Evacuate This Part 1

Log Info

• Title: Token of Power
• Emitter: Nemori
• Characters: Dirk, Eztli, Gramarys, Magpie, Nemori, Robert
• Place: Alexandrian Villages
• Time: June 1st, 2022
• Summary: Another day, another village to be evacuated under threat of ravenous wights. Several adventurers from Alexandria had come to help. And it seemed to be a running problem that many of these villages had stubborn folk unwilling to leave until it was too late. In this case, an aging Oruch who did not wish to leave their home. After some convincing, they were at least able to get them out, but it seemed that they would not leave without a fight.

Evacuation processes are on going. The presence of wights in the countryside is real and confirmed as more have been spotted since the initial reports. This has lead to a general mobilizing of the people and an effort to get them into the city, hoping that the city walls will deny the wights access to easy groups of people to overwhelm and turn into wights themselves. There's real dangers associated with that strategy as well, but the alternatives, like leaving townspeople out in the countryside to serve as lures for wights, are ethically even worse.

At the moment, you're in a town called Vieshance, a little one in the Alexandrian countryside of not more than a hundred people. They're in the process of an ongoing, managed evacuation with people starting to assemble in the town's center, near it's stately town hall, a grandiose wooden building that looks like it once belonged to someone very rich and became the de fact town hall and center as a result. Vieschance is primarily an agricultural center, growing hops for the beer trade and serving as a stop along the road to Alexandria from the mountains to its east. Well irrigated fields and farms lay beyond the dense collection of buildings that serve as the town center and the more scattered ones that fade into agrarian homesteads beyond it.

Built for war but adept enough are lifting heavy things, the titanic form of artifice-powered armor lumbers to and fro hissing, whirring, humming, and clanking. Bob's undersized head sticks out half-obscured by the raised gorget and the domed helmet is up and back on its hinge like some great, powder-black-and-brass halo. The aetherite crystals set into copper-inlayed recesses are dull as the enhanced systems are currently unpowered.

The Cerenzan's smile is warm and calm for the benefit of the evacuating townsfolk but his sharp, blue eyes keep darting up to scan the streets and spaces between buildings.

All manner of gew-gaw, gadget, and over-manufactured bauble hangs from a loose belt beneath his breastplate. A hip-pack sags over his rump almost entirely hidden by an heirloom Dragonieri officer's cloak that's too well-preserved not to be enchanted.

Dirk has come along to help! He's got his thunderbelcher slung over his shoulder, and he's got nothing but a wide smile and hearty cheer for the good villagers. They're being forced to leave their homes behind in the wake of an undead horde. A horde that he's seen only the barest glimpses of, but that's been more than plenty for him. Houses and farms can be rebuilt. He's -seen- what wights can do to the living, and those are hurts not nearly as easily mended.

Nemori has for the majority of the trip here and time spent assisting remained within speaking distance of the titan armoured Robert. She isn't so heavily armoured herself, though a brief glimpse of fine chain can be glimpsed under the leather jerkin she wears for this occasion. Her rapier is sheathed at her hip and her arms are folded under her breasts, a perpetual not-quite-scowl on her face and mostly shaded by her wide brimmed hat as she watches the proceedings. Any actual assistance she offers is reluctant, and usually requiring a cough or a significant look from the artificer to spur her to action.

Fidgeting and shifting from foot to foot, Magpie watches the townsfolk stream into the hall. While ordinarily, the gnome would adore another field trip to the countryside, wights are a *serious* travel hazard, and best avoided at all costs. For the town to be evacuated means that there's every chance, there's every chance that she's finally going to be able to set something on fire...

...But that something is probably a horde of life-eating dead things.

Yaaaayyyyyy...

Eztli wasn't sure how she got into this mess to begin with, but yet again her work was bringing her out into wight infested territory. The small makari was looking more than a bit on edge as she did what she could to actually help people get out of there. She wasn't nearly as comforting a presence, but at least she was working hard to get out of there as quickly as possible.

The golem arrives dressed in fine mage's robes that cover her tall frame. A red ribbon is tied around her waist in a fine little bow-tie off to one side, and the bronze-plated more-than-life-size 'doll' looks somewhat out of place here in the middle of an evacuation of ordinary people.

Her completely obsidian eyes scan the environments, her head moving in quick and intentional bursts every now and then as she looks at people rushing by.

