Fractions & Factions: The Details –06/06/23– Saria Underwood
Jun 9, 2023 21:04:25 GMT
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Post by Michael on Jun 9, 2023 21:04:25 GMT
Saria walked the last few steps into her bedroom and almost stumbled onto the stool of the dressing table.
She reached down and loosened the clasps of her high-heeled leather boots, feeling a pang of relief from her large feet as she released them from their diurnal leather incarcerations.
Dressing the part really came with its costs.
As she wiggled some life back into her escapees she began to delineate the events of day in her mind.
She had just finished approving some ‘paperwork’ and was about to ready herself for a morning appointment with Aurelia when a knock at her office door and its owner drew all her attention.
Within no time at all with unwavering compliance, she had found herself accompanying Commander Ignatius Trymyng through the passages of the Town Hall, across the Courtroom and into its rear chambers. Where she’d had blankly ignored the puzzled questioning of Second Lieutenant Johnson as she’d pushed open the door to the holding cell and walked herself in, as a sudden blast front behind had brought an end to Johnson's protests.
She was soon joined by her fellow members of the Council: Mavis Thovian, Lord Jean Auber, Aurelia’s scribe Phillip Nolden, colluded finally by the suddenly colourfully-vocalised arrival of Captain Balton Thundercog, with which brought a sudden curious air of doubt to this unique choice of meeting venue.
As the walls of the stone cell chamber had begun to shake violently from some presumed magical occurrence, they had also shook off any final dregs of the enchantment that the apparently now traitorous Commander Ignatius had cast upon them. A wave of heat permeated, followed suit by the sour tang of brimstone before finally the distant sound of otherworldly roars and screaming rounded off the new air of idiosyncrasy.
They had to get out.
She remarked how quickly-most-of her fellow Council members had sprung into action, Mavis Thovian elegantly producing a blast of electricity from within the depths of their ‘handbag’ as simply as retrieving a compact mirror. A flare which combined with the trepidatious efforts of young Aurelia’s scribe Phillip in the form of three fiery-rays had resulted in lock mechanism and structural integrity of the cell door quite simply, seen too.
She had barely even begun to remove her hair pin.
Jean Auber on the other hand, had spent the last five minutes berating his new ‘cell-mates’ on how ignoring his frequent complaints in past council meetings to Aurelia ‘for not directing enough funds into security’ had resulted in this ‘exact-scenario’ that they has now found themselves in.
Far be it from her to agree on any degree with Lord Auber, that door would indeed need shoring up for any future visitors of the ‘accused’ nature.
The sorry state of poor Johnson’s spell blasted remains as they’d vacated their cell only confirmed that this was indeed no small-time matter.
Something big was going down.
Freshly equipped with the universal weaponry of a dagger and the slightly spell-scorched Second Lieutenant’s leather armaments, she acknowledged Phillip's ‘Sending’ communication with Aureila that-they were indeed ‘In Hell’ and currently seemingly trapped there for the moment.
They’d proceeded their way out into the Courtroom in the wake of the war-ready Balton, berating Auber’s idiotic manner in checking that the contents of his purse remained fully intact. Before being met with the view through the high courtroom windows flanking either side of the stand, that would make even the most stoniest of Judge recoil. A crimson hell plane, ‘Avernus’ to be precise according to young Nolden.
This was very bad.
Whilst the others had discussed the group’s next move, ranging from checking on the current status of Auber’s office ‘assets' or locating their ‘captor’. She has attempted to advance from the room unnoticed to try and scout the path ahead. Very aware of letting slip her meticulously sculpted office manner. A peculiar hum of energy had emanated from above the entrance lobby, a new feature which she advised the emerging party that they should proceed towards with caution and ‘without talking Jean’, silencing the inevitable onslaught of retort with her sternest of stares.
They hadn’t gone far before they had encountered an arcane barrier, one of Aurelia’s making no doubt given the golden aura of the magic. Sealed beyond they saw not only a troubled gathering of the building's various clerks and staff members, but also a huge blast hole in the ceiling. This gave them a ‘skyward’ view of a rooftop battle, consisting of Aurelia, Cecil and the ‘poly-morphed’ draconic form of the Duchess fighting off an onslaught of devils. They were holding their own, but not even the girls could hope to overcome all the forces of a hell-plane, not without some help anyway.
Confirming with one of her team amongst the worried clerk faces, that whilst Aurelia could protect them she was still none-the-wiser on why she couldn’t revert teleport them back home, the group debated yet again on their next course of action. Continue to search for the culprit to all this, or call for help from the material plane. The latter being judiciously rebuffed by Phillip on account of the lack of precise knowledge of their current exact location.
Upon retreating back downstairs she had reminded some of the more convenience-favouring Council members that “Magic isn’t the answer to everything. Sometimes you have to take your own initiative.” The doors to the Town Hall burst open as if in response, and two bearded devils had stormed in.
It seemed they would be putting her advice into action.
The battle did not last too long, though it had resulted in some collateral damage. The newly installed entrance hall doors and tapestries for one, and Jean Auber getting a big-head for another from simply-limply punching the battered and charred remains of the second bearded blighter before they crumbled to dust like their brother before them.
