S.P.I.R.E.: Sharn Private Investigation and Risk Elimination

Nocturne's journal

As I take my turn at the watch, I find time to update my records. We are inside a cellar of sorts, doors barricaded and locked from intrusion. No way to keep out magical entrance, but measures have been taken to prevent physical danger. From the way we came, at least. In blocking others from entering, we have also sealed our retreat. I savor the irony. We have decided to set up camp for a time, tending to our wounds. I suppose I should scribe the story as to how we got here for whomever may read this at a later date.

We entered the temple shortly after sundown. Wishing to remain ahead of any others searching for the place, we decided to forge ahead. I saw the danger in doing so, but said nothing. With the exception of Echelon, and perhaps Ironwood, the others seem to care little for my input or opinion. Open the locks, disable the traps, keep your mouth shut. Rayan, especially, seems to hold a particular disdain for me. I have no particular problem with any one of my companions, but have resigned myself to a position of obedience for the time being. Perhaps at a later date, I can use my talents-

(A sentence is crossed out heavily, but the words ‘abscond’, ‘regret’, and ‘friendship’ are barely legible.)

I digress. Echelon moved into the first room, the two of us working to find any mechanical traps. I stress the phrase mechanical. So intent are we on pressure plates and arrow holes that we completely miss the darkness growing around a statue in the center of the room. It lashed out across Echelon’s eyes, causing him to leap back in alarm and pain, rubbing at his face frantically. Suddenly, across the room, shadows leapt from the walls and charged us. We managed to recover from our surprise quickly enough to save Echelon and dispatch the creatures, thanks in no small part to Ironwood’s bravery and Pepper’s healing abilities. I grudgingly admit that Rayan, also, proved to be a valuable asset. After a short time, we heard footsteps behind us. Kos, our field leader, and one of the few men I dare to call my friend, had arrived. Unfortunately, the emerald claw was close behind him. Bastion promptly charged in the wrong direction, getting thoroughly lost outside the temple. We set up an ambush and quickly sent them running the way they had come. Those that were not dead, at least. We proceeded deeper into the labyrinth and came upon a maze made seemingly of shadow. I felt strangely at home, although the swirling black seemed to unnerve the others. With a combination of arcane knowledge, quick reflexes, and some fireside rumors, we made our way to the centre of the maze. There, we found a prayer book and what I can only guess to be the artifact in question. Also of note were some enchanted gloves, of worth to nobody present. Echelon quickly took them for his studies, seeing no other use for them. As we made our way further down the temple, we came upon a room with strange glyphs on the floor. Two men, surrounded by their dead companions, were screaming in terror as a huge shadow creature tore into them. One was immediately decapitated, and the other leaped into the shadows behind the creature, promptly parting company with his skin. The sound was unpleasant. We dispatched the beast with our customary efficiency and moved on, into the sewers of Sharn.

As we move through the sewers, I immediately recognize the markings of Shifter gangs. My experience with these groups has run the gamut from pleasant to uncomfortably life-threatening, depending on what mood they find themselves in at any given moment. In my childhood, I “ran with the pack” for a time, trying to escape those who -

(Again, a sentence is heavily marked out, this time with obvious anger behind the pen.)

