- Pronouns
- He/Him
- Location
- Via Laguna Quarter – Iron Jackal Base, Quayside
A small gathering of two dozen surly faced men milled about the dusty and cracked concrete of the cannery’s old quay. The cannery was defunct and had been for some thirty years now. It had become the domain of the Iron Jackals for some time now, legally purchased but officially unoccupied. It gave them ample space, cover for their operations, and access to the river. Once upon a time, a similar crowd may have been packing freshly canned goods for transport bound for larders up and down the countryside and beyond.
Today, the fare they packed would feed altogether more sinister hungers, though it could be argued that a 40mm grenade wasn’t too dissimilar from a can.
As the crowd of IJ foot soldiers loaded up the pair of three-meter-long electric motor pontoon boats, what appeared to be a trio of men stood around close behind a fourth, who held a device like a gaming controller attached to a tablet. Upon the screen was an aerial view of Lutetia from a great height. A careful and local eye would recognize the topside view as representing some point alongside the border of Luskonios and Via Laguna.
At a gesture from one of the onlookers—a scowling man with a head of curly dark short hair—the one-eyed drone operator tapped a short sequence of buttons, and a digital overlay providing a zoomed in view of a particular street in the VL grew to dominate the screen. Upon it, a large man was seen as he ran amidst two werewolves right down the center of the street, forcing what light traffic they encountered to yield way to the bizarre mini procession by threat of violence.
“They’re going down exactly the path you’d said, at about the speed you said,” the scowling curly haired man exclaimed. He didn’t sound particularly happy about it, his tone rather closer to a mixture of annoyed surprise.
Of the remaining two figures in the group around the drone view, one was a large and scarred mass of a man. Only marginally shorter than Ragenard, the head muscle of the IJs was as visually imposing a figure himself. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was an Iron Jackal, the question of which pack he belonged to wouldn’t be out of turn given the way the human deceptively wore the scars of just about every way a person could be harmed upon his person. How he survived the tapestry of gunshots, burns, and cuts without regeneration was a mystery. All in all, Serge was certainly what an observer would term as a “tough guy”.
The fact that he jumped a little bit when the fourth figure spoke should have lessened the scowl in the short curly haired man some, for if Serge flinched, then the fact that Regis kept his instinctual fear and revulsion better hidden should have been a point of pride in the ornery man’s ego-ruled cap…
But Ayman could see right through his heart to the wishes the Iron Jackal leader had foolish uttered, and it brought It a great delight to know that even divorced by distance as they were, Its voice through the ghoulish-avatar still invoked in the gathered gangsters the memory of their meeting with Ayman-Itself, kept them on edge every time It spoke or the hood on the creature’s head got pulled back.
Like now, the motion of Ayman’s puppetry moving the thing’s neck too far back, causing the garment to slip entirely off its head. The sun glinted on papery thin skin an off-white color throughout, except for where it was striated by cracked putrescent purple veins wherein the coagulated blood never got the chance to drain given the corpse’s violent end. Empty eye sockets provided a staring abyss as the ghoul’s lack of lips provided an eternally sardonic grin.
Its jaw was slightly ajar, and while it did not move, Ayman’s terrible voice emanated from its depth as if the accursed Djinn himself stood before them in the quasi-flesh. Its tone wasn’t quite dead or alive, and alongside an aura of magic power which lightly electrified the air and raised hairs, it projected an endless disdain and choking disregard that was shocking unto itself.
You don’t need to sound so shocked Regis. Of course, I’m better at thinking than you. The trail was precise, and the plan is on schedule.
There was a pause before Regis responded, and Ayman nearly laughed as It saw the man’s true emotions play out within his gaze. “Of course, Lord Ayman,” Regis said with a tight but measured tone. “I merely meant praise. My annoyance is at the fact we can’t crush the Guiscard mutt sooner.”
You will have your chance to, provided you heed my words. Did you consider my advice regarding your daughter's participation?