Letting their ‘valiant-hero’ lead the way, they had advanced further into the lower halls of the building, her mind calculating as she had tried to recall what ‘scores’ the Trymyng figure could possibly obtain from this area. Profile files, judicial records, land-deeds. It would be-put bluntly-‘another fucking fine mess’ for the administrative teams to resolve if they could not get the building, and it’s contents, back to the Material plane in one piece. But Trymyng had been a council remember for nearly a year, and had pretty much full unrestricted access to any file or document they wanted. No, there was something ‘else’ hidden away down here.
After many lamp lit twists and wood panelled turns they had found themselves at the mouth of a dead end corridor, three doors lined up on either side.
They had all taken up position at one door, Mavis two with the summoning of a nimble-fingered arcane hand, and pulled them open at the count of three. A sudden burst of flames sent roaring from Balton’s broom cupboard had ignited her old reflexes, causing her to dramatically flip and land behind the man she would of least expected to react with any ounce of the same dextrous manner, Jean Auber. Remarkably, impressive.
At first glance there was nothing particularly of note in the broom cupboard, except for a particular large ornate silver mirror. One, which begrudgingly examined with the utilising of one of Auber’s convenient-if tacky-pearl cufflinks, resulted in Mavis identifying it to be capable of holding an extra-dimensional space. The group discussed the properties of magics quite beyond her knowledge, but after all that’s what allies were for, and deduced letting young Phillip have a go at disrupting the mirror’s magical properties would be the right course of action.
It certainly produced results. Upon immediately turning jet black as if the revealing entrance to a hidden room, out tumbled Ignatius Tymyng, or someone wearing his uniform. The recovering figure suddenly appeared far more hairy and beasteal in nature than the immaculately waxed moustached individual she had grown accustomed to these past months.
The hyena-like arcanoloth, Mogtron-from that last Avernus business during The Giant wars-announced themselves.
Not that they got to monologue for long, as the enthused as ever Captain Thundercog had adopted a much more ‘direct’ line of questioning-by which of a club to the muzzle. “Don’t kill him, keep him alive!” She’d managed to command, before Mogtron’s stammered cries of their revenge-their summoned favours were smothered under an onslaught of assault by her fellow party members.
As the mirror had seemingly spluttered and ejected out the sorry starved and shockingly starkly unkempt figure of ‘the real’ Ignatius Trymyng, she had found herself reflexively thrust into the fray. Burying her borrowed blade deep into the hide of the dastardly hound, she had broke character just long to say, “I knew you were a little worm.” She had then directed her attention towards the young secretary standing staring peculiarly at her, attempting to compose herself back into her leadership manner to instruct to, “Take him down, do some magic or…Whatever! But don’t kill him.”
Nolden it seemed had cracked under pressure, summoning a colossal fireball which torched a very complimentary contemporary portrait of the sadly departed Cornelia Jadefist before striking its intended target. Jean wasn’t taking this betrayal well, almost lamenting between each pummel of ‘who would agree with them at meetings now?’ She’d tried to interrogate the suspect-well confessed culprit-of what this was all for. But Mogtron seemed to have barely heard her so lost in their demise, as with an uncharacteristic cackle from Nolden, he was incinerated in flames.
Ofph! Burnt fur smell, terrible.
She’d then hurried over and hoisted up the fragile figure of Ignatius Trymyng before any more acts of enthusiasm could evaporate further valuable sources of information.
He’d looked terrible, the waxed moustache more like a matted mousefolk upon his thin face. He informed her weakly after confirming his identity that he had been in that mirror a very long time, a full year almost as he later explained how he had been grabbed just after the githyanki attack, held within that pocket dimension as Mogtron had assumed his identity.
If only she’d considered the possibility of pseudo.
Stupid!
Upon a signal from a re-composing Nolden, Aurelia and the Duchess-a hair abnormally out place as she dissolved her dragon form-met them back in the entrance hall. From where, after confirming the runic sequence powered by Mogtron has now deactivated, Aurelia ‘teleported’ them-and the entire building-back to Daring Heights.
The appearance of the dilapidated Town Hall replacing the seemingly peaceful illusion left in it’s place had come as quite a shock to many citizens and members of the watch, and would take some explaining in the days to come.
In an improtune meeting, the members of the Council had regaled their tale whilst Aurelia confirmed that her own intense half-hour had clearly been the result of a planned ambush. One which Mavis pointed out, mercifully hadn’t counted upon a lot of the ‘abilities’ that had lain unbeknown to even each other.
Yes, quite.
That strange symbol, which had appeared at various incidents through the Dawnlands it seems, truly just had been a rallying point. No real overarching rhyme or reason hidden in its depiction-at least in Mogtron’s means, other than the show the Dawnlands that they were under threat.
Saria stared at the copy of the symbol she had pinned upon the notice board above her adjacent work desk, a far more detailed one than she displayed in her Council office.
Perhaps that was it then. Mogtron simply was just the deranged instigator of this most recently attempted assault upon the Dawnlands.
But, if she knew one thing. It was that many more would now follow in those clawed footsteps to see the Dawnlands fall, and unlike the now former Council member Commander Ignatius Trymyng.
They could not shy away from the responsibility that was theirs to uphold.