>>2222928

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

Inside, whatever dignity that the bar apparently possessed is immediately lost. It's a raucous place, and Gunny looks uncomfortable here. Before you can talk to him about it, perhaps suggesting that he leaves the recruitment to you, he hurries away with a quick excuse – he needs to talk to a few people, he claimed, to test the waters. His swift retreat allowed no argument, so you ordered a tankard of ale and settle in to wait.

As you wait, you brood. You've got a lot on your mind tonight, ranging from what you'll do with Masque to the exact extent of your link with Keziah. You saw that blood on her, and you've got a nasty idea of how it came to be there. You'll need to talk to her about that later, to make sure that you're not going to drop down dead if she stubs her toe. Is that possible? You're not sure – but with everything else that seems to be unfolding around you, you're not willing to discard the idea.

Right on cue, Gunny reappears as soon as your empty tankard hits the table. He's not alone, either, with a number of other men – and a few women – with him. Possible candidates for your crew, you assume. Pushing all thoughts of daemons and witches aside, you gratefully focus on something that you DO understand – airships.

-

It takes most of the night, but eventually you whittle down the numbers and pick out the best of the crew. Most of the candidates have experience with airships – some even fought in the Annexation War – but, for some reason or another, were left without a ship to work on. Unremarkable men by all accounts, without much imagination or the drive to start a crew of their own, but that's perfectly fine with you. Just as a machine needs small pieces as well as major components, the crew of an airship needs dutiful men like these – and they'll suit your purposes perfectly.

As you're leaving the bar with your new crew, you're stopped by a woman in a white church uniform. “Captain Vaandemere?” she asks, “Provost Trice. I was told that I might find you here.”

“Well, you found me,” you reply, trying not to slur your words too much as Gunny straightens up, “What's this about?”

“I'm here about Alec Curie,” Trice tells you, as if that's supposed to mean something, “He wants to speak with you.”

“Alec... who?” you ask, gesturing for Gunny to relax. Trice sighs heavily, then shakes her head.

“He was operating under the name “Chief Kuroda”,” she explains, “As I said, he wanted to speak with you one last time. He said that he might not get another chance. I can't compel you to come with me, but...”

>Sorry, but I'm done with him and his band of rogues
>Fine, I'll humour him one last time
>Other

>>2222930
>>Fine, I'll humour him one last time

>>2222930
>Fine, I'll humour him one last time

>>2222930
>>Fine, I'll humour him one last time

>>2222930
>Fine, I'll humour him one last time

He's kinda endearing.

File: Provost Trice.jpg (85 KB, 1024x1024)

85 KB JPG

Before you can answer her, Gunny grabs you by the arm and drags you a few paces away. “This doesn't feel right,” he warns you, “Not right at all, brother. Provosts aren't the sort to handle menial work like this – they don't run messages or guard prisoners, they usually work out of Cloudtop. When the church needs to capture someone, or investigate something serious... they tend to send a provost.”

Letting the breath hiss out from between your teeth, you consider the situation. “Then she could make trouble for me,” you deduce, “Right?”

Gunny glances back to Trice. She waits patiently, without any indication of stress or tension. You've got to admit, she doesn't really look like the sort to handle serious criminals – her features still have a youthful cast to them, while her hair is fluffy and cut in a short, girlish style. Not at all what you'd expect from an agent of the church. Gunny seems to reach the same conclusion, giving you a weary shrug. “I don't know, brother,” he admits, “I just don't know.”

Reaching your decision, you shrug and march back to the provost. “Okay, fine,” you tell her, “I'll humour him one last time. Gunny, you head back to the Spirit of Helena and make sure the new crewmen get settled in. Provost, you lead the way.”

Gunny nods briskly and then hurries back towards the bar, already yelling orders and herding the crew back towards the aerodrome. Trice flashes you a small, grateful smile before gesturing for you to follow her and hurrying off at a confident pace. In the gloomy streets, her spotless white uniform lends her an eerie air but it also makes her easy to follow. It helps with the crowds as well, with large groups parting courteously to allow her through. Hurrying a little, you catch up with her and clear your throat.

“Is this something important?” you ask, “I mean, for a provost like you to be running messages...”

“I'm supposed to be off-duty at the moment, but I'm helping out here,” she explains, “There's always work to be done, and I'm not one to sit back and let others pick up the strain. So, you needn't worry – you're not under arrest or anything.” Pointing towards the fortified building up ahead, she guides you inside. “After you've finished speaking with Curie, I'll need to interview you. Nothing serious, I just need to confirm that he didn't confess any new crimes or, I don't know, ask you to break him out,” she continues, “I'll try and get this done as quickly as possible, so you can return to your crew.”

“I'd appreciate that,” you reply, “So where is he?”

“Last cell on the left,” Trice says, pointing down a long hallway, “This is my office here. Remember, no sneaking out without seeing me first!”

She smiles as she says that, but you get the feeling that she's deadly serious about that.

[1/2]

>>2222960

When you come face to face with Chief Kuroda – or rather, Alec Curie – it takes you a moment to recognise him. His hair has been cropped short, while the oily paint has been scrubbed off his face. It gives him a surprisingly harmless air, as if he was nothing more than an overweight clerk. His cell is innocent looking – and probably nicer than your slum back in Monotia – but very empty. Just a bed, two chairs, a small desk and a shelf of dull books - a selection of religious texts and primers on living a virtuous life.

“So,” you begin as you take a seat, “Your name is Alec?”

“I reject that name, the symbol of my humble birth!” the former pirate protests, before his show of resistance quickly falters, “But... yes. “Chief Kuroda” sounded more intimidating, that's what HE told me. The barbarian act, the threats... it was all HIS idea, so that we wouldn't need to hurt anyone! You'll tell them that, won't you?”

Things are becoming clear now. “That's why you wanted to talk to me, isn't it?” you deduce, “So that I can, what, plead for leniency? I hate to break it to you, but I don't think it's going to work – as far as the church knows, your “mentor” doesn't exist. I've got something else in mind for him, you see.”

Kuroda deflates a little at this, his fat face drooping. “Oh...” he grunts, wincing a little before widening his eyes, “Three years, we're going to be in here, three years listening to their sermons and their lessons on living well! A man of my stature was never meant to be caged like this, much less subjected to these-”

“I'm sure we could work something out,” you interrupt, “Maybe get you transferred to Iraklis? Your sentence would be a good deal shorter over there, I expect.”

“Yeah, well...” Kuroda mutters, “Maybe you could put in a good word on my behalf anyway? After all, my boys and I aren't going to cause much trouble without a ship, now are we? We could make a deal – you plead my case, and I can... uh...”

“Yes, that's the problem,” you muse, “It's not much of a deal if you've got nothing to offer me in return, is it?”

“I... know things,” the fat man offers, a look of piggish cunning entering his eyes, “Secret pirate things, like. I've heard gossip about some odd treasures down in Nadir – we would have gotten it for ourselves, only... we weren't sure that our ship could make that trip and survive. It's a treasure trove like nothing else – interested?”

He's about as bad of a liar as Keziah is, although you get the impression that there's a nugget of the truth in this, beneath the layers of exaggeration that he's sure to pile on top of it. If nothing else, it might make for a good tall tale to share over a stiff drink.

>Not interested. Goodbye Alec
>Okay, sure. I could do with a laugh
>One of your crew mentioned “Rìoghachd na Creige”. Tell me about that
>Other

>>2222988
>One of your crew mentioned “Rìoghachd na Creige”. Tell me about that

>>2222988
>Okay, sure. I could do with a laugh
>>One of your crew mentioned “Rìoghachd na Creige”. Tell me about that

>>2222988
>>>Okay, sure. I could do with a laugh
>>One of your crew mentioned “Rìoghachd na Creige”. Tell me about that

>>2222988
>Okay, sure. I could do with a laugh
>One of your crew mentioned “Rìoghachd na Creige”. Tell me about that

This'll be good.

“Back when you were raiding pilgrim ships, one of your crew mentioned something. “Rìoghachd na Creige”, or... something like that,” you reply, searching your memory of what Charity told you, “I'd rather you tell me about that, if you're looking to trade information.”

“Oh,” Kuroda says, his voice flat and glum, “That.”

“Yes, that,” you press, “Translates to “Kingdom of Stone” or “Kingdom of the Rock”, I think. My languages aren't the best, but I'm curious. From what I was told, you didn't like it much when your man let it slip.”

Frowning again, Kuroda leans forwards and tents his fingers. “Not really supposed to talk about it,” he begins slowly, “Not even sure if there's anything TOO talk about. Word among pirates is that it's a... what's the word, an enclave? A secret place in the Drift where pirates can find shelter and live as free men. Not just pirates, either, but anyone who wants to live away from all this – laws, rules, restrictions... all that nonsense.”

Words from Maeve's conjured daemon surface in your mind - “seek the hidden men, lawless and adrift”. This sounds like it might fit your clue. “Keep talking,” you urge, “Where is it? How do you get access to it?”

“Well I don't know!” he protests, throwing his thick arms up in the air, “Word is, they don't just let anyone in. You need to know the right people, and you need to be made of the right stuff. They find you, is what I hear, and they make you an offer. Everyone wants a part of this action, but nobody knows exactly how you get picked out. Feats of daring, or robbing enough stuff, or... there are all sorts of stories out there. Bah!”

“You don't sound very happy about it,” you muse, “Maybe because you were never going to get picked?”

“We could have been picked!” Kuroda insists, “We were pioneers, like – stealing through our wits and cunning, never needing to resort to violence! Who else can say that, eh? It was just a matter of time before we... we...” His shoulders slump as he runs out of steam, his own attempts at self-delusion falling away like we paper. “Ah, who am I kidding? We could barely afford to feed ourselves,” he groans, “Probably a load of old bullshit anyway. Who believes that cheap talk?”

Shaking your head in bemusement, you hide a smile from the fallen pirate. “Quite right,” you agree, “Why don't you tell me about that treasure trove of yours, instead?”

Kuroda perks up at this, his face turning from sombre to joyful in a moment. “Now there's a story you can trust!” he bluffs, “Ah, but you'd better be twice as sincere when you're talking to the guards, since I'm being so helpful and all!”

“Of course, of course,” you chuckle, gesturing for him to continue.

[1/2]

>>2223029

“Well, I heard this from a fellow pirate, and he heard it from a member of his crew. One of those Nadir types – you know the sort, he had this stubby little horns on his brow. Anyway, he was told a story when he was a child, about an island to the north that had this cave. You following this?” Kuroda takes a deep breath before continuing, “Now this cave is sealed up, as tight as a virgin's... uh, it's real tight. Now, you COULD blow it open with enough explosives... or you could be cunning like me and say the password!”

“The password,” you repeat, smiling to yourself. For all his sins, Kuroda – or whatever he wants to call himself – has a knack for spinning a fine yarn. Back in Monotia, a man like him could spend all night swapping stories for drinks.

“The password!” he confirms, “Now, you need to find a statue, got it? A big stone statue of a man, or something like a man. Speak loud and clear, and tell it that you've come to talk with the ocean. Then, it'll open the cave right up!” Kuroda chuckles, patting his expansive stomach as he reaches the climax of his tale. “Inside, you'll find hundreds of these carved tablets – all of them made from solid gold!” the pirates cries out, his eyes widening, “You'd better bring a wagon, my friend, because you won't be able to carry them out without one!”

“Okay. Talk to the sea, solid gold tablets, and I should bring a wagon. Got it – I've just got one question,” you pause, savouring the moment, “Where exactly do I find this cave?”

“Eh?” Kuroda blurts out, “They never told me THAT!”

Well, you've got to laugh really.

-

When you return to Trice's borrowed office, she gestures to an empty seat before setting out two small glasses and producing a flask from inside her white robes. As she pours amber liquor into the glasses, you can't help but raise a bemused smile. “I thought you church types weren't supposed to drink,” you point out, gesturing to the glasses, “Or is this some special case?”

“I'm not really a good church type,” Trice replies with an honest smile, “The way I see it, working hard is more important than holding myself to impossible moral standards. The occasional indulgence is better than trying, and failing, to abstain completely – everything in moderation, and all that. That's how I see it, at least, and... well, that's neither here nor there. I take it that Curie didn't ask you to do anything illegal on his behalf?”

“No. At least, I don't think so,” you assure her, taking a sip of the rather excellent brandy, “He wants me to plead for leniency, that's all. He thinks that three years is a little harsh, especially since he never really hurt anyone.”

“Is that so?” Trice muses, toying with her glass as she thinks.

[2/3]

>>2223055

“Well, two things. First of all, there's nothing I can do about it – the most I can do is send his objections further up the ladder,” Trice explains, “And second of all, he's being an idiot. Three years is an absolute maximum – if he plays along, and puts in a token effort at being faithful, he could be out in half that.” Sighing, she sips her own drink and takes a few forms out of the desk, checking them before passing them across to you. “Just sign these, please. Confirmation that everything was done according to regulations,” she adds, raising an eyebrow as she reads your name, “Vaandemere... you brought in another bounty recently, didn't you?”

It takes you a moment to recall the pirates you brought down at Miriam's wake. “That's right,” you confirm, “You keep me busy.”

“You keep bringing them in, and we'll keep paying out bounties,” Trice laughs, “In a way, I envy you – I don't have the freedom to hop in my ship and go hunting whenever I like, I need to go where I'm sent.” As you sign the papers – as she said, they're just more of those formalities that the Carths are so fond of – Trice puts away the pair of glasses and gestures towards the door. “I think that takes care of everything,” she concludes, “You're free to go. I'll pass along what you said about Curie, but I wouldn't expect too much.”

As you rise to leave, a thought occurs to you. “What's Cloudtop prison like?” you ask, “I'm glad to say that I've never been.”

Trice considers the questions. “It's cold, all year round, and so the guards get frequent breaks. Bishop Rhea runs a tight ship, and she sets very high standards for everyone – guards and prisoners alike. Most people respect her, but she's not exactly popular,” she thinks for a moment more, “It's a joyless place, despite how close to the heavens it is. Most of the prisoners are there for life, and you can sense that in the... the mood of the place, I suppose. If I were you, I'd do my best to say away from it.”

“That's the plan,” you laugh, “At least, I don't plan on getting caught.”

“Good enough for me,” Trice agrees, sharing your laugh, “Now go on, get out of here. Stick around much longer, and I'll feel the need to offer you another drink. Too much hospitality for my own good, but I blame my parents for that.” Smiling fondly at some personal memory, the provost leans back in her seat and glances up at the ceiling.

>I'm out of here. See you around, Trice
>Let me ask you something else... (Write in)
>Other

>>2223096
>I'm out of here. See you around, Trice

>>2223096
>>I'm out of here. See you around, Trice

>>2223096
>I'm out of here. See you around, Trice

good luck kuroda. you were a champ

>>2223096
>Other

> Maybe next time you can join me for some more pleasant . . . moderation. You might not be able to travel as you like, but I imagine you have some stories still. I can guarantee you I do.

> Maybe you can even teach one of my more rigid crew members, a young lad named Blessed, about the joys of moderation.

We gonna wingman him into pumping this chick while we pump her at the same time. For information.

>>2223126
Isn't Blessings like 16?

>>2223096
>I'm out of here. See you around, Trice

“Why don't you join me for a little more... moderation?” you offer, gesturing back towards the door, “We could have a drink, and maybe swap a few stories. You might not be able to travel freely, but I bet you've got a few tales to tell. I certainly do.”

“Captain Vaandemere,” Trice asks as she looks back down, “Are you suggesting that we go out drinking?”

“I wouldn't go that far,” you correct her, “But it's only fair that I get to show you some hospitality of my own. Besides, I've got this lad on my crew who could do with speaking with someone like you – someone who understands the value of moderation.”

Trice laughs, shaking her head at your offer. “I'm still on the clock, you know,” she points out, gesturing up to the ticking brass clock on the wall, “But... you give me a few hours, and I might just take you up on that offer. Your ship is the Spirit of Helena, right?”

“Right, over at the aerodrome,” you confirm, “See you around, Trice.”

“Maybe we will. Just keep your nose clean, or it might not be such a pleasant reunion,” she warns, giving you a small smile, “And... it's Lavinia.”

“I'll behave myself,” you assure her, “Thanks, Lavinia.”

-

Walking back to the aerodrome, you allow your thoughts – loosened by the ale you drank earlier, and the brandy you shared with Trice – to wander freely. You've been meeting a lot of strange people lately, from Kuroda to the provost herself. Strange people, never quite what you had been expecting them to be. The terrifying pirate captain had been a foolish braggart, while the church enforcer had been casual and friendly. Even before that, the people in your life have been acting in surprising ways. Gunny found religion, while Keziah... she's just been different, although you've got a growing idea of why. Something you'll need to talk to her about, and this might be a good time for it.

The walk back does a good job of clearing your head, but you soon learn that the night's festivities are far from over. Your new crew seem to be making themselves at home in the Spirit of Helena, while your temporary crew were only too eager to throw them a welcoming party. The sound of music and drinking songs pours out like beer slopping from an overfilled mug, while Gunny lurks outside with an uneasy expression on his face.

“I can't deny them their fun, brother, I know that. Men have to cut loose every now and then,” he says as you join him, “But I'd be lying if I said that it didn't make me uncomfortable. Brings back all kind of bad memories. Don't worry - I'll find a quiet corner, and that's good enough for me.”

“Then that's good enough for me, too,” you agree with a sigh of relief, “Hey, did you see Keziah in there?”

“Can't say that I did,” he tells you, “But I reckon she's around somewhere.”

