>>2275327

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

Freddy grunts softly as she pulls off her crude pelts, crumbling the barbarian disguise up into a ball and tossing it back into the Eliza's cockpit. You watch from a short distance as she stretches the stiffness out of her shoulders, watching the muscles moving beneath the bare skin and glancing briefly at the slight curve of one breast. Heedless to your observations, the former soldier takes a fresh shirt out of the Eliza and slips it on.

“Show's over, captain,” Caliban murmurs from behind you, causing you to tense up. He moves so silently, and you're certain that he takes some obscure pleasure from startling people.

“Nothing wrong with appreciating the view while you have the chance,” you retort, “Call it the captain's privilege, if you like.” Dismissing the issue with a shrug, you glance back to where Carnamagos is resting with his eyes fixed upon the distance ocean. It seems to have some fantastical hold over him, although that may just be the allure of freedom – after all, he just spent the last few days chained up in a slaughterhouse. “He'll need to stay here for a while,” you murmur, “He might never get the chance to return to the Guild.”

“So much for our reward,” the hunter sighs, “Still, we saved his life – I can't deny that it feels good to see him walking away from this.”

“Eishin's man – Segharl – said that they wanted to teach him things, and learn from him in turn,” you muse, “Do you think he meant that?”

“Maybe. Eishin is trying to gather scholars, after all,” Caliban thinks for a moment before bitterly shaking his head, “But he would have been a prisoner, and the Deep Forest tribes are not kind to their prisoners. As soon as Eishin had what he needed, or as soon as Carnamagos outlived his usefulness, he would have killed the scholar. It would have been a stay of execution, nothing more than that.” Looking back towards the scholar, Caliban lets out a curt laugh. “I seem to attract eccentrics,” he adds, “There are worse things to attract, I suppose.”

“Oh?” you reply with a smirk, “Like Mara, you mean?”

“Yes,” he confirms with a deadpan voice, “Exactly like her.”

“Captain,” Freddy asks as she approaches, mercifully changing the subject, “What's our next move?”

>We need to get back to Monotia as soon as possible
>We need to find someone to take Carnamagos in. I don't think he should be left alone
>Carnamagos hid his money in a tower upstream of here. I want to find it
>Other

>>2275328
>Carnamagos hid his money in a tower upstream of here. I want to find it.

Might as well make some cash from this.

>>2275328
>We need to find someone to take Carnamagos in. I don't think he should be left alone

Then
>Carnamagos hid his money in a tower upstream of here. I want to find it

>>2275328
>>Carnamagos hid his money in a tower upstream of here. I want to find it
gotta get our moneys

>>2275328
>>2275332
This

“We need to get Carnamagos somewhere safe, maybe find someone willing to take him in and look after him. I... I don't think he should be left on his own,” you decide, “I don't exactly know where to start looking, mind you, but-”

“The ferryman,” Carnamagos announces suddenly, looking around from where he sits, “I know him. We can help each other. We HAVE to help each other!”

A brief silence drops over the group as the madman lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, with Freddy shooting you a questioning look. Shrugging slightly to her, you turn back to Carnamagos and give him a reassuring nod. “Then we'll find this ferryman of yours,” you tell him simply, “And he can help you lie low for a while.” That seems to please the scholar, who goes back to staring off into empty space. “As soon as he's out of our hands, we're heading upstream,” you mutter to the others, “He hid his money in a tower there, and I want to find it. We might as well make SOME profit out of this, after all.”

“Understood, captain,” your pilot agrees, with Caliban matching her nod, “But where do you think we'll find this ferryman?”

Looking out across at that looming warehouse for a long moment, you let out a quiet laugh. “That's where we'll start looking,” you decide, “Call it a hunch.”

-

Even without your amazing deductive abilities, it wouldn't have been hard to find the ferryman – Carnamagos rushes off ahead when you draw near to the warehouse, as giddy as a schoolgirl on her first date. By the time that you catch up with him, he's hammering one bony fist against the weighty iron door. Catching his hand before he can break anything, you hear the rattle of a heavy lock being drawn back. The door opens to reveal a massive man, broad with both muscle and fat. A thick beard covers much of his face, while his eyes have a furious look about them. Considering the time, and how much noise Carnamagos was making, you can't really blame him for being angry.

“Ferryman!” Carnamagos cries, “I have returned!”

“God's blood,” the bear of a man mutters, shooting you a vile look, “Is this your doing? I've never seen the old dog so riled up.”

“He's had a rather stressful time of it lately,” you offer, giving the ferryman a conciliatory smile, “But believe me, he'd be in a far worse state if it hadn't been for us. We'll explain everything in due time, but I need to ask a favour of you. Can you... look after him for a while? Keep him fed and watered, stop him from wandering off, that kind of thing?”

The ferryman lets out a hoarse sigh, then nods. “Aye, I can do that,” he assures you, “He looks like he could use a friendly face right about now.”

[1/2]

>>2275352

Nathaniel Berwick – Nate to his friends, and “the ferryman” to madmen – listens to your somewhat simplified version of events with a stony expression on your face. Considering that you were relying on his help, you had decided that honesty was your best policy. Berwick sighs again after you've finished explaining the situation, but he doesn't move to throw you out of his “office”.

Office... it hardly deserves such a grand name. Little more than a corner of the hanger with a desk and several crude wooden chairs, you talk while in the shadow of his machine. It looks a little like an airship, but squat and strong compared with the ships you're used to. It seems incredible that such a thing could float, and its presence is a constant distraction. Even so, you manage to draw your story to a conclusion.

“Well, first off, you needn't worry about me turning him over to anyone,” Berwick begins, “I need this old dog, and he needs me. Even if someone did manage to follow you here, I wouldn't give them the time of day.” Shaking his head with disgust, he looks across to the simple cot where Carnamagos peacefully sleeps. “I should have known he'd get himself in trouble like this, though,” he grunts, “Damn fool. He's too eager for his own good. He's lucky to have people like you looking after-”

“Are you really going to sail on that thing?” Caliban interrupts, “If you are, you're a bigger madman than the scholar himself.”

“We all have our own obsessions,” Berwick growls, “I estimate that yours might be deeper than either of ours. I've got an eye for these things.”

Caliban bristles at that, and you quickly step in to change the subject. “Is there a tower near here?” you ask hastily, “Upstream, perhaps?”

“Aye, there is. Some old watchtower, I think, although I don't know much about such things. Getting there... there's no easy path from this side of town, so you'd be best off following the river itself. There's a boat at the edge of town – you're welcome to take it,” a glint of amusement shines in his eyes, “So long as you bring it back, that is. Lose it, and we'll be expecting compensation.”

>I'll be sure to bring it back. Thank you
>Why do you “need” Carnamagos?
>Is your ship ready to sail?
>I have a question for you... (Write in)
>Other

>>2275371
>>I'll be sure to bring it back. Thank you
>>Why do you “need” Carnamagos?

>>2275371
>I'll be sure to bring it back. Thank you.
>Why do you need that guy?

>>2275371
>>Why do you “need” Carnamagos?
>we'll pass on the boat
Can't we just take the skiff and look for the building that reaches above the trees?

>>2275371
>Why do you “need” Carnamagos?
>We'll pass on the boat

>>2275379
It'll probably depend how thick this forest is.

>>2275393
Rappeling exists.

“We'll take good care of your boat, although we might not need to use it at all,” you point out to him, “We have a skiff with us. Is the tower visible from above?”

“It is,” Freddy confirms, “I saw it as we were approaching the town, although I only got a brief look at it. There was a small clearing, but the land looked unstable – swampy, I think. I wouldn't recommend landing there, although I could keep her hovering above the tower while you search it.”

“Aye, I don't see why not,” Berwick says with a shrug, “I don't know much about airships, so the thought didn't occur to me. It would certainly be quicker than punting upstream, I wager.”

“Well, either way,” you decide as you rise to leave, only to pause as a thought strikes you, “You said that you needed Carnamagos. Why is that, exactly?”

“Navigation,” Berwick answers you simply, “Once we're out on the water, he'll be guiding us towards our target. He believes that he can lead us to land, and I believe in him. Without him, we'd be sailing blind.”

“You cannot be serious!” Caliban groans, slouching back in his seat, “His “guidance” is based on nothing more concrete than his dreams - you might as well be sailing blind even WITH his help!”

“Aye, I know,” Berwick agrees calmly, “But it's like I said – I believe that he can do what he claims. Perhaps it IS a fool's hope, but a fool's hope is better than no hope at all. With his help or without it, I plan to challenge the oceans. If he leads us to nothing at all... so be it. I'll try again, as many times as I need to.” A hard gleam creeps into the sailor's eyes as he talks, and you almost find yourself buying into his talk of exploration. They make an oddly convincing pair, him and Carnamagos.

The ill silence draws out for a moment more before Caliban abruptly rises to his feet and marches out. “Don't mind him. He just doesn't like water,” you offer with a wan smile, “Either way, good luck with... whatever you end up doing.”

What you don't add, what you don't need to add, is that he'll need it.

-

When you take a short stroll out to the edge of town and peer down at the little boat, you quickly decide that the skiff is the safer option. The tiny boat isn't sinking yet, but it looks old enough that a single harsh knock might cause it to collapse. It's probably as old as you are, and it would have been a crude thing even when it was new. Two people could sit comfortably in it, but three bodies would have been stretching things.

“The Eliza, then?” Freddy asks, guessing your thoughts as she looks down at the boat.

“The Eliza,” you agree.

[1/2]

>>2275408

This time, Freddy takes her time with the Eliza and slowly guides the nimble little skiff through the air. Below you, the river trails sluggishly through a thick stretch of forest. It's strange, though – while it looks dense to the point of being impenetrable, the forests here don't have the same ancient menace that the Deep Forest possesses. Either way, you're glad that you don't need to cut your way through the untamed woods.

“There it is,” Freddy calls out from the cockpit, “Bringing us in now, captain.” As the Eliza descends towards the tower, you peer down through a small window and catch a glimpse of boggy ground beneath you, the stone tower jutting abruptly out from the mire. It leans uneasily to one side, as if the ground beneath had decayed at uneven speeds. You get a better look when the Eliza's rear door opens, along with an unwelcome lungful of the stagnant air rising up from the swamp. Easing the Eliza a few inches lower, Freddy holds the skiff steady as you and Caliban step out onto the watchtower roof.

Slick with lingering moisture, the stone feels treacherous beneath your feet but it seems stable enough. At least, nothing collapses when you take a few steps forwards. The rotting remains of a wooden trapdoor allow you into the tower itself, where darkness swallows you up. Slowly, your eyes adjust to the gloom and you start to make out a few details. The remains of crude furniture are scattered about, while a rusting lantern hangs from one wall. Amazingly enough, the wick is still good and you manage to get the candle lit. Flickering light warms the air around you, but it does little to dispel the rank smell.

Carnamagos kept his treasure at the bottom of the tower, you recall, right at the very bottom. As you lead Caliban towards the stairs, he abruptly speaks up. “I don't like the smell of this place,” he warns you, “It smells... alive.”

You sniff the air, but all you can detect are the myriad odours of decay. Certainly, nothing seems alive. When the hunter refuses to elaborate – perhaps he might not have anything more to add – you draw your revolver and check the bullets for any signs of damp. You might not smell anything, but you're not about to ignore his warning either.

The stink of decay only worsens as you descend, and a low groan escapes you when you arrive at the lowest level. The swamp has risen up to claim this part of the tower, and the murky waters almost reach up to your waist. The ceiling above isn't much clearer, with a gauzy curtain of spiderweb covering much of it. Spying a hook on the wall, you carefully hang up the lantern so that you have both hands free.

As you do, something rustles above you.

[2/3]

>>2275459

Even with the lantern light, it's hard to tell exactly what it is. When you turn sharply around, your revolver drawing up towards the ceiling, you get the impression of a bloated body and four – no, eight – legs that fan out across the ceiling and reach down into the swampy waters like great stilts. The thing's hide is a dull enough grey as to be almost invisible against the rocky backdrop, but you see a flash of pink flesh as its jaws – a loathsome sucker, lined with teeth – yawns open.

Utterly silent, the creature begins to drop down towards you.

>Dice! Calling for a 2D6, aiming to beat 8-9 for a partial success and 10+ for a full success. I'll take the highest of the first three, and this is at +1 due to our specialist revolver.

Rolled 4, 1 = 5 (2d6)

>>2275482

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

>>2275482
Oh god it's Morey

He knows!

Rolled 6, 3 = 9 (2d6)

Guys please

File: 1515626912668.jpg (31 KB, 639x424)

31 KB JPG

>>2275510
Nice save

>Partial success!

As the spider thing drops lower, its stilt-like legs almost seem to fold double on unseen joints. If not for the slightest glimpse of pink flesh, the creature's grey hide would appear utterly seamless. You don't see any eyes, or anything that might serve as eyes, but you hardly have the time to make a detailed study of the thing. Instead, you tighten your grip on the revolver and snap off a quick shot as its fleshy maw yawns open again.

Your shot catches it at the edge of its mouth, driving it back a little and knocking it off balance. Even so, it remains utterly silent. Fluid begins to bubble out from the depths of that lamprey mouth as you prepare to fire your next shot, but the creature is quicker. With a shuddering convulsion, it spits a frothing stream of that brackish liquid towards you, and-

And then something flashes in front of you, stepping smoothly between you and the spider thing. The filthy liquid splashes off Caliban as he shields you, with a few stray drops hitting you. When they touch skin, those droplets sizzle and burn. Caliban, hissing with pain, drops into the water with a terrible splash and vanishes from sight. You reach down to help him before seeing, out of the corner of your eye, the spider thing rearing up again. Spinning around, you fire again at it – and this time, your hastily aimed shot strikes it right in the middle of that yawning mouth. Again and again, you fire into it until finally the hammer falls on an empty chamber.

It's only when the spider thing collapses down, its legs folding up completely, that you call out Caliban's name. No reply comes at first, and it's only when you're about to cry out for a second time that the hunter lurches up from the swampy waters. The filthy waters darken him, but even that isn't enough to cover up the blood that bubbles across his side. His skin looks burned, or melted, but you can't tell how badly he's hurt.

“Damn it,” the hunter growls, trying hard to keep the pain from showing on his face, “I... I hate getting my damn clothes wet...” As if stressing this point, he tugs vainly at his sodden shirt and a large section of the damaged cloth sloughs off. This only seems to darken his mood further, with his brows dipping in a low scowl. “You'd better buy me a new one,” he warns you, “And nothing cheap, either!”

“I... I'll happily owe you a shirt,” you manage to reply, “But...”

“I'm a bodyguard. This is what I do,” Caliban answers you brusquely, “Now let's hurry up and find that treasure.”

You stare for a moment longer, trying to puzzle out the strange man, then you shrug. “Right,” you agree, “The treasure.”

[1/2]

>>2275547
What a bro

If only high rolling anon had remembered his plus one. :(

>>2275556

>Oh hell, that's my mistake. I completely overlooked that when I was checking. I'll correct a few details in the next post

>>2275547

You do most of the searching, probing about through the mire while Caliban nurses his scalded arm. The damage doesn't seem to be too bad, although you wince a little as you imagine the scars he might have once his wound heals. “What was that thing, anyway?” you ask as you dreg another useless piece of spongy wood up from the swamp and throw it aside, “Anything you recognise.”

“It might have been a cavern spider,” he ventures, “I've never seen one before, but I've heard about them. They're not actually spiders, but they have eight legs so... that's close enough for most people. Nasty things if you wander into their lairs, but otherwise fairly harmless. They don't go hunting people down – usually – and they don't need to eat very often. Their acid isn't too bad either, so long as you don't get any in the eye.”

“Well... thanks for taking the bullet for me,” you tell him, “Does it hurt much?”

“It hurts,” he confirms, “But it's nothing serious. It looks a lot worse than it is.”

“Huh,” you mutter, “If you're sure. Even so...” Here, you pause as you feel something solid in the swamp. It's hellishly heavy, whatever it is, and you struggle to lift it out by yourself. A metal case, vaguely military in design, it seems far more new than the other detritus you've found. Grunting with pain, you drop the heavy case down onto the dry stairs and fumble with the catches. The rubberised seal breaks with an awful sucking sound as you open the case, but the contents make it all worth it. A small stack of gold ingots, stamped with all manner of official seals and markings, await you.

Funds increased by 8

His wound momentarily forgotten, Caliban takes out one of the gold ingots and inspects it closely. “That's King Roegar's seal,” he confirms, before giving you a suspicious look, “Is this... usable? I can't imagine that many people in Monotia buy their daily shopping with gold ingots.”

“It's not illegal, if that's what you're asking,” you explain, “Most people use letters of credit – easier to carry around – but this is as good as anything else. Even so, we probably shouldn't be too flashy about how we spend it.”

“I see,” Caliban muses, turning the ingot over in his hands before casually dropping it into his pocket. You watch as he pockets the ingot, and he gives you a flat smile – almost as if challenging you to protest his little theft.

>Keep it. You've more than earned it today (Funds -1)
>Hey, put that back with the rest of them
>Other

>>2275589
>Keep it. You've more than earned it today.

Dude tanked an acid attack for us. That's like the second most painful type of injury.

>>2275589
>>Keep it. You've more than earned it today (Funds -1)
"Make it a really nice shirt"

>>2275589
>Keep it. You've more than earned it today (Funds -1)
>But the shirt's on you now.

>Don't you think you're being too modest?

“Keep it,” you tell him, “You've more than earned it today. You can put it towards buying yourself a new shirt.”

“Hell of an expensive shirt,” Caliban chuckles, patting the pocket with the ingot in it, “Thank you, captain. I appreciate this... although I can't imagine what I'll buy with it. Maybe I'll just keep it and call it a souvenir – something to remember this all by.” His smile sours a little as he reaches out with his wounded arm, causing a few more beads of blood to form on his blistered skin. “Still, you'll have to carry the rest out,” he adds, “Lucky you.”

“Lucky me,” you agree, without a trace of irony or insincerity.

Funds reduced by 1
Current Funds: 11

-

The Eliza is circling overhead when you arrive back at the top of the uneven tower, but Freddy wastes no time in descending to pick you up. You try not to notice how much the skiff wavers as you carry your cargo of gold aboard, collapsing down into one of the seats as Caliban slumps down opposite you. “Take us back to Monotia,” you order, “We need to get back to the Helena, and fast.”

“What's the situation in Monotia?” Caliban asks, “Any news on the radio?”

“I've not been listening,” Freddy apologises, “Unauthorised use of radio equipment during a mission is against...” Her words trail off as she feels your glare boring into her back, then you hear the sound of her tuning the radio. “Spirit of Helena, this is the Eliza,” she asks briskly, her embarrassment already forgotten, “What's the situation looking like over there?”