I must stay on topic. We find our way to a refuse pit. Inside is a female shifter, with a gang mark tattooed on her arm. She is sifting through the garbage. She seems familiar, and something in my gut tells me I can trust her. My instincts have kept me alive for 26 years, I have no reason not to trust them now. With some bribery, I manage to acquire her aid in leading us to our next destination, an abandoned tower of the arcane. Supposedly, whoever hid the artifact in the temple found some importance in this tower, and, being the whimsically violent and intrusive bunch that we are, we decided to continue our investigation. With the help of the nameless shifter female, we found ourselves in the cellar of what seems to be the tower we seek. Ironwood charges ahead before anyone can stop him, and shortly thereafter a loud shout and the sound of crashing metal echoes throughout the room. Echelon and Pepper rush to aid him, but I am more cautious. I make my way around the side of the room, only to be leapt upon by a ghoul. I manage to dodge it’s grasping claws, slicing it’s belly open with my rapier before spearing it through the eye. Shouts and cries of alarm around me herald the appearance of more of the creatures. My shifter friend is surrounded, but I cannot make my way to her through the battle. I move to engage a horrid smelling undead, but it vomits on me and I feel the strength sapped from my limbs. I try to dodge to the side, only to be caught in the jaws of some great deathly hound. The next several minutes are nothing but black, until one of Echelon’s vials smashes against me. I sit up and look around just in time to see the rest of the group take care of the remaining undead. The creature that vomited on me is pulling itself off the ground next to me. I stand and smash my heel into it’s face, spitting on it contemptuously as I pierce it’s heart with my blade. So the battle ended, we barricaded the door, and decided to rest.

I believe these to be an accurate description of the events to date. We currently sit in this room, awaiting whatever may come our way. If these were just the gate keepers, then Traveler help us all.

X~Nocturne

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Florida Session Info - 2

Attendance: Ed, Colin, Shannon, Donald, Rob, Steven (first part), Lauren (second part)
XP per Attending Player: 445

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Rayan's Journal

I suppose I should call to your attention that the name on my badge is incorrect. Well, it’s probably my fault for signing my name in Abyssal on the official papers; some translation error is to be expected. I suppose it doesn’t matter. I never bothered to remember the names of my colleagues; why should I care if they get mine wrong?

The skirmish on the airship went smoothly enough. All of us made it onto the airship as planned, and we were quick to dispose of the theatre goons. I am pleased to report that I found a new use for my superior movement capabilities on the battlefield: thunder and lightning work wonders for throwing hapless minions off the edge of the ship! The mission was looking good until the rogue callously slit the throat of the helmsman. He’s to blame for the crashing of the ship, I’d say. Still, we retreived the papers as needed and all in all things were a success.

When seeking the young man Kerstol, our esteemed rogue thought it wise to go in alone to speak with the man privately. Again, I fault him for leaving the hostile tavern without the man in tow. We had to move in quickly to rescue the poor man. We disposed of the people inside (I assume you’re used to our violent tendency of killing everyone in the mission by now) and got the information we needed. It wasn’t long before we managed to find the entrance to this temple ruin that supposedly houses the artifact we seek.

As fitting the boldness of our group, the doors of the ruins were torn down. The alchemist foolishly moved forward without keeping aware of arcane traps, and thusly activated one. Note for future excursions: when entering an unfamiliar hallway or room that likely holds traps, my familiar, Gii, will gladly risk his well-being and scout the area for us. Sure, he won’t likely push any pressure plates, but other traps are likely to expose themselves. Death is irrelevant, for a mere moment’s rest can bring him back to my side. Continuing on, after the artificer sprung the trap, two– (incoherent scribbles)

(splotch of dark red fluid)

Excuse the spattering of blood on this report; my familiar had the gall to trample on my paper in an attempt to scribble things out. He has been punished accordingly. Unfortunately, I have run out of time to finish this report–we are lying in wait for an ambush upon our pursuers, and I begin to hear footsteps from the entrance hallway…

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Echelon's Journal
Chapter 2

As I write this, we have barricaded ourselves inside of what seems to be a basement with a mausoleum in the next room. Myself and my compatriots are all resting after the hardships we had endured traversing the malodorous sewers of Sharn and fighting against several undead creatures. Luckily, we had stumbled upon a shifter that was scavenging through various corpses. I had read about these creatures in my time at school, how many have been forced underground to survive in Sharn. Many gangs of them live down here and many of them are very violent. It is a shame really, and I dislike pigeon-holing a race into some violent stereotype. Nonetheless I am still more hesitant than my friend Nocturne in letting her lead us through this labyrinth. Still, we did need a guide and she was more than willing for a small fee.

