Season 1 - Fall

Marius scowled at the intruder. She was a pretty girl, and attractive people often thought they could be forgiven for any trespass. Welcomed, even when they had not been invited. Marius, however, was not so easily swayed.

"I think you've stumbled into the wrong room, miss. I know the Anchor is dimly lit, but maybe a few less drinks would be what you need," he said, less than amiably.

Ash smirks. "Dear Brother of mine, don't you recognize the face of the new arrival." She says standing up from the chair and walking beside her cousin, she places her face beside her so Marius can compare both.

"If not let me refresh your memory. Who do we know that had been sent to live here from our homeland?"

"I think that he would have an easier time recognizing me if I ask him to play with us, accidentally spill his drink, and then tearfully apologize before asking if he still wanted to play."

For a moment, Cadence channeled that sometimes sad, always overeager kid: looking from Marius to her feet, and then looking back up at him through her lashes; her eyes gleaming with unshed tears, and the slightest tremble on her lips.  

"Marius, I didn't mean to bother you, I swear it", she began plaintively, before letting a broad, rueful smile illuminate her face, and then laughing.  "But I do still want you to come play..."

Not waiting for his response, she pulled away from Ash with a wink, and ordered another round of "whatever her friends were having", and some food.

Marius blinked, stunned. He had thought his entire family gone, he and Ash the only two of their line left, but here stood his long-lost cousin. The horror of the War and the struggle to survive in Doskvol had made him forget the one who'd been whisked away as the front moved closer to their family holdings, over a decade ago.

He got up shakily, and stumbled closer to Ash and Cadence as she returned from placing her order. He pulled them both into a tight embrace as tears filled his eyes.

Up until this moment, she had still been bracing for this meeting to be some kind of vicious practical joke. The Helkers had every reason to hate her and her stupid, meaningless life of comfort, lived at the expense of their kinsmen.  Instead, she received a welcome reserved for loved ones... for family.

Pressed between her taller cousins, she let herself relax, the dull gnaw of guilt ebbing in the warmth of the embrace.  She didn't have a right to this, but she could try to be worthy of it.


"I hardly think that we will be able to take over Doskvol without causing some mayhem. Any thoughts on where to start?"

Marius let them go. He walked back to the table taking the opportunity of having his back to his family to wipe his eyes, clear his choked up throat and regain his composure.

"Well, dear cousin," he said as he turned back to the assembled Phantoms. "As a matter-of-fact, we do."

================================

The Phantoms had made their way through the throng of people wandering the streets of Nightmarket. Rake had ignored the hawkers peddling their wares, his focus on their destination and his hand tight on his purse. Pickpockets were common, and Rake wasn't rich enough to feel reckless with his coin.

Nyelle's stall was as cramped as ever, but thankfully, one of the salespeople recognized them and ushered them into the backroom. The three scoundrels squeezed into the small room filled with stacked boxes. Nyelle sat behind the desk on the only free chair. Her bowler hat hung on a nearby hook on this unusually warm night.

Rake quickly peeked into the ghost field, to be sure who he was addressing. "Good evening, Nyelle. Mordis had the day off?"

The spirit trafficker smiled darkly. "No, he's working."

Rake nodded sagely. "I see. Well, you're the one we came to see anyway. First, to introduce our new crew member, Echo," he said, indicating Cadence with a head tilt. "Second, because we wish to purchase one of your wares. One good with their hands, if possible."

Nyelle greets Echo amicably, but her expression hardens slightly when you mention buying a ghost.

"About that...what, exactly, do you plan to do with it?"

She seems uncomfortable making eye contact with you.

"The sisters have already been breathing down my neck. There's probably someone outside right now, scribbling down in a notebook about how you came to visit. So whatever science experiment you have in mind for one of my finer bottles, well, I must confess I am slightly concerned it would get me into trouble."

"No offense, but you've hardly been keeping a low profile. Before long I might be selling or buying one of you in a bottle."

Rake frowns. "It's not for an experiment," he said. "We need an infiltrator for a bit of legerdemain."

He looked around and leaned in closer. Speaking in a barely audible whisper, he said: "We're going to rescue the Ghoul."

moarhair wrote:

Rake frowns. "It's not for an experiment," he said. "We need an infiltrator for a bit of legerdemain."