“Things are looking awfully shaken up over here, sister,” Gunny answers, “Someone must have really kicked the beehive this time. Hard to say what it's all about, though – nobody seems to know, or they're not talking if they DO know. If I had to guess, I'd call it a Nadir problem. They don't seem to be harassing anyone here at the aerodrome, and they want to keep it amongst themselves.”

News of Carnamagos' disappearance must be spreading, you realise, even if the specific details are yet to spill out. “Just keep your head down and let them do their thing,” you tell Gunny, “Anything else?”

“That you, brother?” Gunny asks, “Someone dropped off a message for you. Said it was about work, but they wouldn't say anything else. I've not opened it, brother, although I'm mighty curious about it.”

“Now I'm curious as well,” you agree with a laugh, “We're on our way back now. Just sit tight, and we'll be right back. Oh, and wake Doctor Barnum up if he isn't already on his feet. Caliban took a hit out here.”

“Hardly!” Caliban protests loudly.

[1/2]

Good job guys we probably started a massive war, or at least almost did.

>>2275658
To be fair, the changeling was going to steal him away anyways so this was going to happen regardless, only this way Carnamagos has his freedom.

>>2275667
True, but at least then they would actually have them. The Roegar aligned factions would hear Eshin's clans insisting that they don't have the guy as a load of horseshit, and relations are even more strained than they would be if they actually had stolen him, imo.

Either that or they shrug their shoulders and cut their losses, and lie that they actually do have them. I suppose it would depend on how much they want to provoke one another.

>>2275677
We don't want Eishin to actually have him though. He sucks and would have killed the guy anyways after he was no longer useful. So like a week if that.

>>2275692
You never know. Maybe Eishin treats his harem of scholars quite well.

>>2275692
But if I recall correctly, the rumor was that he wanted to make a sort of university, no? His subjects might be a bunch of wildmen, but for a school to keep running, the scholars need to be alive, so I'd think he'd keep them in a well fortified cell.

>>2275697
>>2275699


Caliban implies otherwise in this post >>2275328

>>2275655

The flight back to Monotia is a quiet one, with an undefinable tension in the air. The mood seems to reflect that of Monotia itself, although the locals are far more aware of it. As you pass over the aerodrome you glance out of the window and see groups roaming the street by lantern light – patrols, you think, or search parties. Grimacing a little, you settle back down as Freddy guides the Eliza down onto the landing pad. Whatever happens, the mob isn't battering down your door quite yet – that's something, at least.

Once you're back on the ground, you leave the Eliza in Freddy's hands and hurry up to get your message from Gunny. True enough, the envelope is still sealed with gritty grey wax when you take it. Slitting it open, you unfold the short note and groan at the uneven, childish scrawl that it's written in. It takes a moment for you to translate it, but the news it brings is tentatively positive.

Segharl, Mara writes, is being blamed for Carnamagos' disappearance – an allegation that he himself has not overtly denied. He remains a guest of Morey and Crowe, although that's just a polite way of saying that he's their prisoner for now. The gang leaders are still discussing his fate, and what to do about Carnamagos. Finally, Mara warns you to remain out of sight until morning – while your name is yet to enter into any suspicions, it would be bad if you were caught out without a good excuse.

“So,” you breathe, “That's how it is.” In truth, you're not really sure how it is but you feel the need to say something. Presumably, you'll be able to learn a little more in the morning. Carefully folding up the note, you pocket it and head for the infirmary.

-

With his arm bandaged up, Caliban manages to look more injured than when his raw, bloody skin was on display. Doctor Barnum ambles around in the background for a moment more, rattling bottles and jars together for a little bit before withdrawing and giving you your privacy. “All this medicine...” Caliban grunts, “It's a little much, don't you think?”

“Oh, stop complaining,” you scold, “We could always chop off the whole arm if it would make you feel more at home.”

“I'd rather you didn't – this is my favourite arm,” he replies with a deadpan tone, “Are we in the clear?”

“Maybe. It's too early to say for sure, but Segharl is...” you pause, trying to puzzle out the situation, “Well, he's not exactly pleading his innocence yet. I'll have more information in the morning, I hope.”

Caliban lets out a low and thoughtful growl, then lies back on the infirmary cot. “Then we'd better wait until morning,” he decides, “I'm going to get some sleep. You should do the same, captain.”

He's probably right - you feel like you've swallowed a lead weight.

>Rest until morning
>Ask Caliban something else... (Write in)
>Speak with someone else before resting... (Write in)
>Other

>>2275734
>>Rest until morning
Lets see how things go

>>2275734
>Rest until morning

Come to think of it, Segharl doesn't even know what happened. The changeling might have messed up or betrayed him. Maybe the plan all along was for the changeling to take Carny directly back to Eishin and Segharl thinks everything is going perfectly. He might have anticipated this situation and have a prison break for himself planned.

>>2275734
>Rest until morning
Burn Mara's letter to be on the safe side. I don't like playing the shadowrunner but it does implicate us and we can't be too careful at this delicate stage.

>>2275734
>Speak with someone else before resting... (Write in)
Ask Blessings what hes been up too

>>2275734
>Speak with someone else before resting...
>Ask Keziah how she's doing

Caliban might be right, but you're still a little curious about what your crew has been getting up to while you were gone. So, before heading to your own quarters, you take a stroll down to the private cabins and stop at Blessings' door. He answers your knock with an alert voice, and you enter to find him at his reading desk. The book that lies open in front of him is not the religious text that you had been expecting, but a beginner's guide to firearms.

“Ah, um, hello!” the boy greets you, “It's awfully late, I know, but I got caught up in... well, you know. Reading. Mister Hotchkiss gave me this book on loan, in exchange for one of my own. I think we're going to do this a lot – it's such a fun way of sharing books!”

You'll never understand how he manages to be so enthusiastic about these things, but his cheer brings a smile to your face regardless. “Don't tell me that you call him “Mister Hotchkiss” to his face,” you chuckle, “It's a little formal, I think.”

“Er, probably,” Blessings admits, with a huge yawn disturbing him, “He mentioned going for a stroll tomorrow, but things look a little restless out there. Some local trouble, isn't it?”

“Best to stay inside for now,” you caution, “You've got plenty to read, don't you?”

“Oh, quite!” he laughs, “Were you looking to borrow a book as well, sir?”

“Me? No, I was just checking in – making sure that you're not teaching my crew bad habits,” you smile a little, assuring the boy that you're joking, then gesture back towards the door, “But it's good that you're broadening your horizons. If you want to try some more shooting, just ask me or Freddy. So long as we're not busy, at least.”

Beaming proudly at your vague praise, Blessings babbles out his gratitude as you leave. Returning to your own quarters, you sit down at your desk and reach out to Keziah, feeling for the vague shape of her thoughts. It takes an uncommonly long time to get an answer – distance, perhaps, along with your fatigue. “Boss,” Keziah answers, her thoughts tinged with a weariness of her own, “Need something?”

“Just checking in,” you reply, “Having any trouble over there?”

“...No,” the witch answers after another long pause, “Maybe. Sorry boss, I can't really talk now – my head is killing me. Tomorrow, we'll talk more tomorrow. I might be done here by then, although...” Another pause. “I might have some good news for you,” Keziah adds, forcing cheer, “No promises, mind you. Oh, and Masque is doing well – I think. He's not easy to read, is he? I think he's happy, at least. Um... goodbye for now, though.”

The link is cut sharply, without leaving you any time to reply. Touching your own temple, you feel a vague ache forming there and scowl. Then, before you go and lie down in bed, you burn Mara's note until nothing remains but a small pile of anonymous ashes.

Only then do you sleep. No dreams, thankfully.

[1/2]

>>2275839

You might have enjoyed a restful night's sleep, but Mara certainly can't say the same. She looks even more sallow than normal, and her eyes are dark with fatigue. She lurks at the entrance to the court, refusing to meet your gaze when you arrive but following discretely behind you as you descend. When you reach the bottom floor, you linger for a moment and allow her to scuttle ahead of you, then you follow her into one of the unmarked rooms. It all feels strangely theatrical, this sneaking about, but you've both got good reasons to be cautious.

“You got away,” Mara states when the door closes firmly behind you, “The Morey believes that Carnamagos was abducted by a shapeshifter – Segharl's shapeshifter.”

“Which might have been his original plan,” you point out, “What I don't know is, how did it find out where Carnamagos was being held?”

“It took my face. Searched my quarters at the Pit while everyone was distracted at court. We keep detailed files, Carnamagos' hiding place was among them,” Mara explains quickly, “It waited until court was over – when I would be free to check on Carnamagos – and went to claim him. As far as the Morey believes, it was successful – it killed the guards and took him elsewhere. The monster is yet to be apprehended.”

“So what does Segharl say about all of this?” you ask, “What's his story?”

“He confessed to having a shapeshifter among his retinue. He says that it must have taken matters into its own hands – he did not order it to kidnap Carnamagos,” Mara smiles at this, displaying the ugly teeth that you're finally starting to get used to seeing, “Segharl says that his shapeshifter will be heading back into the Deep Forest. He would be all too happy to retrieve it, if only we grant him leave. He seems... happy about all this.”

“He would be, wouldn't he?” you muse, “He might think that this is all going according to plan. So what are Morey and Crowe going to do about it?”

Mara hesitates a moment, then shakes her head. “Let him go,” she tells you eventually, “They both want his head, but executing a messenger is... neither right nor proper. He will likely be released, sent back to the Deep Forest to convey our deepest outrage at the actions of his minion. Relations between King Eishin and our people will suffer, but we will not come to blows. Probably.”

Carnamagos gets to live, peace is maintained, and your name remains untarnished – no more tarnished then it was already, at least. All in all, things seem to have worked out quite nicely.

For now.

“The trial is to be concluded soon,” Mara adds, “You ought to wait with the others.”

>I'll do that. I appreciate your help in all this
>I want to see Segharl first
>Other

>>2275871
>>I'll do that. I appreciate your help in all this

>>2275871
>I'll do that. I appreciate your help in all this.

Man Segharl is gonna be so screwed when he gets back and Eishin asks where his shifter and scholar are. Best not to talk to him, don't want to give anything away.

>>2275871
>I'll do that. I appreciate your help in all this
We shouldn't talk to Segharl. Might draw attention to ourselves.

>>2275871
>>I'll do that. I appreciate your help in all this

>>2275871
>I'll do that. I appreciate your help in all this

“I'll do that,” you tell her, hesitating a moment before adding, “I appreciate your help in all this.”

“Ah,” Mara gasps with mock surprise before leering up at you, “You're usually so cold. Could it be that you're growing fond of me?” Tilting her head to the side like a curious bird, her toothy smile widens a little more. “But you might be too late,” she adds, “I already have an admirer, you see. Where IS your handsome friend today?”

“Recovering from a horrific accident. Burn scars all over,” you reply in a flat voice, “Sorry.”

“I've heard that excuse before,” the little creature sniffs.

-

When you return to the main chamber, two things have changed – first of all, a brazier of hot coals has been placed in the centre of the room, and second of all, the entire mood has changed. The lingering crowds hardly talk, and the few attempts at conversation feel forced and strained. Morey waits near the brazier, watching closely as a few skewers of unknown meat are cooked. As you watch, he takes one off the flames and starts to messily devour it. Shuddering, you turn away from the revolting scene.

One after the other, you listen to Morey gnawing down the chunks of meat, desperately wishing for the muted conversation to drown out the sound of his inhuman teeth ripping and tearing at the flesh. You've never heard someone eating with such anger before, and you wonder if you'll ever hear it again. The furious hunger reminds you, in some awful way, of the dream you had not so long ago. Except, that meat had been raw then, hadn't it?

Not long after Morey finishes his meal, Crowe emerges from his chambers – he's dressed all in black today, like his namesake – with a wooden case tucked under one arm. He looks pale and ill, although you don't have time to speak with him. Shortly after he arrives, Segharl arrives. Haughty, confident and calm, he wears an aura of victory about him like a cloak – as far as he's aware, he's already won this fight. He's in for a nasty surprise when he gets back to the Deep Forest.

“It has been agreed, Segharl the Broken, that you shall be granted leave to return to your own people,” Crowe announces, restlessly fumbling with the wooden case, “However, in light of the unacceptable behaviour of your retinue, you must face some punishment. The conduct of a retinue reflects upon its master, after all. So that your crimes can be known to all those who you meet in future, it has been decided that... you must be marked.” Swallowing nervously, Crowe lifts his wooden case and ponderously opens it.

Inside, cushioned by a thick layer of sackcloth, sits an ornate branding iron.

[1/2]

>>2275959

A ripple of dismay runs through the crowd, and even a few of Segharl's men. Only the waiting victim remains still and silent, as if the verdict meant nothing to him. Even when Morey seizes the branding iron and buries it in the hot coals, Segharl does not flinch. Far from it – willingly, voluntarily, he approaches Morey and lowers himself to one knee, offering up one cheek to the branding iron. The iron glows red as Morey draws it from the flames, and you finally get a good look at it before you turn away.

The brand forms a single florid letter – a “V”, for “Villain” - and it's large enough to cover most of Segharl's cheek.

When the branding iron finds his flesh, two sounds rise up at the same time. The first is a groan of collective dismay from almost every member of the crowd, even the ones who considered Segharl to be an enemy. Morey is the only one to remain silent. The second sound is the awful hiss of burning flesh, loud enough to be heard over the murmur of the crowd – how you wish it was the other way around!

Slowly rising to his feet, Segharl looks around at everyone in attendance and ensures that all can see his scarred face. “Let it be known that I submit to this punishment willingly,” he announces, “For it I had not allowed it, you would never have been able to mark my flesh. Had I wished to escape from here, I could have done so. None of your guards would have been able to stand in my way.”

Nobody speaks. Once the herald is certain that his words have sunk in, he turns and marches out of the court. True to his words, the slovenly guards at the door can hardly part quick enough. His retinue follow him out, with the final man seizing the majestic banner and carry it from the basement court.

When the last of them has filed out, you allow yourself a sigh of relief.

-

“Awful business. I'm glad that's over and done with,” a low voice sounds out from behind you, and you turn to see Crowe giving you a wan smile. Around you, the crowd slowly files away. The smell of burning flesh still hangs in the air here, or perhaps you're just imaging it. Crowe certainly seems to smell it, judging by the way he toys with a perfumed handkerchief.

“Correct me if I'm wrong,” you point out, “But weren't you wanting to saw a man in half not so long ago?”

“That's different,” Crowe says, giving you an easy shrug, “A little blood? That's nothing. That smell, though? Oh, I've always hated it. I won't ever be able to wear these clothes again, you know, the smell never comes out.” Taking a deep sniff of his perfumed handkerchief, the thief laughs softly. “A shapeshifter, though... fancy that!” he adds, shaking his head in disbelief, “Well, I hope that old Carnamagos is happy with his new hosts. Sooner or later, he might wish that he was back here with us!”

You offer him a non-committal grunt. That's all you trust yourself to say.

[2/3]

>>2276081
Finally I am free of the temptation to lob the lodestone over to Segharl

>>2276081

“So... what?” Caliban asks, idly scratching at his bandaged arm, “It's over?”

After the branding was over and done with, there had been little to keep you in the court. Mara was being careful to avoid you, to avoid being seen talking to you, and Crowe was eager to be elsewhere. He did leave you with a vague suggestion of friendship, though, offering commiserations that you hadn't been able to chase off Segharl as he had wanted. With that, you had hastily returned to the Spirit of Helena and the safety that it promised. Even with the mood on the streets growing calmer, you could sense that it would be a long time before normality resumed.

“Over? I suppose so,” you decide with a sigh, “Although... there are a few loose ends. The Guild, for one thing – just what do we tell them?”

“The truth? They might give us the reward for keeping him alive,” Caliban offers, “Or they might send some of their people to find him, and undo all our hard work in keeping him out of the way. The Guild is your business, not mine – can they be trusted to keep a secret?”

“If it benefits them, then I guess so,” you murmur, “I don't know...”

>We'll tell the Guild that we failed. Carnamagos was taken by Eishin's people
>We'll tell the Guild that Carnamagos is alive, but we can't give out his location
>We'll tell the Guild that Carnamagos is alive, hiding out in Myrmaeada
>Other

>>2276128
>We'll tell the Guild that we failed. Carnamagos was taken by Eishin's people
I have a feeling he might be more useful to us that Guild's money

>>2276128
>We'll tell the Guild that we failed. Carnamagos was taken by Eishin's people

>>2276128
>Tell the guild we failed, Arthur was taken by Eishin's people.

We're already going to look super suspicious once Segharl gets back. Any other option leaves a trail they can trace to us.

>>2276128
>>We'll tell the Guild that we failed. Carnamagos was taken by Eishin's people
Any other answer is full retard

“We'll tell the Guild that we failed,” you decide, “Let them believe that Carnamagos was taken by Eishin's people. Let that be the “official” version of events. The fewer people who know the truth, the better. Sure, we might not get paid... but we've got Carnamagos' treasure. That's a hell of a lot more than what the Guild was offering, anyway.”

“Although Carnamagos borrowed that money to pay for Berwick's ship. If you keep it, he might never realise his dreams of sailing upon the open oceans,” a cynical smile forms on Caliban's cold face, “Knowing that, would you really be able to keep the money and sleep easily at night?”

“What are you, my conscience?” you grumble, “And since when did you care about his dreams? You think he's a madman!”

“True,” the hunter agrees, “I don't really care either way. As far as I'm concerned, we've earned that money. I'm just curious about what you were planning on doing with it, that's all.”

“Well...” you pause, “I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.”

-

There's something terribly distracting about telling your version of events to Pavo, and it takes you a moment to realise what it is. The obese Guild member is sweating like always, and your eye keeps getting drawn to the beads of liquid as they roll down his forehead. Even when you try and look away, your gaze keeps getting drawn back there. If only he would mop his brow, you think with a sudden anger, then you wouldn't have to endure this unusual torment!

“Gone,” Pavo states when you're finished giving him an account of Carnamagos' disappearance, “Taken. By the natives.”

“I guess they really wanted him for some reason,” you add, “Badly enough that they were willing to kill for him. Why, I'd wager that they were willing to provoke open warfare in order to abduct him!”

For a moment, you wonder to yourself if that might have been laying it on a little thick, but it certainly seems to sway Pavo. He pales, wilting in his chair and finally towelling off his sweaty brow. “Then perhaps it was for the best that the Guild did not take a direct hand in these matters,” he mumbles to himself, “The recriminations alone... Awful! Unthinkable!” Shuddering, his jowls shaking with the intensity of it, he sits up straight. “I apologise, but I must inform my superiors of this,” he yelps, squeezing his broad backside out of the narrow chair as he rises, “Please, wait here. I shall be as brief as I can.”