Unfortunately, we came across a group of ghouls that ambushed us. After a long and very close battle, we were victorious and our shifter friend proved to be more reliable than I had given her credit for. Still, the fight was taxing on all of us and we needed a place to rest for the night. I was very unwilling to leave the area to be searched by others and after some thought, remembered that I could repair the door that Ironwood demolished with such exuberance, and make it better than it was. After etching various glyphs and arrays upon the broken door, I repaired the iron doors and Nocturne locked the door. Ironwood barricaded it with the bodies of the ghouls as well as the plate armour, just to make sure.

As we wait and rest, I have confined myself to my alchemical studies to create more of the healing elixirs with the very last of my components, able to create two of them. I am worried that these two potions of healing will not be enough for the job ahead of us. I must invest in keeping a greater amount of healing items in the future. As I wait for the titration of the potions to finish, I move to mortar and pestle in creating two more woundpatches with the last of my ingredients and, using my own life force, I also create my healing infusions for my comrades. Sadly, I could not disenchant the gloves nor cloak as their magic seems too powerful for me to disenchant. Still, I was able to shrink the gauntlets down enough so as to it will not hinder my movement. I will have to wait until I can get out of the sewers so I can sell them for 496 gold. Then I will be able to forge a better staff to aid my friends.

I hope that we are able to continue on unimpeded and I hope that the supplies I have now will be enough for this job.

Echelon Thrice,

Arcane Scientist and Alchemical Savant

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Ambush!
Big One or the Little One?

The animate darkness have now given way to simple shadows, the light restored to the eyes of those that were blinded by it. S.P.I.R.E.’s first encounter with the denizens of the temple of The Shadow was a difficult one, but, they survived.

Taking time to examine a pile of goods stashed in a far corner of the room, they were frustrated to discover that most of the contents were fake. A few real coins mixed into the mess, as well as a robe with some magical properties, but, for the most part, it was a testament to someone’s time put towards painting a great deal of wooden coins with golden paint.

Footsteps followed; someone had found their way down into the temple after them. Ready to pounce on any intruders, the group piled up at the doorway again, only to find that their field leader, Kos. He had found his way down into the temple after them. However, he wasn’t as lucky as the others in that he drew too much attention in his search – he had been followed, he informed the group, by another search party, perhaps one that S.P.I.R.E. had come across before.

Bastion, still hotheaded from the fight with the shadows themselves, took matter into his own hands, quickly moving down towards the entrance they had found, and promptly went the wrong way, getting lost. The rest who remained behind prepared an ambush.

There was little hope for the intruders; members of the Emerald Claw, they made no effort to conceal their approach – many of the recruits in their ranks fell immediately to Pepper’s visions of blood, infecting their minds with a horror that never actually came, but, was vivid enough to convince them the fight was lost. With Ironwood stomping heavily into their ranks, and the rest of S.P.I.R.E. introducing them to their particular brand of violence, the Claw quickly realized the mistake of following so soon after an adventuring party. It began with a bang, and ended with a whimper. Rayan’s dominating presence and Kos’s cutting words broke their spirits before Ironwood and Nocturne could break their spines.

It was Echelon’s idea to send them, naked, back into the city above.

With their retreat secured, they pressed forward deeper into the temple; and soon found that even more shadows awaited them, so much so that the stone itself gave way to darkness, and their lights were almost strangled out entirely.

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DM’s Inarticulate Musings
So Much to Do

Hey folks, just thought I’d throw my thoughts out there – it’s been a harrowing week for me, with work, but, even while mindlessly testing computers, I’ve been thinking a great deal about the campaign. There’s a lot of stuff I haven’t been able to do due to working all weekend, but, I thought I’d share the list so that you can see where I’ve been intending on working.

