Encounterlogs
Ashs Odd Encounter Sr Sienna 241012
Ash awakens from a groggy state in a dreary, decaying room, immediately concerned for their companions and quick to check on the ominous presence of Silas "The Priest" Dwyer. They are jolted into action by an urgent alert on their phone, a message from the Forged Fortune indicating a new mission. The assignment involves trailing a member of The Golden Shadow, Marrow, spotted at Haven's shipping yard with a group of armed mercenaries, holding a faeborn hostage. The details are scant but the stakes are clear: Ash must gather intelligence on Marrow’s intentions and the hostage’s situation without engaging directly with the mercenaries. Transforming into a tiny bat, Ash scouts the misty docks, skillfully evading detection while observing the sinister gathering around the freighter ship, The Resolute.
Through careful observation, Ash manages to pick up pieces of the mercenaries' conversation, learning of an imminent exchange and the heightened tension among Marrow's camp. They use their bat form to create a distraction and gather crucial information on two new figures approaching with a duffel bag, intended for the handoff. As preparations for the exchange intensify, Ash receives a final update through the app, instructing them to vacate the area immediately before an operative team intervenes. Deciding to pull back, Ash shifts back to human form and makes their escape, leaving the docks just as an operative team is about to strike, ensuring their safety and the completion of their mission from the shadows. They leave with a laugh, aware of the danger narrowly avoided and the vital intelligence gathered, returning to unfinished business but ready for the next call to action.
(Ash's odd encounter(SRSienna):SRSienna)
[Fri Oct 11 2024]
In an oppressive room where filth and decay hold dominion
The walls are aged, moss-covered stone with dark, wet stains that look like sewage seeping through cracks. The air feels heavy, with a faint, musty odor, as if the room is nestled deep underground.
Dim, flickering lights cast shadows that dance eerily across the room, highlighting details like the rusted iron grates embedded in the floor that channel filthy water. The centerpiece of the room is a large, circular stone table, carved with intricate runes, its surface marred with what looks like dried blood and ash. Around the table are twisted, metal chairs with ratty cushions, giving an uncomfortable sense of being watched from all angles.
Scattered throughout are small mounds of debris- broken wood, tattered cloth, and rat bones- strategically placed to add to the ambiance of decay. The room's atmosphere is oppressive, designed to keep anyone within its confines on edge.
It is morning, about 50F(10C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds.
(A member of The Golden Shadow has been spotted in Haven. Your target and their allies have been tasked with tailing this individual, trying to uncover their agenda. However, this member is not alone and is backed by a small group of mercenary fighters. The players must carefully navigate this situation, avoiding direct confrontation with the mercenaries while trying to gather valuable information. The encounter escalates when it's discovered that The Golden Shadow member has a hostage - a local townsperson - and plans to use them as leverage for their negotiations with the dark forces. Now, your target and their allies must not only gather information but also devise a plan to save the hostage without blowing their cover.)
Ash wakes up groggily from a nightmare operation, rubbing their head. They glance over to a one-armed, once-debonair Vampire with black hair and amber eyes: Silas "The Priest" Dwyer, just to make sure he's been unable to reach their sleeping form. Then, they call out, "Gramps? Still there?"
Ash's phone buzzes with the familiar vibration of an incoming alert, cutting through the oppressive stillness of the room. The screen lights up, displaying the emblem of the Forged Fortune. The notification is urgent, marked with a crimson banner, and the app is unknown and new, and its presumed to be from the fae-bae who operates on intelligence and Network 666. The moment Ash taps the alert, the details can come into focus.
Mission Assigned.
A grainy, black-and-white image loads, showing a man with a jagged scar down his cheek, half-obscured beneath the brim of a dark hat. The name beside it reads: Marrow, Affiliation: The Golden Shadow.
Below the image is a brief, terse description: Target spotted at Haven's shipping yard. Confirmed presence of a hostage: faeborn identified. Accompanied by a group of armed mercenaries.
The profile lists minimal information, leaving much of his background and intentions shrouded in mystery. The screen flickers as the app's live feed activates, offering a hazy view of the shipping yard across town.
