Era Victoria IC

For a mechanic of Chrome's caliber the work of calibrating the springs is little more than a time consuming exercise. By the time that he is done the Orrery is working perfectly. A look outside reveals that the sun is low in the sky but there should still be ample time to reach the Asylum.

Chrome simultaneously stretched and groaned; the menial part of the task was complete at long last. Now, it was time to make sure the fruit of his labour was delivered to the right hooves. The earth pony opened briefly one of the windows to check the current temperature and, deeming it's right to supply himself with both a coat and a scarf, proceeded to do. For the placement of the Orrery, he chose a leather sack, tied with a sturdy rope-like string. He put it over his neck instead of going for a comfortable set of saddlebags, as to both feel its weight more clearly and to have it in sight. One could call him a bit paranoid in this regard at that moment, but truth was, Chrome was a bit scared. It was certainly rare for him to carry around an object of such high value and he dreaded whatever bad could happen to it.

As much as he'd wish to take a casual, carefree stroll around the town right now, there was this particualar, pressing matter he needed to take care of first. The description "Chanteuse" gave him of the place he was attending, carried the promise of some unknown, enticing events. While Chrome would rather not have high hopes for it and be positively surprised instead of being disappointed, even he could hardly refuse a tiny bit of excitement that knocked at his heart's gate. Taking a handful of bits for good measure and locking the workshop behind him properly, Chrome went for the administrative building of the Royal Asylum, wondering what does the future hold for him there..

"Okay... This will be hard"
He never saw the situation clearer than this. It was only a matter time to reach barkeeper's room and set a trap. Though no matter what he didn't want to be noticed by anyone during this delicate process.

Even if he were succeed how he will be able to transport barkeeper's fat body? Even in the middle of the night the risk of meeting nightguards was really high. Pulling a dead-looking body was a little bit suspicious.

There was a solution for such a situation. The barkeeper behaved like garbage so he will be treated like garbage. Oirik managed to dress up like a street cleaner. One big trash can filled up with soft garbage and he will be able to drop this fattie from second floor. Nobody will hear that.

Transport won't be so difficult too. Average garbage bins have wheels.

"Quite a lot to do until midnight. "
Climb up (test), open a window (test) and set a trap (test)

Crystalite wrote:Battery sat down on the sofa, stuffing a bit of tobacco produced from a pouch at his hip. A quick breath of flame lit it, smoke rolling out in surprisingly small puffs.

Dahlia would have to get over it.

Demonu wrote:Now if I'm not mistaken,' he spoke, 'I do believe we've met sometime this morning.'

His gaze wandered before settling on the Dragon. 'Two of you at least.'

"I'd say we've established that, yes," the Dragon replied, taking a deep pull on his pipe. "But that's not the question you really want to ask, is it?"

'Straight to the point, eh?' Smooth Talker smirked as he poured hot boiling water into his cup and added in a bag of vanilla tea. He carefully placed it in front of him on the round table before reclining in his rocking chair.

'There is a story.' He started in what some would describe his narrator voice. 'A story that took place about some twenty years ago. About this fellow named Whit Horse.'

Smooth Talker scooped up a small spoon and stirred around in his cup to make the tea spread more evenly through the hot water. 'Now this Whit Horse had some peculiar ideas.' He continued. 'Ideas that did not sit well with those high up in society. But others, the poor and downtrodden workers, they listened to him. And listen well they did.'

Smooth Talker lifted the teabag out of his cup, squeezed the last drops out of it and gently laid it on a tea saucer. 'Sure, your everyday worker has almost no sway in anything of the matter but, as they say, there is strength in numbers.' As if to illustrate the point, Smooth Talker reached over the table for the sugar pot, took out three sugercubes and dropped them one by one in his cup. 'It was only a matter of time until the lid was blown off. An entire mob of disgruntled workers, under the leadership of Whit Horse, rose up and revolted against those in charge.'

Smooth Talker took a sip of his tea to see if the taste of up to his standards. After deciding that a fourth sugarcube might be overkill, he took another sup and continued. 'This uprising was... unexpected to say the least and took the city by surprise. The mob following of Whit Horse had grown so large in number and fervor that it managed to break the back of the army, crushing infantry and toppling Walkers.'

