8729/Citrines, Opals, and Black Diamonds, Oh My!

Citrines, Opals, and Black Diamonds, Oh My!
Date of Scene:	19 November 2021
Location:	Bludhaven Museum of Natural History
Synopsis:	Thieves from another world try to rob a museum geology exhibit and for three unsuspecting do-gooders a grand new adventure begins!
Cast of Characters:	Amy Winston, Tim Drake, Martin Blackwood, Jonathan Sims

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Amy Winston has posed:
If there is one thing that the North Eastern part of the United States inherited from their British forebearers it is the propensity for museums to display all of the unique trinkets acquired from across the world. It is not on usually on quite the same level of Egyptian mummies (seriously, stop stealing dead people!) and rare Tibetan tripitakas, but there's still a lot of rare and valuable things to display and some of them are even real.

It is an unseemly hour of the night when the alarms of the Bludhaven Museum of Natural History are triggered. Cacophonous sounds blare through the neighborhood and lights flash. The police bands come alive with chatter as units are diverted to respond, though as usual it takes them some time to get organized and make their way there.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Normally, this isn't a crime that Tim would respond to when he's out on patrol. Bludhaven is Dick's haunting grounds, and generally unless there's a threat to human life... look, other things would take priority. But he's just taken the turn towards the bridge that will bring him back to Gotham when the notification pops up on his HUD, and he pulls his bike to the side of the road.

    Well. Looks like he's the closest responder of the Bats.

    He rolls his neck and adjusts his gauntlets, lips thinned into a line as he considers. A few moments later, the motorcycle roars underneath Red Robin as he turns it back around, heading into downtown Bludhaven once more.

    The map of Gotham he has just about burnt into the inside of his skull doesn't quite extend to Bludhaven's twists and turns, but the Roost's computers plot a course for him that has him arriving before the police. Typical. Some things never change, no matter what city you're in. He parks the bike in a shadowed alleyway and then fires a line upwards, soon alighting on the museum's rooftop.

    His eyes scan for any signs of possible entry, both ones potentially already breached and others that might allow him inside.

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin was bringing Jon back from a specialist (on SHIELD payroll) in Jersey when the call hits their scanner. He frowns at it and after a cursory check realizes they are the closest agents to the area. "I know you're recovering" he says to his husband, "but... we really ought to look into this." He detours and makes his way to the museum.

    They are the first to respond it would seem and he parks out front before getting out the car. Any scan by local police would flag the vehicle as government and give them some level of authority to be there. After all, Natural History museums were by and large Federal property and SHIELD had clearance on all levels of Federal property.

    He looks at the entrance and looks for any sign of a break in (or out) from the main entry of the place.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon's right arm is still in a cast--the other injuries he sustained when Skelos decided to smack him into a wall with a giant book Martin was able to heal, but something about being hit /directly/ by an evil book kept the magic from working on the arm. And he's still a little dazed. But he doesn't argue when Martin decides to respond to the call--some gut feeling tells him it's a good idea.

    He quietly opens his Sight as they get out of the car, scanning the place /just/ in case. It's most of what he's good at, for the moment, and Martin's able to look for mundane things just fine.

Amy Winston has posed:
It becomes quickly apparent that this is no ordinary burglary. The first sign of oddness, that the building shows no signs of external forced entry. All of the doors still seem to be locked, windows unbroken, it's either an inside job or the thieves must have somehow teleported inside. Whatever alarm was tripped seems to have been an internal one.

The second sign of oddness, to those sensitive to such things anyway are faint traces of magic, vaguely fae and chaotic, ancient, alien, and bittersweet, from the inside of the museum. The weave has been disrupted here like there was some sort of recent portal activity within.

On the roof, there are many skylights that allow a view down into the various exhibits of the museum's interior, the architects having favored natural lighting for natural history. One skylight in particular offers a view of the geology exhibits, which are in the process of being smashed by a group of eight creatures that best resemble orcs straight out of one of Tim's Dungeons and Dragons campaigns or the Uruk-Hai of Tolkien fame. In particular the savage looking humanoid seem to be smashing up the exibit containing the museum's extensive collection of gemstones and stuffing them into sacks while a black haired human looking man with a moustache and goatee in a red tunic and hooded blue cloak barks orders at them.

"It has to be here! Work faster you imbeciles! I want to see the look on that pompous Sardonyx's face when we succeed where has failed!"

Tim Drake has posed:
    No forced entry. Suspicious enough, though not a red flag right away, and Tim spends a little bit longer on his examination of the skylights before concluding that no one has broken in.

    Well, until him, right now.

    The alarm might be an internal one, but Red Robin still takes the time to disconnect the one on the skylight he then proceeds to cut his way through, above the... well, he's seen weirder things. Orcs, sure. And look, there's Saruman the White, except not nearly as cool looking.