[1/2]

>>2223151

It hasn't been all that long, but the engine room is already starting to take on elements of Keziah's character. Spare parts have been left lying around seemingly at random, although a closer look reveals that they're exactly where they might be needed, and strips of paper have been pinned to several pieces of machinery. Glancing at one of these strips reveals them to be notes on possible improvements or alterations that could be made. A bedroll lies in one corner, while Keziah herself is busy studying the Pleonite core.

“Somethin' I can help you with, boss?” she asks, turning and waving at you, “Or did you just feel like stoppin' by?”

“I wanted to talk to you about our guest, and our next destination,” you tell her, “We're going back to Sybile. Do you think your mother could tell us more about him?”

“Aye, I reckon she might,” Keziah nods slowly, “I... she should be willin' to help, if I ask her nice enough. Guess we'll have to wait and see. Sorry that I cannae offer anythin' more – unless there was somethin' else you had to ask?”

“There was, actually,” you add, folding your arms as you think, “Things have changed around here. Between us, I mean.”

What crosses her face, then, is a strange mix of dismay, relief, and even a trace of wan amusement. “So you noticed,” she says at last, her shoulders rising in a tiny shrug.

“I've been busy, but I'm not totally oblivious,” you counter, “If I had to guess, I'd say that things started to change in Sybile, right?”

“That's right. Those things I told you, about my mother and that awful prophecy...” Keziah confirms, her voice growing cool and solemn, “You're the only other person in the world who knows, and I guess... yeah, I guess that's when things started to change.” Shaking her head slowly, Keziah places one hand up against the Pleonite core as if seeking strength from the cold blue light. “But it won't effect my work,” she assures you, “That's a promise. You don't need to worry about me swooning like some... giddy girl.”

That's one idea that never crossed your mind. “That's good, then,” you reply with a laugh, “But do you... want to talk about it?”

“No. I mean, not yet,” Keziah shakes her head again, “I haven't even got things straight in my own head yet. I need some time to think about all this.”

Her answer comes as something of a relief – despite your offer of talking, you barely know where to start. You've had women before, but never really anything lasting or significant. “Later, then,” you decide with a brisk nod, “Definitely later.”

“Aye, boss!” the witch responds, her good cheer returning as she salutes you.

>Then I'd better get going
>What do you make of our guest?
>We need to talk about this “bond”. It's becoming a problem
>I had something else to talk about... (Write in)
>Other

>>2223160
>"Did our bond through Herod give you my nosebleed? "

>>2223160
>I had something else to talk about...
That nosebleed. What caused it and how t oavoid a repeat occurrence.
>What do you make of our guest?

>>2223160
>>What do you make of our guest?
>>We need to talk about this “bond”.
"How's your nose?"

>>2223138
Some of us actually had sex as teenagers.

>We need to talk about this “bond”.

Explain your feelings honestly so we know where we're at.

>>2223160
First mention that the Provost was actually a very nice girl. We got along surprisingly well and shared a drink, and now she's coming over in a bit to swap stories of derring do with us. What does Kez think we should tell her about to impress her the most?

Pause while her brain is frying and then say that ideally we'd want one that talks up Blessing since we think that he could learn some valuable life lessons from her, maybe more who knows. Not healthy for a lad to spend too much time around the Church. Maybe they could even hook up.

>>2223200
I meant more the age gap cunt. Also your plan might backfire cause she'll probably be more interested in Milos instead of another dime a dozen priest she works with.

>>2223200
>>2223160
Meant to link you here as well.

But yeah. Some joking about making her think we were hooking up with a chick should light a fire under her ass.

>>2223206
>her features still have a youthful cast to them, while her hair is fluffy and cut in a short, girlish style.

How old did she say she was again?

So? What's wrong with an adult having a flirtatious time with another adult? We took him on a mission to make a man out of him.

Also he's from a noble house, and they're both religious, so I doubt they would actually have sex. More likely just teasing.

That being said, this seems to be a world where people grow up a little bit earlier than most Americans at 30.

>>2223217
The way Provosts were talked up I doubt she isn't in her at least early 20s.

Dunno it just feels weird trying to force some ship from an in character perspective using a lame pretense like you'll get good information out of it, when if she is good at her job which it seems like she is, you probably won't. Nothing classified anyway.

Am I the only one with an issue here? If I am I'll shut up.

>>2223228
I am more than a little motivated to both a) hopefully see her tease Blessing and b) get him some better rounded experience with people other than straight up holy rollers and roguish air captains and their rough crew, as well as c) getting info out of a possible target that is a friggen airborn alcatraz prison of doom, and if I can do that while d) also teasing Keziah then I am feeling like it's winning 4 times.

But seriously also the dude is in a noble family he has to start thinking about securing his lineage young.

>>2223228
>>2223217
Feels a little forced. Relationships should develop naturally and while things sometimes need a kick in the rear it's odd to do shit like this right out of the gate.

I can't really imagine Milos on this first meeting going 'I'm going to get this girl to hook up with Blessings in the near future. And I'm going to do it by charming her with stories and drinks and then throwing Blessings at her. It's foolproof!'

Also you should drop the information pretense cause it's a lie. You just want this ship.

>>2223228
As for the information, classified stuff isn't really what we want. We already know now it's cold (dress warm) and that the guards are frequently rotated out (might not know each other that well, maybe we can meet someone outside and set something up) because they have morale problems (probably there's some degree of a gray market for entertainment and intoxicants, or small pleasures that can't be gotten elsewhere) and that the prisoners have very little to no hope (probably best to avoid them since it's iffy if they'll feel they have nothing more to lose, or that they can't risk losing what small comforts they have left in prison).

That's a lot of good info on things to start looking into in advance to prepare for later.

Let's not imply we're gonna hook up with church girl. We've made it clear we know how Keziah feels already, so it just comes off as a huge douche move.

“What do you make of our guest, anyway?” you ask with a shrug, “I was worried that having him aboard might hurt morale.”

“Well, I dinnae think that's too likely to happen. From what I've seen, he sticks to himself – doesnae bother the other crew, or even leave his room most of the time. Chances are, these new folks dinnae even ken that he's here,” Keziah muses, “But... ah hell, I cannae lie. He creeps me out. Herod told me that he's told you, but things like him – familiars made from a human body, like – are bad luck. I'll be happier when he's off the ship, speakin' frankly.”

“Even if he's hanging around your mother instead?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Aye, well, she doesnae need to worry about a little ill luck,” she grumbles, “Not like we do, I reckon. Leavin' him with her might be the best thing to do.” Even as she says this, though, you feel a twinge of reflexive guilt – her guilt, not yours. That reminds you of earlier, when you saw those traces of blood on her clothes.
“Hey,” you ask, “How's your nose doing?” Her eyes widening in surprise, Keziah reaches up and touches her nose. Before she can say anything else, you touch a hand to your own, healing continue. “What I mean is, could our bond through Herod have caused yours to bleed when I was hurt?” you explain, “And could it cause any more serious harm?”

“Ah, well, I see,” Keziah nods slowly, “Aye, that can happen. I mean, it cannae really harm the other person, but it can cause... bleedin', like. I heard a story about someone who had a bond like this – a stronger bond, actually – and their partner got stabbed to death. Now, this first person started bleedin' from the gut even though they never had a wound – just blood, a tiny wee bit, seepin' out through the skin. They had that wound until the day they died, or so the stories go.”

More stories. “I see,” you reply, frowning thoughtfully, “You said a stronger bond, does that mean that there are degrees of bond?”

“Aye. You can share more and more, thoughts and feelings... even what you can see and hear, with a real strong bond. On the other hand, a weaker one is less intimate, like,” pausing to think for a moment, Keziah's eyes widened, “Oh hell, but I didnae choose that kind of bond on purpose or anythin', I just used the only one I could remember! I thought it was... I never knew it was strong enough to share THAT much!”

Sighing, you hide a small smile. Her panic is too sincere to be anything other than genuine. It's just like Keziah told you when you first learned about her true nature – she might be a witch, but that doesn't mean she's a very good one.

[1/2]

>>2223255
You know that prison might have visitations. Should ask.

>>2223257
Agreed. She needs time like she said.

Blessing is 19 or so time for him to lose his v-card, but that girl we invites over probally is going to give him a sloppy toppy in a best case scenario

>>2223252
The information is a good point no matter what I think, as well as the fact that it would be good for her to meet with Blessing and round off his corners a little.

Also teasing Keziah.

Yeah, the shipping is a shitty reason. That's why I provided 3 other reasons and a synopsis of what we learned about the prison already.

Oh we also learned about the warden running it

> Bishop Rhea runs a tight ship, and she sets very high standards for everyone – guards and prisoners alike. Most people respect her, but she's not exactly popular,

Which says to me that we're going to need someone on the inside for sure, and that distractions might work if she is busy micromanaging them.

Not enough info overall, really.

Could be useful to find out what the Provosts do to cope with being there, or where they go to hang out. Also if any of the criminals do get religion in the joint and whatnot.

>>2223257
IDK, she seems like she might be all about the gentle teasing. After all, we're just telling her company is coming and letting her know how the meeting went. If she chooses to read into it, and if we get a flare of emotion, it'll prevent tsundere embarassed bullshit where she plays Shounen protagonist dumb.

I mean. Do you think she doesn't know about the bond just as much as we do? This is her specialty. If she was responsible, she would have come clean earlier.

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>>2223266
> Accidental over the pants handy and he finishes in seconds inside his clothes.

>>2223259

“Well, er, I dinnae ken exactly how to... fix it, but me mam could probably tell us. Good thing that we're heading that way already, isn't it?” she continues, laughing a little to herself, “If you want to fix it or change it, or... anythin' like that. Might be, she can scale things back a little or give us some advice. Cannae say I'm too pleased about askin' her for even more advice, mind you...”

“What's the problem?” you ask, “Is she likely to ask for... compensation?”

“I dinnae ken,” Keziah replies, “And that's what worries me.”

“Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it,” you decide, shrugging a little, “Anyway, that's enough dreary talk – I met an interesting woman while I was out, a provost of the church. She was nicer than I had been expecting, we shared a drink and talked a little. She might be coming over later, once her shift is over, so we might talk some more - I was thinking of inviting Blessings, since he's a church type as well.”

“Just the three of you?” she asks, “Sounds cosy. I hope you didnae have any impure intentions, boss – that's the kind of thing that could get a man in trouble!”

Laughing, you shake your head at her sharp response. “You wound me,” you tell her, “But it's not like that. I'm not trying to arrange a marriage here, but Blessings really does need to broaden his horizons a little. It might help him to speak with someone who has a more... casual take on faith.” Shrugging a little, you nod back towards the engine room door. “Anyway, there's no guarantee that she'll turn up,” you conclude, “So we'll see what happens – and... about that talk.”

“Yeah?” Keziah frowns a little, tilting her head to the side with careful curiosity.

“Whenever you feel like talking, my door is open,” you tell her, “I mean that.”

“Right,” a warm smile spreads across Keziah's face as she nods, and you feel an equally warm rush of gratitude brush up against your thoughts. Holding your gaze for a moment more, she nods again and turns back to the engines. “Good Pleonite, this,” she thinks aloud, “She might have been an almighty bitch, but old Miriam had a good eye for the important things.”

Taking that as your cue to leave, you turn and leave Keziah to her musings.

-

You spend the next hour or so carefully writing everything you've learned down into Miriam's journal – your journal, really – as you wait to see whether Trice will take your offer or not. It feels like you've found out a lot recently, ranging from the rumours of a hidden pirate kingdom to stories of illicit arms sales. A lot of information, but not as many actual leads as you had been hoping for. As you're putting away the journal, Gunny knocks on your door.

“I don't know what you did, brother,” he says, “But that provost is here again. You want me to call your lawyer?”

[2/3]

>>2223319
But gunny, that action would only increase the chances of our crimes being discovered.

>>2223319
>Hi! It is I, the dashing Free Captain who invited you for drinks, but you won't get into my pants. Have this fat naive boy instead.

>>2223319

“So,” Provost Trice says slowly as she looks about the common room, studying the drunken crewmen as they doze away their indulgences, “Everything in moderation?”

“You should see them when they really cut loose,” you reply immediately, before gesturing to the nervous boy sitting next to you, “Lavinia, this is Blessings Hawthorn. He's... part of the crew, although I don't think we've agreed on an official title.” Pushing across one of the three mismatched cups you were able to scrounge up, you rise to fetch a bottle of wine before Trice stops you, holding up a bottle of her own.

“I insist,” she argues, “I've got plenty of pay sitting around with nothing to use it on. Besides, it's like I said – too much hospitality.” Pouring a measure of the dark wine into each cup, she takes a sip from her own and points to Blessings. “Hawthorn. I think I know you, by reputation at least – you visited my parents, looking to fund some new chapel down in Nadir,” she recalls, “We write often, and they mentioned as such. Keep up the good work – I hope their donation helped.”

“Oh yes, um... yes,” Blessings fumbles for something to say, “It's thanks to generous donations like yours that we were able to build, um, a humble little chapel in Monotia. The locals certainly... appreciate it.”

As a public toilet, you recall, although you keep that to yourself. As you drink, you study Trice for a moment more – she looks different out of her uniform, although her clothes haven't changed much. A little wider around the neckline, perhaps, revealing a strangely macabre necklace. The gold chain is fine enough, but it has what looks like a human finger bone hanging from it. Blessings can't keep his eyes off it – that, or the triangle of smooth flesh that serves as a backdrop.

When he notices that you've noticed, Blessings hurriedly takes a drink of wine.

-

“So there I was, piloting a burning skiff...” Trice hisses, alcohol lending her voice an excited buzz, “No time for repairs, of course, or the target would get away. He was running for his own skiff, but my autocannon was out of commission. If he reaches his craft, he would have gotten away – again – and so I did the only thing I could do. Setting my sights on his skiff, I pushed mine to full power and... CRASH!” Slamming the heel of her hand against the table, Trice causes both you and Blessings to jolt up.

“I bailed out, of course,” she adds, “Otherwise I wouldn't be here talking to you. Even so, I nearly broke my neck doing it – but what else was I supposed to do? He'd stolen a religious relic, and he planned to sell it to some... rogue collector out in the Drift. If that happened, we'd never see it again. A provost, a skiff... those can all be replaced. Religious relics? Not so easy.”

>Something came up, so I'm going to have to take a short pause here. An hour or so, I think

>>2223284
Kek, i have faith in our boi Blessing give him some liquid courage and hype him up to her saying shit how he is a natural talent at piloting n shit

>>2223451
I wouldn't be surprised at all if Blessing is a total charmer and master interrogator when intoxicated.

>>2223404
Damn.
Let's boot the filthy Iraklin and hire Trice instead.

>>2223451
Seriously, let's gas our boy up and turn him into a man.

>>2223467
You want her to crash our skiff like that?

>>2223460
>>2223469
After tonight we need to start shaping our boy up, Tommorow he can go shopping with keziah who'll get him clothes worthy of a crew member of an airship, away with the prissy church clothes.
Then we'll need to start getting him on a routine and turn him from a pudgy boy to a manly men.
Freddy & Caliban can train and mentor him while we're away Freddy will drill military disiclpine into the boy and get rid of the softness, Caliban can help him in close quarter combat and teach him general survival knowledge.
Maybe we can have a bonding moment and give him our old pistol and teach him how to shoot.

>>2223505
Sounds good. Let's be the role model that Blessing needs.

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>>2223467
Nah, Freddy is great would love to see more of her.
Actually would love to see more from thr other side charachters.
I also lowkey envision Freddy looking like the train engineer from Kabaneri.

>>2223521
>Freddy is great
My man of good tastes

>>2223491
>Implying Freddie haven't crashed any skiffs.

>>2223521
The engineer is too good to lend her likeness to Iraklin scum.

>>2223546
At least she didn't do it on purpose.

>>2223560
That's just deducting points from her.

From there, the conversation takes an unexpected turn from anecdotes about adventure to a theological debate. This time, all you can do is sit back and listen with a numb, drunken confusion. You're going to blame this on Gunny, who seemed all too eager to get involved in talk of faith – his “great burning” included.

“It's not a literal burning, sister,” he stresses, “It's the time when all will be uplifted – our past sins will be burned away, and we can become clean. Everything that we've done, every error that we've made... all wiped away in an instant!”

“Sounds like it would be a pretty long instant,” Trice muses, causing you to chuckle a little.

“It doesn't work like that,” Blessings argues, the wine he's drank giving him an unusual boldness, “And Hierophant Milleux has said exactly so. It's arrogant to expect the Lord of Rising Light to wipe away our sins. We have a duty to avoid sinning, to avoid dirtying ourselves. We've already been wiped clean once, wasn't that enough?”

It's interesting, you muse, to compare how the two men see their faith. Blessings, born and raised in the church, places his faith in the inherent goodness of man. Gunny, who had lived a long and grimy life before finding religion, has more of an interest in redemption and absolution. What you've learned, overall, is that there are countless little variations of faith – some accepted by the church, others banned as “dangerous influences”. Gunny's great burning isn't exactly banned, but it's not a popular variation.

As the discussion continues, growing more obscure and arcane, you lean across to Trice. “You ever think about going freelance?” you ask her quietly, “You could just... jump in your ship and go hunting, whenever the feeling takes you.”

“Not my kind of thing,” she replies, touching the finger bone necklace, “Freedom is like drinking – it's fine in moderation, but you can drown in it. Bishop Rhea told me that once, she said that most of the prisoners we have would be... if we let them loose, they wouldn't know what to do with themselves and they'd end up right back in the dungeons. The way she sees it, maybe one in every ten of them is worth a damn. The rest of them are just lost causes.”

“Sounds harsh,” you muse, “Very harsh.”

