[GAME] Unhallowed Metropolis: City of Shadows Episode 1: Volatile Mix

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"I'm going for the legs, when it's down try and get the head."

Ness needed no second urging, as soon as she could reach the creature’s head she moved into attack range, aiming for the mystery animate as advised.

[hide]( 3d10( 10 + 8 + 10 ) +3 Melee Weapon -3 Aiming = 28)
(Ness uses 1 move to move in position, 2nd move to attack animate???)[/hide]
 
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[HIDE]
DR: 12

Result: Success

Damage:
2d10 + 2 (Exculpus) +3 (Vitality) + 5 (head attack)

8 + 2 + 2 + 3 + 5= 20

Result: Fatal Wound

[/HIDE]

The large animate's head fell to the ground, as to be expected from a skilled mourner such as herself with a pair of deadly exculpi in her hands. Suddenly the body of the large animate convulsed as if it were still unliving, its arms flailing around wildly, attempting to grab anything it could before it finally laid their motionless.

Cautiously Victor approached the large animate corpse and poked it a couple of times with his gun, just to be sure. It went down without having to go through hell, but even then it wasn't exactly a normal animate. "That....."


"....wasn't a normal animate." a sudden new voice from behind them said. It was a well dressed man, his suit completely white in spite of how easy it was to tarnish out there in that weather and with all the dust in the air. His face was concealed by a white and gold gas mask. In his right hand was a cane, tipped with what appeared to be a large, well polished and perfectly cut diamond. "Before anyone asks, the letters were from me, and seeing as you are all still alive it seems I was right and selecting you for what I have planned. We have much to discuss, but not here too out in the open and lets face it too dirty." he said before directing their attention to a pair of large carriages, each pulled by gas mask wearing horses. "Firebringer, Succubus, Beast, Silent Huntsman, and Mad Doctor, proceed to get in and we will be on our way and more importantly on the way to your payment." he said, the servants that accompanied him were leaving them little choice in the matter , practically shoving them into the first while the other servants collected the remnants of the large animate and loading them into the other. Just as he said they were on their way rather quickly. Left behind was the mourner, despite her role in the fight it seemed she was not among those the man had chosen to hire.

-----

Soon enough Blackwood's personal guards had come to that street and stood guard over the pit in case there were any stragglers. Some muttered about the possibility that they were from nearby, possibly one of the larger wealthier homes, perhaps because a mourner had been less than vigilant in their work.

-----

Soon enough the group arrived at Blackwood Spire, and like before the servants had practically shoved them into the elevator that began an ascent to the top level that their employer called home. At least it provided quite a view of the city below.

Victor had to let himself admire it for a bit, he had never seen the city from this angle before. Every time the elevator moved higher, the reminders of the city's problems faded little by little, actually looking rather pleasant compared to the life down on the ground, at least where most people lived. And then there was that one particular part of town, still in ruins, looking blackened and burnt out, nothing but bad memories there.

Soon enough they reached the top level, a fact that had been announced with a ding before the doors opened and they were shown in. If Victor's gas mask wasn't on everyone could see his jaw drop at the place. It was clear this guy had money. The ceiling was fully painted, each section illustrating a large scale battle between traditional white winged angels, and an army of black winged angels at the very center of it was a figure that was obscured by what was painted as bright lights, supposedly the leader of the white winged army. Their were sculptures of varying kinds, made out of silver, gold or in some cases both, and the fact that all the lights worked was something impressive to Victor who sometimes had to light a fire on his floor for light.

Also there was a servant, this time without a gas mask, indicating that the air in the building was safe to breath. He held out his hand and offered to take their gas masks for them. Victor of course obliged, glad to take in a breath of clean air. Handing the man his gas mask he took his sunglasses from his coat pocket and put them on, all the shiny stuff was a little to bright for his taste.

From there they had been shown into a room with various couches and chairs. "Master Blackwood will be with you shortly, until then make yourselves comfortable." the servant said before leaving them.

Victor of course plopped down on the nearest sofa, which was probably now dirtier just from him having touched it. "Well.....Id say this guy does have the cash to pay us." he said, trying to break the silence.
 
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Although Irene had removed her mask, she had not given it to the servant. She was rather protective of her possessions. She had to agree with the American Undertaker, even if he was only stating what was already obvious. The man who had brought them together, who owned this home, would certainly pay well. Still, she would keep a wary eye out. The rich were one thing, the clever another. Someone who was both rich and clever would no doubt be impossible to trust. She drifted past Victor’s field of vision, running her fingertips delicately over the ornately carved top of a wine cabinet that was propped against the wall, before finally taking up a position by the window, her back to the rest of this menagerie of freaks, misfits and undesirables. One hand hung close to where her weapons were hidden after the day’s battle. She was at least thankful their host had not taken those away.
 
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If it weren't for the tinted lenses in front of Victor's eyes most would have seen his eyes not so subtly following the direction and motion's of Irene's ass. "Nice view." he said with a whistle, almost unconsciously before realizing what came out of his mouth. "The window I mean, usually dont see Arkham from this high up." she was an Undertaker like him, pissing her off would be a bad idea. Enjoying the view behind a pair of tinted shades however was just fine.
 
