[Episode Three] Defile


Well-Known Member
Scrap Crew

"Really? Oh uh, I got it right here!" Tom unplugged the Steel Key from his monstrous grappling device, showing it to Reman from his perch. "I got it right here Reman! I'll, uh..."

Tom looked back into the distance, seeing the stained sand and the cable. There it is again; not the cable, but this instinct to risk and discover, and he can feel it. Where does the cable go? Did someone drag it out there to hide? Well, why would they hide? Are they still there? Only one way to find out!

Now how to get from here to there... Well he could slinky his way down; the Steel key's ability to bend metal is what allows this grappling hook to bend its steel cable, thus allowing the alchemist to curve his shots in order grapple areas he can't aim for. Although as Dahlia just pointed out, the cruiser is rather unsafe. He could shoot his grapple hook elsewhere, but there's nothing out there he can grapple to in order to get there. As far as Tom knew, he can't change the grapple hook's cable to be strong enough to pole vault over there; at most, it can slow his descents in, uh, drastic situations.

So somehow, Tom needed to make a anchor, and throw it over there in order to get there quickly- Tom stopped. He assessed his device, and then the distance. The edge of the plateau might be too far for the hook, anyway. There's only one way he could get over there so quickly without being so reliant on his grapple hook.

"Hey uh, change of plans, I see a dead body over there! It's in some purple sand. There's also that line all the way over there; looks like cable, and it's going over the edge of the plateau. I'm gonna try and get over there, there might be something valuable I can recover!"

Tom inserted the Blast Key in a bulky walkman-like device, one with wires that end in tubes that connect to the frame. Pulling a tube revealed it to be a laser etcher, whose laser glowed orange from the power of the key. He began etching a alchemy circle into the hot hull of the derelict crawler.
Trayl II
The Crawler

As they approached the crawler and investigated, Perry, too, would sniff the smell of fumes of the various chemicals that permeated the derelict vehicle. He plugged his nose, speaking funny as he said. "Looks like someone left the tank open. Super yucky."

He took a moment to find cleaner air away from the crawler, before moving his head back to look inside beside the others who he joined on their little expedition. He investigated the interior, wondering why something like this would be in such a state here.

In response to Rhea, a voice from Perry's waist spoke up. "The engine would most likely have to be looked at, firstly. And that's before inspecting the state of the crawler's method of propulsion. In fact, the captain may be right; the vehicle would most likely fall apart if no attention is given to what's holding it together."

Perry paid more attention to the structure of the crawler itself, nodding in agreement. "I agree. Honestly, you see those holes? How long has this thing been here? If we hadn't come onto the thing itself, I would've thought it would fall into the sand at the first touch."


Well-Known Member
Crawler of Sands
God I hate it already

Aradia was certainly more well-mannered than in previous expeditions, but that wasn't saying much as her general disposition was revealing. Apparently, she had a personal hatred of sand, sun, and (almost) all things warm - as the blindingly white robe she donned made apparent; What heat it couldn't reflect was swiftly expulsed through the advanced nano-wool layers meant to keep you cool and dry. Or at least, that's what the thing is supposed to do, and it didn't seem to be working here. Dammit.

"I'd almost consider looking at Bivona again. Almost. I see some sort of engine, I smell gas, that's a robody if I've ever seen one, how do you guys drive these things anyways? Maybe it's got navigational data for their last heading if we can give it a quick charge," the arcane expert lowered her hood as she joined the others inside the crawler, sipping from a water bottle. One of probably at least three. "Actually, do you have a black box, data store, whatever it's called? I've never flown a ship without one, they're supposed to actually record all the data going through the vehicle's computers." The little one started poking around the various shelves, keeping clear of the maybe-a-bouncer but looking for anything that seemed... .Intentionally easy to loosen. A panel with screws or latches, or a switch - wait, this thing's dead on power, switches wouldn't help. Whatever.


Active Member
Trayl II
Landing Site
Crawler Interior

At last joining the rest of the inspection crew in the large vehicle above the localized purple-tinted sands was Keith, the resident informant and archivist. Clad in his distinctive desert attire, complete with his hood up and scarf covering his face from the ruthless sunshine, the ex-sergeant's fingers traced alongside the interior walls and furniture of the abandoned crawler as he marched inward, revealing layers of rust that began painting his fingertips—but not gathering nearly as much dust as he had expected. "The units' reactivation was recent, then. Some of the grime has been cleaned, so I'd guess this thing has been stuck here for a week, give or take," he said, responding to Perry's question.