"Assistance is here. Please remain calm and orderly. The chance of calamity is: low." Gramarye repeats this phrase every so often to people who get a little too close to the golem.

No sign of any wights *yet*, but people are nervous and flighty. They could stomp out at any moment. The market is busy as people tend to buy goods to prepare for the trip back to the city. Naturally, the prices are a little inflated.

(A lot inflated.)

GAME: Gramarye rolls Perception: (9)+2: 11
GAME: Robert rolls Perception: (8)+8: 16
GAME: Magpie rolls perception: (10)+6: 16
GAME: Eztli rolls perception: (7)+5: 12
GAME: Nemori rolls perception: (17)+9: 26
GAME: Dirk rolls Perception: (2)+8: 10

There are a few representatives of the Alexandrian government here. Military officers meant to help smooth the process. They're spread thin, naturally, but they're here. Your job? Help keep order, and slay any wights that might show up. The latter hasn't happened, thankfully, and while reports of them in the countryside are real, thre's no indication of them *here*.

What's here are a lot of boiling tempers, however, and that's what's drawing your attention. You've had to intervene a couple times now to remind people to move along. Stress is getting to people.

GAME: Magpie rolls diplomacy: (19)+4: 23
GAME: Gramarye rolls Diplomacy: (15)+0: 15
GAME: Nemori rolls diplomacy: (18)+8: 26
GAME: Robert rolls Diplomacy: (10)+1: 11
GAME: Eztli rolls diplomacy: (15)+5: 20
GAME: Dirk rolls Diplomacy: (8)+1: 9

No, Nemori's not exactly thrilled to be here. But she was given the option to stay in the city. Technically. The power of 'accepting but disappointed dad figure' is a force which remains immeasurable, however. And since she's here, she may as well try to expedite things.

That, and she remembers how two dwarves nearly got her and her friends killed.

Since then she's been honing her list of 'reasons to leave everything behind' and today is using them for all they are worth.. though she still doesn't stray far from the massive black-matte figure. Indeed, sometimes she drops hints that the big artificer might have to start getting rough when tempers flare and resistance crops up.

When one is smol, one has to compensate to be noticed, on occasion. Which is why half of Magpie's efforts at keeping the peace ends up 'yelling annoyingly for time while stacking things tall enough to be at eye level', but once she gets there, the sorceress does her very best to address concerns, and tries to keep things light. There's a lot of tension now, and if she can make one person chuckle at her antics, she considers it a success.

It is of probably little to no shock to anyone that Gramarye is not ordinarily possessed with talent for speaking and convincing people to do things. However, she's very tall, and there's something about that, her odd doll-like appearance (if dolls were made from brass), and her simple and direct manner that results in her telling people: "As per directive of the evacuation order, please purchase only the necessary items in order to ensure sufficient inventory is available for all evacuees, and follow the commands of evacuation directive officials. Remain calm and orderly. Thank you for your understanding."

"-- I'm just helping to move the chest, bud." Bob's progress has been halted by an Acanian man who seems to take great pleasure in jabbing a pair of fingers into the plates over the Cerenzan's chest. The artificer, for his part, has a hefty-looking bit of luggage tucked under one arm and his other hand is lifted off to one side, opened with articulated gauntlet-fingers splayed.

"I SAW YER LOOKIN' AT MY WIFE'S SMALLS!" The unhappy evacuee accuses. *TAK* goes the finger, dully, into the armored plate again. "KEEP YER BIG RED NOSE OUTTA OUR BIZNESS!" *TAK* "BAD ENOUGH YOU NEERIE'S CAUSIN' ALL THIS!" *TAK*

Looking to the man's wife for assistance, Bob instead finds she's glaring, too, with her hands on her hips. Nodding in time with each unfelt finger-poking.

"Apologies. My mistake," Bob surrenders with a heavy sigh. He holds the chest out for the man to snatch and stomp off, taking a step back when the woman spits at his feet. There's a silently-mouth 'Muse' grace' before the Cerenzan turns to find someone else who might need assistance.

