735/TSW: Let Me In

TSW: Let Me In
Date of Scene:	04 October 2014
Location:	The Secret World <TSW>
Synopsis:	Inga brings Harry to Kingsmouth, where they meet Faruja and co. and Riva and Wuyin. Upon investigating a mysterious black substance, Harry becomes infected!
Cast of Characters:	152, 206, Riva Banari, Wuyin Tsai, Inga

---

Inga has posed:
Kingsmouth. Her mission and her bane. This is where she'd first made her entrance into the multiverse. What an introduction. Here, the smell of honey is thick. The sound of buzzing fills thet air as it would in a garden on a summer day, except that as they pass out of the Agartha entrance it is clearly autumn. It is cold, darkness permeating. A fog hangs over the sky. The difference in light between day and night is negligable. It /seems/ to be daytime, but it is impossible to tell the location of the distant sun.

Inga runs her fingers over the prow of the longboat as they walk past it, shaking her head softly. "Welcome to Kingsmouth...what did you think of Agartha?" she asks with a smile. Inga certainly never thought she'd see Yggdrasil like that. "We'll likely hit some resistance before we reach the fire station, but I have a few things prepared that should help us," she says, reaching for the long knife at her belt. She unsheaths it and without hesitation, presses it to her finger until blood is drawn. She reaches up with the bloodied finger and quickly draws a stave on her forehead before reaching toward Dresden to do the same.

Welcome also to Inga's blood magic.

"It will draw the eye away from you. As long as we stay away from the undead and the draug they should not see us unless we get right next to them--at which point they will smell us. I have to work on that," she comments. "This way," she gestures, then leads the way.

A little while later, the firestation comes into view. It is a fairly unremarkable building except for the ward that surrounds it. A bone fence, carefully crafted and powered. A masterpiece of magic, empowered with runes, Inga's own anima and the inherent magical energy of the bones of the people who died in this place, their spirits acting to protect others from the forces that killed them. "There it is," she says, motioning ahead.

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    Harry Dresden really wants to light this place on fire, forever. There's an urge and inkling bubbling away in the back of his mind at just how WRONG all of this is. How awful the landscape feels, the much the murk the clouds and the FOG. Also the Zombies. Fire. That would be a good answer.

    He's good though, as they traverse the back country of the Island, watching Zombies ignore them as they reach the station, and its wards and bone fence. The Wizard's staff clicks against the concrete of the parking lot, before he finally lets out a sigh of relief. "Hells bells this is awful."

Faruja (152) has posed:
Speaking of fire, the two might find their path dramatically less full of the local undead. How convenient that there's a fire station nearby, because if the trio of figures standing about were any more inclined to burning things there might actually be a need.

The robed and golden armored figure of Faruja Senra stands over the flailing corpse of what's likely the twentieth undead laid about in flames. Clawed and armored toes rip out it's throat before kicking it away, and a final blast from his Seraphic Flamethrower sets it alight. Behind him, a woman only about two inches taller, thin, and sporting both glasses and similar robes to the rat laughs in pure bliss as fire bursts from her hands, immolating some of the last remaining undead. The third figure is a tall bunny-eared, chocolate skinned woman wielding a shotgun with frightening precision and a cheery smile as she blasts the final undead to burning bits with what are likely incendiary rounds.

The robed woman looks about, and then sighs. "Ohhhh, and I was hoping for more! It has been too long since a proper Purge! Truly, we should set this entire, filthy, corrupt world aflame Senra! Surely the people here are all Heretics fit for the pyre!" Spits the woman.

Faruja and Berri share a sigh.

"There art faithful and true yet amongst them, Inquisitor Caecillia. Wheat from the chaffe first, mine dear."

The mousey-looking woman hmph's in irritation. "...Fine. Then I'm leaving. That little Cult leader is still flailing about, and I have a new technique to try on the little Heretic." With a blue flash, she's gone.

Cue a familiar voice, and Faruja raises an arm against the smoke and smell of burning bodies.

"...Hail, travellers! Ser Dresden!? Fancy meeting ye out here! Lord's blessings to thee! Come, come! Let us exchange companions amidst the scent of God's will done!"

Inga has posed:
There are certainly days that Inga feels the same about Kingsmouth. Is it any wonder Inga usually sleeps at Dun Realtai? Kingsmouth is an awful place, but it wasn't always. There are still people here, people alive and trying to hold out. People who can't just come through Agartha, and for some reason, it seems ordinary people (like the army, etc.) can't or won't come in.

Inga looks to Dresden, hoping he means the place and not her bone fence. She's rather proud of that fence! Yes, she'll assume he means the place in general. "Yes...yes it is," she agrees. "This is what we have to try to fix..." Inga trails off. She thought she'd smelled smoke on the air, but figured it was only the old woman's fire on the wind. What she sees before her causes her eyes to go round as teacups. There are several people setting fire to the undead. Spectacularly. One of them is raving about purging the heretics.

Inga feels a spike of fear, followed rapidly by anger. Her hand moves to the knife at her belt, her eyes narrowed dangerously. The woman disappears suddenly, another shock, but Inga has at least seen Staren do this. The voice that hails them is vaguely familiar to her. Yes, the rat-man. Faruja. He /claimed/ not to be a Christian but she still has very serious doubts and a sneaking suspicion he would happily burn her at the stake.