Upon first smelling the chemical fumes permeating the stale air inside the Oakland Heavy Wayfarer, Keith tightened his scarf's wrap around his face in an almost subconscious effort to protect his respiratory organs from the foul smell. "Whatever is leaking must be turning the sands purple as well... it's probably best to clog it up posthaste. Overseer, do you recognize the chemical traces?" he asked, turning his head to eye the crumbling not-bouncer machine head to toe. Being the only one of its kind left behind, maybe its peers were the ones who had briefly reclaimed the now-buried crawler.


Well-Known Member
Trayl II
The Casket
"Abandon all hope, all ye who enter"

The Fox's eyes trailed silently over the empty casing sitting before him, his hand following suit as he went quiet. The shape of the head - the average size. It was almost uncanny. The Overseer title. It didn't take a genius to deduce just what this case housed. He could swear his heart skipped a beat in anticipation alone - and this time, there were no cargo crates that he could feasibly drop upon a marauding Overseer unit.

"Guys, you may want to see this!" Deimos' entire body spun in on itself, twisting 180 to get a good look at the scenery around where the box lay. Any signs of footsteps or drag marks. If there were any signs that something like an OSC unit could have activated on its own volition. He clicked photo after photo, forwarding them to the other members of the Downrider Crew in a convenient CC mail format.

Of course, by now, the signature of an OSC unit was familiar on his personal databank - but perhaps a speeding Glaive would far surpass him even opening his mouth should he be an unlucky target. "Hell, we might even have a welcoming party on our hands."


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Staff member
Landing Site

Dahlia stayed relatively close to Rhea, not quite trusting in the apparently radioactive crystal stick that had been formed. Indeed it was a tetanus nightmare in here. As the group carefully tread about the decrepit Wayfarer, the captain lowered a sliding plastic visor from the hardhat's rim- any protection helped. She stopped in front of the torn Bouncer, taking quite the minute to see the resemblance to the models the group had encountered now weeks before. "...I feel there should be more than one here."

The Captains voice trailed off as she gazed up towards the ceiling, noticing a quite large hole in the vehicles roof above the rack. It was faint, but there were signs of water damage coming down the wall. Even the desert sees a rainy day every once in a while.

The functioning and at least partially-accepted Overseer took a silent watch at the entrance to the wayfarer, keeping the folds of their attire wrapped neatly under one wing to prevent further stains and tearing on the ruptured metal surfaces. "The chemicals are more than likely the battery and cooling systems. If any was left, I imagine they didn't fare well moving again."

OSC-01 shot a glance over at the environmentally-challenged pilot, taking a step into the Wayfarer. "If this model was produced following standard safety regulations, a emergency datapack should be located..." the Overseer spoke as she scanned the walls, looking for a certain hatch. "There."

The Overseers head pointed towards the location like the head of a compass. At around chest height of the average man on the wall next to the engine laid an open hatch. The bent metal and busted hinges was a clear indicator that the hatch had been breached forcefully, as if by a pry-bar. The inside of the hatch was open, with nothing but the disjointed casing of a coupler that had half it's wires frayed. It seems that someone, or something, had taken the good already. A small puddle of purple liquid had pooled at the lip of the empty hatch, as if something had been cut along the way.

Perusing through the partly-collapsed racks in the Wayfarer, some of the crew members came across objects lost in the dust and rust of the lost vehicle. Some were simple hand tools, such as wrenches and screwdrivers. Others of note however included many spare, rusted beyond-use chainsaw belts. A plastic, green tube had been bisected, a smelly grey and blue powder fallen into the cracks in the flooring. The label of the plastic tube had been sunbleached and scratched beyond recognition, but there was the distinct presence of an electrical trigger remained in the rubble.

Dahlia tread carefully around the engine, eyeing the beast over. The engine itself was mostly hidden inside a cowl, but some of the mechanism and additional equipment laid in an orderly, modular configuration around the side of it. As Rhea wandered around the aged machinery, she could... feel something in one of the units connected to it. A dull, whispering sensation emanating from a pull-out cabinet next to the engine.