“But sometimes, they see the Light,” Trice says with a shrug, “And for her, that makes it all worthwhile. She-”

“Hey, brother, you've got to settle this debate,” Gunny interrupts, “What do you think is better? Abstinence, like the little brother here says, or redemption?”

Expectant eyes, Trice's included, turn in your direction.

>Abstinence, I'd say
>Redemption, definitely
>Leave me out of this, you two
>Other

>>2223617
>Redemption, definitely
Live however you want to and then just say "aw shit I'm sorry" right before you die. Easy, just cheated the system.

>>2223617
>Moderation, both are too extreme
Depends on what the situation is honestly. It's impossible to find philosophy that "correctly" applies to every single one.

>>2223617
>>Abstinence, I'd say

>>2223617
>>Redemption, definitely

>>2223625
Funny talking about a fake religion, but the Catholic absolution I know requires contrition. Can't cheat the system, brah

>>2223617
>Other
"Living your life the way you want while trying be a decent human being a long the way. I don't need to fear or revere the Rising Light to try and do that."

>>2223617
>Redenption/Other
Sinning is unavoidable, trying to avoid it will only push you towards self destruction.
Accept that your going to sin but try and stay realistic, if man had the ability to avoid sinning their wouldnt be any talk of forginess and redemption in the religion would their?
Also we NEED to steer the conversation in the direction that will get Blessing pussy at the end of the night.

>>2223639
He asked what was better, not what was best, you fucking illiterate preaching grandstanding faggot

>>2223643
>t. lawfag

>>2223617
>True redemption requires a conviction not to sin anymore
>Abstinence requires a conviction not to sin
>So aren't they two faces of the came coin?

>>2223656
Voting for this
Better than all those other fedora answers

>>2223617
>Other
Living the free life, adapting to whatever the world throws at you, after all you never know what's around the next corner.

>>2223656
Oh shit
Switching to this

Faced with such expectant eyes, all you can do is throw your hands up in the air as a gesture of both mute surrender and resignation. “I think that people should live their lives as best as they can, acting like a decent human being whenever possible,” you begin, gesticulating vaguely as you try to find the right way to put your thoughts into words, “And that doesn't depend on anything else – not the Lord of Rising Light, and not what some guy in Sol Carthul says. I live the free life, moving with the wind and adapting to whatever comes my way.”

The others regard you for a moment, and then Blessings lets out a groan of dismay. “That's cheating!” he protests, “That's just dodging the question!”

“I'm the captain here, I'm allowed to dodge the question,” you counter, “But... To me, living in moderation is the most practical option – I don't think redemption or abstinence are always going to fit the situation. If I had to choose between the two, though, I guess it would have to be redemption. Sins are inevitable, if you accept that and work to keep things under control you'll do better than trying to cut them out completely.”

“If you bottle all this stuff up, it'll end up blowing up in your face,” Trice offers, refilling her cup of wine as she speaks. The whole group falls into a cautious silence for a moment, with both Gunny and Blessings frowning as they try to think of their next arguments.

“Besides. If true redemption requires the conviction not to sin any more, and abstinence requires the conviction not to sin in the first place...” you add, “Aren't they just two sides of the same coin?”

“Not so, brother,” Gunny says firmly, shaking his head, “Because after the great burning, we won't be able to sin – it'll have been burned right out of us.”

A chill descends over you as his words sink in. You can't put it into words, but they just feel... wrong.

“That doesn't sound very metaphorical to me,” Blessings grumbles.

-

The debate flounders after that, and Gunny is soon called away – a minor brawl had broken out on one of the lower decks, and they needed someone sober to restore order. The three of you are left wondering just how to pick up the tattered threads of conversation, and in the end you just say the first thing that comes to mind.

“You know, Blessings, you've got a whole bunch of books in your room,” you point out, “Religious books, I mean. I bet Lavinia would be interested in taking a look at some of them... you know?”

“Ah, of course!” Blessings' eyes widen as he grasps your suggestion, “Wait here, I'll go and fetch some!”

“Blessings, that's not what I-” you begin, only for the boy to scurry away as Trice chuckles to herself. That boy, you decide, is a lost cause.

[1/2]

>>2223730

“I just can't imagine how he came to be a part of your crew,” Trice muses, “I'm trying to picture it, and it just... doesn't work. Go on then, tell me the truth.”

“The truth? He paid,” you answer with a shrug, “I inherited the Spirit of Helena from his aunt – and that's a long story by itself – and he seemed pretty cut up about it. I guess he had been expecting it, and... well, he offered me a pretty nice sum of money to take him aboard, and I accepted. Not very exciting, is it? Still, he's more capable than I'd been expecting – he's learning the controls, and I think he's got a knack for it.”

“It must be in the blood,” the provost decides, “Not in my case, though - my parents own a hotel. They're faithful enough, but utterly dull and boring – safe, I think, would be the best way of describing them. Perhaps it's wicked of me, but I almost see Bishop Rhea as more of a parent than either of them.” Sighing, Trice reaches out to take her cup of wine only to clumsily knock it from the table. “Shit!” she hisses as it clatters against the floor, “I... I think I might have overindulged a little.”

“It happens,” you reply with a shrug, “Just a shame that it was decent wine. No point crying over it though.”

“You know, something awful happened to me a few weeks ago. I was up in Cloudtop when one of the prisoners just... stopped eating and drinking. Any time he was brought food or water, he'd just throw it about his cell,” Trice murmurs, leaning heavily on one hand as she stares at the pool of spilled wine, “He was yelling and raving, never making any sense, and that went on for... it was almost a full week. On the seventh day, he just collapsed down.”

Raising your own cup of wine to your lips, you drink quickly. “So what happened to him?” you press, “Did he die?”

“He found the Light. Spent a week like that, passed out cold, and then woke up as a changed man. Regretted everything that he'd ever done wrong – and this was a killer, a real cold bastard,” a shudder runs through her as she remembers, “Sometimes the prisoners go funny like that. It's the isolation, I think – they don't normally get visitors, and they aren't allowed to mix with each other for very long. Solitary reflection is supposedly the best way to find faith, but... some people don't take it very well.”

“That's... harsh,” you mutter, “They don't even get visits from, I don't know, family?”

“Not unless there are special circumstances,” Trice shakes her head, “A birth or a death in the family... Other than that, they get to see their lawyers and a priest. That's it.”

[2/3]

>>2223730
Blessings' virginity is secured against your depredations, anons!

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>>2223804

>>2223804
We lost the battle but not the war!
Blessings WILL lose his v-card one day!

>>2223788

“Why do you ask?” Trice asks suddenly, her uneasiness already forgotten, “Were you hoping to visit someone? A friend, perhaps? I know that you Free Captains can associate with some... dubious types, but-”

“Oh, I was just curious,” you tell her, “It's not a system I'm very familiar with, and I'd rather keep it that way. If I have to learn about it, I'd much rather learn second hand. I'm going to assume that this Bishop Rhea isn't the sort to accept a bribe, as well.”

“No, not at all,” the provost confirms, “Except... oh, I really shouldn't tell you this, but she has something of a sweet tooth. If you ever have occasion to speak with her, a gift of something sweet would go a long way to softening her mood. Not enough for her to break the rules, of course, but she'd be a little more... helpful.” Recoiling in sudden shock, Trice claps a hand over her mouth. “This wine!” she gasps, “This, this right here, is why Hierophant Milleux says that wine is a sin – it erodes sense and reason!”

“Maybe,” you agree, “That's why I drink the stuff.” Trice laughs a little, despite her best efforts, and then rises unsteadily to her feet. “Hold on, are you going to leave like this?” you protest, steadying her before she can collapse, “No way, you won't make it to the end of the street! You can take one of the cabins here, and head back in the morning once you've slept this off. We won't be leaving until later, anyway, so just... trust me, okay?”

Narrowing her eyes for a moment, Trice lets out a tremendous yawn and nods. “I trust your superior wisdom,” she concedes, “Since you're the expert on drinking around here.”

“That's right, I'm the expert,” you agree, offering her a shoulder to lean on as you carry her off to the cabins. One of the drunken crewmen gives you a slurred cheer as you leave, but you pay them no mind. By the time you've reached the private cabins, Trice is already asleep – leaning against you and snoring heavily. Picking a room at random, you lay her out on the bed and leave it at that. You're not about to undress an unconscious provost of the church – that's the kind of thing that could get you in trouble.

When you return to the common room, Blessings is waiting at your table with a heavy stack of books and a forlorn expression on his face.

“Better luck next time,” you mutter to yourself.

>I think I'm going to pause things here for today. I'll continue this tomorrow, and if anyone has any questions I'll answer them if I can
>Thanks to everyone who contributed today, and I apologise for the unexpected pause!

>>2223868
Thanks for running Moloch

>>2223868
Thanks for running! Poor Blessings.

>>2223868
Poor Blessings.
Thangs for running!

>>2223868
Great session as always!

Got a couple of questions,
1. Are we staying in Salim till tobiases crew can rejoin him ?
2. How many days have passed since we visited him in the hospital?
3. Any interesting indivuduals found in the new recruits?

really like the way you write would love it if we get more characterisation of the side character and their relations and interactions and developing friendships with each other, and not just their relationship with Milos, like you've shown with keziah and her apparatent strong hostility towards Freddy for being an Iraklin and possible rival for miloses heart

>>2223922
1. Current plan is to stop by Sybile and drop off Masque before returning to Salim, then we'll probably part ways with Tobias' crew
2. I believe two days
3. I don't have many "big" characters prepared, although that might change as inspiration arises, but there was a doctor among them. A proper doctor, with training and everything!

And as for the side character material, I'll try and keep that in mind as we go ahead. It's something I enjoy writing, so hopefully it should work out well enough

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>>2222928
>the Bull and Wolf...

>>2224055
Hah. Nice catch

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Not that I don't find the idea of cucking Keziah into oblivion a hilarious one, but I think she's already stacked the deck. This bonding ritual totally seems like witch marriage, she just hasn't bothered to tell us that.

>>2223259
>Her panic is too sincere to be anything other than genuine. It's just like Keziah told you when you first learned about her true nature – she might be a witch, but that doesn't mean she's a very good one.

>>2223868
We should have a theological debate with the demons. See how they feel about redemption and abstinence.

Also Gunny bby what you doing.

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>>2224870
Oh god. This is too perfectly accurate.

Wait does this mean pic related is possible?

>>2224011
Hey 'Loch, I've got some questions about Northern Beasts. Would Henryk's kids inherit his Awakened Wolfblood? How would the blood interact if he had children with Camilla? Can Artemis get pregnant?

>>2225044
Asking the important questions.

>>2225113
I was curious if Henryk could start an entire lineage of superior Hunter-Inquisitors by getting Camilla preggers.

>>2225137
It's scary to think about.

>>2225160
Or the League's salvation. Seeing as they're dealing with a ton of insurrections, it could provide them some stability.

Also, Henryk should already be some kind of Saint. Kills the White Tyrant, a Corrupted Giant, the last of the living Knights, sails further North than anybody, finds the cure for bloodline corruption, and transcends the curse of the Wolfblood. If his adventures ever became public he'd be a goddamn hero.

>>2225044

Well, that takes me back. I'm not 100% about a lot of this, since I might have forgotten small details and such, but I'll give the best answers I can.
I wouldn't say that any children Henryk might have would inherit any special traits – I saw it more as a spiritual change, if that makes sense, perhaps like a more violent form of enlightenment. Likewise, I don't think it would have any real influence if he had children with Camilla – bloodlines tend not to mix.
As for Artemis getting pregnant, I don't really remember if I thought about how that might work. In some ways, I saw her as having an almost sexless aspect to her and so I'm inclined to stick with that.

>>2225044
Um what?

>>2225724
Fair enough. Thanks Moloch.

>>2225850
Northern Beasts was Moloch's quest before last.

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You're hungover – you're really hungover – but at least you woke up in your own bed this morning, instead of an alleyway. After putting your new crew to work cleaning up the debris of the previous night's excesses, you moved up to the bridge and spent a few hours listlessly searching through the radio channels – not searching for anything in particular, but allowing the quiet static to wash over you like waves. When the clean up was finished and the crew were standing by their stations, you ordered the engines to be warmed up in preparation for launch.

Taking things slower than normal, you turned the Spirit of Helena until she was pointed out west and set her off through the Azimuth sky. When the sound of the door rings out, you glance around to see Freddy arriving on deck. Saluting briefly, she sits down in a nearby seat and gazes silently out the forward window. You're not sure why she decided to grace you with her company, but you allow her to stay – she's not causing you any trouble.

“Now there's a sight,” you mutter to yourself as you gaze ahead of you. The Thelema – DuPont's massive dreadnought – is sluggishly pushing through the skies. “You don't see that every day,” you tell Freddy, “What do you think?”

“I'm curious about what it would take to bring a ship like that down,” she answers honestly, “I don't think the Spirit of Helena could do it.”

“Not without some serious upgrades,” you agree, “Shields, weapons, everything else... No, the best way for us to take out a monster like that would be to sneak aboard and kill her from within – destabilise her Pleonite core, perhaps, or attack the bridge directly. Even then, it would almost certainly be a suicide mission.”

“Very probably,” the Irakin muses, “You've put some thought into this.”

Her statement – not a question – causes a flicker of irritation to surface in your bruised mind. “Your people had a dreadnought hanging over Pastona in the aftermath of the war, just to remind everyone about who won,” you point out, shooting her a hard glare, “So yeah, I thought about how to destroy a thing like that. I thought about it a lot, in those days.” Grunting sullenly, you turn back to the controls. “But I didn't do anything about it,” you add, “I ran away, down to Nadir – where I didn't have to look up and see it hanging there.”

“I remember that,” Freddy recalls, “Yes, I didn't approve. It seemed... needlessly harsh, leaving the ship there. A pointless waste of resources.”

“You were there, huh?” you ask, before immediately answering your own question, “Of course you were – because you fought.”

“Yes I did. Combat skiff pilot, fourth fleet,” she replies, without trying to deceive you or change the subject. Her answer hangs there, caught in the air between you, for what seems like a very long time.

[1/2]

>>2225917

What breaks your silence is the sound of the door banging open, closely followed by the sound of someone lurching in. “What in the name of the Light is going on?” Provost Trice blurts out, “Where are we going? What are... why am I...”

“Oh hell,” you groan, clutching your head as murky memories surface, “I knew there was something I was supposed to do before we left...” Only now do you remember putting Trice in one of the cabins so that she could sleep, fully intending to wake her up and see her on her way before launching. Upon waking up, however, your thoughts had been clouded in the usual thick fog of confusion and... well, and this is the result.

“Shit,” Trice marvels, looking out the window, “I guess I'd better call in sick. Mind if I borrow your radio?”

“Go ahead,” you tell her, waving across to the radio. As she starts to fumble with it, you wave Freddy closer and lower your voice. “So, you fought in the Annexation War,” you state bluntly, “Get many kills?”

“None, as far as I'm aware. Combat skiffs were deployed primarily in order to counter hostile skiffs, with harrying larger craft as a secondary objective,” the Iraklin explains, her voice low and flat, “Neither objective proved especially realistic, as-”

“As we hardly had any skiffs of our own, and there was no point in harrying us when you could just shoot us out of the sky,” you finish for her, “It wasn't exactly a noble and glorious fight, was it?”

“You were fighting in the defence of your homeland,” Freddy counters, “As far as I'm concerned, there's no cause more noble.” Another stilted pause answers this, although it is soon broken by a burst of static from the radio, followed by Trice's groan of dismay. Freddy glances around, frowns, then looks back towards you. “I apologise for not saying anything sooner,” she tells you, “I assumed that you wouldn't like to talk about it.”

“Yeah, well. I don't know about that,” you mutter, before shaking your head and glancing across at Trice, “Made your excuses, provost?”

“I have. I was supposed to be off-duty as it is, so it's not a big problem,” she explains, “Still, I hate letting them down on such short notice. I feel like I-”

“Attention, Spirit of Helena!” the radio squawks suddenly, the incoming transmission blaring out across the bridge, “This is the dreadnought Thelema speaking – Captain Alain DuPont wishes to extend an invitation to the captain of your vessel. He wishes to speak with you, face to face – you may send a skiff over, or we can send one to you. What say you?”

DuPont wants to speak with you? This is irregular, not at all what you would expect from him – you hate each other, after all. Maybe he wants to bury the hatchet... or maybe he just wants to taunt you some more.

>Accept the invitation
>Decline the invitation
>Other

>>2225922
>>Decline the invitation

>>2225922
>Other

"If Glassjaw wants to meet he can ask me himself?"

>>2225938
>>2225922
Er, minus the question mark. Based on if he gets on the radio and tells us what he wants, we'll accept or decline.

>>2225922
>Accept the invitation
What could go wrong?

>>2225922
>Decline the invite

Hope we're not missing out on a sweet plot hook

But they do hate each other

>>2225942
>>2225922
Seconding

Scowling out at the Themela, you consider your response for a moment before picking up the radio mic. “You can tell your glassjaw employer that if he wants to offer an invitation, he can do it himself. If he doesn't feel like doing that, I'll have to decline his offer,” you tell the unseen radio operator, waiting for a moment more before adding, “Go on, tell him. I'll wait.”

“This is most improper,” DuPont's man stammers, “It's perfectly acceptable for an invitation to be offered by a-”

“So he doesn't want to call me himself,” you interrupt, grimacing a little. This is all so perfectly DuPont – he has a man operating his radio for him, so he won't stoop to handling the task personally. That's always been one of the many reasons that you and DuPont could never see eye to eye, his inability to lower himself to anyone else's level. He might as well have been born on the top of a great podium, high above the rest of the world. “Then that's settled,” you conclude, “DuPont, I know you're listening to this – I wholeheartedly decline your invitation. Next time, try calling me for yourself.”

