epidemiology | EVENT ★ THE USUAL SUSPECTS

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EVENT ★ THE USUAL SUSPECTS

THE BARRIER

As promised, Arthur has the means to unlock that first, crucial step to saving the ALASTAIR recruits: unveiling the runes maintaining the barrier. He has sequestered himself in a rented room in the inn down the road from the prison; he’s at a good enough distance to keep his concentration unbroken, but near enough that he can reach the runes in question. The recruits are told to be ready, to wait for his signal before they take action.

The signal comes just after the stroke of 5 on the town’s clocks, at what would be dawn in a world of less darkness. There’s a shimmer in the air around the brick building of the jail, like the surface of a bubble. Then suddenly the runes are there: glowing bright green, flaming into existence at various points along and within the barrier.

There are at least 30 of them along the outside. They’re etched on walls, scribed into doors, carved into the very ground. These have to be destroyed first to make any progress, in any way the recruits are able to. Once these all have been broken, erased, or scattered (and some of them are cleverly hidden or out of reach -- have you checked the topmost brick in the clock tower of the jailhouse?), the first defense of the barrier has fallen. Then the jailhouse itself can be rushed, but magic is still hampered until every rune is destroyed. From there the runes can be found every few feet in the walls, ceilings, and floors of the jail, and only once each one is broken will the spell be completely lifted, magic and abilities restored to the area, and the inmates considerably easier to break out.

The recruits aren’t the only ones that can see those runes, though. The jailers are quick to react, and some spring to the defense of the runes while others rush to sound the alarm, calling even more armed guards to the area. Even city guards start to show up in response to the alarm -- there’s definitely a time limit on this venture. Dispose of the runes, rescue your friends, and be out of the area quickly, or you might just be overrun with armed, angry opposition.

THE ESCAPE

By the time those in the cells are finally brought out, it’s pandemonium. The guards, jailers and city guards alike, might not have been able to stop ALASTAIR’s recruits from destroying the runes and bringing down the barrier, but they’re determined at least to stop dangerous criminals from escaping into the city. And these criminals were due to be hung, so they’re not looking to take anyone down peacefully. They’ll be going for the killing blows.

The best chance will be to rely on numbers and scatter. In ones and twos and threes, people should be taking to shadowy alleys, slipping around corners, even dropping down into the sewers, if they have to. Anything to thin out and disappear. The most capable and destructive fighters are asked to stay as long as they can, giving the bulk of the rest of the escapees time to disappear into that unending night.

THE COOLDOWN

Those that helped free their friends probably won’t run into too many problems in the following days, unless you run into a guard with a few injuries and a long memory. The ex-prisoners, though, are another story. They were in there long enough that the men and women who guarded them know most of their faces quite well, and since they’re out of prisoners to guard, what else do they have to do but take to the streets and search? Ex-prisoners should play it carefully, then, if they don’t want to end up right back where they started. Guards are more than happy to cause an immediate fracas should they spot anyone that belongs in jail.

That’s not to say you shouldn’t go out at all! Just, you know, take a disguise with you. As if anticipating the rising demand for them, all local merchant shops seem to be stocking up on scarves, shawls, and bulky clothing. Isn’t that nice? Most of them don’t really care what anyone did to end up in jail, they just want to share in on those ALASTAIR-paid wages.

If spotted, townsfolk have varied opinions of the escapees. Some are mistrustful and bitter, and will immediately alert guards upon realizing who they’re dealing with. Some of them really don’t care. They’re tired of the darkness, tired of the conflicts, they just want to get on with life. One old man in particular seems to inexplicably love all ALASTAIR recruits, the ex-prisoners in particular, and will insist on buying a drink and playing a game of chess with any of them he runs into. The goblins, of course, have pretty good opinions of anyone on the wrong side of the king, and will be your best bet for finding lodging and food. Some of them might even think of you as a hero, or at least a roguishly charming vigilante.