“Take as long as you need,” you tell him breezily, “It's not like I've got anywhere better to be.”

Ignoring that last comment, or perhaps simply mistaking it for sincere, Pavo nods in a distracted sort of way before hastening upstairs.

[1/2]

Hey Moloch, how much does a brand new Skiff cost?

>>2276196
Fuck off, Freddy.

>>2276196
What about a captain's coat woven from threads of pure gold, and studded with diamonds?

>>2276189

While you wait for Pavo to do... whatever it is that he's doing up there, you lean back in your seat and think out to Keziah again. Maybe she'll be in a better mood this morning. To your pleasant surprise, it's far easier for you to “find” her, and your greeting is answered straight away.

“Morning, boss!” she greets you brightly, “Sorry for being terse last night. Like I said, bad headache. You're calling about that news I mentioned?”

“I was just killing time, really,” you reply, “But sure, you can tell me about it.”

“Killing time? Well maybe I don't want to tell you now!” Keziah protests, her thoughts gilded with a cheer that is not as genuine as you first thought, “Ah, fine. You remember what my mother's daemon told us about where the key pieces were hidden? Well, I might have a lead on the fragment in the Northern Labyrinth. Kind of a long story, but my mother might know someone close by. They talked a little, and this “friend” agreed to help us. I'll give you the full details later, okay?”

“Sounds good to me,” you agree, allowing yourself a wolfish grin at the mention of a lead. It's been too long, and you were starting to languish. Before you can talk any further, Pavo lumbers downstairs and gives you a look that is both apologetic and apathetic.

“My superiors accepted your story, and they wished me to tell you that no fault lies with you. While this is far from an ideal outcome, it offers a small measure of closure,” he explains slowly picking his words with care, “They also recognise your persistence, and the dangers that you may have faced in learning this. You have the Guild's sincere thanks.”

“I appreciate their consideration,” you reply gravely, “Do those thanks include any kind of reward?”

“Ah, hah...” Pavo laughs weakly, “No.”

Somehow, you expected as much.

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

>>2276196
>That is not something I've worked out yet, actually, but as it may be relevant later on I'll try and figure out a rough answer

>>2276257
Thanks for running.

>>2276196
>Getting rid of the Eliza.

>>2276257
Thanks for running!

What is Eishin gonna do to Segharl? Double brand on the other cheek?

>>2276304

I wonder about that. You can tell a lot about a leader by how he treats those who fail him. Discarding an underling because of a single failure, say, as opposed to granting them the chance to redeem themselves. Of those two extremes, I'd say that Eishin is closer to the latter - one failure isn't enough to condemn a man, but there IS a limit.

>>2276257
I wonder if we can collect an album of "thanks" like this, and shove it in their faces when we want to cash something in.

File: Gunny Hotchkiss.jpg (430 KB, 1200x2023)

430 KB JPG

Gunny and Caliban are playing cards again, although thankfully not one of Gunny's insane prison games. The soft rustle of cards being shuffled mingles with the quiet clinks and rattles that drift out from underneath the Eliza as Freddy checks it over. Blessings wanders back and forth, peering at what everyone is doing and occasionally taking notes in a small pad that he keeps wedged in one pocket. It's a strange scene for you to watch, strangely relaxed and peaceful. You've got a devoted member of the Church of Rising Light happily playing cards with a Nadir blooded hunter, while a former member of the Iraklin military works for her one-time enemy.

And nobody is trying to kill each other.

Maybe it's that when they're on your ship, these disparate backgrounds take second priority to being a part of the crew. You've heard that the Iraklins are like that – they might come from rival families, but those grudges are less important than military rank and discipline. The idea of comparing your ship to how the Iraklins run things, though... it's not exactly an easy idea to stomach.

“Lost in thought, captain?” Blessings asks, his light voice drawing you out of your musings.

“Better than being lost in the woods,” you reply immediately, your reply causing Blessings' enthusiastic smile to be replaced by a rather more bemused look. “No, yes, I mean... I was thinking,” you confirm, inwardly sighing at your fumble, “I was just thinking about how good it is to have a crew like this. It's been too long, and it finally feels like... like things are going my way. It feels like coming home, in a way.”

“I've heard...” the boy begins, hesitating for a moment before continuing, “I've heard that most people on an airship like this tend not to have any other home. They've got nothing to go back to.”

A disturbingly accurate fact, you realise. You've got nothing, Keziah's home is hardly a happy one, while Caliban is an outcast. Neither Gunny nor Freddy have a family to go back to, so far as you know, which leaves Blessings as the only one with a proper home. “What about you, then?” you ask him, “Would you prefer to go back home? I bet your mother would be happy to have you back.”

“Oh, ah, maybe,” Blessings colours a little, “Actually... I think she's glad I went with you. I've seen things that I might never have seen otherwise, and she always did say that I was too... insular. Too wrapped up in my own little world. Now that I'm seeing a whole other world, I'm starting to wish that I'd done it sooner!”

He might be a bit of a fool, but you really can't fault the boy's enthusiasm.

[1/2]

>>2278285

The moment doesn't last forever. Freddy finishes her maintenance and returns to her quarters, while Gunny and Caliban end their game with an inconclusive result. People go their separate ways, and you too end up drifting back to your quarters. There, Carnamagos' treasure waits for you. Opening the case again, you listlessly shuffle around the gold ingots as you think. Seven of them in total, with the eighth and final ingot hidden away in Caliban's quarters. Using a gold ingot as an ornament or a souvenir... you don't know if you'll ever be able to understand that man.

Seven ingots. Thinking back to the original job posting at the Guild, you take out two of the ingots and set them to one side. That's more or less what you would have been paid for a successful completion of the job. The other five, then, would be Carnamagos' rightful property – to a certain degree of “rightful”, at least. Caliban's earlier words return to you as you look down at the gold. With these ingots to help fund Berwick's vessel, Carnamagos hoped to follow his dreams.

“Oh hell,” you sigh aloud, leaning back and pouring yourself a cup of strong wine. It's not quite guilt that gnaws at you, but it's something close. It's the same thing you felt when Blessings first pleaded to become a part of your crew – a sense of obligation, perhaps.

“Obligation, sure!” you laugh to yourself, “The obligation to send a madman off on a doomed voyage!” Shaking your head in dismay, you throw back the rest of the wine in a single swallow and glare sullenly down at the gold. You must be the only man in the land to feel grumpy about a pile of gold ingots, but here you are.

>Keep all seven gold ingots for yourself
>Take two ingots for yourself, set the other five aside for Carnamagos (-5 Funds)
>Set all seven gold ingots aside for Carnamagos (-7 Funds)
>Other

>>2278289
>Keep all seven gold ingots for yourself
I'd feel bad if this was Carnamagos' life savings, but he stole this money. Easy come, easy go.

>>2278289
>Take two ingots for yourself, set the other five aside for Carnamagos (-5 Funds)
We can find money elsewhere, but a contact with an ocean explorer is unique.

>>2278304
kinda this.
damn havent been this cloven in a long while.

Metal clinks together as you set two of the ingots aside, sweeping the other five into their original case. The way you see it, you're owed some kind of compensation for keeping Carnamagos alive and free. The rest of the money, though, you'll return that to Carnamagos and Berwick – buying their loyalty and friendship might prove to be a larger investment in the long run. If there really are other lands out there, there might be a profit in discovering them.

Funds: -5
Current Funds: 6

You'll take the ingots down to Myrmaeada later. Until then, they'll stay locked away in your quarters.

-

With the matter of money out of the way, a vague sense of relief settles over you only to be replaced by a restlessness. Without a destination in mind, you leave your quarters behind and roam the Spirit of Helena at random, first heading up onto the bridge and then ambling down into the cargo hold. There, you catch Gunny and Blessings just as they're leaving the ship – not sneaking out, exactly, but there's certainly something furtive about them.

“Going out to cause trouble, are we?” you call out from behind them, laughing as they both flinch at the sound of your voice. Slowly, they turn to face you.

“Just going out, brother,” Gunny insists, “We thought that we might see the sights a little.”

“Well, there's certainly no shortage of things to see in Monotia,” you muse, “But I dare say that most of them wouldn't be to your taste. Hell, the church probably forbids most of them for being bad influences.”

“Actually, um, those were the sort of things that we were going looking for,” Blessings murmurs, colour blooming in his cheeks, “What we were thinking... I mean, that is to say...”

“In order to know the highest forms of divinity, one must study mankind at his lowest ebb,” Gunny says, with the air of someone quoting from memory, “Don't worry, brother, we're not looking for trouble – at least, we're not looking to take part in any trouble. Watching and studying, that's all. It's not what you'd call orthodox, brother, but I think it'll be good for the boy. Sermons are one thing, but seeing things with your own eyes are better.”

“So let me get this straight. You're going out in search of the worst places that you can find, in order to see just how low people can get,” you think aloud, picking your words with slow care, “Is that an accurate summary of the situation?”

“Er, well, yes,” Blessings mumbles, “That would be correct, yes.”

Gunny offers you a wan shrug of agreement, and an awkward silence starts to draw out.

>Well, you kids have fun. Just don't go getting yourselves arrested
>That sounds like fun. I'm coming with you – I know a few good places
>Permission denied. I don't need you two getting caught up in anything nasty
>Other

>>2278326
Take a third person and three guns with you then. If you’re not back by dark i will be pissed

>>2278326
>Well, you kids have fun. Just don't go getting yourselves arrested
"Gunny, Monotia is still a bit restless from recent events. Don't be careless out there."

>>2278326
>That sounds like fun. I'm coming with you – I know a few good places

>>2278326
>Sounds like fun. I'll come with, I know some nasty places.

“Monotia might still be a little restless,” you warn the pair, “So I want you to be careful – take someone else, someone armed, and make sure that you get back before dark. Don't get yourselves arrested, either, you hear?”

“Yes sir!” Blessings declares, nodding boldly, “Mister Hotchkiss – I mean, Gunny – could you, ah... find someone to escort us?” Gunny nods, already moving off into the guts of the ship, and soon you're left alone with the boy. “This really is abnormal,” he admits, “It's not part of any doctrine I've ever read about. I suppose that I can see the, um, the point of it, but... it really IS abnormal.”

“You don't have to go,” you tell him, “If you're worried-”

“No! I mean... no, it's not that. I want to see more of the world, the ugly parts as well as the beautiful parts. It's just...” pausing, the boy struggles to find a way of putting his thoughts into words, “It's just not an idea that I would have ever been able to come up with, that's all.” Before he can say anything else, Gunny returns. He's alone, without the third man that he went to find. He's got an idea, though, you've seen that look in his eye before.

“Why don't you be our third man, brother?” he asks, “You're armed, you know these streets, and you'll have the chance to keep an eye on us. The way I see it, you're the best man for the job!”

“Oh hell...” you sigh, “But you might be right. I DO know a few places – they're good and nasty, just the sort of thing that you're looking for. Fine then. As the captain of this ship, I have a duty to make sure that my crew isn't getting in any trouble, so I have to come with you.”

“That's the spirit!” Gunny laughs, slapping you on the arm with enough force to knock you off balance.

-

In terms of sheer nastiness, there are few places in Monotia that can beat the Mastiff. Not quite a bar, although the alcohol flows like water regardless, the ramshackle building is a popular spot for bloodsports and other cruelties. Gloomily lit with gas lanterns and rank with the smell of sweat and violence, the Mastiff practically shakes with the roar of raised voices and the snarls of beasts. Roughly circular in design, the Mastiff makes no attempt at hiding its main attraction – the pit.

Below you, two large dogs of Nadir origin, half-feral and howling for violence, are biting and snapping at each other. The scent of blood hangs heavily in the air, spurring both the hounds and the crowd on towards a greater frenzy. As you watch, the larger of the two dogs rips at its smaller opponent and tears away what looks like an ear as the unwashed men around you scream out their approval. Wagers are made, accusations of cheating are thrown about, and thirsty men call out for more drinks.

All in all, it's a normal day at the Mastiff.

[1/2]

>>2278393

The fight ends soon after you arrive, with the larger dog falling upon its wounded enemy and clamping its teeth around the poor beast's neck. The roar of the crowd mercifully drowns out the sound of bone shattering, but you can imagine it well enough as the smaller dog goes limp. Blessings has turned away, clenching his eyes shut and covering his ears, but Gunny stares down with a bleak expression on his face. He almost seems to be fixing the scene in his memory, taking note of every little detail.

“I've heard that they like bloodsports here in Nadir,” he muses later, as the body is carried out and the crowd quietens enough to allow for conversation, “But this is my first time seeing it in person. How do you know about this place again, brother?”

“I had to, uh, have words with a guy who liked to gamble here. He was running a crooked game, and that didn't go down well with certain people,” you explain, omitting the other half of your story – the fact that you visited the Mastiff several times after that, whenever your mood was vile enough for this sort of horror to have an appeal. It was always something that you looked back on with guilt and disgust, but the shame was never strong enough to keep you from returning. Like the natives themselves, you were always drawn back for more.

“I just don't understand why anyone would want to...” Blessings begins, spluttering a little as he tries to form his outrage and shock into coherent words. Eventually, he gives up and slumps lower in his roughly hewn wooden chair. “I've never felt further from Azimuth,” he concedes, “Or from the Lord of Rising Light himself.”

“But now you know what men are capable of,” Gunny points out, “And from now on, whenever you see men choosing virtue... it'll actually mean something. Purity, little brother, doesn't mean anything if you've never been unclean.”

“Abstinence versus redemption again?” you groan, “I thought we had this conversation already!”

“Point taken,” he laughs, shaking his head, “You say they do gambling here? Cards, dice, or...”

“All kinds of things. If you want to play it, you'll be able to find someone running a game,” you tell him, “But, uh, are you allowed to gamble? I figured that it might be forbidden as well.”

“Well, brother, it's not forbidden...” Gunny begins.

“...But it's not exactly encouraged either,” Blessings finishes for him. Chuckling again, Gunny slaps him on the shoulder and starts to look around for a game of cards. When he sees one, over in a shadowy corner, he starts to amble across. Blessings watches him leave, worry stealing into his eyes. Silence falls, and you're left searching for something to do, something to talk about.

>Join Gunny in playing cards
>Ask Blessings about the letter Trice wrote him
>Watch the next pit fight
>Other

>>2278440
>Ask Blessings about the letter Trice wrote him
Then
>Join Gunny in playing cards
Bring Blessings along and teach him the game while we play.

>>2278440
>Ask Blessings about the letter Trice wrote him

>>2278440
>>Ask Blessings about the letter Trice wrote him

“Say, didn't you get a letter recently?” you ask, giving Blessings a sly smile, “Whoever could it have been from?”

A weak laugh escapes the boy as he colours. “It was from Provost Trice,” he tells you, “But... wait, you knew that already, didn't you?”

“Guilty as charged. She asked me to slip it under your door before she left,” you admit with a shrug, spreading your hands wide in a gesture of innocence, “So... what was it about? What kind of dark, terrible secrets was the provost sharing with you?”

Your theatrical tone causes Blessings to laugh again, but some of the tension leaves his expression as he allows himself to get caught up with your drama. “It wasn't THAT kind of letter,” he confesses, “It was... ah, well, I suppose you could call it encouragement. She told me to keep doing what I was doing, and to trust the people that I had around me. Actually, um... it's partly because of that letter that I came here today. I trusted Mister... I trusted Gunny, and I trust you. Ah, um, that doesn't sound... strange, does it?”

“Don't worry,” you assure him with a deadpan smile, “I'm used to people hitting on me.”

“Huh?” the boy blurts out, his eyes stretching so wide that they might fall out of his head, “I wasn't... That's not what I... Captain!”

“Easy there, I was just pulling your leg,” you assure the panicked boy, shaking your head to ward off his confusion, “You shouldn't take everything so seriously, you know.”

“Ah, uh, yes,” Blessings nods, slowly calming himself, “Trice said as much in her letter. I'm struggling a little with that part of it.”

You would never have guessed. Allowing yourself a small smile, you look across to where Gunny is playing cards. From what you can tell, the game seems pretty small in scale – there are no fortunes changing hands today – and a good mood hangs over the table. Gunny acts as though he's known the other gamblers forever, laughing and joking with them with an easy familiarity. “Come on, let's see if they have any room at their table,” you decide, “I'll teach you the ropes. It's a good skill for a man to have, playing cards. Besides, I ought to make sure Gunny doesn't gamble you into slavery or something.”

Blessings' eyes widen again, but then he lets out a faltering little laugh. “Right,” he agrees, “Another joke, right?”

“...Sure,” you lie after a moment, “Don't worry about it.”

-

Waiting a few moments more, you join Gunny's game as a few of the other players concede defeat and wander away to find something else to do. Blessings decides to sit the first few hands out, watching with curious eyes as the Nadir dealer shuffles a ragged deck of cards. Smiling, displaying the uneven teeth of a rat, the local man starts to deal out cards.

[1/2]

>>2278498

It's a simple enough game, one that you've played several times before. Everyone gets between three and five cards, and the aim is to form a harmonious set. A warlord, a consort and an advisor would be an excellent group, while a warlord, a consort and a poisoner would be rather worse. Some cards, like the storm or the battlefield, invite disaster no matter what the other cards say. Simple in theory, but with a deep nuance.

Gunny studies his cards like a physician preparing to make an incision, while Blessings seems more interested in the design of the cards themselves. With no serious money at stake, you're not taking the game very seriously – which is lucky, because your hand is far from remarkable. A herald, a spirit of fire, and a spearman... nothing of any real value.

“You'd better watch out,” you growl to Blessings, “You'll never be able to beat this hand.”

“Oh, um, you're probably right,” he sighs, “I've got three witches. Is that good?”

Everyone at the table freezes for a moment. “It IS good,” the dealer admits, “But... you're not supposed to just TELL us what you've got. You're supposed to keep it to yourself, or bluff like he's doing!”

“I'm not bluffing!” you protest, “I've got a really... good hand. Really, really good.” Soon realising that your attempts at salvaging something from this round are futile, you toss down your cards and shake your head. “Yeah, okay, I'm out,” you decide with a sigh, quickly changing the subject, “So, what's the word on the street? I hear that the local clans are pretty shaken up.”

“There's always something,” the dealer grumbles, waving an indifferent hand at you as he studies his cards, “Yesterday's news, as far as I'm concerned. Folk like us, we don't got much to gain by sticking our noses into clan business – not unless you fancy having the Morey bite it off!”

A murmur of laughter runs around the table, although most of you know that he isn't really joking.

-

The game continues, with players dropping in and out as their fortunes change. One new player, however, brings an uneasy air with him. He's friendly enough, smiling easily and laughing off the first few hands that he loses, but he's got a brutally heavy gun at his hip. More like a cut down rifle than anything else, it's far beyond what you'd expect to see in a place like this. He has money to burn, as well, with each new bet that he places getting larger and larger.