Dirk has been doing his -very- best to keep a level head. To help keep tempers calm and things moving in an orderly fashion. But when the third scuffle in ten minutes breaks out over the dwindling supply of foodstuffs, the poor old snowbeard just about hits his limit. He stomps over to the two squabbling figures. "I've got two children to feed!" shouts one man, heaving in a tug-of-war with a sack of grain. "What are they to eat, eh? Rocks?" The other man hauls back on the bag. "What about my poor wife? She's got a little on the way, she's eating for two!"

"A fig for yer sow of a wife!" shouts the first.

"I piss on yer two brats!" bellows the second.

"OY!!" Dirk plants himself between the two and shoves them both apart. The sack of grain goes tumbling from their hands as they're bulled away from their prize--Rock beats Scissors. With his free hand, Dirk catches the grain, glaring up at the two sputtering men. "-You- get half, an' -you- get half! An' ye'll sodding well -like- it!" he snarls.

The two men share a glance, then turn their scowls on the bristling dwarf. "What gives -you- the right, stunter?" spits the first. The second nods his head. "Yeah! What gives -you- the ri--"

CHK-CHAK. With one hand, Dirk meaningfully racks his rifle. "-You- get half. An' -you- get half. We're two bloody days from Alex. Dana's -teats-, even -I- can last that long on half a sack o' grain! Now -quit yer bitchin'-!" He flings the grain sack at their feet with disgust. He turns on his heel, lumbering away with a growl. "Sodding -tallfolk-."

Let's hear it for dwarven diplomacy!

Eztli was not particularly convincing about a lot of people. Might be a height thing, and they weren't paying attention to the small sith. The sorceress looks around, and stops to address a small group going forward. "Okay. I get that you're all angry and tensions are running high, but you're all in this boat together, okay? You're not the only town evacuating, far from it, so many others are having to uproot and leave. But if you all work together for a bit, and support each other as you go to Alexandria, then you'll be able to come back when this is sorted and rebuild. I'm sure of that."

It was partly to convince herself such a thing was possible, despite not believing it. But hopefully she could at least convince a few people.

Time passes. People fall in line. The hundred or so now-refugees who live here have mostly boarded up their homes wher3 possible and gotten on their way. There's an accounting going on as everyone makes sure they're together. Inevitably, a few are missing. Some time is spent locating them.

And finally, there's the holdouts. That's where you come in. A single home near to the center of the town hasn't been evacuated. The officers are asking you to go and have a word with the recalcitrant family living there. Try to get them to assemble with the others. If you can't, they'll be leaving without them soon enough and you'll need to catch up.

On the way to the stubborn resident, Nemori is clearly... not pleased. "Is it a dwarf? It is probably a dwarf," she grouses, looking side-eyed at Dirk as she says this. "My vote is for fire. If we start burning the house down, they will be forced to leave."

"Can do," Magpie answers the officers, bobbing her head and looking appropriately serious. On their way to the middle of town, however, the gnome, hurrying in bursts due to her tragically tiny legs, looks up among the assorted tols in her company. "So uh, who's gonna do the talking? Cos if it's me, I'm gonna need a boost before we knock. For some reason most tols are, like, height-ist. As if looking down at someone's an excuse to look *down.* Pfff. Anyway someone gimme a pick-a-back ride, you people walk too fast."

Dirk trundles along his comrades as they head for the house of the holdout. Nemori's thoughts on the subject has the burly old snowbeard's whiskers bristling. "Hey!" he grunts. "We're nae -all- stubborn, pig-headed, stick-in-the-mud louts! -Some- of us have some common sense!" He looks over towards his fellow short-stack, giving Magpie a nod. "True talk, lassie, true talk. Bloody tallfolk think they're better'n us just 'cause they're taller. Hrmph! Well, joke's on -them-, innit? Their family jewels are -right- at punchin' height fer -us-! Har!"

Gramarye looks down at Magpie--more accurately, her head pivots downward in a slow and intentional movement. A white light flickers to life in her black eyes as she begins to speak. "Identification requested," she says. "I will provide identification in turn by activating my introduction protocol: I am Grace Reason Amity Miracle August Revelry Young Earnest--designation GRAMARYE. I am capable of enchantment and item creation to your exact specifications."

There's a flicker of white light in her black eyes again, like a blink, and then she says, "I am also capable of assisting your movement speed by relocating your body with my appendages, if that is what you request."