The radio man lets out a further choked cry, probably faltering at your breach in protocol – DuPont's idea of protocol – but you end the call regardless and take back the controls. As you start the Spirit of Helena moving again, Freddy leans across and speaks to you in a low murmur. “Was that wise, captain?” she asks, “I don't know this man, but he seemed to have something that he wanted to discuss with you.”

“I'm not so sure. We've got bad history, and I don't trust him to make an offer like this without some ulterior motive,” you explain, stopping short of saying anything else. You're still suspicious of DuPont, and you can't shake the feeling that he might be suspicious of you too – suspicious of how you came to own the Helena. Paranoia, maybe, but you'd rather not test your luck. “Even if he was just being polite, no good would come of it,” you add, “Some people just don't mix well.”

“Understood, captain,” the Iraklin says with a nod. Just as she turns to leave, you call out her name.

“Go and find the doctor, would you? I've got one hell of a headache, and he should have something to take care of it,” you tell her, glancing across at Trice, “On second thoughts, have him send up two doses.” Freddy salutes again – even though you're pretty sure that you told her to stop doing that – and then hurries away.

As she leaves, you consider the doctor – Doctor Philip Barnum, one of your newest crewmen. A strange man, he's both utterly hairless and he never raises his voice above a whisper. An Iraklin, but you were willing to overlook that – the Iraklins have good doctors, probably as a result of their military obsession, and even better medicine.

[1/2]

>>2225995

Later, a crewman brings up two cups of some fizzing concoction before quickly scurrying away. Trice seems dubious about it – or perhaps dubious about her ability to stomach anything, solid or liquid – but the potion proves effective. Your headache is banished, and a new energy suffuses your body as the drink settles in your stomach. The only drawback is the taste, harsh and medicinal – clearly, the Iraklins never bothered to make their medicines palatable.

After finishing her medicine, Trice lurches back off to bed and leaves you alone on the bridge. The Thelema, in the distance, fades out of sight as a thick layer of clouds rolls in to envelop your ship. Beneath you, Nadir awaits.

-

Landing in Sybile was a tortuous ordeal, with a thick blanket of fog obscuring your view of the landing pad beneath you. It was mostly guesswork that saw you land safely, and the whole thing took about twice as long as it should have. After waiting a moment more for your nerves to settle, you rise from the bridge and head off in search of Masque – you want to have a few words with him before moving out, just to make sure that he understands the situation.

When you arrive in the daemon's quarters, he gives off the impression of a man at rest. Sitting on his bed with his legs folded up beneath him – one knee encased in a hinged brace, to compensate for the damage left behind by your bullet – he could be meditating beneath a great tree. He says nothing until you greet him cautiously, and even then he doesn't look around at you. “It was loud last night. Unusually so,” he begins, “What were you talking about?”

His odd question takes you by surprise. “Redemption versus abstinence,” you answer, searching your memory for the previous night's debate, “Which one would you prefer? I'm interested in what a daemon might think about such things.”

“Both are meaningless,” Masque states, “They imply that a daemon can deviate from its nature. We naturally abstain from what we do not need, and we have no use for redemption. Your idea of a man begging his god for forgiveness is an alien one – I confess, I don't quite understand it.”

“You've got other gods, I suppose. Nadir gods,” you muse, “They don't bother with thoughts of sin and virtue?”

“Not especially,” the daemon states, “If they do, they tell neither men nor daemons about it. Think of it this way – when you cut down a tree or dig a ditch, is that a sin? Do you ask the forest or the soil for redemption?”

This conversation is starting to bring your headache back in full force. “Never mind that,” you decide, shaking your head slowly, “We've arrived in Sybile. I'll take you to our expert, so don't wander off.”

>Follow me, then
>Let's talk a little... (Write in)
>Other

>>2226048
>Let's talk a little... (Write in)
"Did you learn anything about the Kingdom of Stone during your pirate days?"

>Follow me, then

>>2226048
seconding >>2226051

>How do you feel about changelings? Would they be as hostile to you as they are to us?

“Say, Masque,” you ask, “Did you learn anything about the “Kingdom of Stone” back in your pirate days?” The question draws a strange reaction from the daemon – he freezes up completely, although he was already fairly static to begin with, and a low, throaty gurgle seeps out from behind his mask. You're left frowning in confusion for a moment before an idea strikes you. “You DO know something about it,” you guess, “But your bindings prevent you from talking about it. Is that right?”

“That appears to be the case,” Masque manages to confirm as the animation returns to his body, even if his voice still taut and hoarse. “Interesting,” he adds, “An omission can tell as much as a presence.”

“Yeah. Whoever put those bindings on you had good reason to keep you from talking about it,” you consider, “Maybe you had a place there once?” Even this speculation causes the daemon to lock up again, and you have to wait a few moments more before he can give you a shrug of raw frustration. You can understand how he feels – you wouldn't like it much if parts of your own mind were locked up or sealed away. When he can speak again, you quickly change the subject.

“How do you feel about changelings?” you ask, “Would they be as hostile to you as they are to someone like me?”

“Changelings. Spiders of the soil. Loathsome things,” Masque considers, “Vermin, as far as I'm concerned. Scavengers and cowardly hunters – they are drawn to hot blood, and so I would hold little value to them. They might not even notice me, so long as I did nothing to draw their attention. I could walk through a nest of them, without ever...” He pauses here, slowly tilting his masked head to one side as he thinks. “Did I do that once?” he wonders aloud, “Or... will I do it at some point in the future? It's hard to say.”

“But they wouldn't attack you,” you point out, bringing the conversation back to sane ground, “Because you're not alive.”

“Exactly so,” Masque confirms. He nods firmly, then, and that seems to put an end to your strange conversation.

Concentrating for a moment, you send off a thought to Keziah and order her to meet you outside. Then, with that settled, you give Masque a curt nod, “Follow me, then,” you tell him, “Like I said, don't wander off and don't cause any trouble.”

“I remain your prisoner,” Masque agrees, smoothly rising to his feet with the uncanny grace of a spider. The brace around his knee doesn't seem to hinder him at all, even if the metal does let out a quiet squeal of protest as it grinds together. Together, you march down towards the main exit, bumping into Keziah along the way. She shudders a little at the sight of Masque, but otherwise makes no reaction.

[1/2]

>>2226089

“How are the crew settling in?” you ask her as you walk, “Did anyone ask any questions about why we're here?”

“Aye, one of the lads I've got helping out in the engine room. I told him that we had a passenger to drop off, and he seemed happy with that,” Keziah confirms, “That was all. Seems like folks are findin' their feet already, and I cannae complain about the ones I'm working with. Stafford and Brookmeyer, they said their names were. Good lads, I'll introduce you properly some time – the way they tell it, you didnae have time for a proper chat.”

“No, things got pretty rushed,” you murmur, shaking off the foggy memories before urging Masque forwards, “Okay, so the plan is, we take Masque to your mother. After that, I've got nothing – our next move depends on what she can tell us. We can worry about... oh, what the hell is THIS?”

Your first sight, upon leaving the Spirit of Helena, are three blazing fires at the outskirts of town. A crowd has gathered to watch them burn, and a strange keening song floats through the mist like some unnatural music. The rest of the town seems utterly abandoned, leaving you at a loss as to your next move. It looks like some kind of ritual – and that makes you think of Maeve – but...

“Funeral pyres,” Caliban explains, his voice causing you and Keziah to jolt around in surprise. His footsteps are as silent as ever, as if he never actually touched the ground at all.

“Scared the crap out of me,” Keziah mutters, “Maybe we should get you a bell, so we can hear you comin' next time.”

“But where would the fun in that be?” the Nadir tracker replies, a cold smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Regardless, I'm certain that those are funeral pyres,” he continues, sniffing the air before frowning, “Although I don't smell anything burning except wood. Curious. The local... “community leader” should be there, leading the mourning – if this really is a funeral.”

“Community leader,” Keziah explains with an indiscrete wink, “He means a witch.”

“Yes, I guessed that much,” you sigh, shaking your head at her lack of subtlety, “Thank you.”

>Let's check it out, see what's going on
>It's none of our business, let's just head to Maeve's house
>Other

>>2226103
>Let's check it out, see what's going on

>>2226103
>Let's check it out, see what's going on

>>2226103
>>Let's check it out, see what's going on

>>2226103
>Let's check it out, see what's going on

>>2226103
>>Let's check it out, see what's going on

“Let's check it out,” you tell the others, “See what's going on.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Keziah replies, “I dinnae think they'd mind a few extra folk, so long as we dinnae kick up a fuss. Funerals like this were never private affairs, so far as I recall. Kind of a community thing, even.” She frowns a little as a thought occurs to her. “Hell, I hope it wasnae anyone I knew,” she mutters to herself, shaking off the unwelcome thoughts as you lead the group towards those pillars of smoke.

“I attended a funeral like this, once,” Masque announce suddenly as you walk, “There was only one pyre, but it was a large one. A lot of bodies. There had been a... a plague, I think. I wasn't effected by it, so I was charged with gathering together the bodies.” Just as soon as he started talking, the daemon stops again as his tenuous memories fade again. Keziah and Caliban, meanwhile, trade an uneasy look.

“I don't recall hearing about any plagues, or any settlements going silent without warning,” Caliban mutters to the witch, “How old is this thing, again?”

“I dinnae ken,” she whispers back, “Might be as old as my grandmother, or even older. No way of knowin' for certain...”

Masque ignores their whisperings, merely marching ahead with a resolute pace.

-

When you arrive at the funeral site, the heat radiating from the bonfires causes you to narrow your eyes and cover your mouth with a sleeve. The smoke is almost choking, especially with no wind to carry it away from the scene, but the other mourners seem oblivious to it. A few of them sing in that peculiar Nadir way, raising their voices in a shrill and wordless cry, while others wear crude clay death masks. Seeing them here reminds you of Monotia, and the Festival of Walking Ghosts. You've come a long way since then, or so it seems.

Standing close to the pyres, you see a tall and cloaked figure leading the song – Maeve, you're certain. Her hands are thrust high into the air, and she occasionally twists them around in some odd gesture... a gesture that the pillars of smoke almost seem to mimic. There are no protests as you join the crowd, although a few dull and incurious faces turn your way for a moment before looking back to the pyres. Almost as if they were unaware of their own actions, people move away from Masque to avoid brushing against him.

To your surprise, Caliban joins in the singing for a few moments, lending his voice to the chorus as it draws to a natural close. When the last voice has ceased, the cloaked figure turns around and throws back her hood, confirming your suspicions as to her identity.

“It is done,” Maeve announces, “Three more souls have found their way to the fire.”

A murmur of approval runs through the crowd as the mourners start to depart. As they do, they part briefly and you find yourself locking eyes with the elder witch.

Maeve smiles, like a snake.

[1/2]

>>2226153

“I had not expected to see you again so soon, Captain Vaandemere,” she announces as she approaches you, her flowing robes concealing those inhuman legs of hers. As you study her for a moment, searching for any hint of her deformity, you get the sudden impression that she is wearing nothing beneath that robe – and her smile only seems to confirm that. “You have brought me something interesting,” Maeve continues, “Have you not?”

“What was all this about?” you ask instead, gesturing towards the smouldering pyres, “Burning empty funeral pyres?”

“Three men were lost at sea. No bodies could be recovered, but we saw fit to hold a ceremony regardless,” Maeve explains, “There was a time when fishermen would ask for a blessing before going out to sea, to ward off just this very fate, but these men knew better – they saw themselves as modernists, no longer bound by superstition.” Tutting softly to herself, Maeve gives the bonfires an unreadable look. “The oceans are not ours,” she adds, “They are tolerant indeed, to suffer our tentative explorations. More tolerant than I might be, perhaps.”

An ill and awkward silence meets this comment, and Keziah is the first one to break it – with a nervous cough, leaving the actual talking to you. “I came here seeking your knowledge,” you tell her, “This... I have a familiar with me, with many of his memories bound and sealed away. His original owner is dead, or so we believe, and he may possess valuable information. I came to ask two favours of you – that you do what you can to unseal his memories, and that you...”

“Keep him as a prisoner?” Maeve finishes for you, “Because a man of your status cannot afford to travel alongside a cursed one such as him... correct?”

You were perfectly happy to explain the situation to her, but now that she's taken the words right out of your mouth... you feel oddly guilty about the request. For one absurd moment, you feel like a father abandoning his newborn child, but then the feeling passes. “It's the best thing for him,” you insist, “The alternative would be destruction.”

Maeve scoffs lightly, then gestures back towards her house with a toss of her head. As you follow her, you carefully study the others. Masque is perfectly unreadable, of course, while Keziah is pale with anxiety – although perhaps a little less than last time. Caliban, meanwhile, looks dreadfully interested in the proceedings, with a ghoulish curiosity glinting in his eyes. For good or for ill, he's involved in this now.

“A human familiar, though...” Maeve says softly as she walks, “You really do find the most interesting things.”

“Maybe so,” you grumble, “But I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.”

[2/3]

>>2226186

“Undress.”

That's the first word that Maeve says when you arrive back at her desolate home, and for a moment you assume that you misheard her. “Not all of you,” she corrects herself, “Just the familiar. Now do it – undress! I need to see what I'm working with.” With that command, she lopes off into the kitchen to make tea as Masque falteringly strips out of his layered clothing. Awkwardness descends, and you find yourself quite unsure of what to do. Like a spare wheel, you're just getting in the way here.

When Masque is finished undressing, even down to removing his iron mask, you can't suppress a gasp of horror. His naked body is unlike anything you had been expecting – patches of the skin have been eaten away with decay, while other markings have been carved into his bare flesh. Between his destroyed face and his ravaged body, it's hard to see Masque as ever being human to begin with - even his genitals have been removed, with a crude line of sutures marking where they once hung.

Maeve prowls around the nude form, peering at the various carvings before moving on. As she examines one of Masque's biceps, she glances across to you. “I see a brand. Numbers,” she tells you, “This isn't a ritual mark. Do you understand this?”

“It's an Iraklin unit marking,” you mutter as you examine the cruel brand, “12/1/2. That means... Twelfth squad, first battalion, private first class. I'll ask Freddy about it later – maybe we can use it to learn something about you... about this body. About who it used to be.”

“So I was an Iraklin,” the daemon thinks aloud, “Odd. I always assumed I was born of the Nadir soil.”

“Okay, but can you put some pants on now?” Keziah protests, scooping up Masque's breeches and practically thrusting them into the daemon's hands, “I cannae deal with this, I feel like that... thing is winkin' at me!” Waving a hand at Masque's crotch, she turns away and stares, very deliberately, at the corner of the room. “Why did they even chop it off?” she groans to herself, “Surely there's nae need to-”

“Language,” Maeve warns, absent mindedly scolding her daughter before looking back to Masque, “But you may dress. I've seen everything that I need to see. Now I need to ask you some questions.” Taking a seat at the scored wooden table, Maeve glances across at you. “You may leave,” she says as an afterthought, before looking back to the daemon.

“Keziah, I'd like to see your village,” Caliban begins, “Would you show me around?”

“Aye... yes, I can do that,” the younger witch nods eagerly, “Boss, you coming?”

>Sure, I'll come with you
>I'd rather stick around here, listen to these questions
>I'm heading back to the ship to check on things there
>Other

>>2226246
Lets stay a while and listen

>>2226246
>Sure, I'll come with you

>>2226246
How long are the questions gonna take like an hour or the rest of the day?
If an hour orso then;
>I'd rather stick around here, listen to these questions
If the rest of the day,
>I'm heading back to the ship to check on things there/Other
And spend some quality time with our boy blessing and freddy maybe teach him how to shoot a pistol?

>>2226246
>>I'd rather stick around here, listen to these questions

>>2226246
>Gods yes I'm coming along

>>2226246
Gtfo

>>2226246
>Sure, I'll come with you

>>2226246
>I'd rather stick around here, listen to these questions

>Going to close the vote now, we're going with leaving. Writing now, and I apologise for the delay.

>>2226262
>The questions are going to take a pretty long time, yes, about most of the day

“How long are these questions going to take?” you ask, “Are we talking about an hour, or the rest of the day here?”

Maeve doesn't look back around you, or even give any indication that she heard your question for a few long moments. Just as you're about to give up and leave with the others, she speaks. “It will not be brief,” she states, “And distractions will only delay things even further. I must concentrate and be thorough, so that nothing is omitted.” Having said this, she turns back to Masque and studies the familiar in silence. Sharing a shrug, Keziah and Caliban quietly slip out through the front door. Taking the hint, you hurry out to join them.

The pair are walking along the edge of the cliff when you reach them, silently listening to the sound of the waves crashing against rock below and the low moan of the ocean wind. Caliban is just starting to talk as you arrive.

“It seems unnatural to me,” he begins, “Fishing, I mean. The ocean is a vast and uncaring place. The sky? At least that has islands in it – the ocean has nothing, it's completely empty. A man could be lost forever out there, just like those fishermen from earlier. When the forests have plenty of meat to offer, why risk your life out on the open waters?”

“Some people believe the oceans aren't as empty as you think,” you tell him, “I heard about a man operating out of... Myrmaeada, I think it was, who's trying to build a ship. He wants to roam the oceans and find new lands, apparently.”

“There's no shortage of fools and eccentrics in this world – men like Professor Estheim,” Caliban says with a small laugh, “And most of the time, their obsessions destroy them. So be it – better to die chasing a dream than to die cowering in bed... although I'd rather not die at all, if I had any choice in the matter.”