The slightly off-balanced scowl briefly vanished, replaced with a micro-expression of fury that was as non-threatening to Ayman as it was also impressive to the Djinn. Mankind’s delusions never ceased to bring It a small measure of surprise even as they endlessly amused; the unassuming leader’s posturing was so constant it was reflexive, but it was also honestly held.
“Y-Yes Lord Ayman, but it wouldn’t be just to rob Serge of first dibs. I will give her a chance as your wisdom commands on Serge’s call.”
Ayman’s avatar swung its death’s visage slowly until it faced the large man—who wisely opted for a resolute nod instead of speaking—and back upon Regis.
His funeral. That still plays to the delay, so have it your way. Just be sure your men on the Railyard follow my creature’s cue once I depart. Storm and thunder in a multi-pronged assault, not the usual hit-and-run bullshit you kids normally do. My other children are in place and waiting.
“We know how to carry out a hi—” Regis started, his tone affronted, before he nearly bit his tongue upon the interruption.
This isn’t a fucking movie, Regis. Succeed and Vargeras is yours today. Fail me, and you’ll still owe me a dead Bloodstone pack before our contract expires. I want results, not posturing, Ayman hissed through the avatar, the air thrumming with threat.
Regis’ mouth opened to reply, but the usually irate man noticed with a shudder as the endless abyss quality left the void of the ghoul’s eye sockets, replaced instead with a mere lack. He closed his mouth as the ghoul quietly walked off and got onto one of the boats.
The watercraft was untied from their moorings and kicked off from the quay laden with four men and a ghoul apiece, with one of them carrying the Avatar-ghoul in addition. Their wake grew in near silence as their electric motors kicked into high gear with a low whine.
Upon the drone’s view was now a different view of Via Laguna, with the approaching trio even closer to the cannery. The Iron Jackal Underboss, Lance, tapped a series of buttons on the drone’s controller, bringing into view an image of himself and his boss going through a mixture of both berating and pumping Serge up loudly behind him. Also pictured were three large black SUV style vehicles, upon which six surly men with shiny black long guns apiece mounted.
Their guns had no serial numbers, and where they had been lasered off, a small imprint of a ‘V’ superimposed upon an ‘M’ was visible instead. Each one seemed to have a barrel shorter than the movies depicted, with another smaller wider-bore barrel underneath the first. The rest of the 40mm cans not loaded upon the boats went split amongst them, and they got underway.
Today, the fare they packed would feed altogether more sinister hungers, though it could be argued that a 40mm grenade wasn’t too dissimilar from a can.
As the crowd of IJ foot soldiers loaded up the pair of three-meter-long electric motor pontoon boats, what appeared to be a trio of men stood around close behind a fourth, who held a device like a gaming controller attached to a tablet. Upon the screen was an aerial view of Lutetia from a great height. A careful and local eye would recognize the topside view as representing some point alongside the border of Luskonios and Via Laguna.
At a gesture from one of the onlookers—a scowling man with a head of curly dark short hair—the one-eyed drone operator tapped a short sequence of buttons, and a digital overlay providing a zoomed in view of a particular street in the VL grew to dominate the screen. Upon it, a large man was seen as he ran amidst two werewolves right down the center of the street, forcing what light traffic they encountered to yield way to the bizarre mini procession by threat of violence.
“They’re going down exactly the path you’d said, at about the speed you said,” the scowling curly haired man exclaimed. He didn’t sound particularly happy about it, his tone rather closer to a mixture of annoyed surprise.
Of the remaining two figures in the group around the drone view, one was a large and scarred mass of a man. Only marginally shorter than Ragenard, the head muscle of the IJs was as visually imposing a figure himself. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was an Iron Jackal, the question of which pack he belonged to wouldn’t be out of turn given the way the human deceptively wore the scars of just about every way a person could be harmed upon his person. How he survived the tapestry of gunshots, burns, and cuts without regeneration was a mystery. All in all, Serge was certainly what an observer would term as a “tough guy”.