Spend your post-breakout time well, and try not to make any more enemies.

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'Undead'. [With a sharp kick, Ban shattered a few ribs on the next soldier and sent him bowling against his comrades. A neat little boot-print was left in the man's breastplate. The steam faded from Ban's throat, showing perfectly clean and spotless skin.

Even the blood that had stained his own armor had vanished, as if it didn't need to exist anymore.]

There ain't anythin' that can kill me. Speakin' a which...

[He paused briefly, looking back towards Lancer as he hunched himself over. Ban's knuckles popped as he focused on the crowd, weaving a powerful spell between his fingers.

More insightful than one would have expected, Ban came to a small understanding about Lancer fairly quickly. The man's personality wasn't easily read, but the sort of body he had was something he could decipher. It felt like the guy was a walking 'spell'. A mystery that was beyond even his complete understanding. Just like his captain, this guy looked like he was more at home on the battlefield.]

You remind me of somebody~.

[ A kick hard enough to cave in metal—yeah, guy's probably going to have plenty to worry about besides a few bruised ribs. Lancer seems unconcerned though (anyone getting into a brawl should be ready to take their share of lumps), still studying Ban's throat. With the blood all cleared out, there's no doubt about it: it really was stitched up, start to finish. That much is a mystery, though the prana in the air isn't (Ban isn't wrong, and being a veritable magical fountain means this street runs both ways—it's easy to spot the 'mage' in a crowd).

What an odd guy. ]

That's a compliment, right?

[ A nod to his dazzling charm, no doubt. His tone's sardonic, but still perfectly casual, spear kept close to his side in case anyone steps up. (Which they don't, not immediately—the entire crowd of guards finally seems to be wising up, hesitating in the face of a couple monsters.) ]

Well-- You're a foot taller n' him, so you've got the good traits, I'd say~.

[Of course, Ban didn't just feel the strategic positioning of the soldiers had been wasted. He saw doubt in their eyes, even through their visors. Advancing would cost them numbers unless they made use of medium and long range weapons.

Well, even then, they didn't stand a chance. Knowing that, Ban pointed his hand towards a number of the soldiers, the air shifting just a bit. His 'spell' was simple enough. Physical Hunt was a part of Ban's magic--the ability to drain one's enemies of their physical prowess and bring it into his own body to add upon his own.

The effects were immediate. Ban tugged the air with his fingers, sucking up the soldiers' strength and stamina as if he was cutting off their oxygen. Men and women collapsed one by one--falling with a suddenness resembling a curse.]

Buuuut, these punks're boring, riiiight~? How about you and I have a match instead, Lancer?

[ He's familiar with curses. Intimately.

And yet Lancer's body language is still lax, almost draping his weight on his lance as he considers. But his expression is less carefree, turned flinty as he studies the crowd around them, folding like paper as their strength wanes out into the charged air. His own resistances should prevent being dealt a similar blow, but when Lancer's eyes land back on Ban, they're sharp. Lingering for just a half-second too long, pupils narrowed to slits—

And he suddenly he sighs, laughing. It's airy and soundless and altogether regretful. ]

A tempting offer, but I've gotta decline—I told someone I'd see this job through, you see. [ That comes before his personal bloodlust. But it doesn't mean it erases it. He lifts his spear, taking down one of the still-standing soldiers with a lazy slice as he raises the tip to point to Ban. ]

How's this... we hold this pass a little longer, and as soon as I'm back up to snuff, I give you a real fight?

Ah? [For a moment, a dubious expression took hold of Ban. Despite himself, he wasn't a stone wall when it came to reactions. Ban was capable of doing things other than smirking like a madman.

It came from a simple realization--that Lancer's power didn't seem to decrease, but rather--it felt softer at the edges. He didn't understand the reasoning, but the guy didn't sound dishonest. He really was eager to have a match.

Ban propped one hand on his hip as the passageway fell silent, barring his and Lancer's voices.]

