Topic: (Mutant and Mastermind 2nd Ed ) (San Francisco)
Subject: Of Confusion and Copy Cats
As night fell over San Francisco, Samael swooped lower over the city, trusting the dark to help him avoid the eyes of those that wouldn’t understand or couldn’t accept what they were looking at should they happen to spot him. The lower altitude also facilitated closer scans of the city below and the denizens that teemed in its streets and, as such, left him feeling a bit closer to the populace that he doubted would ever accept him as one of their own. He hoped that someday, somewhere, he would find a place that he fit in and could walk among its people without being looked at like some sort of freak, of course, but, so far, such a place seemed beyond his reach. For now, then, he contented himself with the friends he had made in Father Hernandez and Sister Maria and his self-appointed task of watching over the rest of San Francisco’s citizens from above… even if I can’t let them see me…
A soft sigh escaped him, muffled by the beat of his wings as he banked around and pointed himself toward Union Square and stolen away by the breeze that blew in from the bay. His wings spread wide, Samael glided silently toward Dragon’s Gate, decreasing his altitude even more at the beckoning of colorful neon signs and strings of lanterns and pennants that decorated the bustling maze of streets and alleyways that was San Francisco’s Chinatown. He had thought, perhaps, to take roost atop Old Saint Mary’s Cathedral and watch the goings on in Chinatown from that vantage point for a time but, as he soared toward his planned destination, the sound of panicked screaming drew his attentions elsewhere and he turned both his gaze and his wings toward the commotion. If the screams and shouts weren’t enough to let him know that trouble was afoot, the sight of frightened folk running in all directions certainly was. For a moment, though, Samael wasn’t entirely sure what had spooked the people so. There didn’t seem to be anything unusual happening at the location from which they all fled – no gangsters with guns, no crazed assailant laying about with a machete, nothing but…
What is that?
…Something moving faster than any human he’d ever seen was scurrying across the rooftops below, leaping effortlessly from roof to roof. The impossibly quick and nimble creature didn’t appear to be chasing any of the panicked people who had first attracted his attention but it did appear to be chasing something. Could the appearance of this cat-quick roof-runner have been what scared the crowd to begin with? Samael folded his wings a bit, diving lower as he altered his course to follow the incredibly agile creature’s course, then, with another flap or two of his feathered appendages, he was close enough to see it… Her?... more clearly. A cat-like mask covered her face and a short, grey cloak rustled behind her as she leapt from roof to roof, but it was the pair of tails weaving beyond the fluttering fabric of her cloak that truly piqued Samael’s interest…
Is this another ‘freak’ like me, he wondered, his feathers stroking the air to move him ahead of the creature, Another escapee from Anatashia’s carnival, even? He banked around, now, putting himself in her path and descended even lower. As adamant as Father Hernandez was about not letting himself be seen by San Francisco’s citizens, he had said nothing about the non-human ones.
“Where are you going in such a hurry, little one?” he called down to the creature as she neared the edge of her latest rooftop.
((OOC: I’ll cut it of there, for now, I suppose. I figure Sam is slowly descending at this point and possibly directly in the path of CC’s next leap… Perhaps slightly above… ))
Posted on 2020-03-02 at 12:02:17.
Edited on 2020-03-02 at 12:03:57 by Eol Fefalas
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Topic: The Adventures of Kith, the Cat, and the Khatun
Subject: Morning at the Camp
Ch’dau crouched at the edge of the fire, absently poking at the embers as his gaze slowly skimmed the fringes of their campsite. Davnor was behind them, now, and Adedre Undolithe would never again capture and cage any others in her dark quest for power. Those things alone should have been enough for the kazari to have finally managed a decent night’s sleep. The fact, too, that he’d had the long missed opportunity to sleep under tree and star as Khr’a intended should have seen to a peaceful rest for the Silver Cat. Putting an end to Adedre’s life and leaving her corpse to burn in the remains of her manor, though, had done strangely little to ease Ch’dau’s mind, especially after the conversation he’d had with Aranwen… No. Not Aranwen. Saeriel… last night. Whatever machinations Adedre and Morgana had conspired to accomplish seemed, somehow, to have followed them out of the inferno in which they had left both witches in defeat and, because of that, the kazari still felt uneasy.