The scene shifts, focusing on a docked vessel; a massive, rusted freighter, its hull corroded from years of neglect. Figures mill around the base of the boat, their shapes barely discernible through the thick mist that clings to the shoreline. The camera zooms in, revealing a cluster of mercenaries, their postures tense, weapons slung across their shoulders. They stand in a loose circle around a slumped figure, bound and clearly struggling. The faint glow emanating from their skin marks the hostage as faeborn, their otherworldly presence unmistakable even in the dim, grainy footage.
Additional information scrolls across the screen:
Location: Eastern Shipping Yard, Dock 3. Vessel ID: The Resolute. The instructions warn: Exercise extreme caution. Hostile presence confirmed. Gather intelligence without engaging mercenaries directly. The final note underscores the danger: Marrow is not operating alone. Multiple armed contacts observed; expected resistance if confronted.
The screen continues to display the ship, its rusted surface like a scar against the water, as the camera pans slightly. The mercenaries, huddled near the ships ramp, gesture towards the faeborn captive, exchanging words the cameras microphone cannot pick up. The target, Marrow, moves in and out of view, his motions quick and purposeful. He pauses, looking out across the shipping yard as if sensing the surveillance; his eyes, shadowed by the brim of his hat, focus directly into the camera for a split second before the feed cuts off abruptly, leaving only the mission details on the screen.
Ash reads over the message a few times before grunting, "Got it" - more to themself, than anyone. They sure as hell not talking to Silas. They leave the room the way they came, stepping out and taking their scooter, Voltaire, over to the Striptease. From there, they pull out their equipment to slide into their bag, before they walk west towards Sludgefukk, walking past the door, then around the corner. Amongst the standing shelves and mists, they fade away... and from within comes a teeny weenie bat.
In the early light, their white form flits away, up and up and over, past the docks, over the ocean... then swinging back around, over white surf. Closer, and closer... there, The Resolute. The teeny tiny bat can easily hide under an eave here, perhaps below the bow. Camouflaged, they simply listen, for now.
The Resolute sits anchored at the docks, its rusted frame looming against the misty morning light. The freighter is a hulking relic of a bygone era, its hull a patchwork of decayed metal and age-old grime. Seagulls circle overhead, their cries mingling with the distant echoes of foghorns and the gentle lapping of waves against the pier. The scent of salt and decay hangs heavy in the air, mingled with the distant, acrid odor of oil and machinery from the shipping yard's busy operations.
A small group of figures move at the base of the vessel's ramp, their silhouettes indistinct through the fog. Mercenaries, dressed in patched jackets and heavy boots, their weapons slung casually but with an air of readiness. Among them, a lone figure stands apart; Marrow, a member of The Golden Shadow. His dark hat casts a shadow over his face, his scar visible even through the fog. He directs the group with sharp, calculated movements, gesturing towards a figure slumped on the ground nearby.
The hostage, a faeborn, is bound and visibly weak, their faint, otherworldly glow a stark contrast against the gritty surroundings. They are a small, fragile form, their clothes soaked through from the cold and mist. The mercenaries exchange low words, their eyes darting to the faeborn and back to Marrow, who keeps a steady, watchful gaze on the surrounding dock.
Above them, unseen and unnoticed, a tiny white bat clings to the ship's eave, blending in with the pale, mist-drenched metal. The bat remains perfectly still, its bright eyes darting between the mercenaries and Marrow, taking in every detail. The soft rustle of wings as it shifts positions is drowned out by the steady hum of machinery and the muffled conversation below.
From this vantage point, the bat, Ash in their altered form, can catch snippets of conversation. Marrow's voice, a low rasp, carries through the fog. "...Once the payment's secured, we'll hand over the leverage. No complications." One of the mercenaries mutters something in response, the words too garbled to catch. Marrow's response is sharper this time, "Keep watch. We can't afford any surprises. The deal goes south, and you know what to do."
The faeborn shifts weakly, a small whimper escaping their lips as they struggle against their bindings. Marrow's eyes flick to the hostage for a brief moment, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his hat. The mercenaries seem tense, hands drifting to their weapons as they glance towards the ship, and then out to the misty expanse of the dockyard as if anticipating something... or someone.
Ash(bat) strains to hear more, but there's only so much they can do to get closer, even with their camouflaging abilities. Being caught is their primary concern, given that their mission is to gather information. They note the general appearances of Marrow as much as the others, beady little eyes carefully looking the hostage over, before waiting just a bit longer.
