Dreamwaking: Chimera - Sacrifice.

[Euphemia]

This was not the place where she'd gone to sleep, that is one thing that is absolutely certain. She'd been taking her rest in an old, empty warehouse down the street from the constabulary. Places such as that were preferred; alone and away from the hustle of a busy Inn or the Constable's barracks. If the warehouse had possessed large trees of flesh and bone, she would have remembered them. If it had possessed any trees at all, she would have remembered them. This vicious odor that's replaced the musty scent of dust certainly could not have been easily forgotten. She's already awake by the time Sarayn calls to her, rising from her place against a muscular trunk, one leg curled up near her chest. She's quick to take stock of their surroundings, growing pale beneath her golden tan, swallowing heavily. It's an effort not to feed the landscape what remains of her dinner, but her stomach is not so easily roiled.

Dressed in dark leathers and crimson coat; these formed the bulk of her apparel, and were almost never discarded when it was time to rest. Experience taught her never to offer a moment of weakness to an enemy, to never give them any opening. Gloved fingers brush the hard gem at her throat, with some curiosity, but her eyes are now all for the drowess. This is an appraising scrutiny, followed by a weak grin and some attempt at humour. "My my, yah didn' 'ave tah go an' drag me somewhere iffin tha's wotcher wan'ed, me loverly. I'd be perfec'ly 'appy wiv a be', y'know. Still, yah wan' a lil' smooch, never le' i' be sai' I lef' a lady wan'in'."

She's joking, and poorly; it doesn't quite cover her unease. Her first thought was that this little dark elf tart was to blame for their present location, but this is proving more and more unlikely as the seconds pass. No, this wasn't Sarayn's fault. The heating of the gem at her throat is not what inspires her to motion; she'd no chance to read the paper, had no idea of the rules. A pause as she notices the knife at her feet, bends to collect it -- it's examined as she stalks towards her partner with a predatory grace. Coat is shrugged from her shoulders, offered up to the drow; it's better than walking around in skimpy lace, and Viveka can't afford the potential distraction of Sarayn's assets on display. "'ere. So wot's goin' on, luv? Keep movin', eh?"

[Seth_Bloodmoon]

Seth stirred as the words 'Hoi elf. You're being deputized, son. We've got a murderer to catch' reached pointy tipped ears. He was in his usual get up, midnight blue traveler's cloak and all due to being out and about roaming the land. That was nothing new for the tall elf. As he pushes himself to his feet, his left hand strays to be sure Twilight Heart was with him, a habit. Indeed the sword was in its sheath at his left side.

Brilliant blue eyes were about to take in who had spoken to him but the scenery provided a rather large moment of distraction and, "Well... I have died and ended up in Hell..," is murmured absently. Where death had taken him was of no surprise, he had expected such. Wait, he died? He didn't remember doing that! That was something someone should remember doing, right?

What was this in his right hand? A note? Eyes are skimming over words and a slight frown is forming. He looks up now and over to Lent, "A murderer, huh..? I think we might just have something more to worry about than hunting down a murderer..." He recognized the man though he had never really talked to him before, if he remembered correctly.

Another distraction draws his attention and he is now picking up that knife, "Use me..?" reading words on the things pommel. The knife is tucked away and he is scanning over the note, catching something he had missed.

Discomfort draws his attention to a thing that was not embedded in his flesh when he had gone to sleep but now was. Maybe he had been drinking again without realising it? No, that wasn't it... this was just really freaking messed up.

Another glance to Lent, "We had best be moving, I would think..? As the note suggests..? And find this murderer you speak of, if they are in this hellish place, of course..," granted worrying about finding such was the least of his concerns at the moment.

[ShadowRose]

"It is simple, my fine friend." the drowess began, noting the full disregard for the note in the other's hand and smiling simply at her jests, ".. if I die, you die. If you die, I die. Therefore.." and she winked, ".. do not die."

From there, the offer of cloak would be stopped with the outstretch of a gentle hand, her whisper light and quick; "I prefer to remain agile to the best of my ability. And I am afraid that requirement is met when I wear as little as I can. Let us move, then, and swiftly. We do not know what horrors are about. Keep your mind and wits about you. I plan on surviving."

And with that, Sarayn Aluna Dala'vaesa chuckled lightly and waved a hand in beckon toward her rogue friend, waiting before speeding off and skipping over this gruesome thing and that.

[Cinnabar]

"Karolinger."

Well. That fits, somehow. In some bitterly unkind way, at least. He has the good grace or sympathy at least to glance away while the mercenary - ha, sorry, outlaw - retches onto the ground. Or perhaps he simply wishing to spare himself the sight of it for the sake of his own unsteady stomach; it's a wasted gesture in that case, as the landscape around them is no more pleasant.

