Season 2 - Winter

Cadence fights to keep her expression from changing when she sees Marius nod. She is supposed to look menacing, but she had so often sought Marius' attention and approval as a child - when they were both children really - that she had to suppress her giddiness.  Ash used to tease Cadence for caring so much about her older cousin's opinion and definitely would again if she noticed! Steady now Penderyn. You can do this... You are doing this.

She runs through the list in her head, touching her thumb to fingers of the same hand sequentially without fully realizing it: The Grinders knew what the situation was; the question of muscle was largely settled as they could should not force Hutton's hand for more than the Grinders' could readily spare; it was down to the information that they could get...  and how the Phantom's could use that information to acquire a Bearskin rug for their new lair.

"Over to you dear Hutton," Echo purrs, carefully mirroring his posture. "What can you tell us?"

Ash smirks, Cadence always looking for Marius's approval, she hides the smirk before her cousin could notice it. She understood now, the hunger for approval, the pang of pain each time their eyes go past you. She listened close to Hutton's words, if they came out of this war as winners they will get that recognition she is being craving since the day they arrived to duskvoll.

The feast was in front of her and she was hungry, it was time to take the food from the bigger players.

Another AKA wrote:

"Mum's the word on the cutters. It simply would not do to bring heat down on you when you are being so gallant."

 "We would like to know about their numbers, where their leader spends time and who else they may have rubbed the wrong way... In earnest, any information that could help us to make them deeply and even permanently regret their odious behaviour would be most welcome".

Hutton rubs his chin contemplatively before shrugging his shoulders.

"They hang around the docks often, I am surprised you don't cross paths with them more often. I know Margarette Smythe heads up the Hounds...and I believe she likes to cut deals at The Wooden Slug. Their base of operations is an underground dock below some building in Ink Lane. It's location isn't much of a secret on account of it being rather secure. Intricate locks, thick stone walls, wrought iron gates, that sort of deal. As for their enemies...well, they're none too friendly with the bluecoats, but that's nothin' special. Real friendly with the Lampblacks and the dockers, but I bet you already know that."

He leans back against a nearby crate, staring vacantly as he thinks, mutant eye gleaming against the darkness.

"Maybe you could frame em, eh? If the boys in blue are waiting for an excuse to nab them, it might not be too hard...though of course, that might only be a temporary solution, and you might have trouble if they wriggle their way out of Ironhook."

Echo nods solemnly at Hutton's suggestion. A frame up was definitely an option.  Either way, the less Hutton knew about what approach they would be taking to their rabid dog problem, the better.   It wasn't so much that she didn't trust him but rather from her experience, scoundrels were a lot like polite society: there was no keeping a good story from doing the rounds.

They chatted idly with Hutton on the way out, making arrangements for getting the cutter or cutters when the time comes.

Once back at the Well, rather than collapse a nervous wreck as she had expected of herself,  she went looking for pen and paper.  They had less than 48 hours to get ready.   Something within her was banking on there being time for shot nerves once this was settled.

"The question we have to answer is not will we win this war, it is how do we want to go about winning it!"

Ash takes out the kelp beer they have stashed, something stronger would be better but that was the best they could. She gives one to each of them, except Spooks, and listens to what Cadence has to say, approvingly. "Let's hit where they expect the least, that aught to leave them in shame. They are overconfidentand and feel invincible."

She thinks for a moment, "Framing them and then attacking when they are not at full power could be a way to go."

Marius nods in thanks as he takes the beer proffered by Ash. He pops it open and takes a swig. He grimaces as the aftertaste hits his senses. He was starting to think he'd never adjust to the strange seaweed flavor of Doskvol's staple ale. He missed the peppery tones of Skovlan's chanterelle beer. He wondered if it was still brewed, back in his homeland, or if the War had taken that too. Last he'd heard, before fleeing to Doskvol, the brewery in Blackvale had been sacked by the victorious Imperial troops.

He shakes his head. There was no point in dwelling on a war that had ended when another one was just beginning. He had to focus on the one at hand if he wanted to be on the winning side, this time.

"I agree, we souldn't try for a straight up fight. They have the numbers on us, amplified by that monstrosity they got their hands on. I wonder where they got it from... I doubt they had the coin to purchase it. Hulls are expensive. It could be that they stole it, which would mean someone out there has it in for them.

"Personal experience has taught me that the enemy of my enemy isn't my friend. It's my enemy's enemy, nothing more. However, having to fight a battle on two fronts is a risky proposition. We might be able to sic another foe onto the Fog Hounds. At the very least, it's worth looking into for more information on the hull's capabilities and vulnerabilities."

"We could also try to lure them into a trap. If we spread rumors about our 'next score', it might lure them out to interfere or to move on our holdings. We could choose the battlefield, which could tilt the battle in our favor."

"First things first, we need more information. If you can check in with some of our contacts, I'll go see if Charterhall University can enlighten us somewhat about Hulls. Let's reconvene tomorrow night, shall we?"