  • Insert stats into Kloogewerks
  • Get players to test connection
  • Post last part of 1st session
  • Post any submitted stories
  • Post badge perks – how to get badge perks
  • Find better index/tracking cards
  • Encourage Ed to get a damn table
  • Submit pin-up idea of Juliet for SPIRE flyers/insert
  • Get/organize minis
  • Find an adventure for online group
  • Look/ask about extra Klooge client license
  • Upload/scale maps in Klooge
  • Start backing up files on flash drive
  • Update Druid Wrestling/crosspost
  • Upload all sheets/badges

This is just a short list of things that don’t include adventure ideas, plays on your character’s backgrounds, and so on, even events that might span from the one adventure we’ve had already. So, despite work, I’ve been as on top of this as I can – it might not show as much on Obsidian Portal/Druid Wrestling, but, there’s stuff up-and-coming. And with a 3-day weekend now (oh god, thank you), I can really get into doing the above list, and other things I may not have mentioned.

First online game should be Friday evening (although that’ll be more a test-run than anything else), and another table-top (I use that word loosely) game on Saturday. Rock.

Updated: more things done.

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Echelon's Journal
Chapter 1

Interesting night we are having. As I write this, I’ve just recovered a bit from a magic trap that I sadly tripped. Alas, I was too focused on the main traps to sense the shadow magic coming from the statue. Luckily, with the help of Pepper, I was dragged out and taken cared of enough to help disable the trap. Next time, must remember to check everything meticulously before stepping foot into anything…

Anyways, we seem to have stumbled upon an old hideout of worshipers of the shadow. With a little intimidating, some clever tricks, and approximately 45 ml of Heartflow, we found it. Apparently they have been skulking around the city looking for some artifact. Note to self, more research required on said artifact. Hopefully we can gather more knowledge about this Shadow and what powers it may hold, as well as why i have some fascination with echoing “The Shadow” whenever I hear it.

Now I must go and brew some more potions as some were used on me for my carelessness. Good to keep my mobile workstation on me. Of course, I’ll have an interesting potion for Nocturne for making my potion blue. Blue I say!!! It was supposed to be red!! But he’ll be in for a surprise when he grabs one of my potions!! Mwuahahahahahahaha!!!

Note to self, no writing my evil laughter.

Echelon Thrice, Arcane Scientist and Alchemical Savant

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The Shadow
The Shadow!

The scene now takes us back up to the right timeframe; after returning from the wreckage of the playwright’s airship-stage, Potts was awaiting the shaky adventurers, eager to hear how things went.

“Hey boys,” her common greeting, “Hey Peppa,” not wanting to lump the only woman in this team in with the others, “How’d things go t’nite?

“Pretty well, I think,” began Nocturne, “What happened was—-”

“We crashed the ship,” Echelon interrupted.

“Oh my,” Potts replied, shaking her head, “You got the ‘script though, didn’t ‘cha?”

They had, in fact, and the ship crash wasn’t as bad as it had sounded. Some cosmetic damage, to be sure, but, nothing irreparable, like setting the elemental free from the rigging. Juliet took in the information they had, to pass along to Caraji, and then informed them that another job had come in – business was really booming. The Commish met with the team briefly, asking them to meet up in the office in the morning for a full run-down.

Job was from a priest of Aureon; name was Yazeth. His kid, Kerstol, apparently ran with a rough crowd somewhere in Highwall, a group called the Bloody Knights. Still, this wasn’t his major concern. Instead, Kerstol had informed his father of strange goings on down in Highwall. A number of parties, “shadowy figures” as described by Kerstol in the letter sent, had been snooping around – whispers about an artifact of The Shadow and some long-lost keep, temple, what-have-you below Sharn proper. Yazeth had come to ask S.P.I.R.E. to check it out – see if there was any truth to this lost artifact, and, as an aside, see if this wasn’t some sort of message from his son trying to get him out of a bind.