Still, he is friends with some of those she knows. She doesn't make any hostile movements besides the hand on her knife. She strung tight, wary.

Inga encourages the burning of the undead, but the Inquisitor's words struck a chord with her, a ferocity lighting in her eyes. She doesn't even really know the people left here, but she'd protect them.

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    Another hand on Inga's shoulder as he senses her prickle, and the wizard murmurs. "Hold steady, Inga... I know this one."

    The wizard waves his staff a bit, and calls out. "Ahoy, Padre. You might want to calm it down a bit over there, you're scaring the locals. Well... the ones that are still local... ish." Another squeeze at Inga's shoulder, before he subtly puts himself forward, scratching at his beard. "Not that I disapprove of the methods, just... the enthusiasim."

Wuyin Tsai has posed:
Someone is coming up the road from the shore. He isn't shambling, which is immediately a point in his favor.

Wuyin is a mess. His jeans are soaked up to the knee, and the sleeves of his button-up shirt -- plaid, ill-fitting and clearly second-hand -- are stained dark with what must be blood and fluids. It's missing a couple buttons up the front, and there are a pair of long cuts along the chest that are similarly stained. The 3D glasses are, of course, ever-present.

He's carrying two oddities: a bloody hatchet, and a burlap sack with a stain that matches that on his arms. It appears to have something inside of it. He's walking at a steady pace, going up the sidewalk until he reaches the curb next to the bone fence. He stops, looking at the group.

"Don't burn the ones on the southern strand near where you find them," Wuyin says. "Friendly advice."

Faruja (152) has posed:
"Oh /COME/ now, Ser Dresden! Couldst ye really expect a proper Inquisitor, be they of subtle mind or more...open with their passions to truly leave aught but dust in the wake of the great plague before us? Why..." BLAM! One of the downed, burning undead is reduced to pulp by the bunny woman. Faruja looks at his armored, now quite messy feet then back to Strawberry.

The bunny woman pouts. "It was still twitching!"

Faruja rolls his eye.

"...Right. Gentle with the locals. Why...ahhh, I know that face! I believe we met once, M'Lady. Ser Dresden, dear Lady, I assure thee we hath come for naught more than the undead. /However/, I admit, with mine good compatriot quitting us and ammunition and aman alike low, mayhaps ye two wouldst be so kind as to offer us a bit of rest? I gather the undead hardly care how pious one may be." Both hands open to the burning bodies, as if he's quite proud of the combined work.

"Besides, I hath been meaning to call upon ye Ser Dresden. I hath a small consulting matter that mine dear Acolyte Strawberry here..."

The bunny woman giggles /far/ too cheerily, and waves while bouncing on her toes merrily.

"Hath need of. Lest she blow another hole in mine office's wall. /Again/."

The bunny pouts.

Faruja sighs. "Peace, Lady...Inga, if I recall? Ye hath it before the Holy Prophet that I shan't harm thee, or any local not connected with.../this/." A hand waved towards the undead bodies.

Then, enter Wuyin. Strawberry gives another enthusiastic wave. "Hiiii, good traveller! God's blessings, may He watch after you!"

Faruja smiles. "Truly? Ye seem most righteously accounting for thineself! Mine thanks for the advice! Art there more effective elements? Or merely cold steel to be used? Inquisitor Faruja Senra of the Most Holy Church of Saint Ajora Glabados, and mine Acolyte, Strawberry of the Viera." Introductions all around.

Riva Banari has posed:
"I don't give a god good damn what you people do to the undead here out in the zombie-infested hellhole that Kingsmouth has become." Stepping out of the second floor of the Fire Department is Riva, laconic in her swaying step as she leans over onto the stair railing and looking down at the assembled. "But remember. This world doesn't know anything about magic, and they haven't had Inquisitors since the Middle Ages. So have fun, go blow up corpses all day, but no collateral damage unless it's necessary, and look at the map up here to keep an eye on where the locals are bunkered up. Don't expect them to react well to non-humans here. We don't have any of those here either."

Riva vaults off the edge and hits the ground in a crouch, walking over to join the others. "Nice to see you all. We've got a nice party going, now." She seems to relax a bit and smile. "I'm glad you're all here. The sooner we can find the source of this and put an end to it, the better it'll be in my book." She looks over to Faruja. "They're not particualrly resiliant or susceptible to anything that I can tell. Holy power, fire, lasers, missiles, plasma, guns, swords, whatever. It all kills them the same. The bigger ones, however, take more effort. Even your friend Strawberry there might need to stay quick on her feet to not get clobbered by a Draugr Warleader."

Rive just holds up a hand. "But let me summarize my guidelines. One: Kill all sons of bitches. Two: Don't spook the locals. They've got it hard enough. Past that, it's more or less open season on the undead and horrors crawling out of everywhere around here."

Inga has posed:
Inga bristles. "I am /not/ scared," she says quietly, but the hand on her shoulder steadies her. She looks up toward Dresden, nodding. "Yes, I have met him as well," she comments before turning her full attention back to Faruja. Her? Local? That's really stretching it.

