mine!" yelled Owen, part battle-cry and part command, as he bounded forward with his unsheathed waxwail knife. Wielding it like a sword he parried the blade of the clay woman and pressed the attack. She was not as skilled as Feducci but quite a deal stronger. The two remaining rattus faber from the opposing crew tried to assail him, one even shattering a chitinous segment of his lamellar armor with a shot from it's small pistol. Returning to the fray, Owen's own rats jumped the others and began pummeling them.
Suddenly, small knives started raining down upon Owen's beleaguered forces. Several pinged off his own armor and one of his hoodlums was hit in the chest. A flurry was directed at Lanius, but they may as well have been the odd drips of water from the roof.
Amidst all the fighting a loud slam emanated from the printing house. Lanius had succeeded in breaking open the door.
---
edited by Owen Wulf on 4/8/2014
--
Owen Wulf's Profile Lanzo Hoffman’s Profile Lukas Uller’s Profile
|
|
|
0
link
|
The Foolsman
Posts: 88
4/10/2014
|
The Foolsman whirled about in the dim at the sound of a crash. The noise of the battle outside seemed to grow louder. Perhaps in intensity, though more likely somebody had broken in. Time was running out. The gang fanned outwards, clearing the floor in tight-knit groups of five. The level was apparently dedicated to a small set of offices, and a workshop for binding books. Dust lay thick enough that tracking one’s foot through would cause little disturbance. The rafters were covered with long-abandoned spider webs; when the sorrow spiders left a place it was cause for concern. More worrying, however, were the bones. There were more than a few complete piles here and there, and no sign of a struggle; they looked as though they had simply closed their eyes and died. The level was entirely lifeless, which begged the question: what had killed them?
They pointed to the first group to return. “You five watch the stairs. Stay at the top, you hear me?” The Foolsman sniffed the air. It reeked, but more akin to an old grave than from any contamination. The other groups emerged, each confirming that their area was clear. The valet tightened the grip on his Adams. He shared the doubts of his master, and like his master he was going to pretend otherwise.
The valet kicked at a grimy pile by a workbench. Glue, paper, resins…the usual tools of the trade. “We have our fuel, sir.” he called to The Foolsman.
“Brilliant,” from a satchel they produced a tinderbox and flint, “Those of you unoccupied, start shifting this debris to the support beams. Make it-”
Suddenly, there was an outburst. The lamplight flicked in the flash and clatter of half a dozen muskets. Somebody screamed. The Foolsman looked over to the stairs just in time to see a bandaged hand scrabble at the floor, and vanish before anybody could grab at it. They leveled their gun at the darkness below. Illumination from the blunderbuss’ mouth revealed the brief glance of a bandaged man being dragged away by one foot. There was another scream, suddenly cut off, but not a sound of interrupted it. It was as though the sound had simply ceased to be…
“I thought I told you to stay at the top!”
“We did sir!” cried a bandaged woman, “Davide slipped, and…we hit it, sir, I swear we did!” She pointed to a dark stain on the first step. The valet stepped forward, kneeling down to trail a finger through. The scent was metallic. The taste…
“It’s ink…” said the valet. He looked at The Foolsman.
“We go on.”
“Sir…”
“We…go…on…” The Foolsman sounded certain. Though nobody could see it, the valet knew his master well enough to guess that they were trembling.
edited by The Foolsman on 4/11/2014
|
|
|
0
link
|
Owen Wulf
Posts: 715
4/10/2014
|
Distracted by the slamming door, the clay woman failed to properly defend herself as Owen's blade disarmed her with a slash to her sword arm. Despite the grievous wound, she looked ready to continue the fight until she noticed Lanius staring in their direction. "Leave" stated Owen, motioning with his waxwail knife - his eyes alight with murderous intent. Knowing when to cut and run, the pirate poet made a calm retreat, her elegant compatriot following her as well as the two beaten-up rats remaining from the crew.
Sheathing his weapon, Owen made his way back to his gang which was busy raking the rooftops with blunderbusses hoping to catch the knife-thrower in the fusillade. "Cease fire, cease fire!" bellowed Owen. The knife thrower had likely run out of knives and escaped in all the confusion; madly gunning for whoever it was would only bring more trouble on their heads. Turning to Dredger, Owen asked for a report.
"Two for the doctor and two for the boatman, sirrah."
D***. Four of his gang out of action and they hadn't even entered the d*** house. "Can the wounded walk?" Asked Owen. "Well enough I suppose if they just have to limp, boss" replied Dredger. Right, he would have his crew of rats escort them to a doctor. The rats would not be of much help in close quarters, no matter how resourceful. Turning to the armored seal, Owen patted Lanius on the side. "Good boy, now go on - head home." After a moment the seal barked and made his way to the docks.
"Boss, you sure about this? There's a small army in there looking for whatever it is!" exclaimed James, his most devious henchman.
"Yes, this bloodshed has only whetted my curiosity. Still, best to take care of loose ends first."
Drawing his derringer, Owen walked out onto the street with the weapon held at the ready. "Whoever is out there, show yourself! I desire to parlay."
---
edited by Owen Wulf on 4/10/2014
--
Owen Wulf's Profile Lanzo Hoffman’s Profile Lukas Uller’s Profile
|
|
|
0
link
|
doctor wolfram
Posts: 61
12/18/2014
|
Before Owen could get out another word, a tiny bullet took off his fedora. Spinning around, he noticed a... thingy in an Anarchist Sable with a blue knife, and a LB with a rifle. The person spoke first: "I noticed you were having a brawl down here from my house in a steamer, and thought I might join in. Would you like an alliance?"