To Highwall they went. And the only trouble Kerstol seemed to be in was that which Nocturne got him into. Disguising as a member of the Bloody Knights, he walked into a tavern where they had been known to hang out (the others waited outside, for trouble). Nocturne then laid it on their apparent leader. Kerstol had been informing the Sharn guards about their activities! He was a rat, and Nocturne (who was still under the guise of a Bloody Knight), said he wanted to talk to him in private.

This, of course, was a lie. However, it worked, at least for some time; Nocturne whisked Kerstol away to a corner to get more information out of him, while the members of the Bloody Knights seethed, waiting for their turn with Kerstol. Turns out, Kerstol was perfectly happy with the Bloody Knights, at least until Nocturne walked in and painted him a rat. But, information was passed. Kerstol dropped what knowledge he had. Then the Knights got impatient. Then there was violence.

Violence seems to be a specialty of S.P.I.R.E.’s.

The broken and now bloodied Knights sat tending their wounds in a corner, while the crew drilled Kerstol for more info – he didn’t have much to give. He pointed out, however, there were a number of strange parties stalking about. Cultists of Khyber, members of the Emerald Claw, and followers of The Shadow – all skulking through Highwall, looking for SOMETHING. S.P.I.R.E. set to work immediately to find out what, and to find out before the crazies did.

Ironwood dug up some old maps, found a place where an old temple/keep might be structurally sound; Bastion and Rayan TERRORIZED the local populace for every ounce of information they could; Echelon and Nocturne stalked, misled and outright stole from the Emerald Claw to get their information; and Pepper kept her eyes on various cultists of The Shadow that seemed to be disappearing into their deity’s namesake.

Five hours passed, and in that little time, the investigative side of S.P.I.R.E. shone through; they had found themselves an apparent entrance into a former keep where The Shadow had held power. One of many abandoned buildings housed an old sewer latch, and through that, they descended. Deeper still into the Depths, they eventually found a rusted old door, fitted into walls that supported one of the many structures above it.

A swift kick does a good entrance make. The doors slammed to the ground, with Ironwood and Bastion side by side. Within the room, made of black worked stone, lay a pile of coins and other treasures (which they discover, later, to be fake, painted wooden coins), as well as a statue of what some recognize as being one of the many forms of The Shadow – a highly detailed figure, with a featureless face. Being curious, Echelon stepped into the room, peering for pressure plates and other such mechanisms.

Unfortunately, he was being too mechanically minded, as motes of shadow sprung from previously unseen runes, and the statue itself, and set themselves upon the party…

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A Blade in the Night - Nocturne's Views

I woke with a start, instinctively bringing my dagger to the throat of the figure standing over me in the blink of an eye. Echelon rose his hands in the air and took a step back. I relaxed and swung my legs out of my bunk, cracking my knuckles.

“You should know better than that, Eche. You’ve known me long enough.” My friend smiled awkwardly and lowered his arms.

“Sorry, Noc. Didn’t mean to startle you. Mission is a go in 3 hours, I figured you’d want to get ready.” I looked out the window with a sigh. From the position of the moon, it looked to be about 11 PM.

“Thank you… And sorry about the… You know,” I said, vaguely gesturing to the small, bleeding nick on the human’s throat. He grinned.

“No problem, man. I’m used to it by now.” He walked out of the room and shut the door, leaving me to my solitude. I took a deep breath, feeling the welcoming embrace of the night around me. This was my time, my world. Tongues of light flicked under the door from the ever-burning torches in the hall. I rose from my bunk and strapped on my clothes and leather, belting my rapier at my hip and sheathing my dagger on the small of my back. I grabbed my climber’s kit and slid it into place on my belt . I stretched and limbered myself up, preparing for whatever the coming night might hold. I opened the door and wandered into the hall, squinting in the sudden light. I could hear Bastion bellowing incoherently in the other wing of the building. I smirked. Dear Bastion, my polar opposite. Yet somehow, we had an understanding and worked well together. I walked by Echelon’s workshop and peeked in. He was carefully pouring some sort of liquid. I coughed loudly and he jumped, the liquid spilling too quickly and turning blue. He spun around. “Damn it, you son of a bitch! Look! IT’S BLUE!” I shrugged and walked away.

