>>2130476

>Twitter: https://twitter.com/MolochQM
>Previous: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Into%20the%20Skies

Miriam Hawthorn's diary seems to make a disproportionate weight in your coat pocket as you walk back to the manor, and you keep expecting someone to see it – to sense it – and demand an explanation. Your entire scam, fraudulently altering a will in order to claim an airship for yourself, had been risky, but you had never felt as nervous about it as you do now. This is bigger than just one airship, this is bigger than... damn near anything.

You're going to need to be careful about this.

A voice tugs at your attention as you walk, eventually winning out and dragging your thoughts back to reality. Irene Zastava, one of Miriam's young apprentices, has been trying to talk to you about... something. About the Spirit of Helena, you realise, about your new ship.

“So, like I told the choirboy, it's not in good shape,” she reports, “The good news is, her heart is still in great condition. Refined Pleonite, some of the best that I've ever seen. Everything else, though, that's the problem. Your potential coils are worn through, so you better not fly too far from a port. Her weapons are in a bad shape as well, but I don't know what the problem is with those – you'll need a specialist for those. The skiff seems fine, but-”

“But she needs a pilot,” you finish for her. In theory, you can fly a skiff... but you really don't want to. “Listen, thanks for giving her a look over,” you tell the young captain, “Miriam did a good job, picking you out. You'll go far.”

Leaving her to beam with pride, you surreptitiously touch the diary again. What you really want to do right now is sit down and read it again, carefully this time. There wasn't much written there, but you want to wring every last drop of information out of it. Ideally, though, you'd like to do that somewhere with the guarantee of privacy. It is with a heavy dose of bitter humour that you realise something – right now, as you stand in the luxury of the Hawthorn Estate, you'd really rather be back down in your Monotia slum. At least there, you could read in peace.

Rooms at the estate were made available, you remind yourself, for those who wanted to stay the night – or for those who might have overindulged. They might not be as private as your very own lodgings, but they are an option. Nodding firmly to yourself, you think carefully about your next course of action.

>Take a room at the estate and work on reading Miriam's diary
>Find Salazar and get his opinion on the diary
>Keep the diary hidden until you return home to Monotia. It can wait
>Other

>>2130477
>Keep the diary hidden until you return home. It can wait.

At least I hope it can. Wonder what was in there.

>>2130477
>>Keep the diary hidden until you return home to Monotia. It can wait
Right now, we should worry about just what the ship needs to get flying, and what we can do to earn the cash to do it.

>>2130477
>Keep the diary hidden until you return home to Monotia. It can wait
It can definitely wait until there's no risk of her family seeing us with it.

>>2130477
>Keep the diary hidden until you return home to Monotia. It can wait

>>2130477
>>Keep the diary hidden until you return home to Monotia. It can wait

No, you decide, this time you're better off waiting until you can study the diary in your own time. Judging by the quick look you took, the secrets it contains within – ancient ruins, vast troves of wealth and arcane keys among other things – are not the sort of thing that you want to be caught casually flicking through. While you're here, you'll focus on more mundane matters. Namely, just what it's going to take to get the Spirit of Helena flying again.

Money, probably. At least with Blessings' “contribution” you'll have made some good progress towards that. Patting your coat pocket once more, just to reassure yourself that the diary is still where it should be, you start a slow circuit of the entrance hall. Pacing helps you think, and just standing here looking awkward is a recipe for trouble. As you're climbing the heavy stairs, a painting on the wall catches your eye – a wide landscape, depicting the ocean in sinister detail. Pausing to study it for a moment more, you feel a faint thrill of nervousness gathering at the base of your spine.

Like most right-minded people, the ocean represents terrible things to you – loss, disaster, and the limitless unknown. Airships can't travel that far from Inounsys without losing power and failing, so the oceans remain largely uncharted. Some say that the secret lies with the Pleonite that powers airships – the unrefined crystals still lurking deep within the islands of Inounsys resonate with the refined Pleonite used as a power source, and without those crystals – such as out in the open ocean – a ship cannot fly. At least, that's one theory.

The other popular theory is somewhat less scientific – men, or so the theory goes, were not meant to wander too far from the place of their birth. The gods set a cruel leash around mankind's neck when they created their children.

Frankly, you're still not sure which theory you believe more. It's not something that you've given a lot of thought to, and-

“Miriam always did have strange tastes in her decorations,” a haughty voice announces suddenly, causing you to jolt away from the painting. Alain DuPont smirks a little at your surprise, leisurely tapping a finger against his pointed chin before continuing. “It seems as though Miriam decided to give you a second chance today, Captain Vaandemere,” he says, sarcasm dripping thickly from the title, “I trust that you'll treat the Spirit of Helena well?”

“I certainly plan on,” you reply, trying not to ball your hands into tight fists, “And speaking of ships, how is the Thelema faring? Well, I should think – you're not the type to expose her to any danger.”

“Was that an attack on my pride?” DuPont sneers, “Well, I suppose I should be glad – you're limiting yourself to verbal attacks, this time.”

[1/2]

>>2130507

“You know, we always thought you were a bit of a joke,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, “The way you were always chasing after Miriam, as if you really thought that you could compete with her. We often spoke about you, and all those other “new” captains – it's so rare to find anyone worth the title these days. Those two young pups that Miriam dredged up have some potential, I suppose, but-”

It takes all your willpower not to shove the pompous ass down the stairs or throw him over the balustrade, but somehow you manage it. You settle for cutting him off with a loud cough, hiding a smirk as he recoils slightly. “You'll have to excuse me,” you tell him with a faint sneer, “Perhaps I caught something down in Nadir. Awful, some of the things you see down there – men with their faces half melted away, rotten to the core with their blood. In fact, just recently-”

“While I would love to chat more, I have more important matters to discuss,” DuPont snaps, “With far more important people than you.” Turning smartly on his heel, he stomps away down the stairs, leaving you to chuckle softly to yourself. Everyone has their weaknesses, and DuPont is no different – he has no stomach for filth and grime, things that your time in Nadir has taught you much about.

-

As you're looking out over the entrance hall, you hear the sudden shriek of engines passing close overhead. You know that sound – a skiff, specially modified, coming out of a sharp descent. It's a sound that many people fear as an ill omen, a sound long associated with pirate attacks. The crowd below is cast into a churn of dismay as a few of the servants flee deeper into the manor while others mill about in disbelief. That's when you feel a heavy hand falling on your shoulder, causing you to jolt around yet again. The Iraklin officer gives you a hard look for a long moment before nodding.

“Trouble,” he says simply, “Are you armed?” When you shake your head, he snaps open the buttons on his leather tunic and draws a small automatic pistol from a shoulder holster. Practically shoving it into your hands, he takes a larger gun out of his belt holster and checks the magazine to make sure that it's loaded. “Better to have it and not need it,” he begins, “Than to need it and-”

“Hold on a minute!” you snap, “Just what's going on here?”

“Uninvited guests, I would guess,” he replies, “I don't know what kind of people your Captain Hawthorn associated with, but I don't doubt that there were a few unsavoury characters among them. Better that we prepare for the worst.” Pausing for a moment, the officer nods again and offers out his hand. “Rudolph Carter,” he tells you, “And I know you. You're-”

A thunderous crash cuts him off as the front doors are slammed open, a party of six men striding in as if they owned the place.

[2/3]

>>2130533

The pirates are dressed in a parody of flamboyance, with long frock coats and polished cavalry boots, but the weapons they carry are no joke. Heavy rifles and short, stubby automatics... your little pistol seems like a poor excuse for a weapon compared with what they brought to the party. Carter reaches the same conclusion, hissing a curt curse through his clenched teeth before dropping down out of sight. You follow suit, peering over the lip of the balcony wall.

“We come here as representatives of the great Captain Valke!” the lead pirate – wearing a preposterous powdered wig – announces, reading off a tightly wound scroll, “As he was regretfully not invited to pay his respects, Captain Valke cannot pay his respects in person. The bitch Hawthorn cost him dearly over the years, and now the time has come that these debts are to be repaid.”

That insult causes Tobias to start forwards, his hand slipping down to the pistol at his belt, but Irene grabs his arm and keeps him from making a foolish mistake. One man against six, with no cover and just a pistol? He wouldn't have stood a chance against them.

“So!” the pirate concludes, “I won't waste time on honeyed words – we'll take everything, every treasure you can scrape together. We'll be back in one hour to collect what we're due. Unless... anyone has any objections?”

A deathly silence falls over the hall. Somewhere, in the distance, you can hear a clock ticking away the seconds.

>Remain silent and hidden
>Call out an objection
>Open fire on the pirates
>Other

>>2130548
>Remain silent and hidden
Maybe we can take them with our skiff if we can get them away from their own somehow?

>>2130548
>Remain silent and hidden.

Can't imagine anything we say will change their minds. Better to either escape or gear up in that hour.

>>2130548
>>Remain silent and hidden

>>2130548
>Remain silent and hidden
Look for a better opportunity. Any flashbangs around here?

>>2130548
>Remain silent and hidden
I wonder if they're going to come back with an actual air ship or something. If they don't, I'd bet the Spirit of Helena would just smash the skiff, even if the guns don't work.

>>2130548
>Sneak around and try to take their skiff

>>2130548
>Remain silent and hidden
I'm afraid if we take out their skiff they'll just take hostages, or make a bloodbath out of spite, then flee on one of the guest's skiffs or cruisers.

Tightening your sweaty grip on the unfamiliar automatic pistol, you sneak a glance across at Carter. He looks calm enough, but a closer look reveals the truth. His lips are pressed into a hard line while his brow is furrowed. He looks like a man trying to solve a confounding puzzle, trying to get both sides of a scale to balance out and finding nothing but failure. It's clear that he doesn't like these odds any more than you do.

“You arrogant curs,” a quiet voice hisses, causing you to glance back over the balcony. Penelope Hawthorn has stepped forwards to confront the gang of thugs, a chorus of soft groans rising up from the assembled servants and guests as she speaks. Blessings himself is speechless, a grey pallor stealing away his usual pinkness as he watches his mother step forwards. “What makes you think you have any right to even a single penny?” Penelope continues, her voice rising a little as she marches towards the pirates, “What gives you any right to take what you have no claim upon?”

The lead pirate barks out a harsh laugh at her defiance, before dropping his scroll and pulling a weighty revolver out of his belt. “This gives me the right,” he sneers, pressing the barrel up against Penelope's forehead. Although she stiffens, Penelope doesn't take a step backwards. “Maybe we'll take you with us, as part of our haul,” the pirate chuckles, “I bet Captain Valke would love to make your acquaintance, if you catch my meaning. Maybe we'll all get a-”

What happens next, happens very quickly indeed.

“No!” Tobias yells, shaking off Irene's grip and launching himself forwards – aiming, you realise, to wrestle the revolver away from Penelope's head. He actually manages it, grabbing the pirate's arm and pulling it down. The other pirates raise their weapons and yell at the rest of the crowd, forcing back anyone else with heroic aspirations as their leader struggles with Tobias. When a single gunshot rings out, that almost seems like a signal. One of the pirates fires off a long burst with his automatic, bullets chewing their way across the ceiling as Tobias slumps back.

“Let that be a lesson to all of you!” the lead pirate screams, all pretence falling away like wet paper, “You've got one hour, and if we don't get what we want... we'll bomb this manor into dust!”

As he turns and starts to walk away, you prepare to rise up and fire on him – but that's when Carter grabs your arm. “Don't,” he hisses, “Choose your battles.”

“To hell with that!” you shoot back, “They-”

“They were scouts. Messengers,” he interrupts, “They probably have an airship of their own on the way, armed and ready to fight – that's the real problem.”

Scowling hard, you feel yourself nod. They've made their move, and now you've got an hour to reply.

[1/2]

>>2130595

Tobias is writhing on the bloodied floor when you descend the stairs, thrashing against Irene's attempts at stopping the bleeding. The bullet must have hit him somewhere around the hip – the groin, you think with a faint shudder – and passed straight through him. Even with Irene's help, the situation doesn't look good. Penelope, still standing in place, seems almost catatonic for a moment before snapping back to reality.

“Fetch the doctor!” she cries out, pointing to a random servant before gesturing to the crowd as a whole, “And a pilot. We need to get him to Salim for proper care. As soon as he's stable enough to move...”

“We need to catch their skiff,” DuPont begins, his voice seeming to come from somewhere very deep inside of him, “If we can shoot them down...”

“It would change nothing!” Carter shouts, his voice hard enough to shock everyone to silence, “They have a ship on the way, ready to destroy this manor and kill everyone inside it. Your only chance is to destroy them first – you have a number of ships here, do you not? The skiffs are unarmed, but the cruisers might be enough.”

“The Helena is in no condition to fight,” you tell him, “But we've got two others...”

“You mean... you mean the Belladonna?” Irene stammers, gratefully moving away as the house doctor arrives and takes her place at Tobias' side, “She's armed, but... but I've never fought on my own before! We've always fought as a team, I can't-”

“Take mine,” Tobias croaks, forcing the words out, “Somebody take mine. You can... you have to...” A shudder runs through him as the doctor injects him with something, and then he relaxes slightly. To your uneducated eye, the bleeding does seem to be slowing a little. Maybe the boy has a chance of survival after all.

Glancing aside, you look from one face to another. Blessings is still pale and still, while DuPont seems reluctant to put himself forwards. Then you spot Salazar's eyes in the crowd, finding them to be cool and calm, free from any sense of judgement.

>I'm taking the Spirit of Helena and getting out of here. This isn't my problem
>Tobias, I'll take your ship and fight
>Penelope, I think you should do what they tell you – they've got the advantage here
>Other

>>2130613
>>Tobias, I'll take your ship and fight

>>2130613
>Tobias, I'll take your ship and fight

>>2130613
>>Tobias, I'll take your ship and fight

>>2130613
>Tobias, I'll take your ship and fight

>>2130613
>>Tobias, I'll take your ship and fight

>>2130613
>Tobias, I'll take your ship and fight.

>>2130613
>Tobias, I'll take your ship and fight

A low rumble fills the hall as the servants and guests trade fevered speculation. Some talk of fleeing, of taking the skiffs and making for safer territories. Others talk of sending for help and hoping that the Carths can arrive in time – doubtful, from what you've heard of them. The wheels of government move very slowly within Carthul, even in an emergency like this. No, any defence you can hope for will have to be the defence that you yourself muster.

“Well, Captain DuPont?” you ask quietly, “Don't you feel like being a hero?”

