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[Xvareon]

That was a truly embarrassing and downright ugly slip. Eyes burning with tranquil fury, Valith calmly scans his surroundings for any sign that someone saw his ungraceful mistake. If anyone laughs, I mark their face in my mind. Because my memory of it may be its last shred of existence on this world.

Otherwise, I dust myself off and proceed to the tavern to rejoin the others, more carefully this time. There's work to be done. Let's keep to the gas-lit parts of the street, too; easier footing that way. Also keep looking for rope. If I spot some and can obtain it without notice, then I do so; if it's decently tied to something, like a guard rail on the street to keep carts from freewheeling into traffic, then I slice a length off with my dagger (as long as no one sees me).

If I make it to the tavern this turn, I remain outside for now, and scan the surroundings for anything odd:  guards, or people (read: Hermetic watchers) paying a little too much attention to the tavern, for instance. See if I can get an idea of how long it would take the guards to get here if things began getting loud. This is a hideout of the people who front them money to keep things quiet, after all.

[crazyabe]

Give him a Good Punch to the Jaw, or three. which ever Brings him to his knees fastest, Then ask if he wants some more, if I accidentally kill him I shall leave, if I simply Knock him out I will let the Fool live though he does not deserve it, for he is not a worthy opponent for me.

[Mallos]

((NOTICE: Due to the window for posting an action for this turn closing, Whisper has been skipped. I already PM'd them a notification and still received no action.))

Use my new powers (whatever they actually are) to overpower him. After that, drag him a few blocks away, pin him to the ground, quickly puncture his lung so he can't scream, and begin cutting him up. Make it painful

As the bum's alcohol breath heats Siri's neck, she is filled with an urge to murder this man relentlessly. How dare he attack one of Akashir's Dunewalkers? How dare he think he could scare her with a simple blade. The poor fool would come to regret his actions once Siri started to channel the Magick inside her. The bum's hand over her mouth feels spontaneously... drier. This dryness spreads up his arms and cracks his skin like weathered stone, his steadily thinning blood gushing from the fissures in his skin. Every drop of water from his body was being stolen from him and siphoned into Siri, who feels progressively energized from the chilling yet refreshing rush. He stumbles backward and falls onto his back, whimpering from the overwhelming pain of utter desiccation. She drags his pathetic and limp body a few blocks away to another dark alley and punctures his lung with her sacrificial dagger to prevent further screaming. Lastly, she slowly flays his cracked flesh from his bones and slices his appendages off- starting with the fingers and toes, heading up.

Akashir is mildly amused.

Let Akashir guide my hand. Find my latent power. Make the first of many sacrifices that are to be in Akashir's name.

You are disgusting. I will grant you the honor of being the first of many who shall die by my hands, and appease Akashir.

The drunkard lurches a bit, coughing and sputtering before vomiting on the ground. He must be really bad at holding his alcohol.
That fact could be seen as a benefit though, because the fate Erescal dooms him to with a brief invocation of Akashir's name is already excruciatingly painful. Little wisps of a purple luminescent dust appear and begin swirling around his fingertips. Letting Akashir guide his movements, he raises the corresponding arm to where his fingers are level with the drunk's exposed back. The aforementioned purple wisps form into a projectile of sorts that glows a bright royal purple before launching itself at the pitiful vagabond's spinal column and ripping it apart through some unholy power. Organs explode out of his chest, spraying the alley wall in front of him with blood and viscera. Erescal smiles, squatting to look at the vivisected body of the drunk and feeling rather pleased with the results.

Akashir is, likewise, very pleased.

"Perfect"

Mortecia strides towards the closest bum, flicking her wrist she sends out a gust of burning dust down the their throat.

The snoring bums have no idea what horrid misfortune they will face from sleeping in this particular alley on this particular night.
Mortecia sends a torrential blast of burning dust down the closest bum's open mouth and through his nasal passages. The scorching powder fills up his lungs entirely and he jolts awake- attempting to scream in agony. As Herculean an effort it may be, all that comes up his flaming dust and choking sounds. Crimson blood is beginning to mingle with the dust he coughs up before he suddenly collapses and quits breathing.

Surprisingly, the ruckus didn't wake his fellow squatter. Akashir's attention evades Mortecia's first sacrifice.