Hours later, our team gathered on the bridge we had designated as our ambush point. Echelon Thrice, standing nervously with his myriad vials and flasks hanging off of bandoleers across his chest and waist, staff in hand. Ironwood, standing silently and sturdy as an oak by my side. Basion Vice, Shifting his weight excitedly and gripping his huge axe with both hands. Rayan Kirsdarken, lightning crackling behind his eyes and he gazed off into the distance, his mind elsewhere. Pepper Pinchpenny, our small yet powerful holy warrior. Finally, I stood to the side. My name is Nocturne. I am the half-glimpsed shadow in the alley behind you, the knife in your back and the laughter in your ear just when you think you’re safe. I gazed calmly into the night at the elemental ship careening towards us and balanced myself on the edge of the bridge.

As the machine passed under the bridge, I rolled neatly off the bridge and landed lightly on the deck of the theater ship, hearing the others landing heavily behind me. The Macabre Theater members turned, surprise obvious behind their ridiculous masks. Bastion wasted no time, charging recklessly into three of the pirates. Echelon, Rayan, and Pepper hung back, ready to lend any support needed, while Ironwood and I squared off against the troupe leader and his crony. I drew my rapier and dagger, neatly parrying the overly elaborate attacks the troupe leader threw my way and chuckling derisively. Actors, no more. I slipped under his wild swings, rolling behind him as Ironwood landed a solid blow, dislocating his shoulder. He turned his attention to the Warden, and it was all the opportunity I needed.

In one motion, I parried a clumsy attack from one of the actors and speared the troupe leader with my rapier. I shoved the blade cleanly through him, bringing my dagger hand around and opening his throat smoothly. Blood sprayed over Ironwood, who wordlessly turned and took care of the simpleton who continued to harass us from the side. I looked over at my companions, who had taken down most of the other troupe members. One remained, threatening Rayan with his blade. I flipped my dagger in my hand and sent it flying through the air, taking the human through the hand and causing him to drop his blade. He knelt, clutching his ruined limb as my dagger rematerialized in my hand. Rayan and Bastion towered over the shaking man. He cowered at their feet, spewing something about a dead pilot.

I looked over at Echelon, hoping he had the know-how to pilot this monstrosity. Noticing my gaze, he shook his head. I sighed and cleaned my blades, re-sheathing them and bracing myself for impact.

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Bastion's World

A loud, thunderous crash echoed through the S.P.I.R.E. headquarters, sending Bastion flying out of his bed and onto his feet, hands already grasping his massive axe (which lay beside him night after night, hand always tensed around the haft). Realizing where he was, he threw the axe to the ground and stormed out of the room, bellowing at the top of his lungs in Echelon Thrice’s direction. Bastion knew the odd human was a good ally both on and off the battlefield, but his constant alchemical tinkerings often led to some rather unnecessary events. After a few seconds of his yelling, Bastion harrumphed and went back into his room to put on his training gear. Every morning right after he awoke, and every night right before he slept, Bastion would commit to a strenuous workout in order to keep himself large and strong.

Walking outside, Bastion marveled at the early morning rays of light, reaching out from the sun just above the distant horizon. After a quick stretch, the titanic Dragonborn began his 5-mile run through the city of Sharn. Along the way he would stop periodically and execute a series of calisthenic exercises. Since his time in Sharn, Bastion had come to be known as, well, what he was- a large, imposing, highly intimidating beast with a short temper ready to rip apart any fool that got in his way. Because of this, most of the citizens that saw him kept a wide birth. Occasionally one or two brave (or stupid) souls would get close, before running off in fear. Some kids, too young and too curious to know any better, would watch in awe whenever he stopped long enough to bust out some push-ups or sit-ups, before their parents whisked them off and scolded them.