"This isn't anything to do with me. Did you have a note as well?" Crumpled paper held up for brief inspection, those simple, chillingly concise words binding their fates together, apparently. Well, at the very least it makes that blade in the man's hand less of a concern, assuming that he's no great desire to end his own life by taking Calomel's. And if that's a mistaken assumption, well, he'd likely cut his own throat out of pure spite, so there's not much to be done about it. Moving on.

He's right in saying it's nothing to which Cinnabar would willingly subject himself, in any case. And had he a say in the matter, he'd certainly have chosen a more congenial partner with whom to share the place. At least the conversation would be better. There's a frown, though, as he looks back to the man, a narrowing of his eyes as he peers at the mercenary's throat.

"What's that you've got there?" A step or two closer, a perhaps unconscious care taken to remain slightly out of the man's reach, fingers tapping to his own collarbone to indicate the place - ah. A distraction, as he finds something smooth and hard and foreign lodged in the skin there, probed carefully with cautious fingertips for a moment; he can't see his own, but he can guess it bears some resemblance to the glittering thing sunk into Karolinger's own flesh. Curious. But... apparently inert, for the moment. So not immediately relevant.

Instead another moment taken to look around them, making an effort not to linger too long upon any one detail or object, instead simply skimming over the landscape; with some effort, one might manage to lie to oneself, to see this mound of stinking cancers as a weather-smoothed boulder, to glimpse that twisted array of bone and sinew as merely a winter-bare tree, to pass off that morass of noisome effluvia as just a particularly unpleasant marsh.

It's not entirely effective, unfortunately, so instead he sets his gaze more firmly upon the mercenary, being as he's perhaps the least offensive thing in this whole blighted place - unlikely as that might have sounded before he'd woken up here. Though... hm. The knife is tucked into the waistband of his trousers for the moment as he shrugs out of his shirt, holding it out wordlessly for the other man to take. Maybe he might fashion some sort of rudimentary loincloth from the thing. Perhaps he might throw it in some stinking pool of filth just to annoy him. But if they're stuck with one another, might as well make the gesture, for all that it's for Calomel's benefit as much as Karolinger's.

A glance to the sky meanwhile, some attempt at orienting himself by sun or stars or such, but with no success; the sky is every bit as strange and unsettlingas the land, so they'll find no aid there. Well, no matter. A nod past Karolinger's shoulder follows.

"It looks like the land rises in that direction; high ground might be preferable to here."

[Lent]

This was unsettling. The elf had the same note he had. Had to wonder if it was in Elvish. Had to wonder if it said the same thing. Had to wonder if it really mattered. Meant that this was a particularly complex hallucination. Unsettling. Lentham knew his imagination wasn't nearly that developed. Hnn.

No, best not to think about it. Things to be done. "Aeryn Karolinger, elf. Our target, that is. Not me. I'm Kurt Lentham. Detective Constable." Probably with not taking the time to seem all that phased by the environment itself is that it meant that the elf might end up doubting HIS own sanity. "You figure this is hell? I figure I just went mad, right? Sorry to bring you along for the ride."

He had withdrawn the flask from SOMEWHERE in his clothes and held it up to Bloodmoon. "Still, glad to have the company in this." A quick sip and then a long exhale. "Glad not to be alone here. Not too proud to say that. Karolinger killed my partner, my friend. Just a kid, really. Glad to have you along for that, too. Help is good." He held out the flask, and maybe Bloodmoon might have some idea how precious a treasure he was temporarily being offered. "Take a drink as we walk, son. Seems we're going to chase him.." Well the elf HAD said it. "Through hell itself. Fitting all around, I think." And they were off.

[Carnath-Emory]

Fear satisfies.
Anger amuses.
In certain aspects, theirs has become a very simple world.

Were this a tale written by some particularly filthy-minded scribe, Rhaena's pursuit would have halted the taller swordswoman entirely. She would have turned in some slow surprise, and the trader's courage would have earned her the fencer's grudging respect.

But this is not so kind a fiction; what that courage earns her here is a scoffing snort, and something damp spat at the fleshy ground near her feet. It responds with a welcoming squelch.

"You say No," breathes Ariane, "when I request an atrocity of you. When anyone asks such a wrong of you. And I'll tell you this moment, Rhaena Olwak, I'll tell you for true that I'll sooner take a knife to my throat than your mind near mine. Better a clean death than a complicated rape -- mn?"

It's with lips a thin line that she's turning then, and some perfunctory sawing at leather with that very knife. It's after moments of this that she has a narrow slit cut into the waistband of her trousers, and it's through this that she thrusts that knife now, a makeshift sheath that leaves the blade free as it anchors the weapon to her hip.