“I mean, playing for pennies is fun and all,” he tells the table at last, “But I prefer something REAL. What do you boys say about playing for some serious money?”

Blessings pushes his chair away with a hasty rejection, while a few of the locals nod. Gunny looks tempted, but eventually declines as well. Finally, the gambler turns his eyes to you.

>Play for some real money
>Politely decline
>Other

>Play for some real money

We'll burn in the end anyways, may as well get our kicks.

And lose all our money.

>>2278564
>Play for real money

I know we're either gonna lose or piss him off, but lets do it!

>>2278564
>>Play for some real money

>>2278564
>Politely decline
Show a good example to Blessings.

>>2278564
>Play for some real money

Just one game though. The way to go is to let us win big, then sucker us in.

Then we can tell him after that if he wants something, he can just outright offer to pay us. We're mercs, games like this are things for stories.

>>2278654
If we lost, that's an example as well.

Sitting opposite the gambler, you meet his eyes for a long moment before nodding. “You're on,” you tell him slowly, “You got a name, friend?”

“Oh, why don't you call me Horace?” he offers, barely even pretending to give you his real name. That, by itself, isn't as suspicious as it might be in some other places – people tend to give false names in the Mastiff, as if visiting it might stand as a blemish upon their reputations. It's a foolish thought – people with good reputations simply don't come to places like these – but it's almost a tradition.

“Horace,” you repeat slowly to yourself, “Then I'm Milos. So, how about we get this little game started?”

Reaching into his pocket, Horace slaps down a thick stack of brass tokens for you all to share – a representation of the real money that you'll be playing for. When the game is over, one way or another, you'll be honour bound to pay up with real money. Whether “Horace” intends to honour that, in the event that you win... well, you'll see about that when the time comes, but you have your doubts. Honest men rarely gamble with a cannon hanging at their hip.

“Apparently, this little game started life as a means of divination. Some even say that it was a daemon that first taught people how to do it,” Horace muses as he shuffles the cards, “Nadir history is fascinating, don't you think? I really don't believe that people give it the credit that it deserves...”

Murmuring vague agreement, you don't allow his prattle to distract you from the cards he shuffles. His fingers are quick and nimble, betraying his status as an experienced gambler. You're no expert in games like this, but your time working for Morey did teach you about spotting cheats. Having finally shuffled the cards to his satisfaction, Horace passes the deck across to Gunny, who deals everyone their first three cards. One of the local men scowls darkly at his hand, while the other keeps a stony silence. Horace just smiles confidently to himself.

You look down at your cards, keeping any hint of emotion show on your face as you examine them. A warlord, a herald and a warrior – a good set of cards to start with, although far from the best set that you could get. If you get an advisor or another warrior with the next hand...

-

The flow of the game waver back and forth without any obvious displays of cheating from Horace. He loses as many hands as he wins, although the two local men are nowhere near as lucky. They quickly lose everything that they have, with one of them offering up an Imago device to pay for one last shot at taking the pot.

“I've always wanted one of those,” Gunny mutters to himself, looking at the ornate box with obvious hunger.

[1/2]

>Sorry for the delay. Having some minor difficulties on my end

>>2278738

“Captain, sir, I don't think-” Blessings hisses, tugging at your arm as he watches Gunny passing out the next round of cards.

“Don't worry, I've got this under control,” you cut him off, giving him a cool smile of warning, “We're just having a friendly game of cards, aren't we?”

“That we are, Milos,” Horace agrees, “Tell me – what do YOU do for a living?”

“All sorts of things. I'm a Free Captain,” you answer, taking a look at your first card – a witch, either a very good sign or a very bad one. Horace chuckles softly as he looks at his own card, before giving you a wry smile.

“I won an airship once,” he mentions, “But what use does a man like me have for a thing like that? I sold it – who knows what became of it after that?”

Anger bubbles in your stomach at his cavalier remark, but you recognise it for the jibe that it was intended as. Angry people are more likely to make mistakes, and less likely to spot any underhand tactics. Shrugging silently, you glance down at your next card and try not to groan aloud – a priest, one of the worst cards that you could have drawn in this situation. Next to you, the last remaining local curses under his breath.

“Cheat...” he mutters, before glaring across at Horace, “These cards are marked – you're a cheat!”

“I assure you, friend, that I'm no such thing!” Horace protests, “Milos, my friend, you've not seen anything wrong, have you? You have the eyes of a man well used to trickery, so perhaps you can calm this gentleman down?”

You take another look at your cards. They're all in rough shape, ragged around the edges and darkened with the occasional water stain. Marked cards? Maybe... or maybe just a compulsive gambler's lucky deck. As your silence draws out, Horace lowers one hand towards the cannon at his belt. Ignoring the gun, the local man slams his hand down onto the table and causes the piles of brass tokens to spill over. “You ARE a cheat!” he barks, “I ought to peel off your damn hide!”

>Support the local man. Horace MUST be cheating
>Support Horace. He can't be cheating
>Keep silent, let the situation unfold
>Other

>>2278782
>now now if he the cards are marked we ought to be able to figure this out. No need for any violence.
>also ask Blessings what he was going to say.
>Collect the cards all of them and check their backs for themes and distinct markings.

>>2278782
>>Other
"Settle down. If you're so sure that the cards are marked why don't we grab another deck for a few hands and see what happens. You have no objections right Horace?"

>>2278782
Supporting >>2278798

“Now now, there's no need for any violence,” you begin, keeping your voice quiet but firm, “Let's take a moment to think this through. If these cards ARE marked in some way, we should be able to tell easily enough. What makes you think that they're marked?” You glance across at the native as you ask this, and he rewards your attempt at diplomacy with a dark scowl.

“This corner is ripped,” he spits at last, holding up a card, “Look, and it's the storm – he KNEW that I had a bad hand. How am I supposed to bluff like this?”

True enough, the card is folded slightly over at one corner. Whether it's deliberate or not is hard to tell, but none of the other cards you can see have similar damage. Gunny starts to collect all the cards to check them over – slowly and carefully – while Horace keeps his hand on the butt of his oversized gun. “Now then,” you tell him, “I'd feel a lot better if you set that thing aside. I think we all would.”

“I'm sure that you would,” he agrees, his eyes showing just a little too much white for your liking, “But it's not going to happen. A man needs his protection, you know. Do you mean to tell me that you're unarmed?”

He's got you there. Your revolver is tucked into the back of your breeches, while you wear a knife at your hip. You might not be carrying a cannon like his, but you're far from defenceless. “Suit yourself, then, but just keep your finger off the trigger,” you sigh, before looking around at Blessings, “Blessings. Did you have something to tell me?”

“Just...” he swallows heavily, “Just that this seemed like a bad idea.”

“The miracle of hindsight,” you lament, “Gunny, are there any other cards that seem... abnormal?”

“I've got the battlefield here, brother, and there's another nick right up here in the corner. That's both of the bad omens, marked out nice and clear,” Gunny clears his throat, his usual cheer nowhere to be seen, “I hate to say it, but this doesn't look entirely innocent.”

“I told you!” the native man snaps, rising to his feet and pointing an accusing finger at Horace, “What, you think that local folk are all blind fools? You think you can just steal from us without any-”

“Now hold on!” Gunny interrupts, putting one hand on the man's shoulder and forcing him back down into his seat, “I didn't say that he was guilty. I never said that.”

“Why don't we have a little test?” you suggest, “Why don't we get another deck of cards, a clean deck, and play for another few hands? Horace, if you ARE an honest man, you won't have any objection with that... will you?”

Horace shakes his head very slowly. Somewhat mollified, the native man calls over for a fresh deck of cards. One of his friends steps forwards, and you turn to accept the bundle.

What happens next, happens very quickly.

[1/2]

>>2278862
>What happens next, happens very quickly.

The irony.

>>2278862

As you turn to take the cards, Horace lunges forwards and grabs for the Imago device – the only thing on the table with any real value. As he leaps to his feet, he flips up the table and knocks it back into his accuser. While the table doesn't catch you directly, it forces you to reel back away from it. As you recoil, Gunny lunges for Horace... and that's when you see the shortened rifle swing ponderously up towards him. With your balance still unstable, all you can do is cry out a warning.

“Don't!” Blessings screams, reaching clumsily forwards and grabbing the barrel of the gun. The three of them wrestle with it for a moment, and the whole scene seems to devolve into a chaotic churn. A thunderous explosion rings out, then, and you see Blessings falling back.

Tobias' face flashes through your mind, the memory of him being shot at the Hawthorn estate. History seems to be repeating itself.

Then reality snaps back into place, and time resumes its usual flow. As Blessings falls back, Gunny throws Horace to the ground and straddles him, throwing a furious punch into the gambler's face. Again and again, he drives his fist into Horace's face with a heavy sound not unlike meat under the cleaver. Dimly, you become aware that people around you are fleeing, the gunshot having scattered them. The wooden boards underfoot have been shattered, with a massive hole – almost a crater – marking out where the shot ended up. There's no blood. No... blood?

Blessings, sprawled out on the ground nearby, is hyperventilating but otherwise he seems unharmed. You stare at him for a moment before another one of those dull thumps reaches your ears, and you look back to Gunny. His shoulders heave as each laboured breath courses through his body, but his blows have slowed now. As you watch, he lifts one shuddering fist and prepares to strike the fallen gambler one more time. Finally spurring yourself into motion, you lunge forwards and catch his hand.

Gunny jolts when you grab him, like a man waking from a deep sleep. Beneath him, Horace shifts a little and lets out a soft groan. His face, a nightmare of blood and bruises, is fixed in a grimace of pain. A bubble of blood forms at one nostril, the bursts – that's what finally chases away the last of Gunny's stupor. Gasping, he surges back from Horace and stumbles back, eyes flicking wildly around him. “We have to leave!” he grunts, his voice a choked cry, “We have to GO!”

He doesn't wait – he takes his own advice and bolts for the door, leaving you to drag Blessings to his feet and chase after him.

[2/3]

>>2279023
Was not expecting Horace to go down that easily.

>>2279023
We should probably kill Horace before we go.

Or at least steal his gun.

>>2279041
Woah, chill out there mr murder happy

no

>>2279041
Dude he got outed as a cheater and fired off a round in the middle of the bar. Let Monotia take care of him.

>>2279081
>>2279093
Honestly, I was just worried he was gonna hunt us down if he survives

>>2279023

Gunny didn't go far – he managed to make it out of the Mastiff and into a narrow street across from it, but that was where his strength gave out. You find him slumped there, staring down at his bloodied fists with frightened, confused eyes. The sound of your approach causes his head to snap around, and it takes a moment for him to recognise you. Soundlessly, his mouth works for a few seconds before he abandons the attempt at speech.

“Come on,” you mutter to him, helping him to his feet, “We need to get back to the ship. We need... hell, I don't know. I need a drink.”

“But the guards...” he murmurs at last, “They'll have heard the shot. They'll be looking...”

“There won't be any guards,” you quietly correct him, “This sort of thing just... happens here.”

-

Back at the Spirit of Helena, Gunny sleeps fitfully in the infirmary. He's not injured, but Doctor Barnum ended up giving him a sedative – it was the only thing that would keep him calm. While you watch him sleep, Blessings toys with a blocky object.

“Why did he DO that?” the boy murmurs, a faint whine in his voice, “You were trying to calm him down, you were trying to help... why did he have to do that?”

“Some people don't want help,” you offer after a moment, “You can do everything you can to keep them from doing something foolish, you can try your hardest to keep them safe... and they'll still do stupid stuff. Maybe he was desperate for money, maybe he had nothing to lose. I don't know.” Sighing, you rub your eyes and hesitate as Gunny murmurs something to himself. When he lapses back into a drugged sleep, you let out a soft, humourless laugh. “If you wanted to see mankind at its worst, you picked a good day for it,” you tell the boy, finally looking around at him, “I just wish... hey, what's that you've got?”

Blessings looks down at what he was toying with, his eyes widening with dull surprise. It's the Imago device from the game – a little dented on one corner, but otherwise undamaged. “When did I...” he whispers, “I must have... picked it up off the floor. I don't remember doing it, but...”

“Forget about it,” you advise him, “Call it a... I don't know, call it the silver lining of this whole miserable cloud. Take some pictures with it, send them back home. I bet your mother would be happy to hang them on the wall.”

“Maybe,” Blessings murmurs, trying to smile a little.

>Go and get some rest. I'll look after Gunny
>I'd like to talk to you about something... (Write in)
>Other

>>2279120

>Go and get some rest. I'll look after Gunny

Wow Blessings you are one sneaky little shit.

>>2279120
>Go and get some rest. I'll look after Gunny
"What you did was brave and you might've saved Gunny's life tonight. Good work."

>>2279120
>>Go and get some rest. I'll look after Gunny

>>2279120
>Go and get some rest. I'll look after Gunny

>>2279120
>>Go and get some rest. I'll look after Gunny
I actually feel bad for the guy who lost his magic polaroid.

“Go and get some rest,” you tell Blessings, “You look like you need it. I'll look after Gunny, make sure he's not alone when he wakes up.”

“I think... I think he'll appreciate that,” Blessings murmurs, nodding slowly to himself. He rises awkwardly to his feet and limps out of the infirmary, looking more like an aged man than a youth. The Imago device hangs at his side, held in a loose grip.

“Blessings?” you call out, causing him to turn and give you a bemused look, “What you did today was very brave. You might well have saved Gunny's life. Good work – and thank you. I'm glad that you're a part of this crew.”

The boy hesitates for a moment, then offers you a weary smile in reply. Bowing his head ever so slightly, he retreats from the infirmary.

-

Gunny sleeps for a while longer, and your vigil only has one interruption – a radio message from Keziah, telling you that she's on her way to Monotia. Hitching a lift with a trader, apparently, due in Monotia by next morning. It'll be good to have her back, but you can't really muster up much enthusiasm right now. Fatigue clings to you, although Doctor Barnum is able to brew up a mild stimulant to shake off the worst of it. As you sip the vile potion, Gunny stirs himself awake.

“Ugh...” he rasps, rubbing his eyes as he sits up, “That smells like... I guess these drinks are on the doctor, right brother?”

“A sedative and a stimulant. A hell of a round,” you agree, “Are you okay? How much do you remember about... about what happened?”

“Too much,” Gunny groans, “I lost control. Only meant to knock him down, stop him from doing anything stupid, but... when I hit him, I couldn't stop myself. And brother, you know what the worst of it is? This... this isn't the first time that this has happened.” Wincing and clutching at his head, he sits up and looks you in the eye, his own eyes briefly losing focus before sharpening up. Touching his throat next, he gestures across to the beaker of water.

“As far as I'm concerned, you disabled a dangerous man,” you tell him as you pass across a cup of water, “That's all I need to know. You don't need to tell me-”

“I do!” he croaks, moistening his throat before forcing himself to continue, “I do need to tell you - now, before I have a chance to shove it all back down. I said... I told you, didn't I, that I spent time inside.”

“Some Carth dungeon,” you agree, “You hurt a guy. When you woke up somewhere that you didn't recognise, you got confused. He was the first man you saw, and you ended up... hurting him.”

Gunny closes his eyes tightly shut for a moment. “Brother,” he whispers, “It was a lot worse than that.”

[1/2]

>>2279227

“Shit...” you murmur, realising just what he's implying, “You mean...”

“I didn't mean to kill him. They... they accepted that, and they treated me with mercy – it was more than I deserved, back then, maybe it still is. My actions were those of a beast, not of a man, but that didn't mean I was beyond saving. That was... that was the first time that I ever really thought about the Light,” Gunny takes another slow sip of water, staring down into the cup for a long moment before setting it aside. “They try and teach people... criminals... about it, teaching them about a better way and all that,” he continues, “But brother, it's rare that they find someone who wants to learn – who really, genuinely wants to change.”

And in Gregor Hotchkiss, they found that pure and perfect faith – little wonder that he was released so quickly, released as a changed man. Little wonder, as well, that his own personal faith has taken on a harsh, almost desperate tone. The Annexation War might have brought you low, but it left its scars on Gunny as well.

“So now you know,” Gunny rasps, “And brother, it feels good to finally tell someone. I never realised how much I... needed this.”

“Gunny,” you begin carefully, “I don't want to ask this, but... I feel like I need to. I need to be sure. Is there any chance...”

“That I'll lose it again?” he finishes for you, “That I'll hurt someone – or worse – on this ship? I get you, Milos, you have to ask. It.... It's never normally a problem. This is the first time that I've lost control like that, the first time in almost five years. Maybe I WILL lose it again, brother, but do you know what? I think I'd rather throw myself off this airship than hurt anyone on it. I might be a lot of things, but I'm not... I'm not that kind of monster.”

Letting out a solemn sigh, you put what you hope is a reassuring hand on Gunny's shoulder. “Thank you, Gunny, for being honest with me,” you tell him, “We've all done things that we're not proud of. Some of the things that I did while I was in Monotia... they weren't pleasant. I dare say that your soul is a lot cleaner than mine is.”

Gunny chuckles a little at that, although it quickly turns into a cough. “Enough of this gloom,” he decides, “How about you give me some good news for a change, captain?”

“Let me think...” you murmur, “Oh, Keziah is due back soon. Tomorrow morning, maybe a little earlier. After she gets back, we'll be getting back to work properly.”

“Milos, brother...” the artilleryman protests, “I asked you for GOOD news!”

[2/3]

>>2279302

You talk with Gunny for a while longer, carefully sticking to the few bright topics that you can think of. He was pleasantly surprised to hear about Blessings' inadvertent theft of the Imago device, although he did express his regrets that its original owner had to lose out. When you suggested tracking him down and giving it back, though, he was quick to reject the idea. If the man was so willing to abandon the device and flee, the artilleryman reasoned, he didn't really want it to keep it that badly.

There's a certain logic in that, you had to admit, even if it did sound like something you'd hear from one of Crowe's thieves.

When drowsiness starts to steal up over him again, Gunny waves away your offer of help and lies back in the infirmary bed. Leaving him to get some rest, you drag your weary bones back to your own quarters and flop down, tossing and turning for a little as the last of Barnum's stimulant burns its way out of your system. Then, finally, you manage to tumble into sleep.

-

Early that morning, a bulk trader arrives from Cybile and starts to unload its cargo – huge quantities of salted fish, and one solitary witch. You're there to greet Keziah as she disembarks, although the sight of her causes you to stop dead in your tracks. If she notices your hesitation, she gives you sign of it – the witch hurries across to you and grabs you in a quick embrace. Even then, you barely notice the feeling of her body pressed up against your own.