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Ben took of his helmet and just tossed it at the wall, not to far from him though just in case he needed it in a hurry. Slowly scanning the room tell his eyes fell on a very nice bottle of liquor, a brand he has never seen before but from the looks of the bottle, it was very expensive. Ben walked straight for the bottle and grabbed it and took a mouthful, then another, straight from the bottle then looked around and said "you dont think he will mind right?, well I am planning on finishing this bottle anyways, if i grab another i think i will use a glass, rich people seem to not like it when you drink from their bottles" He then reached in his pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes and noticed he still didnt have any damn matches. "Hey any of you fuckers have a light?" Ben said before taking another mouthful of the fancy liquor which if he was completely honest wasnt all that great but it did pack a kick.
 
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Nathanial didn't give his mask to the servant, though he did remove it and hung it on a loop inside his overcoat. Gazing around the large room, Nathanial recalled the man's attire and actions. Though he'd been herded into the carriage, Nathanial was more focused on the pieces of the creature.

The ceiling was fully painted, each section illustrating a large scale battle between traditional white winged angels, and an army of black winged angels at the very center of it was a figure that was obscured by what was painted as bright lights, supposedly the leader of the white winged army.

Nathanial was entranced by the ceiling. It wasn't a far stretch to say that Nathanial could see his inner self among the angels. Though he had to smile at the thought of having one white and one black wing.

At the snipers attempt to break the silence, Nathanial moved to a chair and sat down. His sword resting easily in it's sheathe within the coat. Having just pulled a cigarette from the newly opened pack, Nathanial was stopped from lighting it by a rough voice.

"Hey any of you fuckers have a light?" The Deathwatch demanded while rudely chugging from several now open bottles at the bar. Shaking his head slightly in disapproval, Nathanial calmly stepped over to the soldier and waited for him to breathe.

He held out a single match and remarked "Are you certain you wish to light up? You might end up putting it out all the same, with your 'lovely' way of drinking."

As Nathanial turned to walk back to the chair, he gazed at the Deathwatch for a long moment. "A word to you. I would not speak to our host in such... terms. It's not polite in high society..." Leaning in so close to make his point Nathanial added with a small hiss "... and I am no 'fucker', soldier. I don't appreciate being called such a dirty word by anyone."

With his point made Nathanial calmly walked back to the chair and sat down.
 
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A vulgar undertaker and a drunken solider, how did he end up amongst such company he wondered. Without saying a word Duncan removed his mask and handed it to the servant woman. He was somewhat on edge he couldn’t let himself stand out, he couldn’t give those around him questions he must be a ghost within this group contributing but never leaving a lasting impression. Seeing the solider create such a scene, he approached him with an offer.

“Sir I don’t speak for our host but I do enjoy a freshly aerate room, could I by chance convince you wait until we leave before smoking. I’ll personally buy a packet of cigarettes of your preferred brand if you’d be so kind.”

In truth Duncan cared little what the man did but that was not the point, a silent man would draw more attention to his actions.
 
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"That Dhampir is pretty sensitive" Ben said as he nudged the man who came over to talk to him. "Want any of this liquor, and hell you asked me to put it out all nicely but you see one of the animate bastards got me pretty good, my armor took most of it but that **** still hurts and these little guys help relax me and take my mind off of it. Since you asked so nicely though after I smoke this cigaret i wont light up another one" Hoping that would smooth things over with the man because hey he really wanted his smoke. Then Ben leaned in and said in a voice he hoped was quiet "Hey that girly over there isn't bad looking a looking right"
 
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Irene rolled her eyes at the other Undertaker’s remark. It was nothing she had not heard before, same for the quick cover-up. She did not think of herself as the type to comment on “bloody men” and the brains that had summer properties down south, so the unseen gesture was not out of mean-spiritedness. His presence was a bit of an anomaly. She was used to people in her line of work being stern and grim and angst-ridden, covering for their familial issues with a mask of social abnormality that was, in some circles, considered rather enchanting. Magazines like The Black Rose and Sundown were always telling awful, sloppy stories about brooding dhampirs, lovesick mourners and mysterious bounty hunters with hearts of gold. This fellow was different. He had a sort of caddish bounce to him.

“Hey, any of you fuckers got a light?”

Irene made a barely restrained offended sound in her throat as the Deathwatch officer interrupted her analysis. She would have told him off herself had the handsome dhampir, Nathaniel, not stepped in and done the job for her. The doctor’s contribution was a nice touch, she thought. She could not fault the officer entirely, mind you. She enjoyed indulgences. It was one of the two things which drove her actions. She turned from the window and its expansive view of the dark, chaotic metropolis far below, and wandered back towards the centre of the room, letting the men debate amongst themselves and watching, taking stock, wondering what such a nightmarish conclave as these would possibly be used for.

Killers, military dogs, lunatics...

“Hey, that girly over there isn’t bad looking, right?”

And bloody men.

Irene kept her reaction better in check this time. Best not to let them see how to get under her skin. Just take the complement, her auntie would have told her. It was good advice. Sometimes an innocent comment could give you a clue to how to get into their heads, and if you got into their heads, you had a walking, talking tool. Admittedly, though, the pool of possibilities from that one was a touch shallow.
 
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"That Dhampir is pretty sensitive"

Nathanial heard the remark but chose to ignore it. Obviously the Deathwatch had never been among high society before. As he had a reputation to keep, Nathanial did put his unlit smoke away. The man now speaking with the Deathwatch had politely requested no smoking.

Nathanial glanced over toward the sniper who was on the couch and remarked "I've often wondered, but never asked, what happened in that burned out section?"

------------------------------

(OOC: Nathanial has no idea that Victor caused it. He's just trying to make polite conversation.)
 
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