“Bah! It's been a very long time since I deigned to fly something as small as the boy's ship,” he replies, “And besides – it's bad luck, terribly bad luck, to take a ship like this. I'd be bringing doom down upon-”

“But sir,” a hushed voice interrupts, “That's not quite right. He asked you, did he not? I was under the impression that it was bad luck to refuse a request like this. Was I... wrong?”

Both you and DuPont turn, gazing at Blessings Hawthorn in disbelief. He colours a little at the sudden attention, shuffling his feet and glancing between the two of you. He's not wrong, you think to yourself with a numb amazement, he's really done his research on this. Maybe he's not a complete dead weight after all. Rather than offering a more eloquent response, DuPont just scoffs and turns away from you both. His cold dismissal leaves you with just one course of action.

“Right, Tobias,” you announce, “I'll take your ship and fight. Irene, you won't be going up alone. Are you ready to do this?”

Wiping her reddened eyes, Irene draws in a shuddering breath and nods. “Let's do this,” she tells you firmly, “We'll make those bastards pay.”

“Just...” Tobias murmurs, fighting the anaesthesia in order to give you one last warning, “Just bring her back in one piece...”

You'd tell him not to worry about it, but... well, you don't exactly have a good record with these things. Patting him briefly on the shoulder, you follow Irene as she hurries out of the manor.

-

You won't deny that you feel a faint pang of nerves as you settle in behind the controls of the Steppenwolf, Tobias' ship. This is the first time that you've been in command of an airship since the Annexation War, and some irrational part of you feels certain that you're doomed to failure. On the other hand, a sickly voice counters, at least you won't be damaging your own property this time. Letting out a hollow laugh at that thought, you grab the radio and punch a button.

“Engine room,” you order, “Give me full power.”

A rumble runs through the potent ship, and it feels like the first stirrings of a living thing.

[1/2]

>>2130657
Don't worry Tobias. There will definitely be at least one piece of her left after we're done.

>Going to take a little interlude here to cover the rules for airship combat, since they're a little more involved. Power management is one of main parts of airship combat – engines can only generate so much power at once, and that needs to be divided between attack and defence. First of all, airships have stats:
>Total charge: the maximum number of power points that can be stored at once
>Recharge rate: the number of power points that are regained at the start of each “turn”
>Hull rating: the amount of damage a ship can take before taking critical damage, represented by the first number, and then being destroyed, represented by the second number.

>The Steppenwolf has a Total charge of 10, a Recharge rate of 3, and a Hull rating of 15/20. So, it can store 10 power points, regains 3 power points a turn, and it can take up to 15 points of damage before suffering serious damage. Upon taking 20 points of damage, it's destroyed.

>Airships typically use Pleonite cannons to attack. By default, these cannons do 1D6 damage, but they can be boosted using power points. 3 power points can be spent to increase the damage by 2, and this can be done multiple times – so long as there are power points left to spend.

>Airships additionally have Shields, which can reduce the damage dealt by most oncoming attacks. For each power point spent, an oncoming attack deals 1 point less damage.

>So, if a hostile ship spends 3 power points it makes a cannon attack with 1D6+2 damage. If this came up as 4 damage, the Steppenwolf would need to spend 4 power points to Shield all damage.

>I may still tweak this system later on, depending on how it works out. Does anyone have any questions or want any clarifications before we move on?

>>2130677
Seems simple enough. No critical hits?

>>2130677
Is shielding automatic as long as we have enough power, to be decided at the end of a round for the next, or to be decided at the start of the next round for the damage of the previous one?

>>2130677
Same question as >>2130682 basically.

Do we have preemptively put power to shields before we know the opponent's extra damage/if the opponent hits or is shield power whatever we have left over?

>Next post in like five minutes, just had to sort something.

>>2130680
No critical hits, no. Otherwise, we'll be rolling best of three like normal
>>2130682
The latter, pretty much. This first fight is more or less a tutorial, so we'll get to see how things play out.

>>2130657

As the Steppenwolf cuts through the air, climbing higher towards Zenith, you tap a button to summon up your available data. A nearby screen brightens and shimmers into life as the required information scrolls past. Scowling, you focus on the words before returning your gaze to the observation window ahead of you. You've always hated those screens, how it feels like you're reading everything underwater. You had hoped that five years would have been long enough for someone to invent a better version, but apparently not.

“I see something,” Irene declares, her voice crackling through the radio, “It must be... oh, wait. Never mind, false alarm - it's just an Iraklin cruiser. Strange to see one of those this far out, but-”

“It's them!” you yell, “Take evasive action, before they-”

A beam of crisp blue light cuts through the air as the pirate ship – either stolen, or taken from a crew of Iraklin deserters – fires at the Belladonna. Irene's ship dips lower in the sky just in time, but not quickly enough to completely avoid the attack. Black smoke belches out of the Belladonna as the lightning bolt rips across the top of her hull, and your radio plays a belch of static. Cursing, you swing the Steppenwolf around to hit the pirate vessel with a full broadside.

Total charge: 10
Recharge rate: 3

>Attack with 0 power points
>Attack with 3 power points
>Attack with 6 power points
>Attack with 9 power points
>Disengage

>>2130709
>Attack with 3 power points

>>2130709
>>Attack with 6 power points

>>2130709
>Attack with 6 power points
I take it we have full 10 charge for the start.

>>2130709
>>Attack with 6 power points

>>2130709
>>Attack with 3 power points

>Going to close this here and move on, going with spending 6. So, calling for a roll of D6+4, best of the first three

>>2130717
>That's right. We'll usually have time to warm up, so to speak, so we start with the full allotment of power.

>>2130709
>Attack with 6 power points

Rolled 1 + 4 (1d6 + 4)

>>2130725
PEW PEW

Rolled 1 + 4 (1d6 + 4)

>>2130725

Rolled 6 + 4 (1d6 + 4)

>>2130725

Rolled 3 + 4 (1d6 + 4)

>>2130725

>>2130736
GOOD JOB SLEEPY

>>2130736
good lad

Rolled 5 + 2 (1d6 + 2)

>That's a strong hit for 10 damage, rolling for the enemy attack now

>>2130747
We should probably raise some shields. 2 points?

>>2130747

“Gunnery deck,” you radio, “Get a shot on that target, magnitude six!”

“Magnitude six, over,” the radio crackles back, “Firing now.”

Gripping the Steppenwolf's controls tightly, you feel your hair standing on end as the bolts of lightning streak out and punch into the pirate vessel. Blue light flares along its surface as it deploys its shields, tapping off energy from its engines to neutralise some of the oncoming attack, but it's not enough to stop all of the attack from getting through. Your target shudders as explosions ripple along its surface, flames howling out as it lurches in the air. Before you can celebrate, however, you see new lights gathering in the pirate vessel's guts. It's getting ready to attack.

“Incoming attack,” the gunnery captain calls, his voice calm and controlled, “Seems to be a magnitude seven. What's your call, captain?”

Current charge: 4

>Shield for how many points?

After resolving this attack will be a new round, so we'll regain 3 power points.

>>2130749
>Shield for how many points?
2.

Should leave us with 5 next round

>>2130749
2

>>2130749
2 points.

>>2130749
What's our HP?

>>2130761
15 armour, 20 hp

>>2130761
15/20

15 we can safely take. Anything past that things start going wrong. 20 is destroyed.

>>2130749
>4
Let's shield for everything we got.

>>2130677
Kind of disappointed with this bare-bones system, for a quest with such a large focus on ship battles it feels too simple and lacking in a lot of areas
What about maneuvering? Different ship speeds? How do you handle a skiff fighting a cruiser? Different weapons? Boarding? Multiple ships? Does getting specialized crew members give bonuses? Aiming at different spots? Range?
I get that it's supposed to be a simplified system, but for a quest focused on ship battles this feels very lacking and not very thought out.

>Going with shielding for 2. Writing now
>>2130761
>We have a maximum of 20 hull, yeah. >>2130766 is right.

>>2130749
2 points

>>2130772
I've gotta agree on this point.
Maybe it's worth it to steal the system from Trawler Quest (since it's not running anyway)

>>2130772
You have to balance interesting mechanics and writing speed. This isn't a video game or tabletop where things are resolved instantly and not through multiple anons voting.

You also have to remember that it's better to introduce mechanics as they become relevant instead of dumping everything on the players at once and scaring them off. There might be boarding mechanics. We aren't in a skiff so whatever aspects regarding that are irrelevant at the moment. There might be bonuses for specialized crew members. Better to teach the core mechanic first, then start piling things on.

>Next post in five or so. Sorry for the delay

>>2130772
>>2130782
>You do both have a point - originally, I did have more involved in the system, mainly related to positioning, which I removed because I was never really satisfied with the results. I'll certainly take a look at the system used in Trawler Quest to see if I can use parts of it. However:
>>2130785
>Has a point. I do plan on introducing more mechanics later - alternative weapons and boarding actions. This first encounter was just to test the basic parts. So, thank you for being honest - you've given me some good material to consider.

“Raise shields, magnitude two,” you order, “Then fire up the engines and prepare us for another shot.”

“Magnitude two, over,” the gunnery captain confirms, with a wave of static cutting off anything else he had to say as the shots hit you. Your data screens short out for a moment and one of the terminals – probably nothing important – blows apart in a flare of sparks. Overall though, the hit isn't a serious one – not serious enough to kill you, at least. “Engines are warming up now,” the radio squawks, “I think we took them by surprise, they look like they're pulling back for now. They-”

“Who the hell are you?” a new voice breaks in, “Don't you know who you're dealing with? You dare fire upon Captain Valke?”

“Who?” you snap back, “Oh, I don't care!” Smacking the radio – hard – you break through to Irene. “Captain Zastava,” you bark, “What's your status?”

“I'm okay, we're okay,” Irene answers, “We lost our engines for a moment, that's all. Coming back around now, do you need our support?”

A chime from a nearby screen attracts your attention. “Hold that thought,” you tell Irene, glancing across at the churning monitor. The engines have warmed up, and you're ready for another attack. Just as your gunnery captain reported, though, the pirate vessel appears to be making an attempt at withdrawal. Well, that's fine with you – you're not opposed to shooting someone in the back.

Current charge: 5
Recharge rate: 3
Current hull: 15/20

>Attack with 0 power points
>Attack with 3 power points
>Allow the enemy ship to disengage

>>2130802
>>Attack with 3 power points

>>2130802
>>Attack with 0 power points

>>2130802
3 points. Shouldn't just let them escape, they'll keep plundering.

>>2130802
>Attack with 3 power points

>>2130797
>alternative weapons and boarding actions
I'm looking forward to those! This combat gives me good FTL vibes.
>>2130802
>Attack with 0 power points
Conserve power for the enemy ship's next volley.

>>2130802
>>Attack with 3 power points
Shoot to kill

>Just going to close this here, going with three power points. Calling for a roll, 1D6+2 best of the first three.

Rolled 4 + 2 (1d6 + 2)

>>2130822
Shoot them down!

Rolled 2 + 2 (1d6 + 2)

>>2130822

Rolled 4 + 2 (1d6 + 2)

>>2130822

Looking out the observation window, you watch as the pirate vessel begins to break away from the immediate area, beating a hasty retreat at this unexpected resistance. Pirates are like that, you muse, happy to bully and threaten but rarely willing to stick around for a serious fight. Compared with taking on the Iraklin fleet over Pastona, this is-

“Captain?” the gunnery captain asks, “What are you orders?”

“Put a shot up their backsides,” you order, “Magnitude three, let's make sure they feel this one.”

“Magnitude three, over,” the man replies, a certain wolfish hunger entering his voice. Once again, the Steppenwolf shudders as the main cannons fire send long ribbons of light out to touch the fleeing pirate. When you don't see a flare of blue shielding, you briefly wonder if the shots had missed their target – a rare thing, with modern technology – but then a rippling explosion seems to swell up and consume the enemy ship, moving swiftly from one end to the other as it swallows up the entire ship. Like a leaf falling from a tree, it begins to drop out of the sky.

“Target down,” the gunnery captain reports, pausing for a moment before adding, “Damn, but that's a pretty sight. I never get tired of seeing that.”

Standing there, at the controls of the Steppenwolf, you can't help but agree. The tumbling ship has a certain grace to it as it sinks lower and lower in the sky, the last remnants of power in its Pleonite heart helping to slow its descent before-

Before one final explosion rips through it, and blows the entire thing to ash in a flash of destabilising power.

>I'm going to have to pause briefly here, to set up the next part. Thank you for your patience today!

>>2130846
Are ships equipped with parachutes for situations like these?

>>2130846
Shit, I didn't know ships exploded like that. I thought they'd be sunk and arrested. Now I feel bad and also worried.

>>2130846
Boom boom bitches
The air combate seems to be good enguh

The Steppenwolf gives you no problems as you turn around and take it back to the Hawthorn Estate, although you have to slow down to match the Belladonna's pace. She limps, although the damage seems to have been contained for now. You've heard bad stories of chain reactions tearing apart ships, of minor damage leading to much worse things. Then again, a Free Captain always hears talk – usually of bad things, and rarely of good.

There's a new ship waiting outside the estate when you arrive back, a cruiser discretely decorated with Carth insignia. Armed, but in that artistic way that the Carths prefer. The Iraklins like to flaunt their weapons, while the Carths hide them behind flowery decorations. This is one time when you prefer the Iraklin approach to things – it feels more honest... and it's easier to know what you're dealing with.

“Looks like they finally sent help,” Irene remarks as she's limping out of her ship, “Late as always... Damn it, I fell when that first volley hit me. Must have twisted my ankle or something. Shit...” Shaking her head, she lets out a despairing laugh. “I really put on a good show, didn't I? Fell for the oldest trick in the book, then spent most of the fight in free fall...” straightening up, she gives you a pained smile, “Glad you were there to pick up the slack. I guess I'm not ready to fly solo after all.”

“Pirates tend to use Iraklin ships,” you reply vaguely, “Deserters, mostly. They can't take the discipline and just... break off and head for the Drift. Hey, now that I think about it, there might have been a bounty on his head...”

“Elias Valke, the self proclaimed “Captain of the Eastern Drift”? He did,” Penelope announces, stepping forwards and raising her voice to get your attention, “Not a large price – he was far from the worst pirate that Inounsys has ever seen – but a price nonetheless. Is he dead?”

“Considerably,” you tell her, your tone dry, “Is that a problem?”

“Officially, Carthul has a policy of taking prisoners alive, so that they can learn from their mistakes and atone for their crimes,” Penelope tells you, “But as far as I'm concerned... there's no problem at all. Come in, and we can discuss this in comfort. Irene, you look like you're about to collapse at any minute – I'll have the doctor take a look at that leg.”