For what you saw when you first set eyes upon her seemed like the fulfilment of every prophetic headache that you've suffered since you parted ways, since you dreamed of that orgiastic midnight ritual. It wasn't really your headache that you had been feeling – it had simply been the reflection of her own.

Wound tightly across one of Keziah's eyes, you see a thick strip of medical gauze.

>I'm going to pause things here for today. I'll continue things tomorrow, and if anyone has any questions I'll answer them if I can
>Sorry for the long delays today. I guess I forgot how to think for a bit

>>2279387
>Wound tightly across one of Keziah's eyes, you see a thick strip of medical gauze.

You know you gouge out so many eyes that I'm expecting her to have some magic Naruto eye or some shit behind the gauze as a twist.

Thanks for running.

>>2279387
Damn, she really was having a hard time.

Thanks for running!

>>2279387
Take a nap 'Loch. Great job today.

>>2278782
>a witch, either a very good sign or a very bad one
>a priest, one of the worst cards that you could have drawn in this situation
Was this card game telling us our hiring decisions are shit?

>>2279523
> A warlord, a herald and a warrior – a good set of cards to start with,

Freddy confirmed for best.

>>2279523
Well, it was used as a traditional form of divination, so maybe there's some truth to it? Who knows!

>>2279400
Hey, nobody lost an eye in Heavenly Child Quest!

>>2279760
No, they lost everything else.

>>2280186
Does it count as a loss if the limbs were still connected by a few strands of muscle?

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

101 KB JPG

You watch Keziah carefully as she chats with Gunny, laughing and sharing some private joke with him. Despite her injury, despite that strip of gauze covering her right eye, she seems perfectly content – calm and at ease, happy to be back on the Spirit of Helena. Doctor Barnum wanted to take a look at her injury, but she waved him off.

“You dinnae need to worry about it, it's just a wee scratch!” she insists again, flapping her hands at the softly spoken doctor as he tries again, “I was choppin' some wood, see, and I... ah, I dinnae ken how I managed it, but I ended up getting a wee splinter in me eye. It looks bloody awful, I'll tell you that right now, but it isnae anythin' serious. There was a doctor on the Valley – the Valley Green, that was the ship I hitched a ride in – and he said I should just keep it covered and let it heal on its own.”

It's a good story, a good explanation for her injury... but you can't figure out is why she's lying about it. You've always been able to tell when she's lying, and her excuse isn't anything close to the truth. This time, though, Doctor Barnum takes her at her word and leaves her be. She watches him back away, then finally notices you watching her from the infirmary doorway. With one final comment to Gunny, she hurries over to you.

“I know, I know,” she whispers to you, “Can we at least talk about this in private?”

“My quarters,” you agree.

-

“It's no that bad. I wasnae lyin' about that,” Keziah begins, speaking up as soon as the door closes behind her, “But I... it isnae somethin' I can really explain all that easily. Best if I just show you.” Taking a deep breath, she reaches behind her head and unpins the gauze, allowing it to unfurl and slip away from her face. There IS an eye beneath it, but... that's about all you can say.

The white of her right eye is very bloodshot and watery, while her iris has warped into a lurid, acidic green. The pupil is worse, although you're not sure if you can still count it as a single pupil. Like a dish that has been shattered clean in half, her pupil has separated into two thin slivers – vertical slits, somehow reptilian in appearance. Not a human eye by any stretch of the imagination.

“I had a bad night. A fever, a splitting headache, thoughts that... weren't my own,” she murmurs, her voice growing uncommonly serious, “When I woke up, it was like this. I know exactly what it is – it's my blood, finally showing itself. My mother told me that it would happen eventually, although I didn't want to believe her. I don't know if this is all I can expect, or if this is just the start. This all happened because of that...”

“That ritual,” you finish for her, “I saw it. That really happened, didn't it?”

Slowly, Keziah nods.

[1/2]

>>2281773

Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, Keziah begins to speak. “It's a community thing. Protection, good fortune, healthy soil... important stuff, for a little town on the edge of the world. Normally, my mother has an assistant who helps her with these sorts of things, but she... she's been away. I needed to take her place,” a shudder runs through Keziah's body as she thinks back, “I never realised that you... I'm sorry. I can't imagine that you wanted to see that any more than I did.”

“At least I had the comfort of telling myself that it was a bad dream,” you grumble, “And you think that's what caused your eye to... do that?”

“It can happen. Something that's been sleeping in the blood is roused, and it forces its way to the surface. It could have been anything – horns, extra fingers, maybe even a tail,” she manages to laugh at that last idea, “What would I do with a tail? I'd need to get all my clothes altered to fit!”

You laugh as well, and the ugly mood seems to clear a little. “Does it hurt?” you ask, gesturing to her eye, “Can you still see with it?”

“It doesnae hurt now, and I can still see fine enough... I think,” Keziah explains, “I dinnae ken exactly how it works, but I havenae noticed any differences. No advantages, no problems.” Snapping her fingers suddenly, she brightens up and nods briskly. “My good news!” she announces, “The Northern Labyrinth!”

“I feel like you're trying to change the subject,” you point out, “But... okay. Let's hear it.”

“Aye, well, first off – me mam suggested that the “Northern Labyrinth” might be referrin' to some old ruins up to the far north. People do go there, to search for treasure or to get some peace and quiet, but no that often. There's a woman there now who knows the ruins better than anyone else, and she might be able to help us find the key fragment,” she pauses, “I dinnae ken who she is, exactly. An old associate of me mam, apparently. Doesnae fill you with a lot of confidence, does it?”

“Well... not exactly,” you admit, “What's she doing up there?”

“Studyin' the place, apparently. You get a lot of carvings and ancient writings up in those parts, apparently,” Keziah offers, “Folks go lookin' for ancient rituals and secrets. Those are important things for folks like Maeve. Cannae read most of them, mind you, there's a whole mess of different languages out there.”

“Ancient writings...” you murmur to yourself. Salazar's girl comes to mind, with her expensive education in linguistics. Perhaps it's time for you to get in contact with her and see if she'll be able to help you. Then again, you're in no rush to set off – there's time enough to visit the Guild and invest some of your hard earned funds.

>Head directly to the Northern Labyrinth
>Arrange to meet with Salazar's daughter
>Visit the Guild to upgrade the Spirit of Helena
>Other

>>2281775
>Visit the Guild to upgrade the Spirit of Helena

Then
>Arrange to meet with Salazar's daughter

>>2281775
>Arrange to meet with Salazar's daughter

>>2281775
>>Arrange to meet with Salazar's daughter
>>Visit the Guild to upgrade the Spirit of Helena
when are we actually giving that money back to carnamagos?

>>2281775
>Visit the guild to upgrade the Spirit of Helena

Yay shopping

>>2281777
aye

>>2281775
>>Visit the Guild to upgrade the Spirit of Helena

The Guild, you decide, will be your first stop. Your funds are looking fairly healthy, and you never know when you might run into trouble. Announcing your plans to Keziah, she nods and starts to head out of your quarters – only to pause at the doorway when you call out to her. Bending down, you pick up the discarded strip of bandage and hold it out to her. “Forgetting something?” you ask her.

“Aye, well, I suppose I should cover up,” she agrees with a faltering laugh, “I cannae really think how I'd explain this to the others. Might be, I'll have to come up with an excuse eventually, but...”

“Cross that bridge when you come to it,” you suggest, “Now turn around. I'll tie this in place.”

-

Once the bandage is back in place, you take Keziah and head over to the Guild offices, arriving shortly after they open up for the day. Keziah talks shop with the bespectacled man at the counter for a moment before you clear your throat and she steps aside. “Sorry about that, sir,” the young Guild clerk apologises, “Looking to make a purchase? It's a good time, if you don't mind me saying so – the skies aren't as safe as they used to be.”

At first you take this to be a simple platitude, but then you sense something else in his words – a genuine concern, even if it is a vague one. “What do you mean?” you ask carefully, “Pirates?”

“Maybe. I'm not sure. I've heard tell of unmarked ships prowling around the outer regions – not just up in the Drift, but all over Inounsys!” he explains in a gossipy whisper, “No good can come of this, I'll tell you that much. The rumours say that they attack ships at random, without trying to plunder them or hold them to ransom. Pirates don't act like that, do they? But I can't think of who else they might be...”

“Well, I'll be careful,” you assure him.

“You ought to be!” he insists, “And that means being prepared for the worst – so, how can I help you?”

Looking across at the chalkboard behind him, you study the upgrades on offer.

Scanner Array - Identifies targets and provides details on their Shield capacity and Hull strength. Cost: 1 Funds
Increased Pleonite Cannon Potency (1) - Increases the base damage of cannon attacks to 1D8. Cost: 1
Hull Strength (1) - Increases Hull Strength by 5. Cost: 2 Funds

Current Funds: 6

>What, if anything, do you wish to purchase?

>>2281801
>Current plan is to deliver it pretty soon. Upgrades will require a brief period of downtime, so we'll have a window to take a quick skiff flight down to Myrmaeada.

>>2281823
>Scanner Array
if we're dealing with unidentified targets, learning their allegiance might be important. It could be Eishin, though
>Increased Pleonite Cannon Potency (1)
>Hull Strength (2)
So we can afford to be a bit more reckless with the ship even outside of combat.

>>2281823
>Scanner Array - Identifies targets and provides details on their Shield capacity and Hull strength. Cost: 1 Funds
>Hull Strength (1) - Increases Hull Strength by 5. Cost: 2 Funds

>>2281823
can we upgrade something a lot in one go? say, two cannon upgrades at once.

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>Going to close the vote here. We'll be purchasing the Scanner Array and Hull Strength, and I'll roll off to see if we also upgrade our cannons:
1 = Upgrade cannons
2 = Don't upgrade cannons

>>2281849
>Not at this stage. The higher tiers of upgrades require specialist parts that aren't as commonly available - especially in Nadir.

>>2281823
>Upgrade everything!

File: SoH.png (39 KB, 600x800)

39 KB PNG

The scanning equipment will be useful, you decide as you look down the list, and you could always do with bolstering the Helena's hull. She's not a fragile vessel, but you've already lost one airship in combat – you'd rather not repeat the experience. If what the clerk says is true, and he's not just trying to encourage you to spend money, you might well need the extra protection. As he said, it's best to prepare for the worst.

You take a while longer to decide over the upgraded cannons before finally nodding your agreement. More firepower is never a bad thing.

“Very good, sir, very good,” the clerk tells you, his enthusiastic smile reminding you of Blessings in a lot of ways, “Our people can get to work immediately. Were you going to be docked for a while longer?”

“I can be,” you confirm, nodding as you start to fill out a letter of credit.
Scanner Array, Hull Strength (1), and Pleonite Cannon Potency (1) purchased
Current Funds: 2

-

Back at the Spirit of Helena, you fight your way through the throngs of Guild mechanics to reach the radio console. Trying to tune out the sound of their furious labour, you dial up Salazar's number and place a call to his office. After passing through the usual formalities of stating your name and business, you reach the old man himself.

“Milos, my boy, you're lucky that you caught me early,” he chuckles, “I'm going to be very busy today – I'll be meeting some very important clients and, well... you know how it is. Were you hoping to stop by the office today? It'll have to be a late appointment, I'm afraid.”

“That suits me fine. I'm going to be grounded for a while,” you reply, “But yes, I did want to speak with you. It's about that girl of yours, actually – I've got some space here, if you still want me to take her aboard.”

“Ah, that's fantastic news. I'm sure that she'd be delighted to join you,” Salazar answers, “We can settle the details later. This evening, perhaps?”

“We'll see,” you reply, glancing out the forward window as a group of workmen swarm over the Helena's hull. They work like ants, you think as you end the call, as if they shared one mind. You're glad of their efficiency, but it's strangely disquieting to witness – little wonder that most Free Captains take some time off while the Guild mechanics are doing their work. Since you'll be grounded for a while, you decide, you'll take the Eliza and visit Myrmaeada, to give Carnamagos his money.

Well, most of it.

[1/2]

>>2281905

There's an ill air in the Eliza as you fly south, and you know exactly what to blame it on. When you mentioned Carnamagos to Keziah, she immediately asked if she could meet him and you couldn't see a good reason to deny her request. Of course, that meant sharing a small skiff with her and Freddy – hence the chilly atmosphere.

“Flyin' awfully low, aren't we?” the witch mentions idly as Freddy guides the Eliza over a crop of evergreen trees, “You sure that we willnae crash into anythin'?”

“I've done this before,” Freddy replies, her voice perfectly neutral.

“Aye, sure,” Keziah agrees, “And you've crashed skiffs before as well, haven't you?”

Sighing loudly, you turn your gaze towards the window and watch the scenery flash by beneath you. At your feet, the chest of gold rattles with every little bit of turbulence.

-

It's hard to believe that the Carnamagos who stands before you now is the same man that you rescued not so long ago. He's still pale and thin, but his hair has been brushed flat and he's had a good wash since then. His eyes are calmer, and his entire posture suggests a new confidence – no longer does he twitch and shudder with furtive paranoia. He sits outside Berwick's warehouse, slowly eating a piece of fruit when you arrive, and he raises one hand in greeting.

“You... were the one who rescued me,” he says carefully, studying your face, “You, and the other man. Where is he? I hope he wasn't hurt in the escape.”

His entire manner has changed, and you can finally understand how he was able to keep a stable position at the Guild for so long. The caustic madness that you had seen before was not his natural state, but a reaction to the stresses and traumas that he had been subjected to. “Caliban? No, he wasn't hurt. Well... he was, a little, but that's a long story,” you shake your head and hold out the heavy case, “I believe this is yours.”

“Ah, my...” Carnamagos' eyes widen with surprise, “I thought that you might have taken it for yourself.”

“I considered it,” you admit, “It's not all there, but I had some expenses to cover. Seeing as how I saved your life and all...”

“Consider it a well-earned reward, friend,” he assures you, “And there may be further rewards ahead of us both. When Berwick and I cross the ocean...” He pauses here, and a furtive light – a relic of his earlier self – slips into his eyes. “Well, that is a matter for another time,” he concludes, a thin tongue slipping out of his mouth to moisten his lips, “Rest assured, I anticipate great things from this voyage, and you have done a great deal to ensure that it will be possible. Tell me – were you hoping to join our expedition, when it's ready?”

>I might be interested, yes
>Crossing the ocean? No way
>I'd like to ask you something... (Write in)
>Other

>>2281964
"I'll think about it. Depends if I am feeling particularly reckless that day or if I have other things on my plate when you ship off. Will you be able to reach me when you two are ready?"

>>2281964
>"Maybe if I lose this airship too. Anything will beat going back to Morey's slums. Especially after busting you out."

>>2281964
>I'd like to ask you something
>What do YOU expect to find on your expedition?
>How do you intend to avoid whatever fate befell those who didn't return?

You glance across to Keziah as you consider his offer. Her uncovered eye is fixed upon Carnamagos with an unusual intensity, as if she's trying to make up her mind as to the man's sanity. Perhaps your description of him gave her a strong impression of the man, and now she's trying to reconcile that impression with the man himself. Certainly, you're still having a hard time getting the two ideas to match up. Even so, though...

“I'll think about it,” you hear someone say aloud, and you realise that you were the one to speak. Blinking away your confusion, you reword your answer. “What I mean is, it depends on how reckless I'm feeling at the time – and whether or not I'm busy when you set sail,” you continue, “If I lose this airship, I might as well join you on the open waves. Anything would be better than going back to the slums with Morey.” Carnamagos tilts his head to the side as he considers your answer, giving it an uncommon degree of thought. “In either case,” you add, “Do you have a way to keep in contact with me? A radio set, perhaps?”

“Oh,” a blank look passes across the scholar's face, “Berwick has a radio, yes. What's your frequency?”

As you're scrawling the number down on a scrap of paper, Keziah finally speaks up. “What else do you need?” she asks, “This ship of yours, I mean. What will she need to sail?”

“Fuel, some specialist equipment, and above all else... crew,” Berwick himself announces, emerging from his warehouse, “It's hard, finding men willing to sign on with an expedition like this. I've been getting names, but it's slow going – one man here, two men there. Seems like every village or settlement has at least ONE man with a bit of backbone to him. Doesn't matter how long it takes, I'll get enough men eventually.”

“Might be, I ken a few folk who buy into your mad wee schemes,” the witch suggests, “Next time I'm home, I'll mention what you're doin' here – keepin' certain names out of it, of course.” She gestures to Carnamagos as she mentions this, and the scholar gives her a grateful nod.

“I've got a question for you, Carnamagos,” you ask, causing the scholar to glance back to you, “Just what are you expecting to find out there?”

Silent for a moment, Carnamagos licks his lips again before allowing himself to speak. “Very well, friend, I'm willing to trust you with this. I didn't wish to speak too freely before now – and still, some compulsion urges me towards secrecy – but you've been a good friend to me. I seek... I seek a city, my ancestral home. Perhaps we shall only find ruins, but we shall find something!” Carnamagos nods again, his former madness slowly unfolding from within him as he gets caught up in his theories. “Imagine! A city, in defiance of all acknowledged history – it could make your fortune, friend,” he insists, “The treasures that we might find there are nothing to me – I simply wish to see it with my own eyes.”

[1/2]

>>2282037

Setting aside the fact there might not be anything out there save for his own delusions, you're left with one further question. “How do you propose to avoid whatever fate befell all over explorers before this?” you ask, “People who stray too far out tend not to come back.”

“They did not have the knowledge that I do – they had nobody to guide them,” Carnamagos answers slowly, “The oceans are vast, yes, and those who roam them without guidance are wont to vanish. That is simply the way of the world – yet we will not follow them into the abyss.”

“And what about hostile?” Freddy asks, breaking her own silence, “What if nobody comes back because they end up straying into enemy territory?”

“That's where the specialist equipment comes in,” Berwick declares, a dangerous light entering his eyes, “I know a thing or two about weaponry – if we DO sail into hostile waters, we won't be without a means of fighting back... and winning.” He says nothing more on that subject, and you get the feeling that no amount of persuasion or threats could draw his secrets out. Letting the matter lie, you take your leave.

-

“He might be onto something,” Keziah murmurs to you as the Eliza is starting off towards Monotia, “Me mam and I... we talked a lot while I was gone. Maybe more than we've ever talked before, in fact. She told me all sorts of old stories, about folks she knew or met – that's how I heard about this friend in the Northern Labyrinth, see? Anyway, she told me about someone who talked about the far oceans. They said the same thing – their ancestors came from somewhere ELSE.”

“Somewhere across the sea,” you muse, “What happened to them?”

“Er, well, they died,” Keziah concedes, “Some folks don't take kindly to the idea of explorin' the oceans. They think that the gods are there, you see, so... they lynched the poor bastard, hanged them from the neck until they were dead. What I'm sayin' is... he might no be totally mad, but it isnae always safe to go spreadin' wild talk of other places.”