Inga leans on her staff and moves forward as well, not about to look like she's cowering. Inga bows her head in greeting to Faruja. "Sir Faruja," she greets, remembering him well. She glances at the...bunny woman!? Nodding to her as well after a moment's hesitation causes by her surprise. Is there no end to people crossed with cute fuzzy animals!?

As she watches the woman bounce and Faruja briefly explains the situation, Inga wonders who she dislikes more--zealots or perky zealots. Perky zealots named /Strawberry/.

"Yes, you should come within the bone fence. It is safe inside," she assures Faruja and company, before turning as she senses Wuyin approaching. "Wuyin, you look terrible," she comments, frowning as she turns toward him. He's alive however and nothing is attacking him--which essentially means he'll be fine. She wrinkles her nose a bit as his approach. "Clean clothes for you," she informs him.

Inga glances up to Harry again and shrugs her shoulders before leading them in through the bone fence, briefly checking a few of her runes, empowering them with a burst of anima before she moves inside, at which point Riva joins them! Inga smiles warmly to Riva. "Hail shield-maiden," she greets, her tone friendly; it's a nick name now as well as a title.

Inga waves a hand to confirm Riva's rules. "Tch, indeed. We welcome any help with these creatures. You kill them, but more come out of the fog every day," she sighs.

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    Harry sighs a bit, and waves up at Riva. "Inga told me she was coming back here, so, I figured I'd tag along. Hey." A grin, before he looks over at the beat up man in the 3D specs, and... and shakes his head. "Jeez man, you look like crap. You need anything?" He ducks under the bone fence, before lookin around for first aid or something similar. "No sense in getting an infection, even if people are stupid resiliant around here."

    Faruja gets a LOOK, and a sigh. "Consulting now? Who told you I was back in that business? I mean... not that I mind, it's just... funny, you know? Getting so much attention on that lately."

Wuyin Tsai has posed:
"Which god?" Wuyin asks, apparently offhand.

He looks down at himself for a second. When he looks back up, he does it over the tops of the 3D glasses and shrugs some. "Most of it isn't mine," he explains. He tilts his head a little towards Faruja, and then nods at Riva instead. "What she said. They are not especially vulnerable to anything; the ones on the strand, however, burn blue, just like their ritual fires." He drops the bag next to the fence. It squishes a little.

Wuyin joins them within the bounds of the barricade. "My name is Wuyin. You may call me Wu if you prefer." He smiles a little in Inga's direction, undoing the remaining buttons and pulling the button-down off. He's got a black tee underneath. He swings it around his hand, letting it ball up, and then tosses it onto one of the burning heaps of zombie. It tinges an eerie blue for just a moment. "I didn't want to ruin my own clothes doing something messy."

"I could use a drink," he asides to Dresden, "and maybe a seat." Wu starts towards the exterior stairs to the second floor. "Please listen to the Templar on the matter of subtlety -- at least, in this /particular/ regard. Most of our world is simply not ready to know what it is we must hide from their eyes."

Faruja (152) has posed:
Faruja scowls, though not a murderous one thankfully. No, Faruja is giving a Templar the 'upset Priest' look. "WATCH THINE BLOODY LANGUAGE TEMPLAR BENARI LEST YE FIND THINESELF IN ONE OF IVALICE'S SOUP KITCHENS FOR A WEEK!"

He coughs. The look passes, and finally the usual look of respect returns.

"...However, 'tis hardly mine intention to go Witch hunting here. Hardly diplomatic. Inquisitor Caecillia on the other hand?"

Faruja shrugs. "Enough problems in Ivalice to distract her before she goes and causes me /more/ bloody paperwork. Lord's blessings, Most Righteous and Holy Temple Knight."

Smile! "I shall be the /picture/ of restraint. Nay, methinks the people here art in need of kind words and succor. Faram is /loving/, even if we must at times be his blade! Doth not equate us with that pack of incompetents from the various 'Earth's!" Faruja hmph's while swaying his tail in irritation. Seems he holds his own Inquisition above various other world's quite strongly.

Still, the rat nods. "I assure ye, I hath nay intention of seeing any of mine Acolytes dead by these abominations Dame Banari. Friends and family they art. Mine thanks, my dear! I shall take these guidelines to heart."

Inga gets a crossing of the chest...whether against her, or for her benefit might be up to debate. Strawberry hums a jaunty tune as she reloads her shotgun as the pair join those heading towards the Fire station. Every now and then, the vieran woman sees fit to finish off a twitching undead.

Faruja raises a brow as they finally pass, and Inga's magic takes effect.

"Mmm? Art these thine work, M'Lady Inga? Not mine forte, but...wards against the undead? /Curious/." States the rat vaguely, and he can't help but peer at Inga with renewed interest. And wariness at the same time.

"I thank thee for thine hospitality." At least he's polite, unlike his companion that left.

As for Harry? The Wizard gets a smile. "Ye art a master of the arcane, and from what I hath researched, one willing to risk ridicule in a world ignorant to the ways of thine craft. Surely sharing and cultivating such a Divine craft as magery from another world wouldst be most curious to thee? And of course, the Church rewards those whom assist us most generously, even in these times of war. Well? Care to hear me out when we art all safe?" Another winning, bright smile. He might have picked it up from the bunny woman. As for attention?