Smooth Talker placed the half full cup onto his tea saucer and leaned back into the rocking chair. 'That is when they showed up.' He emphasised the word 'they' as he interlocked his fingers and rested them before his chest. 'The Battery.'¹
-------------------------
¹ I don't know how rolls of player versus player will be handled but I would like to use

Emphathetic:

here to gauge The Battery's emotions here in game, in case he's maintaining a pokerface.
Perception Roll: 16 + 15 + 5 = 36

The dragon held in a chuckle. "I know. I was there. Awful, awful day, it was," he says, flexing his brass fingers.

Result:

Crystalite wrote:The dragon held in a chuckle. "I know. I was there. Awful, awful day, it was," he says, flexing his brass fingers.

Result:

Smooth Talker studied the Dragon sitting across of him. He wasn't certain whether to press further and potentially dig up some painful experiences or to play it safe. He glanced to the other two occupants in the room: the Griffin and the Deer. Smooth Talker wasn't entirely sure as to why the Dragon had brought them along but he surmised that they would be, at the very least, be friends and that the Dragon, if his assumption that this particular dragon had served in the Battery, would have had shared that information with them if he was comfortable enough to speak about it here.

Before he could continue with his story however, there was a knock on his door. For the third time that day, Smooth Talker walked over and opened the door. 'Thank you, Geoffrey.' He said to the goat dropping off a grocery bag. 'That would be all.'

The goat bowed slightly before walking out. Smooth Talker walked back over to his kitchen, grabbed a plate and knife and rejoined his guests. 'The Battery,' he spoke as he laid out a cake and an assorment of cucumber sandwiches out onto the plate, 'had the reputation of being able to handle the more... difficult situations.' He cut three slices of cake, placed them on the tea saucers and placed one in front of every guest. 'But nothing could have prepared them for the battle of Witherschapel.'

Smooth Talker took his cup and drank half of what was left in it. 'The official story goes that the Battery, although fighting valiantly in the face of overwhelming odds, was completely annihilated during said battle. But soon after,' He held a small pause for dramatic effect, 'some ponies began to tell that wasn't true.'

Smooth Talker peered into his cup before gulping down the rest in one go. 'Well, not entirely.' He smiled at the Dragon. 'And then there are the rumours.'

Dahlia looks around the room idly, bored of the story he's heard numerous times, but also deciding who tells it better: Battery or this guy. Battery focused on the unit, this guy focused on the riots. Which made the better story? And then there's whether or not the lack of insisting that the story wasn't about the storyteller improves the story or not...

"Ah, yes. Those were dark days. Could hardly walk the streets without fearing for a getting a musket ball in the chest." Chirurgeon muses, rubbing the tip of his beak thoughtfully. He carefully unzips an opening in his mask, and quickly takes a swig out of his hip-flask, sealing the mask again afterwards. "It was a fight for survival on all fronts; the revolutionaries to establish a new world, the parliament to preserve a dying order, and the commonfolk just trying to keep their houses from collapsing under stray cannon fire."

"And then, there were the Nightingales." Chirurgeon chuckles, drawing out from under his cloak a small pendant of an Ankh with bird wings. "...Still think that's a pansy name. But I suppose for a group of healers dedicated to giving the soldiers on both sides a second chance at life, it's perfectly serviceable.

The Dragon took a pull on his pipe, pondering his options as smoke poured from his nostrils. "Mmhmm. The... rumor, as you put it, is that exactly one member of the Battery survived, short an arm and an eye, and deserted. So, I suppose the question I really want to ask is, if that rumor is true, and if I am indeed that surviving member, is what exactly do you want from an old... Rumor?" He paused, glancing down at the slice of cake. He set it to the side for the moment, studying the minotaur.

Chemistrychem wrote:"Okay... This will be hard"
He never saw the situation clearer than this. It was only a matter time to reach barkeeper's room and set a trap. Though no matter what he didn't want to be noticed by anyone during this delicate process.

Even if he were succeed how he will be able to transport barkeeper's fat body? Even in the middle of the night the risk of meeting nightguards was really high. Pulling a dead-looking body was a little bit suspicious.

There was a solution for such a situation. The barkeeper behaved like garbage so he will be treated like garbage. Oirik managed to dress up like a street cleaner. One big trash can filled up with soft garbage and he will be able to drop this fattie from second floor. Nobody will hear that.

Transport won't  be so difficult too. Average garbage bins have wheels.

"Quite a lot to do until midnight. "
Climb up (test), open a window (test)  and set a trap (test)
Stealth 17+18= 35
mechanics 18+10= 28
Stealth 20+ 18= 38 CMC

Oirik's plan goes almost perfectly. He manages to reach the second story in absolute silence, deftly avoiding a section of the stairs set to produce a loud screech. Once on the second floor he heads to the one room set away from the other the most likely for the tavern owner's own use and pick the rather simplistic lock on the door. Inside he sets up his little trap and waits...