The fog hangs heavy over the dockyard, and Ash(bat)'s tiny form remains hidden, nestled securely beneath the eave as they strain to catch every word. The mercenaries' murmured conversations mingle with the distant creaks of The Resolute, and while much of their discussion is drowned out by the ambient noise, Ash keeps their focus trained on Marrow, noting his every movement. His scar is deep, his clothing patched but utilitarian, and his posture is one of practiced authority. The mercenaries' glances toward him confirm his leadership, and Ash files away the detail for their report.
The hostage, shivering and weak, is bound at the wrists with a thick rope that glows faintly in the mist, likely enchanted to keep their magic suppressed. Ash(bat)'s eyes narrow, observing the way the faeborn's ethereal aura flickers in response to their struggles. No immediate threats beyond the mercenaries seem present, but the setup is tense; the situation could escalate with a single misstep.
Ash(bat)'s instincts tingle, urging patience. As the seconds tick by, they take note of the ship's surroundings, watching for any shift in the mercenaries' stances or any sign of reinforcements. Their small ears twitch, straining to pick up any hint of approaching footsteps from the docks or the telltale sound of a vehicle's engine cutting through the fog.
A low rumble of voices drifts up, and Ash(bat) picks up something new. One of the mercenaries, voice gruff and irritated, grumbles, "Still no word from the contact. We've been exposed too long."
Marrow's response is short, clipped. "They'll come. They know what's at stake." His eyes flick towards the docks, and Ash(bat) follows his gaze, searching for any sign of movement in the mist beyond the shoreline.
Ash(bat) uses this opportunity to flit away - down over the edge, around the base of the ship, then towards the docks at a more lazy pace, once away from the ship. From there, they can hide in the mist, a cotton puffball who can rely on far more than sight to observe what happens here.
Ash(bat) then uses this opportunity to flit away - down over the edge, around the base of the ship, then towards the docks at a more lazy pace, once away from the ship. From there, they can hide in the mist, a cotton puffball who can rely on far more than sight to observe what happens here.
Deciding that the information to be had would be on the docks, Ash(bat) gets ready to head to phase two. First, though, they can't disregard this tension, so they offer a distraction - to the closest figure to them would spot movement in the mist, at the docks. A shifting figure, moving fowards towards the boat... and it suddenly bursts into visibility, just after they might have said something. a flock of white flying things... seagulls? Bats? Probably one of those, flitting towards the ship, over the ship, then off in a turn along the docks, towards the town.
Ash(bat) then uses this opportunity to flit away - down over the edge, around the base of the ship, then towards the docks at a more lazy pace, once away from the ship. From there, they can hide in the mist, a cotton puffball who can rely on far more than sight to observe what happens here.
The closest mercenary stiffens as they spot movement through the haze, their hand instinctively reaching for the weapon at their side. "Movement on the docks," they hiss, eyes narrowing as they peer into the fog. The others shift, their attention snapping to the same direction, tension rippling through the group as they prepare for an imminent threat.
The figure in the mist seems to move closer, its shadowy form taking shape, only to suddenly erupt into a flurry of white, dozens of shapes bursting forth. The mercenary who had spoken pulls back, startled, the flock scattering overhead and flitting wildly past the ship. "Damn birds," another mutters, frustration creeping into their voice. "Stay sharp... could be someone's trick."
As the mercenaries are momentarily distracted, Ash can use the cover perfectly. They flit from their hidden spot beneath the ship's eave, the small white form darting down along the side of the vessel, sticking close to its rusted frame. They weave between the shadows and the fog, wings flapping gently as they make their way to the base of the ship, slipping past the now, alert mercenaries without a trace.
Moments later, Ash(bat) hears the crunch of gravel, the unmistakable sound of boots approaching from further down the docks. Through the mist, faint shapes appear, two figures walking side by side, moving with intent towards The Resolute. One carries a large duffel bag slung over their shoulder, while the other keeps their hands free, their stance guarded.
This must be the expected contact. The duo exchanges a quick glance before pausing a few paces from the ship, scanning the area. They murmur to each other, their words too quiet to pick up clearly from this distance, but their wary postures suggest they're preparing for the exchange... or a possible ambush.