“How's Tobias?” the young captain asks hastily, “Did he...”

“We managed to stabilise him. He should be in Salim now, recovering from his injuries,” Penelope assures her, “He might have to walk with a stick from now on, but... it's certainly better than the alternative.”

Irene sags against you, pain and fatigue finally breaking through her barriers and sending her into a dead faint.

[1/2]

>>2130858
>Some are. Others use skiffs as escape craft, but some are just shit out of luck

>>2130924

This isn't the first time that you've had to sit through a meeting like this, talking with some grim-faced Carth as they scratch notes into a pad of paper. They take a very thorough statement from you, recording every last detail of your battle with Valke. When she's finished, the Carth looks up at you.

“This will be checked,” she stresses, “Your statement will be compared with other testimonies, to determine the veracity of what you've told us. Are you aware of that?”

“I know,” you confirm, fighting back the urge to roll your eyes, “So, do I get my money now?”

Taking out a letter of credit, the Carth reads it over to ensure that nothing is out of place before penning in a few last words and sliding it across to you. You reach out to take it, but she doesn't let go of it. “If your account turns out to be fraudulent, we will reclaim this bounty – plus an additional fine,” she reminds you, “Are you aware of that?”

“Yes, I am,” this time, you do roll your eyes - fortunately, that doesn't warrant a fine. The Carth agent releases the letter, allowing you to carefully fold it up and slip it into your pocket where it sits snugly next to Miriam's diary.

Funds increased to 6

Apparently satisfied with that, the Carth agent rises from her seat and smooths down her crisp white uniform, marching out with one last murmured blessing - “May the Lord of Rising Light cleanse you”. Before you can leave as well, Penelope sets a glass of wine down in front of you and takes the now vacant seat. “Thank you,” she says simply, “I misjudged you. I thought that you'd cut and run as soon as you could.”

True enough, she seems to be looking at you with new eyes. Not entirely without suspicion, but warmer than ever before. You've been elevated to “respectable human being”, apparently, more fool her. “Well, it was the least I could do,” you tell her with a shrug, “I figure that I owe Miriam this much, at least, after what she did for me.”

“So it would seem,” apparently pleased with your answer, Penelope rises to her feet again, “Well. The party is over now – Captain DuPont already left, in fact, and I had the servants do what they could for the Spirit of Helena. Mostly just cleaning and stocking it with basic supplies, I'm afraid, you'll need an engineer for the rest.” Sighing, she starts to wander away before pausing. “Oh, one last thing,” she mentions, “Tobias' crew. He's gave them leave to join you for a while, just until you've got a crew of your own.”

You thank her, and then she withdraws to leave you in peace.

>Take the Spirit of Helena down to Nadir and head home
>Seek out some of the guests before they leave (Who?)
>Other

>>2131005
>Take The Spirit of Helena down to Nadir and head home.

Diary time.

>>2131005
>>Seek out some of the guests before they leave (Who?)

Tobias see how he is

Also Blessings see how he likes the life

>>2131005
>Take the Spirit of Helena down to Nadir and head home
Time to get Keziah and have her look over the airship. Is Blessings ready to go?

>>2131005
>>Take the Spirit of Helena down to Nadir and head home

>>2131005
>Seek out some of the guests before they leave
Visit Tobias, thank him.

>>2131005
>>Seek out some of the guests before they leave (Who?)
That officer was a good sort, at least say thank you and good bye

Draining the glass of lukewarm wine – you've had far worse, in your time – you start to go looking for Blessings. Wandering the manor for a while, you eventually find him in the radio room, talking into the microphone with an expression of vapid concentration. Lingering in the doorway for a moment, you shamelessly listen in for a moment.

“There was so much blood,” he murmurs into the microphone, “I've never seen so much blood, in fact. I just can't understand why anyone would want to do something like that, and... oh, I don't know. I'm not making any sense, am I?” Closing the door firmly behind you, you cause him to jolt upright. “Excuse me, Father, I have to go,” the boy squeaks, “Someone else needs to use the wireless. Yes, I'll pray tonight. Yes, Father.” Hanging up the radio microphone, he turns around and gives you a sheepish grin.

“Having second thoughts?” you ask, your question coming out more curtly than you had intended.

“Yes... no... No, I don't think so,” Blessings shakes his head, “It's certainly different, though, isn't it? I couldn't believe what I was seeing, the way that awful man just... shot Mister Mahdi like that...” His eyes widened a little, as if there had been something he had forgotten. “Tobias!” he blurts out, “That was it, I called to ask about his health. He was asleep when I called in, but the doctors are very positive.”

“That's good,” you begin, “I'm glad that-”

“Of course, it's the Lord of Rising Light that we should really be thanking,” Blessings adds, in an absent-minded tone of voice, “He'll be watching over Tobias, keeping his wound from gathering impurity and... ah, excuse me. You don't want to hear about all this, do you?”

Being the diplomat that you are, you don't answer that directly. Shrugging a little, you gesture back towards the door. “Come on, we're leaving soon,” you tell him, “Tobias gave us a crew, so we're heading down to Nadir. You'd better prepare yourself for that.”

Blessings shivers a little at the thought, but he doesn't object.

-

As you're heading towards the Spirit of Helena, you see Carter's black-garbed form slipping past like a shadow. Murmuring for Blessings to go on ahead, you break off and intercept the Iraklin officer before he can leave. He allows a faint curiosity to lighten his eye as you approach, although that's the only expression that passes across his face. Drawing out the small pistol, you offer it out to him grip first.

“Here,” you tell him, “I don't like automatics.”

“I see,” Carter replies, “Or do you just dislike Iraklin automatics?”

“That too,” you concede with a cold smile, “I always wonder if they were made in that factory you people build on my homeland.”

“I believe that makes farming equipment, actually,” the Iraklin corrects you, “Not firearms.”

[1/2]

>>2131073

“Well, I guess it doesn't matter now,” you sigh, allowing him to take the pistol out of your hand, “You helped out today. Maybe you're not such a bad sort. I still can't really guess why you were here in the first place, though.”

“Merely to observe. Miriam Hawthorn was a person of some interest,” Carter tells you, “Come to think of it, so are you – albeit for a different reason. Tell me, Captain Vaandemere, would you be opposed to working with Iraklis at some point in the future? We prefer not to engage the services of mercenaries, but that isn't always an option.”

Working for the people who occupied your homeland... the idea should infuriate you, but you can't seem to scrape together enough anger to give it the response it deserves. Maybe you've come to accept things, just as the rest of your countrymen accepted things almost five years ago. Some grudges cool with time, after all. Still...

“Depends on how much you're paying,” you reply bluntly, “And how badly I need it. Don't count on it, though.”

“I thought as much,” nodding to himself, Carter pounds a fist against his heart in the traditional salute, “Fight well, Captain Vaandemere, and fly well.”

You don't salute that or repeat his words, but you do give him a nod of grudging respect.

-

The Spirit of Helena is warming up by the time you arrive, and the sight of it fills you with... something you struggle to explain. It's different to the trepidation you felt upon piloting the Steppenwolf, this feels more comforting than that. It's only when you ease yourself down into the captain's chair that you can place the feeling – it's the feeling of coming home, after a long time away. Smiling a little, you check the radio and call out for a status report.

“Gunnery chief Hanson here,” the first voice replies, “Things aren't great down here, but we'll manage.”

“Cammy, engineering,” the next voice sounds off, “Got enough blue here to fly, but don't ask me to perform any miracles.”

“Alright then,” you announce, “It's time to fly. Everyone get to your stations, and-”

“Um, captain?” Blessings asks, from his place at one of the nearby seats, “Will I need to buckle up for this?”

Clenching your eyes shut, you fight back the urge to sigh heavily.

>I think I'll close things here for today. I'll pick things up tomorrow, and if anyone has any questions I'll answer them if I can
>Thanks to all your contributions and feedback today!

>>2131114
Thanks for running, Moloch!
Do you have any particular inspirations behind this quest?

>>2131114
Thanks for running!

>>2131124
I kept thinking it'd be granblue but it feels like he just put flying ships in dunwich.

>>2131124
The Final Fantasy games - mainly 12 and I guess 6 to a lesser extent - were what first gave me the idea for this, but things have probably distanced themselves from FF over time, as I've thought more about certain elements. There are a couple of other inspirations, but I don't want to list them yet - they might spoil some upcoming moments!

>>2131114
Thanks for running! I see Blessings has a lot to learn.

>>2131181
Chrono trigger- one of Miriam's treasures is the epoch.

>>2131114
Are the tobias's crew member just filler npcs that dont have impact on the story and are just their for plot progression or are they going to be devoloped?

>>2131285
For the most part, they're just there for filler. I belatedly realised that we couldn't really get anywhere without a crew to help out, so I needed a few spare bodies to fill in. That said, if we never ended up finding people to replace them, they could quite easily become "fixed" characters, and they might still have parts to play.
So, maybe both?

>>2131181
Is one of the inspirations Skies of Arcadia?

If so can we get the Moonstone Cannon?

File: Ring.png (242 KB, 800x600)

242 KB PNG

The flight back to Monotia is a worrying one, with the sound of the Spirit of Helena's engines never quite sounding right to you. She's a bigger girl than the Manticore ever was, with more powerful engines, but you don't think the difference is just down to that. It's the same engine trouble that you were warned about, and it won't change until you've gotten things fixed up. That's next on your list, along with reviewing Miriam's diary.

Monotia only has one aerodrome, near the palace, and so that's where you leave the Helena. Arriving just as dark sets in, the crew elect to stay aboard the ship for the night – and normally, you'd do the same, but you've got things to do tonight. Private things. The best thing about being the captain is that you don't need to make an excuse – you just announce that you're leaving, then leave. All too aware of the vibrant sounds of night – snatches of drunken singing, sharp bursts of violence, and stranger things aside – you make your way back to Morey's slums. There, you make yourself comfortable and start reading.

With a more sceptical eye, it's easy to see how someone might dismiss Miriam's diary as mad speculation or paranoid raving. The notes have been pieced together over what looks like a year or so, drawn from various different sources. In their most simple form, the notes speak of a treasure trove high up on the Mountain of Faith, sealed by a strange key. Anyone with the key could get in, and take what Miriam described as “boundless wealth” for themselves. The problem is, the key is broken and the pieces have been scattered. She included a rough sketch of what might be the complete key, derived from old stone carvings sound in the Drift.

In its complete form the key looks like an iron ring, divided up into six different segments. Why six, an unfinished note wonders, just by random chance? The Mountain of Faith has six main islands locked in place around it, but...

The scrawled note ends there. There are a few sections written in a language that you can't understand, but then you find the important part – the locations of the key fragments. The only confirmed location was in the Pastona Grand Museum, with an imago showing the fragment itself. When you read those words, you let out a slow curse.

The Pastona Grand Museum was destroyed in the Annexation War, caught up in the crossfire. Some of the artefacts were recovered, but certainly not all of them. The locations of the other fragments are just as vague – Miriam seemed to think that they were scattered across all three levels of Inounsys.

She never speculated as to how they were scattered – or at least, she never put her thoughts down on paper.

[1/2]

>>2133466

A firm knock on the door causes you to glance up from the diary, slipping it under your discarded coat before you reach for a knife. Just as the second round of knocking is starting to ring out, you crack the door open and peer through before signing in relief. It's Keziah, her face set in an open smile. Fully opening the door, you start to allow her in... before a question forms in your mind. “Wait,” you tell her, “How did you know I was home?”

“Wee little bird told me, aye?” she replies, tilting her head to the side, “Ah, you dinnae need to worry, I'll go off again if you're busy. Wouldnae want to bother the new captain, would I?”

“Fine, whatever. I was going to talk with you tomorrow morning anyway. Now is as good a time as any,” shrugging, you stand aside and let her stroll in, “I got a ship. The Spirit of Helena, she's called. I'll need you to give her a good over, see what needs getting fixed. The potential coils are bad, I think, and I don't know what else. I've got a... a temporary crew, I guess you'd call them, and they'll help. I want to know how much it's going to cost to fix.”

“Aye, I can do that. Might be, I can get you a good price for it all as well,” Keziah nods thoughtfully to herself, “Guild contacts, you ken? Nae much use for the dailies, but they come in handy for the big jobs like this. Just leave it to me, boss!” Sitting on your bed with a strangely innocent air – as if the thought that she might be implying something had never crossed her mind for a second – Keziah studies you with a careful look. “She's doin' you good already,” she announces suddenly, “You look like a new man, boss. How was the fancy will readin' stuff?”

“Hmm,” you smile darkly to yourself, “We got attacked by pirates, that wasn't great. There was free food, though.”

“Oh, aye?” the witch perks up, “You shouldnae have me here, boss, I love a wee spot of-”

“And DuPont was there,” you add, “As obnoxious as ever.”

“Aye, well, forget about that,” sticking her tongue out, Keziah shakes her head, “I wouldnae have been able to stomach much with him stinkin' the place up.” Scowling a little, she lets her gaze wander around your little slum. Not looking for anything in particular, you don't think, she's just... observing things. She does that sometimes – maybe it's a witch thing, or maybe she's just a strange person. Maybe both.

“Point is, boss, it's good to see you lookin' better,” she adds, “Although I liked that rough look you had goin' on before. Made you look a wee bit dangerous, you ken what I mean? Ah, anyway – I'd best get goin'. Busy day tomorrow!”

>I'll see you tomorrow then
>Before you go, could you take a look at this diary for me? See if you can make any sense of it...
>Let's hit the town, grab a few drinks. I could do with it, after the day I had
>Other

>>2133468
>Before you go, could you take a look at this diary for me? See if you can make any sense of it...
"Do you recognize this language at all?"

>>2133468
>Before you go, could you take a look at this diary for me? See if you can make any sense of it...

>>2133468
>>Before you go, could you take a look at this diary for me? See if you can make any sense of it...
Surely we can let our most trusted friend and crew member take a peek. It won't go badly... right?

File: Keziah.jpg (101 KB, 816x1600)

101 KB JPG

As Keziah is rising to leave, you recall the imago you saw in Miriam's manor – the picture of her staff, and the Nadir crone who had been lurking at the very edge. Miriam had likely been seeking the advice of a barbarian, maybe even a witch, and perhaps you might benefit from doing the same. Keziah might not be much of a witch, but she's all you've got right now.

“Hey, wait a moment. Before you go, could you take a look at something for me?” you ask her, “It's a diary, or something like it. I want to see if you can make any sense of it...”