"Would you do yourself a kindness?" she's asking of the trader then, and with her back to the girl, for she is moving away already, is supplying her restless body with the motion that it demands. "Then shout for your Governor, shout his name with all your might."

A backwards glance; it is not without dry amusement.

"With your voice."

[Seth_Bloodmoon]

Unsettling might be a light way of putting it! Horrid smells assault the tall elf's sense of smell. It turns his stomach but he's not about to throw up over it or be overcome by nausea. He strode through the aftermath of many a battlefield. Of course such was probably like smelling a lovely flower in comparison the combitnation of scents this place offered.

Head inclines in a nod as Kurt speaks of the murderer's name and his own amongst other things and Seth responds, "Seth Bloodmoon, my name that is..," a pause as he lifts a hand to rake fingers through silvery hair, then,"It's surely is not Paradise..," oddly enough he musters a slight smirk despite the situation, "No apologies needed, if this is from going mad I surely dragged myself here..."

Here's a lofted brow as Kurt brings forth a flask, that man was well prepared! Its a shame Seth kept himself from carrying such around, but he had his reasons for that kind of decision, "I am glad for the company as well, Kurt. Makes going insane and walking through hellish landscapes a lot less lonely..," odd that coming from a man who tended to keep to himself even when friends were abundent, "I am sorry for the loss of your partner and friend, truly..," he knew well what it was like losing such. He knew well what it was like killing such, as well, unfortunately.

He gladly accepts the temprorary treasure offered by his companion, taking a pull from the flask before passing it back to the man. He'd have to be stupid not to accept it in this place! "Bringing justice even in the depths of hell, a noble venture some would say..," another slight smirk with those words. Hopefully they would find a way out of this place.

[Euphemia]

Ah, a note. She reads it as Sarayn speaks the words. "An' keep movin', righ'. Any idea why we're togethah, me sweet? An' where we are, fer tha' ma''er. Doesn' feel qui'e real, y'know?" A shrug, as the coat goes untaken; it wasn't a heavy thing, and probably wouldn't have slowed the woman much. Still, preferences were preferences, and it wasn't like she really minded. She slips back into her jacket as she takes chase, this new knife still in hand; she's not as agile as her companion, but close enough that she's little trouble keeping up. Who knows what, or perhaps who, they might find further in this hellish place. "Use me. On wot?"

[Jirai]

"Why don't you shout?" The girl asks as she trails after the swordswoman. The older woman's company was not the most pleasant, but it was far, far superior to being alone here. There is a shudder at the thought, even, and a quickening of her steps. Yes, let us shift this conversation away from her magics, for it is a talk that will lead no where pleasant (except, perhaps, for Ariane - on the assumption that the other woman would find stabbing Rhaena to be pleasant). This conversation - if it might be called that - strikes too near to a similar "conversation" she'd held with the mapmaker not so long ago. It is a thought that makes the girl even more uncomfortable than she already is.

[Lent]

Huh. He actually took the thing and drank it. That was surprising. Hell, maybe Bloodmoon would even find the taste familiar. Lentham had it refilled last through the hospitality of elves, not that the Detective Constable gave them much credit for such a thing, not that he lumped his current partner, for he was already looking at Seth as just that, with those he did not like.

Talk of justice. Boy would have liked that. One thing was absolutely sure. No bumping into Charles McCoy's shade again here. Not him. Not the shade of Lentham's late wife, or of his children either. No, this was a different place entirely, a different sort of hallucination, one laced with reality. He was even given a spirit animal or whatever this elf was.

That suited him fine, because he knew his target was out there somewhere. "Think we're going to be fast friends, Seth." Noble though? That's not quite what he was thinking. Necessary. He couldn't rest easy. The Baie was beyond his ability to hunt. The Flux was no one's fault, not really. Best he knew, that drow mage was killed. Karolinger, however? Karolinger was his to hunt. "Elves have better vision than average? See anything out there?"

[Seth_Bloodmoon]

He might recognise the taste but it was surely nothing like the stuff ilarian elves brewed. He could go for a bottle of Death's Essence, a little taste of home that might just knock a person flat on their arse if they had never tasted such before. It was a rival in potency to dwarven spirits. By the gods Seth could really and truly use a bottle of that pitch black, whiskey-like liquid right now. No, make that two bottles. Better yet, three! Why stop there, how about a crate of bottles! Enough of this, there were more important matters at hand. Forcing himself off of that train of thought.