Ash(bat) swoops over the two - night right over their head, where their tiny wingspan would ruffle their hair, but close. And then... they land on the nearest shipping container. They'd been so tempted to land in the grass... but for a bat, they'd be lying down on the gravel. Not wise. Not wise at all. So, they make do. But, just as important as overhearing is getting a description of them for the report.
The two figures continue their low conversation, unaware of Ash(bat)'s presence above. The taller of the two, with a shaved head and a deep scar down his cheek, wears a black tactical coat over gear fitted with various holsters and pouches. His eyes are sharp, constantly scanning the area as he speaks. His companion, shorter and stockier, has messy blond hair under a dark beanie and wears a faded military jacket, a large duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
"Package is secure. We make the drop, and that's it... no loose ends," the taller man says, his tone clipped and business-like. The shorter man shifts his weight, glancing nervously around the mist-shrouded docks. "We need to move fast. The longer we stay, the more exposed we are."
As they move closer to The Resolute, the taller man reaches into his coat, producing a small communication device. He taps it, and a brief static crackle follows before he speaks again. "Signal Marrow. Tell him the handoff's in two minutes."
With that, Ash(bat) will let go of their perch, falling with gravity before using their spread wings to bolster their height, floating up and away. Onto a nearby rooftop, where they have a hazy view of the scene, in case a firefight starts, but too far to make out much - or be made out, as is the plan. Any closer, and they might expect there to be agents planted, keeping watch. They shift back, and begins to send their report in through the new app, fully expecting the capability and ease of use... after all, this seems designed by their faebae.
The app pings with a final update: Mission acknowledged. You're clear to pull backstand down and vacate the area within the next five minutes.
A countdown begins on the screen as another message appears: Operative team inbound. Target and hostiles will be neutralized. Clear the zone immediately. Don't need the Handjobs coming after me because you were too slow to vacate.
The app's interface flashes a warning: Proceed to extraction point or risk crossfire.
Lastly, a live map of the docks appears, highlighting The Resolute's location with a pulsing red marker. The app's interface updates with a countdown timer, marking the window, with a flight trajectory for Ash to take to get the hell out of dodge.
Ash laughs silently at the screen, but moves swiftly - a bat back all the way to Voltaire, who they push some distance before deciding not to be an idiot - vehicle noise should be expected at this time, on the strip - and they take Voltaire back to The Most Dangerous Game, where they have unfinished business.
Through careful observation, Ash manages to pick up pieces of the mercenaries' conversation, learning of an imminent exchange and the heightened tension among Marrow's camp. They use their bat form to create a distraction and gather crucial information on two new figures approaching with a duffel bag, intended for the handoff. As preparations for the exchange intensify, Ash receives a final update through the app, instructing them to vacate the area immediately before an operative team intervenes. Deciding to pull back, Ash shifts back to human form and makes their escape, leaving the docks just as an operative team is about to strike, ensuring their safety and the completion of their mission from the shadows. They leave with a laugh, aware of the danger narrowly avoided and the vital intelligence gathered, returning to unfinished business but ready for the next call to action.
(Ash's odd encounter(SRSienna):SRSienna)
[Fri Oct 11 2024]
In an oppressive room where filth and decay hold dominion
The walls are aged, moss-covered stone with dark, wet stains that look like sewage seeping through cracks. The air feels heavy, with a faint, musty odor, as if the room is nestled deep underground.
Dim, flickering lights cast shadows that dance eerily across the room, highlighting details like the rusted iron grates embedded in the floor that channel filthy water. The centerpiece of the room is a large, circular stone table, carved with intricate runes, its surface marred with what looks like dried blood and ash. Around the table are twisted, metal chairs with ratty cushions, giving an uncomfortable sense of being watched from all angles.
Scattered throughout are small mounds of debris- broken wood, tattered cloth, and rat bones- strategically placed to add to the ambiance of decay. The room's atmosphere is oppressive, designed to keep anyone within its confines on edge.
It is morning, about 50F(10C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds.