When Bastion finally returned to headquarters, half of the team was busy putting out another fire started by Echelon. Cleaning his hide, and tossing his clothes into a corner of his room, Bastion went through the second part of his twice-daily ritual and prayed to the gods he revered most above all others.

When he finally finished, Bastion and the others were called in to the Commish’s office to complete their final mission based around this particular case. Standing in the back, Bastion remained silent. He was a being of fighting, not words, but the Commish and the others were always talking and writing. He briefly recalled when the Gnome known as “Books” had them read and sign some packet of papers. Bastion looked through the packet, barely able to make out a few words here and there. He had never bothered to learn to read and write more than the basic alphabet in Common, but did make up for that by knowing Draconic extremely well, going so far as to recall a few ancient words here and there (nothing major, but simple ones like ‘chair’ or ‘war’). Finally the Commish allowed them to leave and go do what they did best. And for Bastion, that was cleaving bodies and knocking skulls.

-

S.P.I.R.E.’s field team hung from ropes suspended over the river beneath a massive bridge. A bridge massive enough to allow a magic airship to fly underneath. At the right moment, the team gave the signal to those still on the bridge, and the ropes were cut, sending the team crashing into the airship deck. Bastion landed in the front, his giant axe already out and ready for blood. Having surprised the Macabre Theatre gang that had stolen the ship, Bastion charged forth, closing in for the kill. He lost sight of his teammates, and instead focused his fury and strength upon three humans before him. Bastion struck down with one of his more powerful blows, and landed a good, solid hit on the nearest human, but the next good hit wouldn’t come for some time.

Somehow the humans were able to break throuh Bastion’s defenses and hurt him considerably, one going so far as to sneak in an attack between his legs. This move enraged the Dragonborn, invoking a titanic blow from him, severely weakening one of the humans. But the kick to his manhood took a lot out of him. Bastion needed more strength, more defense. Had to have more. He prided himself on being the first into battle, but here he was about to fall to three actors?! He detested himself, and vowed silently to Dol Dorn that he would strengthen his body greatly.

Luckily for Bastion, he did have partners to help him out. A small vial of liquid came crashing into the side of his head, giving him extra strength and healing a few of his wounds. Then the magic users cast one foe into the vortex surrounding the boat. Going off of this, Bastion struck another heavy blow on one of the last two, but that kick still dazed him a bit. These last two would not have happy ends to their lives. Bastion then raised his axe above his head and landed a devastating blow on one of gang members, when the human Echelon neared them, and aided in killing the last. But Bastion wasn’t done with the last human. Reaching out, Bastion grabbed the human and kept him from falling over the side of the airship- which had been careening through the skies all the while- only to clamp down with his jaws and release a tide of acid onto the human. If he wasn’t dead before, he surely was now. Unaware of what the others were doing, Bastion let the remnants of his fury leave him, failing to take note of the ground nearing the airship at an alarming rate.

-

“I think I may have eaten the pilot,” Bastion said groggily, the fight still ringing in his ears, the hapless humans blood fresh on his tongue and lips. He hated these after-mission meetings. More talking that Bastion was uncomfortable with. He would much rather spend his free time training, eating, or sleeping, and he had yet to do his nightly routine. When the Commish let them all go, Bastion immediately went to his room where he was able to change into his training gear and take to the streets once more. At night, he trained differently, running along the river until he reached the trail leading out. From there, Bastion would lose himself in the woods, caring for nought and ignoring more. Out here, in the wilds where he was born and raised, it was just him and himself. He would run until he was nearly exhausted, then he would reluctantly turn back, pushing himself to the last until he reached S.P.I.R.E. headquarters again. No calisthenics, only running at night, and for an untold number of miles. Bastion knew he just ran.

Stripping off his clothes, down to the barest of cloth covering his nether region, Bastion bathed and prayed to his gods, before clutching his axe and falling asleep once more. There was a new mission in the morning.

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