“Everything dies,” Keziah points out, “Everything HAS to die. We'd be all kinds of overcrowded if they didn't!” Chuckling to herself, she points out across Sybile. “Look at it!” she insists, “It's only a wee little town, we'd be up to our necks in folks if nobody died. Not just folks, but animals too – stray dogs, and the like. Terrible, I tell you, terrible!”

“Fine. Point taken,” the hunter concedes, shaking his head with a sigh. You can sympathise with him – when Keziah gets seriously invested in something meaningless, which happens quite often, the best course of action is usually to concede the point. “But it's a strange place, this town of yours. Not an Azimuth town, but it's slowly turning into one. They were building a GERA outpost out by the aerodrome, weren't they?” he continues, “That's how it starts. GERA always gets in first, then it'll be paved roads and tenement blocks. It's too late to stop it now.”

[1/2]

>>2226377

“Ah, you cannae be serious,” Keziah splutters, “Just because the Guild is buildin' an office out here, that doesnae mean that it's goin' to turn into... Reichstag or anythin'. You've been in the Deep Forest for too long, that's your problem.”

“Maybe so,” Caliban agrees, “There were certainly no GERA outposts where I grew up. Plenty of trees, plenty of wild beasts – and people who acted like wild beasts – but no Guild.” His expression darkens as he thinks about his upbringing, and the mood grows colder. “I don't mean to be sentimental. If my old home was razed and burned to the ground, the world would be better off for it,” he adds, “But I'm not convinced that the alternative is that much better.”

You don't often do this, sitting back and letting others talk without butting in, but it's interesting to see them relate. Just as Gunny and Blessings have their differences in faith, so too do Keziah and Caliban have their differences in... what, savagery and civilisation?

“Well, even if you're right, there isnae anythin' I can do about it,” the young witch grumbles, “I cannae just write a wee letter to the head of the Guild and ask them to piss off, can I? I dinnae even ken who the head of the Guild IS!”

“Does anyone?” you ask with a vague shrug, “Anyway, I'm heading back to the ship to check on a few things – that unit marking, among other things. Don't cause any trouble, either of you – Caliban, I don't want to hear about any Guild offices burning down, okay?”

The hunter smirks, but says nothing else.

-

Back at the Spirit of the Helena, you head straight for Freddy's quarters and knock firmly on the door before entering. Judging by the weights she's busy lifting you've caught her in the middle of her exercises, although that doesn't seem to bother her. Setting them down with a low grunt, she snatches up a towel and begins to wipe away the sweat glinting on her skin. She's only wearing her undergarments, leaving her unit markings – among other things – on casual display.

“Sorry captain, I wasn't expecting you back so soon,” she says, tossing aside the towel and gesturing around at her room, “Do you need the Eliza? I can have her ready in a few moments, I just-”

“Settle down, I was looking for you,” you tell her, indicating for her to relax with the full knowledge that it won't make any difference, “I wanted your help with something...”

>I've got an Iraklin unit marking – 12/1/2. Does that tell you anything?
>I think Blessings could use some training. Could you help?
>I'd like to hear about the war, from your perspective
>Here's what I need... (Write in)
>Other

>>2226448
>I've got an Iraklin unit marking – 12/1/2. Does that tell you anything?
>I'd like to hear about the war, from your perspective

Then
>I think Blessings could use some training. Could you help?

>>2226448
>Know anything about this unit marking?
>Tell me about the war.

>>2226448
>I've got an Iraklin unit marking – 12/1/2. Does that tell you anything?
>I think Blessings could use some training. Could you help?

>>2226448
>>I've got an Iraklin unit marking – 12/1/2. Does that tell you anything?
>>I think Blessings could use some training. Could you help?
>>I'd like to hear about the war, from your perspective

“I've got an Iraklin unit marking,” you tell her, nodding down to her muscular arm, “Is there anything you can tell me with it?”

“A few basic details, maybe,” Freddy says with a slow nod, taking a thick book down from her shelf, “What was the marking?”

“12/1/2,” you tell her, pausing as a sudden frown crosses her face, “That does mean something, doesn't it?”

“That's the first battalion – it was wiped out a long time ago. You see, the other battalions were reinforced as they took losses, so that their numbers remained consistent,” Freddy explains, her voice quick and clipped, “But the first battalion was allowed to dwindle away to nothing – it was symbolic, I think, to show that sacrifices would always be remembered. It was an old tradition from a more whimsical era, it wouldn't happen these days.” Pausing for a moment, she flips through the pages of her book and starts to skim the pages. “The point is, it's far easier to track a member of the first battalion,” she concludes, “And they're older. Let's see... twelfth unit, first battalion. It was destroyed in Nadir, in the eightieth Year of the Sun.”

You take a moment to run the calculations, and then to check them again. “That was almost one hundred and eighty years ago!” you protest, “Could he really be... Oh, hell. Does it say anything else about how the unit was destroyed?”

“Just that it was destroyed in the first explorations of the Deep Forest,” Freddy tells you, shaking her head, “In all likelihood, the bodies were never recovered.” One of them certainly wasn't, you think bleakly to yourself. The thought causes your expression to darken, only for Freddy to misread your face. “It's something that every Iraklin soldier understands and accepts,” she explains, “We serve our nation, knowing that it might mean our bones will lie undiscovered in foreign soil. We do that, so that those back home can leave in peace and security.”

She talks of peace and security, but it was her people who annexed your homeland in order to create a bulwark, a shield against some imagined Carth invasion. The thought causes a vague stirring of anger in you – as it likely always will – but you force it down. “Tell me about the war,” you ask her simply, “From your perspective, I mean. What did you think of it?”

Freddy considers your question for a long moment. “I didn't,” she says eventually, “When the orders came through, I didn't ask any questions – nobody did. It was a defensive action, to protect against future acts of Carth aggression. We all believed that we were in the right – we had no reason to think otherwise.” Turning around, she gives you a wan smile. “I sound like I'm making excuses,” she adds, “Doesn't it?”

“Yeah,” you agree, “It does.”

[1/2]

>>2225724
> Artemis being sexless

I choose to ignore this. IMO she's as innocently greedy for sex just as much as she was for her other appetites now that she's had a chance to learn about it.

>>2226526

“Making excuses is frowned upon, you know. Iraklins are supposed to face up to their mistakes, and use that knowledge to better themselves,” she laughs humourlessly, “But that isn't always easy. I can learn from a mechanical error or a training injury, but this? It's hard, harder than I ever expected. The annexation... as far as I believe, it was still the right thing to do. It was ugly, and too much damage was done, but it was still the right thing to do.”

“Well,” you sigh, “I don't think we'll ever agree on that part.”

“Maybe so,” the former soldier agrees, “But I'm not going to let it hinder my work, captain. As far as I'm concerned everyone aboard this ship is a comrade of mine, and an Iraklin is always loyal to their comrades. So, give me an order, sir, and I'll do my best to obey!”

“I told you not to call me “sir”, you know,” you begin, before abandoning the effort, “Fine. Orders. How do you feel about doing some training? I think Blessings could do with some toughening up, maybe learning to shoot a pistol, and I think you might be able to help. What do you say?”

“Basic training, I understand,” Freddy nods, “I'd be happy to help. In Iraklis, a boy of his age would already know how to strip, clean, and fire a rifle – and that's at a minimum. The same applies to all children.”

“Is that how you spent your youth, then?” you ask with a smile, “Cleaning and firing rifles?”

“...Not exactly,” she replies slowly, saying nothing else on the subject.

-

You've not even started your basic training yet, and Blessings already looks like he's about to pass out. With a few weapons tucked under one arm, you lead him out to the forests lingering on the outskirts of Sybile. Freddy marches at your side, collecting large rocks whenever she sees them. Targets, she explained, improvised targets. The idea of some target practice has brought a smile to her face, but Blessings is still reeling from his night of drinking. Privately, you have your doubts about how well he'll do.

When you reach a quiet clearing, Freddy sets out placing rocks on a fallen tree while you sit Blessings down and talk him through the basics – how to load a revolver, how to use the sights effectively, and the safest way to handle a firearm. His eyes are glassy and dull, but you're fairly sure that some of what you're telling him manages to stick in his head. At the very least, he takes one of the revolvers without immediately shooting himself in the foot, and he points it in the right direction.

It's a good start – now he just needs to shoot something.

[2/3]

Time to discover that Blessing is a natural perfect shot.

>>2226604
Time to cry when his bullet ricochets into our face.

>>2226616
Yeah, that is the more likely option. However, we need to have faith in our young ward/cook.

>>2226616
>>2226624
How else would he prove he's a natural if not by double killing us and Keziah?

>>2226616
I mean depending on what kind of gunpowder they use, and if it's soft lead, ricochets might have significantly less for here or the bullet might just shatter/deform against the rock.

>>2226629
If he's a true rebound pro he'll get freddy too.

>>2226616
>And that's the story of how Milos got his eye patch.

>>2226598

Freddy prowls around the boy like a circling wolf, studying his posture for any hint of weakness or error. You feel a little sorry for the boy as she jabs a hard finger at his arms or hisses equally hard advice in his ear, but it's all for his own good. Sooner or later, he's going to need to toughen up, and shooting a pistol is a good place to start. Gesturing for Freddy to step back and leave Blessings to it, the boy sets his sights on the largest, closest rock and fires.

He misses, of course, but it's not a bad miss.

“My old drill sergeant would have slapped you across the back of the head for a shot like that,” Freddy chuckles, “And you would have been getting off lightly!”

“The first time I shot a pistol, I had no teaching at all. I stole one of my father's duelling pistols and ended up putting a shot through one of our windows,” you add, smiling a little at the memory, “I don't even know why he had duelling pistols, he never stayed in one place for long enough to fight any duels. But, I guess it was a popular trend for a while – noblemen just HAD to have duelling pistols. Try again, Blessings, and don't jerk so hard on the trigger this time.”

This time, Blessings smoothly squeezes down on the trigger and his next shot is a hit. The rock is knocked off its log in a puff of shattered stone, causing the boy lets out a little cry of surprise and satisfaction. Freddy turns and starts to give you an amused smile, only for the expression to slowly fall from her face. A deadly serious frown replaces it, and she nods slightly to something behind you. Slowly, trying hard to look casual and unforced, you turn around and glance behind you.

Standing out in the middle of the trees, shrouded by wide ferns, is a barbarian. He is draped in furs, his face hidden behind a low hood, and he carries a rifle at low rest. Blessings is still too focused on lining up the next target to have noticed, but you can't tear your eyes away from the barbarian. As you place a hand on your revolver, he slowly raises his rifle to his shoulder. You both pause, neither you nor the barbarian making a move. The two of you could stay like this until doomsday.

Except that's when Blessings fires his next shot, the sound punching at the air. Like a startled animal, the barbarian leaps into motion and starts to flee deeper into the woods – to summon help, or to hide from you?

>Chase after him, leave Blessings with Freddy
>Flee back to Sybile before the barbarian returns
>Other

>>2226705
>>Chase after him, leave Blessings with Freddy

>>2226705
>Flee back to Sybile before the barbariam returns.

We might be intruding, or he might have an ambush prepared.

>>2226705
>Flee back to Sybile before the barbarian returns
Fuck going in that forest with its legendary demon hunting us.

>>2226705
>Flee back to Sybile before the barbarian returns
Yeah time to go.

>>2226705
>Flee

>>2226705
>>Flee back to Sybile before the barbarian returns

WE AIN'T GETTING PAID FOR THIS SHIT.

“We're getting out of here!” you snap, grabbing Blessings by the arm and dragging him forwards a few yards. As soon as you're certain that the boy is following, you let go of him and focus on running. Freddy leaps to follow you, drawing her own pistol and turning to scan the forest as you run back towards Sybile. Ferns crash underfoot as you stamp carelessly across the tangled undergrowth, with low branches snagging at your clothing and clumps of fallen leaves scattering with every step you take.

Running like this causes the world to narrow down to a tunnel, a hard path leading towards civilisation and the safety it promises. Nothing else matters, until a shrill cry reaches you and shatters that absolute focus. Spinning around, you see Blessings fall, a coil of vine wound around one leg. Skidding to a half, you turn back and race to his side. Grabbing the boy by the arm, you start to haul him upright as something moves in the corner of your eye. Dropping him back down, you spin around with your revolver ready to fire.

“Hold your fire!” Freddy hisses as she bursts into view. Hastily lowering your revolver, you turn back to Blessings as she reaches you, reaching down to help strip away the vines constricting him. He won't stop babbling mad apologies, even when you shake him firmly. His voice is loud enough that you almost miss the other sound – the sound of something moving carefully, confidently through the undergrowth.

Clapping a hand over Blessings' mouth, you crouch low and aim your revolver into the trees, searching for a target as Freddy covers the other side. All the while, you hear that damnable rustling as something – something you can't see – prowls around you in a loose circle. After a while, it finally dies off and leaves you with a perfect silence, a forest that is perfectly devoid of sound.

Except that doesn't mean that you're alone.

“He's watching us,” Freddy whispers, “You can feel it too, can't you?”

She's right, there's something watching you out in the trees – hopefully not watching you down the sights of a rifle. “The plan remains in place. We're leaving,” you mutter back to her, “We're going to move quickly and carefully, sticking low and stopping for nothing, okay? Blessings, you CAN do this. I have faith in you.”

Tentatively, the boy nods and you take your hand away from his mouth. You exchange one more nod, and then you move out. Just as you said, you stick low and move quickly, hurrying through the tangled undergrowth without ever letting it slow you down. Once again, the world narrows down to that intense tunnel.

But this time, you can see light – freedom – at the end of that tunnel.

[1/2]

>>2226578
Do try to suppress your fetishes, anon.

>>2226813

Bursting from the border of the forest, your momentum carries you onwards for a while longer, and you only start to slow when the Spirit of Helena looms out of the fog ahead. Sitting outside, making a cloud of fog of her own, Cammy waves to you. Trice, still pale and grim with a hangover, is sitting with her. Grateful for the friendly faces, you shake off your fatigue and stagger over to the pair.

“Once, just once, I'd like to go into the woods without something trying to kill me!” you grunt, waving off Cammy's offer of help as you slump down onto the Helena's cargo ramp. Dragging in a rasping breath, you feel your racing heartbeat slow to a more acceptable level. “But other than that, I think we're fine,” you add, “Blessings? Freddy?”

“Still got all my limbs and eyes, captain,” Freddy assures you. Blessings, still struggling for breath, can only nod wearily. “Well, I'm willing to call this a successful training session,” she continues, “We ended up doing athletics rather than target practice, but that's fine too. Hawthorn, you could do with getting a little more exercise – you're carrying a little too much weight.”

“She's not wrong,” Trice agrees, squinting at Blessings, “When I was young, I spent all my spare time fetching and carrying, doing whatever chores my parents needed done. Taught me the value of hard work, that.”

“Chores? But that's what servants are for...” the boy whines to himself, before rising up on shaking legs, “Oh, but did you see that last shot?”

“You mean, the shot that could have brought a horde of barbarians down on our heads?” you reply, “That shot?”

“Barbarians?” the provost mouths to Cammy, who just shakes her head in response. Better not to ask, the gesture seems to say.

“Well, um, yes. That shot,” Blessings concedes, his mood faltering a little before an expression of renewed cheer spreads across his face. “It was a perfect hit!” he boasts, “Right in the bullseye!”

>I'm going to pause things here for today. I'll continue this tomorrow, and if anyone has any questions I'll answer them if I can
>Thanks to everyone who contributed today!

>>2226894
Thanks for running.

That's some quick improvement though. Misses, hits, bullseye. Blessings is some kind of chosen one. Now if only he wasn't so lazy.

>>2226894
Thanks for running!
Am I right in thinking Trice won't see Carth for a long time?

>>2226905
Depends on the size of those rocks and the shooting distance. Hitting a stationary target when you have time to aim isn't actually very hard.

>>2226894
Thanks for running!
Good to see that Blessing is a quick learner.

>>2226894
Thanks for running.

>>2226917
>Am I right in thinking Trice won't see Carth for a long time?
Unless we get sidetracked on a wacky adventure we'll be heading back to drop off Cammy and Hanson soonish.

Has Milos realized that all the women on his crew are young and attractive?

>>2226955
But Keziah is in our crew.

>>2226894
Are we still in possession of the Tusk skiff?

>>2226960
Man I thought Freddy was going to be most bullied but Kez already has two fanarts.

>>2226905
Well, Blessings is a quick learner, and he was trying really hard. Just a shame that he still melts down under pressure, but you know. Baby steps.

>>2226917
If everything goes to plan, Trice should be back in Carthul soon along with Tobias' crew. Even if we were detained here for a long time, she would likely arrange to get back home on her own. Taking one day off is fine, but going completely AWOL is different!

>>2226966
No, we would have left it back with the Iron Boar itself. The Spirit of Helena only has room to safely store one skiff.

>>2226955
It probably hasn't escaped his notice, but it would be very unprofessional to dwell on such things. Definitely.

>>2226894
> Chores? But that's what servants are for...

Sorry, is Laziness one of the teachings of the Church? Still. We should congratulate him on the bullseye.

>>2226999
How many skiffs can we store UN-Safely?

Could we bind demons to Skiffs and use them for their intended purpose, killing their passengers and whoever they hit? Giant guided missiles? Would probably work on a dreadnought.

>>2226999
We would be sure to only summon suicidal and depressed demons, for humane reasons.

I see we are already split on which waifu is the best.
I'll say it loud and clear, Keziah is BEST girl!
Any hate on her is just forces without legitamed reason.
Ofcourse no hate towards on Freddy she is probally one of the characters i like the most in the story as well.

>>2227103
>without legitamed reason.