(A member of The Golden Shadow has been spotted in Haven. Your target and their allies have been tasked with tailing this individual, trying to uncover their agenda. However, this member is not alone and is backed by a small group of mercenary fighters. The players must carefully navigate this situation, avoiding direct confrontation with the mercenaries while trying to gather valuable information. The encounter escalates when it's discovered that The Golden Shadow member has a hostage - a local townsperson - and plans to use them as leverage for their negotiations with the dark forces. Now, your target and their allies must not only gather information but also devise a plan to save the hostage without blowing their cover.)
Ash wakes up groggily from a nightmare operation, rubbing their head. They glance over to a one-armed, once-debonair Vampire with black hair and amber eyes: Silas "The Priest" Dwyer, just to make sure he's been unable to reach their sleeping form. Then, they call out, "Gramps? Still there?"
Ash's phone buzzes with the familiar vibration of an incoming alert, cutting through the oppressive stillness of the room. The screen lights up, displaying the emblem of the Forged Fortune. The notification is urgent, marked with a crimson banner, and the app is unknown and new, and its presumed to be from the fae-bae who operates on intelligence and Network 666. The moment Ash taps the alert, the details can come into focus.
Mission Assigned.
A grainy, black-and-white image loads, showing a man with a jagged scar down his cheek, half-obscured beneath the brim of a dark hat. The name beside it reads: Marrow, Affiliation: The Golden Shadow.
Below the image is a brief, terse description: Target spotted at Haven's shipping yard. Confirmed presence of a hostage: faeborn identified. Accompanied by a group of armed mercenaries.
The profile lists minimal information, leaving much of his background and intentions shrouded in mystery. The screen flickers as the app's live feed activates, offering a hazy view of the shipping yard across town.
The scene shifts, focusing on a docked vessel; a massive, rusted freighter, its hull corroded from years of neglect. Figures mill around the base of the boat, their shapes barely discernible through the thick mist that clings to the shoreline. The camera zooms in, revealing a cluster of mercenaries, their postures tense, weapons slung across their shoulders. They stand in a loose circle around a slumped figure, bound and clearly struggling. The faint glow emanating from their skin marks the hostage as faeborn, their otherworldly presence unmistakable even in the dim, grainy footage.
Additional information scrolls across the screen:
Location: Eastern Shipping Yard, Dock 3. Vessel ID: The Resolute. The instructions warn: Exercise extreme caution. Hostile presence confirmed. Gather intelligence without engaging mercenaries directly. The final note underscores the danger: Marrow is not operating alone. Multiple armed contacts observed; expected resistance if confronted.
The screen continues to display the ship, its rusted surface like a scar against the water, as the camera pans slightly. The mercenaries, huddled near the ships ramp, gesture towards the faeborn captive, exchanging words the cameras microphone cannot pick up. The target, Marrow, moves in and out of view, his motions quick and purposeful. He pauses, looking out across the shipping yard as if sensing the surveillance; his eyes, shadowed by the brim of his hat, focus directly into the camera for a split second before the feed cuts off abruptly, leaving only the mission details on the screen.
Ash reads over the message a few times before grunting, "Got it" - more to themself, than anyone. They sure as hell not talking to Silas. They leave the room the way they came, stepping out and taking their scooter, Voltaire, over to the Striptease. From there, they pull out their equipment to slide into their bag, before they walk west towards Sludgefukk, walking past the door, then around the corner. Amongst the standing shelves and mists, they fade away... and from within comes a teeny weenie bat.
In the early light, their white form flits away, up and up and over, past the docks, over the ocean... then swinging back around, over white surf. Closer, and closer... there, The Resolute. The teeny tiny bat can easily hide under an eave here, perhaps below the bow. Camouflaged, they simply listen, for now.
The Resolute sits anchored at the docks, its rusted frame looming against the misty morning light. The freighter is a hulking relic of a bygone era, its hull a patchwork of decayed metal and age-old grime. Seagulls circle overhead, their cries mingling with the distant echoes of foghorns and the gentle lapping of waves against the pier. The scent of salt and decay hangs heavy in the air, mingled with the distant, acrid odor of oil and machinery from the shipping yard's busy operations.