The bartender comes up to his room a good bit before expected, sometime around 3 a good bit after lunch and before dinner, nevertheless the chloroform is effective and the bartender has no chance to react or even see who is attacking him. When he wakes up he will be confused and scared for his life. No one notices him dropping into the trash and on the streets the dirty cloths of a street cleaner leaves Oirik beneath notice. In the twilight hours Oirik returns to his hideout with his prey in tow.

Terrestial wrote:Chrome simultaneously stretched and groaned; the menial part of the task was complete at long last. Now, it was time to make sure the fruit of his labour was delivered to the right hooves. The earth pony opened briefly one of the windows to check the current temperature and, deeming it's right to supply himself with both a coat and a scarf, proceeded to do. For the placement of the Orrery, he chose a leather sack, tied with a sturdy rope-like string. He put it over his neck instead of going for a comfortable set of saddlebags, as to both feel its weight more clearly and to have it in sight. One could call him a bit paranoid in this regard at that moment, but truth was, Chrome was a bit scared. It was certainly rare for him to carry around an object of such high value and he dreaded whatever bad could happen to it.

As much as he'd wish to take a casual, carefree stroll around the town right now, there was this particular, pressing matter he needed to take care of first. The description "Chanteuse" gave him of the place he was attending, carried the promise of some unknown, enticing events. While Chrome would rather not have high hopes for it and be positively surprised instead of being disappointed, even he could hardly refuse a tiny bit of excitement that knocked at his heart's gate. Taking a handful of bits for good measure and locking the workshop behind him properly, Chrome went for the administrative building of the Royal Asylum, wondering what does the future hold for him there..

The walk down Witherschappel street is quiet enough, this close to the end of most ponies work day there is little activity. As Chrome draws closer to the Asylum he turns down a side street he thinks will take him past the front of the Asylum, soon the sides of shops give way to rows of low class houses on his left and a continuous grey concrete wall on his right. A bit further along a wall gives way to a wrought iron gate decorated with stylized flowers and herbs. Just outside of the gate there is blue Pegasus wearing a black bowler hat lounging against the wall rolling a coin between her feathers.

As Chrome approaches she looks at him and flashes a grin before asking,"So, do you got the thing?"

Ah, yes. Those were dark days. Could hardly walk the streets without fearing for a getting a musket ball in the chest." Chirurgeon muses, rubbing the tip of his beak thoughtfully. He carefully unzips an opening in his mask, and quickly takes a swig out of his hip-flask, sealing the mask again afterwards. "It was a fight for survival on all fronts; the revolutionaries to establish a new world, the parliament to preserve a dying order, and the commonfolk just trying to keep their houses from collapsing under stray cannon fire."

"And then, there were the Nightingales." Chirurgeon chuckles, drawing out from under his cloak a small pendant of an Ankh with bird wings. "...Still think that's a pansy name. But I suppose for a group of healers dedicated to giving the soldiers on both sides a second chance at life, it's perfectly serviceable.

'Ah yes, the Nightingales.' Smooth Talker mused with a twinkle in his eyes. 'A most admirable group.'

'This is just getting better and better.' He thought to himself. Not only was the last surviving member of the Battery sitting across from him in his sofa but a member of the prestigious Nightingalses was accompanying him. Yes, Smooth Talker was certain that the Dragon had been part of the Battery, even if he did not overly state it. Smooth Talker even found his act to be quaint, how the Dragon wanted to proclaim himself the Battery yet wouldn't due to circumstances. So he decided to humour him. After all, forcing the matter would be unwise as he needed to keep himself in the Dragon's good graces.

The Dragon took a pull on his pipe, pondering his options as smoke poured from his nostrils. "Mmhmm. The... rumor, as you put it, is that exactly one member of the Battery survived, short an arm and an eye, and deserted. So, I suppose the question I really want to ask is, if that rumor is true, and if I am indeed that surviving member, is what exactly do you want from an old... Rumor?" He paused, glancing down at the slice of cake. He set it to the side for the moment, studying the minotaur.

Smooth Talker pulled his own pipe from his pocket along with a pack of tobacco and a box of matches. He eyed the Deer for a moment and made a mental note to, at the very least, blow the smoke in the other direction. He lit his pipe and a pleasant aroma of honey and oranges slowly filled the air around him.