Do we need casus belli for some bullying? Kez bully pics are pretty funny.

>>2227072
Absolute maximum? We could probably strap one extra to the top observation deck, but that would likely hamper our ability to fly properly. As for binding daemons to them, it just wouldn't work - they require a flesh and blood body to possess, not a metal shell.

I'm also obliged to tell you that this idea is dangerous, immoral and possibly self-destructive. But, you know, when did that ever get in the way of a good time?

>>2227103
>>2227130
There is literally nothing wrong with a spot of wholesome bullying!

>>2227103
Keziah doesn't even lift or walk around in her undies. When you're being outdone by Iraklin warmongering brutes you have to step up your game. Her fake accent makes me want to make fun of her too.

>>2227130
Casus Bulli*

>>2227181
>they require a flesh and blood body to possess, not a metal shell.
What about wood? That's organic, same as cloth and silk.

Worst comes to worst, we'll go hunt down some giant insects and convert them into living skiffs wholesale.

>>2227402
I think it's less a case of material and more that they want an intact body as a vessel; ie, something that can move around and is built to move around on its own. Or at least, that's part of the deal. Or perhaps plants don't have souls and they need a vessel that harbored one.

>>2227474
>plants don't have souls
DOGS GO TO HEAVEN
DOGS HAVE SOULS

>>2227072
>>2227181
>>2227402
>>2227474
Moloch said this setting wasn’t the most rigorously scientific, but how can that be, when science is the very foundation that knowledge is built upon? What he actually meant was that the axioms of this world are wildly different but not necessarily contradictory. If it were contradictory, then that would mean the worldbuilding is shit. Although that isn’t something that can be determined as of this moment, it will simply have to be assumed in order for any possible theorizing.

First, let us collate what knowledge we have of the operation of a daemon. From what Herod has said, a familiar is created with a corpse. “A fresh corpse from a natural death – that's what is best.” The daemon that is bound to the body shares traits from what it possesses. “The body is just a vessel, the form doesn't matter.” It is clear that the requirement of the vessel of a familiar is to be able to contain a “soul.” Whether or not souls between different beings are nondistinctive is irrelevant.

The concept of a “soul” is an immaterial essence that not only brings about consciousness, but it also serves as a way of categorizing the living from the nonliving. Herod explains, “the body of a creature that died badly, violently, tends to produce a poor familiar.” Masque also explains, “Odd. I always assumed I was born of the Nadir soil.” He has no memory of his past, and yet a body that died poorly would continue to harbor emotions. Therefore, it can be explained that the soul, that essence of consciousness and emotion, would remain in the body after death, but the act of death would bring about a change in the soul, one that would allow a daemon to use the body as a vessel. This means there is a great importance between “non-living” and “dead”.

“It will not age, or decay, or grow hungry. It needs no drinking water, and it cannot sleep.” First of all, the lack of decay means nothing can grow on it. It is not susceptible to decomposition, and that it is completely incapable of sustaining life. This, in combination with the lack of need for food or water, means that the body itself is no longer performing any bodily functions. However, when Masque was unable to continue fighting after being shot in the leg. Damaging the vessel means limiting the capabilities of the familiar, therefore the only explanation left is that the daemon replaces bodily functions in the vessel’s stead.

It’s simple: we attach something that can contain soul to the skiff. We can force daemons in, right?

The smaller it is, the closer to the dream, but the more energy is required to operate the system mechanically. That’s not a problem since we have super magical energy sources that can fix this problem. For the machine itself, the triggers can be as simple as using a photoresistor to detect movement, or whatever the in-world equivalent is.

Therefore, we can ejaculate in a petri dish and use our daemon-possessed spunk to pilot our skiff.

You're welcome.

>>2228185
Is it sad that I can totally see the Iralkins doing that if they could have access to daemon suicide skiffs just for that extra military edge?

>>2228185
I thought we would just use an abused monkey or something.

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

101 KB JPG

“Barbarians, in the woods around here?” Keziah muses, looking up from her plate of fish, “I dinnae ken anythin' about that. I mean, me mam told me to stay away from those woods when I was a wee girl, but she went there all the time. It cannae be that dangerous, because she never took a pistol or anythin'.” Thinking some more on the issue, she prods at the meal. Blessings cooked it, using fresh fish that Hanson caught – truly a team effort.

“He probably ran away from town, took to living wild,” Caliban suggests, “It happens.”

“Oh aye, does it now?” the witch replies, raising an eyebrow, “And since you've got all the answers, can you tell me WHY it happens?”

“Usually it's because the Guild starts building an outpost in their town,” the tracker answers, “Paving the streets comes next, and then-”

“Not this again!” she scoffs, “You just cannae let this go, can you?” Rolling her eyes, she punches the man lightly on the shoulder. “Anyway, boss, I reckon you werenae in much danger. You probably scared him more than he scared you,” she adds, turning back to you, “But you were right to run like that, some folks get mighty dangerous when their back is against the wall. Better just to stay away, that's what I think.”

“Hmm, you might be right,” you agree, “Whoever he was, he could have taken any number of shots at us, but he didn't.” Considering the issue for a moment more, you push your portion of grilled fish about for a little before shrugging. Conversation falters for a moment until you see Blessings entering the common room and you wave him over. “Good meal today,” you tell him as he sits with you, “I was just telling these two about your training.”

“Aye. The boss tells me that you hit a bullseye,” Keziah says with a nod, “You're a quick learner, lad, we'll make somethin' of you yet.”

“Oh, well, you know,” the boy murmurs, flushing a little, “We were just shooting rocks, they weren't very, um, difficult. I don't think I could actually shoot... a person.” Dropping his eyes, Blessings falls silent for a moment before shaking his head and looking up, quickly changing the subject. “So what did you two do today?” he asks, looking between Keziah and Caliban, “There doesn't seem to be much to do around here, and... oh, uh, I didn't mean to...”

“No, you're quite right. There isn't much to see or do around here,” Caliban replies with a yawn and a stretch, “A few bars, a shack for smoking fish, and the start of Guild outpost. Not much – but still, it's more than my home town had.”

“Trees, trees, and more trees,” Keziah elaborates, “Although we've got our fair share of those as well, as you might have noticed. Folks call it the Owlwood, you know, although I cannae say why. Just a name, I figure – as good as any other.”

[1/2]

>>2230521

Night slowly encroaches upon Sybile, with gloom moving in to replace the day's fog. A breeze has started to shift the listless air, bringing the scent of the ocean to you – a smell of salt and life, but with a dark undercurrent of decay. While the town had seemed eerily empty by day, new life seems to be returning as the light begins to fade. As you allow your eyes to rove across the area, you notice signs of new construction – the first foundations of a modern building, built in an Azimuth style. Next to it, a more native building bears a crude sign declaring it as a temporary GERA outpost.

So, you think to yourself, this is the source of Caliban's ire. It doesn't look like much, but the finished building – the real Guild outpost – will be a more imposing sight. The Guild builds them like bunkers, without regard to the local tastes or sensibilities. It seems like a strange thing to build in an out of the way fishing village, a village that is literally perched upon the edge of the world. Cities like Salim or Reichstag are one thing, but Sybile? Strange indeed.

The flutter of wings disturbs your thoughts, with Herod descending down to perch upon Keziah's shoulder. The daemon looks at you with a haughty expression before speaking into your mind. “I have a message from the Maeve the Elder,” he announces, “It is done. You may visit her whenever you wish to do so, and the discussion may continue.”

“Whenever we wish?” you ask aloud, giving Keziah a questioning look.

“Aye, well, at least she isnae demandin' that we stick to her schedule. She never did care for rushin' through things,” the younger witch replies with a shrug, “Plenty of time to do anythin' else you feel like doin'. Now, I wouldae suggest a wicked thing like this, but some folks might make her wait a little – just on general principles, like.”

“General principles,” you repeat, smiling a little at her “subtle” suggestions.

“Not to be changin' the subject or anythin', but there used to be a pretty nice little bar around here. Feel like helpin' me see if it's still around?” she offers, “I willnae lie to you, boss, I could use a wee drink before dealin' me mam. Just a drop or two to steady the nerves, of course.”

>I think we'd better just head to Maeve straight away
>Well, a quick drink can't hurt. Lead the way
>I'd like to check out this Guild place first, see what's going on there
>I had something else in mind... (Write in)
>Other

>>2230524
>Well, a quick drink can't hurt. Lead the way

>>2230524
>Well, a quick drink can't hurt. Lead the way

“Well, a quick drink can't hurt,” you decide, nodding along with Keziah's suggestion, “Like you said, we're working on our own schedule here. Go on then, lead the way.”

“Got it, boss,” Keziah says as she turns and starts purposefully strolling away. She knows exactly where she's going, of course, and she's barely even trying to hide the fact. The last time you were in Sybile, you never really had a chance to wander about and see the town for yourself – you stopped by the trading post, then made straight for Maeve's lair. This time you have the freedom to wander a little, and your roamings take you into a more decaying section of the town. Five buildings are laid out in a rough circle, with a single gnarled tree rising up in the middle of it all. “Here we are,” your guide says, gesturing towards one of the buildings as she enters.

A murmur of conversation strikes you as the door opens, pausing only briefly as a few eyes turn to examine the newcomers. By the time you've reached the bar, though, the moment has already passed – if there was any test here, you passed it with ease. At the bar, a heavyset man with a thick beard and wild facial tattoos approaches you and greets you with one meaty paw.

“Maeve's lass. Keziah, wasn't it?” he rumbles, looking at Keziah, “Haven't seen you in here for a while. What can I get you?”

“Aye, that's right,” she replies, holding up two fingers, “Two jugs, Horace, and a wee glass of the harder stuff on the side.” Glancing across at you, then, Keziah corrects herself. “Better make that two,” she adds, “Dinnae want anyone feelin' left out, now do we?”

Horace chuckles as he fills two stout tankards with some murky ale, pouring out two tiny glasses of a clear spirit to go with them. “Still talking like that, I see,” he says with a grin, “You're persistent, I'll give you that.” After taking the handful of coins Keziah passes across, he hurries away to deal with another group of thirsty customers, leaving you and Keziah to find a quiet corner.

“You dinnae get many outsiders in here,” she muses as she sips her ale, “Since it's a wee bit out of the way and all. They mostly stick to the bars over by the aerodrome, but I like it here. Had my first drink in here, back when I was a wee lass. I had to sneak out here, and I kept thinkin' that me mam was goin' to burst in and drag me off home. I was so scared that I threw up after half a mug of ale!”

Although the ale itself might have had something to do with that, you consider as you take a sip. It's not what you expected, with a strong taste of herbs. The spirit isn't much better, like a texture like oil and a peppery burn to it. Not entirely pleasant, but cheap and potent – two points in its favour.

[1/2]

>>2230585

“So how did you start talking like that, anyway?” you ask as you finish the glass of spirit, “I mean, how did you get the idea in the first place?”

“We had a visitor. A Guild man, actually – he was the first person from the Guild that I ever saw, but that isnae really important. He was doin' research, he said, lookin' into folk traditions and all that stuff. Well, me mam invited him in and they had a nice talk, although she didnae actually TELL him anythin'. I was sittin' in, but I didnae dare speak,” Keziah says slowly, a brittle smile crossing her face as she recalls her youth, “Anyway, when she let him leave he thanked her for being so hospitable. He was surprised, he said, at how “civilised” she was!”

“He just came out and said it like that?” you laugh, “Not exactly subtle, was he?”

“Aye, well. Me mam asked him what he meant by that, and he said...” Keziah clears her throat before continuing in a gruff voice, exaggerating her phony accent to truly ridiculous levels, “I were thinkin' you'd talk like this!”

“And that's where you got it from,” you finish for her, taking another swig of the herb ale. Closing your eyes, you can picture it in your mind – a Guild type in his formal robes, Maeve wearing her usual garb, and Keziah... actually, you're not sure how to imagine her as a young girl. You frowned a lot as a child – you still do – and so you picture her doing just that, scowling out at a hostile world.

“I could see that it annoyed her, like,” Keziah explains, allowing her voice to return to normal, “So I copied it, just as a wee bit of petty rebellion – but do you ken, I think that was the first time I ever really decided to do somethin' for myself rather than doin' what I was told, or what I was expected to do.”

“Your first real act of will and self-determination...” you begin slowly, considering her story, “Was to put on a stupid accent to annoy your mother?”

“Aye, exactly!” she agrees, her eyes growing wide for a second before her face falls, “It... does sound kinda dumb when you put it like that, yeah.” The glum moment only lasts a few heartbeats before Keziah brightens up again, reaching across the table to punch you lightly on the shoulder. “Okay then, boss, let's hear yours!” she urges, “Go on, tell me – and I expect to be impressed, seein' as you're all high and mighty!”

“Hmm, now I'll have to think about that,” you muse, tapping your finger against the empty shot glass as you search your memory, “I can't remember how old I was, but I broke into a room that my father always kept locked. That was the only room he kept locked, you see, and I desperately wanted to know what was inside. So, when he went away on one of his “voyages”, I gathered up all my courage and just... broke in.”

“Ooh, devious,” Keziah chuckles, “So what was inside?”

[2/3]

>>2230607

This is not a question that you can answer straight away. You pause for a long moment, allowing your memories to wash over you with the gentle scent of some long-faded perfume. You can still remember the sunlight creeping around the edges of the heavy curtains, the uncreased white sheets, and the... the feel of the room. Opening your eyes, you look down into the empty tankard as you search for the right words.

“Nothing,” you answer honestly, “It was an empty bedroom, like something a guest would stay in, but it had been vacant for a long time. There was a faint smell of perfume, but that was all.”

Disappointment clouds Keziah's face as she tries to puzzle out your answer. “That's it?” she asks, “I cannae believe... did your old man find out that you were in there?”

“He sure did. I used a chisel to break in, and I made a messy job of it,” you reply, “When he saw it, he went pale – I never saw him looking so... so frightened in all my life, but it only lasted a moment. Then a big smile spread across his face and he told me what it was all about. It was a lesson, he said, a lesson about disappointment.” Nodding slowly to yourself, you remember him sitting you down and explaining just that – that sometimes, hard work doesn't have a reward waiting at the end of it. You had accepted his explanation and thanked him for the lesson, and that had been the end of it.

“Well, now I dinnae ken what to think,” the young witch grumbles, “But your story is way better than mine!”

“Really? I always feel that it's such an anti-climax,” you ponder, “A disappointment, just like the original lesson - a disappointment on multiple levels.”

“Still, it's funny. Even as a wee lad, you were gettin' ready to break into some forbidden treasure trove,” Keziah points out, shrugging a little, “I just hope that the real thing isnae quite such a failure! Imagine if we break in, workin' our butts off to get those pieces of key together, and all we find inside is... is...”

“A note reading “the real treasure is friendship”, or something like that,” you offer, causing her to snort with incredulous laughter. Slapping her palm down against the notched wooden table, Keziah throws back the last of her drink and give you a vigorous nod.

“I'm ready!” she announces, “You ready to check on our daemon then, boss?”

>As ready as I'll ever be. Let's go
>We're in no hurry. Let's talk about something else... (Write in)
>Other

>>2230661
>As ready as I'll ever be. Let's go

>>2230661
>As ready as I'll ever be. Let's go

>>2230661
>Let's do this

>>2230661
>As ready as I'll ever be. Let's go

“As ready as I'll ever be,” you tell her, “Let's go.”

“Right,” Keziah agrees, rising to her feet and brushing down her clothes, “Do you think it was a woman's room? I mean, you said that it had a smell of perfume, so...”

The idea had occurred to you before. In fact, you had occasionally wondered if it might have been your mother's room, left vacant after she disappeared from your life. It was fashionable, for a while, for couples to have separate bedrooms, and your father was nothing if not a dedicated follower of trends. Either way, though, you never came across any evidence that pointed towards a definite answer. Simply answering Keziah's suggestion with a shrug, you head out of the bar.

As you're leaving the bar you cross paths with Caliban, who gives you a very serious look. “You're heading up to ask about the daemon?” he asks, forging ahead before you can even answer him, “Then I'm coming with you.”

Shrugging, you gesture for him to follow along.

-

When you arrive at Maeve's home, you find her standing at the rear of her house, her gaze fixed on the cliff edge and the ocean beyond.

“He's a guardian daemon – a bodyguard, you might say,” Maeve explains, gesturing over to Masque. The familiar is standing a few feet away, standing at the edge of the cliff with his short blade drawn. Although he mostly holds himself perfectly still, he occasionally launches into a flurry of rapid swipes, cutting through the air before returning to that uncanny stillness. Practice, you assume, although he hardly looks like he needs it. “That's all I've been able to learn so far,” the elder witch continues, “This is a mystery that will take some time to unravel.”

“We think he used to be an Iraklin solider,” you offer, “He was killed in Nadir, about... one hundred and eighty years ago. Can familiars really get that old?”

“And older still,” Maeve confirms, “Time is an abyss, Captain Vaandemere, and every so often something crawls out of that dark chasm.”

-

Leaving Masque to his practice, you return to the gloom of Maeve's home and sit around the table. You're still not sure why Caliban is here, but he seems to have taken a personal interest in this – perhaps he's still nursing a grudge from when Masque almost shot him, or perhaps Maeve herself has caught him in some sinister orbit. She has that power, you sense, a dangerous and mysterious allure.

“I intend to summon daemons of my own to unwind his bonds,” the older witch explains, “But this is a delicate process, and many of the daemons I wish to call up will only answer my summons during specific times – the stars must be right. He will have to remain here for the time being.” She smiles, then, and you feel a faint chill gathering at the base of your spine. “But that is what you wanted,” she murmurs, “Is it not?”