He looked around and leaned in closer. Speaking in a barely audible whisper, he said: "We're going to rescue the Ghoul."

Nyelle's ghostly visage smiles wryly.

"Sorry, I was being facetious. "Experiment" was a nice way of saying "shady endeavors likely to get you thrown in Ironhook."

She raises her voice, speaking slowly with a blank expression...

"I've told you before and I'll tell you again, I can't help you. You're going to have to buy from someone else. I'm sorry."

While she speaks, she grabs a fountain pen, scribbles a few sentences on a spare piece of parchment, folds it over and hands it over to you.

The parchment reads:

"Six Towers - Rickety Lane - 16th - second blind hour. Watch for a certain something falling off a certain carriage..."

"You owe me."

She stares at you intently. It's good to have friends, right?

After peeking again into the ghost field to make sure they weren't being observed, Rake grabbed the paper and slipped it into his pocket.

"Well, I can't say I'm not disappointed," he said, giving a quick wink to Nyelle. "Thank you for your time."

================================

From the mouth of an alley opening onto Rickety Lane, the Phantoms waited for the carriage mentioned in Nyelle's note. Rake's eyes shone blue as he kept watch on the ghost field. Six Towers was a busy place for such activity and the domain of the Dimmer Sisters, who were rumored to have many ghostly eyes around the district. Rake wanted to avoid the attention of spies and rogue spirits alike.

He had a grim look on his face as he did so. This wasn't so different of what he used to do during The War, and it stirred uncomfortable memories and feelings.

The second blind hour came along, spreading its mist lazily along the empty street, and Rake strained his ears, listening for the telltale sound of hooves on pavement.

The carriage rolls down the lane slowly, the driver whistling a cheery tune. It's an odd contrast to the gloomy street with its decrepit homes and eerie mist. You squint to determine if it's nyelle or someone else driving, but something else captures your interest momentarily - the clatter of a wooden crate falling off the back of the cart.

Did the driver nudge it with a broom?

You hustle over and crack open the crate to find a spirit bottle wrapped in dirty rags - surely to stop it from breaking. The whistling drifts off into the darkness. You got what you came for...but it remains to be seen whether anyone was watching.

Rake slipped the bottle into his satchel and the Phantoms vanished into the fog.

================================

Back aboard the Phantoms' Well, Rake sat and stared at the spirit bottle. They were ingenious devices, able to keep ghosts in storage over long periods of time without decay and allowing communication with them. The knowledge one could glean from a well stocked spirit bottle archive was incalculable.

Rake focused, shifting his perceptions to ghost field. He peered into the bottle, looking to ascertain what sort of spirit Nyelle had gotten for them.

Rake senses the spirit is irritable, but other than than it seems like the spirit of an ordinary dead doskvol citizen...he prays it will be enough.

Score 4

The party trails along behind the convoy carrying Ghoul, keeping their distance and maintaining a low profile. The streets of charterhall are relatively bright and well-lit, but the crew manages to blend in with passerby and remain unnoticed. Everything seems to be going smoothly, and you're only a few blocks away from Cinder Bridge. For a brief, sweet moment, it seems like the job might be pretty straightforward after all. An overcast sky hangs overhead, there's a light breeze, it's even a pleasant fall evening to be wandering the streets of Doskvol....

Ka-BOOM.

The explosion rocks the street, sending bricks, debris and dust flying everywhere over your heads. Your ears ring. Burnt papers and other remains flutter about on the street. Several people nearby cry out in agony. Others curse and swear in confusion. A gunshot cracks through the air.

What...the....fuck?

You glance over your shoulder. The entire upper story of a building is blown out. It looks like it used to be a rather ornate office of some sort...

It takes a few painfully slow moments to piece it together, but the realization comes in time. You just turned onto Clerk Street - infamous for being lined with government offices full of bureaucrats - and the Ministry of Preservation was just involved in a terrible scandal for dumping a large amount of stolen eels and mushrooms into the rivers nearby.

The headline flashes across your mind's eye briefly - "Ministry of Pres. Seizes Warehouse in Crackdown on Food Theft." The people were up in arms about that one - could you really blame the hungry for stealing what they needed to survive?