"Ye hath something of a reputation as a wise and skilled man, Ser Dresden. 'Tis any wonder now that the Multiverse brushes at thine doorstep?"

"The ALMIGHTY good Ser! HE is known by many names! Faram! Allah! Yahweh! /God/! The single source of all that is, and shall ever be, excepting these twisted, fallen mockeries that spring forth from mortal Sin and the arrogance of the Fallen!" Comes Faruja to Wuyin.

"Well met, Ser Wuyin! Ye all hath /naught/ to worry about." What could possibly go wrong, with a bunch of medieval, magical zealots i a place full of the undead.

Faruja speaks to the group as a whole. "If this fog seems to be their entrypoint, methinks it likely there is some root cause. Knowing how loving the Multiverse is of throwing seemingly insurmountable problems about? Well. We must find the proverbial snake's head to cut free lest this curse spring eternal?" He glances at INga and Riva in particular here, as they seem to be locals.

Wuyin gets a nod. "Tea, for mineself and Acolyte Strawberry. Or wine, if ye possess such luxuries and 'tis nay intrusion."

Riva Banari has posed:
"Hello, wisewoman Inga." Riva replies to her in amusement. It's become something of a game indeed. Riva waves to Harry. "Glad you could make it. After ficing that thing in Chicago, you'll probably be /really/ familiar some of the fun stuff over here."

The Templaress does manage to look contrite at Faruja's admonishment, however, and she bows, replying. "Please forgive mine coarse tongue, Milord. I will discipline it forthwith." She straightens, having a slight smile on her face. "Though let's get upstairs and continue this." She helps usher everyone upstairs, where there's a modern kitchen in the first room, and a mostly clean living room-style area in the other. You can hardly tell the place was full of zombie firefighters a while ago. Riva flops down on the clouch and gestures to a wall that has some things pinned and scribbled on it. "So that's our current information for this area. we haven't even /started/ on the rest of the island, just the local area. There are locations marked with where the locals tend to hang out."

"The fog, huh." Riva asks. "Well, maybe there's some way to find out what's up with it, but God knows how we could do that. No one, and I mean /no one/ who's gone in there has come out."

Inga has posed:
Inga looks to Dresden. "Don't worry, I will take care of Wuyin," she assures him. "He probably doesn't even need it," she adds with a small smile to Wuyin, she promptly throws off his outer shirt and tosses it onto a flaming pile of corpses like its something he does every day. Sadly, that might be true. "I know we think we do not get infected, but I will take a look regardless," she says, then motions for him to go upstairs. "Yes, why don't we go inside where we can sit down. We have provisions upstairs," she comments. Great, steps after a long walk. Just what she wanted!

Inga glances to the bag Wuyin plopped down, observing the squish. "Er...?" she inquires wordlessly to his back as he moves up to the second floor.

Inga turns back toward Faruja as soon as he says 'witch hunt', her back stiffening, her frown deepening. Tch, and he yelled at Riva! Faruja is not ingratiating himself on Inga very well today, that is for certain. The name Inquisitor Cecilia is filed away in her memory. To think, she hadn't even been given an opportunity to curse anyone yet! Inga may have found someone deserving.

Faruja perhaps is trying to make up for earlier behavior with his almost compliment on Inga's fence. She nods, answering in the affirmative, a note of pride in her voice. "Yes they are. They keep out hostile forces. I'm afraid the undead are only the beginning in this place," she informs him. "I am hoping to add a bit on offenses kick to them soon."

Then the rat templar appears to be trying to recruit Harry. A look of /pure horror/ passes over her features before she can school them back into something approaching nuetrality.

Inga turns and begins up the stairs, leaning heavily on the rail with one hand, her staff in the other.

Once she reaches the top, she begins to give Wuyin a quick examination. She may be a hair rougher than necessary while trying to tune out Faruja; 'Blah blah blah god, blah blah blah Christian stuff, blah blah burn the heathens, blah' is what she hears. "There is ale, tea, coffee...I brought the ale from Dun Realtai. It's excellent," she adds.

On the board with their notes are scrawled the visions she's had while here--many of which Riva and Wuyin have shared. Clues, if only they can interpret them.

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    Dresden sighs a bit as things keep happening around him that... he wants to stick his nose in but is resisting the urge, really he is. Wuyin is handled, and he waves in return. "Harry Dresden. Wizard. Wizard detective." He peeks curiously at the bag though, and grumps. "Samples, I suppose."

    He ignores Faruja for the moment though as he shuffles over to the bag, and pokes it open with the steel bits at the bottom of his staff.

Faruja (152) has posed:
Riva shows proper humility, and it's returned with a similar bow. Faruja reaches into his robes, and pulls out a small vial. Uncorking it, he splashes a tiny amount of it upon the hair of poor Riva.

"In the name of the Holy Prophet Saint Ajora, and the Holy Father, ye art forgiven My Child!"

If Faruja notices Inga's frown and reaction? He's not making any point of it. Strawberry, for her part, is all smiles towards Inga. Bunny ears bounce. Way too perky, this one.

"Send them all to the Abyss." Agrees the rat with Inga, perhaps some attempt to find common ground in their hatred of the unliving. Faruja can think of few religious creeds that like the creatures.