[1/2]

>>2230747

“True. It'll make things easier on my behalf,” you concede, “But make sure you keep him on a tight leash, okay? He might be playing along now, but he's capable of being pretty dangerous.”

“And a familiar who has lost its original master can be unpredictable indeed,” she agrees, nodding gracefully as she accepts your warning, “I shall be on my guard, always.”

Somehow you get the feeling that she's just humouring you, but what more can you do? If she's not going to take this seriously, then the fault is with her – not you. Before you can say anything else on the issue, Caliban leans forwards and clears his throat. “I understand that Eishin has many witches at his beck and call,” he asks, “Do you know anything about that?”

“The King in Exile? Oh yes, I know all about it – we witches are so fond of gossiping when we all meet up, just as we enjoy sharing our gossip with outsiders,” the older witch says with an innocent smile, her words dripping with honey and poison, “You ought to know better than to ask such foolish questions, boy, but I choose to take no offence. For your information, I have no business with King Eishin – his squabbles are of no interest to me.”

Suitable chastised, Caliban sits back and consider Maeve's words with a raised eyebrow. Far from seeming irritated or otherwise vexed, the entire exchange seems to have amused him. Keziah, meanwhile, just gives him a dirty look. Silence falls for a moment before the young witch forces herself to speak out.

“We dinnae... we don't need to get involved in that crap,” she hisses at the tracker. Caliban just offers a lazy shrug in response, leaving you to try and drag things back into something that resembles relevance.

“So. Masque. You'll need to study him for a while longer - that suits me fine,” you conclude, taking a scrap of paper out of your pocket and scrawling a radio frequency on it, “If you learn anything, I'd like to know about it. You can get in contact me by... uh...”

“I CAN use a radio,” Maeve assures you, her voice cool.

“Right, good. This is the Spirit of Helena's radio frequency, you can call me on this. I'd like to hear from you if you learn anything,” you stress, pushing the scrap of paper across to the older woman, “Okay?”

Maeve makes no move to pick up the scrap of paper, but she nods ever so slightly. Sighing, accepting that as the best that you're likely to get, you shrug and prepare to move the conversation along once again.

>There was another matter I wanted to discuss with you – a bond between me and Keziah...
>What exactly does it mean to be a guardian daemon?
>What can you tell me about the Owlwood?
>There's something else I wanted to ask you... (Write in)
>Other

>>2230784
>There was another matter I wanted to discuss with you – a bond between me and Keziah...
>What exactly does it mean to be a guardian daemon?
>What can you tell me about the Owlwood?

>>2230784
>What does it mean to be a guardian daemon?
>What do you know about the Owlwood? And barbarians who live there.

Don't know if I wanna ask about bond in front of Caliban.

>>2230790
I would normally agree, but he is this deep already you know?

>>2230784
>There was another matter I wanted to discuss with you – a bond between me and Keziah...
>What exactly does it mean to be a guardian daemon?
>What can you tell me about the Owlwood?

“So, you called Masque a guardian daemon,” you ask, “But what exactly does it mean to be a guardian daemon?”

“There is no great mystery to it – they are fighters and protectors,” Maeve explains, “Valuable for those who expect to walk in dangerous lands, but otherwise they are seen by many as a blunt instrument. Rather than go to the trouble of summoning and binding a guardian daemon, one could simply recruit a band of mercenaries to serve as bodyguards. Daemons have value because of what they know, not how much blood they can shed.”

“Herod is a messenger daemon,” Keziah adds in a low voice, glancing across at her mother before continuing, “He's supposed to commune with the gods themselves, bringing knowledge of new rituals, but... uh...” She starts to say more, only for Maeve to shoot her a hard look and shock her into silence.

“Guardian daemons are usually summoned under very specific circumstances – when the witch in question has no other choice. They have no allies they can turn to, and danger waits all around them. Perhaps that can tell you something about this daemon's origins,” the older witch explains smoothly, as if she was discussing nothing stranger than dinner plans, “But I'm afraid that I can tell you little else – you have already seen what a guardian daemon is capable of.”

Fighting, in other words. Killing. “I see,” you murmur, “And what do you know about the Owlwood?”

“It is a wood,” Maeve answers simply, “It often has a great many owls in it.”

She says nothing more to that, leaving you to stare at her in silence. Caliban struggles to keep a straight face, while Keziah doesn't surface from her frightened stillness. After a moment, you clear your throat and reword your question. “Then, what do you know about the woods, and the barbarians living within them?” you ask instead, “Is that more helpful?”

“The woods are sacred ground, Captain Vaandemere, as thick forests often are. Men do live within them, yes, but they are harmless. Pilgrims, you might say, men and women who seek communion with the gods of Nadir. Not forbidden ground, of course, but they should be treated with respect. I trust that you understand me?” she pauses here, giving you an unreadable look before continuing, “There is an old stone circle within. I myself have visited it on several occasions.”

“I see,” you repeat, “Well, I'll remember that. Treat the woods with respect.”

“No more target shooting,” Caliban suggests, a cold glint of humour in his eyes.

“Caliban, I want you to head back to the ship,” you order, giving him a hard look, “Make sure everyone is at their stations. I want us to leave before nightfall.”

Raising an eyebrow at your order but offering no argument, Caliban stands up and slinks away like a ghost. The room feels oddly different for his absence – warmer, almost.

[1/2]

>>2230856

“There is something you don't want him to hear,” Maeve deduces, “A secret?”

“Not exactly,” you reply vaguely. Truth be told, you don't have any sensible reason for waiting until Caliban has left before mentioning your strange bond with Keziah, but you feel more comfortable without him listening in. If nothing else, you have the feeling that it would amuse him greatly, and at your expense. “But there was another matter I wanted to discuss with you,” you continue, “A magical bond between me and Keziah – I assume that you understand the concept.”

As Maeve listens, you describe the exact situation between you and Keziah. All the while, her expression remains unchanged, fixed in a neutral mask. “Sharing thoughts, feelings, and even physical sensations...” she muses, slowly looking between you and Keziah, “My daughter, I never realised that you were quite so serious about this.”

“I didnae do it on purpose!” Keziah protests, “It isnae like... it...”

“Hush,” the older woman scolds, a tiny smile surfacing on her face, “I understand your problem. You worry that a sudden shock will disable you, hindering you at a crucial moment... or perhaps you merely prefer your thoughts to be your own? Whatever your reason, I may be able to teach you a few things.” Maeve nods slowly to herself, one long finger tracing an elegant, looping design on the table as she thinks. “There will be no shared pain, no shared feelings. Only what you wish to share,” she explains, “But your connection will be weaker – distance may hinder it, and other circumstances may drown out your link.”

“Strong background... stuff,” the younger witch offers, “Unbound daemons, or... stuff.”

“Not so different from a radio in an electrical storm,” you deduce, “Correct?”

“If you say so,” Maeve replies, “My daughter, I will teach you how to manipulate this bond that you share – if that pleases you, Captain Vaandemere?”

>That pleases me just fine
>No, I'd rather keep our bond as a close one
>I'd rather you sever the bond completely
>Other

>>2230874
>That pleases me just fine
"I don't want us both going down if there is a bad fight."

>>2230874
>That pleases me just fine

>>2230874
>No, I'd rather keep our bond as a close one
because there are going to be many situations were we need a clear connection.

>>2230924
Remember at the end of the day Kez is just learning to manipulate the bond. She could probably make it close again if the need arises.

“That pleases me just fine,” you decide, “I don't want both of us going down if there's a serious fight.”

“The choice of a pragmatist,” Maeve thinks aloud, before nodding at your decision, “Very well. Now – return to your ship, if you please. The act of passing down knowledge is a sacred one, and it is not good for it to be shared with outsiders.” A hint of an apology surfaces in her eyes as she rises to her feet – again, your eyes are drawn to her lower half as you imagine the inhuman legs beneath her robes – and gestures out towards the door.

“Sorry boss,” Keziah mutters, “She's right. I'll meet you at the ship, as soon as possible.”

Suppressing a sigh, you allow Maeve to escort you outside. You know when to choose your battles, and this is one that you would lose.

-

Caliban is waiting at the Spirit of Helena, sitting down on the cargo bay ramp and smoking a cigarette. “Everyone is at their stations,” he tells you without standing, “Except the chief engineer, it seems.”

“Her mother needed to talk to her in private,” you tell him, frowning as a thought occurs to you, “And hey, what was all that stuff about Eishin back there?”

“You know what they say,” Caliban replies, “Know your enemy.” Having said this, he lazily rises to his feet and strolls off into the guts of the ship, leaving you with nothing more than the lingering scent of his cigarette smoke. Grunting in irritation, you start off towards your quarters only to change your mind as you recall something that Keziah told you – about the men she had working with her down in the engine rooms. With nothing else planned and some time to kill, you set off to meet them properly.

They're an odd pair, these two, and a single glance is enough to tell you that they're old friends. Mere colleagues wouldn't be so comfortable with each other after only a day together, but these two work around each other with an easy familiarity. Lingering in the doorway of the engine room for a moment more, you watch as they run through one last inspection. When you call out to them, they both snap to attention.

“Captain!” the larger man booms, “Brookmeyer, at your service!” Tall and broad at the shoulder, Brookmeyer has a crop of thinning red hair and wide eyes, while his mouth seems prone to easy smiles. He's self-taught, from what you recall of your impromptu interview, with more of an inventive streak than most engineers – his partner included.

“Guild Knight Stafford,” the smaller man adds, “I have my credentials here somewhere, if you want to...” He lets his sentence trail off – a habit of his – and gestures vaguely at the clutter. Like most Guild engineers, he's a fussy sort who views rules and regulations with something that approaches religious awe, but that's inoffensive enough. With his short dark hair and pinched features, he vaguely reminds you of a beetle.

They'll do, you decide.

[1/2]

>>2230874
>No

>>2230946

You spend a while talking with the pair of engineers as you wait for Keziah to finish with her lessons, taking the chance to learn a little more about them. Both Pastonnes, Stafford and Brookmeyer grew up together before going their separate ways – studying at the Guild in Stafford's case, working on the family farm in Brookmeyer's case. After signing on with the same airship, they renewed their friendship as well as developing something of a rivalry.

All this comes out over the course of a few cups of wine, although neither of them drinks to excess. Time goes on, but there's still no sign of Keziah returning. Just as you're considering marching back to Maeve's lair, you hear Herod's voice cutting into your thoughts.

“Do not,” he warns, “They were being serious – trespassing upon their lessons would be a grave misstep. They will be finished-”

“Boss, I'm here,” Keziah butts in, “But I've got bad news – I'm going to need to take a few days off. Do you remember that I mentioned paying a price for this?”

Excusing yourself, you leave the engine room and focus on her words. “I remember,” you think back, “Go on then, tell me what this is about. How many days are we talking about?”

“I don't know exactly. Two or three, I think. My mother wants me to stay here for a few days, to... help her with some stuff. I'm going to be learning from her, and assisting her with some of her duties. I hate dropping this on you, especially on short notice, but I can't really refuse,” Keziah explains quickly, each word blurring slightly into the one preceding it, “I'll call when I'm finished, so you don't need to wait around here. Go on, don't let me keep you here.”

Frowning a little, you consider the situation. You need to head back to Salim soon, and your new engineers will be more than capable of running the ship in Keziah's absence. Even so, when you consider the uneasy history between them, the idea of leaving Keziah with her mother is...

As if sensing your hesitation, Keziah continues to send thoughts your way. “Boss... Milos, please,” she urges, “I can handle this by myself, and you'd just be wasting your time here – you've got more important stuff to be doing, don't you?”

>You're right. Call me when you're ready to get back to work, and we'll come pick you up
>We're making a quick run to Salim, but then I'm coming right back to keep an eye on you
>Other

>>2231005
>>You're right. Call me when you're ready to get back to work, and we'll come pick you up

>>2231005
>You're right. Call me when you're ready to get back to work, and we'll come pick you up

>>2231005
>>You're right. Call me when you're ready to get back to work, and we'll come pick you up

>>2231005
Have the feeling that this is more then just "lessons".
>Other/>You're right. Call me when you're ready to get back to work, and we'll come pick you up
Add that we're worried about her and that if their is any sign of danger she needs to tell and we'll come pick her up asap.

>>2231022
How many antlers will Kez have when we get back?

“You're right,” you think back to her after a moment, sighing aloud as your form the words in your mind, “Call me when you're ready to get back to work, and we'll come pick you up.”

A warm rush of gratitude washes over you, the unspoken equivalent of a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Milos,” Keziah tells you, “I'll see if I can pick up anything useful from her, so maybe this won't be a total waste of time. You can survive without me for a few days, can't you?”

“Oh, I think I can manage,” you reply, “I've got Freddy here to keep me company, and-”

“You ass!” the young witch jeers, her thoughts forming the feel of laughter.

“But seriously, I want you to call me early if you feel like you're getting into anything dangerous. We can organise something,” you urge her, your thoughts turning serious once more, “I get the feeling that she's got more than just lessons and a few chores planned. If you feel like you're getting in over your head...”

“I'll send word,” she promises, “And you can give me one of your heroic rescues.”

“It's a deal,” you agree, smiling to yourself at the thought. Another wordless rush of appreciation answers this, and then you feel the connection dying off. Shaking off the lingering remnants, you return to the engine room and call out to the pair of men. “Warm up the engines, we're taking off soon,” you tell them, “The chief engineer is taking a few days off, so you're going to be in charge. This is your chance to impress me, so don't blow it!”

“Yes captain!” both men shout back, their voices strong and confident.

They'll definitely do.

>I need to take a short pause here. I should be back in an hour or so, but I apologise for the unexpected break.

File: IMG_0297.jpg (50 KB, 320x345)

50 KB JPG

>>2231055
2 i hope and hopefully a cute tail to boot

“So you say that we'll be back in Salim by daybreak?” Trice asks from her place in the seat next to you. When you grunt an acknowledgement, she nods briskly. “That's good,” she continues, “I was scheduled in for an early shift. Just helping out with the paperwork, but it's still work that needs doing.”

“An early shift?” Gunny repeats in amazement, “Sister, do you ever need to sleep?”

“Sometimes. Not often, though,” the provost answers, “When you're chasing a suspect, you can't afford to take a break to sleep. Even a few hours for a nap can mean the difference between success and failure. Duty is more important than personal comfort, and... and...” Even as she says this, though, a massive yawn sneaks up on her and snuffs out anything else she might have said. When you and Gunny share a laugh, she throws up her hands in disgust. “Okay, fine. So maybe I'll take a nap while we're flying,” she concedes, “I'll wake up when the engines shut off – I'm a light sleeper – so you don't need to worry about getting me up.”

“This isn't your family hotel, you know, we don't do wake up calls,” you point out with a laugh, “But okay, duly noted. Anything else?”

“I wanted to thank you, actually, for taking me on this... unplanned adventure,” she says, “I don't often break from routine like this, and the change always does me good. Keeps the mind sharp. So, I appreciate it.” As she starts to leave, though, Trice pauses and reaches into her jacket for a letter. “Could you give this to Hawthorn?” she asks, “I know that I could probably catch him in the morning, but... some things are better put in writing.”

A letter, you wonder as you glance across and meet Gunny's curious eyes, just what kind of letter? “Got it,” you calmly reply as you take it, “I'll make sure he gets it.”

“Oh, and by the way,” the provost adds in a light tone, “Opening someone else's mail is a crime under Carth law, so don't even think about taking a peek.”

“We would never!” you and Gunny reply as one.

-

“She's a good one,” Gunny remarks, once Trice has left, “Now brother, I don't want to tell you how to captain this ship, but...”

“But you'd rather have her as a skiff pilot?” you finish for him, “I get what you mean, but she'd never sign on with a gang of rogues like us – you heard how devoted to her job she is. Besides, it might be better to keep her on the outside, as a friend within the church.” Glancing around from the controls, you study his face and find it to be unusually pensive, hard to read. He used to be like an open book – and he usually still is – but these closed off moments seem to be happening more and more lately.

There's definitely something that he isn't telling you.

[1/2]

>>2231148

When you land in Salim, daylight is just starting to break through the clouds to warm the sleepy city. Shutting off the Helena's engines, you take the sealed letter and head down to the private quarters, passing Trice as you go. She offers a hurried farewell and glances at the letter with a firm look of warning, but that's the extent of your interactions before she's off again. Duty never waits, apparently.

The sound of gentle snoring creeps out from behind Blessings' door when you reach his quarters, so you slip the letter under his door instead of waking him up. He'll get it when he wakes up, and then... well, then he'll either tell you all about it or he won't. Knowing him, it'll probably be the latter – you can already imagine his excited babble. As you're heading back to the bridge, however, a low voice calls your name.

“Captain,” Hanson calls, “Can I have a word with you?”

“Of course,” you agree, following him into a quiet corridor, “You caught that fish we had yesterday, didn't you? It was very good – I didn't know that you could fish.”

“I couldn't, but it's not difficult to learn. Forget about that, we've got bigger fish to fry,” he mutters to you, smirking humourlessly at his own terrible joke, “That DuPont guy called you, didn't he? He tried to invite you over to his ship, but you knocked him back. Lhaus told me, before you ask. She seemed quite amused by the whole thing.”

“That's right,” you confirm, careful caution rearing up within you, “But what's this really about?”

“I think we have a spy among us. I was with a group of the crew – my people, not your new lot – when Lhaus mentioned it, and one of the men looked pretty unhappy about it. Now, I've had my suspicions about him for a while, he has a habit of going off on his own whenever we have time off, and now I think I know his deal,” Hanson's scowl deepens, “I don't know why, but I think he might be reporting back to DuPont. Telling him what we're up to... although there isn't much to tell, as far as I know.”