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

Marius waited patiently by the side of the road outside Mistshore Park in Six Towers. He listened to the wind blowing through the cracks in the walls of the mansion across the street. It had long been abandoned by its original occupants, either for finer lodgings in Brightstone or for far lesser fare in another of the city's boroughs, depending on their fortunes.

Marius had arranged for a short meeting with Mr. Gaunt. Based on what Ash had found, the Phantoms had learned that the Fog Hounds Hull had been provided to them by the Circle of Flame. It seemed unlikely that a ragtag crew such as the Hounds could afford a purchase of that magnitude. It had felt far more likely that the devilish contraption had been loaned to them. Under what terms, the Phantoms did not know. They did feel, however, that a degree of professional courtesy was warranted. They were on good terms with the Circle and had no desire for that to change.

Mr. Gaunts carriage pulled up to the curb. The Akarosian goats pulling exhaled clouds of steam from their nostrils and pawed impatiently at the ground, already itching to get going. The door to the cab swung open and Marius climbed aboard to find Mr. Gaunt and two of his associates waiting for him. The young whisper sat across from the former and next to one of the latter.

The carriage got under way, its progress down the streets of Six Towers punctuated by the shock of the occasional pothole. Squatters were in the habit of stealing cobblestones to patch the walls of their abodes.

"Thank you for seeing in such short notice," said Rake, politely.

"Your message said it was urgent. I trust it was not an exaggeration," answered Mr. Gaunt.

"It was not. It has recently come to our attention that the Fog Hounds are using a Hull that you graciously lent them to apply some pressure on us. We wanted to let you know that if you want said Hull back in one piece, you might want to recover it before they use it to come after us. If they do, we will be forced to use whatever means necessary to defend ourselves, which could lead to some damage, or even destruction, of your property. We have no desire to sour our relationship, so we figured we'd get ahead of this possible issue."

Marius looked out the window, making sure he recognized the street where they were, then turned back to Mr. Gaunt. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Gaunt. You may let me out here if you wish."

The carriage is dark, and even with Mr. Gaunt's top hat in his lap, it's hard to make out much at all of his expression or face otherwise. A close observer might notice that it seems Mr. Gaunt is preternaturally shrouded in darkness - quite the feat for Doskvol. His speaks with a tone of mild shock.

"It appears the Hounds attempted to deceive my associates. They were led to believe the Hull would be applied merely as protection, a deterrent for would-be thieves for a few high-risk shipments..."

His tone levels, speaking clearly and slowly.

"Fortunately, I suspected that our good Winthorpe might be at greater risk than they suggested. Hence why I negotiated for a substantial quantity of Black Lotus to be held as collateral by our organization. For our own security, you understand. The Hive will be, of course, expecting their delivery of Lotus in three weeks time regardless. I imagine the repercussions for the Hounds would be quite severe if it is not delivered..."

"Your consideration is duly appreciated, but I am confident our assets are secured. Good evening, Rake. And good luck."

Nyelle had summoned the party to the Broken Anchor - under the guise of meeting some associate of the spirit trafficker. The familiar network of caves and the atmosphere of its electroplasmic lighting was a comfort in such uncertain, stressful times.

Esme waved nonchalantly from the bar.

A waiter dropped off a round of everyone's preferred beverages at the secluded booth where Nyelle. Nyelle offers a wide smile with her greeting - possibly forced? After all, she's under a lot of strain as well these days...

"Should be here any minute now," the trafficker murmured before taking a slug of ale, her eyes scanning the dim room.

Ink entered quietly, eyes searching for Nyelle amongst the patrons of the bar. She was clouded by smoke, the result of her taking occasional puffs from a cigarette in a long golden holder engraved with various designs mirroring the tattoos that showed most prominently thanks to the undone buttons of her shirt.

Ink seemed to locate Nyelle and the group and she quickly walked over to their private booth, her heels clicking on the stone as she walked.

"Why hello, all of you are looking fetching tonight." She leaned back to take another puff, blowing the smoke off to the side and then leaning back towards the group with a devilish smile "I am very glad to meet you all. You can call me ink."

Ash raised an eyebrow, she thought they were going to meet one of Nyelle's informants. But this woman didn't look like one of the many wimpy whispers she had on her payroll.

When Ink approached the table and sits Ash takes a sip of her beer, she won't be saying anything until she knew what was going on.

She threw a nervous look at Marius and Cadence. Let's keep on guard. Her eyes seem to say.

Marius had only accepted Nyelle's invitation because they owed her. The Fog Hounds' ultimatum was less than a day away from expiring and he didn't trust them to respect it down to the minute. In their stead, he might have been tempted to strike before the bell rang.

The fact that she had set their meeting at The Broken Anchor had only added to his weariness. Though it was usually but a stone's throw away from their lair, they had relocated the Well to Six Towers in preparation for the war. Now their haven of safety was far away and the Fog Hounds were said to favor the Docks...

Marius was shaken from his somber musings by the arrival of a woman who seemed to materialize from the darkness in a puff of smoke. Her appearance was... exotic, to say the least.