Inga gets at first a bow, then there's a feeling of magic as she struggles up the stairs seemingly. He casts a Float spell on her. She might feel lighter, if it takes, floating an inch above the ground. Who said he can't be nice?

Harry doesn't seem to give Viera or Nezumi any insult, though the good viera speaks up.

"BEEEEEEERRRRR! Beer, beer, beeeeeer! Please, Miss Inga!" Bounce bounce bounce! Like a child, this one.

Faruja (152) has posed:
Faruja, meanwhile, peers in to examine Riva's board. It might take him a bit, having one natural eye makes reading big bulletin boards somewhat difficult.

Wuyin Tsai has posed:
Riva getting admonished by a one-eyed rat is one of the funniest things Wuyin has yet to observe around here.

"Ah, Him," Wu replies, nodding slightly on his way up. "There is mounting evidence that Gaia is the source of our world, but then the question becomes, from whence did Gaia herself come? /They/ know," he asides, "but they aren't telling." He casts a glance back at Faruja as he opens the door. "We could hardly ask for better company in expunging evil from the land, though." There's a little smile in there.

Wuyin goes over and gets a bottle of water before anything else. He watches people come in and spread out. "I've heard of you," he remarks to Dresden. "Good things, aside from the property damage. You'd be right, though. I'm wondering if there's an extra element to the dead cultists that we can discern. Maybe the black liquid..." He frowns, suddenly troubled.

There's a sharp shake of his head. He lets Inga do her thing, clearing his throat slightly when she's a /little/ too rough. There's a rapidly-healing cut along his chest, but it's shallow. Nothing looks terribly amiss.

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    "Not my fault." That seems to be an immediate response to the words 'property damage'. Dresden snorts a bit, kneeling down and pulling out a vial and a quartz crystal and a... uh, it's an extendable fork. This gets poked into the goop, as Harry fishes around in it a bit. "Well, this is definately Black Stuff, 100 percent confirmed, case dismissed."
    Seriously though, he snorts and murmurs. "Where did this come from?"

Inga has posed:
Inga suddenly feels magic aimed in her direction, confusion filling her. Which only grows as she begins to /float/ up the stairs. The woman's eyes look ready to pop out of her head. She looks toward Faruja, knowing him to be the source of the magic. She swallows hard. "Ah...thank you Sir Faruja," she chokes out. That was unnerving. Helpful, but unnerving.

When Faruja begins absolving Riva of her sins right there, Inga feels like she's going to sick up her lunch. Calm Inga, stay calm, don't engage in a fight over Riva's soul...

Inga looks back to Wuyin, frowning. "From the gods of course. Gaia must be one of the guises of Freyja, surely," she replies. "The Buzzing are their messengers--like the spirit of volvas, they see the pattern of wyrd." Inga examines the wound on Wuyin's chest without flinching or looking uncomfortable. Apparently, when she's working she's not so easily ruffled by physical contact. "No infection," she confirms. The wound is already closing. She ceases manhandling him, looking vaguely sheepish. She shoots him an appologetic look before turning.

Back to Faruja and Strawberry, she blinks. "Ah...very well," she says, then moves to open the ale and pour a few cups. The cups are red and plastic. She hands them out before pouring one for herself. For a moment she grins at Harry's confirmation that it is Black Stuff. "Is the Black Stuff related to Things?" she asks glibly.

Then sobers once more, sighing as she eases herself into a seat. "The black stuff...you must be very careful with it. It infects--and it would seem there is a force behind it. It either is a being or can leave one open to the manipulations of a being. Staren can confirm this," she adds. "As for where it comes from, we do not know. Does it have to do with the fog? We've been through the immediate area a good bit, but this town has many hidden secrets, not all so easy to uncover," she explains, pointing to the board. "You will see here some of the visions we have had. What the Buzzing has told us. There is one that seems to suggest this...disease... was spread by the seagulls. But it's source? I don't know."

Faruja (152) has posed:
Inga's initial thanks get a nod. "Quite welcome, M'Lady."

Twitch. Faruja's brow wobbles at Wu's words. Inga adds fuel to the fire. Before any sermons explode? The viera hefts first shotgun across her back, and then much smaller Inquisitor across her shoulder like a sack of potatos. Cue much wiggling and writhing before the stronger Acolyte wins out, and he just slumps tiredly. Purging is hard work.

"I think a debate of world-origin stories wouldn't help morale here." Responds Strawberry in Faruja's stead, winking to the others and Inga in particular.

People around might hear Faruja muttering about heathens, though. The rat-man is then sat down beside Strawberry as she finds a decently comfy seat. Reaching over with easy familiarity, she starts rubbing one of Faruja's ears, and all that simmering agression falls away.

The Inquisitor manages to open one eye, even as Strawberry's free hand devours the offered ale. Faruja's not far behind, downing it with all the gusto of a well-acquainted drink lover.

"Hath anyone attempted...Faram preserve us...magical or technological means of seeing into either the Fog, or this so-called 'Black Stuff'? Well. If 'tis Ser Staren, I shouldst be surprise if he hath not already done so, or is in the process of such." There's a fond laugh from the rat.