Oh, great. More stubborn inhabitants. If the small makari could be scowling, she would be. "Could be oruch, too." Eztli grumbles. "I don't want to talk too much, but if you need to scare them out of there, maybe I could do something? Or just make someone big enough to tear the door off it's hinges and carry them out of there, if they like it or not."

"Surely, they'll listen to reason." Bob states, certain enough and smiling again after collecting himself for a moment or two. A adamantine-infused gauntlet pushes his sweaty hair back as he considers the mostly-deserted town.

"I've brought my locksmith tools with me. If we need to let ourselves in," he adds a note of pragmatism to his hopes. Having said it, he shifts around hos hipsack and unbuckles the flap, sifting through until he's found the faded wallet of specialist tools.

"I have snacks, too, if anyone gets hungry."

The moment you get close to the house, there's a sound. A rattling, coughing sound from the inside like one of Robert's steam valves caught.

"YOU KEEP BACK. I'm warning you, I'm not going ANYWHERE."

The voice is high-pitched.

Twee, even.

"I'm Magpie!" the gnome chirps, sticking a hand out. Before it can be shook, however, the party rolls up on the house... And what sounds like the 'before' voice in a snake-oil act tells them to sod off.

Pausing, she blinks at the door, then up at the others, and clears her throat. "Um... Hi! I know you're scared, but like... this is *bad,* okay. Like, 'we don't want you to die' bad, so uh... Maybe we can have this argument on the way to the city? I know a good pocket-pie shop when we get there!"

Gramarye stops to consider the voice's request. She stands still, which is what fits her strange tall doll appearance best anyway.

"Processing," she states, simply.

A beat. "Error. Perception receptors could not process request. Reason: subject did not define the measurement units of distance that subject wishes for designation: GRAMARYE to stay."

Gramarye lurches forward. "Ergo, request denied."

Nemori is ready to suggest burning again, but a glance at Robert changes her mind. Instead, she looks away from the door to scan the forward facing part of the house for windows that may not yet have been boarded up. "Is it truly necessary to take them from their home? It is clear they wish to stay. Perhaps the wights will not eat them." A pause, then addition. "If we wait too long, it could endanger the rest." She is, of course, counting herself among 'the rest.' At least she doesn't look at Dirk this time, perhaps having taken his protestations to heart.

"Pfeh! The rest! You go take care of 'the rest', I ain't leavin' because of 'wights'. I'll shoot the first one that gets anywhere near me! I got a big old cannon in here and I ain't afraid to use it!"

So, marginally threatening, that's our man. The officers indicated his name was Guracco. They indicated he was an orc.

The suit of armor quiets as Bob pulls up short, lifting his hands up to either side with his palms towards the door. "Staying isn't an option now, friend. The undead comes and your door won't hold. If you need help transporting something you won't leave behind best to let us in now and not waist time."

There's a glowing stone floating back and forth between the titan armor's oversized pauldrons. It flits silently and casts faint shadows that dance out from the feet of the assembled group.

"I'd happily compare cannons," the Cerenzan offers with a smile. He's always happy to find another enthusiast. "Giving up a home isn't the end, friend. I've moved on from three and I'm fit as a fiddle."

"They're wights. When people stay back, they become everyone else's problem later." The small makari sighs. "And I'm not having someone else die because someone is too stubborn to leave their home and their numbers grow."

"So we can't just leave him here, even if I would rather do so. After all, it takes a real coward to stay here and die when there's so much work to be done to help the others."

Gramarye stops in place as the threat is made. This time, processing time is much shorter. "Father protocol: self-preservation. Protect self first. Father is no longer available to perform repairs on body frame."

She draws backward and looks over to Bob as he offers to compare cannons. "Inquiry: what is the purpose of talking about cannons? The mission objective is to ensure all denizens evacuate safely."

Dirk smacks a hand to his forehead, shaking his head with a gusty sigh. "Sodding -tallfolk-," he grunts. He gives Nemori a dour glance. "-Knew- it wasn't a dwarf," he grumbles. "-We've- got common sense." He looks back to the house, taking a step forward. "Right, that's yer lot!" he calls. "If ye know what's good fer ye, ye'll come along straight away! Don't make us come in there after ye! Ye -won't- like it, me bucko!"

Nemori offers a small shrug towards Dirk.. as close to an apology as she's likely to give.. but continues to look about for an alternate entry point. Without straying far from the actual effective members of the group. "I suppose Eztli is correct. Leaving them here just adds to the threat. I would like to revisit burning it down. There is little point, I think, in comparing cannons, Robert. I doubt this one's will measure up."