You kiddin'? I thought an injury like that wouldn't be an issue for ya'.

[ Controlled madness. How familiar. For how tense the atmosphere should be, conflict growing quiet around them and challenge in the air, Lancer still seems at ease. Ban doesn't scare him—which isn't meant as an insult, really. If anything, the honest intent to fight a good brawl... it's refreshing enough to put him at ease.

If only there'd been more people like that in the War. Alas. ]

Mm, I'm not talking about this. [ He rolls his shoulder to demonstrate, and despite the bloodslick it doesn't seem to hinder him much. ] I don't have to be in peak condition to fight, anyway.

[ He wouldn't be much of a warrior if he was afraid of taking someone on at a disadvantage. The narrow alley, the injury, the lack of a proper Master—he'd still fight through it, no questions asked. But... this time, he smiles a little more broadly. No tricks, no talking out his ass to save his hide. ]

But you seem like the kind of guy who'd want better. Am I wrong?

[For the first time in awhile, Ban was left with his own sense of confusion. Even an immortal such as himself faltered in the face of a grave injury. It was natural for one's body to give out, even if their tolerance for pain was that high. As if it was nothing, Lancer moved around freely.

Even beyond that, what Lancer said was disconcerting for reasons entirely unspoken at that moment. It was the withering suspicion that made him ask that question--one he wouldn't have posed if not for the fact that Lancer was showing a great number of interesting abnormalities.

It was true to him that irregular people like that were few and far between and missing opportunities to test them out would be way more than just wasteful. For once, Ban took on a bit of a serious tone.]

Does it have to do with your abnormal power? It's like you're still strong, but it could be depleted at any second.

[ Oh, so he could tell. Maybe this guy's sense of magic was more honed than he'd anticipated. ]

You're sharper than you look.

[ That does carry an edge to it; it's not bad enough to be snide, especially since he's used to people understanding the innate weaknesses of his kind, but most of them were at least a bit guarded about their weaknesses. Even Lancer doesn't go around blabbing his true name off to everyone he meets, and for good reason.

—Ah well. Secret's out. ]

I'm a spirit. [ That much is easy to explain. And the next still isn't said with any real bitterness. Just fact: ] I'll let you guess what happens to my kind once we're out of magic... though it sounds like you've got it figured out.

[Of course, Ban didn't have much of an invested knowledge of the finer details of magic. If he were more familiar with Lancer's brand of magic, he'd know what he geared himself to do next would have been considered a heresy.

Opening his free hand, Ban used 'Snatch' to grab a canteen from across the battlefield, right out of a soldier's bag. Ban unscrewed the top, sniffing the contents. He lifted a brow, expecting water. There was definitely grain alcohol in there, instead. Somebody clearly liked to party on the day shift.

Then, without hesitation, Ban took off his gauntlet and exposed his bare hand. He stuck his right thumb into his palm, drops of blood dripping down from it. Squeezing his hand tightly into a fist, Ban watched the droplets of blood fall into the canteen's opening, before he screwed the top back on and threw it Lancer's way.]

...

[He didn't say a word. While Ban didn't know all that much about magic aside from his own, he knew that blood carried a great deal of magical power--especially his own. As his entire body, from head to toe, was actually considered 'The Fountain of Youth', he was a near infinite source of that power.]

[ It's not exactly the response he was expecting: on one hand, Ban probably could've rushed at him, like the truth Lancer'd offered was an opening to kill him. He could've run, or goaded him, or simply edged away from a man who was more ghost (wraith, undead, whatever ugly word of choice—) than human.

But instead, he does this.

Lancer snatches the canteen out of the air with his eyes still held steady on Ban. And despite his almost perpetual, laidback attitude, there's something heavy in the air now. A sort of focused steeliness to the way he stares, like a cat might watch a bird.

Eventually he cants his head, earrings dangling. His fingers rest on the cap lightly, not quite twisting it free yet. ]

Why?