Riva Banari has posed:
Riva's not entirely sure that her soul isn't in hock to bees at this point, let alone Christian or Nordic deities. "Staren has a sample, it's being researched back at the Union HQ." Riva says. "I'm sure it will be just fine."

Somewhere, someone pushes a marker along a Doom Counter. "So if we're going to review what's going on here, let's think about this. What started all of this? What happened to cause the fog and the zombies? Something like this can't happen out of nowhere."

Wuyin Tsai has posed:
The bag is full of severed zombie parts. Harry can extract goop from them, which is two parts burned flesh, two parts disgusting whaddayacallits, and one part Black Stuff. It is... not quite right. He might find it offensive to his wizard senses in the same way that a ruptured septic tank is to everyone else's. There's power there, though...

"Mm." Wuyin gives Inga a largely meaningless look when she says that, well, of /course/ the gods are behind it. It's his way of disengaging from this course of discussion. He doesn't mind jabbing the rat-zealot, but he kind of likes Inga, and she doesn't seem to have any problem stabbing people besides.

"I'm uncertain if the Fog has had any delving done to it -- visitors have been wise enough to heed our warnings, by and large. Staren has, I assume, looked into the 'Black Stuff' in a technological sense." He looks between the Unionites present. "Has he presented any findings to the Union yet? It's been a while."

Wu finds a chair and plants himself n it. "Good question," he murmurs. "The Lady Margaret is somehow connected, but I don't think any of us have gone to inspect the ship just yet."

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    Harry's face screws up a bit, and he growls at the Black Stuff. Like, actually growls when he sees it, a visceral reaction to something Wrong, Very Wrong. Then he retches a little, coughing. "Hells bells, it's like... something crawled the wrong way through the Nevernever and then took a trip thorugh Satan's asshole and... hnngf."
    He's still poking at the stuff with his fork. "Ugh. Staren might have been tempted to Look at this... but you'd have to pay me a lot of favors to peek at this thing with my Sight. No thanks, I'm getting enough right now."
    The wizard twirls his fork in the mess, trying to pluck up a glob of it to move to one of his vials.

Inga has posed:
Watching Faruja get tossed up like a sack of vegetables by a bunny woman does way more to make her feel better than it really should. Her lips thin as she tries not to laugh. Strawberry sets him down and starts rubbing his ears like he were a pet to soothe. This is both hilarious and more than a bit awkward to watch. Inga's cheeks color slightly. They must be involved, she concludes. At least they know how to drink ale.

"I know Blur at least has sent...I don't remember what he called them. Little familiars? Out into the fog. I do not think they came back. I have attempted to scry, sending my mind's eye outward, but there is a sort of psychic backlash that prevents me from seeing--it is quite painful," she assures.

Inga sips her ale again, turning her gaze to Riva. "Ah, good. I hope something comes of that," she replies. "Perhaps I should examine the stuff myself," she says, scooting toward Harry to watch him poke it with a fork. She sees him shudder, and nods. "Vile, isn't it? When Staren was infected with it, he apparently spoke with a...Man," she informs him. Could she be infected by Black Stuff? She hadn't been yet, and she'd been in contact with plenty of the nasties around Kingsmouth. Inga reaches out to help Harry take the sample. "I don't think I can be infected by it, and I know yu don't want to be."

To Wuyin, she nods. "That should perhaps be our next step. That is when it seems to have begun. Have you located the ship?" she asks.

Faruja (152) has posed:
Wuyin's question gets a shrug. "I hath not seen any such reports, however, I admit this land hath only recently caught mine attention amonst the many other issues within the Multiverse." Admits Faruja between beer swigging and getting ear-rubbed. The bunny and rat might appear like family right about now. It wouldn't be far off.

Strawberry speaks here,

"'Drones', Miss Inga, probably! Little flying machines?" Seems the bunny, unlike her compatriot, has a grasp on technology.

Faruja blanches a bit at Harry's description. But he can't find it in himself to protest.

His own senses have him feeling green enough to where he's chewing on some form of herb to not lose his lunch.

"Pretty horrible stuff then. No magic, no tech. Best to stay clear then. What's this ship? Some kinda cult, maybe, aboard and started this all? Or some crazy 'science-tist'? Lots of stupid Heretics out there in the Multiverse that like to doom worlds." Notes Strawberry.

Faruja gives several nods. Soon though, he's snoring against the viera.

Riva Banari has posed:
Riva looks concerned at Harry working with the samples, but she says nothing. She trusts Harry knows what he's doing.

She might be a little optimistically naive.

Riva squints at the ear rubbing thing and thinks for a moment. The opportunity comes when someone asks about the Lady Margaret. "Oh, yeah, Ainsley found it." She's watching Faruja as she says this. "It's out on the pier, apparently totally wrecked."

Wuyin Tsai has posed:
Harry can pretty easily get a sample into a container. It's a little bit oily, and kind of sticky, or... maybe mercurial? It's very difficult to categorize it. It's definitely liquid, though, and /mostly/ behaves like one.

"It would be helpful to know what it looks like in the eye of those with a more penetrating gaze," Wuyin observes, looking sidelong at Dresden, "but I will understand if you do not think you can stomach the experience." He reaches up and pulls off his glasses, folding them up and tucking them away.