And the anarchists did swear vengeance, didn't they?

A patrol of bluecoats swerves in your direction immediately, marching with purpose directly towards you. The convoy with Ghoul starts moving quickly away, clearly looking to get away from any danger as fast as possible.

It's early for snow, thought Echo, reaching out a shaky gloved hand to catch a wafting flake. No wait, it's not snow, it's ash... Where were her cousins?
The breath that she drew to call for them was held for a beat as she took in the scene before her; they were fine, but a new set of priorities were fast approaching. Oh fuck. Here goes nothing.



"Ashford! Drake! This is a disaster!  It is bad enough that I had to beg Father to allow me to leave home despite that terrible tutor telling him that I had not finished my readings for the day, but now this?!"   Waving around. "It simply is not fair!" The last three words were punctuated by lightly balled fists beating against thighs.

Looking directly at the Blue Boats, Echo nods decisively.  "At least the Blue Coats are here!  They will be able to sort all of this out, and let honest citizens go about their lives.  Thank you for your service officers!"    

Echo looks to Ash and Rash, somehow managing to radiate both impatience and insouciance.  "Well?  Let us depart, and allow these good folks to do their work."

She wants to be optimistic. If the Blue Coats buy this posturing, the Phantoms might be able to walk away with nothing worse than some eye rolling, and start to catch up with the convoy.  If they buy it

bobarctor1977 wrote:

Ka-BOOM.

The explosion rocks the street, sending bricks, debris and dust flying everywhere over your heads. Your ears ring. Burnt papers and other remains flutter about on the street. Several people nearby cry out in agony. Others curse and swear in confusion. A gunshot cracks through the air.

Rake hits the floor, his war-won reflexes kicking in. As the debris stops falling, he looks around, checking to make sure Ash and Echo are alright. He moves his feet and fingers to make sure nothing's broken and picks himself up.

Another AKA wrote:

"Ashford! Drake! This is a disaster!  It is bad enough that I had to beg Father to allow me to leave home despite that terrible tutor telling him that I had not finished my readings for the day, but now this?!"

Rake looks at Echo, confused. Did she hit her head? Then he sees the Bluecoat patrol heading their way.

"Yes, my lady. Let's get you somewhere safe."

Ashlyn feels the explosion before she can hear it and her body crouches avoiding the worst of the hit. For a few minutes, the only thing she could hear was a ring on her ears.

Cadence was moving her mouth and the Marius stood and answered something back.

"Damn," thinks Ash, "just roll with it."

She stands following behind her cousins letting her other senses take over.

The bluecoats slow as they approach the group. One of the officer's expressions softens as he appears to recognize Cadence's noble attire and demeanor...he fidgets uncomfortably, pulling up his belt and looking awkwardly to his companions for a moment.

The other bluecoats walk toward the building guardedly, scanning and glancing into every dark corner of the street, looking for the saboteurs with truncheons at the ready.

The presumed leader addresses Cadence directly.

"Not safe here, madam. Recommend you head home immediately. If it would make you feel more comfortable, I would be happy to assign a couple of these gentlemen as an escort detail until you're out of Charterhall."

Rake bristled, or at least did his best impression of it. He tried channeling Nilsson, the chief steward of his family's household in Skovlan, and a perpetually affronted man. "Thank you for your offer, officer, but we can to see our Lady's safety," he said dryly.

He started to walk away at a brisk pace, trusting Echo and Ash to follow. He looked down the street for the Ironhook convoy. They'd have to make double-time to catch up, now.

Ash still couldn't hear well but the body language Marius was using with the blue coat reminded her of Nilsson. She smiled, briefly, the man more often that note like an uncle to her.

He wasn't afraid to scold her when she had done something rash and would be quick to cover for her if she was up to mischieve that wouldn't break anything.

"Uh, I get it now, we are supposed to be Candence servants. Well played." She thought, and now, knowing what role she had to play she followed behind Candence the way Nilson would have done had he still been alive now and following her around duskvol. Her heart broke at that thought.