That was a truly embarrassing and downright ugly slip. Eyes burning with tranquil fury, Valith calmly scans his surroundings for any sign that someone saw his ungraceful mistake. If anyone laughs, I mark their face in my mind. Because my memory of it may be its last shred of existence on this world.

Otherwise, I dust myself off and proceed to the tavern to rejoin the others, more carefully this time. There's work to be done. Let's keep to the gas-lit parts of the street, too; easier footing that way. Also keep looking for rope. If I spot some and can obtain it without notice, then I do so; if it's decently tied to something, like a guard rail on the street to keep carts from freewheeling into traffic, then I slice a length off with my dagger (as long as no one sees me).

If I make it to the tavern this turn, I remain outside for now, and scan the surroundings for anything odd:  guards, or people (read: Hermetic watchers) paying a little too much attention to the tavern, for instance. See if I can get an idea of how long it would take the guards to get here if things began getting loud. This is a hideout of the people who front them money to keep things quiet, after all.

Luckily for the considerably vain Valoth, nobody witnessed his embarrassing fall. Valoth begins scrounging for rope.
Oddly enough, he finds a couple of crates outside of the currently abandoned marketplace with a large coil of hemp rope nearby. Valoth decides to take the whole thing, tying it loosely around his waist so as to have a convenient place to store it on his person.
After a short sprint, the tavern is now within his view. If he keeps running, he'll get to the tavern and have time for a reasonably sized action next turn.

Give him a Good Punch to the Jaw, or three. which ever Brings him to his knees fastest, Then ask if he wants some more, if I accidentally kill him I shall leave, if I simply Knock him out I will let the Fool live though he does not deserve it, for he is not a worthy opponent for me.

John isn't having this barkeep's bullshit today- No, he wasn't taking anyone's bullshit ever again. Not since he became a Steelborn of Ckaeyod. Two swift jabs to the jaw is all it takes to knock him dizzy, but the finishing right hook cracks his jawbone to pieces and knocks out several teeth. The barkeep drops to the floor like a sack of stones. John then expresses that although the fool doesn't deserve to live, he isn't even close to being a worthy opponent.
Ckaeyod has no qualms with this, as John really isn't the one yielding here- the barkeep yielded subconsciously after he felt his jaw shatter.

Ckaeyod is almost slightly amused.

[Rethi-Eli]

I am quite sure the other apostles are quite busy with the problem at hand. I shall not trouble myself with a petty alchemist - my sole duty is the spreading of entropy. Of chaos.

Of the flame that consumes all.

Search the drunkard's dessicated corpse for matches, or perhaps a lighter. If none can be found, acquire some through a more violent manner, involving any unfortunate passerbys.

[Yottawhat]

Take my dagger and stab it into the underside of the sleeping bum's mouth.

[crazyabe]

Now to Head for where The Alchemists are, Add cloth to Booze, And Take in the place Tactically, I Know my Comrades will be Useless at slaying those inside, But perhaps they can be lead to cause as much destruction as possible...

[Xvareon]

Hemp? Valith grins at the thought. If he doesn't use all of the rope tonight, he might have a nice smoke after all this is over.

Valith pauses, then glances behind him to ensure he's not being watched or followed. They did just leave a cult meeting, after all; if anyone wanted to spy on them, the right time to do it would be when he and the other Apostles were too consumed with thoughts of carnage to pay too much attention.

Now there's an idea... Valith prays to Sierris for at least the one-off ability to sense the sensations of others around him. After all, Sierris' entire shtick is to not deny impulses, and to seek out sensation wherever it may be found. Sensing something like fear, or malicious intent would be easy, especially if their focus was directly on him.

Should this work, and Valith does indeed sense someone paying a little too much attention... well, now. If so, he continues walking as though towards the tavern, but looks for an opportunity to disappear into the darkness of an alleyway, and double back to catch the scheming rat in question for some nice, long-overdue ARTISTRY. His new rope might be useful for this to access a roof, perhaps...?

If he doesn't notice anyone, though, he continues as normal. Should Valith arrive at the tavern this turn, he immediately searches for an access point to an upper level he can use; or at least the roof itself. There could be a balcony on the opposite wall, or a skylight, or similar weak point. If not, it'll at least give a fine vantage point to spot any new developments on the outside.

