Startup 74: Burn Rate

Rova 28, Just after midnight

It was, perhaps, unsurprising that Quent had a vibrant night life. I knew better than most how little darkness could impede any of the species that had darkvision. Dwarves, orcs, goblins, drow; we could all function at near full capacity in pitch darkness. In fact, I found the sun so unpleasant that I needed to wear sunglasses during the day. I’d probably be nocturnal too, if I settled down in a place like this. Unfortunately, that meant that nearly every person out on the streets in Smalltown was a goblin.

I could see a cloud of magic settling over the riot as I approached. Enchantment, but not compulsion. Goblins revered musicians, and learning bardic magic was commonplace among those who made their living with music in this world. A goblin capable of basic bardic magic was about as common as a Brazilian who could go semi-professional at soccer. As such, maybe one in ten of the people out on the street had the power to stiffen backs and heighten adrenaline for people on their side. People who might have tried to get out instead got sucked into the moment, and… well, they were goblins. Things escalated quickly, often drawing the attention of another glorified busker who added his song to the chorus.

I didn’t know at the time why they were fighting; the songs of the goblin protesters were like listening to a YouTube debate on fast forward, all set to EDM. All I knew was that the impromptu war was spreading like a wave, and the burning building I was headed towards seemed to be at the heart of it all. I grit my teeth and flew over the madness.

Not my circus, not my monkeys. My crew is in trouble. They need me.

My spell slots were critically depleted, mostly spoken for by Ve’ra, so anything I had Autopilot do would be contingent on his focus. I could maintain weather control, call up my shadow puppet, shoot a frost blast, or leap through the air as a frozen wind, which was still quite a toolkit, but I felt naked even so. I clutched my revolver, the one tool I could really use if someone jumped me while autopilot was otherwise occupied.

I had to land to whistle up a rain cloud, for example, and unfortunately that just added to the chaos. The rain blew in through the windows and created hissing clouds of steam, but it didn’t seem that the goblins cared about a little rain. They lived in a chain of islands that had a hurricane season; heavy rain didn’t have quite as much punch as it would have back where I was from. I strode into the smoke filled bar, looking around for my crew, and redirected the rain indoors. That smothered the fires pretty well. From there, all I had to do was follow the sounds of gunfire.

••••••••••

Pharasma had equipped him to endure, to stand upon the threshold, not to **** others over that line. Of course, there was nothing heretical about using the tools you have been given. A dozen injuries, all partially redirected into his bone charms, flowed up his torso and down his arm. The jarring **** of the blow resonated up his arm as the shark man’s skull caved in completely under the hammer blow of Cog’s fist.

It was a mixed blessing. Setting aside the brutality of the strike, and the fact that the victim was someone who by all rights should have been Cog’s ally, it mostly just served to exhaust him. Not so much as to make a two on one fight more difficult than a three on one ****, but he couldn’t pull off that trick again without taking a moment to regain his flow state. What a shame that he wasn’t going to be afforded that moment.

Varossa, standing back in the shadows, let out an exasperated growl and turned her crossbow upon Narwhal. He proved much less able to dodge than Syl had, and much less able to weather the blow than Cog would have. He still tried, jerking to the side and taking the bolt directly through his shoulder.

His boarding axe fell from nerveless fingers as he staggered back, and the one cultist he’d been facing pounced. The man turned monster, nearly six feet of flab, muscle, teeth, and claws, bowled Narwhal over and slashed at his face with wide sweeping claws.

Not today.

Cog abandoned his defensive posture and lunged forward, sweeping with his still blood soaked arm to ram an elbow into one of his remaining opponents. He committed fully, accepting blows that might have disabled lesser men so that he could drive his dagger into the creature savaging Narwhal. He drove his bone knife deep, angled low towards the exposed lower back and into the kidneys. The shark man stopped their attack and arched their back with a roar of pain, twisting away. The enchanted bone knife was ripped from Cog’s fingers, with the slabs of muscle and flab seizing around the blade to hold it fast.

That was enough to stop the woman, however, who collapsed on top of Narwhal with his eyes wide with shock. With any luck that would mean the dwarf would live; he still had enough fight in him to struggle to push the much larger enemy off. Perhaps the weight would be for the best; his arm was fucked up, he wouldn’t be much more use in this fight.