The Bluecoats tried to help, yelling at the crowd to make way for the Lady. Rake was secretly thankful, as it allowed them to cover a good part of the way unimpeded. The Phantoms expertly weaved their way through the crowd of shocked onlookers and managed to close the gap to their quarry, as the carriage couldn't slip through.

They were close now, just a few yards behind the guards bringing up the rear. Rake reached into himself, to his passenger. Be ready to move.

Flashback to the night before wrote:

Rake sat alone in the hold of the Phantoms' Well, wearing his spirit mask. The spirit bottle they got from Nyelle rested on a piece of cloth on the ground in front of him. A single candle lit the room. His mother had always told him that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Throughout most of his life he hadn't seen the need for diplomacy, but being reunited with his cousin had brought some long buried memories of family and home. She, too, used honey to great effect, so he figured he'd heed his mother's wisdom and try a different approach this time. Rake's eyes flared blue as he stared into the ghost field. The spirit was shapeless, a bluish vapor churning in the cylinder with the vaguest hints on sentience.

"Greetings, dearly departed. I hope you're not uncomfortable in there." The vapors coalesced into a vaguely human visage. It was hard to see clearly, but half his head seemed to be caved in. Rake had seen worse. Explosives could do horrible things to a human body. As could the horrors who stalked the deathlands. However, seeing that halved head staring back, searching his face with its one remaining eye as its brains leaked from its ruined skull, sent shivers running down Rake's spine.

"Let me out!" It hissed at him, throwing itself against the walls of its glass cell. It was a sad thing to see. Like a wolf in a cage. Dangerous, but diminished.

"I would like to, but I need us to reach an agreement first. You see, I have a job for you."

That took it by surprise. "A job?" It seemed to regain a bit more of its form. Not humanoid, but more... parts of it were forming out of the mist. It was an old man, gnarled and scarred. It rubbed the thumb with the index and forefinger of a disembodied hand. From their smooth movements, Rake could see there still was a great deal of dexterity in those old hands. Nyelle had done well by them, he thought to himself.

"Yes. I need a man like you for a score. There's a man we want to free. I need you to possess one of the guards escorting him to his hanging. One of my associates will give you a rope to switch for the one they plan on using."

"Normally, a quality lurk like me gets paid for a job." Rake smiled under his mask.

The carriage ambles forward in front of you, the escorting bluecoats glancing nervously around them. Groups of panicked citizens hurry past, screaming and crying. You spot bluecoats guiding nobles away from the site of the explosion, while others intimidate and interrogate commoners or dart down alleys after shadows.

In 4 or 5 blocks, the convoy will have reached the bridge.

Just say the word, Whisper, replied Trace, the spirit Lurk, hunger tainting its voice. Rake had freed it from the spirit bottle earlier that night and taken it on as a passenger. It was an old trick he'd learned from the head of the Skovlan Spirit Corps. The goal had been to render them immune to possession, but it came with an added benefit: the ability to safely carry a ghost.

The idea had even been floated that, should defeat become certain, the trainees could have been used to smuggle ghosts past enemy lines by surrendering, then unleashing their passengers against their captors. Fortunately, the War had ended suddenly, and such drastic measures had never been employed.

Since the Phantoms had been formed, Rake had taken the time to train each of them in this technique.

He looked around. The chaos on the streets would offer them enough cover, he thought. He focused on the Bluecoat bringing up the rear and, attuning to Trace, simply said: Go.

The spirit flew out of Rake and towards the Bluecoat like an arrow, straight and true. The man staggered as Trace disappeared into his form, but no one seemed to notice in the chaos. The Bluecoat turned his head, giving the crew a subtle nod. They now needed to get the weakened rope to him.

"Ash, you're up."

Ash nods, ready to do the old bump exchange she had practiced with spooks and Marius.

A hum remains on her ears but she can hear fine now, it just will be unnerving.

She inhales deeply then starts walking, making it look like she had come out from one of the adjacent streets and going the opposite direction of the blue coat was easy, the tricky part for her was the bump. She always used more force than was necessary. A smirk crossed her face briefly, she had thrown Marius to the ground many times because of that.

Contact made, her hand slipped the rope inside the man's coat, the spirit smiled, he had it from here. "I'm sorry sir!" Ash's hands went up in a calming sign. My bad, she seemed to be saying.

