Kiyoka

[Sareth]

I couldn't help but notice the sour look one of my companions (should I call them that? I don't even know their names, yet. And since they're really just meat shields anyway...) directed to the two toughs under the streetlight. I especially couldn't help but notice when that same look was directed my way in a meaningful fashion. Kind of bothersome, really. I mean, did I have a sign hanging around my neck saying, "I shoot people for meaningful looks?"

Ah, what the hell...

I gave a small shrug then placed my free hand back in my cloak, pulling out my matching set of revolvers. Things had gotten pretty schizoid anyway, might as well make them worse. I smiled, and reached to cock them dramatically, then remembered I had already cocked them.

So much for that dramatic moment.

"Gewehr, or just regular toughs?" I asked.

[DarkIntruder]

"Gewehrs." Roger answered. "From the sounds of it, you seem to have a problem with them too. These ones have been following me. Sorry to involve you, but you seem to be the one that would be the least happy about a pair of wraiths following us."


Without waiting for a response, Roger moved to get a better sight on them. The pair hadn't noticed the pistols in the man's(?) hands yet, but they were looking tense.

Turning to their guide, Roger whispered to him, "You might want to start running. Get to the docks. Me and... him, (Roger gestured) will catch up."

Then, flashing a grin at his accomplice in this crazy venture, he told him(?).

"I'll go high, you go low."

They had drawn abreast of the pair by this time, and now was the time to act. Roger withdrew the small scattergun from under his jacket.

The taller of the pair had already seen Roger by this time, but he had no chance to act on his realization.

The double roar of Roger's shotgun drowned out any religious sounds that still came from the Mission, and ripped through the relative quiet of the street, though Roger hoped it might be mistaken for thunder at a distance.

The effect on the short bald man was profound. He jumped 5 feet straight up in the air.

The effect on the tall man was even more so.

The first blast caught him on the right hip and spun him completely around in a spray of splattered blood and pulverized bone. The second caught the tall man square in the back of the head, and blew the whole mess across the wall behind the pair in an red misty arc.

Then Roger was rolling to the side, praying that the man(?) behind him was good enough to hit baldy before t he little man ventilated the prostrate mercenary on the sidewalk.

[Viking-Sensei]

The short bald man started to get his bearings again, not waiting to see if there was anything left of his partner, and immediately took a bead on the nearest person he had a clean shot on... which, unfortunately, was Toivo... Lucas, seeing his non-gun-wielding-maniac in the line of fire, did a diving run and pushed the innocent out of the way, spraying 4 bullets from his left-handed revolver in the direction of the attacker. Due to his running dive, all Lucas' shots were high and to the left, missing the man by several feet and hitting the building behind him at various points.

"Heh... missed me..." the short one sneered, noting the tour guide's lack of aim. "Maybe you'd best leave this to us pros-" He was interrupted by a large wooden sign, the supporting chain of which was one of the victims of Lucas' hail of mis-aimed gunfire, swinging down and cracking him in the skull. He slumped to the floor like a puppet sans strings, sprawling face first in a pool of thick red blood.

Lucas looked up. "Did I actually hit someone this time?"

[Graybeard]

Grope was puzzling over what to do next when the sound of distant gunfire, coming from back toward the mission, solved that problem for him. Almost simultaneously, every light along the dock winked out, except for one at the far end of the bay.

Well, they're not so dumb, he thought. He wasn't sure exactly what had happened, but it sounded like the drunk had stumbled into some kind of nastiness inland and possibly met an unfortunate end. Hearing this, the watermen quite reasonably concluded that whatever had caused the scream didn't involve them, and also that armed and dangerous individuals were walking the land, so why draw attention to themselves? It was what he himself would have done, and he was pretty sure he was more ready for a fight than any of the Small Ones. However, the sudden silencing of the harbor, not to mention the loss of light, also meant that it wouldn't be a good idea to wander among the wharfs looking for Mr. Stagpoole. The Small Ones would be on edge, it was after their usual business hours (although he was quite sure that some of the people here preferred cover of darkness for their real "business"), and while he didn't fear their non-magical weapons, he knew there were magic users among the watermen. So ...

Even trolls would rather sleep in comfort if possible; if he'd made it back to the forest, he would have constructed a browse bed and spent a perfectly passable night. However, there was enough weirdness going on in the Small Ones' city that with the light having faded, it didn't seem prudent to try to make it to the forest. But then he noticed that the batch of brush he'd rousted the drunk from formed a perfectly adequate browse bed of its own, large enough even for him. He didn't even need to consult the Robe; how could this be anything but a sign from the Five Great Mothers that he should stay put? He pulled the Robe over his head -- wouldn't do to snag it on a protruding branch, after all -- and stored it in his waist pouch, then lay down to sleep -- to the extent that the half-trance, half-watchfulness of a resting troll can be called "sleep."

But it didn't last. He didn't know how much time had passed, but not long, before he was roused from his dormancy by lights and voices coming from inland, still some distance away but definitely heading in his direction.