“It seems to me like nothing is very safe down here,” Freddy calls back from the cockpit, “Whatever you do, you'll be able to find someone willing to lynch you for it.”

“Aye,” Keziah laughs, “You arenae far wrong there!”

-

When you arrive back in Monotia, the Spirit of Helena is almost ready to fly again. She doesn't look all that different from the outside, save for some thin masts jutting forwards from her nose, but you can tell the difference. It's hard to define, but the difference is there.

“She's happy with you,” Keziah jokes, rapping her knuckles against the Helena's hull, “She likes it when you pamper her.”

[2/3]

>>2282099
> “She's happy with you,” Keziah jokes, rapping her knuckles against the Helena's hull, “She likes it when you pamper her.”

"Ladies are like that. Don't tell me you are averse to the odd spot if pampering here and there yourself."

> Teasingly pamper the Keziah

She lost more than an eye recently. While she's playing it off, I can't but imagine Mr. "I definitely don't have tainted blood"''s reaction wasn't something of a concern for Keziah

>>2282099

“Well, she IS a lady,” you agree, flashing her a sly smile, “Don't tell me that you're opposed to the odd spot of pampering now and then!”

“Well, maybe. Maybe not,” Keziah replies slowly, an exaggerated expression of thought crossing her face, “I dinnae ken if I've ever really been pampered before. Might be that I'd hate it!”

“Next time we get some time off, some proper time off, maybe I'll treat you,” you offer, your eyes flicking up to the gauze wrapped around her face, “It might take your mind off...”

“Careful, boss,” the witch warns you, a note of teasing mockery entering her voice, “You dinnae want to make promises that you cannae keep. A girl might hold you to an offer like that.”

Chuckling softly to yourself, you part ways with her and head up towards the bridge, with Keziah descending down to her lair in the engine room.

-

After the last of the workmen have left, you give everyone a moment to get to their stations and fire up the Helena's engines. Your next stop is Salim, to discuss the details of picking up Salazar's girl. Even if you didn't have any business there, the idea of making a quick stop in the Carth city is an appealing one – after Monotia, you could do with a break from Nadir and all its blemishes. You'll be returning there soon enough, after all.

The Spirit of Helena feels a little different, slower by the faintest degree. The additional armour must be making her a little more sluggish, although it's not enough to make any serious difference. Before you've made it halfway to Azimuth, you've already adjusted to the change. Gunny ambles up onto the bridge as you're flying, nodding a greeting before settling down into a leather seat.

“Good to see you up and about,” you tell him, “How are you feeling?”

A look of shame flits across his features. “I'm not the one who was hurt,” he reminds you, groaning a little to himself, “I feel... hell, brother, I feel like the world's biggest fool! Going to a place like that... what else had I been expecting? The next time I come up with a brilliant idea like that, you've got permission to lock me in the store room.”

“I'll hold you to that,” you promise him. He chuckles, lapsing into a companionable silence.

>Was there anything else, then?
>My question stands. How are you feeling?
>That Carth dungeon you were in... was it Cloudtop Prison?
>Something I wanted to talk to you about... (Write in)
>Other

>Sorry for the delay. I needed to run an unexpected errand

>>2282210
>>My question stands. How are you feeling?

>>2282210
>My question stands. How are you feeling?

Not all hurts are physical, and he's clearly hurting on the inside. Maybe we can't fix that, but we can lessen that a little. Mistakes were made, not just by him though. We gotta be willing to forgive ourselves and move on, though, if we truly believe we can be forgiven by others - even by the light.

>>2282210
>My question stands. How are you feeling?
>That Carth dungeon you were in... was it Cloudtop Prison?
>You get a chance to use that camera we looted?

>>2282210
>>My question stands. How are you feeling?
>>That Carth dungeon you were in... was it Cloudtop Prison?

>>2282210
>That Carth dungeon you were in... was it Cloudtop Prison?

“But my question stands,” you continue after the stillness and silence draws out for a moment more, “Other than feeling like a massive fool, how are you doing?”

“Hanging in there, brother, I'm hanging on in there,” Gunny murmurs, looking down at his bruised knuckles for a moment before shaking his head and looking back up to you, “You know what I don't want to do? I don't want to wallow in self-pity. I fucked up, I can't hide from that, but I'm not going to mope. When we fall, we have to pick ourselves up and carry on walking the good path. People are always going to err, flawed as we are, but one day the Lord of Rising Light is going to burn away those flaws.”

That strange dogma of his again... it's like seeing an ugly rock sticking up from a field of grass, the contrast jarring no matter how many times you see it. It's so unlike anything that the Gunny Hotchkiss you once knew would say that you find it hard to swallow. It's like Carnamagos, in a way, with his strange duality. Still... he takes comfort in his faith, and you ought to respect that – so long as it doesn't cause you any trouble.

“You're not wrong. I've made plenty of mistakes in my time, taken my fair share of falls. It's just a matter of forgiving yourself and moving on,” you agree, “I bet that Horace – or whatever his real name was – is no stranger to making mistakes either,” Although, you think privately to yourself, Horace might not get a chance to make any more mistakes again. The streets of Monotia are far from forgiving, after all.”

“I knew you'd understand, brother,” Gunny says, smiling to himself, “I gotta thank you for that.”

“Yeah, well...” you murmur, shrugging a little, “Mind if I ask you something personal? That Carth dungeon you were in... was it Cloudtop Prison? I figure that what you did, you might have... you know.”

Gunny is silent for another few moments as he considers your question. “I did go there... briefly,” he finally admits, “One week, that was all, when I was first arrested. I was still shaken up then, still lashing out, and they figured I might have been dangerous. Most of my sentence, I served down in Sol Carthul, but that one week... I don't think I'll ever forget it. That prison is like nowhere else I've ever been. I don't think there's another place in this world that's like it. The quiet, the utter stillness of it all...”

“Yeah,” you breathe, “From the stories that I've heard...”

“The stories, brother, they don't tell the half of it,” a shudder runs through Gunny as he thinks back, “I don't envy the guards they have up there, and I sure wouldn't want to be a permanent prisoner. I wouldn't blame someone for taking the Iraklin approach over that.”

[1/2]

>>2282304

“Did you ever see Trice while you were in there?” you ask, his mention of the guards reminding you of the unconventional provost, “I guess if you were only in there for a week...”

“I never saw her. Could be that she was away on her duties. Can't say that I'm not glad,” he forces a laugh, “If I had seen her at Cloudtop, I would have damn near crapped myself when she stopped us that time!”

“Yeah, I... I guess I can understand that,” you agree, “Well, anyway. Was that everything you wanted?”

At that, Gunny's eyes widen and he lets out a grunt of surprise. “Damn, I almost forgot why I came up here in the first place. I wanted to give you a report on those new cannons – no problems that I can see, and they're looking mighty fine. It's a wicked thought, brother, but I almost want to see them in action,” a low chuckle escapes him as he considers the idea, “Anyway. I could have told you over the radio, but I wanted to tell you in person.”

He just wanted an excuse to talk, you deduce, but that's fine with you. After his dark mood, you're glad to see him returning to something approaching normality. “I'm glad you did. It was good to talk,” you assure him, “Oh, hey, have you had the chance to play around with that Imago device that Blessings... found?”

“It's not a toy, brother, it's a finely made piece of engineering!” Gunny protests, “You don't “play” with a thing like that, you-”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupt, flapping a hand at him, “Have you had a chance to painstakingly test the functionality of your newest gadget?”

“Uh...” this gives him a moment's pause, “Actually, we're still trying to figure out how it works. Pity that he didn't get a chance to swipe the instructions as well!”

-

When you arrive at Salim, you call up Salazar once again. “A small complication, I'm afraid,” he apologises, “There are certain formalities that need to be respected, forms that need to be filled in at the academy. I hope you don't mind, but I'll need to accompany you up to Zenith. I dare say that Grace will appreciate the visit as well, my work rarely permits me to travel up there very often!”

Frowning a little at this, you glance around to make sure that you're alone on the bridge before continuing. “Fine, okay then,” you sigh, “But my crew... so far as they know-”

“You are, of course, the legitimate owner of the Spirit of Helena. No trickery or fraud involved,” Salazar finishes for you, “I haven't forgotten. Still, I think that I might like to meet them. Perhaps we can take a meal together?”

His offer hangs in the air for a moment.

>Fine. I don't see the harm in it
>I don't think that's wise, Salazar
>Other

>>2282366
>>Fine. I don't see the harm in it
>>2282361
I saw this

>>2282366
>Fine. I don't see the harm in it

>>2282366
>I don't think that's wise, Salazar

Best to be as careful as possible. Neither of us want to be exposed.

>>2282366
>Other

The less we're seen in public the better, wossisname is snooping around us already.

Still, maybe as a way to introduce a young new recruit after Blessings decision inspired you?

>>2282366
>Fine. I don't see the harm in it
"But publicly we shouldn't be too overly familiar. In fact let the only reason I am 'officially' recruiting your daughter is that you mentioned her knowledge in linguistics and I am need of one."

“I'm not sure if we should be seen together in public. I don't want to say too much, but I've got someone sniffing around me already. Going out for a fancy meal with you...” you begin, only to pause as an idea strikes you, “Why don't you come here, instead? It'll be more private than eating out, and the Helena has a pretty good cook. Maybe not as good as what you're used to eating...”

“That sounds like a grand idea!” Salazar decides, “I trust that you're at the aerodrome? I dare say that I'll be able to find you without being followed by any unsavoury characters. I'm no amateur when it comes to these sorts of things, you know.”

“...Fine then, I don't see the harm in it,” you decide with a shrug, “But remember – the only reason that I'm recruiting your daughter is because of her linguistic training. That's all that anyone needs to know. Oh, and I'm warning you now, some of the men can be a little... rough around the edges.”

“Milos, my boy, some of the people that I met aboard your father's airship...” Salazar lets out a dry little laugh, and you can picture his demure smile, “Well, suffice to say that a few rough characters will hardly cross my eyes. In fact, it might be nice to meet some good old fashioned ruffians – I'm feeling rather nostalgic about this!”

Murmuring a vague acknowledgement, you finalise the last few details and end the call. Then, switching over to the internal radio, you make a new call. “Blessings? I'm going to need you to work your usual magic in the kitchen,” you begin, “And it's a little short notice...”

-

The rich smell of your dinner swirls around you like a golden cloud, and you find yourself marvelling at Blessings' ability to produce a meal like this on such short notice. Wood pigeon roasted in brandy, apparently, and he had actually apologised for such a “simple” offering. You're not even sure how he managed to find so many wood pigeons on short notice. Gasps of wonder and amazement rise up from the table as he sets out the plates, although Caliban has one complaint.

“There's hardly any meat on these!” he protests, “I thought this was supposed to be a meal, not a snack!”

“Ah, well, um... heavy meals aren't very popular here in Carthul,” Blessings explains, “Especially not with rich food like this. A little bit of indulgence is allowed, but... one mustn't be gluttonous.”

Grumbling quietly to himself, Caliban stabs his fork into the tiny bird and lifts it up, studying it with a critical eye. Table manners, you deduce, were never a large part of his Nadir upbringing.

[1/2]

>>2282494

“So, Miss... Keziah, was it?” Salazar asks as he sets down his knife and fork, “I hear that airship engines have advanced by leaps and bounds in recent years. I only have an amateur's interest in such things, but I know a few things – I dare say that my meagre knowledge would be woefully outdated these days, though.”

“Oh, aye, it's a busy field of study. Every so often, someone comes out with a more efficient design or somethin' like that. Wee differences mostly, or their design is so unstable that it cannae be used without explodin',” Keziah nods slowly, “But sometimes, someone makes a discovery that actually works properly.”

“I'm a little surprised to see you here, Mister Sierzac,” Blessings says next, looking up from his own plate, “Is this, um... a social call?”

“Business rather than pleasure. You see, Captain Vaandemere here was looking to recruit an expert in linguistics – languages – and my daughter is studying that very same field. I'll need to travel up to Saint Alma's Academy with you, and so I thought that a delicious meal was the least that your captain could do to compensate me for the inconvenience,” dabbing his mouth with a napkin, Salazar studies the boy, “Your mother speaks very highly of you, you know. She's very proud of what you're doing.”

“I assume that he doesn't tell her about all the awful and shameful things,” Caliban suggests with a dirty chuckle, “She might not have such a rosy opinion of him otherwise.”

“Who doesn't hide a few things from their mother, so that she might sleep more easily at night?” the old man muses, taking a small sip of wine as Blessings blushes. A murmur of laughter runs across the room at his comment, and he continues. “Of course,” he thinks aloud in an absent voice, “Sometimes a mother is the one to hide things from her child. Life can be strange, in that regard.”

His words feel like ice at the base of your spine, but Keziah speaks up again before you have a chance to say anything. “Aye,” the witch agrees, “You cannae trust them, mothers.”

“Fathers aren't much better,” Caliban points out, casually toying with the tiny bones on his plate, snapping them in half one by one.

“Often enough, they arenae around long enough for it to matter,” she counters, “What about you, Fredrika, you arenae gonna tell us that you've got nice, normal folks, do you?”

“For an Iraklin, the unit is family – when I was serving, my comrades were my family. Now that I'm out of the military, you're my family,” Freddy answers, only to grimace and look down into her glass of wine – as if blaming it for her blunt admission. “What I mean is...” she adds, “No, I don't have nice, normal family. Not even close to normal.”

“Captain Vaandemere,” Salazar asks with a deep laugh, “Where do you find these people?”

>Sorry about this, but I need to take a quick pause here. Maybe an hour, I'm not sure.

>>2282596
Fuuuuuck Freddy is best girl so damn hard.

I mean. Shipping Cap and Kez because that makes the most sense, but honestly I prefer Freddy.

>>2282596
>I have normal ones as well!
>Honestly!

>>2282612
Not until she admits Iraklis was wrong in annexing our homeland she isn't.

“I have some normal crew!” you insist, shaking off your unease, “Really!”

“Milos, brother, come on!,” Gunny scolds, “I don't think there's one man or woman on this entire ship who could fit into polite society. Go on, name one!”

“Well...” you pause, thinking for a moment, “Doctor Barnum is... mostly respectable. He IS a doctor, after all, he's got credentials and everything.”

“He's also got a scar right across his neck. I saw it when I was getting my arm patched up,” Caliban points out, tracing a line across his own throat to stress his point, “Why do you think he never raises his voice? Seems to me like someone tried to cut the good doctor's throat in the past. I couldn't guess why, though – his bedside manner isn't that bad.”

Letting out a soft sign of disgust, you concede the point with a shrug.

-

After the meal is over, most of your crewmen drift off to their stations. It's too late to head up to Saint Alma's Academy now, with your unusually extravagant meal taking longer than expected, so you'll be spending the night in Salim. It's a delay, but hardly an unacceptable one – the Northern Labyrinth has sat undisturbed for countless years already, an extra day or two won't hurt.

“Thank you for the meal, captain,” Freddy says, rising from the table and brushing down her clothes, “It was good to meet you, Mister Sierzac. I hope that any business we have with you is to your satisfaction.”

“I'm sure that it will be,” Salazar assures her, waiting until the pilot has left before turning to you and giving you a small smile. “I don't think this was her first formal dinner,” he suggests quietly, “It's all to do with how she holds her cutlery, you see. A certain delicate touch.”

“If you saw her bare arms, you might not be so quick to say that she has a “delicate” touch,” you argue, “She's just about as muscular as I am. Hell, maybe even a little more so...”

“Some men like that kind of thing. I remember your father telling me about one of his liaisons, and...” stopping himself short, Salazar looks at empty glass of wine and sighs. “And I don't think you want to hear any of that,” he finishes smoothly, “There are certain things that a child doesn't need to know about their parents, certain secrets that-”

“Did you know my mother?” you ask bluntly, “Did my father ever mention her?”

Salazar is silent for a long time, lightly stroking his neatly cropped beard as he thinks back. “He said... that you were both better off without her,” he says eventually, choosing his words with care, “He said that she was not an honest woman. That was all that he would tell me, and I knew better than to pry. You know what his temper was like.”

“Not an honest woman...” you murmur to yourself.

>I see. Thank you, Salazar
>Did you ever meet her?
>So what do you think of the crew?
>I need to ask you something... (Write in)
>Other

>>2282832
>>I see. Thank you, Salazar
>>So what do you think of the crew?

>>2282832
>Did you ever meet her?
>So what do you think of the crew?

>>2282832
>Did you ever meet her?
>So what do you think of the crew?

>>2282832
>>Did you ever meet her?

Considering those vague words for a while, you pour yourself a fresh glass of wine and look Salazar dead in the eye. “Did you ever meet her?” you ask, “Talk to her?”

“No, to both,” Salazar tells you sadly, “But I did see her once – briefly, at a distance. It was not, shall we say, an exhaustive study.” Tapping a finger against his chin, he thinks for a few moments. You wait silently, occasionally sipping wine that you cannot taste. “What can I say about her? She did not have tall horns and a tail, if that was what you were wondering, but... you know what Ragnar was like, how proud of his heritage he was. He wouldn't have lain with a Nadir woman,” he pauses, “Not if he knew what she was.”

“And if she didn't tell him...” you muse, “That would be quite dishonest, don't you think?”

“It would, yes. You understand, of course, that this proves nothing,” the old man warns you, “One can assume a lot, and prove nothing.” Sighing heavily, Salazar closes his eyes and searches his memory. “She was pale, as I recall, with very light hair. Even at a distance, I was struck by how beautiful she looked – any high society ballroom would have been glad to have her in attendance,” he recalls, “And now, my boy, I suggest that you do yourself a favour and drop the matter. Do not torment yourself with questions that you may never be able to answer.”

With a bitter nod, you pour more wine and take a deep sip of it before changing the subject. “So,” you ask the old man, “What do you think of the crew?”

“Ah, I'm glad that you asked!” Salazar visibly relaxes, “I think that you've gathered some good people around you, my boy, they'll serve you will. That rough gentleman... Caliban, was it? If I had need of a bodyguard, I would for a man of his exact character. He has... how to put this? He is the sort of man who would value an oath above his own life – although whether that is because he values his word or he does not value his life, I could not say.”

You grunt a little at that. “He took a good hit for me,” you murmur, “That's why his arm is bandaged up.”

“Indeed? Then he is already proving me correct. What else...” he thinks for a moment, “There is more to Miss Lhaus than meets the eye, although I dare say that you have guessed as much for yourself. Your engineer – she's a Nadir woman, isn't she? Some crews are wary about bringing them aboard a ship, so I do hope that she doesn't bring you any trouble or ill-fortune.” When Salazar looks at Gunny's empty seat, his face darkens a little but he says nothing. “Blessings is a wonderful cook,” he says instead, “For that alone, I would be glad to have him if I was in your position.”