A nearby bluecoat holds up a truncheon threateningly, barking at Ash to "back off, peasant!" She scowls as Ash moves down the street, but seems oblivious to the hand-off.

Echo's fingers twitched, but she resisted the urge to pat the spot on her dress where she kept her coin and sundry knickknacks. Echo had never really seen a Lurk in action.  She would not have thought twice about that interaction had she not been in on the plan, and yet the rope now was in play.

Her fingers twitched again, this time from an unshakable sense of foreboding that did not reach the placid expression on her face.  The fact that the plan was coming together better than they could have ever hoped did little to settle the queasy feeling in her stomach, and she knew why: hope makes a good breakfast, but a bad supper.

The pieces were now in place, so the Phantoms made their way to the shore near where the Old Moat met the Great Canal. They took cover behind an abandoned skiff. Rake brought his hands to his mouth and mimicked the call of a Skovlan Grey Owl, giving the signal for Spooks to come pick them up.

Things had gone well so far, but the job was far from over. Even if they recovered the Ghoul, the canals were patrolled by the Bluecoats. Not to mention the Gondoliers, who weren't big fans of the Phantoms. Hopefully, Echo could talk their way out of an encounter with the latter. If they met the former, however, things could get messy... especially without Whitepaws. Rake flexed his left hand, but it had healed and did not provide the distraction of physical pain.

He shook his head to clear it, then looked out at the canal's murky water, searching for Spooks and their boat.

Within mere moments, the canalboat emerges from the gloom. Spooks is still steering rather awkwardly, and coming in much too fast to the shore, but at least he seems to be paying better attention than last score. A sign of maturity or a growing sense of responsibility in the boy, perhaps?

He moves with energy if not grace to quickly jump out of the boat, nodding in deference and glancing nervously at the scoundrels.

Ash jumps into the boat, moving to the drivers place by habit. Marius goes to the pow making sure to place any obstacle they may have on the way.

Ash slowly starts to guide the boat under the bridge, when the right time comes she will move to cath the Ghoal then speed up to get lost in the small canals. Make them think they are going the opposite direction first before making a roundabout.

Sitting at the prow of the Phantom's gondola, Rake kept an eye on their surroundings, thankful the canals were peaceful. He was getting used to living on a boat, but he still dreaded the nights where the wind was blowing strong and the boat was rocked by the waves.

Cinder Bridge was illuminated by electroplasmic streetlights and oil lamps in the windows of a few of the houses and shops built on its flanks. Someone was playing a mournful song on a viola and a couple was arguing. He couldn't tell from which window the raised voices were coming from, but it hardly mattered.

He turned around and saw the light from the fire caused by the explosion reflected upon the buildings of Charterhall. The Brigade must have arrived by now and were no doubt hard at work trying to put it out before it spread. The flow of people fleeing had slowed to a trickle, and a crowd had probably gathered to watch the show. Ultimately, this might play in the Phantoms' favor, Rake thought. A fire was a lot more exciting than a hanging, so fewer people might have come to see the Ghoul's execution.

Rake turned back towards the bridge, looking out for the Ironhook convoy and their quarry. Shortly, they came trundling down Clerk street, passing by the ancient ruined walls where Doskvol's first lightning barrier used to be.

"Take us in, Ash. Slow and steady. Keep your distance from that launch on our left. Could be nothing, but I'd rather they not get a good look at us."

Ash and Rake guide the boat deftly through the canal, passing under the bridge silently and swiftly. A bit of careful maneuvering with an oar positions the boat directly on the other side of the bridge below a streetlight fixture of some sort. The crew holds their breath in anticipation - before long, you can see ghoul being forced to step up on the ledge and then shoved off...

The rope snaps clean through, just as planned. Ghoul himself crashes into the boat with a gravelly scream - was that a wet crack you just heard?

The bluecoats yell in confusion and anger, looking at the canal below. A quick-drawing bluecoat fires a shot from a pistol. It whizzes over your heads, but the citizen in the launchboat near you is not so lucky. Blood spurts from their neck, spirit bells ring through the air, and they slump over the edge of their boat. It drifts languidly, seemingly in slow motion to block your path forward.

