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Post by nippon on Jul 15, 2017 3:56:27 GMT -5
The side door to the temple was left ajar, open to the thunderous downpour outside. Like an unwelcome stray trudging in from the rain, an iron-clad behemoth had made his way to the pews. The temple was empty, quiet, candles lit to illuminate the Three Saints through the night. Every verse practiced by those of the Triumvirate had split his lips - sitting there amongst the pews, hearkening to the silence of the temple to take back in the lost child.
There under the withering gaze of the Three Saints and their empty judgement, Bruce collapsed. Drugs, exertion, and mental fatigue would leave the man crumbled in a heap of metal. Helmet some several feet off to his side . . Vulnerable to those who'd surely return only hours later - and recognizable for his sins against the very refuge he'd sought.
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Post by drunkensolamnic on Jul 15, 2017 10:39:25 GMT -5
Heading through the Cathedral for her prayers, Kitara pauses at the sight of Bruce there. She stares at him, considerations of taking him out front bound at the elbows and ankles and pitching him into the canal pass her mind. Her head turns towards the doors deeper into the Cathedral, contemplating the ancient cells deep in the basement as she leans down and stares at the man's face. "You spared Grayson, a life for a life." She finally says quietly.
She takes his ruby mounted sword, and its scabbard along with his warhammer to Ser Helen, requesting it be stored in the Templar's tower. If asked she explains she believes it to be at least modestly cursed by the devil, and that it is related to a matter she is investigating for Ser Friedrich. Returning to the drugged out man himself, she mutters a few choice words as she heaves the behemoth's deadweight up onto her shoulders, staggering out by the graveyard and dumping his, "twice blighted, biscuit munching, gravy slurping fatass" into one of the wheel barrows she normally uses for gathering up the dead elves she perpetual finds hanging from trees in the city.
She resentfully wheels the large man south, to the Scholar's Walk apartments, apologizing in passing to the receptionist as she wheels him in though her look and tone makes it clear she's in no mood to be halted. She hesitates, considering just offing the trouble-maker one more time before knocking loudly on Sarah Bishop's door. "Sarah! Your boy-toy needs your help!"
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Post by leroybrown on Jul 15, 2017 13:36:26 GMT -5
Sarah answers the door, a briefly wild look to her eyes at the subject matter. She frowns, though offers the woman a thankful nod.
"Thank you. I will handle it."
And off she goes.
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Post by drunkensolamnic on Jul 15, 2017 18:31:18 GMT -5
"Oh no you don't. Zis bastard was in ze Cazedral. Somezing must be very vrong for him to have shown up zere. I vant to see vhat he has to say too." Kitara wheels the behemoth into Sarah's sitting room, inviting herself along on this adventure.
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Post by leroybrown on Jul 15, 2017 23:36:00 GMT -5
Sarah nods, making way for the woman and her wheeled catch.
"He may be a while, before he can speak. Make yourself at home, until that time comes."
The girl then busies herself with the man's health. He is undressed, washed, and put to bed.
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Post by nippon on Jul 16, 2017 0:05:27 GMT -5
And so the ladies waited. The hours passed, a feverish shell of a man discarding the effects of the nightmarish night. His veins ran thick and discolored - slowly draining the toxicity naturally from the bloodstream. He'd near overdosed, even by his own rugged standards on drug use. Eventually he'd emerge into Sarah's living room to weave a lustrous yarn of a story. Of Wizards, crazed prisoners, attempted murder, and the ominous Dark Obelisk.
![]()  ((IG Event - Summary to follow/conclude.))
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Post by leroybrown on Jul 29, 2017 15:24:45 GMT -5
After nearly two hours of conversation, the Templar left the apartment. Early the next morning, Sarah would also depart. Dressed in her casual daywear and plumed hat, the girl made her way to the library within the wards. Over the course of the next several days, she would quietly frequent the shelves; sifting through volumes of religion and occult practices, searching for texts pertaining to an obelisk.
After two weeks, the girl would approach the record keeper in hopes of him being able to help her with a name.
"Pardon me, sir, but have you any records on a gentleman named James-Ray Donahue?"
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