The captain bent over with a grunt, inspecting a thick black cable that laid in a nearly taught line from a side panel of the engine. It appeared to be clamped on manually. Step by step, the Captain started following the trail. It weaved tightly around the racks, before running out into the blinding white abyss of sand that had become of the Wayfarers cargo hatch.


Dahlia received the concerning images from Deimos, glancing through them one by one. The case certainly looked expensive, to have maintained such a seal. "Was it open before you got there?" she inquired. The captain peered at Romulus as he took off in a cloud of dust, following the cable that originated from within the Wayfarer. The Captain still did not trust him as far as she could throw him, but it wasn't her job to maintain constant vigilance on him- nor was it her job to throw him. The Captain stepped out onto the hot crust of the plateau once more, eyeing the trail of purple liquid. "Osco, what is that?"

The Overseer leaned down to pick up a sample of the stained sand, crushing it between her metal grasp. A purple ooze remained from the grains of sand, retaining an even consistency as it trickled down her palm. "Hydraulic fluid. An Oakland-proprietary mixture, at that."

Dahlia nodded as her lower lip drooped just a hair, looking back at the vehicle. "As big as it is, I can't see much more than scrap and questions coming from the... Wayfarer. I'd like to think you and Marie may be able to salvage any good electronics from it."

The Overseer glanced back at the Wayfarer, before nodding hesitantly. Dahlia turned, making her way across the open plateau to where Deimos was situated. When the captain caught up with him, she looked down at the case, looking it over. "The case is in good shape, so I imagine whatever is running around must be fresh as well." The captain paused, eyeing the purple canister of fluid. She tossed it up the vigilant foxboy. "I'm sure someone around here is gonna have a price for that."

As Juryrig made his landing in a cloud of purple dust, he soon found his bearings. In the center of the purple mount of stained sand laid a disfigured corpse, albeit not an organic one. The body had become mostly drowned in the slowly migrating sand, but a single metal hand stuck unnaturally up from the surface, the paint eroded off and replaced with scratched and scars of oxidation. Maybe it was asking for a hand.


The mysterious black cable ran across the ground, leading Romulus in a tight bend around the side of the plateau. The path cornered and weaved dangerously close to the cliff face, lending itself to an exciting ride. The joyride of the alchemist was brought to an abrupt end as the path around the side of the plateau vanished, leaving him skidding to a halt dangerously close to the edge of the cliff. As Romulus put the bike to the ground, the trail the cable took became apparent. The black cable wrapped abruptly 90 degrees into the side of the mountain, sneaking into a narrow outcrop within the rock. From where he stood, he could see the faintly light color of... concrete, deep within the shallow cave.
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Well-Known Member
Landing Site

Engine room

"Uh hu... inspection... sure..." She half mumbled, not entirely listening after they had all finally reached the engine. Like she was trying to hone in on something she could just barely hear. She paced around for a bit, until she pinpointed the location it was coming from, the conspicuously inconspicuous cabinet. Maybe she just thought of it like that becuase she could hear it whispering to her, though.

She looked around after placing herself infront of the cabinet, and muttered "captain?" Looking around, before realizing the captain had already vacated the area, following a clue. Oh well, she couldhandle this alone... probably. But she sure as heck wasn't going to touch hwatever it was with her hands, not after what happened last time. She once more, inspected her suroundings, before placing her hands on the floor and taking a deep breath. Yeah, this was fine, she could do this...

With a bit of concentration, and one evaporated staff, a sheet of crystal started growing over rhea's hands, looking quite a bit more ordered than the last time, though still quite angular, and jagged at the digits. If she couldn't find protective gloves, she was going to make her own! The newly aquired, and slightly guady purple gloves, even if they weren't going to protect her, made rhea feel a little bit better as she reached to open the cabinet, and take a peak inside, being careful to take out the offending whispering object in question with the tips of her crystal covered fingers.

"You know, I'm pretty sure hearing whispers is a sign you are going crazy right? But what if the whispers are right? Are you still crazy then?" Besides that, nothing ventured, nothing gained. With great stupidity could come great rewards.
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