Meanwhile, bluecoats hustle down the short staircases from the bridge to the paved walkways on both sides of the canal, firing a couple haphazard shots in your direction. One agile bluecoat jumps aboard the launchboat, kicking aside the dead pilot and making to leap aboard your vessel. He moves with preternatural agility - in the dim light, you catch a glimpse of eyes burning red like coals...

The way north is barred by the launchboat - you'll have to either dislodge it or turn backwards, which will be painfully slow with the amount of bluecoats lining the canal - and will leave you like sitting ducks for anyone above when you pass the other side of the bridge...

She had never been so grateful to have skipped a meal.  The sound of Ghoul hitting the deck of the boat had brought with it a rising tide of bile.  Then the poor sap in the launch ahead of them was shot, and the heavy, metallic smell of blood, made her mouth run dry.  

Oh devils' blast it, we are going to get hemmed in by the launch boat!  Echo grabbed the spare oar and braced herself against the boat. Straining mightily, she pushed against the launch, and exclaimed in incredulous relief when it shifted out of their way.  She had been half expecting to have to ask Ash or Marius help her.

As their boat begins to move forward,  Echo looks over at the launch boat. She could not have locked eyes with the Blue Coat for more than a second, a fraction of a second, but when the unsettling intensity of the gaze that met hers, the severity of the situation struck her. She was not playing at being in a crew. This was serious, like really serious.

Echo spat the meager contents of her stomach over the side of the boat with as much dignity as she could muster.  Straightening with a death grip on the spare oar, she looked to Marius and Ash with a shaky smile.  "All clear."

Rake slid down the length of the boat to get between the Ghoul and the Bluecoats, shielding him with his body. His eyes darted around as he tried to make sense of the scene that was rapidly evolving before them. The strange copper with the glowing eyes had stumbled when Echo had pushed the launch, and was struggling to regain his balance as the boat rocked. Three Bluecoats had made it down the stairs and were pulling out their pistols. The one who had shot at them was still on the bridge, reloading. The last Bluecoat, still possessed by Trace, leaned on the bridge's guardrail, staring down at the chaos with an amused look on his face.

Rake focused on it, feeling for the ectoplasmic tether that still joined them, an echo of their recent interaction in the ghost field. It was faint and faded, like perfume hanging in the air signaling a courtesan's recent presence. Rake grasped it, strengthening it with arcane energy.

Trace's Bluecoat stood up straight, his eyes wide as it felt the energy coalescing. Using the link as he would have two cans and a bit of string, Rake sent it a message: Help us, damn you!

Trace scoffed, but flew out of its host and down towards the canal's sidewalk. It materialized in front of the Bluecoats, its head still halved and oozing brains that sublimated into vapor. It opened its mouth wide, wider than any living thing could have done, and let loose a howl that Rake felt in his bones.

The bluecoats around the spirit freeze in place, glancing over their shoulder with terrified expressions. Ash and Echo avert their eyes quickly as the bluecoats on and around the bridge scream for their lives and rush away as fast as possible.

The bluecoat with red eyes - the one whos face and flesh seem...unreal somehow - barks orders at the bluecoats to hold but to no avail.

He leaps back onto the canal walkway and rushes to confront the spirit himself, but it's too late. In the pandemonium and disarray, the party slips away from the scene down the canal and out of sight.

Ghoul glances about guardedly at the crew.

"Right. Who the blazes are you lot?"

"Backwater Phantoms." Says Ash guiding their launch away from the mayhem. "We were paid to boost you out." In between moving through channels and waiting for other boats to pass by Ash tried to examine the ghoul. She wanted to see if he would give off a similar vibe to those cursed objects or ghosts they had smuggled before.

The goosebumps were there, going down her back, but she felt those even when she only had the paranormal stuff in her mind.

The man is in his 50s or possibly 60s - wrinkled face, long, scraggly goatee, and almost entirely bald. Beady eyes stare out from small round spectacles. He pulls himself backwards across the boat, nursing his ankle and glancing over his shoulder for pursuers.

"Well, I thank ye kindly, even if it wasn't the most comfortable exit..."

His turns to Ash with intense focus when she mentions that it was a job.