    Though it's hard for anyone to have the presence and gravitas of Christopher Lee.

    He slips inwards but doesn't drop down to the floor immediately, as he doesn't yet have a good read on the situation. Both the orcs and their supervisor are complete unknowns. Tim starts running facial recognition on the wizard, at least.

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin looks around and sighs. The alarm system for the museum couldn't be on the fritz, even if it is New Jersey. He reaches into his coat pocket and removes a small case. Inside is a set of fine lock picking tools.

    He turns to look at Jon and says, "I did not do this..." in a very stern tone of voice before he sets to working on picking the lock of the door. Breaking and entering, even on Federeal property wasn't exactly that bad given the work he's done for SHIELD but he didn't like doing it anyway.

    As he works he asks, "Are you picking up anything via..." He gestures wildly around his head, short hand for magical senses in his own book.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Portal energy," Jon reports aloud to Martin, with a slight frown. "I've never seen anything like it--no, wait. It... it looks... it coruscates, scintillates, sort of like Meggan's." He actually reaches out a hand, an odd tone in his voice. Nostalgic, which is... confusing, to him.

    He angles himself to block line of sight from the street to Martin. He has no compunctions about breaking into a museum to stop whatever's going on, particularly if there's magic involved. "I'd be ready with, well... magic."

Amy Winston has posed:
Through a combination of Batfolk being basically ninjas and the monstrous thieves being quite focused on their task, Tim's presence goes completely unnoticed for the time being.

"Have you found it yet? The alarms you imbeciles managed to trip are going to draw attention soon, hurry about!" The man in the cloak snarls.

"No sign of Black Diamond, boss, but what about that funny yellow one?" One of the orcs asks pointing at the centerpiece of the exhibit, a rectangular citrine about 18-20cm in length, a bit bigger than your average smartphone. It's not exactly the most precious of stones, only worth between $15000 and $45000 at its 1000+ carat size but it really does catch the eye the way it sparkles, almost like 'magic'.

"Is that? Well that is a find! Grab it!" The man in the blue cloak orders.

Facial recognition on the 'wizard' returns some interesting results, an almost 20 year old missing persons cold case for one 'Carl Nelligan', a young boy that just seems to have vanished without a trace one day. The age seems right, looks like Tim solved the case, good job detective!

It isn't too difficult to get the museum doors open for a skilled lockpick, the alarms are already going off so there isn't even that to worry about. Inside the sounds of breaking glass, grunting, and what sounds like a human voice giving orders can be heard from further in. Convenient museum signs identify that direction as the geology exhibit. It's also happens to be the direction those traces of magic are coming from.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Something about the words 'black diamond' give Tim pause as he reaches for his utility belt. He blinks behind the white lenses of his domino mask, and his fingers twitch in his gauntlets.

    The match of the missing Carl Nellian to not-Saruman down there is an interesting turn of events, though right now whatever (if any) impact that has on the situation is left for him to ponder later. Probably when he's failing to sleep, because of his Bat insomnia (actually it's just regular insomnia).

    In the meantime... might as well try to stop these guys before they get the big shiny. The tink-tink-tink of several small balls bouncing across the floor preceeds a great billowing mass of smoke that begins to emit from them. Switched over to thermal vision and with a rebreather over the lower half of his face, Red Robin drops down into the fray.

    As his staff telescopes out in one hand, he runs towards the nearest warm body and drops down, sweeping his leg at the orc's feet.

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin slips inside and frowns at the sounds within. "Stay behind me," he says to Jon as he makes is way to the geology exhibit on silent but swift feet. Taking a pair of gloves marked with arcene symbols from one pocket, he slips them on.

    The billowing smoke cloud pouring from the hall before them makes him pause. "I... won't be able to see..." he says frowning. He sighs and shakes his head. "Nothing for it. I'll have to take my chances." He flexes his hand a bit and a spark of turquoise blue energy flashes from his fingertips as the arcane symbols on the gloves activate in response to his own power.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    <Don't be ridiculous.> Jon's mental tone is as snappish as his verbal one would have been. He follows Martin into the museum and keeps his Sight up. Even with the smoke, he should be able to pick up any mental signatures and transmit them to Martin via a sort of... telepathic HUD.

    Or, well. That's the idea at least. And it wouldn't be quite so likely to work if the two weren't so close, and hadn't been practicing telepathic linking.

    He doesn't have any weapons--no staff, no ICER--but he reaches his left wrist over to fumble at the bracer he wears, and his eyes glow green. Archivist power, to make dealing with all this easier.

    <I count eight orcs and two humans... one of them's familiar... don't hit that one, I'll outline it in... red?>

Amy Winston has posed:
Just as Carl is reaching for the large citrine that seems to catch the light a little too well, seriously it positively sparkles even in just moonlight, all hell breaks loose when smoke fills the air and they are suddenly under attack. Someone should have warned poor Carl, this is Bat Country.