"The Lady Margaret is a fishing trawler," Wuyin replies. "No cultists as far as I can tell. The harbormaster's manifest says that it came to port just before the Fog arrived. It's at the bottom of that hill," he says, nodding towards the water, "surrounded by Draug. It will take an effort to get there -- or someone with something more subtle than Inga's obfuscations."

Wuyin looks up and over at Inga. "Staren was infected? What did he see? Who did he speak with?"

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    ...Hells bells.
    Harry grumps and smiles at Inga as she helps him, before settling into a seated position on the floor of the fire department's parking lot, just outside the bone fence. No sense in doing this inside their safe zone if he messes something up.

    "Fine fine... just. Inga, knock me in the head if I start scaring you." A look at Wuyin, a glare, and he grumbles. "It'll cost you dinner. A nice dinner."

    He sighs, settles in... holds up the vial...

    And /looks/ at it.

Faruja (152) has posed:
Two ears perk. Faruja's head lifts. "My, my, my. Look at that, dear Acolyte. We hath a /job/. Quill me in, Berri." The grin he gives is pure pride at Ainsley's discovery. Thud! The rat's then sleeping, curled up against the viera. For her part, she chuckles.

"Let's see.../ahem/...'For the Glory of Faram, we shall delve into this mystery, and seek out the heads of the knaves and Heretics responsible'! Or something like that." She ruffles the sleeping Inquisitor.

But the cheerful bunny woman does look at Harry intensely. Quietly, she grabs her own cross, rare seriousness and a lot of concern on her features. A little shake of the head. Clearly, one Acolyte Strawberry thinks this is a horrible idea. Maybe she's paranoid.

Inga has posed:
Inga nods to Strawberry. "Yes, that's it," she confirms.

She's about to say something to Faruja when he complains about Heretics, but before she gets the chance, he appears to have fallen asleep! Well, if ever he's trying to burn her, hopefully she'll have access to his ears. "Well then," she says, and looks back to the others. "Ainsley has found it? Did she learn anything?" she asks.

Back to Wuyin, she raises a brow. "My charms are plenty subtle. I must figure out how to mask scent as well...alternatively, we can just go in with enough power to force our way in. Fire is apparently quite effective and I know at least two people in this room proficient with its application," she replies, glancing to Dresden then Faruja. "I have been learning a bit of this elemental magic myself," she adds.

As for Staren..."He spoke with someone named John. Had nightmares, then seemed to hallucinate. I caught just a glimpse of it last I saw him--think I said something that spooked him," she observes with a small frown.

Inga is quiet for a moment, thoughtful. "I can attempt to handle the black stuff and open myself--" but Harry is ahead of her. She frowns, obviously worried, though a brow lifts when he asks her to hit him over the head if her starts scaring her. Tch! All the same, she takes up her staff and follows, standing nearby.

She /supposes/ she can share the horrifying visions.

So there she stands, looking distinctly worried for him, but at the same time oddly ready to crack him over the head with a stick. Really though, she doesn't think she'll need it!

Wuyin Tsai has posed:
Wuyin folds his arms across his chest, frowning down at the ground. He looks deep in thought. "Hmm... that is..." He trails off. 'Troubling' does not begin to describe it, so he doesn't say it. He has a few immediate theories, but does not deign to share them with the class.

Dresden opens up his Sight. It isn't the sample he sees first.

It's the Fog.

The haze that has settled over the town writhes to his Sight. He isn't even looking directly at the obvious banks of it -- he's seeing the thin haze that filters down from above, and it looks to him like a thousand thousand tiny, smoky tendrils, all of them reaching out and creeping towards the Earth. He sees it caress the streets and the houses with a lover's touch, slow and gentle, leaving the ground it brushes against writhing in clear agony. Pillars of smoke seem to have descended from the skies, slow, pulsating towers falling from the eternal haze -- towers that are made of the same tendrils, twisted around one another and seeking.... /something/.

He would have to look closer to See what it was. This sight alone is unsettling, carrying with it a sense of pressure and growing depravity and the claustrophobic feeling of something /watching/. Does he risk looking up? Does he dare to turn his eyes to the clouded sky?

But this is not what he sought.

The sample -- the tiny little glob of blackness -- is growing. It spreads in his Sight, encrusting the vial and bursting into a mass of blackness like a pot of ink exploding underwater. The edges are ragged, splitting and growing, oily tentacles of clearly unnatural origin getting more and more expansive. It seems to /open/, the center splitting into a hundred eyes and a thousand mouths.
hsssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
He can see inside of it. Through it. Does it lead somewhere? It seems to. There's a blackness inside the blackness, an inner darkness that comes from somewhere outside. Flecks of light are scattered throughout, barely perceptible -- and the more he looks, the closer he looks, the more easily he can see it. Throughout it all, that pressure grows -- but it isn't just from the Fog. It's a second one, a stranger feeling. One sense grows to be... almost pleasant. Subtle. Lovely. A gentle caress and a lover's touch.
ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
The other wants your eyes.
ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
It starts like thumbs pressed against the temples, hands settled around the forehead, wrapped and squeezing. It grows, and the fingers prod at places it could not. It presses for his eyes, his ears, his mouth, an invisible /thing/ trying to intrude in a wholly vile fashion. It is a sound and sight at once; a feeling, a sensation, all these things and more. It tries to hold his third eye open, to flow into the invisible eye like a caustic drip. It is anathemic to the life and power he so commands, the things he has built his life around. It is not darkness, but it is /Else/, it is /Other/, it /Should Not Be/ and yet here it is.
letmein
It is about this time that Harry Dresden probably closes that eye and flees from his Sight. Any man who possessed of an ounce of sanity would.