[Whisperling]

((I've actually been offline for the past few days, more or less unexpectedly. I can't promise RL stuff won't make it happen again, but you should definitely go ahead and skip me if there's an issue. Better to keep things moving, in the long run.))

Azur makes use of the barkeep's predicament to get up, slip into the back via the door he found before, and start searching for the alchemists' den. He attempts to keep a low profile, largely by sticking to the shadows and silencing anyone who comes across him. This is most likely done via some combination of surprise head trauma, neurotoxin, or simply a knife to the windpipe, whichever will be the most quiet and discreet.

If any blood is shed, Azur uses it to draw simple but elegant glyphs on his own skin.

[S34N1C]

Search the corpse.

[Mallos]

((NOTE:Sorry for the lateness, been occupied by spending with IRL friends.))

I am quite sure the other apostles are quite busy with the problem at hand. I shall not trouble myself with a petty alchemist - my sole duty is the spreading of entropy. Of chaos.

Of the flame that consumes all.

Search the drunkard's dessicated corpse for matches, or perhaps a lighter. If none can be found, acquire some through a more violent manner, involving any unfortunate passerbys.

Erescal reaches the conclusion that killing a petty alchemist is a duty far below him- he is to spread Entropy, and thus answers to nobody but the Prince of Ruin himself. After rifling through the drunkard's things, he discovers a large box of red matches and two silver coins. Now the ritual arson can begin...

Take my dagger and stab it into the underside of the sleeping bum's mouth.

Being helpless and asleep, the bum has no chance at evading the dagger to the jaw. The blade sticks up through the bottom of his mouth and into the roof, skewering his tongue in place in the process. The bum wakes and repeatedly attempts to open their mouth. Mortecia pulls the blade out of the bum's mouth and quickly slices his throat. Blood pools from the slumped-over body, and Mortecia utters a prayer to Akashir.

Akashir is delighted.

Now to Head for where The Alchemists are, Add cloth to Booze, And Take in the place Tactically, I Know my Comrades will be Useless at slaying those inside, But perhaps they can be lead to cause as much destruction as possible...

John tears off scraps of the barkeeps clothes and adds them to the bottle of whiskey he earlier obtained. After crafting a molotov cocktail, John begins searching the place for any hidden entrances. Unfortunately, John can't find any at all. He knows one must be around here somewhere, but can't seem to pinpoint any trap doors or false walls. To make matters worse, he turns to face eye-to-eye with the battered face of the barkeep from before- this time armed with a cleaver in hand. "Blurgh... You fuhked uhp my mouf, I'm gohna fuhk up yehr fase."

Although the barkeep misses the first swing he takes with his cleaver, John overreacts and stumbles over his own two feet before falling to the ground on his ass. This is becoming really irritating...

Hemp? Valith grins at the thought. If he doesn't use all of the rope tonight, he might have a nice smoke after all this is over.

Valith pauses, then glances behind him to ensure he's not being watched or followed. They did just leave a cult meeting, after all; if anyone wanted to spy on them, the right time to do it would be when he and the other Apostles were too consumed with thoughts of carnage to pay too much attention.

Now there's an idea... Valith prays to Sierris for at least the one-off ability to sense the sensations of others around him. After all, Sierris' entire shtick is to not deny impulses, and to seek out sensation wherever it may be found. Sensing something like fear, or malicious intent would be easy, especially if their focus was directly on him.

Should this work, and Valith does indeed sense someone paying a little too much attention... well, now. If so, he continues walking as though towards the tavern, but looks for an opportunity to disappear into the darkness of an alleyway, and double back to catch the scheming rat in question for some nice, long-overdue ARTISTRY. His new rope might be useful for this to access a roof, perhaps...?

If he doesn't notice anyone, though, he continues as normal. Should Valith arrive at the tavern this turn, he immediately searches for an access point to an upper level he can use; or at least the roof itself. There could be a balcony on the opposite wall, or a skylight, or similar weak point. If not, it'll at least give a fine vantage point to spot any new developments on the outside.