Marius frowned as she introduced herself with a compliment. He wasn't sure what to say, so he went the polite route.

"Good evening, Ink. I am Rake, and these are my colleagues: Ash and Echo. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he said, rather stiffly. "Would you be so kind as to enlighten us as to the reason for this meeting? Our mutual friend," he said, giving Nyelle an icy look, "is being rather coy about it."

Nyelle seemed unfazed by Marius' antics. She answered his glare with a warm smile. "Well, my dear Rake. Do you remember when I let you borrow one of my wares and you were rude enough not to return it?"

Marius stiffed up in his seat. Trace. Of course, he remembered. When she'd agreed to lend them a spirit, Nyelle had said three fateful words: you owe me.

"You're collecting on your debt," Marius said flatly.

"Collecting," Nyelle said, then she turned to look at Ink, "and repaying. She needs work and your crew has enough... pedigree... to make her feel welcomed." She paused to let her words sink in. "Well, my work here is done. I'll leave you all to get to know each other better." The spirit trafficker jumped to her feet and left before anyone could protest.

"Unbelievable," Marius said as Nyelle disappeared around the corner. He turned his eyes on Ink. "Did she tell you we're at war?"

As Nyelle left, Ink took the opportunity to sit herself down in the now open spot at the table. The smoke followed her as she took a few more puffs. She was, at least, careful to blow the smoke behind her and away from the group, rather than in their faces. One tap of her nail on the cigarette holder, then a second as she shook ashes off the end.
"She did not, but I like to pride myself on flexibility, yes? I pull strings, weave webs, I am sure there are uses a group such as yours would have for my skillset, don't you think?"

Ink steepled her fingers and looked over them at the group. "If it would please you, once you fill me in on this war of yours, we can shake on a deal. I keep... Many deals, you see." She pointed to each of her tattoos in turn. "They leave a mark, but they are quite unbreakable. I would be the most trustworthy ally you could have."

Marius cocked an eyebrow when he saw the tattoos. Now, this was something worthy of his attention. He flicked his sight to the ghost field, examining their faint arcane aura.

"You have the ability to impose a geas?" he asked, using the Skovlan term. When he and Ash were children, their elderly au pair had regaled them with ancient folk tales. Some of them had pertained to devils who sealed their contracts with their powers. Oath breakers would be punished with terrible curses. Personal experience had taught him that there were many truths hidden in folklore.

"That is rare, old magic." He finally tore his eyes away from her skin. "Where did you learn it?"

Ink placed a finger over her lips with a smirk. "Now now, that would be telling! I have never heard that name before, nor did I 'learn' it. So academic, and do I look like the academic type? No, no. More detail requires that we get to know each other better, sweets."

She leaned back and waited for the others to speak, eyes flitting between them behind smoke.

As she reflected on how Rake could vouch for Nyelle who was vouching for Ink, Cadence concluded that the underbelly of Duskvol would greatly benefit from using letters of introduction. I will have to commission a signet for the Phantoms, she mused.  

It was easier to think about these niceties than to stay in the now, where time was short and great violence waited for them when it elapsed, but she has to be present because Rake and Ink are talking about... Geas? Like in the stories?  Well Marius is doing most of talking, so maybe there are magics in play.

Laughing quietly to herself,  Echo looks from her cousins to Ink.
"The fact of the matter is that we are short on time. The Foghounds have been nipping at our heels and we are looking to put them down. They have put their hands on a Hull and by this time tomorrow we are looking to see it taken out of the equation. Oh, and there is no coin in this. They are an annoyance, and one that must be dealt with so that we can focus on more lucrative ventures."

Ink nodded at Echo, not earning any coin right away was less than ideal, but a woman had to do what a woman had to do - ensuring their little war was successful would mean coin in the future. An investment, of sorts.
She eventually smiled with a shrug. "Then I can help you win your war, mm? Wars are often won with words and information, before they are ever won with blades and shot. Let me be the spider on the wall for you, and in return... Well, as I said, I need coin. Once this is done, I trust you will be able to help me earn that. Unless my associate exaggerated your skills."

Ink took a long drag on her cigarette, letting the smoke linger in her mouth for a bit longer before she blew it up into the air. "And as I said, we can shake on it and seal it in ink. You can trust me, more than most in fact, so long as we come to a deal we agree on."

"Nyelle has vouched for you so in terms of trust, from my perspective, this business of contracts is moot.  I am happy to know that you can build on the information that we already have.  We are as well equipped as we are going to get and it past time that we put those preparations to good use."

Ink seems so calm despite going into a conflict with a crew she had never met that Echo is suddenly struck by her own inexperience.  Was what she was saying even making sense? Maybe a contract would be better...  She looks at Rake and Ash, and takes a calming breath. They would speak up or somehow signal to her if she was screwing this up.

" So the three of us are going to fill you in on where we are at, and then the four us will ensure that the Fog Hounds cannot escape our web."