"Paid? By who?"

Echo re-positioned the spare oar, propping it across her shoulders, and casually draping her arms over it. The posture should have looked odd with her fine clothing, but instead with how relaxed she was in it, could have simply been a carefully crafted disguise.  The final touch was going to be in how she spoke to him.  She didn't need to mirror his speak exactly; but he would certainly be more at ease speaking with a Slide playing at being nobility, than a noble playing at being a Slide.

"Yer welcome! Apologies that there was no avoidin' the long drop, short stop.  As for who paid, t'would be the same good folks who'd like to be payin' ye."

She waits until Ghoul begins to shift, and she can see the beginning of the next question on his parting lips before continuing.
"T'would seem that yer quite skilled. Skilled enough that the Grinders want to hire yer services. Skilled enough that they paid good coin for ye livin', rather than askin' that we bottle yer ghost." Punctuating that last sentence with a nod towards Rake.

"Skill comes with smarts, and so we're trustin' that ye'd see the value for one and all in us makin' out of here right quick, and sortin' out the details with our shared employer."

Ghoul's expression softens as Echo speaks. He nods, taking a deep breath and frowning as he glances about warily.

"Well screw me sideways, not an hour out of Ironhook and someone's countin' on my touch with the ghosties. No rest for the wicked and all that bollocks, eh? Not too familiar with the grinders, but I s'pose I don't have much say in the matter, let's get to 'em and get it over with."

He looks to Ash and Rake.

"One of yous got a pistol for your new best friend? If we come 'cross more blues, I'd rather not sit idly singin' showtunes."

Ash looks at Marius, she doesn't trust this guy with a weapon even if he says he will play nicely.

"I could lend you a knife if things get hairy." She says to Ghoul.

Ghoul harrumphs.

"Not much of a knife fighter myself but if that's the best ya got..."

The crew moves quickly through the great canal, weaving this way and that between passing boats with no more than a few disgruntled murmurs from other drivers. They duck quickly down the crow's neck and slide under the press gang bridge, eyes glancing to the bridge above and backwards to the canal opening for any pursuers.

The boat chugs steadily along, and even amid the intermittent gong of spirit bells distantly in crow's foot, it feels like the city is quiet...which feels somewhat uncomfortable after all the tension thus far.

Any feeling of ease the party may be feeling dissipates when they turn down Bilgewater - a couple gondoliers boats are side by side not one block ahead of you, their pilots chatting with one another. They make haste in your direction as soon as you have entered the canal, one of them drawing a pistol from under his garments.

"You know we see everything on the canals, right? Think you can just pull the wool over our eyes, huh? Yer gonna pay for that, you street rat scum."

Ash's bearing began to change; muscles becoming taut, feet shifting slightly. It could simply be from having to bring the boat to a stop, but why take the chance? Her cousin was on the verge of making this a fight that Echo was not equipped for.  

Echo chuckling to herself at the beginning of the score wrote:

Spirit's wept! They cannot possibly think that we would need so much gear?"

"Yer right Gondolier. We will indeed be payin'", she said, clapping her hand of Ash's dominant arm jovially and giving it a firm squeeze.  She was ready to give her cousin her best don't you dare! scowl, but Ash, ever quick to catch on to her schemes, somehow manages to let go of her weapon and surreptitiously palm a coin in one smooth motion.
"And it's right lucky that we're street rat scum and not church mouse scum, or we'd be wastin' one another's time with pistols and yellin' and other such nonsense, instead of simply talking coin."

The loud, foul-mouthed gondolier glances over in hesitation toward the other, a woman who is clearly his superior of some sort, or at least the more assertive of the two.

The woman's eyes narrow, scrutinizing Echo with an icy stare. After an uncomfortable pause she speaks.

"Put that stupid gun away, Lorenzo."

There's more than a bit of scorn in her voice. The man furrows his brow, staring daggers at the scoundrels.

The woman stretches her arm forward, palm facing the clear sky.

"Pay up and get moving. Quick. And don't short me either, or by god I'll feed you to the leviathans."

Ash waits for Cadence to pass them the coin, then with a mock bow, she smirks. "Nice doing business with you, we will be on our way."