Does he?

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    Dresden's mouth in the real world opens in a utterly captivated reaction, a rushing sigh of... of something.
    There's a problem for the Filth though. There's something cold deep inside of Dresden, that prickles and chills and crisps, that licks at the tendrils from the inside, that licks chilly kisses back at the Thoughts, and hisses deeply at the invasion. That little touch of purest cold at his heart. That thread. A brand.

            MAB

    Mentally though, Harry is struggling to cut off that Sight, pushing at the invasion, shoving psychically at it, and is unable to stop it entirely not as quickly as it came.

    And then there's a sucking breath of air in the real world, and Harry Dresden lets out a sobbing breath. He throws the vial as hard as he possibly can, whips out his blasting rod and screams, begs. "FUEGO!" A gout of flame shoots out at the Glob of Filth, and the Wizard shakes.

Inga has posed:
Inga comes very close to cracking him over the head with her staff, as instructed. She's not scared /of/ him, but she's certainly scared for him and fully prepared to give him a physical shock to knock him out of the trance state. It might work.

She's just about to swing her staff when he moves, throwing the vial and shouting his incantation to set it aflame.

She doesn't hit him.

Inga bends down to her knees and instead puts her hands on his shoulders gently. It seems like the right thing to do. She doesn't know how his Sight compares to hers, but a line back to the physical world always helps her come back. "Harry?"

Riva Banari has posed:
Riva watches the proceedings with keen interest.

And then she sees Harry get completely knocked on his ass. "Oh hell!" She says, leaping up and joining Inga in kneeling nect to Harry. "Hey Harry! Hey! You okay?" She asks, not really expecting him to be able to do complex things like 'form coherent sentences' or 'self-diagnose', but trying to establish some kind of contact regardless.

Look at it this way, Harry. At least you have two pretty ladies concerned for your health, right?

Wuyin Tsai has posed:
Wuyin, who is entirely responsible for egging Dresden on, is leaning on the rail at the top of the stairs. He doesn't intend to get any closer. He doesn't /appear/ to be laughing at him. Maybe he has empathy for his plight. More likely, it's just on the inside.

The sample of Filth is summarily annihilated. Magical fire works wonders sometimes.

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    Harry is shaking under Inga's touch, and quickly rips the crystal radio out of his ear, slapping it again the concrete and smashing at it with his staff. He sucks air through his teeth, cold, so cold inside, fingers gripping to the staff and rod like they were liferopes.

    "...no... I am not..."

Inga has posed:
Inga doesn't even take the time to think about it, because if she thinks about it she will start to quietly freak out inside.

So Inga just leans into him and wraps her arms around him from behind. Had he been infected? She's sure he didn't touch it, but a more detailed examination would likely be needed--later. "It is alright. You will be," she says quietly, just holding on and waiting for him to do something or relax.

Maybe this isn't working!? Maybe she should have hit him with the stick!?

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    He's still shaking, quite hard now, even as Inga hugs him. He's also chattering. "Stupid that was stupid that shit is from Outside, it's got to be, there's no way that's from here that's ffnnngg Wuyin you asshole that's more than dinner that fffff."

Riva Banari has posed:
Riva gets a pondering expression for a moment when she sees Inga hug Harry, but she sits down next to Harry, trying to be supportive. "Just relax. We're here for you, Harry, just take your time and sort through it."

Wuyin Tsai has posed:
Wuyin produces a blanket. It looks like the kind of warm, fuzzy blanket you might see given to people who are in shock. He lightly tosses it to Inga for Dresden's sake, but does not go down there.

"To be honest, I didn't expect you to actually do it," he replies. Wuyin thinks about it a minute.

"Would you like a comfort taco?"

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    "A taco isn't dinner asshole."
    Harry snorts though, and grumbles. "You just met me that's not how I roll. Stupid is as stupid does."

Inga has posed:
From Outside. Weren't they just talking about things like this earlier? Been quite a day, hasn't it. "Yes...that makes sense," she says to herself, not letting go until he stops shaking or tells her to. She has absolutely no idea why he smashed his radio.

Inga is not expecting the blanket, and is half afraid if she lets go he might go berserk or something--so, it just falls over her head.

"....." Inga throws her head back to shake it off her head then glares daggers up at Wuyin. Her eyes ask 'do you want to be cursed?' because he may be immortal, but that just means he can have nasty skin boils and perhaps speak everything backwards /forever/.

"You and your tacos," she grumbles.

"I almost did the very same thing," she tells Harry. "If it is stupid, than I suppose I am too."

She's still thinking about it!

Also Riva is giving her some kind of look! "We should go inside. We're outside the fence--you'll feel better once inside--the protective magics," she suggests, letting her arms slide down.