GAME: Nemori rolls diplomacy: (6)+8: 14
GAME: Magpie rolls diplomacy: (12)+4: 16
GAME: Eztli rolls diplomacy: (8)+5: 13
GAME: Robert rolls Diplomacy: (20)+1: 21
GAME: Gramarye rolls Diplomacy: (8)+0: 8
GAME: Dirk rolls Diplomacy: (11)+1: 12

"OF COURSE IT MEASURES UP!"

The door slams open and the old oruch stomps out. He's dressed in a framework of metal himself. Old titan armor, a generation, no two, back. Crown Wars veteran, no doubt, as he looks like he's pushing seventy or eighty years of age. Old artifice. Old like him.

"I CAN HANDLE ANY GODS BE DAMNED WIGHT THAT CROSSES MY PATH. I CAN HANDLE ALL OF YOU." He shoulders the massive cannon that coughs again over one side.

..he can barely stand.

Enthusiasm tamped a bit by queries and non-sequiturs, Bob glances to Gramarye and has his mouth half-open to speak when Nemori's comment makes him snort in spite of himself. He coughs, covering his mouth, and takes a second before looking down to the mul'niessa and offering a quiet "(you're better than that)" (but it's obvious he's trying not to laugh. "Common ground, miss Grace," he ultimately explains to the war golem.

"So... nothing funny, mister Guracco, but... look!" Slowly. Carefully. First lifting his cloak out of the way. The artificer produces a gnome-backpack-sized hunk that'd been affixed to the backplates of his armor.

"Kulthian-traditional electro-aetherite model," he holds it up, flips a handle to standing, and cocks the action. The whole thing unfolds to a boxy approximation of a thunderbelcher-- but with funny little tubes and extra knobs. "Collapsible and modified with a Runic capacitor containing self-propagating elemental earth and darkwood gum..."

The big, armored human has more-- but stops and beams at the arrival of his fellow. The classic armor near-to has him drooling. Steam hisses as he takes a few careful steps closer, steam venting to send his cloak fluttering behind him. "Take up the rear guard with us, SIR Guracco. How fun would that be?"

"Screw that. I'm not takin' a rear guard with anyone. Have you SEEN my knees? Bet I could still kick all of your asses, though.

...then the orc's grin grows proud and feral.

"... let's find out. Tell you what: you beat me, I'll evacuate. But I bet I could take all of you."

Gramarye is not well-suited to diplomacy. She's apparently been content to let Robert do the talking. But when the old orc declares his intent, something interesting happens with the bronze 'doll.'

Her obsidian eyes turn bright red.

"Initiating: combat module. Enemy identified. Objective: subdue the enemy until enemy surrenders. Resistance is futile, so please surrender immediately." Her hands raise up in a spellcaster's stance.

Deeeeeeep sigh.

"...Okay," Magpie says, resigned to her fate. "But like, can we agree that if soul-sucking armies of the dead *actually* roll on through, we stop comparing aetheric regulators and get going?"

It was worth a shot, after all.

The small makari stops and gets a bit of a smirk as she turns away to hide the expression. She didn't want the oruch to die, but sometimes you just had to appeal to their pride. "Well then. We really do need to get out of here now. Like, it's a matter of life or death really. But it shouldn't take long to take care of this so, why not?" Eztli muses. "But yes. If any wights do show up, then we're dragging you out of here."

Dirk watches all this unfold with eyes wide as teacups. He looks between the two mecha-jocks. Blink. Blink blink. "Did... did that just -happen-?" he asks, his beard all a-ruffle. He plants the butt of his thunderbelcher on the ground and rests his other hand on his hip. "This is ridiculous. We've nae got -time- fer this nonsense." He looks up to Robert. "D'ye know how tae shut his clank-trap -off-?" he asks. "We can haul 'im behind us if we have to, but those wights are comin'!"

"If you can't beat me, the hell should I think you can fend off a single wight? My skin is thinner than a three-decade dead corpse's."

The old oruch rolls his eyes and then rubs his shaggy white beard. The exo-skeleton is quirky, but still functional. He takes a step.

"RIGHT. DEFEND YOURSELVES, YOU BUNCH O' FLIMSY SHITBAGS."