A cold anger begins to replace your caution, but you hold your tongue and gesture for him to continue.

“Maybe I'm wrong about this, letting my paranoia get the better of me, but I'm planning to look into this for myself. Call it personal responsibility,” Hanson continues, “When he wakes up, I'm going to follow him and see where he goes, see what he does. If it's all perfectly innocent... well, so be it. If not, we'll have to think of something. Are you in?”

>I'm in. Let's get to work
>You take care of it. You'll work better on your own
>Other

>>2231154
>>I'm in. Let's get to work
I hate rats

>>2231154
>I'm in. Let's get to work

>>2231154
>>I'm in. Let's get to work

>>2231154
>I'm in. Let's get to work

Fuckin DuPonce

“I'm in,” you reply in a cold voice, “Let's get to work. What do you know about this man?”

“Ivar Lem. I don't know where he's from – he mentioned having a Nadir father, but he never mentioned a mother. He's... hell, he's nobody. Cheap labour that Captain Mahdi recruited to help with some of the manual work. Not much of a cook, but he'll clean every deck on the ship without complaint – or at least, without complaining aloud. He's exactly the sort of man that you just... forget about,” Hanson mutters as he leads you outside, “His worst sin – other than being a rat – is that he likes to sleep late. So, we don't need to worry about him slipping out early.”

Grunting your acknowledgement, you follow Hanson as he slips into the cover of some piled up crates and crouches low. He's a natural at this, just like Caliban – that Nadir blood showing itself in strange and furtive ways. Neither of you says anything for a while until a man emerges from the ship. Scruffy and unshaven, with stained and crumpled clothing, Lem is definitely not much to look at. The shoddy canvas bag slung over one shoulder completes the illusion of a tired labourer, perfect for blending in with a rough crowd. He takes a slow glance around before yawning and hurrying off out of the aerodrome.

You follow behind him at a careful distance, allowing the early morning crowds to shield you from his frequent backward glances. More than once you think that you've lost sight of him, but Hanson always manages to get you back on his trail. He doesn't go far, though – after walking down a few streets and taking a number of apparently random corners, Lem arrives at a small messenger's shop.

“Probably looking to hire a radio,” Hanson murmurs, “He wouldn't want to use the one in the aerodrome, too close to home, and he definitely wouldn't want to use the radio on the Helena.”

“Let's go,” you urge him, “I want to hear who he's talking to, and what he's saying to them.”

-

This proves to be somewhat easier than expected – you simply pay your money at the front desk and head through to the private cubicles. There are three of them, and only one is occupied. Slipping into the neighbouring cubicle, you press your ear to the wall and listen closely. The wall is thin enough that you can just about hear the conversation going on next door – and Lem, perhaps overconfident, is making no effort to keep his voice down.

“I don't know what he's doing!” the spy protests, “I don't think he has a plan at all! We're making jumps at random, taking on whatever work we can find. That's twice now that we've gone down to Nadir, to some nothing little fishing village. We did some meagre trading the first time, but we didn't even bother with that the second time around. I don't...”

He falls silent, then, and listens. He listens hard, and so do you.

[1/2]

>>2231248

“No, he hardly ever mentions her,” Lem grumbles after a while, “Why do you think she would have... No, I'm not questioning your judgement! I'm... Look, I'm... I don't have much time left, we're being replaced soon. I'm done with this – just give me what I'm owed, and don't ask me to do anything else, okay? Okay – the usual place at noon, and then we're done.”

Even through this thin wall, you can hear the sound of someone slamming down a radio microphone. Hanson glances across at you with a wolfish grin, producing a small knife from one pocket as he nods towards the door. You exit it just as Lem does, and his eyes grow wide at the sight of you. Before he can flee, Hanson lunches forwards and grabs him by the oil-stained collar and slams him back against a wall. “You've been telling tales, friend,” he growls, “And we don't like-”

Before he can finish that threat, the clerk bursts in and shoots a horrified look your way, his eyes wandering between all three of you. A cry of alarm seems to gather in his throat, but you take his arm in a gentle grip before it can escape. “Just a business dispute, nothing you need to get involved in,” you advice the young man, “Free Captain business, that's all you need to know.”

Slowly, he nods. A lot of Free Captains have something of a dubious reputation, but that often plays to your advantage – Kuroda isn't the only one who can put on a show and act intimidating. When you let go of the young man's arm, he quickly backs away and leaves you alone. “You see?” Hanson murmurs, tapping the man's cheek with the flat of his knife, “Nobody is going to help you now. In a situation like yours, a man needs every friend that he can get – so I suggest you play along.”

“I just wanted some extra money, man,” he whispers, “I didn't want to spend my whole life pushing a fuckin' broom about...”

“I'm sure you didn't,” the hunter agrees, taking the blade away when you give him the nod, “But the captain has a few questions to ask you, and we're not leaving until he's happy with how you answer them.”

“Right then,” you begin, “Who are you-”

“DuPont!” Lem yelps, before you even have a chance to finish your question, “His people asked me to find out what you were doing, tell them where you were going. He thinks you're up to something, but he can't figure out what! I don't know what kind of grudge you have, but he... I don't know, he's convinced that you've got something big in the works!”

“Oh,” you mutter, a bitter sense of anti-climax forming within you, “That was easy.”

“Man, he's not paying me enough to lie...” Lem whines, slumping back against the wall.

>Fine. That's everything I needed to know
>Who is this “she” they mentioned?
>Where are you supposed to be at noon?
>Exactly what have you told DuPont?
>I've got questions for you... (Write in)
>Other

>>2231345
>Who is this “she” they mentioned?
>Where are you supposed to be at noon?
>Exactly what have you told DuPont?
>I've got questions for you... (Write in)
"How would you like to stay on and feed DuPont false info?

>>2231350
OH FUCK
SUN TZU is that you?
Supporting

>>2231345
>>Who is this “she” they mentioned?
>>Where are you supposed to be at noon?
>>Exactly what have you told DuPont?
You know snitches get stiches right?

>>2231350
Seconding

>>2231350
This

“I'm not through with you yet,” you warn him, “Exactly what HAVE you told DuPont?”

“Nothing!” he protests, “I mean... you don't tell us much, and I never had the chance to search your quarters, so-” His eyes widen as that last part slips out, causing him to wince and slump even lower – like a tortoise trying to hide inside its shell. “I told him where you've gone, to Nadir, to Iraklis, to Salim, and I told him who you're dealing with. I overhear these things, and... I don't know, his people just told me to tell them everything.”

“Who I'm dealing with,” you repeat, feeling your expression harden into a cold scowl.

“The professor down in Nadir, Bonhomme, that's all I know about!” Lem insists, “And the Iraklin, the pilot... DuPont was curious about her. He couldn't figure out why you hired her...”

“Yeah well, he's not the only one,” you sigh. Things aren't as bad as you feared – he doesn't know anything about Maeve or Salazar, which is good for you and better for them. As for where you've been going, there's only so much that DuPont can learn from that. So you visited two of the largest cities in Azimuth – you and countless other airship captains. Glancing aside at Hanson, he gives you a tiny nod as he reaches the same conclusions as you.

“You mentioned a “she” when you were talking,” you press, “Who was that?”

“Hawthorn. Miriam Hawthorn,” Lem replies immediately, “DuPont thinks that... he thinks that you had something going on. He doesn't understand why she would have left you her ship if you didn't. She died and now you're carrying on her work, that's what he thinks... I think. He just doesn't know what her “work” was!”

It's disturbing to think how close DuPont has got to the truth, even if his guess is fundamentally distorted. In a way, you ARE carrying on Miriam's work – just without her approval or agreement. It's good that DuPont doesn't actually know what you're trying to do, but his theories are bad enough.

“DuPont and Hawthorn did business together for a long time,” Hanson mutters to you, “Maybe he feels like she chose you over him for some reason. Maybe he's made up all kinds of reasons in his head, and that's why he's so pissed off about this.”

“Great. I have to deal with this crap because of his delusions,” you grunt, “Look, Lem, I know that you need to be somewhere at noon – you're meeting some of DuPont's people to get your money – and I want to know where you need to be.” This question hangs in the air for a moment, with Lem hesitating before slowly shaking his head. It seems that he's finally up against his limits. “Don't make this difficult. Spies don't get treated very well, you know,” you warn him, “Hanson, how do they deal with them in Nadir?”

“Usually we take the tongue,” the hunter answers, holding up his knife, “You've got to do it just right, or they choke on their own blood. It's an art, really.”

[1/2]

>>2231442

“Okay, okay, look...” Lem shakes his head again, although this time he has an air of defeat about him, “Look, his people work out of Salim, so whenever I'm here they send someone to give me some money. “Expenses”, he calls it! We meet up at this place, a teahouse over in the craftsman's quarter. It gets real busy there, and people meet up all the time. It looks natural, see? I'm telling you everything, man, so...”

You gesture to Hanson, who lowers the knife again. “I've got a proposition for you, Lem,” you offer, “How would you like to stay on with me, and continue to feed DuPont false information? You'll be able to keep collecting those expenses of his, and I might just be able to pay you a little extra.”

Lem freezes as he considers the offer. “No kidding?” he breathes, already counting the money in his imagination, “But... you'll need to be careful. I'll need to pick up my payments like none of this ever happened, and he might have others. Maybe not on your ship, I mean, but... DuPont probably has someone in the Guild, and I don't know who else. You'd be putting me in danger, man, and...”

“You're just pushing for more money,” Hanson growls, “Aren't you?”

“Maybe,” the hapless spy admits, “But..”

“But let me worry about that,” you finish, “All you need to do is tell DuPont that we're doing boring, routine business – ferrying cargo and passengers. That's all he needs to know. Simple, isn't it?” As Lem nods, you pat him heavily on the shoulder and escort him out of the messenger's shop. When the clerk notices that you're not leaving with a dead body – or worse, leaving it for him to deal with – he sags with relief.

“Spies and false information...” Hanson mutters as you're leaving, “Just what are you involved in, Vaandemere?”

“It's better that you don't know,” you point out, “Isn't it?”

“True,” he concedes, “Very true.”

>I'm going to have to pause here. I'll continue things next Friday, still using this thread, and if anyone has any questions I'll answer them as best I can
>Sorry for the unexpected delays today!

What does Mara's hair smell like?

>>2231507
Great session as always!
Whats the maximum amount of people the spirit of helena can house?

>>2231507
Nice. Thanks for running!

Honestly Lem will be worth it just to send DuPont on some wild goose chases. "Oh man turns out that lead we were chasing last week was a hoax and there was no chance to radio you, so sorry."

>>2231529
Like oil and dubious seafood

>>2231547
I suppose that depends on how comfortable we're talking about. She has maybe a dozen private rooms, plus the captain's quarters, and a common room with beds to fit two dozen people. A small cruiser like the Spirit of Helena doesn't need a massive crew to keep it going. Once you take floor space into account – the cargo bay, the engine room, any other spaces – you could fit in a lot more people. So, the absolute maximum would probably be over one hundred.
I've been trying to draw a rough plan of the Helena, but my artistic skills are seriously lacking

>>2231572
It's certainly going to have the potential for some interesting little tricks!

>>2231596
Get some graph paper and do a schematic. You don't need to be a good artist to draw a plan.

>>2231596
What does Maeves ass look like? Old it bounce a quarter?

Why do we never hear about Keziahs dad?

What about our own mother? Did our dad have a mistress? What did the perfume smell like? Is Keziah actually our sister and Maeve is okay with it because degeneracy?

>>2231596
Any chance of Keziah coming back to us with horns and goat legs? Because I remember you saying Nadir blood can flare up after funky or near death things happen.

>>2231785
>Maeve's ass
But she doesn't own a donkey!
It's pretty good, but her hips are where the real magic is
>Keziah's father
Simply put, she barely knows anything about him. He was gone before she was born, and Maeve rarely mentions him
>Milos' mother
Again, he knows very little about her. She left when he was a child, leaving him with no real memories of her. He has an imago of her, with the face scratched out, and that's all. The perfume was faded, but mostly smelled of Jasmine flowers.

>>2233371
Horns and goat legs might be a little bit much, but who knows how these things can show themselves?

>>2233833
Kezzy's gonna have a Benis.

>>2234593
Keziah confirmed for best girl (male).

>>2233833
We're going to let Keziah push herself too hard for us and she'll die.

>>2233833
Is Milos' mother the crone that disappeared that was in the picture with Miriam?

>>2241814
We don't have Nadir blood.

>>2241998
We're rather insistent on it, at least. As far as we know there's no way to tell for sure if it doesn't manifest itself physically.

I vote to start referring to Keziah as a Goat, and reinforcing this by attempting to feed her plastic display fruit and newspapers.

>>2242006
Why?

File: Milos Vaandemere.jpg (607 KB, 1406x2000)

607 KB JPG

You never imagined that you'd have to deal with a spy among your crew – important people have to deal with spies, not men like you... and yet that's exactly what has happened. Fuelled by all kinds of strange ideas about you and Miriam Hawthorn, Alain DuPont managed to turn one of the temporary members of your crew into an informant. He's your informant now, with a job of feeding DuPont false information and learning what little he can about your rival's operation. Just one more unreal element to this new world of yours.

If you had accepted DuPont's little invitation, you wonder, just what would have been waiting for you? Not capture and torture – not yet, at least – but you have little doubt that he would have asked a great many questions about your recent activity. It bothers you, knowing that he's out there somewhere, probably working on some new scheme or plan.

At times like these, you'd normally get together with Keziah and complain about DuPont with her. She dislikes the man almost as much as you do, based solely on his haughty attitude, and she makes no effort to hide that fact. She's not here, though – she's down in Nadir with her eerie mother, enduring all manner of esoteric lessons and practices. It's strange how losing one member of your crew can make you feel so much more alone.

Well, you're losing more than just one member of crew. As you sit in your private quarters, brooding about recent events, the members of Tobias' crew are packing their things and preparing to move out. From tomorrow onwards, you'll have just your own people on board.

Your gloomy thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door, and you quickly answer it. “Captain, hello,” Cammy says by way of greeting, “Oh, I guess I won't need to call you “captain” for very long, will I?” She adds a nervous laugh to the end of this, but you can tell that her heart isn't in it. She's never been all that comfortable around you, after all.

“You can keep doing it, if you prefer,” you offer, “Although it might start to get a little strange after a while.”

“Yeah, uh, you're okay,” she laughs again, this time with a little more honesty, then gestures over her shoulder, “The men are getting together in the common room, having one last meal together before we leave. You should come by and say a few words – I reckon they'd appreciate it. I would as well, I mean.”

“I'm warning you now,” you tell her, “I'm not really one for speeches.”

“Captain, these men aren't looking for poetry. Tell a few dirty jokes, and they'll be satisfied,” Cammy shrugs before turning to stroll off, “It's your call though, captain. It's not my place to tell you what to do.”

[1/2]

>>2242095

“...So I told him, no, the dog sleeps inside – it's my Nadir girl who sleeps outside!” you conclude, with a round of vulgar laughter – even from your Nadir crew – greeting your joke. Gesturing for the men to quiet down, you continue. “I joke, but there's an important morale there – when you have a loyal friend, you keep them close,” you add, with another murmur of laughter running through the crowd, “And I know that Tobias, Captain Mahdi, has loyal friends in all of you lot. You've served me well, but it's about time that you're getting back to your real boss.”

“Do some real work for a change!” Hanson calls out, his comment met by good-natured cheers. He's in an unusually good mood, or at least he's pretending to be, and it makes him seem like a completely different person. Looking at him now, you could easily see him as a captain with a crew of his own.

“Exactly so,” you agree, “I'm sure that you all have many long hours of backbreaking labour ahead of you, just how you like it, so you should enjoy your time off while it lasts. I'll leave you to it now – you can all get back to gossiping about me!”

Wisely leaving it at that, you slip out as the departing crewmen crack open a new bottle, allowing their raucous cheers to fade into the background. As you descend into the cool quiet of the cargo hold, a strange feeling of listlessness begins to form within you – a lethargy, and a sense of purposelessness. You ought to get out and do something, you decide, anything would do. You could pay Tobias another visit in hospital, perhaps, or you could arrange a meeting with old Salazar. As you consider the possibilities, you almost walk straight into Freddy as she enters the ship.

“Careful,” you chide, before noticing the direction she had been coming from, “Were you out? You missed most of the festivities – the crew are having one last party.”

“That was the intention, captain. I'm not good with those sorts of things,” the Iraklin replies, “I went for a walk instead. Oh, and I noticed something while I was out – there seemed to be a new posting at the Guild, although I didn't get a close look at the details. Work, perhaps, or just some kind of announcement. New regulations, perhaps.”

“The Guild loves their regulations,” you agree, “Fine. Either way, we'll be staying here for a while longer. You should take some time off, maybe catch up on your reading.” Although you say nothing more than that, Freddy colours a little at your suggestion – as you both know, not all of her books are dry military texts.

Allowing yourself a small smile, you exit the ship and consider your next move.

>Pay Salazar a visit
>Visit Tobias in hospital
>Check the Guild for new work
>Other

>>2242097
>Check the Guild for new work

>>2242097
>>Visit Tobias in hospital
Do tobias a solid. Tell him about his crewmember who is slightly less than loyal, but defend him as harmless enough. He's no expert spy.

>>2242097
Honestly, I'd like to do all three. Tobias, Guild, then Salazar.

>>2242110
I think that crewmember is going to sign on with us to feed misinformation to DuPont.

>>2242116
not sure if that will happen for certain, but even if he does, it'll be a good experience for Tobias to know.

>>2242097
>Check the guild