"I agree with Echo. For now, Nyelle's endorsement will do. It will take significant time to compose the terms of an deal I'd agree to bind with arcane threads. If it's something you deem necessary for a close working relationship, we can see to it when we don't have foes breathing down our necks."

He drained his cup. "Let's go back to our lair, I would rather discuss the next steps in a more private venue."

He stood and straightened his long coat, adjusting it to hide the steel and iron hanging from his belt.

"Yes, yes of course! Propriety and all that." Ink stood, motioning towards the door with her cigarette and moving to follow the group if they left. "Please, lead the way. I am intrigued, very much so, as to what your plan is for this conflict. Nothing so simple as steel and shot, I should hope."

Ink's smile never left her face as she spoke, nor did the constant presence of smoke. She was content with this arrangement, assuming things went well she had no doubts this would be a worthwhile investment. And if they didn't? Well they hadn't shook on a deal yet, now had they.

The Milton Manor served the Phantoms quite well for their ambush purposes - three stories tall, labyrinth inside, balconys overlooking the ground floor.

The scoundrels laid in wait in the creaky, musty and cold building, spending the time double-checking their weapons and peaking through the moth-eaten drapes and broken windows. Their breath misted in the wintry night air. The murmurs and moans of the mansion shifting in the wind did nothing to ease their nerves...

The hounds can be seen just before midnight approaching with caution down the darkened lane. It's the only traffic you've seen all night beyond the occasional solitary figure darting between shadows. The hull's heavy footsteps and the squad of four heavily armed thugs make it clear this is no false alarm.

The Hounds have just passed the front entrance and are halfway across the courtyard when a rush of cold passes over Ash and the feeling of an icy-noose wraps around her neck. A terrified glance to the side reveals the ghastly, half-decomposed face of Roslyn Kellis - a long-dead noble and bitter enemy of Ash's.

Roslyn's voice is like a gust of air from a freshly exhumed grave.

"I knew I'd cross paths with you sooner or later, you miserable cretin. You...you stole my heirloom necklace and pawned it for coin."

Roslyn's rotting face twists into a cruel smile.

"Your friends are awfully quiet...do be considerate and die quietly, hrmm?"

Her icy fingers tighten like a vice around Ash's neck.

Rake stands in the shadow of a doorway to the mezzanine on the second floor, overlooking the foyer. The spot made a good vantage point, providing a good view out of the windows in what used to be a child's bedroom and of the entrance. It was possible that some of the Fog Hounds would elect to enter somewhere else, but Rake figured the Hull probably wouldn't have a choice.

His mouth was dry. His comrades in arms during the war had always said that the wait was the worst part of battle. At the time he'd disagreed. How could the horror of battle be less than the quiet, peaceful time before. Now, he could see their point. The fear and the uncertainty were weighing heavily on him. In Skovlan, he'd usually left watchman duties to his subordinates, but the Phantoms weren't numerous enough for that. He couldn't just lose himself in a book.

Finally, the Fog Hounds and their borrowed Hull make their appearance, carefully approaching through the front yard. He took a deep, steadying breath, then frowned as it came out as heavy mist. It was winter, and cold for sure, but it certainly hadn't been that bad a few seconds ago. Something was wrong.

Rake shifted his sight to the ghost field and looked around. His heart leapt into his throat as he spotted the ghostly silhouette hanging over Ash, its hands around her neck. He quickly retrieved his devilskin spirit mask and held it to his face. Focusing on the creature, he reached out to the ghost field's arcane energies. With a circular movement of his free arm, he wrapped them around the creature and pulled it towards him.

He felt the spirit's will push back against it, and the strands of power start to snap. He was too far and too distracted. The ghost was starting to get agitated.

Rake bared his teeth in frustration, letting the strands go before the spirit lashed out.

Shit! Why now? Ash was trying to come up with something, anything, that would make Kellis let go.

Even though she had been growing more sensible each day, she wasn't capable of compelling these things like her brother. She had to resort to outside help, like her spirit bane charm on her coat pocket.

Willing her mind to focus, she ignored the need to pry the hands from her neck and slid her hand into the pocket to take out a wrapping of herbs tied around a black stone. She shoved that right into the ghost face. Let go and get lost, Kellis!  

Kellis doesn't budge and Ash starts to have a sinking feeling she could probably die if she doesn't do something quick. "I'll get it, the necklace, Ill get it back. Just let me finish this job and the next thing is for you."

Just god damn it let me go already.

Roslyn's body freezes after Ash's statement, keeping her fingers tightly wrapped around the scoundrel's neck while her mind clearly drifts elsewhere, to another time when she was flesh and blood; respected and loved.

Her expression flickers - is that longing you see in her eyes? before flashing back to one of sneering contempt. The ghost leans in close, face pressed up right against Ash's...

"You certainly will - otherwise I'll pay you a visit while you're sleeping and make sure you never wake up."

The ghost fades into the background, leaving nothing but an icy breeze in her wake.

Meanwhile, the hounds approach the front door...

Ashlyn touches her neck, still feeling the cold hands of Kellis. Another complicantion result of her inability to tie loose end,but never again, she will make sure of that.

