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Anansi 03-19-2015 08:45 AM

Deepstorm & Blackmire: Renegade Janitors
"Well that was a mess," you say. "I think it's time we, ah, time we were on our way."

Blackmire glares balefully at you. "So you're not even gonna try to clean this up." It's a statement, not a question.

You glance over your shoulder at the nightmare unfolding behind you. "Nah, they'll be fine. I, uh, I guess... Would you call this mission a success or a failure?"

She gives you a look. "I'm going to go with 'failure.' But we could always report back and see what our employers have to say."

"Nah, nah... They'll take care of it. Anyway, where were we? SS Penultimate. Want to give it another go?"

Blackmire sighs. "Fine. Just try to not to ducks up the calculations this time."

You glance around at the pandemonium you may or may not have been instrumental in generating. "No worries." You lick your lips nervously and try to straighten out the numbers in your head. It's made difficult by your stress and the surrounding bedlam, but after a few moments you've got a calibration that feels about right. "Got it. Let's go."

You place your hand on Blackmire's head and prepare to warp. As you do so, a voice rises sharp and clear above the screams and confusion. "You!" You dart a glance over your shoulder and see a red-haired young man fighting through the chaos in your direction. "You!" he shouts again. "You did this! What have you done?!" You grin apologetically at his outraged expression, and then you're gone.

Anansi 03-28-2015 12:12 PM

Deepstorm & Blackmire: Renegade Janitors
The streets of the enormous city are a cacophony of sound and confusion, so the noise of your arrival goes largely unnoticed. In quieter environs, the unholy chorus of damned souls screaming in agony would have made the skin of any nearby mortals crawl in fear and loathing. As it happens, your sudden materialization serves only to attract a few surprised stares.

You don't recognize the city, but you are fairly certain it is not the Subspace Ship you were aiming for. Through the din of traffic and machinery you detect a sigh of unsurprised disappointment from your comrade. To her credit she doesn't give voice to her exasperation and only shakes her head in resignation.

You notice with some pleasure that the morphic signature issued by the strange man in the strange room with the strange device for your assignment in the last world has dissipated and you have resumed your native form. Blackmire has likewise returned to normal.

Above you flying cars traverse unseen roadways in orderly lines. The buildings around you are towering walls of metal and glass, illuminated by gaudy advertisements and innumerable lighted windows. The ground you stand upon is filthy with scraps of paper, food waste and other less speakable substances.

The only life forms in sight are ragged, obviously homeless people and skittering vermin. You have trouble identifying the species of the various lowlifes, but they tend to have the same bipedal, bimodal design your accustomed to. Humanoid, you've heard it called, though your dwarven blood resents the term.

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