The orc is thick and its legs are well muscled, but it still has knees and Tim's well placed sweep managed to buckle them with ease. As the creature falls, its arms go up and suddenly the air is filled with a sack's worth of gem exibit flying in every direction, a shower of countless twinkling dots within the smoke. Though they're still solid crystals and they kinda hurt a bit.

The other orcs flail around, trying to find the source of the smoke, seemingly unaware that one of their number just got his legs taken out from under him.

"Kill them! I don't care who it is!" Carl Nelligan coughs, before tying a bandanna around his face and trying to grope through the smoke for that large citrine. For a 'wizard' his solutions don't seem very mystical.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Red Robin doesn't let his momentum give out; he keeps up the spin, doing a full revolution as his staff cuts through the smoke in the air. The electrified tip of it slams right into the orc's face as he crumples downwards with a crackle of discharging static, and then Tim is on the move.

    He leaps up onto the back of another orc to avoid its wildly swinging limbs, holding on for dear life with one arm hooked around its thick neck. It's not a particularly solid grip, and honestly he's expecting when the orc reaches up and grabs him. As he's tossed away, Red Robin lets out a sharp "Ah!" as he's basically thrown through a cloud of shattering crystal, but he manages to tuck his body in so that he lands in a roll and is back up on his feet in one smooth motion.

    The concussive sticky grenades he planted on the orc's back explode behind him as Tim moves on to the next target.

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin wasn't expecting the smoke vision but he doesn't let it effect him too much. <Orcs?> he mentally projects to the Archivist in confusion. But as he scans the figures there's little left to the imagination that sure enough they're orcs. First faeries, now orcs.

    His target is clear. He makes a note of the other human, not outlined in red. Orcs are big stupid and oafish, likely to run if they're leading is taken out... or at least that's how they are in games. Ergo, taking out the human leader seems like a sound stratgy.

    His hands spin in a myriad of forms and concentric blue-green rings form at his wrists as he sends a wave of force energy tinged with the same blueish glow through the gathering directly toward the man in the cloak. No words, only Will and effort.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The Archivist isn't all that good at casting magic without his staff yet, so he focuses, at first, on painting targets for Martin. He keeps Red Robin in... well... red, and the others in a kind of generic shimmering white.

    <Why not orcs? Vampires and faeries and aliens, why not orcs? At least they're not gnolls. I hate gnolls.>

    But then he spots what Nelligan's going after. The citrine gleams orange to his view, sparkling and familiar. Very, /very/ familiar.

    Running in was a /bad/ idea last time, so he just walks on through the smoke, puts out his left hand. Focuses his thoughts. He can create a dome on the Astral Plane, the /idea/ of a dome, shimmering deep emerald green like the glow of his eyes. And then... manifest it, yes, /right/ over the citrine Nelligan's so desperate to grab. Keeping it safe until he can go pick it up.

    Oddly enough, the dome manifests with orange striations through it, like the citrine color is trying to fight with the Archivist's own emerald. Strange.

Amy Winston has posed:
The wave of force hits Carl, poor Carl, nearly doubling him over like a sucker punch. "Fuck! Fuck! This is not how it's supposed to go!" Reaching within his cloak, he pulls out his wand to cast magic missile, except not. It's a gun, he doesn't have a wand, he has a gun which he uses to cast gun and shoots it in the direction the force seems to have come from.

And then there is some weird green barrier between him and the Citrine. "Son of a bitch! You will regret crossing the great Carnelian!" He shouts as he pulls a gemstone from one of his pockets and smashes it to release its magic! ...which summons a gate that he promptly flees for his life through leaving his orc minions to their fate. "I'll get you for this!" Are his last words before vanishing.

Meanwhile the orcs flail through the smoke, spreading out as they try to get out of the smoke so they can see again. Two manage to collide with each other and begin fighting each other before finally figuring out what's going on. This is clearly not the most elite of Dark Opal's units or perhaps he's just a quantity over quality guy.

Tim Drake has posed:
    With the thermal vision in his HUD, Tim is having very little issue with avoiding the orcs as they stumble through the smoke. Once or twice he ducks in to deliver a punch to the kidney (...do orcs have kidneys?) or fling a batarang, but for the most part he's using the cover of smoke for precisely the reason it has been used for many, many centuries: to covertly attack, quick strikes, before moving away unseen.

    Unfortunately he is, however, on the complete opposite side of the orc group from where Carl--sorry, Carnelian--is presently being stymied from whatever villainous schemes he may have had by... oh, great.

    Red Robin manages to catch glimpse of the glowing green of the Archivist's eyes. Yeah, no, no thanks. Are these two following him?!