Rake breathed as sigh of relief as the ghost assaulting Ash vanished. He waved at her, drawing her attention, and used hand signals to ask if she was alright. She answered in the affirmative. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves and turned his attention back to the Fog Hounds.

As they neared the entrance of the old, abandoned mansion. Rake's eyes strayed to the large, moth-eaten, Severosi rug adorning on the floor of the foyer.

A banging sound slowly fades in before we cut to...

Flashback wrote:

The night before. Rake's coat hangs off of a nearby door. The banging sound gets louder as we see him, the sleeves of his sweaty shirt rolled up, pounding at the foyer's floor with a sledgehammer. A hole has started to form, but it is still too small, so he soldiers on.

Some time later, we see he's managed to make a large hole, large enough for the Hull. Rake has laid a few, rotten planks over it and is dragging the Severosi rug to cover his handiwork.

Rake looked up from the rug and back at the entrance. Come on, you arrogant fools. Just a little bit further.

The heavy, metallic sound of the Hull's footsteps grew closer and closer, echoing through the desolate mansion.

Rex, the muscle from the Grinders, flicked an eye in Rake's direction, sensing his leadership role in the crew, waiting for the order. If Rake hadn't known exactly where Rex's loyalties laid and spoken to him a few hours earlier, the sight of the man in the gloom would have been quite unnerving. His eyes were dim yellow sparks, his "skin" more of a toughened, gnarled leather. The brawler was over six feet tall and wielded a wooden bat fixed with metal spikes and nails with street-brawler armor to boot.

It would have been quite something to watch the mutant and the Hull go toe-to-toe...but tonight, it was better to leave as little to chance as possible.

The scoundrels hear a muffled command from outside, something about sending the hull in first, which is answered by a low affirmative. The hull nearly blocks out the ambient light from the street as it strides in through the doorway, knocking loose chunks from the rotten door frame as it steps in.

The floorboards give like matchsticks as it steps on the rug...and collapses quite ungracefully into the hole excavated by Rake, landing with a thunderous clanging sound. The construct lets out a booming, ethereal roar in protest as it awkwardly shifts and turns to stand back up and clamber out of the hole.

You've trapped it immobile for now, but given time, it will certainly clamber out - with a vengeance. Furthermore, any element of surprise you've left for the rest of the Hounds is surely lost...soon after the hull's collapse, you hear urgent commands issued to watch for enemies and climb the trellis...

Ink stayed well back from the ghostly conflict that took place among her new companions. She couldn't do much to fix it, and she was far more focused on making sure the Hounds that entered the mansion were the same ones she'd drank with the night before...

Flashback:

Her first "outing" with the Helkers after their autumnal reunion had taught her that she was best served by an empty stomach. As the heavy, metallic sound of the Hull's footsteps neared and Echo's stomach tensed, she was grateful to have heeded that lesson.

She let out a shaky breath when the Hull crashed through the floorboards.  Spirits above, it worked! The sense of elation was immediately followed by crushing guilt that she had doubted the plan in which they had all invested so much energy.  


What the Hull lacked in grace it seemed to be making up for in anger.  There was scant time before their lumbering foe maneuvered itself back into the fray where it would bring its building frustration to bear with lethal results.  If ever she was going to drop the grenade it was now.

Technically every step was easy.  Walk to edge of landing? Easy. Lean over the balustrade? Easy.  Drop the grenade? Easy.
And yet the sequence was feeling impossible; the entire venture pointless. What was she doing here? She did not have to live this life to provide for her cousins.  Would a marriage of expedience really such a bad life?  Sure she would have to give up "gallivanting" with her cousins (as her least favourite governess used to put it), and busking and Baszo and...

Awash with guilt for the second time in as many minutes, she turned her inner dialogue to music and her attention to completing the task at hand.


With Ash braced and providing a counterbalance, Echo is free to stretch to the limits of her height.  Ash was taller and had greater reach, but Echo wasn't strong enough to pull her cousin back or bear her weight if something went wrong.  Looking down, it was plain to see that the additional support was really going to improve their chances; without it, Echo was a bit on the short side. Always and forever she thought ruefully.


It struck her as funny that, yet again, having learned the most genteel way to accurately lob any number of bric-à-brac was going to pay off.
I will never again question the utility of society picnic games.  The moment the grenade left her hand, she signaled to Ash who deftly helped her away from the landing.

"Ash, do you think that this spring the Phantom's could have a picnic lunch?"  She whispered, laughing. laughed.  "You don't have to answer that - I know that we have to get through the winter and this dreadful nonsense with the Fog Hounds first...  But I think that with a little luck, we could end this here and now."  Even if the grenade did not do all of the work, at least they still had some contingencies.

The grenade sailed through the air, the hull below thrashing to pull itself out of the hole.

Time seemed to stand still for a brief moment as Echo watched it's downward trajectory in the frosty gloom - then another figure emerges from the darkness, causing a stir of surprise among the hidden scoundrels. The poor Fog Hound never saw what was coming. The opposing brawler grabs the Hull with two arms just in time to let out a cry of terror when he spots the explosive...right before it goes off with a sharp crack.