[ Nothing accusing—it would do a disservice to his own honor to accuse a warrior of a dirty trick like poison. And he won't bother asking if Ban understands what it is he's given him. It's obvious he already knows that much.

So, that's all that's left. Why. ]

[Why, indeed? Ban was far from the most honorable warrior. He took openings when offered and killed without hesitation. Denying enemies honorable deaths through ambush and trickery wasn't at all beneath him. Still, it wasn't a matter of winning or losing, with him. Becoming obsessed with arm-wrestling Meliodas hundreds of times just for fun and exchanging games in which they slapped each other across the city was just fun for him.

He didn't know that guy at all, but he had seen all he needed to. Countless times reading peoples' expressions before they made decisions, rushed into battle and even in the heat of the worst moments imaginable taught him the value of a person's expression.

Right away, Lancer made a good impression on Ban just through honesty. Knights were usually more guarded than that. They erected better defenses to caution against tricksters.]

My Captain's the sorta guy who wouldn't happily fight anybody if they weren't at their strongest--and, he was the best guy I think I'll have ever met~. He's got an honest face like yours.

[His expression twisted into a grin, shoulders lifting to shrug.]

Me, I'd rather cheat during the fight than before it~.

[ Ban doesn't seem a common trickster, and Lancer isn't much for a standard knight. His oath wasn't about order and mild-mannered chivalry, fearful of wiles that could slip through his honored code like a knife. If someone went the low road against him, he would crush them. Trample, hurt, and rise above it.

Simple as that. There's no reason to put on airs.

—Plus, this guy seems 'honest' and genuine in his own, odd way. It's Lancer's turn to shrug, shaking his head with a huff. ]

I don't know if I can live up to someone like that, but... [ Nothing shy or modest, his head still held high. It's just a compliment to this 'Captain' of his. Regardless— ] thanks, I owe you one.

[ Lancer finally knocks his head back and takes a pull from the canteen. The blood would be hard to catch for most anyone, drowned out in some of the most putrid liquor he's had in a while. But the magic in it's more potent than the alcohol. A glass of water to a man dying of thirst, all wrapped up in.... Everclear..

He still makes a face, nose wrinkling even as he feels his strength seeping back through his limbs. ]

Ahhhh, geez—that's awful.

Welllll, they ain't gettin' a good cut of gold, right? Figures the liquor they get would be just as baaaad~.

[Ban reached over with one foot to nudge one of the unconscious soldiers. Once Lancer had power returning to his body, he would probably notice a second effect--that Ban's blood did quite a bit to heal the body in a short amount of time.]

Owe me...?

[It earned a strange look from Ban, who was focusing on the soldiers once more. How long had it been since he stole away their power?

Adding onto that, Ban began walking along the pathway, looking over towards one of the walls that had been damaged in the fighting--hopping up along it to look over the rest of the battle.]

I don't do trades. This is an investment. [With the hope that, sometime, they'd have a better chance to have a proper match. As their circumstances stood, Ban was more confident that a few people were going to die that he didn't want to die if he kept to himself and Lancer.]

[ Lancer touches a hand lightly to his wound, feeling the skin start to stretch back over the gash by its edges. He spares a moment to thumb the cut gingerly, eyes hooded, but when he glances back up it's already behind him.

(He'll save the rest of the drink for a rainy day.) ]

Hah. Spoken like a true businessman. [ With the prana comes a faintly teasing note. ] I'll try to make the payoff worth it.

[ That much he can swear on. But for now he flips his spear around, bending lightly at his knees to bound up onto a nearby roof. He walks along the pointed edge in long, balanced strides as he heads off to survey the opposite block. The tone and timbre of his voice is casual, like they hadn't just met and nearly come to blows a moment ago—maybe because of that. Maybe because of the blood.

—Or it could just be his nature. Either way, ]

Let's work on cleaning up here, Ban. But you can call on me whenever.

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EVENT ★ THE USUAL SUSPECTS

choo choo here comes the dead guy train

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