GAME: Nemori spends ONE use of FAERIE FIRE.

Nemori's shoulders do slump a little bit at Robert's quiet admonishent, though the corner of her lips twitch just a little bit. "Perhaps it was too much?" And then the old orc has slammed through his door and issued his challenge. "It was too much," she answers herself, carefully stepping back and too the side. "How very typically Oruch."

Gurocco cracks his knuckles and then reaches into the backpack attached to his exoskeleton. He's definitely getting ready to get out of the way, but it's clear the man has a plan.

GAME: Dirk rolls CMB: (18)+4: 22

Dirk whacks his forehead. "This has gone on long enough," he grumbles. He tosses up his thunderbelcher and catches it by the barrel. He lumbers forward. "Oy! Laddie! Obey yer sodding elders!" he growls as he swings the rifle with all his strength. He goes for the back of the oruch's legs, hoping to knock them out from under him. KLANGG! The oruch does not go down. The old snowbeard staggers back, his arms shaking violently for a moment as the impact reverberates back through him. "P-i-i-iss u-up my -a-a-a-a-arse-!"

Well, it seemed like there was no chance that a fight wasn't going to break out, so the small sith-makar hopped back slightly, stumbling a bit over their tail. But once they were situated, they began chanting something quietly. Though she does stop for just a moment to regard the rest of the group with a narrowed expression. "By the way, if any of you comment on Robert's rear after this, I'm going to break your kneecaps." Eztli warns. "That clear?"

GAME: Robert activates his Titan Armor, gaining: +4 Str
GAME: Robert rolls weapon14+2: (1)+9+2: 12 (EPIC FAIL)

Bob's grin hitches when he takes a concerned look in the direction of the retreating caravan. Arguing about the wisdom of this action is only going to make this take long. What is it with oruch and wights? A concerned glance is tossed towards Eztli right before he drops his domed helmet down with a quiet *thoomp* and a *clack.*

"This really isn't something I get to do often," the artificer muses, his voice distant and echo-y from inside the helmet. The big pauldrons roll and the smell of ozone fills the air as the suit powers to life. Blue electricity arcs from the crystals set along the armor, dancing down the copper threading that's generally all-but-invisible. The humming increases and steam vents right before the titan armor goes pounding forward.

"Open hands! Mind those knees. We'd rather not carry you out!" Bob challenges, raising his voice confidently. His left hand cocks back and-- there's a grinding noise, a pop, and black-green energy dances from the stone set on the back of the gauntlet.

It almost looks like Bob is waiting for a high-five. <kulthian>

GAME: Gramarye casts Magic Missile/A1. Caster Level: 3 DC: 16
GAME: Gramarye rolls 2d4+2: (2)+2: 4

Gramarye seems utterly unconcerned with anything besides finishing what's in front of her, red artificial eyes locked onto Gurocco. Her hand is outstretched. "Activating magic missile. Lock-on..."

Her lips move in an incantation, and then two darts of arcane energy blast from her hand and sink into the old oruch.

"Arcane ordnance distributed," Gramarye states emotionlessly. "Target still remains. I will continue the assault."

GAME: Magpie casts Grease. Caster Level: 2 DC: 15
GAME: Magpie rolls perception: (18)+6: 24

So it's a fight after all. Siiiiiiiiigh.

But the old codger *did* say his knees are bad, so perhaps if he were encouraged to sit down. Plucking motes and shards of previously-invisible mana from the air, she claps her hands together, and lobs a ball of sickly green, wibbly *stuff* behind the Oldificer, which splashes into a very *precisely* placed puddle of arcane grease.

"So hey uh, Robert," Magpie calls, "not to alarm you or anything, but you should *definitely* be alarmed. This guy's got his lawn straight-up goblinized!"

GAME: Whirlpool rolls 1d20+5: (20)+5: 25 (Gurocco)

"...EXCUSE ME?!" yells Gorucco at Magpie. Goblinized? HE IS OFFENDED.

"MOTHERFUCKER YOU PUT THAT MANY PROBABLY MINES ON YOUR DOG WALK, YOU ARE GOBLINY." Magpie d'offense!

Dirk peers at Etzli. "Lassie, I've got -nothin'- tae say 'bout Robert's rear, -trust- me," he says with a harrumph.