The man flew backwards, his face smoldering and mangled by the gunpowder and shrapnel. At the same time, a metallic popping sound is followed by a howling vortex of wind and psychic energy as a howling spirit is wrenched from its artificial frame and into the night. A dissonant, wailing scream filled the mansion while the wounded fog hound writhed on the floor in agony.

A fog hound clambered into a second floor window shortly afterwards, brandishing a sword and pistol. Another couple charged in the front entrance - the party had officially begun.

Ashlyn reflexes made her move before she could really process what the big picture was. She saw movement to her left, from the window, and her hand was already mid-swing with two throwing knives by the time her head had turned enough to see the gun and the sword. She let go of her projectiles at the same time her head caught up with the thought that an enemy was approaching.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rake saw Ash move to intercept the cutter coming through the window. He felt the urge to go assist her, the guilt from his ineffectiveness versus the ghost earlier was still weighing on him, but there were two more on the ground floor. It was apparent to Rake that Echo and Ink weren't confident in their fighting ability, but they had both contributed in their own way. That left the two Fog Hounds to him and Rex.

Rake drew his blade and a pistol, then gave the Grinder the signal. They both rushed out of the shadows, Rex already on the ground floor and Rake rushing down the stairs. He fired as he scrambled towards the enemy, then lunged into the melee as Rex swung his nasty-looking bat.

Ink watched the grenade tumble down towards the Hull in slow motion. One second later and the massive thing that had seemed oh so threatening to her when it arrived as out of commission, along with one of the Hounds.
She moved to get a better view of the action, pulling out a pistol and firing some suppressing shots towards the Hounds that Rake and Rex were trying to engage in melee. She didn't expect to hit anything, but if she could keep their heads down to make the sudden melee a surprise then that would be good enough.

NightingaleJ wrote:

Ashlyn reflexes made her move before she could really process what the big picture was. She saw movement to her left, from the window, and her hand was already mid-swing with two throwing knives by the time her head had turned enough to see the gun and the sword. She let go of her projectiles at the same time her head caught up with the thought that an enemy was approaching.

Echo dusts off her hands and looks down, adjusting the lines of the heavy coat that she picked out for this particular outing. "Well Ash, that went even better than..." With a gasp, her body went rigid; Ash's knives flying across the room.  It might have been the major threat, but the Hull had not been the only one, and there she was standing out in the open.  She had to hope that Ash's blades found their prey, because in her inexperience, she had just offered herself up as bait.

The Fog Hounds cutter was unnaturally pale in the dim foyer of the crumbling mansion, no doubt the result of Ink's surreptitious addition to their drink the night before. Rake, by comparison, was flushed, having just bolted down the stairs and still feeling the sting of having failed to protect Ash. He would not do so again.

He thrust his sword forward, driving the cutter back, then brought up his spent pistol as if he was going to fire. The Fog Hound ducked and swung his blade in a horizontal swipe aimed at Rake's gut. The whisper pivoted and swung the pistol down, knocking the Hound's sword down. He stumbled forward and down, and Rake planted his sword above the cutter's right clavicle and down into his chest cavity. The Fog Hound was dead before the Phantom had finished pulling his sword free. The Bells began to ring through the old bones of the manor.

Rake looked around for the other cutter, but Rex was standing over him, viciously pounding him into the ground with his club. He looked up at the whisper, breathing heavily, then at his handiwork, and gave him an approving nod.

Rake looked up and saw that Ash had dealt with the last Fog Hound up on the mezzanine. He sheathed his sword and turned to look at the injured Fog Hound, moaning in agony next to the Hull's carcass. He walked closer, reloading his pistol, then pointed it at the thug's head. Better a quick mercy than a long, torturous existence.

A shot rang out, echoed by the Spirit Bells.

"Very well done, clean. Efficient. Do we spare them or kill them all? Either way, we need to /go/. Bells will draw notice, this place will be swarmed soon enough."

Ink moved towards the others, hoping that they would all gather together to sort out the next step. The attack had gone off extremely well, now all that truly remained was the escape. "I could, if we take the survivors with us, make contracts with them that they might never bother us again - should that be something you are all interested in, of course."

Echo gasps at the same time her knives ring true, they hit the sword and the gun hard enough that the fog hound drops them. "You b#%ch." He shouts but instead of going for Ash he is throwing a fist in Echo's direction.

"Oh no, you won't!" Ash tackles the guy just before he can take another step, and for a moment she is transported back to the docks.
She is on the fighting pits and she smirks, then the sound of the window cracking behind the fog hound's body brings her back and they are both plunging down.

Her mind is in overdrive now Shit, shit, shit. I put my foot in it. A shiver runs down her back and just when she is about to hit the ground, her mind goes back to a fairy tale her brother used to tell her about special soldiers capable of going in and out of the ghost field as they pleased. And then everything felt cold, for a brief moment she was surrounded by darkness and then she was laying on the ground. Looking up at the sky.