Valith seeks a temporary mental augmentation from Sierris. Knowing that it will lead to a great work of ART, she bestows a form of emotional telepathy onto him for the next 24 hours.
Valith immediately senses the presence of nearby minds and begins sifting through for any with malicious intent. He can feel an intense source of hatred coming from the rooftop of a nearby decrepit building and continues to walk toward the tavern. Noting the weakening of his observer, he quickly darts into a nearby alleyway and doubles around to aforementioned shut-down inn. Climbing a wooden ladder propped against the back of it, he soon reaches the top and sneaks up behind the cloaked figure. Valith garrotes the spy who immediately thereafter lets out a loud choking noise. Moments later he goes limp and is now completely unconscious.

Sierris likes where this is going.

((I've actually been offline for the past few days, more or less unexpectedly. I can't promise RL stuff won't make it happen again, but you should definitely go ahead and skip me if there's an issue. Better to keep things moving, in the long run.))

Azur makes use of the barkeep's predicament to get up, slip into the back via the door he found before, and start searching for the alchemists' den. He attempts to keep a low profile, largely by sticking to the shadows and silencing anyone who comes across him. This is most likely done via some combination of surprise head trauma, neurotoxin, or simply a knife to the windpipe, whichever will be the most quiet and discreet.

If any blood is shed, Azur uses it to draw simple but elegant glyphs on his own skin.

Azur sneaks in through the back and keeps to the shadows. Here in the back room of the bar are many crates and a few barrels- this is no doubt some sort of storage. Azur searches around for an entrance into the alchemist's den, but like his comrade John he can't seem to find one. He does, however, come across his fellow cultist being attacked by the barkeep who is wielding a large meat cleaver. Feeling the stingers unsheath themselves from his wrists, Azur catches the barkeep by surprise and jabs one into the back of his head. After injecting a large amount of neurotoxin he pulls back and watches with morbid joy as his victim stumbles around almost drunkenly. Collapsing to the ground, the bartender drops the cleaver which clatters next to him and writhes in pain. Soon his brain should be complete mush.

Azur uses some of the blood that is gushing from the incapacitated bartender's nose to draw little glyphs on his arms. Sierris thinks they are beautiful, and enjoys the proper use of one of her Gifts.

Search the corpse.

Nothing of use is found on the corpse save for a single copper piece and the switchblade he was holding to Siri's throat only moments ago.

[Rethi-Eli]

ew irl friends that's gross

Perfect.

Spread the fire. Flick around a few well-placed matches, watch the smoke rise.

[Yottawhat]

"Well, not that that's done, might as well check out the place the Elder talked about."

Head to the "The Lucky Bottle" and check to see if there are any other acolytes there.

[S34N1C]

Take both items, then high-tail it. Think about what I could do next would please Akashir.

[crazyabe]

Ok, someone else ended the idot, and Looking for a Secret door isn't working, So I'll MAKE a door.
Draw my chainblade, and since the alchemists are suppose to be in the back, Hack a hole through the wall.

[Xvareon]

Valith takes the poor bastard into the shut-down inn, and makes sure no one is watching. Then, he utters a prayer to Sierris, grins madly, and slits the guy's throat with his dagger, making sure to muffle any scream. He then quickly takes one of his cloths, and soaks it in the blood; these make great memorial pieces, after all. Now, Valith rifles through his pockets, looking for anything useful, or something that would identify just who this guy was; it'll enhance the eulogy to be done after all this, you know. "A poor, sad spy, lost in a haze; Valith's cruel point ended his days."

After pocketing the bloody cloth, Valith gets to work. Knowing that he and his fellow apostles still have a job to do, he forgoes a full job -- at least for now. Instead, he settles for slicing the skin of his face off from neck to forehead. This will make a perfect centerpiece when affixed to a wooden mask or mannequin; hell, he might one day start his own shop that deals in deluxe skins! I can only imagine what he'll be able to do with this once he has the proper time.

Alright, better get moving. I wrap another of my cloths around his ruined face, then set him facing away from the door, lying on the floorboards. If I can find any alcohol nearby, I sprinkle some over the body, to give the impression to casual observers that he simply passed out. Hell, that could come in handy later, so if there is alcohol, let's take it and pocket it along with the face-skin!

Now let's get the hell outta here. Of course, that probably took my whole action, but meh.