"Fast friend's indeed, Kurt..," a nod of agreement. He had, perhaps, been more fortunate than others caught in this nightmareish place. Kurt was not a person he had a thing against. Not someone he wanted to slay, outright. Of course, Seth had no idea others were stuck with people they might utterly despise.

Another incline of his head for Kurts questioning words, as to eyesight. Brilliant blue eyes sweep over the tortured landscape, taking in all the horrors is has to share. Now there's a shake of his head, "I see more of the same... You know, I was never one to dream of walking through flower covered plains... Right now, however, I could go for such..," a hint of humor in his voice, "Best we can do is to continue moving, for now, huh? Avoiding the 'water' and 'trees' as much as possible..." definately avoid it. One can't avoid, however, walking on the squishy ground beneath their boots.

[Lent]

Something like a smile on Lentham's face at Bloodmoon's words. "Would even take that damn Wood that I've been marching through for what has to be months, Seth. This is just that unpleasant. What sort of mind thinks up this sort of thing? Can't be natural?" Could it be his own, really? Had Myrken pushed him that far. Maybe he ought to review.

"We're in this together. Going to do something rare. I hear about you. You hear about me." Kurt never spoke about himself, mainly for this very good reason. "First thing you have to know is that a lot of this is almost as new to me as it will be to you. Haberdasher's Row, early this year, when Helstone was deposed; you know if it yeah? I was a Constable, newly minted. Fought hard. Karolinger's Janeiro fought harder or better or smarter or trickier. Either way, we lost, almost died. They pulled me back. Not everything came with me. People had to tell me who I was, yeah?" It was the most he had said at one time in weeks. Enough to makehim want to pause to gather his thoughts. The rest was tricky, going back at least. "What about you?" He would give him more, but not yet.

Either way, it was better to talk about this than to dwell upon their surroundings as they walked, right?

[Carnath-Emory]

Oh, this charming landscape: there is vileness in every direction in which the eye happens to glance, there is sickness yielding beneath her bare feet with each step that she takes. Filth piled upon filth, it is, in no sense relenting and so completely inavoidable that in time the senses begin to compensate. In a darkened room, a man's eyes grow sensitive to the most minute hint of light. In an environment of unceasing foulness, a woman's senses do not grow pronounced but slacken, as if in some residual attempt to spare the mind which they serve.

Which is to say that after the first half-hour or so, you stop noticing the stink.

"Why," grins the swordswoman now, and is that some distant echo of voices? She likes to imagine so, and dreads to, as well. Things had progressed adequately last time, before she'd actually encountered her student.

"Why," she echoes herself, as if quietly musing -- and turns upon a bare heel then, thin-clad shoulders caught up in a shrug.

"Rhaena Olwak, I bid you shout for him because I've a weapon and a grudge, and you, young sera, haven't even a knife to put through my throat."

[Tebrin]

The treasure hunter awoke within the nightmarish landscape, and turned a disgusted eye to the landscape. Twisted. Broken. And absolutely abhorrent. Where had he wound up this time? How had he gone from the comfort of his bed to this... monstrosity, this mockery of reality? The very sight made him nauseous. The smell? Indescribable. And when he saw the dagger, and lean digits curled around its blade, he felt a certain wash of relief, for certainly THIS would end this misery...

But then, there was that heat at his neck, and fingers found a jewel planted there against his flesh. And the rogue's brilliant greens found his partner in this Hell. Jirai. O, irony of ironies, that it was JIRAI of all people! Lips twisted into a wicked grin, cheeks dimpled as she approached, and the blade was spun deftly about the man's digits.

"Oh, but we DO have much to accomplish..." He had been looking forward to an opportunity to gut the Drowess like a fish. And now he had it. ...But a scrap of paper caught his eye, and... oh, but THERE was the catch. If she dies... HE dies. And no amount of self-satisfaction was worth the self-sacrifice. He narrowed his eyes upon her instead, body tensing, and one could practically see the man's desire to slay her where she stood. He had been about to sling venom, insults, anything to relieve the aggression there... but that gem was hot. Uncomfortably so.

Keep moving.

"Right. Lead the way, then, Jirai. I'll be right behind you." RIGHT behind her.

[Jirai]

"I have no wish to put a knife in anyone's throat, Miss Emory." The girl replied stiffly, uncertainly. If you die, they die. But there can be pain without death, and so Ariane makes quite a good point, does she not? A rather terrifying one. There have been nightmares like this, before... But this was far too real to be a nightmare. For certain, Rhaena's own mind could not have invented a scene like this. Perhaps she should have taken the knife... but no. What could she do against Ariane anyway, even had she a knife? A knife she surely had no skill in using. And so the older woman's point is acknowledged with a nod and the requested shouting commences.