She hated this, lowering her head and giving into another faction, paying tribute. But for now, they can´t do anything more, in the future, she will make sure they pay to them.

The scoundrels move quickly down the canal, making a right onto bargewater. Fortuitously, you see no more signs of bluecoats, and you don't run into any gondoliers close enough to spot who you are. After passing the second bridge, you pull alongside the narrow canal walkway and help ghoul up toward the steps to Oilskin avenue.

It's just as you start up the stairs that you notice something is...off. The avenue is eerily quiet, there's none of the usual drunken sailors, no prostitutes, no dealers hawking a quick fix...just a few dim electroplasmic lanterns, one guttering until it goes out nearby.

Keen eyed scoundrels may notice a lithe shape moving alongside the rooftop of a nearby warehouse before dropping with supple grace onto the cobblestone road...a lanky yet muscular figure with limbs that are uncomfortably, unnaturally long. It appears the figure is wearing a top hat and long black coat with some sort of tight-fitting garment underneath.

"Oh, for fucks sake," mutters Ghoul under his breath.

A raspy, uneven voice comes from the figure as it advances toward you.

"I should have known you'd cheat death, Mr. Morris...but you won't get so lucky with me.[/i]"

As the figure you approaches you see a pale, bone-white face locked in a rictus grin and long, yellowed claws in place of fingers at the arms stretched to his sides...

Ghoul holds the knife sheepishly, looking in painfully obvious fear at the scoundrels before forcing a smile and looking at the figure.

"Well, now, let's slow down a mite..."

The figure circles the party slowly on the empty street, like a cat watching a mouse. A cool breeze ripples through their coat.

"We had a deal. You were to bring me three young spirits. But you didn't. And here I thought I'd have to break into Ironhook for you..."

The sinister character laughs, a gravelly chuckle that sounds like dry bones rattling.

Ash gets herself in between Ghoul and the...thing.

"We found him first, whatever business you have with him will have to wait."

This time she doesn't wait for Echo to stop her she pulls out two blades, each at least 30 centimeters long. The handle is plane, covered in leather and it might have few brown spots here and there, maybe leftover blood?

Rake blinked, quickly looking into the ghost field to see what they are truly facing. What he witnessed sends shivers running down his spine. The creature didn't have an echo. No presence at all.

"Demon..." The word escaped his lips before he could think better of it. He had never fought one himself, but he remembered the maddened gibbering of the sole survivor from a unit who had, back in Skovlan. The only coherent thing they'd gotten out of him was that it had torn through them in mere seconds, shrugging off swords and bullets. They could be killed, it was said, but certainly not by three scoundrels with worn blades.

He saw Ash pull hers out and get between Ghoul and the demon. She didn't understand. She was going to get herself killed! He took a step forward, placing himself next to her and pulled out a small, strange-looking totem from his bag. It was flat and round, with spikes going around its circumference: an artistic representation of the sun, he'd been told. His teacher had made it for him, carving it out of the bones of a leviathan. It was demonbane charm and, hopefully, it would buy them some time.

Rake held it out, making sure the creature could see it. Its smile never faltering, its eyes widened and locked onto him.

Demons were single-minded creatures. If he could only convince it letting them go was in its best interest... "If you kill him, you won't get what you want. Let him come with us and recuperate. He can fulfill his bargain when he has healed. With our help, he will be well faster."

The figure pauses at Rake's words, tilting their head ever so slightly. They stride forward quickly and gracefully, getting uncomfortably close to Rake, their claw-like "fingers" twitching.

With them comes a sulfuric, intense scent reminiscent of meat left too long in the trash behind an alley...they stride through the center of the group, stopping once more to peer directly at Echo, moving much, much too close for anyone to be at ease. Their joints seem to creak and softly snap as they move.

After a moment, they turn to face Rake again.

"Yes....I like this idea."

They look over the group once more.

"I will leave the Ghoul...for now. Our deal is not forfeit, Mr. Morris. Remember that. And for the rest of you...you will be seeing me again soon. I think we could form a most beneficial...business partnership. Don't you agree?"

They shudder violently as they glimpse between you. Is that a sign of excitement? Hunger? A struggle to contain more savage impulses...? It's impossible to tell...