Cog heard yelling in the distance, a loud repetitive thump, and his heart sank when he realized what it meant. Help might be coming eventually, but it sure wasn’t coming quickly. He punched a cultist in the solar plexus, and tried very hard to be a hard target for the woman now turning her crossbow upon him.

••••••••••

I ran out the back, through the small steam filled kitchen, and into a shootout. I knew it was a fight before I really entered the field of battle, and not just because of the gradually less frequent gunfire. The world stopped, and I’ve gotten pretty good at noticing when that happens. Ironically, that meant it was the perfect moment to collect my thoughts. I spent several minutes of subjective time checking the timer on Ve’ra’s Steal Identity talent, about 52 minutes left, as well as a more thorough overview of the combat logs.

Long story short, it wasn’t looking good. Narwhal was down as of a few seconds prior, Cog and Syl were both heavily injured, and perhaps worst of all Aaron had somehow taken 9 points of wisdom drain. If whatever did that was picked up again, he could be rendered permanently, irrevocably insane.

Rowe and Conchobar, who I was fairly sure I was here to help, were actually pretty well off. Ratts and some of the Goblettes had taken hits from improvised weapons, but nothing too serious in the grand scheme of things. The main thing I was worried about here, honestly, was that Hinson of all people had cast suggestion on Conchobar while being sprayed with bullets.

I never really payed attention to that guy. Handsome, but he always just trailed after Varossa. I honestly just labeled him as a bit of a simp and moved on. What the hell is he doing here- oh fuck he’s here for the horn. Might already have it.

Conchobar had been using the horn occasionally in public, always in short bursts, usually to calm the crew or boost the power of his magic. To my knowledge he’d never done it in front of Varossa or her goons, but I couldn’t be sure of that. Even if he hadn’t, rumors that he had a fancy new golden horn probably would have been passed around; it’s not like I had Netflix for my crew. Gossip accounted for a third of their entertainment when we were at sea.

Shit. I’d been planning on popping it back into my storage when we got to port, but the trial threw me off.

I couldn’t see the fight, but I could formulate a plan. The situation here seemed a lot milder than the other one, which I assumed was on the Enterprise. If I could handle this quickly, the goblins could be back at the ship in just a few minutes. Thus far, no one was dead and multiple people were downed.

Hopefully that means Varossa is more the hostage or **** taking type than the prisoner killing type. I’ll need to risk it for now; I can’t let someone run off with the Horn of Riches and worst case scenario there’s always Jerry. As long as I can retake the ship with a squad of goblin commandos before she gets away, we can mostly fix just about anything.

In my defense, I haven’t tried this specific power in a combat situation before and I was under a lot of very sudden stress. When I resumed motion and rounded the corner, I found myself menaced with a shotgun. Lecour, one of the better shots on the gunnery crew, bared her teeth and glared at me without a shred of recognition.

“Turn around, longshanks.” She growled in goblin, “This goblin business.”

Conchobar was peeking over a pile of trash and only glanced at me. He seemed to agree, but was more polite about it, pointing towards an alleyway nearby.

“This isn’t a good place to be right now, friend.” He said, "I don't think you’ll be in danger if you go down that way.”

••••••••••

Jape didn’t really like fighting. That might have surprised some people; he was half orc after all. Most orcs are interested in that kind of thing. Why wasn’t he?

For one thing, he was one quarter orc. That’s why his skin was so light that it looked yellow. For another, most orcs were psychotic.

This night had started so well. He got some decent rum and music, talked to a pretty girl with Sandara, and enjoyed an hour of fun with another even prettier girl. The second girl had been paid, but also hadn’t been introduced to him by Sandara so he didn’t spend the whole interaction wondering whether or not he was the butt of a joke.

Having to go straight from getting his balls drained to an overly elaborate guard duty was unfortunate, but not awful. Captain M’Dair paid alright and he didn’t ask too much. That wasn’t what made the night go down hill.

What made the night start to smell was when Sosima had commanded them all to intervene in a goblin riot.