'This rumour,' he started, 'would be a most interesting fellow. Aside from the fact that he would be a piece of living history and worthy of having his story told, there are certain questions that need to be asked of him. Or rather, that he should ask himself.'

Smooth Talker paused to sample a bite of the cake. Tasting it to be lemon cake, a not unpleasant flavour to go with his tobacco, he should remember to ask Geoffrey just as to where he always managed to find the most delicious cakes.
'Let us consider the Battery itself for a moment.' He said while looking at the ceiling in an attempt not to stare at, or down, the Dragon. 'An army division consisting of nothing but dragons trained to take on the most dire of situations and yet, an unruly mob of working class ponies and the like managed to overwhelm them. Even if we were to consider that the numbers were just that stacked against them, there are some other questions lingering.'

Smooth Talker raised his fist and stretched out his fingers as he began counting.
'One: after their defeat, there is little to no mention of the Battery anywhere, at least in official documentation. Why would that be? Two: Being an army division of remarkable reputation that had a lot of money and effort put into it, why didn't the government try to reinstate it? And three,' This time he did look straight at the Dragon, 'Why did this last surviving member not return to the army and active duty? Regardless of the outcome at Witherschapel, he would have been decorated a hero. Why fade into obscurity?'

Upon being greeted this way by the pegasus, Chrome became a bit suspicious. He expected guards instead of what looked like a member of the working class, by the gate. However, as the way to the Royal Asylum was enclosed - probably due to the late hour - it seemed viable that she may've been sent to receive Chrome and help him with the passage. Could it've been that "Chanteuse" ordered the mare to await the stallion here, preferring to run the thing by a qualified servant instead of informing all the wall-patrolling personnel? As the sunset was approaching, a guide would be in place, as to cut the amount of time needed for the delivery to reach its destination. The fact that the hat-bearing pony recognized the mechanic as well as that she presented this kind of a smile didn't necessarily mean anything good. She could've been on to something between him and his client, regardless of the safety precautions undertook. Nonetheless, it was still daytime and the place they've been at was devoid of third company. Those were hardly conditions for a stealthy act to be commenced. Not to mention, from what he's garnered, the neighbourhood of the Royal Asylum would likely be a relatively safe place. Thus, although keeping the distance for now, Chrome decided to take his chances and respond honestly:

"Indeed. Hope i didn't keep you waiting for too long?"

"Nope," she responds with a slight chuckle, "so I'll just take it off of you then?"

"I'm afraid i haven't been entitled to pass it to third party."

Chrome's suspicions rose, though he attempted to sound polite, not distrustful. He believed "Chanteuse" probably wouldn't bother with giving him the details, such as who's it for and which name should he refer to in case there were any problems with getting inside if he were to just dump the package at the gate. As a reliable craftsman, it was his duty to see the contract to its end. Giving a valuable object to a random, nameless pony definitely wasn't something he'd do with a clear conscience. If that mare was here to help him, she'd do have to do it another way.

"Could i ask of you to guide me to who's it meant for instead?"

The mare spits on the ground and starts walking closer to Chrome, "Ya know, why do guys like you have to make things so damn difficult? Look, hand over the thing and you get to keep your ugly mug in one piece. Got it?  " While she was speaking she drew a wicked looking knife from under her hat.

Yup, definitely bad company. With Chrome's suspicions confirmed, he hestitated no further in his actions. Glancing at the mare's flank as to catch her Cutie Mark for later on, he turned around and began running as fast as he could in the opposite direction. He saw little shame in escaping when the situation called for it. It was best to leave such conflicts to the ones capable of handling it. It was for moments like this one that the mechanic neglected not his body. Regardless whether one would swirl round the buildings or duck through the crowds, this earth pony had what it took to skim the town.

"GUAAAAAAAAAAAAAARDS!"

Acrobatics check: 13 + d20 (18) = 31

The Pegasus's Cutie mark is a shovel driven into a mound of earth.

Chrome's would be assailant is a bit surprised at the sheer speed that the mechanic is able to produce but quickly takes off in pursuit. Despite going against the natural advantage of flight Chrome manages to maintain a fair lead from the Pegasus. In response to his cry for help a clattering of at least three sets of hooves sound out from the other end of the street.

As Chrome runs the Pegasus begins throwing knives at him, the first sticks into the ground a bit in front of him while the second he hears impact the street right behind him...

Battery chuckled a bit. "Well. Let's address those in order, shall we?" He took another pull, feeling subconsciously jealous of the minotaur's scented smoke. It seemed so nice in comparison to his own cheap smog.