The soft tread of footsteps at his back drew Ch’dau out of his grim musings and he turned a glance over his shoulder to find the little priest of Falloes approaching, still wrapped in his cloak against the morning chill. “Good morning, Ch’dau,” Mosic yawned, sitting himself down beside the cat-man and stretching his tiny hands out before him to soak in the warmth of their meager fire.
“Mosic,” Ch’dau rumbled from behind a nod, “Umelalaje, little one?”
The Cidal chuckled softly, rubbing his hands together and, then, blowing into them before pulling his cloak tighter about his shoulders. “You know, my friend,” he quipped, glancing sidelong at the giant cat beside him, “I’ve scarcely known you two days and, even before those, I thought Kazari to be creatures of fairy stories. You’ll forgive me if I don’t quite speak your language, yet, hm?”
Ch’dau responded with a snort of a chuckle and a nod of his own. “Forgive, Mosic,” he chuffed, stoking the embers again and, now that the camp seemed to be rousing, reached for a few more sticks of wood to fuel the fire, “I asked how you slept.”
“Ah,” the little cleric smiled, blowing into his cupped hands again before stretching them out to the flames once more, “Umelalaje. How did you sleep? Interesting.” He blinked into the kindling flames for a moment, then turned his eyes to the kazari. “I slept fairly well, thank you,” he answered, at last, “Much better than you by the looks of it. Did you even manage to close your eyes, last night?”
“There were moments,” Ch’dau shrugged, piling another few bits of wood on the fire before his eyes turned to where Kithran and Aranwen each lay wrapped in cloaks and blankets, “You all seemed to need the rest more than I…”
“So you took it upon yourself to watch us all night?”
“Mm,” the Silver Cat grunted, “Your magic seemed to take a lot from you,” he offered before nodding to where the women still slept, “and the witches’ seemed to take much from them. It would not have been… wise… to leave you unguarded.”
“I see,” Mosic’s eyes flashed blue as a faint smirk played on his lips. He gave a soft grunt as he got to his feet; “It would be unwise of me, then, to not tend to breakfast. You’ll need food to fuel you on the journey ahead, especially if you have not had not sleep.”
The cleric padded back to his bedroll and rummaged in his pack for a moment before returning to the fire with a pot, a waterskin, and a few bundles of what, Ch’dau assumed by the smell, was food of some sort. “Will you be staying with Kithran and Lady Galandel, then,” Mosic asked, readying his cook pot and unwrapping the parcels as he spoke.
“If they will have me,” Ch’dau returned quietly, “both of them would deny it were they awake to hear me say so but I owe them both a great debt…”
“And it is nice to be in the company of those who see something other than a monster?”
…The kazari’s ears twitched and his tail swished softly at the ground behind him as he turned his head and offered the priest a faint grin. “Just so,” he chuffed. He nodded to where Kithran had begun to stir from slumber; “The Little Kitten seems prone to getting herself into trouble whether she seeks it or not. I should be there to keep that trouble from finding her too often.” Ch’dau sighed, poked at the fire, again, and let his gaze drift to where the bladesinger dozed, then. “And the khatun is more than worthy of following,” he rumbled thoughtfully, “though I begin to… worry about her…”
Mosic looked up from his stirring of breakfast, regarded the sleeping Sylvari for a moment, and then offered a nod. “You speak of the other in her mind, I’m guessing?”
“Saeriel,” the kazari affirmed, “her wife. Yes.”
“I wasn’t sure anyone else knew,” Mosic murmured.
“It is not difficult to see if one watches closely enough,” the Silver Cat shrugged, “and I spoke to her, as well, so…”
“So, you know she means no harm and has asked my help to free her from whatever spell has so cruelly joined them?”
“Mm,” Ch’dau nodded, accepting the bowl of breakfast stew Mosic offered, “So she told me.” He tipped the bowl to his lips, grateful for the warmth of it and for the way it almost immediately started to fill the hole in his belly. “As troublesome as it is for there to be two in her head, though,” he rumbled, wiping his mouth on the back of his forearm, “I worry more at what Aranwen will think at having her wife taken from her a second time.” He sighed, again, and took another mouthful of the stew before continuing; “I promised the other that I would watch over Aranwen after she was gone but how to do such a thing, I am not sure.”