A fist swings towards her face and Echo braces for the blow which does not come.

Instead, she hears Ash's voice, followed by the thud of bodies colliding, the grunt of breath being knocked out of someone, and the tinkling of shattered glass.

And just like that she's gone.




It starts as a hum, a rumbling in the back of the throat, and builds with all of the strength that years of private voice training could lend it.  The derelict mansion is filled with the sound, but as Cadence sinks to her knees despondent, her heartbroken wail seems faint, as if coming from miles away.

Another AKA wrote:

It starts as a hum, a rumbling in the back of the throat, and builds with all of the strength that years of private voice training could lend it.  The derelict mansion is filled with the sound, but as Cadence sinks to her knees despondent, her heartbroken wail seems faint, as if coming from miles away.

Ash is looking up at the sky, out of breath and completely lost at what just happened, she was alrigh. Not a single scratch from falling into the ground. What the hell!?

Then she hears Echo's wail and she doesn't top to check the fog hound beside her or that she is actually fully unharmed. She runs around the building directly to the front door and kicks it open, taking ut her pistol ready to shoot whoever is hurting her cousin. And she pauses just before falling into the hole, finding Marius just some steps away.

"Who is missing a bullet in their head? Echo, is echo alright!?" It hadn't even crossed her mind that the last thing her cousing must have seen of her was Ash going down the window.

AbstractCloud1 wrote:

"Very well done, clean. Efficient. Do we spare them or kill them all? Either way, we need to /go/. Bells will draw notice, this place will be swarmed soon enough."

Ink moved towards the others, hoping that they would all gather together to sort out the next step. The attack had gone off extremely well, now all that truly remained was the escape. "I could, if we take the survivors with us, make contracts with them that they might never bother us again - should that be something you are all interested in, of course."

Rake holstered his pistol. "Survivor," he corrected, "but yes, we should go. As for his fate, I prefer the certainty of a bullet."

He looked up at the mezzanine, alarmed, as Echo's wail rose above the sound of the Spirit Bells. His eyes searched for Ash and landed on the broken window. Shit. He felt his chest tighten. Please be okay.

"Ink, get Echo on her feet and moving. Rex, watch my back." Rake turned towards the door.

NightingaleJ wrote:

She runs around the building directly to the front door and kicks it open, taking out her pistol ready to shoot whoever is hurting her cousin. And she pauses just before falling into the hole, finding Marius just some steps away.

"Who is missing a bullet in their head? Echo, is echo alright!?" It hadn't even crossed her mind that the last thing her cousing must have seen of her was Ash going down the window.

Rake breathed a sigh of relief. "Only the one you took for a spin, if you haven't taken care of it already."

When she pauses for a breath, a deep shame builds in her chest. Not only was this undignified, it was unproductive. She did not check to see if Ash had survived the fall. She did not tell Marius what had happened. She was no less exposed or at risk, which was how this whole thing started.  Be in control of yourself. Be on your guard. Do not abandon honor.  How many of the lessons that she was given did she throw to wind?
And at what cost?

She stands, intent on at least seeing if Ash was still alive, and catches a glimpse of Marius and Ash together on the first floor. Her relief crests.  She is overjoyed and opens her mouth to call out, but is immediately struck by an overwhelming sense of mortification and she recoils as if slapped. Truly, she was useless.

Ink finds Echo walking stiff-backed towards the stairs.  She is drawn and pale, and her face a tight mask of calm.

moarhair wrote:

Rake breathed a sigh of relief. "Only the one you took for a spin, if you haven't taken care of it already."

Ash winces. "Didn't check what state he was in, sorry." Then seeing her brother and Ink wer ok she leans to see behind them at Echo.

Another AKA wrote:

She is drawn and pale, and her face a tight mask of calm.

Ash sees her pale color and drawn demenor and quicckly thinks the worst. " Did he hurt you, Cad.. Echo? I'm sorry, he was there so fast I could only think of tackling him out the window." She almost says Echo's name but manages to catch herselfs, she s frowning, the poker face she usually wears missing once again. It seemed whenever her family was involved she could not keep her cool.

Ash wrote:

Ash sees her pale color and drawn demenor and quickly thinks the worst. " Did he hurt you, Cad.. Echo? I'm sorry, he was there so fast I could only think of tackling him out the window."

If only, then maybe this entire situation would make her feel like less of a fraud.
“No. I am unharmed, thanks to your celeritous action, for which I am very grateful.  I am equally happy to see that you appear well.” she intones politely, expression unchanged.  The words are formulaic, classic examples of appropriate language for correspondence and polite conversation.  It likely not what it is expected, which is usually a primary concern of hers both as Cadence and as Echo, but this use of language is familiar and accessible to her despite the shock and the stress of the past minutes.  

“Is everything in order? Shall we take our leave of this place?”