The fact that he jumped a little bit when the fourth figure spoke should have lessened the scowl in the short curly haired man some, for if Serge flinched, then the fact that Regis kept his instinctual fear and revulsion better hidden should have been a point of pride in the ornery man’s ego-ruled cap…
But Ayman could see right through his heart to the wishes the Iron Jackal leader had foolish uttered, and it brought It a great delight to know that even divorced by distance as they were, Its voice through the ghoulish-avatar still invoked in the gathered gangsters the memory of their meeting with Ayman-Itself, kept them on edge every time It spoke or the hood on the creature’s head got pulled back.
Like now, the motion of Ayman’s puppetry moving the thing’s neck too far back, causing the garment to slip entirely off its head. The sun glinted on papery thin skin an off-white color throughout, except for where it was striated by cracked putrescent purple veins wherein the coagulated blood never got the chance to drain given the corpse’s violent end. Empty eye sockets provided a staring abyss as the ghoul’s lack of lips provided an eternally sardonic grin.
Its jaw was slightly ajar, and while it did not move, Ayman’s terrible voice emanated from its depth as if the accursed Djinn himself stood before them in the quasi-flesh. Its tone wasn’t quite dead or alive, and alongside an aura of magic power which lightly electrified the air and raised hairs, it projected an endless disdain and choking disregard that was shocking unto itself.
You don’t need to sound so shocked Regis. Of course, I’m better at thinking than you. The trail was precise, and the plan is on schedule.
There was a pause before Regis responded, and Ayman nearly laughed as It saw the man’s true emotions play out within his gaze. “Of course, Lord Ayman,” Regis said with a tight but measured tone. “I merely meant praise. My annoyance is at the fact we can’t crush the Guiscard mutt sooner.”
You will have your chance to, provided you heed my words. Did you consider my advice regarding your daughter's participation?
The slightly off-balanced scowl briefly vanished, replaced with a micro-expression of fury that was as non-threatening to Ayman as it was also impressive to the Djinn. Mankind’s delusions never ceased to bring It a small measure of surprise even as they endlessly amused; the unassuming leader’s posturing was so constant it was reflexive, but it was also honestly held.
“Y-Yes Lord Ayman, but it wouldn’t be just to rob Serge of first dibs. I will give her a chance as your wisdom commands on Serge’s call.”
Ayman’s avatar swung its death’s visage slowly until it faced the large man—who wisely opted for a resolute nod instead of speaking—and back upon Regis.
His funeral. That still plays to the delay, so have it your way. Just be sure your men on the Railyard follow my creature’s cue once I depart. Storm and thunder in a multi-pronged assault, not the usual hit-and-run bullshit you kids normally do. My other children are in place and waiting.
“We know how to carry out a hi—” Regis started, his tone affronted, before he nearly bit his tongue upon the interruption.
This isn’t a fucking movie, Regis. Succeed and Vargeras is yours today. Fail me, and you’ll still owe me a dead Bloodstone pack before our contract expires. I want results, not posturing, Ayman hissed through the avatar, the air thrumming with threat.
Regis’ mouth opened to reply, but the usually irate man noticed with a shudder as the endless abyss quality left the void of the ghoul’s eye sockets, replaced instead with a mere lack. He closed his mouth as the ghoul quietly walked off and got onto one of the boats.
The watercraft was untied from their moorings and kicked off from the quay laden with four men and a ghoul apiece, with one of them carrying the Avatar-ghoul in addition. Their wake grew in near silence as their electric motors kicked into high gear with a low whine.
Upon the drone’s view was now a different view of Via Laguna, with the approaching trio even closer to the cannery. The Iron Jackal Underboss, Lance, tapped a series of buttons on the drone’s controller, bringing into view an image of himself and his boss going through a mixture of both berating and pumping Serge up loudly behind him. Also pictured were three large black SUV style vehicles, upon which six surly men with shiny black long guns apiece mounted.
Their guns had no serial numbers, and where they had been lasered off, a small imprint of a ‘V’ superimposed upon an ‘M’ was visible instead. Each one seemed to have a barrel shorter than the movies depicted, with another smaller wider-bore barrel underneath the first. The rest of the 40mm cans not loaded upon the boats went split amongst them, and they got underway.
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