“Oh, aye?” Keziah raises an eyebrow, “Now, some folk might object to readin' someone's diary, but you're lucky that I'm here. You pour me a cup of wine, and I'll see what I can do.”

Reaching under your coat, you produce the diary and hold it out to her. As she flips through the pages – not even reading it, you note with a faint irritation, just skimming until something leaps out at her – you fetch two cups and pour a generous measure of wine into both. Just as you're setting a cup down in front of her, she lets out a soft gasp of surprise. “What?” you ask quickly, peering at what caught her eye – Miriam's crude drawing of the iron ring.

“Aye, well, whoever drew this wasnae much of an artist,” Keziah begins, “But I ken some of these symbols, like. Not all of them, though – the first two, I dinnae... wait. I have seen the second one before, somewhere, but I dinnae ken what it means.” Turning the diagram around so that you can look at it properly, she points out the symbols in turn. “These are ancient marks, associated with the old gods. Three is Flame, then Winds, Soil and Waves in that order.”

“The old gods of Nadir,” you murmur, “And what about the language, do you recognise it?”

“Bloody hell, it could be anythin'. There's a whole mess of different languages scattered across Nadir, and I never learned any of them. These words here, though...” tapping a finger against the scribbled words in the centre, Keziah whispers them under her breath. She tries a few different pronunciations, frowning as some memory eludes her. Then, a revelation. “Gach Beairteas!” she hisses, “My mam told me a story about that once, when I was a wee lass. It means... it means... All Wealth!”

“I like the sound of that,” you admit, taking a quick drink of wine, “You think you can remember that story?”

“Aye, well, you dinnae ask for much, do you?” laughing, Keziah empties her cup in a single swallow and thinks for a moment more, “So, right at the start of everythin', the gods filled the world with riches – only, they saw how greedy folks got, so they decided to take some back. I always figured that would make folk MORE greedy, if there was less to go around, but...”

“Focus,” you urge, “What happens then?”

[1/2]

>>2133487

“Sorry, sorry. Aye, so things get a wee bit weird now. The gods reach forwards and take some of the coins outta people's pockets, and they reach back to take some of the gold outta the hills. When they're done, they've taken half of all wealth that ever was or ever would be,” Keziah glances across at her cup, and you refill it as she continues talking, “They took their wee little pile of gold, and they sealed it up in a vault so it wouldnae get taken back. I dinnae ken why they didnae just blow it up or somethin', but you learn not to ask too many questions with these things.”

A locked vault full of wealth – so far, so consistent with what Miriam seemed to believe. “Is that it?” you press, “Is that the end?”

“There's more. The story goes that there was a great thief, sneaky enough to take the key right back from the gods and open the vault. Only, the gods were prepared for this – all hidden amongst the coins and jewels and whatnot, they hid an egg,” leaning forwards, Keziah gives you a wicked grin, “So when our wee thief comes along, the egg hatches and out pops out a Wyrm – the first of its kind! So, long story short, the thief gets chased away with just a single coin in his pocket, and the Wyrm follows him out. The story goes that the Wyrms – the first one had babies, you see – protect the treasure vault to this day.”

“How did the Wyrm have children if it was...” you begin, before sighing and shrugging your shoulders. You're listening to a children's fable, after all, things aren't always going to make perfect sense. Wyrms might not even exist, considering that nobody has ever seen one in the flesh. “So, what you're suggesting is... there's a treasure trove somewhere that contains half of all the world's wealth,” you continue instead, “And Miriam seemed to think that she had found it.”

“Aye, well, I dinnae ken about that,” the young witch shakes her head in helpless confusion, “Some folks just use the term for any big pile of loot – a tomb full of coin, like. I dinnae want to make this sound like more than it is. Anyway, that's the story that me mam always gave me – and sometimes, she talked a load of shite. Might be, you could find someone to translate things a bit better, but you'd need a scholar for that. A proper one, I mean.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” you tell her. With that, Keziah finishes the last of her wine and nods eagerly.

“So,” she says idly, “That what we're going after first?”

“Maybe,” smiling faintly, you toy with your cup, “It would make a fine prize, wouldn't it? We'll need a working ship first, mind you.”

“Point taken,” the witch replies, “I'll head off, then. Or...”

>I'll see you tomorrow, bright and early
>Could you tell me more about those gods you mentioned?
>You don't know any stories about what happened to that key?
>I need to ask you something... (Write in)
>Other

>>2133504
>You don't know any stories about what happened to that key?
>I'll see you tomorrow, bright and early

>>2133504
>Could you tell me more about those gods you mentioned?

>>2133504
>>You don't know any stories about what happened to that key?

>>2133504
>Could you tell me more about those gods you mentioned?
The first two symbols are clearly Pelor, the Burning Hate, and Cthulhu.

>>2133504
>the witch replies
ouch vandemere, she's your mechanic, isn't she?

“Could you tell me some more about those gods you mentioned?” you ask, “I'm not familiar with them.”

“Aye, I cannae say that I'm that surprised. Some folk dinnae even ken that we have gods. Now, let me think...” yawning, Keziah stretches out her arms and wiggles her long, cunning fingers. “So, I'll keep this short – the Flames burn away the dead, like, and set the soul free from the body. You ever see a ghost, try wavin' a flame at it – might scare it off, see? I dinnae know what you folk do, but we tend to burn out dead here in Nadir. The Soil is like the cradle of all life, sort of the opposite of the Flames. All livin' things came from the soil, crawlin' outta wee holes in the ground. Things still crawl outta the ground, every now and then – nasty things, mind you.”

“What kind of...” you begin, before cutting yourself short, “No, never mind that now. What about the other two?”

“The Winds bring us Daemons, messengers of the gods. They ride the winds, see, to bring us both blessings and curses depenin' on how they feel at the time. I remember when I made Herod, it was blowin' a wicked storm – that's when rites work best, see?” taking the cup out of your hand, Keziah takes a quick swallow of wine before continuing, “Thirsty work this. Where was I? Ah, the Waves. See, the old stories say that everythin' we learned came from the ocean – a great sea of knowledge, like. An island with a great city rose from the ocean, and some folk took stone tablets from it. It was those tablets that gave us all our language, our knowledge of workin' metal, our rites and rituals... everything!”

Keziah is silent for a moment more before shrugging cheerfully. “Then it sank again, before we managed to get much else,” she concludes, “So that was our lot. Some folk still think that the island will surface again, but I reckon that's just wishful thinkin'. Some folk always want more, see?”

“Speaking of wanting more, I suppose you can't make a guess at what those last two symbols mean, right?” you ask, “The first one almost looks like a sun... the sun and the moon, perhaps?”

“We've got other symbols for those. They're more... pointy,” tilting her head to the side, Keziah studies the diagram again, “That second one almost looks like a bowl of soup when you look at it like this...”

“Soup?” you repeat slowly, fighting the urge to groan with dismay.

“But I HAVE seen it somewhere before,” the witch mutters to herself, “Aye, I'm sure of it. Ah, bugger, I just dinnae ken what it means. Sorry boss, I'll tell you if I can remember anything, but...”

[1/2]

>>2133528

“Well, I guess it can't be that important. You don't know any stories about what happened to that key, do you?” you ask, “If it was broken apart or hidden, that kind of thing?”

“Cannae say that I do. Mind you, I dinnae remember many of the old stories – ask me to assemble an engine, and I'll do it blindfolded. Ask me to tell you what my crazy old mam told me when I was a wee lass, and...” stopping herself short, Keziah winces as a new idea occurs to her, “Say, how desperate are you? Only, we might be able to just... ask her. Chances are, she's the only one who'll talk to you about this old stuff. Her sort, uh, they don't share much with outsiders. I saw her when I was back home, she was alive and well... as well as she ever was, at least.”

“I... see,” you lie, sensing dangerous territory ahead, “And I don't suppose I could find a written account of any of these stories anywhere, could I?”

“I dinnae think so. Some things just dinnae get written down,” Keziah shakes her head slowly, “At most, they get carved into stuff – bloody great stone tablets, like. Cannae just pop down to the bookshop and pick one of them up, can you?”

“No, I suppose not,” you agree slowly, “Well, there's no point in planning too far ahead – get those engines fixed, then we can decide our next move.”

“Aye, true,” rising to her feet, Keziah slaps you lightly on the shoulder as she moves to leave, “I'll see you tomorrow, boss.”

“You sure will,” you tell her, returning her smile, “Bright and early.”

Although her back is turned to you, you see Keziah shuddering at your words.

-

This is a dream – it must be, because how else could you be back here in your family home? The tiled floor feels cold beneath your bare feet as you totter along, supporting yourself against the wall as if your legs were too young to reliably hold you upright. There's a noise coming from downstairs, from what your father pretentiously called “the ballroom”, but it's not the usual murmur of music and conversations. There's a strange smell, as well, like something burning. Even to your young mind, the situation seems both dangerous and unusual.

Following that odd noise – a noise that you can't describe, don't have the vocabulary or worldly experience to describe – you reach the top of a grand flight of stairs. Now the smell seems almost electrical, like the smell of an airship's engines powering up for the first time in a long while. Clinging to the sweeping balustrade as if your life depended on it, you peer around at the ballroom below, and-

And when you wake up, you can still feel a scream of childish fear lingering on your lips.

[2/3]

>>2133558

“You okay, boss?” Keziah asks, as you're meeting up with her the following morning, “You look rough. Too much wine?”

“It'll take more than a few small cups of wine to hit me this hard,” you tell her, more curtly than intended, “No, I just didn't sleep very well. I had this strange dream... No, forget about it. I don't want to get into it.”

“You dinnae want to ignore your dreams, boss. Someone might be tryin' to tell you somethin'. Maybe-” the look on your face causes Keziah to laugh nervously before hastily changing the subject. “Okay, so, I took a wee look at the Spirit of Helena – pretty name, by the way – and I got a quote for you. To get everythin' up to standard willnae be cheap, but I dinnae reckon it's an unfair price.” Pulling out a pad of paper, Keziah scrawls a quick figure before showing it to you – a bit of old Free Captain folklore, that, not to name a price aloud lest it be doubled.

Taking the pad of paper, you wince a little at the figure. It won't leave you broke, but it'll take a large chunk out of what you've managed to scrape together. Getting the Spirit of Helena airborne is important, but maybe you can find some other work around town – the sort of work that you can do on the ground. Nasty work, as it tends to be.

Current funds: 6
Funds required: 4

“That covers everything – new potential coils, and tuning up the guns,” Keziah explains, “So...”

>I'll pay it. We need to get the Spirit of Helena up and running as soon as possible
>Hold off for now, I want to see if I can raise some more funds first...
>Other

>>2133574
>I'll pay it. We need to get the Spirit of Helena up and running as soon as possible
I don't think our dear captain has the right kind of friends to raise money from, or with. Let's try to kick this off without being weighed down by favors owed and what not

>>2133574
>I'll pay it. We need to get the Spirit of Helena up and running as soon as possible

>>2133574
>I'll pay it. We need to get the Spirit of Helena up and running as soon as possible

Thanks Blessings. We'd need to raise 3 without you.

>>2133574
>I'll pay it. We need to get the Spirit of Helena up and running as soon as possible

>>2133580
We can always take legit (though a bit boring) mercantile jobs from Carth to pad out our funds I imagine.

>>2133592
I figure it's easier and better to do that with a functioning ship

>>2133574
>I'll pay it. We need to get the Spirit of Helena up and running as soon as possible

>>2133574
>>I'll pay it. We need to get the Spirit of Helena up and running as soon as possible

“I'll pay it,” you decide, trying not to sigh as Keziah passes over an official GERA letter of credit, most of the details already filled in as if she had been expecting this very response. Signing your name almost feels like shedding blood or losing a limb, but soon the deed is done. “We need to get the Spirit of Helena up and running as soon as possible,” you add, almost as if convincing yourself of the fact, “No matter what.”

“Aye, dinnae worry yourself, boss. It's a land of opportunity, this,” Keziah assures you, “Money around every corner.”

“I bet,” you reply slowly, “Say, don't GERA representatives earn a commission on sales like these?”

“Huh? Where'd you hear about that?” Keziah squeaks, her cheeks flushing slightly, “Well, uh, you dinnae want to believe everythin' you hear about the Guild. Some folks just see all the secrecy and stuff and make all sorts of wild theories...”

She always was a bad liar, you think to yourself with an inward smile.

Current Funds: 2

-

With the matter settled, Keziah gets to work on overseeing the repairs. With the air of a tempestuous artist, she practically throws the rest of the crew out while the work is being done, demanding space and time to practice her craft. Most of Tobias' crew, unused to her whims, simply retreat to their quarters and ignore her, while a few others disembark and start to wander away towards the various drinking holes and gambling dens that litter Monotia.

“Wow,” Blessings remarks, “How long were you travelling with her, Sir?”

“A few years,” you reply, “Not quite long enough to get used to her. She's damn good at her job, though, so I'm willing to put up with a few eccentricities.”

“Ah, eh, I see. Aunt Miriam was the same, always talking about luck and omens. Mother tells me that all Free Captains are a little... ah...” he falters here, waiting until you give him the nod before continuing, “A little mad, I suppose. Far better to get a real job with the Church, she said. Ah – speaking of the Church, I wanted to go and visit some of the chapels here. I helped to fund some of them, you know!”

“I've heard as much,” nodding, you glance aside as Hanson and Cammy amble past. “You two, no getting in trouble,” you warn them, “I want you both back here in a few hours.”

“Why not come with us, then?” Hanson asks you, “I'd like to get to know the man who's giving me my orders.” Cammy idly nods her agreement, too busy fiddling with a cigarette and matches to bother talking.

>Sure, I'll come and keep an eye on you
>Sorry, I should probably keep Blessings from getting lost
>Sorry, I wanted to go for a walk, get some time alone
>Other

>>2133634
>Sure, I'll come and keep an eye on you
Always good to get to know your crew..

>>2133634
>Sure, I'll come and keep an eye on you
Decide if we want to keep or replace em

>>2133634
>Sure, I'll come and keep an eye on you


>Cammy and Hanson
Hah. I get it.

>>2133634
>>Sure, I'll come and keep an eye on you

>>2133634
>Other
"We'll make time for that. Gotta make sure our freshest hand" nod to Blessings "is up to snuff first."

>>2133646
Plenty of time for that while we are in the air. Shore leave is pretty damn important. Let the poor boy experience the wonderful Nadir churches.