    So Tim makes a calculated decision to retreat, though he tosses a few more of those concussive grenades out as he fires a grapple line upwards. Within seconds he's making his way out the way he came in, little to be seen of him beyond the fluttering edges of his cape.

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin flings up a hasty barrier to stop the return wave of force he was expecting. He wasn't expecting a bullet though and the barrier doesn't so much as stop the projectile as sends it off course. Instead of smashing into his torso it veers off and slashes across his arm. He reaches over in his arm in instinct from the pain wincing in frustration as the wizard departs.

    The orc scatter but don't flee, leaving them in a mess to deal with. "Fine! We do this the hard way..." he brings his arms inward after a few more swings and the turquoise colored energy coalesces around him.

    He's seen videos of Bruce Banner transforming. And so he... copies that. He starts to grow in mass, muscles bulging and swelling, the stitches of his clothes spitting and tearing under the strain. His skin starts to turn vaguely blue-green in hue as he gets bigger and bigger. And then, just for effect, he doubles it. Getting larger and larger in size until where the man had been stands a massive 15 foot tall ogre looking humanoid with only a passing resemblance to Martin Blackwood. He bellows in rage hopefully drawing attention to himself.

    Jon's Sight can show him the truth of the situaion, the Ultra-Hulk Blackwood is a Seeming, solid enough with the workings within Martin has spun around himself inside the illusion, but it's not the truth of the situation. Martin is as he was before. Shorter than average and stout and with a cut on his arm from the gun spell he took a moment ago.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The red goes off of the Archivist's vision, but hey, if that vaguely-familiar entity wants to retreat he's not going to get an argument from the Archivist. Carl's retreat--nobody's calling him /Carnelian/, that's /silly/--leaves the scramble for the citrine wide open... except for orcs. And the Archivist has a broken arm and just recently had a concussion, and he'd /really/ like to not rattle his brain around any more, thanks.

    So... he sprints. As Martin Hulks out, he puts on a burst of speed, throwing up a shield to hold off the one orc that has the presence of mind to fling itself at him before getting distracted by Martin.

    Then he's there, and he lets the little dome dissipate so he can reach down and pick up the citrine from the floor.

Amy Winston has posed:
As the smoke begins to clear, half of the orcs are already on the ground, thanks to Red Robin, groaning and in various states of injury. The remaining four were flailing their way out of the smoke when Martin's giant ogre monster appears and it is just too much. Without Carnelian to keep them in line, the remaining orcs begin to run. Something peculiar also begins to happen to them though, cut off from both the magic of Nilaa and however Carnelian might have been sustaining them here, bits of sparkly energy begin appearing on their bodies and start to spread as they almost seem to be unraveling amidst the hostile magic-less wasteland that is most of Earth.

When the Archivist touches the Citrine though, there is a bright flash of yellow-orange light and for the moment the withering of the orcs ceases as the area is awash in mystic light. The orcs that are still standing for their part continue to flee, how far they'll get is anyone's guess though. The Citrine seems to pulse with power in the Archivist's grasp, familiar power.

A beam of yellow-orange light shines forth from the crystal and seems to coalesce into the form of an ancient Egyptian woman. The woman begins to speak, somehow understandable to any who hear her. <<Last record of The Exodus. While I fully understand the necessity of reverend mother Citrina's Exodus to preserve our people and the creatures of magic, I feel it remains the duty of the Archivists to preserve all history and knowledge and as such I choose to stay behind and continue our sacred duty to Chronicle the history of Earth. I only pray in time our accumulated knowledge find its way to our brothers and sisters in Nilaa.>>

Outside police sirens can be heard in the distance, the authorities will arrive soon.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The moment he touches the citrine, the Archivist's eyes suddenly glow bright yellow-orange, in tune with the crystal.

    He blinks rapidly at the form of the woman that materializes from the beam of light. "Exodus?" he murmurs aloud. "Citrina...?" His breath hitches.

    "Wherever these things are from... there are /other Archivists/ there."

    The chance to meet such people--to maybe meet someone who knows what they're /doing/--overrides everything else. SHIELD, vampires, friends, the Underworld, even Skelos... he could handle /all/ of that better if he just /knew what he was doing/. Maybe if he knew what he was doing he would have summoned the right power last night, helped close the gate before Skelos was unleashed upon Gotham.

    And anyway, Carl needs a good stern talking-to.

    <Follow me!> The Archivist's call to his husband might not be clear at first--but then, without /quite/ knowing how, he holds out the crystal and shimmering yellow-orange magic pours from it, creating a swirling portal in the air. Without hesitation, he jumps through.

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin turns, the illusion of Mega-Hulk fading from him as easily as it formed and then he holds out a hand to forestall Jon, but it's too late. He sighs. "This is not going to end well..." he mutters. Then, without much thought to anything else, he too jumps through the orange portal, yelling as the vortex swallows him and sends him to what he hopes is another world and not an empty void in space.