“If we can help to reduce the overall level of chaos in town, that will no doubt reflect well upon Captain M’Dair.” She had said, “In any event, I doubt that their storage facilities will have space for Lubo if they are going to be dealing with this all night. The transfer will need to be rescheduled to tomorrow.”

It made sense, but even if Jape had been a real berserker type, he would have been conflicted about fighting a sea of brawling goblins. They had the proportions and colors of orc children; it just didn’t feel right. They were striking to stun and disable, but they still were basically doing nothing but trying to drive a wedge between warring factions he knew nothing about.

A thrown bottle hit Jape directly in the nuts.

Jape was over his conflicted feelings after that point.

••••••••••

Stolen identity. Not copied identity. I’m an idiot. The entire point of this plan was that I wouldn’t be recognized. I literally saw Sosima get her identity stolen and I had difficulty remembering that Ve’ra wasn’t the real Sosima. I’m not getting through to these guys quickly if I try to be myself.

“Your ship is under attack.” I said, “The Enterprise. People are already hurt.”

Conchobar didn’t look at me again, but he cursed under his breath. Rowe was too busy rushing forward with her bottle rocket, apparently trusting her underling to get rid of me. I saw Hinson moving away, slowly shifting from cover to cover as the goblin riots kept raging. He had a cloak of violet energy wrapped around himself. I couldn’t tell exactly what the spell was called, but it seemed to be releasing pulses of mild compulsion towards all the goblins around him. They ignored him even as he faded back into the masses. (Spellcraft 6 + 14 - 4 (distance) = 16)

He’s getting away unless my team rushes him. Shit. That would probably get people hurt in the crossfire…

“Why trust?” Lecour asked. “Captain doesn’t have any drow friends.”

“That’s fine.” I said. “I’ll be right back. Sit tight.”

I hopped up, set my ice to nonlethal, and stepped towards Hinson as a cold wind. I wasn’t at my best, but I had mobility and fully intended to kick Hinson in his already-bullet-riddled ass. Then I could toss the horn back to Conchobar, and hopefully he’d lead his team back to the ship.

Easy. What could possibly go wrong?

••••••••••

Naomi slid into Lady Aulamaxa’s room like a shadow, her breath heavy. The ship wasn't very large, but she’d been sprinting the entire way. Milo continued counselling her in a chiding tone.

“Well, if you’re already gasping like that, Dame, we’d best get this done quick.”

She rushed to the cabinet where Lady Aulamaxa kept her jewelry box, and within it the key to the store rooms and armory. She’d watched Sosima fetch it a dozen times, and she knew the trick to open the cabinet. It took a bit of fumbling, but that just meant she had time to focus and steady her breathing.

She finished shifting the tiles in their proper combination, pulled the door open, and pushed past a dozen silk dresses worth more than Naomi had ever held in her life. She lifted the jewelry box, made of dark stained wood, and flipped the lid. She rifled through the box, even pouring out the contents onto the floor when she couldn’t find what she was looking for.

The small brass key was not present. It was possible that Lady Aulamaxa had it on her person. She did that sometimes, if she expected to need it. Naomi stared at the pile of jewels in horror. She’d wasted precious moments. Her mind slowed to a crawl.

“Stand up, Dame.” Milo said firmly, laying a phantom hand on her shoulder. “Nothing changed except what you know. You can’t stop now. Grab two of them hair sticks. The iron ones, yeah. I can talk you through a lock.”

Naomi did her best to swallow her panic. He was right. She just hoped she had enough time.

••••••••••

Filli’s hand signed impotently, completely failing to communicate anything of value. She’d been staring at Creed for a few minutes now, and she didn’t dare to break eye contact. She tried to make a beckoning gesture, wishing that the girls huddled behind her would somehow guess what she needed.

She already knew what she’d do if he did decide to use the spores. It was a rather easy problem to fix, actually. She would plug the hole in the door with her own torso. She hadn’t been in a position to participate in any of the safety drills or clean up procedures at the L’Rath laboratories, but she’d been able to watch them. She knew a bit about what dangerous liquids and gasses did, and how to clean them up.