Looks like she never kicked the habit

>>2133634
>>Sure, I'll come and keep an eye on you

>>2133634
>Sorry, I should probably keep Blessings from getting murdered in an alley.

Moloch is big enough now to do references to himself!

>>2133687
There was Devil Summoner references in Sleeping Gods mang.

“Sure,” you tell them, “I'll come and keep an eye on you. A captain has a duty to his men, after all.” Nodding to the pair, you glance around at Blessings. “I'm trusting you on your own, so don't let me down,” you tell him, “Monotia isn't... too rough, if you stick to the right areas. Just don't go anywhere that smells like sewage, and don't buy anything suspicious. Oh, and you ought to get some directions – from someone in uniform.”

“Yes Sir, yes,” the boy whips out a small book and actually notes down your advice, whispering the words back to himself to make sure that he doesn't miss anything out, “I'll be sure to say a prayer for our upcoming success!”

Cammy and Hanson trade an incredulous look at that, while you just shrug to them.

-

As you walk through the streets of Monotia with the pair, you take a moment to study them. Both are old enough to be Tobias' parents, although neither of them looks remotely like the boy. Hanson is gaunt and pale, with dark shadows lining his eyes – the eyes of a man who dreams too much, you consider with a faint shiver. If you had to guess, you'd say that he has more than a little Nadir blood in him, although he bears its stigmata discretely. Cammy, meanwhile, seems like she was born and raised in Azimuth – the way the gazes around at Monotia in mixed awe and suspicion is a dead giveaway. She's easy on the eyes, although her straw-coloured hair is so dirty that she looks as though she washed it with engine oil. She doesn't talk as much, and she avoids your eyes as much as possible.

“So,” Hanson begins, looking around at you, “How did you get into the business, Captain Vaandemere?”

“You could say that I was born into it,” you reply vaguely, “My old man was a captain, and I inherited a ship from him – a real wreck, but it just about worked. It almost feels like history is repeating itself, now that I think about it.” Scratching at the stubble already growing on your cheeks, you consider your situation and how oddly common it is. “Seems like most Free Captains start off the same way,” you muse, “Even DuPont inherited his first ship.”

“Aleister DuPont, that was his old man,” Cammy blurts out, “My father served on his ship for a while. When I was old enough, DuPont – Alain, I mean, our DuPont – practically insisted that I serve on the Thelema, like he owned me or something.”

“Arsehole,” Hanson mutters darkly, before grimacing and glancing around at you.

“No, don't worry, I couldn't agree more,” you assure him, “He's the worst kind of Free Captain.”

Apparently reaching a decision about you, Hanson gives you a satisfied nod as you stop outside a bar – a higher class of bar than you had been expecting. “Here, I think,” he decides, “We can drink like respectable people.”

“It doesn't hurt to pretend,” Cammy adds, in the tone of someone telling their half of an old joke.

[1/2]

>>2133698

“Did you see that bastard? He's got a fucking family tree hung up behind the bar,” Hanson curses as he arrives at your table with three glasses of beer, “Twelve generations of Azimuth – like he was trying to prove something.”

“It's only going to get more popular in the next few years,” you reply, taking a deep sip of the beer, “And it's just like you said, people trying to prove something – or the absence of something. My father was just the same, proudly telling everyone that there wasn't a drop of Nadir blood in his line.” Laughing bitterly, you shake your head at the memory. “It's not even like he was with the Church,” you add, “He was just an asshole.”

Judging by the other customers surrounding you, this is definitely a Carth bar – which is a rare thing to see, since members of the Church aren't really supposed to drink. There's lots of gilding on display, while the radio apparatus behind the bar is fixed to a prayer channel, broadcasting typically dreary chants out across the bar. Not really your scene, not really anyone's scene – except maybe for Blessings himself.

“I wonder if the kid found his chapel,” you murmur to yourself, thinking of Blessings.

“Probably,” Cammy offers, glancing out towards the window, “Why'd you bring him along, anyway?”

“He paid,” you answer with a shrug, taking a deep sip of beer, “And I guess I felt a little bit sorry for him. Maybe it'll come back to bite me on the ass, maybe not. What, do you think it was a bad call?”

“Couldn't say,” Hanson shrugs, “I'm glad about one thing, though – he makes a good meal. He whipped up breakfast for the crew this morning, and I didn't know you could make decent food out of all that tinned stuff. If it comes to a fight, he'll be useless, but he might make the day to day grind a little easier.” A curt laugh escapes the lean man as he empties his glass. “Then again, it makes sense that he'd be good with food,” he adds, “A pudgy Church rat like him.”

“I'm getting fresh drinks,” Cammy announces suddenly, standing up and backing off, “You want one, captain?”

Draining the last of your drink, you give her a nod and she hurries away, as quick as humanly possible. You're left confused, watching as she walks away. Hanson watches her leave as well, although probably for a different reason.

>So, how did you get to be a part of Tobias' crew?
>Hey, what's her problem?
>It sounds like you've got a problem with the Church
>Let's talk... (Write in)
>Other

>>2133756
>Hey, what's her problem?
>It sounds like you've got a problem with the Church

>>2133756
>>So, how did you get to be a part of Tobias' crew?
>>Hey, what's her problem?

>>2133756
>Hey, what's her problem?
>It sounds like you've got a problem with the Church. Makes this place a bit of an odd choice for a drink doesn't it?

>>2133756
>Hey, what's her problem?
>It sounds like you've got a problem with the Church

“Hey,” you mutter once she's out of earshot, “What's her problem?”

Hanson takes a moment to reply. “She's a Pastonne,” he tells you eventually, “But when the war broke out, she didn't fight. She found somewhere to lie low and sat it out. I guess she feels guilty about it now – seeing as you fought and all.”

“A Pastonne...” you muse, “She hides her accent well, I'll give her that.” That certainly explains things – either she expects you to blame her for not fighting, or she sees you as an awkward reminder of her own decisions. Maybe both, or maybe she has her own reasons. “Any idea why she didn't fight?” you ask next, glancing around to make sure that the woman isn't about to return, “I mean, was she afraid of dying, or...”

“In all the time I've known her, I've never seen her shy away from a fight,” Hanson assures you, “So if you're worried on her bailing out when you need her, you needn't be. No, I don't know why she decided not to fight. She certainly doesn't talk about it, and I don't want to press the matter. Last time I saw someone try that, he ended up with two black eyes.” Rubbing a hand across his hollow cheeks, Hanson regards you with something approaching caution. “This isn't going to be a problem,” he asks quietly, “Is it?”

“Hell, if I held a grudge against every Pastonne who didn't fight in the war...” you sigh, “Just, I can't have her shying away from me. If she finds a problem in the engines, something that Keziah misses, I need to know about it – I don't want her to keep quiet because she feels guilty or whatever. Have a word with her, will you? If you don't, I will.”

“Understood, captain,” Hanson agrees, nodding slightly as Cassy returns with fresh glasses of beer.

“They look at you real strange when you buy a second round, in this place” she explains, “So, what were you guys talking about?”

“Just our little Church rat,” Hanson lies, “Debating over whether to stick him in the kitchens full-time.”

“Maybe I'm wrong,” you begin, taking the glass that Cassy reluctantly offers across, “But you seem to have a problem with the Church. Am I wrong?”

“No, you're quite correct,” the gaunt-faced man replies, shaking his head a little, “I don't exactly agree with their teachings. According to the Church of Rising Light – or the Church of the Rising Light, whichever name their using this week – my very existence is a sin. By virtue of my blood, I'm somehow unclean... and I'll need to spend the rest of my life trying to atone for that. So, I think you could quite easily call that a problem.”

“Hey,” Cassy warns him, “Maybe you shouldn't...”

“But I'm a professional,” Hanson stresses, “So long as you don't try and burn me at the stake, I'll do my job and we won't have a problem.”

[1/2]

>>2133796

“I'll be sure to tell Blessings that,” you promise him, allowing a hint of wry humour into your voice, “But I've got to say, this makes your choice of bar a little... questionable.”

Smiling wolfishly – and he does, in fact, have rather sharp teeth – Hanson leans a little closer. “I offend these people,” he tells you in a low voice, “Can't you tell? I'm putting them off their food, just by sitting near them.” As he leans back, you sneak a glimpse at the nearby tables. True to his word, some of the other customers look uneasy... although they can't seem to figure out why. “I know their kind,” Hanson adds, “They come down here looking for a spot of adventure, but they stay within “safe” areas. Well, I like to come in here and make them feel unsafe.”

“I guess everyone needs a hobby,” Cassy remarks, laughing quietly to herself, “C'mon, let's get out of here. Let the nice people finish their food in peace.”

“I suppose so,” Hanson sighs, heaving himself up and out of his seat. The three of you leave the bar, stepping out into the unclean city air. Only belatedly do you realise that the bar was actually perfumed – scented incense keeping away the less wholesome smells outside.

-

“So how did you two end up joining Tobias' crew?” you ask as you're trekking slowly back to the aerodrome, “Any interesting stories there?”

“Not really. I was looking for work, and I managed to find a place on the gunnery deck of a Carth cruiser. Dirty work, crawling around the inside of machinery and fixing things that went wrong, but it was a start. Picked up the trade from there, learning what I could, then I went freelance,” smiling coldly at the memories, Hanson scratches at his arm – at a scar that looks like the aftermath of an industrial accident. “I was good with guns, but bad with picking a crew,” he adds, “My first freelance ship got brought down in the Drift, and Captain Hawthorn picked me up. She put me in contact with Captain Mahdi, and that was that.”

“You know, I'd call that an interesting story,” Cassy points out, “More interesting than mine, at least. Like I said before, I almost ended up working for Alain DuPont. I didn't want any of it – not with his attitude – so I took the first job I could, just to say that I wasn't available. I had some engineering training already, and I ended up fixing machines in a... in a...”

“In a factory,” Hanson finishes for her, shooting you a warning look. A factory that made farming equipment, you guess, an Iraklin factory.

“Yeah, a factory,” the woman agrees, “I spent a few years there before Captain Mahdi rolled in, looking for an engineer. I took the job – I mean, it's all machinery, right?”

Suddenly, you're very glad that you'll have Keziah in the engine room as well.

[2/3]

Did Cammy change her name to stay incognito in this bar?

>>2133827

You make a quick detour on your way back to the aerodrome, stopping off at Salazar's hotel to pick up the luggage you left there. It seems like a long time ago now, and a lot seems to have changed since then. Hanson notes your rifle with an appreciative eye, and you talk about the finer points of rifle shooting as you return to the airship. It's been long enough, you decide, so the engines should be installed by now.

True enough, Keziah is waiting outside the Spirit of Helena when you arrive back, looking disgustingly pleased with herself. Blessings lingers in the background, looking dispirited and dismayed but otherwise unharmed. “She's all set up and charging now,” she tells you, pointing back towards the ship, “Didnae have a single problem, she's a real good girl. Oh, hey, I got somethin' that you might like to see.” Reaching into her pocket, Keziah pulls out a crumpled handbill and holds it out to you. An official Guild notice, you realise... and that means work.

The job is to track down a missing person, a scholar who was investigating certain aspects of ancient Nadir culture. He was supposed to be gone for a single day, but it's been three days now and he's yet to return. The client, his wife, wants him returned alive – or, if that should prove impossible, for someone to bring back proof of his death. Further information can be obtained from the client in Camp Prosperity.

“Camp Prosperity...” you mutter, “I don't know it.”

“It's a small logging camp built out near the Deep Forest. Sort of a staging point for expeditions into the woods,” Hanson explains, “Iraklin territory. We can take an armoured car out there, if we have business.”

“Aye, what he said. It's fresh in today, I snagged it before anyone else could take a peek,” Keziah tells you, “Aye, I ken that it isnae our usual line of work, but the money is good. What do you think?”

Mission: Recover the lost professor
Reward: 2 Funds if recovered alive, 1 Funds if proof of death is recovered

>Take the job
>Do not take the job

>>2133875
>>Take the job
Why not, eh?

>>2133875
Take the job

>>2133875
>>Take the job

>>2133875
>Take the job

I do have a lot of interest in ancient Nadir culture.

>>2133875
>>Take the job

>>2133875
>Take the job
Gotta start somewhere (again)

“Let's do it,” you decide, “Let's take job.”

“Aye aye, captain!” Keziah replies, throwing out an excited salute, “So what do we do first?”

“Head out to this Camp Prosperity, obviously, and talk with the client. Once we know what the situation is, we can head into the Deep Forest and find our man,” no matter how much you pretend otherwise, a faint shiver runs through you at the prospect – the Deep Forest is a grim place, unwelcoming and hostile to outsiders... and that's not getting into the matter of the locals. If this professor has fallen into their clutches, your chances of claiming that full reward won't be high.

“The Iraklin armoured cars leave every two hours, on the dot,” Hanson tells you, sneaking a glance at his hardy pocket watch, “So we have time to make some preparations. I think there was a small armoury on board – pistols and knives, nothing more serious than that.”

“Which isnae always enough,” Keziah helpfully adds, “Especially if our friend ran into a wee beast.”

-

Before you head to the armoury to load up, you allow Keziah to drag you along to take a look at the new engines. Blessings falls in behind you, his expression still set in that dreary mask. His first experience of Nadir, you guess, isn't proving to be a good one. Sighing, you finally glance round at him. “Alright, spit it out,” you tell him, “What's wrong? Didn't you find your chapel?”

“I found it,” he replies, “But...” Falling silent here, he shuffles his feet for a long time before managing to find his words again. “But when I found it,” he groans, “One of the locals was using it as a... as a public lavatory!”

A faint shudder runs through Hanson as he struggles to hold back a sudden burst of laughter, and so you put a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Gunnery chief Hanson,” you tell him in a firm voice, “Go ahead to the armoury and take inventory. I trust that you can handle small arms as well as artillery?”

“Oh yes, Captain Vaandemere,” he replies, somehow managing to keep a straight face, “Not a problem.” Saluting briskly, he hurries off ahead and leaves you to it. Fortunately for everyone involved, he manages to hold back his laughter until he makes it around the next corner. Unfortunately, some of the sound still echoes back to you. With Blessings flushing a dark pink, you hurry on towards the engine room to inspect the new machines.

-

A soft blue light fills the engine room, and you can feel the hair on the back of your neck stand on end as you enter. The air smells like metal and electricity, along with a healthy dose of machine oil and other chemicals. You can see the new potential coils up ahead – great pillars of iron and copper – while the Pleonite core lies between them. Beaming with pride, Keziah approaches it and lays the flat of her palm up against the glass casing.