[1/2]

Tell Keziah if she thinks mothers are untrustworthy then we'll have to keep an eye on her in nine months.

___________jk

>>2282945

“You wanted to say something about Gunny, didn't you?” you press, “Go on, say it – it doesn't matter if you think it'll offend me. If you think he's trouble, I need to know.”

“Trouble? No, I wouldn't go that far – but, as a man who lives and works in Carthul, I know a true believer when I see one. Perhaps he is exactly the kind of man that you need, and perhaps his faith will never do anything more than grant him a font of strength, but you ought to be aware of one thing. His loyalties will never belong to you and you alone,” Salazar explains gravely, “A man beholden to his conscience is a wonderful thing, but also an impractical thing.”

“It's funny,” you mutter, “I always thought that it was Blessings' faith that might cause us trouble.”

-

The next morning finds you waking early, hastening to the bridge in order to get a good start on the day. When everyone are ready and waiting at their stations – some of them worse off than others – you start the Helena's engines and begin your ascent. Zenith, and Saint Alma's Academy, awaits you. Clouds gather around the Spirit of Helena as you fly up into the sky, and soon Azimuth is disappearing behind you.

As always, the Mountain of Faith is the first thing to draw your eye upon your arrival in Zenith. It looms proudly above the six lesser islands that surround it, dominating the sky through its sheer scale. Cloudtop Prison glides past as you circle around the vast mountain, and you find yourself breathing a sigh of relief once it's no longer visible. Even Firebase Alpha, equally ill-omened although for different reasons, seems like a preferable replacement. Each island you fly past, you study with great care.

It helps to keep your mind off the previous night's discussion, and the thought of what might be lurking within your blood. Salazar warned you about dwelling on futile questions, but it's impossible to avoid them completely. All you can do is take whatever distractions come your way and wait for the suspicions to feel less like an open wound – however long that takes.

Past the Palace of Silence, you spot Saint Alma's Academy rising up ahead of you. Sturdy landing pads reach out towards you like broad hands at the end of short, stubby arms, and you guide the Spirit of Helena towards one of them. As you approach, you announce your intentions over the radio and listen as the diligent attendant gives you clearance to land. All very orderly, all very polite and civilised.

As you carefully descend, you see a figure approaching the landing pad, her dark garb fluttering in the chill winds. Clasping one hand against her golden hair to keep it from flying wildly about, the girl hurries closer and waves up to you with the other.

Grace Sierzac, in the flesh.

[2/3]

>>2283005

As you're leaving the Helena with Salazar and the others, something strange happens. Grace hurries towards you with all the natural enthusiasm of a child fondly greeting their parent, and then she stops herself short. Stopping a few paces away, she dips her head in a demure bow instead. “Father, I'm glad that you could come and visit me,” she begins, her voice barely audible over the wind, “And you must be Captain Vaandemere. I hope that Saint Alma's Academy is to your liking.”

Her voice is as formal as her words, as if she had been trained since birth for this very moment. Bowing again, she turns and gestures for you to follow her, hastening off towards the academy itself. Cold wind plucks at you as you follow her across the open, exposed walkway, and you feel thoroughly chilled by the time you reach the sheltered entranceway. It feels like stepping from one world into the next, with the industrial metal of the landing pads suddenly replaced by the pale stone that makes up the academy walls.

Passing through an empty doorway, you try not to notice that it was designed for someone almost half again your height.

After passing through that uncanny doorway, you follow Grace into the main atrium. Students, teachers and scholars hurry this way and that despite the early hour, while a tall stone statue of a woman – Saint Alma, you presume – watches over the entire scene. The statue is made of a different kind of stone to everything else, a darker kind of granite perhaps. The other stone, that white and untextured stone that most Zenith structures are built from, is not one that you've ever seen in the lower regions.

“Welcome!” Grace announces, turning to your party and spreading her hands wide, “To Saint Alma's Academy!”

>I think I'm going to pause things here for this week. I'll continue this next Friday, same thread, and if anyone has any questions or comments I'll answer them if I can
>Thanks to everyone who contributed today!

>>2283071
Thanks for running!

Now I have to worry for a week about the weird tall monsters at Saint Alma's.

Also how suspicious is Blessings that we teamed up with Salazar to steal his airship right now?

>>2283071
Thanks for running.

>>2283085
Likely not at all.

>>2283085

Honestly? I don't think Blessings is really the suspicious type. He's still awfully naive when it comes to the gritty realities of life - people wouldn't really do something as dishonest as altering a will, would they?

>>2283128
So you're telling us we need to keep him as sheltered as possible. Got it.

>>2283071
thanks for running.

>>2283128
Will Keziah end up looking like a Draenei?

>>2283173
Fucking hope not. Purple fuckers is where the line is drawn.

>>2283141
What you really got to worry about is when we inadvertently find Miriam alive and have to deal with all the shit involving that.

>>2283219
>find Miriam alive

Well obviously the solution is to rectify that.

>>2283278
But think of the bantz.

>>2283071
Thanks for running!

Re: Gunny

It's not necessarily to have a man with his own conscience. After all, it's not a good thing to achieve our goals at all costs. Dude can keep us from becoming a monster.

>>2283141
Nah.

Just put him in OUR will as to inherit the ship.

Meanwhile, all we need to do is capture another one and take it for ourselves so he can have this one.

Then if it ever comes up, we can point out how stuff went down and that while what we did was shitty, we paid him back and honestly it was for the best since he probably would have been either someone else's puppet, or killed, or robbed fairly soon.

But let's not forget, we *owe* him.

Quick question: What sort of things do people in this world do for fun? Card games seem popular but I was wondering what else people did in their spare time.

>>2290078
Cartulians pray
Iraklins drill
Pastonians toil under occupiers' yoke
Nadirians conduct dog fights
Barbarians sacrifice animals
Pirates drink grog and sing songs (?)

>>2290078
>>2290094

In Nadir, people tend to spend their time on pretty rough things - carousing or gambling, roaming the wilderness, and just generally causing trouble. Music is popular, albeit of a fairly crude sort. Of course, that's slowly changing as Azimuth trends start to influence the local culture. The radio is especially appreciated, although books are scorned by a large section of society. Traditionally, writing down knowledge has been seen as suspect - "stealing" knowledge from the gods.

In Azimuth, things tend to be more "civilised". Reading is much more popular, and literacy rates are fairly high. Carthul has a tradition of theatre, as well as dedicating time to prayer or silent reflection. Even people who aren't members of the church tend to observe these times, even if they just use them as an excuse to nap. Overall, Carthul places a fairly high value on "culture", seeing it as proof of civilisation prevailing over baser pleasures. That doesn't mean that people don't indulge, of course, but it tends to be done in private.

Iraklis has several radio plays with are very popular, although they tend to be thinly veiled propaganda - lots of stories about heroic soldiers sacrificing themselves for the good of the nation, that kind of thing. Physical fitness is highly prized in Iraklis as well, with sports and athletic competitions being common. Even in their private time, Iraklins are encouraged to choose activities that benefit the nation in some way, directly or indirectly. They'd take well to cinema, if it ever gets around to being invented.

The Pastona Union was always fairly rustic, although not in the same way that Nadir is. People would enjoy hiking, horseriding and other outdoorsy activities. As a rule, though, Pastonnes tended to be pretty similar to Carths aside from the religious aspect. Iraklin trends aren't really catching on, despite a push for it, although that isn't to say that the locals push back against the occupiers. Life goes on more or less as before.

>>2291023
So Nadir = Pre-Windsor Britain

Azimuth/Carth = French

Iraklis = German Union

Pastona = Italy

>>2292449
Stop. Dont go for history, let your imagination free.

File: Grace Sierzac.jpg (155 KB, 658x1236)

155 KB JPG

You're not sure if this stuff really IS stone. It's solid enough to touch, that's for sure, but it just doesn't seem... normal. It's too smooth to be stone, it feels more like some kind of resin or artificial material. The colour is vaguely unnatural as well, an utterly featureless expanse of something that isn't quite white. When you rap your knuckles against it, the echo doesn't match your expectations either – it's dull, as if the stone absorbs most of the sound.

The reason that you're so intently studying this stone wall is that you're waiting – waiting for Grace and Salazar to conclude some dreary administrative matter with the head of the academy. The rest of your party have gone off to do their own things – Caliban headed off in the direction of the library, while Blessings mentioned a visit to the chapel. Freddy couldn't return to the ship quick enough, citing some vague yet urgent business, while Keziah and Gunny went looking for the refectory – apparently, they serve a cheap and hearty stew.

A bowl of hot food wouldn't go amiss, you think to yourself as you rub your hands together, the entire academy seems unpleasantly cold. All the students and staff that you've seen so far were wearing thick cloaks, with some even wearing fur mantles on top of those. As you watch a group of warmly dressed students hurrying past, Grace finally emerges from the sealed office.

“Father will be detained for a while longer, I believe there is some further business that he had with the rector, although I don't know what it may be,” she announces, “If I'm to accompany you, I'll need to pack my things. Would you care to come with me? You can tell me a little about your work.”

“I'll try and make it sound interesting,” you tell her with a wry grin, “Lead the way.”

-

You've still not got a good idea of what kind of person Grace Sierzac is, and some part of you wonders if you even will. So far she's shown herself to be almost painfully formal, although without the kind of stuttering anxiety that you might expect from Blessings. She listens politely as you give her a vague explanation of the sort of things that you do – bring criminals to justice, explore the land in search of undiscovered riches and just generally enjoy your freedom – but her expression is one of neutrality. You might as well be talking about abstract concepts or other vagaries, for all the reaction you get out of her.

“And sometimes, we have to fight. I don't know if your father told you, but a group of pirates attacked the Hawthorn estate. A young man almost died, and I chased down the attackers,” you state bluntly, aiming to get some reaction from the girl, “I shot them down, and destroyed their ship.”

“My,” Grace murmurs, “How... fascinating.”

[1/2]

>>2294990

It's only when you arrive at Grace's quarters that you get a flicker of a reaction out of her. She looks around the barren quarters as if seeing it for the first time, then turns around to look at you. “This is the first time I've had a man in my room,” she remarks, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. There's nothing coy or teasing about it, but you're still left wondering why she said it in the first place. It was an odd thing to say, but maybe that's just the kind of person that Grace Sierzac is.

If so, she'll fit in well with your crew of misfits. Hoping to learn something about her, you take a long look around at the room's meagre contents. It's neat and tidy, without a single dusting of spiderweb – something that the academy as a whole seems to mirror, to your nameless unease – but equally devoid of sentiment. She has a few paintings here and there, all fairly neutral landscapes, and a single Imago of a city skyline – Salim, you assume, or maybe Sol Carthul itself. No books, which surprises you, and no radio set. Nothing to indicate hobbies or leisure activities, although you do spot a small trophy – gold, real gold.

“Target shooting. Pistols,” Grace explains, noticing where your gaze has fallen, “Is that odd? I'm told that it isn't a very ladylike hobby to have, but I very much enjoy it. Do you do a lot of shooting, Captain Vaandemere?”

“Some,” you reply with a weary smile, “Although it tends to be a little more practical than target shooting.”

“I see. I certainly can't claim to have any experience in those matters,” she murmurs as she pulls a strangely masculine suitcase out from underneath her bed and throws open a closet. She has, you notice, hardly any clothes at all – barely five outfits worth, with only the slightest variation in colour and cut. As Grace is folding clothes and passing them across to you so that you can pack them away, there is a knock at the door. Another student, mousy looking, peers in.

“Grace. The rector wants to see you,” the mouse announces, promptly ducking away before either of you can answer them. Grace sighs a little, in tedium and irritation, then glances around at you.

“You do what you've gotta do,” you tell her, “We won't leave without you.”

“I should think not,” the linguist agrees, “I don't know how long I might be – perhaps it would be best if I go straight to your ship once I'm finished. In the meantime, Saint Alma's Academy is yours to wander. Now then, excuse me...”

Bowing slightly, Grace hurries away and leaves you to decide your next destination.

>Return to the Spirit of Helena and check on Freddy
>Head to the academy library
>Visit the academy's chapel
>Head down to the rectory for something to eat
>Other

>>2294996
>Return to the Spirit of Helena and check on Freddy
She ran away pretty fast. College phobia?

>>2294996
>Return to the Spirit of Helena and check on Freddy

There's no shortage of things to see or do here at Saint Alma's Academy, and while you've been given the freedom to roam the corridors and see what you like, you don't doubt that there are less open areas. Trusting that such areas will be marked with all the suitable warnings , you set off towards your first stop. The more you walk, though, the more ill at ease you start to feel – the academy's oddly proportioned hallways and doorways nag at you, filling you with the urge for more familiar surroundings.

The Spirit of Helena, then. You can see what that “urgent business” of Freddy's was, although you get the impression that it wasn't as urgent as she suggested. Bad memories from her own education, perhaps.

-

When you arrive at the pilot's quarters you can hear grunting softly as she exercises, lifting weights with an almost aggressive energy. Watching her for a moment more, you clear your throat and speak up. “So,” you begin, “Was this your urgent business?”

Your voice causes her to tense up, but only for a few seconds. “Training is important. Routine is important,” she replies as she sets her weights aside and turns to face you, “You should exercise a little more often, captain. I could write up a schedule for you, if you want.”

Iraklin physical training, you think with a shudder, is a little more aggressive than you're comfortable with. Setting that particular subject aside for now, you hastily change the subject. “Okay, I take your point. Routine is important,” you agree, “But still – you weren't slow to get out of there.”

“I don't like it there. I don't like that I can't explain why I don't like it either,” Freddy shakes her head, a bitter expression skirting across her face, “Could you feel it, captain? It felt like a weight pushing down on my chest – I don't understand how people can live there full time.” Snatching up a towel, she wipes down her face and scrubs briefly at her hair, leaving it sticking up at all kind of wild angles. “Did you meet your linguist?” she asks, changing the subject just as quickly as you did, “What kind of person is she?”

“She's... strange. Maybe that's why she can live here,” you laugh, pausing for a moment as you try and describe Grace in a way that makes sense. “I don't think she's decided what kind of person she wants to be, yet,” you hazard eventually, “That's an important thing, you know, and I don't think she's had to make that choice yet.”

“It's the most important choice there is,” Freddy agrees with a firm, emphatic nod, “And you've got to do what's right for you, even if...” Trailing off for a moment, the Iraklin folds up her towel and sets it neatly aside, a curiously blank look on her face all the while. “Even if it means never seeing your family again,” she concludes after a long silence.

[1/2]

>>2295031

Having said this, Freddy hurriedly turns away from you and busies herself with putting away her weights. When you linger a moment more, she stiffens and turns around, giving you a brisk salute. “I apologise for wasting your time, sir!” she snaps, instinctual discipline closing over her face like a mask, “My personal affairs are of no relevance to the matter at-”

“Drop the soldier act, will you?” you scold, “I've told you before, I don't run that kind of ship.”

“That's... right,” she admits, forcing herself to ease up a little, “I'm sorry. It's a difficult subject for me, family. Blood family, I mean.”

“Then you're in good company here,” you point out, laughing humourlessly to yourself, “It seems like damn near everyone on this ship has some issue or another with their family. If we didn't, we'd be at home living happy lives.”

“And I'd probably be married,” Freddy remarks, one corner of her mouth twitching up into a smile as she watches your reaction, “It wasn't my decision – my parents were trying to arrange it, and they saw it as a matter of duty. It would have extended my family's influence, and that...” Again, she trails off to an uncharacteristically uncertain silence.

“And that...?” you prompt.

For a moment, Freddy seems like she's about to continue her story, but then she shakes her head. “It's not relevant, captain,” she argues, “And I don't want to bore you with my life story – you must have other business to attend to, after all.”

>I'm interested. Go ahead and tell me about it
>I do have some other things to do. At ease, Freddy
>I need to head back into the academy to check on someone else... (Write in)
>Other

>>2295053
"I honestly don't have any other business at the moment until Grace gets done with whatever she needs to do. I mean I *could* make sure Caliban isn't scaring all the students in the library but I need to let him have some fun."
>I'm interested. Go ahead and tell me about it

>>2295053
>I'm interested. Go ahead and tell me about it

>>2295053
>I'm interested. Go ahead and tell me about it
Building rapport is the first step on the road to deprogramming.

>>2295053
>>I'm interested. Go ahead and tell me about it

“Actually, I don't think that I've got anything else to do – right now, we're just waiting for Grace to finish things on her end and join us. I suppose I could check on Caliban and make sure that he isn't scaring anyone, but he's earned his fun. So, you won't be boring me - I'm interested,” you correct her, “A captain should know his crew, after all. Tell me about it.”

Mildly taken aback by your reaction, Freddy hesitates for a moment before gesturing to her chair. As you sit, she thinks about where to start. “The Lhaus family is minor nobility – very minor,” she begins, “These days, we don't even hold a position on the grand council. My father wanted to change that, but he needed support from another family. The Dreher family offered that support, on the condition that I marry one of their sons. That... wasn't what I wanted.” Freddy pauses again before continuing, picking her next words carefully. “So I stalled. After I was finished with basic training, I signed up for additional training – pilot training, as it happens. Then there was the war,” she continues, “After that was over and done with, my family gave me a choice – marry according to their wishes, or be cut off.”

“And you chose to cut your ties,” you muse, “Why? I mean, I can't really blame you for avoiding an arranged marriage, but was there some specific reason?”

Freddy winces, as if she had been dreading this question. “It seemed too transactional,” she offers weakly, “When I marry, if I marry at all, I want it to be... I want it to be for love, not duty or business. That's why I left.”

You try very hard to keep a smile off your face as you consider her answer, but it isn't easy. It isn't helped by the fact that you can see some of her books out of the corner of your eye, their spines decorated with floral gilding. First trite romance novels and now this – she's not without her softer side. “I see,” you offer at last, managing to keep yourself from chuckling, “As good a reason as any, I suppose.”

“It has no relevance to our current position,” Freddy stresses, “You don't need to worry about that, captain. No family enemies, no long-standing grudges, nothing of that sort. If you were concerned about-”

“Oh no, I'm not concerned about that,” you interrupt, still trying to keep a straight face, “I'm just trying to imagine you in a wedding dress, clutching a bouquet of flowers instead of a pistol.”

Freddy colours deeply at that, but eventually she lets out a short laugh of her own. “Yes, I... well...” she fumbles for a moment before shaking her head, “Excuse me, captain, I need to go and check on the Eliza. A routine check, I mean, and...”

“And routine is important,” you finish for her, your smirk finally making itself known.