A small group of figures move at the base of the vessel's ramp, their silhouettes indistinct through the fog. Mercenaries, dressed in patched jackets and heavy boots, their weapons slung casually but with an air of readiness. Among them, a lone figure stands apart; Marrow, a member of The Golden Shadow. His dark hat casts a shadow over his face, his scar visible even through the fog. He directs the group with sharp, calculated movements, gesturing towards a figure slumped on the ground nearby.
The hostage, a faeborn, is bound and visibly weak, their faint, otherworldly glow a stark contrast against the gritty surroundings. They are a small, fragile form, their clothes soaked through from the cold and mist. The mercenaries exchange low words, their eyes darting to the faeborn and back to Marrow, who keeps a steady, watchful gaze on the surrounding dock.
Above them, unseen and unnoticed, a tiny white bat clings to the ship's eave, blending in with the pale, mist-drenched metal. The bat remains perfectly still, its bright eyes darting between the mercenaries and Marrow, taking in every detail. The soft rustle of wings as it shifts positions is drowned out by the steady hum of machinery and the muffled conversation below.
From this vantage point, the bat, Ash in their altered form, can catch snippets of conversation. Marrow's voice, a low rasp, carries through the fog. "...Once the payment's secured, we'll hand over the leverage. No complications." One of the mercenaries mutters something in response, the words too garbled to catch. Marrow's response is sharper this time, "Keep watch. We can't afford any surprises. The deal goes south, and you know what to do."
The faeborn shifts weakly, a small whimper escaping their lips as they struggle against their bindings. Marrow's eyes flick to the hostage for a brief moment, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his hat. The mercenaries seem tense, hands drifting to their weapons as they glance towards the ship, and then out to the misty expanse of the dockyard as if anticipating something... or someone.
Ash(bat) strains to hear more, but there's only so much they can do to get closer, even with their camouflaging abilities. Being caught is their primary concern, given that their mission is to gather information. They note the general appearances of Marrow as much as the others, beady little eyes carefully looking the hostage over, before waiting just a bit longer.
The fog hangs heavy over the dockyard, and Ash(bat)'s tiny form remains hidden, nestled securely beneath the eave as they strain to catch every word. The mercenaries' murmured conversations mingle with the distant creaks of The Resolute, and while much of their discussion is drowned out by the ambient noise, Ash keeps their focus trained on Marrow, noting his every movement. His scar is deep, his clothing patched but utilitarian, and his posture is one of practiced authority. The mercenaries' glances toward him confirm his leadership, and Ash files away the detail for their report.
The hostage, shivering and weak, is bound at the wrists with a thick rope that glows faintly in the mist, likely enchanted to keep their magic suppressed. Ash(bat)'s eyes narrow, observing the way the faeborn's ethereal aura flickers in response to their struggles. No immediate threats beyond the mercenaries seem present, but the setup is tense; the situation could escalate with a single misstep.
Ash(bat)'s instincts tingle, urging patience. As the seconds tick by, they take note of the ship's surroundings, watching for any shift in the mercenaries' stances or any sign of reinforcements. Their small ears twitch, straining to pick up any hint of approaching footsteps from the docks or the telltale sound of a vehicle's engine cutting through the fog.
A low rumble of voices drifts up, and Ash(bat) picks up something new. One of the mercenaries, voice gruff and irritated, grumbles, "Still no word from the contact. We've been exposed too long."
Marrow's response is short, clipped. "They'll come. They know what's at stake." His eyes flick towards the docks, and Ash(bat) follows his gaze, searching for any sign of movement in the mist beyond the shoreline.
Ash(bat) uses this opportunity to flit away - down over the edge, around the base of the ship, then towards the docks at a more lazy pace, once away from the ship. From there, they can hide in the mist, a cotton puffball who can rely on far more than sight to observe what happens here.
Ash(bat) then uses this opportunity to flit away - down over the edge, around the base of the ship, then towards the docks at a more lazy pace, once away from the ship. From there, they can hide in the mist, a cotton puffball who can rely on far more than sight to observe what happens here.
Deciding that the information to be had would be on the docks, Ash(bat) gets ready to head to phase two. First, though, they can't disregard this tension, so they offer a distraction - to the closest figure to them would spot movement in the mist, at the docks. A shifting figure, moving fowards towards the boat... and it suddenly bursts into visibility, just after they might have said something. a flock of white flying things... seagulls? Bats? Probably one of those, flitting towards the ship, over the ship, then off in a turn along the docks, towards the town.