With more than pride... with reverence.

[1/2]

>>2133930

“Refined Pleonite, likely mined somewhere in the Pastona Union – good crystal there, the best,” Keziah murmurs, her voice just audible above the hum of machinery, “Named after the wit... named after a Nadir woman called Pleone, of course, who-”

“Actually,” Blessing interrupts, “It's named after the philosopher August Pleone, who first discovered it in Carth. His experiments are well known as-”

“Oh, aye? Silly me,” Keziah chuckles, giving Blessings a wan smile, “Well, since you're the expert and all, I'll leave the rest of this to you. Dinnae let me stop you, go on and tell us how it works.”

“Er... uh...” shuffling in place, Blessings looks out at the arcane machinery, “The potential coils store... they store power, steadily feeding it into the Pleonite core, which...” Pausing again, he closes his eyes tightly and thinks. Frankly, this is already more than you were expecting from him – he's been doing his homework. “The Pleonite core amplifies the power, converting it into the blue fire and...” the choirboy continues, speaking in a rush, “And that's how it works. Er... as far as current theories can explain.”

A bemused silence answers this, before Keziah starts to clap slowly. “The boy done good,” she declares, with a hint of reluctance in her voice, “Where'd you learn all that, then?”

“Aunt Miriam told me,” he answers, “I... probably wasn't a very good student. I could never remember any of that before, when she asked me about it, so I don't know...” Trailing off limply, he gives you a weak shrug before backing away. “I should go back to my quarters,” the boy decides abruptly, “I have to... go... do something. Thank you, Sir, for this opportunity!” Turning quickly, he bustles out of the engine room.

“Strange boy,” Keziah decides, shrugging off her confusion, “Well, tour's over – let's take a wee look around this armoury of yours, boss.” As she starts to leave, she pauses and gives you a humourless smile. “You dinnae want to get caught out in the Deep Forest without a good gun in your hand,” she adds, “And even that doesnae mean you're safe, you know?”

You don't know, not yet... but you're going to learn.

>I'm going to pause things here. I'll continue this tomorrow, and if anyone has any questions I'll answer them if I can
>Sorry for the delays today, I had some distractions going on

>>2133976
Thanks for running Moloch!

>>2133976
Thanks for running!

>>2133976
Thanks for running, Moloch!

So Blessings is going to be our whipping boy for the story? I like!

>>2134018
Blessings is easy to make fun of, I think, but his heart is mostly in the right place. Mostly

>>2134070
>>2134018
Shouldn't make fun of our ship's cook *too* much. Chefs can find interesting ways of revenge.

>>2133976
Thanks for running! Maybe we should buy better armor.

>>2134112
Our breastplate is probably fine. Something tells me being weighed down in those forests by any more armor would be a bad idea. Being nimble and agile is probably the way to go.

On the subject of the combat system, I wanted to propose something.

The current way you handle the ship to ship battles is... lacking, to say the least. It feels like that very barebones style of RPG Whack-a-mole you see everywhere.
I thought about it and figured that a skill-based version would better do your writing justice.
The way I see it, you could divide everything the ship can do into different categories (Small Arms, Heavy Fire, Piloting, Evasion, Shields...). Each category would be attributes a skill, calculated by something like (Base Ship Capabilities+Crewman's Aptitude+Captain's leadership modifier+Task difficulty modifier). The players would have to pick an action and roll under the corresponding skill (with d100s).
This way, it's possible to get creative with combat, and we are alloted some much needed space for improvisation.

Just a suggestion, hope it helps.

>>2134716
I think we need to see how moloch expands on character and ship stats and progression for each before suggesting specific mechanics.

>>2134716
Why not adopt a system similar to trawler quest?
>short/medium/long/extra long/ range
>+x to hit for different ranges, further modified by equipment (rangefinders, targeting systems, etc) and crew skills
>damage falloff depending on the range and the weapon (point defence weapons falloff extremely fast, canons don't)
>roll to determine which part of the ship was hit and another roll for the severity

File: Combat.png (12 KB, 400x600)

12 KB PNG

Quick update with regards to where I am in terms of combat. I've been working on alternative weapons and range bands, to try and introduce a few more options. The first alternative weapon I've got are missiles, which operate differently to our default cannons. Missiles are equipped in limited numbers and can't be boosted with power points, so they have a lower damage potential, but they can't be soaked by shields and they don't use any power points to fire. Additionally, more than one missile can be fired at once.

Range bands, meanwhile, will influence how much damage certain weapons can do. Cannons start to lose damage past certain ranges, for example, while missiles do not. This carries over to enemy attacks as well, so closing with a target is something of a calculated risk

Additionally, we'll be able to use our Funds to improve the Spirit of Helena as times goes on, buying upgrades for our power capacity and recharge rate, along with acquiring new equipment. I'm still working on how to implement skiffs in combat, although I have a few ideas on that front, and the effects of various crew members. I don't anticipate us getting into any airship combat today, though, so I'll be able to work on those parts over the week.

So, that's what's happening. I appreciate your patience and your advice - I generally tend towards more simple systems, but I do agree that this sort of thing requires a little more depth

>>2134716
>>2135007


Let's not make the system too complex though, it's no fun digging through the archives to find the rules every time we get into a fight.

>>2136005
There's nothing stopping him from adding the rules in a pastebin in the OP like everyone else does.

File: Hanson.jpg (131 KB, 462x587)

131 KB JPG

The wheels of the armoured car bounce and rattle along the crude dirt trail as you head towards Camp Prosperity. The car is an open topped one, and the wind that rushes across your face has a damp, earthy smell to it. The nearby fields, you assume, dark tangles of green vegetation sprawling out as far as the eye can see. Keziah sits to one side of you, while a bulky Iraklin soldier in full battle armour jostles against your other side. Opposite you, Hanson and Cassy wait out the ride with surprising calm.

Along with your father's rifle resting across your knees, you've got a revolver tucked into your belt and a pair of knives – one long slender blade for bayonet use, and a heavier one, almost a cleaver, for more brutal work. Hanson had found a box of suitable cartridges in the armoury, and you're glad to have the rifle with you. The Iraklin soldiers, anonymous in their full-face helmets, all carry modern military rifles and seem intent on pretending that you don't exist. That's a mindset that you're more than happy to return in kind.

Ahead of you, the Deep Forest awaits. Shrouded in fog, almost as if the thick mists were seeping out of the woods themselves, the visibility is poor. It'll be little better once you're inside, you've heard, and it might even be worse.

Carefully setting your rifle aside, you stand up and gaze out across the landscape – the fields part briefly, giving way for a circle of large stones before closing back up again like the closing tides. Most of the stones have fallen, although a few still stand. Sitting back down, you shoot Keziah a fleeting glance.

“King Eishin ordered his followers to pull them down and deface them,” she murmurs to you, “So the invaders – his words, not mine – couldnae learn anythin' from them. There was a lot of trouble like that back in the day, villages were burned and anyone claimin' loyalty to the new king was likely to get murdered. Bad business, all round.” Fiddling with the butt of her own revolver, Keziah glances nervously around at the soldiers as if fearing that they might take objection to her words. Fortunately, they still seem content to ignore you all – Iraklins are fond of doing that, when they're not too busy annexing other territories.

Normally, you'd try and avoid a situation just like this, but you didn't really have a choice in the matter. If you wanted to take the armoured car to Camp Prosperity, you'd have to share it with a load of soldiers travelling to their new post. From what Hanson told you while you were waiting for the car, Camp Prosperity has a pretty high demand for fresh soldiers. Some of them die in skirmishes with the locals, others burn out from the stress of living on the front line.

And others, he had whispered to you, just drop their weapons and walk out into the woods at night.

[1/2]

>>2136036

Camp Prosperity, upon first examination, is far from prosperous. There are only three large buildings in town – a sawmill, a military outpost and a manor quite unlike any you've seen before. It's not built in either the Carth or the Iraklin style, with a more rustic and rugged style that you assume is more of a Nadir thing. The walls are worked stone, while the roof seems to be made from hard fired clay tiles. An Iraklin coat of arms, crossed rifles, seems oddly incongruous above the door, as if it was a meagre attempt at bringing civilisation to this forlorn place.

“That must be where our client lives,” you think aloud, glancing around at the smaller buildings – simple, prefabricated shacks – and shaking your head, “I don't imagine they'll be anywhere else.”

“I smell trouble,” Hanson warns you, keeping his voice low and level, “The people here are afraid of something.”

“Out here? Of course they are!” Cammy hisses, “I'd be more surprised if everyone here was calm and content!”

Leaving the pair to finish their “discussion” behind you, you turn and scan the rest of the town. Watchtowers have been erected at both sides of the town, with soldiers surveying the entire settlement. A single general store is the only shop you can see, while a small pen of livestock – swine – sits on the outskirts of town. A light rain has been falling for a while now, and the dirt underfoot is well on its way towards becoming mud. It's chilly, but you can already feel a nervous sweat gathering beneath your thin metal breastplate. As you look around, a small group of soldiers march past in formation. As usual, they ignore you and you ignore them back. Just as you're starting towards the manor, though, Keziah grabs your arm.

“Hey, boss,” she hisses, pointing towards a group of figures approaching from the tree line. The soldiers freeze as well, before relaxing as they realise who is coming – workers for the sawmill, pulling a rusting cart burdened down with fallen tree behind them. They look... haunted, their nerves worn thin by whatever they saw in the forest and their minds set solely on getting their work finished. Dragging the cart along with them, they pass by the line of soldiers and head for the sawmill.

“You know,” you mention quietly to Keziah, “I don't really like this place.”

“Captain Vaandemere,” Hanson asks as he approaches you, “I give us about eight hours of good daylight left. What's our first port of call?”

>Let's just head to the manor and meet our client
>Let's see if we can meet the senior officer here, and get an idea of what he knows
>I'm going to the sawmill. I want to know what has those men so rattled
>Other

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>>2136036
>a pair of knives – one long slender blade for bayonet use, and a heavier one, almost a cleaver, for more brutal work
A captain without a sabre? How very undignified
We need that fixed posthaste

>Let's see if we can meet the senior officer here, and get an idea of what he knows

>>2136037
>Let's just head to the manor and meet our client
"Keziah. Cammy. Can you head over to the sawmill and see what has those workers rattled?"

>>2136037
>Let's see if we can meet the senior officer here, and get an idea of what he knows
>Afterward meet with the client.
>"Keziah. Cammy. Can you head over to the sawmill and see what has those workers rattled?"

>>2136037
>First meet with the client.
>Then the officer.
>"Keziah. Cammy. Can you head over to the sawmill and see what has those workers rattled?"

>>2136037

>Let's just head to the manor and meet our client

We can interrogate everyone else after the person who's actually paying us.

“Keziah, Cammy, you two head for the sawmill and try to coax some answers out of those workers,” you order, pointing across to the looming structure, “I want to see what has them so rattled... other than the obvious, at least.”

“Got it, boss,” Keziah agrees, shooting a faltering glance over towards the sawmill, “Might be, they'll just have ghost stories to share, but even those are worth takin' note of. You headin' for the manor?”

“That's right, but not straight away. I want to see if I can meet up with the senior officer here and see what he knows – and what he's willing to share,” you decide, turning your eyes to the bleak outpost, “If there's any help he's willing to offer us, I'm not too proud to take it. Let's meet up back here when we're done, then we can pool our resources. Is that clear enough for you lot?”

“Understood!” your crew reply, at least feigning enthusiasm.

-

Getting in to meet the local military commander was harder than you had been expecting, with his duties offering him little spare time. You were able to get an appointment for later out of his reticent secretary, and that was the best you could hope for. With some empty time ahead of you, you head for the client's manor instead. A servant answers your first knock, although their bright explanation quickly fades into dismay. He had been expecting his master, you realise, not two ragged wanderers.

Despite his dismay, the servant leads you through to a meeting room and leaves you be, letting you wait in a stuffy silence for a few moments before a mature woman enters. Her movements are slow, sluggish, while her eyes have the glassy look of one lost in a haze of drugs. “Hello,” she announces, her voice hushed and colourless, “My name is Matilda Estheim. I presume that you're here about the notice that I filed with the Guild?”

“That's correct, yes,” you tell her, hoping to see traces of light appearing in her eyes. Your hopes, unfortunately, were left disappointed. She just stares at you, as if searching for what she was supposed to say next, and you fight back a sigh. “I'm told that your husband was going on an expedition,” you continue, “Is that correct?”

“I don't know much about his... his hobbies. He said that there was something he needed to see, and that it couldn't wait. I didn't want him to go, of course, but what choice did I have?” she shakes her head, “I can see if I can find his notes, they might tell you where he was planning to go. I'm afraid... I'm afraid that I can't do much else to help you. Have you spoken with Marshal Goering?”

The military commander, you presume. “Not yet,” you reply, “He was busy, but I'm planning to speak with him later.”

“He's a bastard,” Matilda sighs, turning around and slipping out of the room to go search for her husband's notes. Her last words hang in the air, long after she's left.

[1/2]

>>2136074

“Not the man's biggest fan, then,” Hanson mutters to himself as he glances around at the various paintings on display. Most of them mean nothing to you – portraits of what you presume to be family members – but a few of them are lurid depictions of... strange rituals. Witchcraft, you assume, or just acts of primitive worship. One in particular catches your eye, a picture of a robed woman pulling lightning out of a stone slab. The title, set into a little brass plaque, is “Calling the Storm”.

“Here they are,” Matilda announces as she returns, setting down a few wide sheets of paper, “He must have taken his books with him. All he left were these – I hope he didn't forget them, they seem...” Trailing off, she gestures vaguely to the papers and sits, her already slender body seeming to contract even more as she folds herself into one corner of an overstuffed sofa. Sparing one last glance at her cold face – delicate features, eerily paired with dead eyes – you look down at the papers.

“This is definitely a map,” you mutter to Hanson, a guess that he confirms with a slight nod, “Ma'am, may we borrow this? We might need it.”

“Oh? Oh, yes. Please,” she gestures limply towards the map, “Take it.” Then, she simply lapses back into her fugue and stares at you. With silence descending once more, you glance aside to Hanson – who simply shrugs helplessly at you.

>Thank you for your time, Ma'am. I'll try and bring your husband back
>Did your husband go out alone, or did he have an escort?
>Tell me a little about your husband. Anything could help
>I had something specific to ask you about... (Write in)
>Other

>>2136107
>>Did your husband go out alone, or did he have an escort?
>>Tell me a little about your husband. Anything could help

>>2136107
>Did your husband go out alone, or did he have an escort?
>Tell me a little about your husband. Anything could help

>>2136107
>>Did your husband go out alone, or did he have an escort?
>Tell me a little about your husband. Anything could help
>What does this 'Calling the Storm' portrait depict?