Ash leans her head sideways, confused by her cousin's sudden stiff language, she wants to ask but right now is not the time. "That a good question, let me check on the other guy. Do we really have to take everyone out if he isn't death." She asks Marius, for the first time you can see hesitation in her eyes, killing is something she does sparingly and only when there is no other option left.

Rake opened his mouth to answer yes. After all, if the man lived, he could be troublesome again. He could talk to the Bluecoats or, worse, the Inspectors. He could be all kinds of trouble. Trouble that would disappear by putting a bullet in his brain and leaving him for the Spirit Wardens. Besides, they had trespassed in their home and threatened them. They deserved no quarter.

But then he saw the look on his sister's face. He looked at his cousin and saw the stiffness of her movements and the paleness of her face. He looked at Ink and saw the eagerness in her eyes, not for blood, but to prove herself. He closed his mouth and exhaled through his nose.

Back in the War, an unconscious enemy soldier would usually be taken as a prisoner. But the Phantoms were no army. They didn't have a jail where they could keep him. What could they do with him?

His eyes strayed to Ink again. "I... suppose we can use him to take a message to the other Fog Hounds. 'Get on your boat, leave Doskvol forever and we'll let you live', something like that? Would that work as one of your contracts?"

moarhair wrote:

"Ink, get Echo on her feet and moving. Rex, watch my back." Rake turned towards the door.

Ink gave a quick nod and moved back towards where she had heard the wailing from Echo. She was still far from fully comfortable with the group, but being given instructions to help one of the main three was encouraging for her chances.

Another AKA wrote:

Ink finds Echo walking stiff-backed towards the stairs.  She is drawn and pale, and her face a tight mask of calm.

Ink stopped in place, looking up at Echo with just a moment of confusion before she stepped off the stairs and to the side, letting the other woman head down in front of her.
"Doing alright, darling? Heard quite the shout, Rake sent me to get you but it seems you've managed that yourself." She followed behind Echo down the stairs towards the group again, giving Rake a nod as they arrived. She'd done as asked, though perhaps that didn't end up being quite as big of a deal as they had both thought it would be.

moarhair wrote:

His eyes strayed to Ink again. "I... suppose we can use him to take a message to the other Fog Hounds. 'Get on your boat, leave Doskvol forever and we'll let you live', something like that? Would that work as one of your contracts?"

Ink paused in thought, using the time to pull out a cigarette, place it in her golden holder, and light it. She took a long puff and nodded. "That would work just fine. But you aren't getting creative enough. We could make him act as an informant, we could make him swear never to take any action against us. Men will trade a lot for their lives, Rake, and my contracts ensure that whatever they pledge is quite difficult to go back on."

Ink ran her free hand along one of her many tattoos, smiling as smoke drifted from her mouth. "Start big, then if he objects we can remove some of the things we want until it's just enough for him to agree, and for us to come out ahead."

Rake pursed his lips and frowned lightly. Though he was quite an adept student of lore, the creative arts had always eluded him. He could draw fairly well, but he needed a model to copy. The poetry he'd written as a teenager, then as had young man, had only ever served to elicit laughter, rather the swooning he'd aimed for. Ink's off-handed comment had hit closer to home than she'd intended.

"Very well," Rake said tersely, "I will defer to your expertise on the matter when we have the time to get creative." He said the last word somewhat disdainfully, but with an undercurrent of yearning.

"Let's secure our prisoner and be on our way. We don't want to be here when the Bluecoats, or worse, the Spirit Wardens, show up." He headed for the door, peeked outside to make sure the way was clear, then slipped out.

The crew hefted up the unconscious fog hound and hustled through the front gate to the mansion, moving with quickness and keeping their eyes peeled for any more threats. Rake's hair stood on end...the air seemed to crackle with arcane energy, almost humming. Nervous glances into darkened alleyways and shattered windows revealed nothing but shadows and gloom.

The scoundrels are halfway across the street to Mistshore park when a figure emerges from the fog in the park, their silhoutte illuminated by the crackling barrier beyond.

A ragged, emaciated frame. Tattered clothes with bone sticking through pale, ashen skin. The stench of death, a sickly sweet rotting meat wafted on the ice-cold wind.

The...thing's jaw was slack, dried blood covering it's chin and the sad remains of it's high-collared shirt. Sunken, red eyes stared intently at the party, and nails like stilettos twitched in anticipation.

A brief look over your shoulder revealed two more of the wretched specters hot on your heels, licking their lips hungrily. Their breath came in heavy, ragged gasps.

Ravenous spirits, eager for their own taste of death...

Rake drew in a sharp breath. "Drop the Hound and run. I'll hold off the lone one." He reached under his coat and pulled out his collapsible lightning hook. With a flick of his wrist, he extended it, then he flicked the switch. The loop of heavy wire at its far end lit up with electroplasmic energy, casting the scene in a harsh light.

He bolted forward, towards the first specter. When he closed the gap, he swung the lighting hook at it, trying to catch the spirit in its loop. If he could restrain the ghost long enough for his crew to escape, he'd just have to throw the thing at its comrades and their fresh meal to slip away himself.