Ash(bat) then uses this opportunity to flit away - down over the edge, around the base of the ship, then towards the docks at a more lazy pace, once away from the ship. From there, they can hide in the mist, a cotton puffball who can rely on far more than sight to observe what happens here.
The closest mercenary stiffens as they spot movement through the haze, their hand instinctively reaching for the weapon at their side. "Movement on the docks," they hiss, eyes narrowing as they peer into the fog. The others shift, their attention snapping to the same direction, tension rippling through the group as they prepare for an imminent threat.
The figure in the mist seems to move closer, its shadowy form taking shape, only to suddenly erupt into a flurry of white, dozens of shapes bursting forth. The mercenary who had spoken pulls back, startled, the flock scattering overhead and flitting wildly past the ship. "Damn birds," another mutters, frustration creeping into their voice. "Stay sharp... could be someone's trick."
As the mercenaries are momentarily distracted, Ash can use the cover perfectly. They flit from their hidden spot beneath the ship's eave, the small white form darting down along the side of the vessel, sticking close to its rusted frame. They weave between the shadows and the fog, wings flapping gently as they make their way to the base of the ship, slipping past the now, alert mercenaries without a trace.
Moments later, Ash(bat) hears the crunch of gravel, the unmistakable sound of boots approaching from further down the docks. Through the mist, faint shapes appear, two figures walking side by side, moving with intent towards The Resolute. One carries a large duffel bag slung over their shoulder, while the other keeps their hands free, their stance guarded.
This must be the expected contact. The duo exchanges a quick glance before pausing a few paces from the ship, scanning the area. They murmur to each other, their words too quiet to pick up clearly from this distance, but their wary postures suggest they're preparing for the exchange... or a possible ambush.
Ash(bat) swoops over the two - night right over their head, where their tiny wingspan would ruffle their hair, but close. And then... they land on the nearest shipping container. They'd been so tempted to land in the grass... but for a bat, they'd be lying down on the gravel. Not wise. Not wise at all. So, they make do. But, just as important as overhearing is getting a description of them for the report.
The two figures continue their low conversation, unaware of Ash(bat)'s presence above. The taller of the two, with a shaved head and a deep scar down his cheek, wears a black tactical coat over gear fitted with various holsters and pouches. His eyes are sharp, constantly scanning the area as he speaks. His companion, shorter and stockier, has messy blond hair under a dark beanie and wears a faded military jacket, a large duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
"Package is secure. We make the drop, and that's it... no loose ends," the taller man says, his tone clipped and business-like. The shorter man shifts his weight, glancing nervously around the mist-shrouded docks. "We need to move fast. The longer we stay, the more exposed we are."
As they move closer to The Resolute, the taller man reaches into his coat, producing a small communication device. He taps it, and a brief static crackle follows before he speaks again. "Signal Marrow. Tell him the handoff's in two minutes."
With that, Ash(bat) will let go of their perch, falling with gravity before using their spread wings to bolster their height, floating up and away. Onto a nearby rooftop, where they have a hazy view of the scene, in case a firefight starts, but too far to make out much - or be made out, as is the plan. Any closer, and they might expect there to be agents planted, keeping watch. They shift back, and begins to send their report in through the new app, fully expecting the capability and ease of use... after all, this seems designed by their faebae.
The app pings with a final update: Mission acknowledged. You're clear to pull backstand down and vacate the area within the next five minutes.
A countdown begins on the screen as another message appears: Operative team inbound. Target and hostiles will be neutralized. Clear the zone immediately. Don't need the Handjobs coming after me because you were too slow to vacate.
The app's interface flashes a warning: Proceed to extraction point or risk crossfire.
Lastly, a live map of the docks appears, highlighting The Resolute's location with a pulsing red marker. The app's interface updates with a countdown timer, marking the window, with a flight trajectory for Ash to take to get the hell out of dodge.
Ash laughs silently at the screen, but moves swiftly - a bat back all the way to Voltaire, who they push some distance before deciding not to be an idiot - vehicle noise should be expected at this time, on the strip - and they take Voltaire back to The Most Dangerous Game, where they have unfinished business.