>>2136107
>Did your husband go out alone, or did he have an escort?
>Tell me a little about your husband. Anything could help
>These pictures, who painted them?

“Tell me a little about your husband,” you ask, hoping to jolt the woman into something approaching wakefulness, “Anything you can tell me might help.”

“Otto? He... he works for the Guild, he's an alchemist,” just as you had been hoping, a faint flicker of life – of anger – brightens Matilda's eyes, “He makes medicine, he shouldn't be risking his life with these silly little hobbies of his!” Her voice rises a little as she cries out those last few words, and she looks more surprised than either you or Hanson. “I'm sorry,” she murmurs, “I... fear for him. One hears terrible stories out on the frontier, but they never seemed to bother Otto. He seemed to think that they were all exaggerations, meant to blacken the reputation of the local people.”

“So, he... trusted them?” you wonder aloud, “Or at least, he wanted to trust them?”

“I... yes, you could say that,” Matilda nods slowly, “He called it a scholarly fascination, I think. Of course, he had only ever met the more... civilised types until now. They're a different breed, the ones in the Deep Forest, they...” Breaking her eyes away from yours, she glances across at the paintings and shudders a little. When she offers nothing else, you give her a slight prod.

“Did your husband go out alone?” you press, “Or did he have an escort? The local soldiers, perhaps, or-”

“No,” shaking her head abruptly, Matilda cuts you off, “He asked Marshal Goering, but he said that he couldn't spare the men. Otto had to hire one of the local men as a guide. Oh, but he was a horrible man...” Grimacing a little, the woman takes a handkerchief out of her dress pocket and presses it to her nose for a moment. You catch a hint of perfume, along with a more medicinal smell, and then she tucks the scrap of cloth away. “His name was Caliban, I think. We never spoke, but... but he had a cruel face,” a frown crosses her face as she considers the guide, “Otto said that he was a hunter and a woodsman, an ideal guide, but... but I didn't like him. He was one of THEM, you see, no matter what he claimed.”

Meaning, you can only assume, that he came from the Deep Forest.

“Not everyone from Nadir is a murderous barbarian,” Hanson points out, a hard edge jutting through his voice despite his attempts at keeping it hidden, “And a local man would be a better guide than any of this Goering's soldiers.” You can vaguely sense that he had more that he wanted to say to her, but thankfully he bites back the rest of his words. Matilda just seems perturbed by his objections, more confused than angry. Still, sensing danger, you step in to change the subject.

[1/2]

>>2136150

“These paintings here,” you remark, gesturing to them, “They're very interesting. It's odd that they're unsigned, though, do you know who painted them?”

“Oh... oh, well, Otto would know more about that than I would,” Matilda flounders for a moment, “But I don't think they were made by any of the locals. The style is very distinctly Iraklin, you see, the brushwork...” Blinking slowly, she looks back to the paintings as if seeing them for the very first time. “I'm sure Otto mentioned the name once. It was a strange name, not a real one – ah, of course!” her eyes widen slightly as some old memory claws its way to the surface, “He never said it directly, but I believe he came from a reputable family. To protect their good name, he called himself... oh... Wotan! Yes, that was it!”

Definitely a fake name, but such things are probably common among those sorts of people - “artistic” types. Still, you file the information away for later use. “And this one here, “Calling the Storm”, I think,” you add, “Did your husband ever mention what it was meant to show?”

“I really couldn't say for certain,” saying this, Matilda sinks back into the sofaas her brief burst of life rapidly fades away, “Some wickedness, I'm sure of that much. I'll have to ask...” Her instinctual reaction, to direct curious guests to her husband, dies away as her memory catches up to her. As her eyes start to redden, you shoot Hanson a quick nod.

“That's everything, then,” you decide quickly, “We'll be back soon, Ma'am, with news.”

-

“Almost time for our meeting with Goering,” Hanson mutters as you're leaving the gloomy manor, “Got an interest in paintings, do you?”

“There can be good money in selling them. I'm interested in money,” you shoot back with a shrug, “And I'll have something sophisticated to talk about at the next dinner party I attend. Not that I really attend many of those, but still...” Sharing a laugh with the gaunt man, you hasten over to the military outpost and present yourself to the front desk. The uniformed secretary sighs at the sight of you, and you realise that she had been hoping that you simply wouldn't come back. Slumping your shoulders slightly, she directs you through to the commander.

A bear of a man, Marshal Goering sits behind a monolithic desk covered in a scattering of papers – notes on supply chains and other official business from what you can tell. His duties seem to have come to a brief pause, granting him the time to speak with you – something that he doesn't seem particularly glad about. In fact, he wastes the first minute of your meeting by staring at you and Hanson, taking the measure of you both and disliking what he finds there.

[2/3]

>>2136182

“Marshal Goering,” he announces at last, in a voice no warmer than the clinging mists outside, “State your business, and please make it quick. I have my own duties to attend to.”

“We're here on Guild business,” you tell him, “Looking for a missing professor, Otto Estheim. I assume that you know what I'm talking about.”

“Professor Estheim. That has been brought to my attention, yes. He asked for an armed escort before setting out on his... expedition. Unfortunately, I don't have clearance to send soldiers that far into the Deep Forest. Past a certain point, it becomes enemy territory,” Goering gestures behind him at a map, painted in threatening reds and neutral greys to indicate the boundary between safety and danger. “It seems as though he went anyway. Now, I can only assume that he's dead, or worse,” the officer pauses briefly, a shadow of dark anger ghosting across his features, “The barbarian forces are not kind to their prisoners. An old man like him would not last long.”

Hanson lets out a quiet hiss of anger, clenching his fists by his side. “So, there's nothing else that you can do for him?” you ask, “Nothing you can do to help?”

“As I said, I'm not authorised to send soldiers to investigate and even if I did, I don't have the resources to throw away on a lost cause,” thinking for a moment, Goering pulls out a form and starts to fill it in, “But if you're willing to search for him yourself, there is something I can do for you. I can't sign out any weapons, there are regulations to consider after all, but I can release some equipment. I think you'll need it.”

It's better than nothing, you think to yourself, but it's certainly not much. “What kind of equipment?” you ask, in lieu of complaining.

“Boots. Proper armoured boots,” Goering explains, gesturing down at your feet, “The natives have started laying traps lately, and several of the civilians here have been crippled already. They might be primitives, but the natives aren't stupid – they make damn good traps. How many pairs will you be needing?”

“Four pairs,” you answer, thinking a moment before giving him the right sizes for you and Keziah. Hanson fills in the rest, offering Cammy's size without hesitation. Scratching down the measurements you give him, Goering pushes across the completed form.

“Very well. Take this to the quartermaster downstairs, and he'll handle the rest,” he pauses, toying with the pen in his hand for a moment, “While I prefer to be realistic about your chances, I do hope that you bring Professor Estheim back alive. We've spoken on more than one occasion, and I consider the professor to be a friend. Even so, my position has certain demands – rules that I cannot break, even for a friend. A freelancer like you, on the other hand...”

>I understand. I'll do what I can
>A question, before I leave... (Write in)
>Other

>>2136206
>A question, before I leave... (Write in)
"Has there been any change in Deep Wood natives activity recently?"

>>2136206
>I understand. I'll do what I can

>>2136206
>>I understand. I'll do what I can

>>2136206
Hanson bought shoes for Cammy!
We bought shoes for Keziah

>A question, before I leave...
A native named Caliban, know anything of him?

“I understand,” you reply, nodding firmly, “We'll do what we can. Before we go, I was wondering something. Has there been any change in the native behaviour lately? Have they given you any more trouble than normal?”

“There was the Festival of... some local nonsense, I can't quite recall the name. In either case, that did get them riled up – a band of them, all wearing masks, came creeping out of the woods during the night. They took two of my solders right out of the barracks, without ever waking up the other men sleeping nearby,” Goering hesitates for a moment, seeming to age twenty years as he thinks back, “That hurt morale. They could easily have taken more men, or taken the ranking officers... taken me... but they didn't. We can't understand why.”

Picturing his scenario in your mind, you shiver a little. “I see,” you murmur, “Did you-”

“No,” Goering interrupts, “We never found any trace of them.” Staring down at the papers on his desk, his hands tighten into clenched fists before he forces himself to relax. “Perhaps now you see the problems I have to deal with,” he says at last, “And why I'm so busy.”

“Then I'll let you get back to work. I just have one last question for you,” you assure him, “Do you know anything about a local man named Caliban? He was hired to escort Professor Estheim.”

“Caliban...” Goering takes a slim folder out of his desk drawer and flips through it. “Ah yes. Something of an outsider, it seems. No fixed trade, no real friends or family, no serious criminal record,” a small frown appears on the officer's face, “He's been caught brawling a few times, usually drunk, but that's hardly unusual for a place like this. I don't have anything else to tell you – he stays beneath our notice, most of the time.” Putting away the folder, Goering shakes his had slowly. “Now, if you'll excuse me,” he concludes, “I have reports to file. Please, let me know if you recover any... any of Professor Estheim's belongings. I'll handle the official notice of death, so Matilda doesn't have to.”

-

“That's the problem with Azimuth folk,” Hanson muses as you're leaving the outpost, burdened down by four pairs of heavy, plated boots, “Iraklins especially. All these rules and regulations just get in the way of things, they stop people from doing what needs to be done. If my friend was in danger, I wouldn't be able to hang back and hide behind a load of red tape.” Shaking his head, he looks back and regards the outpost with a jaundiced eye. “Which isn't to say that Free Captains don't have their own baggage,” he concedes, “But that's just superstition, not cast iron law.”

“Now, that depends on your perspective,” you retort with a small laugh, “I think I'd rather break the law instead of taking my chances with bad luck. You can always run away from the authorities – bad luck sticks.”

[1/2]

>>2136285

“What's all this about bad luck, then?” Keziah calls out as she hurries across to join you, Cammy following close behind her, “Hey, you didnae tell me that you were goin' shoppin'!”

“It wasn't exactly like that,” you point out, “More business than pleasure, certainly. The natives have been laying traps lately, and I don't feel like losing a foot because of some rusty bear trap out in the woods. Here, put these on – and I don't want to hear any complaints about how heavy they are!”

“Aw, boss, you remembered my size!” Keziah chuckles as she takes her pair of boots and sits down on a low step, tugging them on before tightening the buckles, “Aye, I reckon these beauties should do the job just fine. Dinnae need to worry about droppin' a tool on me toes when we get back to the ship, either!”

“The workers at the sawmill weren't very willing to talk. At least, not without getting some drinks in them first. Once their tongues were loosened up, they found all manner of ghost stories to tell us with – probably thinking that we'd shriek and look for a nice strong man to keep us safe,” Cammy snorts with laughter as she wedges a cigarette in one corner of her mouth, “But I have to admit, some of those stories were pretty nasty. The natives like to kidnap workers who go off on their own, you see, and they... do things to them. Ritual things, trying to strip the soul right out of their body.”

“Why?” you ask, “I mean, why not just kill them?”

“Well, it does kill them. More or less,” the engineer shrugs, lighting a match and gratefully puffing on her cigarette, “But they put something back in them, something that replaces the original soul. Something that rides their body like a horse, making them act like they used to, talk like they used to... something that can creep back and pretend to be human. Only, they can't quite pull it off properly – there's some stuff about being human that they just don't GET. Eating raw meat, or wearing their clothes all wrong, or... you know, that sort of thing. Sooner or later, they don't even bother to pretend – that's when the killing starts.”

“Aye, well, that's what they SAY,” Keziah argues, with a faintly defensive tone, “But they've never seen it happen – they hear it from someone who heard it from someone else, and you cannae ever find out who actually saw it happen. Ghost stories!”

“But people DO disappear,” Cammy concludes, “Everyone we spoke to knew at least one person who had vanished like that. Now, they don't ever go off on their own – not even to take a piss.”

“Alright, alright, let's cut the chatter and get moving,” you tell the pair, “Hanson, you've got the map – you take point.”

>I'm going to have to take a quick pause here, some family stuff came up. I should be back in an hour or so.

>>2136354
dam that's creepy

>>2136373
good ol' skinwalkers. always a fun time

>>2136354
Let's all establish a code word so no skinwalker can pretend to be one of us.

From what you can decipher from the cramped, spidery script that the map is annotated with, Professor Estheim had been bound for a stone circle. With little else in the way of clues, you make that your first destination. From there, you can study the lay of the land and plan your next moves. So, making sure to keep a slow and cautious pace, you press further into the Deep Forest.

The first thing you notice about the woods is the way sounds seem... distorted, sometimes muffled by the thick mists and sometimes echoing in strange ways. More than once, you think you hear Keziah repeating back things she had said before, her voice coming from deep within the tree line. Once, you asked her if she had heard the same thing as you, but she could only shake her head helplessly. Shivering as the damp air sinks a little deeper into your bones, you touch the revolver at your hip and follow Hanson as leads you forwards.

Then he stops, holding up a clenched fist to halt your cautious group. Drawing a hefty knife, he squats down and starts to root around in the muddy soil, brushing aside a layer of fallen pine needles to reveal the dull gleam of metal. One of the traps that Goering had warned you about, you realise as you crouch down next to him, a pair of brutal metal jaws just waiting to sink their teeth into an unsuspecting ankle.

“We're close to the stone circle now,” he murmurs to you, wiping his blade off before sheathing it again, “Be honest with me. Do you really think we're going to find the old man alive?”

“Do you?” you reply, all too aware that you sound like you're dodging the question.

“Me? No, not a chance,” Hanson shakes his head, “But we might be able to find a bit of him, bring it back and give his woman some peace of mind... and get half the reward. Half is better than nothing, after all.”

Nodding to yourself, you straighten up and nod for the others to follow you as you move on ahead. While it isn't exactly a path, the ground here is worn enough to suggest that others have come this way before you. Ahead, the trees part and a small clearing awaits, with a ring of five looming stones rising proudly from the soil. Each stone is taller than a man, perhaps nine feet high, and thick enough you couldn't wrap your arms around one. Mossy and faded with age, you can just about make out the same symbol carved all over it – the symbol that Keziah associated with the Soils.

Gesturing for her to stick close to you, you take Keziah on a quick lap of the stone circle and check over each of the markings you find. “Soil was back there,” you murmur to her as you approach the fifth stone, “We've seen the Winds, the Waves, and Flame. This one is...”