[OOC: I'll set something up for the drunk in the NPC Gallery, if you folks want to have an "accidental" encounter with him on the way to the docks.]

[Sareth]

"Not so much somebody as..." I shrugged. "Eh. Good enough." I blew the smoke from my smoking barrels. While I hadn't actually shot anyone, I had done a fine job taking out three street lamps and a couple candles burning in a window. Witnesses would likely have trouble recalling anything, considering their vision was well and truly screwed at this point, and would take a bit to adapt to the sudden gloom.

Course, ours was too, now.

I looked around, then addressed the shotgun totting happy boy. "Nice shooting. But I doubt the Gewehr are going to be more forgiving of us than they had been." I glanced around. "And with the earlier commotion, there's a crowd gathering. I think it's time to go..."

[DarkIntruder]

Roger proceeded to dust himself off and stow his weapon.

"Right, and fast. Someone would have reported this, and I really don't want to deal with the authorities."

Roger turned to address the travel guide, who was stowing his own pistol.

"So," Roger asked, "which way to the docks?"

[Viking-Sensei]

"Just follow your nose." Lucas said, closing his eyes and spinning slowly. "They're.... thataway. We'd better hurry too, if we're going to catch the last ferry of the night."

[Graybeard]

Grope tried to make himself small and inconspicuous (no small trick for a nine-foot-tall biped) as the pedestrians approached, then relaxed a bit as their noises passed by and continued to the north. He realized that there was a road just to his west, and these Small Ones were simply following it on up to the dock where the ferry came in. Yes, that was the place on the far side of the small-craft docks where the light was still on. There was one more ferry yet to come this evening, unless he'd napped longer than he thought he had, and they were undoubtedly hurrying to catch up to it to ...

Wait a minute. That was odd. The last wave of passersby had a very strong odor of a Thundering Metal Thing, or two, or ten, about them. They were moving fast, and they sounded angry. He could hear conversations in what sounded like the language of Farrel and Veracia; doubly odd, as no one had spoken that language here -- except, he realized after a moment, for the mercenary that he'd killed and his two accomplices. He normally didn't think much about the nuances of language, since he could understand, if not necessarily speak fluently, both human tongues (and some others) well enough to listen to both at once. But that language was just not common on the main island of Tsuiraku.

He ventured a look outside the brush pile, just in time to see one of the angry people on the road shine a light back down the road toward him, illuminating a straggler and cursing him for his slow pace. With a start he realized that the straggler, and he thought also the five or six ahead of him, were wearing the same ragtag sort-of-uniforms as the man he'd killed. Were these Small Ones looking for him? Were they out to avenge the killing of their comrade? (And if not, why not?) Should he attack? That seemed like a bad idea; he was more than a match for any three non-magical Small Ones he'd ever fought, but a Tribe proverb said that "a large enough swarm of bees can sting even a cave bear to death." That applied, he thought, as much if you were the bear as it did if you were one of the bees. Even though he wasn't wearing the Many-Fathers-God-Wisdom-Robe, he concluded discretion was the better part of valor and returned to his hiding place.

But he wasn't their quarry, he decided soon enough. The men kept moving, loudly swearing vengeance against "that cock-sucking Jamie," as Grope got the Robe out and quietly put it on; something was up, and he had a premonition that he'd shortly need all the Many Fathers Wisdom he could get.

That, and a good sword.

[Weirdonian]

"Phew, thanks for the save!" Toivo said to Lucas as he rolled over and rose with a grunt and a decent amount of huffing and puffing. The wind had been knocked out of him, but it was preferable to being riddled with bullets. He unpinned his hatand placed it firmly on his head before pocketing the pen, paper and monocle as this rowdy band quickly made their way to the docks.

"Alright, alr- Yes, you were right, I was wrong, enough already! ... Thank you. Geez." Toivo declared as he rolled his eyes.

[Sareth]

"Sounds good to me..." I turned and glanced down the street. "Let's go."

I began hurrying down the road as quickly as I could, a nice, steady, ground eating jog. The man said we need to hurry, and I had a few bodies and a riot behind me convincing me he likely had a point. It was definitely, definitely time to get out of town. The docks sounded marvelous to me.

A few blocks later, I could see the docks ahead of me. This was good. The riot was falling behind, none of the local constabulary had tried to ask me if I knew anything about several shot out streetlights or the string of professionally deaded folks around town over the last few months, and I hadn't been landed on by a 500 pound legend of ancient history.

I have no idea where the idea that last one was even possible came from...

ANYWAY... One problem was manifesting itself. It seemed most of my companions weren't quite so swift or motivated as I. They were lagging behind, though the blue skinned gollum was only a couple steps behind. Figuring that the boat wouldn't leave without them, there wasn't really any point in rushing dockside alone. So it was time for me to pause and rally the troops.

I slid to a halt. "HEY! GET YOUR AS"*KAPOW-spack-WOOOOOO...

I dove for the pavement as the ricochete of the shot spattered me with flecks of brick from the building beside me.

"JAMIE! It's time for a little talk!" I heard...

"Awwwwww crap."