“You’re doing it, now,” Mosic assured the kazari with a smile and a nudge, “uncertain or not. Continue as you are, Ch’dau, and there will certainly be a Helping Hand there when you have doubts.”
“To be so small, Mosic Townes,” Ch’dau chuffed, “You are full of wisdom greater than your stature, hm?”
A sharp gasp and the rustling of blankets interrupted the conversation, then, and both Mosic and Ch’dau turned to see Kithran making her way somewhat stiffly to the fireside. “Good morning, Kithran,” the Cidal chirped, ladling a fresh helping of breakfast into a bowl and offering over to the thief as she joined them at the fire, “Did you sleep well?”
“I slept alright,” Kithran returned flatly, accepting the bowl and settling down beside them. She shoveled a spoonful of the stew into her mouth, chewed and swallowed, and then, seemed to start to say something but, as she did, the sounds of Aranwen staggering woodenly toward the fire seemed to stay her tongue. Instead, she simply went back to her bowl and continued eating in silence, though her wary gaze never seemed to leave the befuddled bladesinger for long.
((OOC: Mosic’s dispelling and the conversations that followed go here&hellip )
As necessary as the ritual had been, it was as grievous a thing as Ch’dau had expected it might be, and, while Aranwen seemed much more herself at its end, her heartache over losing Saeriel seemed painfully fresh. Mosic consoled the grieving bladesinger with the wisdom imparted to him by his faith; the kazari could do little more than comfort her with warm, supportive embraces and words that spoke to Saeriel’s honor; but Kithran seemed not to know what to do or say about any of it and, in the end, excused herself to go finish her breakfast alone.
As the morning wore on, the tears dried up, and their camp was put away, Mosic called for their attention, and cleared his throat as the three approached, “I would like to thank you for the adventure we went on together yesterday. While I hope to never experience something quite like that ever again, I am gracious to have lent my abilities as a conduit for the Helping Hand, to assist your missions, and to rid the world of that horrendous evil.”
“You saved our lives, Father, on multiple occasions, thank you for your help.”
“I am not a Father, Kithran, and I wish you would stop calling me that.”
“So you’ll be off then, Brother?”
Mosic sighed, “You are so much… Yes, I would like to continue to follow you three, as I am sure there is much trouble awaiting you on your path,” his eyes briefly met Aranwen’s, “but Falloes has called me to Davnor, and I believe I still have work to complete there. Thank you again, and safe travels.”
Ch’dau took a knee before the diminutive priest, reached out a paw, and rested it on the Cidal’s shoulder. “It has been an honor to fight by your side, rrow’ka,” he rumbled respectfully, “Should our paths not cross again, know that I will take the name of Mosic Townes with me to the Hunt.”
“That would honor me, Ch’dau,” Mosic beamed, reaching out a hand to rest on the kazari’s sloping shoulder, “Thank you.”
The kazari got back to his feet as Aranwen took her turn at the farewells and, when she was finished, the three of them watched as Mosic turned his feet back toward Davnor and, whistling happily, wandered away.
As the Cidal disappeared on the path back to the road, Kithran turned on the other two, “Speaking of farewells, I don’t know what the two of you have planned next, but I am about to begin my journey to Felarin to drop off that book and collect my reward. I also have some errands to run there. If you are headed in that direction, you’re welcome to join.” She looked pointedly at Ch’dau, “We all saved each other from death multiple times last night, so we are even. As it says on that dagger of yours, your debts are paid. Don’t think you need to join me if you have other things to attend to, cat man.
And you,” she poked Aranwen in the shoulder and pushed, testing how sturdy she was, as she wasn’t quite exuding that bladesinger power Kith had been in awe of when they first met, “if you need to find some rest, or an actual physician, I understand. You two have both helped me complete an important task I had not realized I would have never been able to complete on my own.
So,” she said to them both, “what say you?”
“Hm,” Ch’dau snorted, “I say that, though I have explained it to you once, you still do not understand the meaning of ki’ja’kazi. I suppose I will have to stay with you until it makes sense, yes?”
((OOC: Aaaand, I’ll leave it there for whoever else to pick up and run with.  ))
Posted on 2020-02-26 at 13:00:22.
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What game do you own the 
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The Morphing Game
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