Filli was pretty sure spores would be some kind of very fine powder, so she could probably keep the overwhelming majority of them here in the hallway. The door into the men’s room was almost entirely sealed, and the women’s quarters only had a small hole she could just barely fit her head through. As long as the majority of spores didn’t get into either barracks, they’d probably be a much more minor threat. Less dosage usually meant a substantially lesser effect. Hopefully.

Her hand was filled suddenly, and Filli stole a quick glance to her left. One of the girls, Toppin, had placed an axe in her hand. It felt very small, but would probably help her get through the door just a hair more quickly. It wasn’t what Filli needed, but it would be useful. She focused on Creed again and carefully, quietly put the axe at her feet where she’d be able to pick it up again quickly. Then she put her hand out again, palm up, fingers splayed, in the universal sign of “give me the thing.”

If only she could have just told them what she needed. The best she could do for now was lightly tossing away the club they gave her next. Yes and no were all she had, and she couldn’t risk Creed figuring out she was up to something. He might come up with a better plan.

••••••••••

I angled my energy leap upwards, over the heads of the rioters. A high enough damage roll from Energy Leap could really fuck a normal person up, even on the nonlethal setting. That's why the police call things like rubber bullets “less lethal” instead of nonlethal and don’t go around spraying and praying at the first signs of ****.

I fell a few feet, trying but not quite succeeding at landing upon Hinson’s shoulders. I did however land right behind him setting myself up for a rabbit punch as I sprung up, first first. He turned his head and started throwing himself to the side, so my clumsy haymaker hit the side of his head instead of the base of the skull. It still laid him out, but I suppose I shouldn’t have expected a clean win at this point.

He’d already been in a fight, so it wasn’t a surprise round. He stood quickly and scrambled away a few feet, slurring out a Suggestion.

“How about you just stay out of this, stranger? You could get hurt.”

It was a strong spell, a wave of violet aura as powerful as anything I’d seen from Nendra. It was strong enough that I felt Autopilot start to pivot towards the ship, but then my Spell Resistance kicked in. My enhanced drow noble skin drank in the magic, breaking the compulsion before it could solidify.

Looking at him from up close, Hinson was lit up like a Christmas tree. He was layered with a dozen buffs, most of which took the form of a tightly fitted shell of abjuration magic, green in my eyes. It was mostly visible as an afterimage whenever he moved, almost entirely drowned out by the noise of his more active enchantment based defense and the sheer brightness of the artifact at his belt. For whatever reason, the Horn of Riches was so overwhelming that I needed to turn off my magic vision just so I could focus.

Ma’ra was still a fresh memory, but Varossa was hurting my crew and this man was the only part of her team I had in arms reach. Emotions warred within me, but pragmatism and anger won out. I reassured myself before firing my revolver.

He’s a healer. He can take it.

My justification felt hollow, especially when an older memory of Sandara on the deck of the Wormwood reared its ugly head, but I wanted this over quickly before it got any uglier. I didn’t waste bullets this time by unloading the whole thing. I still wasn’t a combat marksman, and outside of sheer desperation that was usually a bad idea. It was probably a good call, too, because the bullet I fired stopped in midair a few inches away from him and fell to the floor.

He was planning on fighting Rowe. Of course he made himself bulletproof. Protection from arrows, maybe? That works on all ranged weapons.

Luckily, Autopilot’s contribution was less triggering, more effective, and probably brutal enough that it should have bothered me more. My shadow puppet, so often sidelined in favor of Ve’ra recently, formed above him and brought down a single heel onto his massive goblin belly. I heard something crunch.

That was, unfortunately, when an ash grey griffon swooped down on me from above, bowling me over and nearly pinning me.

Fiendish Griffon missed you with its beak

Fiendish Griffon has raked you with its talons for 9 damage

Fiendish Griffon missed you with its talons

From upon its back I heard a bored, disdainful voice. A familiar voice.

“Mister Hinson, if you could kindly compose yourself I would greatly appreciate it.” The voice said. “I will be with you momentarily. This gentleman has the great misfortune of reminding me of an old acquaintance.”

It was only at the start of my next round, with the benefit of frozen time, that I recognized the shaved head and severe face of one Sebastien Plugg, former captain of the Man’s Promise.

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