"Number one... The Battery doesn't exist in documentation for the same reason other things don't. See, documentation is just that: documentation, nothing more. It doesn't confirm the existence of anything - it just confirms what the government wants to exist. The Battery... Well, the government didn't like to admit that they needed one," he explained, stopping briefly to put some more tobacco in his pipe.

"Two... While they did indeed have a remarkable reputation, they didn't 'officially' exist," he explained, making air quotes around the word 'officially'. "Rumors and legends are kind of like documentation, except they belong to the people. They confirm what the people wanted to exist - the idea of a group of bad-flank dragons protecting them was appealing, as it were. Made them feel safe, somehow." He paused to take a long pull, blowing it out in a wide ring. "The sobering truth is... It's not a matter of 'why didn't they reinstate the Battery?' but, rather: 'Did they reinstate the Battery?' Or more likely, some new equivalent?" He leaned forward in his seat a little. "Stop and think about it. Given what I've just told you, do you really know if they did or didn't?"

Dahlia stops being idle when Smooth Talker lists off the questions. He glances between the minotaur and the dragon and scratches an itch on his chest as the two talk...

Crystalite wrote:Battery chuckled a bit. "Well. Let's address those in order, shall we?" He took another pull, feeling subconsciously jealous of the minotaur's scented smoke. It seemed so nice in comparison to his own cheap smog.

"Number one... The Battery doesn't exist in documentation for the same reason other things don't. See, documentation is just that: documentation, nothing more. It doesn't confirm the existence of anything - it just confirms what the government wants to exist. The Battery... Well, the government didn't like to admit that they needed one," he explained, stopping briefly to put some more tobacco in his pipe.

"Two... While they did indeed have a remarkable reputation, they didn't 'officially' exist," he explained, making air quotes around the word 'officially'. "Rumors and legends are kind of like documentation, except they belong to the people. They confirm what the people wanted to exist - the idea of a group of bad-flank dragons protecting them was appealing, as it were. Made them feel safe, somehow." He paused to take a long pull, blowing it out in a wide ring. "The sobering truth is... It's not a matter of 'why didn't they reinstate the Battery?' but, rather: 'Did they reinstate the Battery?' Or more likely, some new equivalent?" He leaned forward in his seat a little. "Stop and think about it. Given what I've just told you, do you really know if they did or didn't?"

'If what you're saying is true,' Smooth Talker replied inbetween puffs from his pipe, 'that the government didn't officially acknowledge the Battery's existence, then one must wonder just how big a threat Whit Horse and his revolution could have been if they had to send in the proverbial big guns.'

'As for your question,' Smooth Talker grabbed the tea pot and poured himself a new cup, 'That would be mere speculation at this point. As you said, if the government didn't want to acknowledge the Battery back then, officially or not, what would make you think they would do so now?' Smooth Talker finished the last of his cake before following up on his remark. 'That sounds like something only someone on the inside would know.'

Smooth Talker leaned forward and stared the Dragon dead in the eyes. 'That begs my third question: why did you decide to fade into obscurity instead of returning to active duty in the army, Mr. The Battery?'

"What makes you think I decided?" Battery asked with a scowl. "Believe you me I wanted it. But... I'm living proof that the Battery existed, a witness to some of the things we did and could have done. Acknowledging me would be political suicide."

Crystalite wrote:"What makes you think I decided?" Battery asked with a scowl. "Believe you me I wanted it. But... I'm living proof that the Battery existed, a witness to some of the things we did and could have done. Acknowledging me would be political suicide."

'And there we have it.' Smooth Talker thought, feeling rather pleasant with himself. 'Acknowledgement of his actual person.'

'Pardon me if I'm being blunt,' Smooth Talker reclined back into his rocking chair, 'but going around Witherschapel helping others and perpetuating rumours aren't the actions of someone who wants to stay off the grid.'

"What makes you think I want to stay off the grid?" Battery replies with a grin. "You've assumed an awful lot about my motives, Mr. Talker. My squad leader had a phrase about assumptions..."

There comes a low, throaty croak from Chirurgeon that can probably be identifies as a halfway point between a chuckle and a snort. "Telling tall, gruff and scaly here to lay low is like telling a fire to kindly stop burning everything around it. In fact, both may also result in serious burns in uncomfortable areas. I've had to treat quite a few of his... acquaintances, who caught him on a bad day."

Dahlia remains disappointed at the lack of the Battery insisting he's not the Battery. He guesses that Battery's finally over it now. He returns to being bored...