“Soup,” Keziah finishes for you as she points out the unknown marking. She smiles a little, but it's undeniably forced.

[1/2]

>>2136502

“Okay, let's fan out and see if we can find any trace of the professor. We'll do this in two teams – remember, no wandering off on your own,” pointing to Hanson and Cammy, you gesture over to the leftmost side of the clearing, “You take that end, we'll take the other. I don't know what we might be looking for, so keep an eye out for anything that stands out – torn pages, broken spectacles, anything.”

“Yes captain,” Cammy murmurs, her gaze fixed squarely at a point over your left shoulder.

“And we need a codeword – something we can use to make sure that we are who we say we are,” you add, gesturing for everyone to gather around so you can whisper the word to them. “Manticore,” you mutter, “Everyone remember that. Manticore.”

Feeling absurdly like co-conspirators, you all share a furtive nod.

-

Neither you nor Keziah says a word as you're walking around the edge of the clearing, checking for any signs of recent activity. You can dimly hear Cammy and Hanson doing the same, poking through the undergrowth as they search. Then, you see something metal – a trap that has been sprung, the bloodied jaws tightly locked together. “Blood,” you mutter to Keziah as she crouches next to you, “Can't be more than a few days old. Could be our-”

A shrill cry, not quite a scream, rings out from where the other team had been searching. Grabbing your rifle, you leap up and rush towards the source of that cry, already thumbing a round into the breech. As you approach, though, Hanson holds up his hands and shakes his head – a false alarm. Curious, you draw closer and circle around the thick tree they had been checking. As you reach the opposite side, you realise why Cammy cried out – the tree has been hollowed, with a mummified corpse resting within.

“It surprised me, is all,” Cammy explains, “What is it, do you think? It looks human, but...”

“Get down!” Hanson snaps, shoving Cammy as he drops low. You do the same, based solely on the urgency of his voice, and a shot rings out a split second later. Wood explodes above your head as the bullet misses you, and you turn to find the shooter. There, already little more than a silhouette, you see a figure – human, mostly, but with what seemed like antlers sprouting from their brow - hurrying to get a better firing line on you. Throwing your rifle back against your shoulder, you track them as they run.

>Calling for a roll. 2D6, with a +1 for our finely made rifle. This is 8-9 for a partial success and 10+ for a full success, with the best of the first three rolls.

Rolled 2, 3 + 1 = 6 (2d6 + 1)

>>2136542

Rolled 3, 1 + 1 = 5 (2d6 + 1)

>>2136542

Rolled 5, 5 + 1 = 11 (2d6 + 1)

>>2136542
cultists! It's always cultists!

>>2136548
Nice save.

>>2136548
all these damn cultist coming into our country, sacrifing our women and desecrating our stone circles.

Rolled 2, 1 = 3 (2d6)

>>2136542

The figure runs, crouched low like a beast, and then leaps as if the ground beyond the clearing was lined with pitfalls. When he – and you're fairly sure it's a man, judging by a certain width of their shoulders – lands, he has to pause for a brief moment before launching back into his run. That's when you let off your shot, feeling the rifle slam back against your shoulder with a potent kick. Your father used this gun to bring down all manner of wildlife in his time – elk, mainly, and stranger things besides – and it serves perfectly well to drop the man. When he doesn't rise again, you carefully stand up and load a new round.

“A clean hit,” Hanson remarks, not yet holstering his revolver, “Good to see you know how to use that thing.”

“I've not had much practice lately, but some things you just don't forget,” you reply, flicking the stiff safety lever into place, “Come on, I want to see what I just dropped.” Creeping through the undergrowth, you find the body and take a moment to check that he's definitely dead. As you're checking his pulse, the bone mask – made from the skull of a stag or something similar, thus explaining the antlers – falls away to reveal a surprisingly normal face. A pallid man with straggly black hair and a thick stubble, he doesn't look much different to the sort of person you'd see on the streets of Monotia. It was only when he was alive, when he was in motion, that he seemed more... animalistic.

“What's this then?” you mutter, reaching into his rough clothing – all leather and furs – and pulling out a necklace strung with countless tokens. Along with the teeth and claws, you find an Iraklin identification tag. The name doesn't mean much to you, but you pocket it anyway – Goering might appreciate having it back. The rifle he carried was an archaic model, rusted and poorly maintained, while the pouch of bullets strung from his belt are similarly corroded. It's a wonder that the rifle didn't blow up in his hands, you think as you start to leave.

It's only as you're rising to return to the stone circle that you notice the man's feet. Bare, and filthy with mud, his toes are warped into the gnarled talons of some deformed bird.

-

“We think it... she... might have been a priestess once,” Cammy offers as you return, nodding first to the mummified corpse and then to Keziah, “The one who first set up this stone circle, right?”

“Aye, maybe,” Keziah agrees, nodding cautiously, “I dinnae ken if she was killed when they were finished – as a sacrifice, like – or if she died naturally and got put here. I've heard of both, but I've never seen somethin' like this in person before.”

“Kinda wish we hadn't seen it,” Cammy mutters to herself.

[1/2]

>>2136675

With all the excitement, you forgot all about the bloodied trap you had been uncovering. Leading Hanson over, he crouches down and takes a good long look at it. Not just a look, either, as he carefully sniffs the air. “Here,” he mutters, pointing to the undergrowth ahead, “Someone was dragged, and there's some blood on the leaves here. I think this is it.” Nodding decisively to himself, he starts to prowl along the trail – a trail that you can barely see, even with him pointing it out to you. When it comes to this woodland stuff, you've got a lot to learn.

Even with your amateur skills, however, you can clearly tell when you reach the site of some terrible act. The ground underneath you is darkened with shed blood, while the nearby ferns are stained with that same vital fluid. If the trap wounded someone, this place looks like where they had been finished off. No bodies, though, which makes you wonder-

This time, when she makes an unwelcome discovery, Cammy manages to keep herself from crying out – although she does let out a sickly groan. Gathering around her, you all spend a moment silently staring down at the mangled object lying amidst the long grass like a piece of discarded trash. Still clad in a shredded boot, shredded by the cruel teeth of a native trap, the foot ends in a surprisingly neat cut. White bone glistens from within the greying, rotting flesh, almost like a single winking eye.

“Civilian boot, not military issue. Hard leather, probably not made in Carthul,” Cammy mutters to herself, chanting the words almost like a mantra, “They like a softer cut. This isn't one of theirs, this is-” Her words are cut off suddenly as Hanson places a heavy hand on her shoulder, pressing a finger to his lips as he hushes her. You all fall silent as well... and that's when a faint murmur of voices reaches you from up ahead.

You count four voices, although you can't make out any particular words. When the hard sound of a fist striking flesh snaps out, a fifth person grunts in pain. Silence descends once more, so you edge closer to Hanson and the others. “We're dealing with at least four people,” you whisper, “Maybe more, if they didn't feel like talking.”

Slipping past you, Hanson creeps a little further ahead and peers forwards. “There's a clearing up ahead. If we go any further, we're liable to walk right into their camp,” he hisses, “I don't like this – they must have heard that shooting, they'll probably be on their guard. What do you want to do?”

>We've got to go in. Follow me
>Let's split up, circle around the edge of the clearing and hit them from both sides
>I'm going ahead, to see if I can talk with them. You stand ready to attack if they get hostile
>Other

>>2136790
>Let's split up, circle around the edge of the clearing and hit them from both sides
Get a nice little crossfire going if we need to open up.

>>2136790
>>Let's split up, circle around the edge of the clearing and hit them from both sides

>>2136790
>Let's split up, circle around the edge of the clearing and hit them from both sides

Better to approach from a good position. We can always call off the attack.

>>2136790
>>Let's split up, circle around the edge of the clearing and hit them from both sides

>>2136790
>I'm going ahead, to see if I can talk with them. You stand ready to attack if they get hostile

“Let's split up, two teams,” you order, “We'll circle around each edge of the clearing and hit them from both sides. We catch them in a crossfire, we should be able to bring them down nice and quickly.” Looking around to see if anyone has any objections, you draw your revolver and check the bullets – you'll need to fire quickly this time, and your rifle is too slow for that. “Alright. Keziah, you're with me,” you conclude, “You two, wait until I start shooting before you attack. We'll call that my signal, okay?”

“Understood, captain,” Hanson murmurs back to you, readying his own weapon. Cammy nods, her pallid face growing pinched and hard with determination – she's ready to get some payback, you think to yourself, to take out her frustrations on some barbarians.

Tapping Keziah on the shoulder and jerking your head off to the side, you break away from the rough path and start to circle around the clearing. Behind you, Hanson and Cammy split off to take the opposite flank.

-

Creeping along the tree line, you hear the sharp clap of another blow. Wincing as if you had been the one who had been struck, you flatten yourself up against a tree and peer out into the clearing. What you see there causes your eyes to widen in surprise. There are more than the four figures you had been expecting – you count six armed men, most of them clutching rifles and glancing around for any sign of trouble. What really draws your attention, though, are the two figures crudely tied to a thick tree. One of them is aged and bearded, one of his legs ending in a charred stump, while the other is lean and dark – although most of his features are shrouded behind a mask of blood.

As you watch, one of the barbarians punches that wounded man again, grabbing his collar and shaking him. “You got friends coming for you, whelp?” the barbarian spits, “Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. How many of them? Who are they?”

Whatever the response is, it doesn't seem to please the barbarian, who throws a short, violent kick into the bound man's ribs. The old man doesn't react – with his head slumped down against his chest, it's hard to tell if he's even still alive. Spitting a curse in his own native tongue, the barbarian draws a knife and starts to saw through the ropes binding the two prisoners. Hauling the wounded man up, he drags the captive over to a recently dug hole and forces him to his knees. Grabbing a handful of the man's hair and pulling his head back, the savage raises his blade and lets out a primal howl. Turning towards him, the other barbarians echo that cry.

But their attention is on their leader and the imminent sacrifice, not you.

It's time.

[1/2]

>>2136890

Levelling your revolver, you fire off two quick shots at the closest barbarian and hit him in the back, causing him to throw his hands up and fall. On cue, Hanson and Cammy open fire from their side of the clearing, concentrating their fire on the distracted barbarians as you emerge from the tree line and start to fire on a new target. A deafening rattle of gunfire fills the air as all four of you attack, with only a few hastily aimed shots coming in response.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as the wounded man kicks backwards and knocks the barbarian leader to the ground. Snatching up the knife, he buries it in side of the fallen man's neck, stabbing him again and again.

Then the last enemy falls, shot from every direction at once, and all you can hear is a painful ringing. Even that starts to fade after a while, so that you can hear the wounded man's rasping breathing. You approach, only for him to spin around and point the knife at you. “Get back!” he hisses, spitting the words out through cracked lips, “I'll gut as many of you as I... I...” Slowly, he realises that you're not here to kill him – not yet, at least – and he slowly lowers the weapon. “Did Goering send you?” he asks next, “Or was it Matilda?”

“Matilda, but Goering has an interest in this as well,” you reply, holstering your revolver, “You must be Caliban, right? And Professor Estheim. Is he...”

“Still alive – I think,” throwing aside the knife, Caliban heaves himself to his feet and crosses over to the professor as Hanson and Cammy emerge from the trees. “He got caught in one of their traps, and they jumped as us I was trying to free him,” the blooded man explains, “He... shit, he complained about the wound, said it would get infected if they didn't let him treat it – so they hacked his whole foot off, and cauterised the stump. Fucking savages...” Muttering angrily to himself, he kneels down by the professor and gently slaps the man's face.

“They burned something here,” Hanson points out, scratching his boot through a charred patch of soil, “What was it?”

“His books, everything he had,” Caliban answers, “They don't hold with reading, these barbarians, especially not the books he had.”

“Damn it!” you hiss. Those books might have been useful to you, useful in figuring out some of Miriam's notes. Before you can say anything else, though, the professor jerks awake with a strangled cry of fear. “Professor Estheim? Don't worry, you're safe now,” you tell him carefully, “We're getting you out of here, even if we have to carry you. Hanson, Cammy – get over here and help him up. Keziah, are you-”

“Wait...” Keziah murmurs, “This is... wrong, this is bad. There's too much blood here, it'll attract...”

And the mists that coil around your feet seem to grow slowly thicker.

[2/3]

>>2136970
Blood for the blood god? I don't think we want to meet the blood god.

>>2136970

Keziah takes a faltering step backwards as more of that unnatural mist spills out from deeper within the forest, coiling around the base of trees as it almost seems to surround you – almost as if there was a conscious will directing its course. You all back away from it, driven purely by instinctual fear, only for Keziah to let out a low moan of dismay as some of those insubstantial tendrils begin to coil around the corpses. Then, the trees begin to shake.

What drags itself out of the forest has no real shape, no solid form to it, but you can see who lights burning within it like guttering coals. Somehow oceanic in the way it moves, it slips towards you – frozen in place – and the scattered bodies. There, it pauses briefly before hurriedly withdrawing, retreating back into the forest... and dragging the bodies along with it. As it vanishes from sight, your paralysis is broken and a deep rumbling starts to echo out from up ahead.

“Run,” Keziah whispers, before turning to the others and waving a frantic hand through the air, urging them on to motion, “Run, run, RUN!”

Bursting through the trees, like a wave smashing aside all that stands in its way, some dark and rushing shape crashes into the clearing and starts to boil towards you. Not fog, although a wave of fog precedes it like a cloud of flies preceding a leper, and not solid flesh either, the thing has aspects of both. Just looking at it, a fleeing glance, sends a stab of primal terror gouging deep into your mind.

You run.

>I'm going to pause here, I've hit kind of a block. I'll continue this next Friday, and if anyone has any questions I'll answer them if I can
>Thank you for your patience today!

>>2137098
Thanks for running!

what is this setting though
monsters and magic and airships

>>2137098
It's the smoke from Lost!

Thanks for running.

Blue Fire is made from burning souls; Pleonite just makes a connection to the spirit world. It doesn't work too far up or out at sea because not enough things died there.

Coincidentally, the spirits aren't happy about being burned like coal.

>>2137098
Can we slump the proffesor on our shoulder and RUN

Finally got myself caught up with this, meant to read it when it started. All those anons in the first thread are too smart for their own good, I would have totally voted to nab the necklace. It was such an obvious trap I had to bite it. Hanson and Cammy are pretty good too, even though the latter seems to like switching names sometimes.
Caught up in time for a new session too it seems, glad to be back in a Moloch quest. Especially since I fell behind on the last one and ended up never catching back up.