OOC:
Gang forces:
1 - Me with an anarchist sable and a knife of lost sky.
1 - Disgraced RF bandit chief with Rattus Faber Rifle.
Based off how this is going, the constables are going to show up shortly.
--
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/doctor~wolfram-school2
|
|
|
0
link
|
Cotton Dee
Posts: 76
12/21/2014
|
Henry Lamperouge observes the ongoing fracas with considerable interest. This was supposedly a quiet stroll down at the Docks, for the sake of some peace of mind. All the explosions and musketeering had quite ruined it. He waits patiently now from a second story window, sipping leisurely on an ice tea. "Are you sure that door is the only entrance?" The question is sharply directed at an imp loitering in the shadows. "Yes, boss." comes the curt reply. "No windows, no skylights, nuffink. Used to be, but they been filled in with something solid. The boardings just fer show".
Henry pauses before replying. "I daren't risk the tunnels, not with the tide as it is. Remember our gift from the Cryptozoologist? Perhaps it is time we put that to use." He retrieves a pouch from his coat, and plucks a single oiled eyeball from it. "Try and sneak this aboard one of the warring parties, Hubert. I reccommend that Foolsman chap. I'll be setting up the barrels, as promised."
Hubert gives a mischievous grin, takes the eyeball, and mock salutes his employer before disappearing into the endless night.
***
Hubert is carrying an eyeball soaked in the sweat of frightened prey. The aim is to induce a copious influx of sorrow spiders within the building. Yes, his name is Hubert. Everyone calls their imp Hubert. That's the point.
Mr Lamperouge is set up in one of the buildings down the street. He has so far had a perfect view of the rooftops, and some of the street, but the actual printing house is a little ways obscured from his position. He is going now to set up the barrels. I will explain what that means at the appropriate time.
***
Hubert slips quietly past the two gentlemen at the door, and into the dank gloom of the printing house. The smell is almost familiar, but not quite. Something touches the air here, something... ...hmmm. A crash emanating from the landing draws the attention of the other occupants of the room. What a splendid opportunity! Hubert slips the 'gift' into the pocket of one of the valets. Hmm. That smell again. Perhaps the spiders won't be as voracious? At the pronouncement of "ink", Hubert decides to split before being discovered. He slips out the door again...
... and immediately between the same two gentlemen who passed on the way in. To their mutual surprise. Ah.
Hubert reaches for his satchel. Not an ideal fight, and Henry would definitely chew him out later, but it was an honest mistake. Semi-honest. Maybe.
***
OOC:
"Gang" Forces:
-Henry Lamperouge, in Anarchist's sable
-Hubert the Imp, Henry's loathsome companion
-Rockefeller the disgraced LB bandit chief, who remains with Henry
edited by Cotton Dee on 12/24/2014
edited by Cotton Dee on 12/24/2014
--
Henry Lamperouge may be found here...
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Henry~Lamperouge
Current Grind: 1/42 Presumptious Little Opportunites
|
|
|
+1
link
|
The Foolsman
Posts: 88
12/29/2014
|
The Valet flicked at a sorrow spider on his arm. This did nothing to dissuade the creature; it began scampering back towards him, its progress impeded by the timely application of a boot. ‘Disgusting creatures…’ he whispered to himself, scraping the grey ichor off his heel.
‘Stop making friends with the wildlife, Aesop…’ The Foolsman was searching through the offices, turning aside stacks of paper as they searched. “The Advancement of Night…”. One volume. The only volume, as far as they knew. Mr. Pages didn’t need to know…theoretically, it was a bonus…
‘Blast…’ they said, pulling out a sheaf of papers from their bag and spreading them out on top of the old desk. The floor plan had the offices on the first floor. But no safe. No filing cabinets. No hidden panel. Life was nothing like fiction. A sorrow spider began to creep across the table. The Foolsman crushed it with an atlas.
‘Everything’s ready upstairs, sir,’ said the Valet, running a cautionary eye over the preparations. It would make quite an inferno, no doubt.
‘Which just leaves the press…are the barrels ready?’ they asked.
‘Primed, sir.’
‘Good. We want this done quickly.’ There was a shout of alarm, and a clash of weapons outside the main door. In the distance, they could just make out the shriek of Constabulary whistles. ‘Very quickly.’
At a nod from the Valet, the bandaged gang formed up in two columns, with the gunpowder barrels toward the middle, and The Foolsman and their Valet bringing up the rear. Something stirred in the darkness of the floor below. The Foolsman held their breath. Orders. Were orders. Were orders. Were pains in their proverbial arse. The gang began to descend the stairs…
edited by The Foolsman on 12/29/2014
|
|
|
0
link
|
Owen Wulf
Posts: 715
12/29/2014
|
(I kinda quit on this a while back - I chose to retreat with my men in tow I guess. I fill in Doctor Wolfram on the details and spare him my ratwork derringer should he wish to proceed. I will allow others to speak for me)
--
Owen Wulf's Profile Lanzo Hoffman’s Profile Lukas Uller’s Profile
|
|
|
0
link
|
doctor wolfram
Posts: 61
1/3/2015
|
I take cover and start taking potshots at everone except Henry Lamperouge, because he's a fellow anarchist/Brass Embassy employee.
--
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/doctor~wolfram-school2
|
|
|
0
link
|