[1/2]

>>2295097

Freddy starts to hurry away, then pauses at the door. “I... Thank you for listening, captain,” she says in a neutral tone, “I don't often get the chance to talk about personal matters. I don't often get the chance to... talk.” Taking a moment more to compose herself, she turns and gives you a firm nod. “And hardly anyone wears a wedding dress these days,” she corrects you, “Hardly anyone outside of romance novels, at least.”

“Ah,” you remark, “So that's where you got the idea!”

Grumbling something to herself in a very undisciplined way, Freddy flees from the room.

-

As you're heading down to the cargo bay to see if the pilot is really working on the Eliza or just hiding from you, you bump into a walking stack of books and almost knock the whole thing over. Caliban curses from behind his heaped burden, setting the pile down and shooting you a dirty look. “The girl is coming shortly, but she asked me to carry these,” he explains, “Reference materials, apparently, provided by the academy.”

Taking one of the books, you flip through it and see absolutely nothing that makes any sense to you. The book itself is nothing special, with all the marks of a mass-produced text. “Very generous of them,” you tell him, placing the book back onto the pile, “What's the catch?”

“You'd have to ask her that,” the hunter grumbles, gesturing behind him with a flick of his head. Grace and Salazar arrive shortly behind him, with the girl looking around her in polite curiosity. “Captain wants to know what the catch is,” Caliban tells her, “We're not getting these books for free, are we?”

“Not to keep, no. We'll be expected to return them when I return,” she tells you, “Along with any notes that I make during my studies – corrections, amendments or new additions. As a field of study, languages are not static and any contribution that I can make may prove important in the long run. That, Captain Vaandemere, is the catch.”

You're not entirely happy with Grace handing over notes about everything that you're doing – from her own rather focused perspective, at least, but you leave that matter for another time. “Fine enough. Caliban, you can show Grace to one of the empty cabins, can't you?” you order, “Oh, and where are the others? Still at the academy?”

“Mister Hotchkiss and your wounded engineer are on their way,” Salazar tells you, “The boy, though... I've not seen him.”

“He'll be in the chapel. Must have lost track of time...” you groan. It's a pain in the backside, but you can always just send a crewman in to fetch him. Or...

>Drag Blessings back to the ship yourself
>Send a crewman to find him and bring him back
>Other

>>2295123
>Send a crewman to find him and bring him back

Delegation!

>>2295123
>Drag Blessings back to the ship yourself

>>2295123
>Drag Blessings back to the ship yourself

“Damn it...” you mutter to yourself, shaking your head at the inconvenience, “I'll go and fetch him. Where about is this chapel?”

“Oh,” Grace pauses, “I'm not exactly...”

“Not quite the good little choirgirl, are we?” Caliban suggests, raising an eyebrow at Grace's moment of hesitation. She doesn't blush or splutter out a rash answer to his comment, but her brow furrows as she thinks harder.

“I think it's downstairs... somewhere. There should be directions posted,” she offers after a further moment of thought, “Or you could ask someone. Someone who knows, I mean.”

“I'll be fine,” you assure them as you hurry off towards the academy, bracing yourself against the cold wind that slaps into you as you leave the ship. Shivering as the chill immediately bites at your face and exposed hands, you dash across the landing pad towards the academy itself. You pass Keziah and Gunny as you're crossing the exposed landing, but the wind has picked up enough that you can only just shout out a brief greeting. Any proper conversation will have to wait until later.

-

As you follow the signs towards the chapel, you feel a faint curiosity tugging at you. Strange, for a chapel to the Lord of Rising Light to be build underground. You would have expected it to be the opposite, built up as high as possible. The chapel that Gunny brought you to included a skylight in the ceiling, to allow the natural light in, but perhaps that was particular to that one chapel. Still, it leaves you wondering.

When you reach the chapel itself, your curiosity is hardly quashed. In fact, you feel the hairs on the back of your neck rise up as you enter the large, hall-like room. A statue of a woman – a smaller copy of the statue that stood in the atrium – occupies one end of the room, with an altar sitting beneath it. Large wooden panels, painted with various images, line the walls. Blessings stares up at one image in particular – a woman, scandalously dressed in an almost transparent gown, is tied to a tree with a serene expression on her face. Around her, piles of rocks have been gathered.

“The Martyrdom of Saint Alma,” Blessings explains, glancing around at you, “I've seen, um, I've seen a copy of this painting before, but it changed a few of the, ah, a few of the details.”

“I wonder which ones,” you remark blandly, studying it with an amateur eye. It's... certainly a painting, but you couldn't say much more than that. You don't really feel anything when you look up at it, unlike when you saw the eerie Nadir paintings that Professor Estheim had in his study. “Anyway, we're about ready to leave,” you tell him, “Come on, everyone else is back at the ship already.”

“Just a few more minutes!” he insists, holding up his pad, “I'm taking notes, and...”

>Not a few minutes, NOW
>Five more minutes, but that's all
>Other

>>2295166
>Notes on what?

>>2295166
>Five more minutes, but that's all
>Notes on what?

“Five more minutes,” you sigh, holding up a hand to stop Blessings from thanking you too early, “Five, that's all, not six or seven or ten. Five – use them wisely.”

“Yes, captain!” Blessings yelps, leaping into action. His notepad forgotten, he hurries around the other decorative panels and studies them briefly, committing as many details to memory as possible. Most of the other panels are nowhere near as interesting as the martyrdom scene, pretty much just depicting scenes from Alma's life before she became a saint, but he checks them all for as long as he can before moving on.

“What kind of notes are you taking, anyway?” you ask as he scurries back and forth, “Working on a project?”

“Well, er, it's something of a niche subject. The copies of these paintings are much smaller, you see, so they omit some of the finer details. In “Martyrdom”, take a close look at the ropes binding Saint Alma,” the boy urges you, glancing briefly around before scrawling a hasty note, “Do you see the symbols there?”

Leaning closer to the painting, you stare at the brushstrokes for a little before seeing what you're supposed to be seeing. Rendered in miniature, you see a series of curious symbols repeated over and over. From a distance, it looks like nothing more than the coarse texture of the rope itself. “That wouldn't be visible in a smaller painting,” you state, “What does it mean?”

“Ah, um, I don't recall. Languages were never really my...” he flounders for a moment, “I've read it somewhere, I'm sure of that, but I can't think of what it might be. I could check it in the library here, but-”

“But the clock's ticking,” you remind him, causing him to jolt again and hurry around to check the statue itself. There, he pauses and stares at his feet. Just as you're about to call out to him the boy drops to his knees, vanishing behind the stone altar. Hissing, you race over and reach down to grab his shoulder, only for your arm to brush up against the altar. When you touch it, you feel a cold thrill running through your entire body and you involuntarily jolt back. “What the hell?” you snap, “That was...”

“You felt it too?” Blessings murmurs, blinking off his confusion, “I just touched it, and... I don't know what that was. I don't...”

Slowly rubbing your hand, you study the altar. There's not much to look at – it's just a perfectly even block of that odd white stone, mostly covered by a red velvet cloth. Your hand had brushed against the bare stone, but touching it for a second time yields no reaction. The floor behind the altar seems marred somehow, you realise, marked slightly. You start to take a closer look, when-

“Excuse me?”

A voice – cold, and not particularly friendly.

[1/2]

>>2295214

Grabbing Blessings by the arm, you straighten sharply up and drag him with you. The new arrival is an old man, greying hair but sharp eyes, and his modest garb is a uniform white. A member of the Church of the Rising Light, and no mistake. He approaches you with an unhurried pace, studying you both with an unreadable expression. “Excuse me,” he repeats, “But who might you be?”

“We were just leaving,” you tell him quickly, words spilling from your lips before you have a chance to think too long, “But my young apprentice here tripped. He's a clumsy one, and I think he was more interested in admiring the statue than looking at his own feet.”

“Apprentice?” Blessings repeats with confusion in his voice, “I mean, yes! I'm incredibly clumsy!”

“Please step away from the statue. I don't want you to damage it – or to trip and hurt yourself. Saint Alma was a sworn pacifist, and I dare say that she wouldn't want someone to crack their skull upon one of her icons,” the priest chides you both, and you practically drag Blessings out from behind the altar. As you pass the statue, you discretely touch a finger against its darker stone – nothing, no reaction at all. “You never answered my question,” the old man continues, “My name is Bishop Worthington, but you haven't introduced yourselves yet.”

“Bishop Worthington...” Blessings whispers to himself, as if that name should mean something. He swallows nervously, and makes you wonder if the name really should mean something to you. Then again, the boy is usually nervous in some way or another, so...

The bishop's shoes click against the cold stone underfoot as he takes a step closer, your continued silence causing his eyes to turn suspicious. His original question, still unanswered, hangs in the air between you.

>Captain Vaandemere. I came here on business, and I wanted to see the chapel while I was here
>I'm just a guest here at the academy. I'll leave now, you needn't worry about me
>I'm studying Saint Alma's life. Can you spare some time to tell me about her?
>Other

>>2295238
>Captain Vaandemere. I came here on business, and I wanted to see the chapel while I was here

>>2295238

>Captain Vaandemere. I came here on business, and I wanted to see the chapel while I was here

>>2295238
>Captain Vaandemere. I came here on business, and I wanted to see the chapel while I was here
>Other: continue studying the floor behind the altar
Creepy as this whole academy is, it's not like he's going to have any trouble figuring out who we are so there's no sense avoiding telling him.

As for the statue he wants us to step away from, I think we should directly mention the markings and tell him we're trying to figure out what they are. We're not going to be able to figure out if the statue moves or whatever secretly now that he's here. If he dismisses them without a satisfactory explanation then we'll know they mean something. The statue has probably been there too long for them to be as simple as scars from when it was installed, for example.

>>2295238
>I'm just a guest here at the academy. I'll leave now, you needn't worry about me
We have permission to be here

Honestly, you decide, seems like the best policy here.

“I'm Captain Vaandemere. I came here on business, and I wanted to see the chapel while I was here,” you tell the bishop, offering him your hand, “It's not what I had been expecting, but it's a very interesting place.”

“And my name is Blessings Hawthorn,” your young companion adds, bowing formally to the old man, “I sincerely apologise for the intrusion, and any offence that I might have caused.”

“Hawthorn. The Hawthorns are a good family, and I've heard about the work that you've done for the Church,” Bishop Worthington says as he takes your hand, shaking it firmly. His grip is perfectly measured – firm enough, without being challenging – while his skin feels like old paper. “No offence was caused,” he adds, his eyes flicking across to you, “But I must ask – what were you expecting, Captain Vaandemere?”

“Something higher up, I suppose,” you offer, gesturing vaguely as he shakes Blessings' hand, “Something with a view of the open sky, maybe even windows to let the natural light in.” The mention of natural light finally pinpoints one of the reasons that you've found the academy so unnerving – you've not seen a single lantern or light since coming here, but the air is far from gloomy. Quite the opposite, in fact.

“These paintings are delicate. The underground suits them better,” Bishop Worthington explains, “We do have meditation chambers that would better suit your expectations – they get plenty of natural light, and they offer a fine view of the Mountain of Faith itself. I'm sure that one of the students could guide you up to them, if you-”

“Actually, there was something I was curious about,” you begin, interrupting him as gently as you can, “I noticed something strange behind the altar. Some markings on the floor, I think. Have you seen them before?” Saying this, you walk back behind the altar and stoop down, touching the scuffed floor with a finger. The bishop follows you and studies where you indicate, although he doesn't deign to bend down.

“My knees,” he tells you with a faint and impersonal note of apology in his voice, “I see. I can't be sure, but I don't recall seeing them before.” Slowly circling around you, he examines the opposite side of the altar for matching scrapes. “Ah,” he murmurs after a moment, “We DID have a team of scholars in here not so long ago. They were studying everything, and that included taking measurements. Perhaps they left those marks – if there is any permanent damage, than I shall be writing a sternly worded letter to Sol Carthul. No respect at all...”

“Excuse me, captain?” Blessings pleads, “Weren't we running late already? The rest of the crew will be worried about you...”

“Of course,” Bishop Worthington looks up from the chapel floor, “Don't let me detain you here. Thank you for bringing this to my awareness, captain.”

Cold, cold eyes.

[1/2]

>>2295292

In a strange twist of fate, it's Blessings who drags you out of the chapel rather than the other way around. It's only once you're climbing the stairs to the academy's main level that the boy relaxes a little. “Okay, hold up,” you whisper to him, “Just why is Bishop Worthington such a big deal?”

“Oh, um, I don't... rumours, mostly,” Blessings mumbles lamely, “I've heard... well, I don't really know much. He's a very senior bishop of the Church, although I believe he's mostly retired these days. He was in charge of Cloudtop Prison for a time, before he passed the position onto... um, Bishop Rhea I believe. She was his personal choice for the position, not to mention a student of his. He was supposedly very strict, although I've never heard any accusations of... improper behaviour. I'm certain about one thing, though...”

“Yeah?” you mutter, watching as a gaggle of oddly subdued students file past, “And what's that?”

“If he does write a letter of complaint,” the boy answers, “It's going to be VERY sternly worded.”

-

You can't help but breath a sigh of relief when you return to the Spirit of Helena. The doorways are the right size here, while the light comes from things that you can see and touch. When you knock against something the sound echoes like it should do, and the air doesn't seem abnormally cold. In other words, it doesn't make you feel as though you're about to lose your mind if you stick around for too long.

“Milos, brother, we were about to send out a search party,” Gunny says as you walk towards the bridge, “Well, you're back now. Little sister is getting unpacked now, and-”

“Wait,” you stop him, “I thought Keziah was “little sister”?”

“Oh,” he pauses, your comment derailing his train of thought, “Littler sister is getting settled in now, and her old man is helping her unpack. I think we're about ready to fly, whenever you want to take us up. What's our next stop?”

“Salim, to drop of Salazar – he's not sticking with us for the long term,” you explain, “Then we're hopping over to Sybile to plan our next move. After that... well, I don't want to get ahead of myself. Salim first, that's the first step in the plan.”

>So get to your post. It's time for us to leave
>But there's something I want to do before leaving... (Write in)
>Other

>>2295328
>So get to your post. It's time for us to leave

>>2295328
>So get to your post. It's time for us to leave

>>2295328
She won't call you 'onii-san', Gunny.
>So get to your post. It's time for us to leave

>>2295328
>So get to your post. It's time for us to leave
Let's ask Grace what's up with her school once we're a safe distance away.

I'm unnerved by the creepy feeling everyone got, the magic statue, the suspicious bishop and the line
>Grace hurries towards you with all the natural enthusiasm of a child fondly greeting their parent, and then she stops herself short.

My paranoia says that Grace didn't stop herself short just because she thought it was improper, but that there's something slightly sinister going on in the background. I can't help but wonder if she wanted to get away from the academy for more than just the obvious reasons. Maybe he unreadability and seeming lack of character is because she's actively suppressing it.

The crazy person in me thinks the academy is using religious prison techniques and maybe magic to force students to behave a certain way. The less crazy person in me thinks that they're not doing something that ridiculous, but that they're definitely hiding something.

“So get to your post, Gunny,” you tell him, slapping him lightly on the arm, “It's time for us to leave.”

“Aye aye, captain!” he replies smartly. He starts to hurry off before pausing and glancing around at you. “Shame that we might not be coming back here very often,” he remarks with a wry smile, “They make a damn good pot of stew down in that kitchen of theirs. Hearty stuff – that's a man's meal if I've ever had one.”

Freddy couldn't stand being in the academy, Grace seems fairly eager to get away from it... and Gunny is going to miss the cooking. You're not sure what to make of that.

-

The Spirit of Helena hums with power as you guide it down through the thick Zenith clouds, entering into Azimuth. Freddy entered the bridge shortly after you took off, sitting in one of the nearby seats without ever saying anything. She doesn't seem angry at your earlier comments, and in fact she gives no indication of remembering them at all. Quietly concentrating, she sits at her station and checks the instruments laid out before her.

Carthul stretches out below you, while some vast craft looms above the capital. It's an airship of some kind, a dreadnought and a large one at that, but not any ship that you recognise. Underneath the ornamentation it looks strangely like a table – narrow at the bottom, but branching out into two flat “wings” at the top – but it has enough gilding to dazzle the eye. Beside you, Freddy sits abruptly sits up and lets out a hushed gasp.

“The Palanquin!” she hisses, glancing across at you, “The flagship of the Carth fleet!”

“We're not fighting them, if that's what you mean,” you warn her, “But hell, I never knew that the Carths had a ship like that. Strange damn thing too – I'd remember if I had seen her.”

“They don't take her up very often,” Freddy explains, glaring hatefully at the ornate vessel, “It's ceremonial, mostly, but don't let that fool you – it's as deadly as any dreadnought in the Iraklin fleet, and maybe even more so. Whenever it takes flight, our entire fleet has to go on standby. I think they know that, and that's why they bring it out every so often.”

“To make your lot rush about in a panic?” you laugh quietly to yourself, “Can't say I blame them exactly. I might do the same, if I was in their position.” Leaving Freddy to brood, you take the radio and dial up the gunnery deck. “Gunny, let's test out that new scanner array of ours,” you order, “Can you get a reading on that big girl over there?”

“The Palanquin?” Gunny asks with an incredulous laugh, “Brother, you'd better not be thinking of attacking her. There are easier ways of killing yourself, you know.”

“I'm just taking a look,” you assure him, “Just satisfying my curiosity.”

[1/2]

>>2295423

A moment passes, and then you see one of the watery screens flickering into life with line after line of information. At her post, Freddy swivels one of the screens down and quickly reads off the data as the scanners send it up. “Dreadnought Palanquin, assigned to the Carthul fleet,” she recites, “Hull rating of fifty – that's high – and she's running her shields at a passive magnitude of... eight. I'm reading two main batteries of Pleonite cannons, and they're highly potent. Active countermeasures against missile attacks, internal engine signature – probably skiffs - and she's scanning us in return. No signs of hostility, though.”

“Probably for the best,” you murmur, glancing back down to the radio, “That's enough, Gunny. We know that our new toy works, and that's enough for me.”

-

The Palanquin leaves you be, like a horse ignoring a fly buzzing past, and soon you're approaching Salim. As you land the Spirit of Helena, Salazar enters the bridge and gazes around in quiet contentment. “I took a brief look around, when I was first entrusted with Miriam's estate, but the ship was in a frightful state” he muses, “This is good, seeing her back in her rightful order. I sat in that very chair, and I wondered about what Miriam had been doing with herself...”

This very chair, you think sharply to yourself, where Miriam's journal had been hidden within one hollow armrest.

“Well, never mind me. Nostalgia can be a powerful drug for old men like myself,” Salazar chuckles, “I've said my farewells to Grace, and she seems to be settling in rather well. If you don't mind me saying – and I know that she would mind, if she knew I was telling you this – she seemed rather taken with your Nadir gentleman.”

“Caliban? Well, he IS the popular one...” you remark with a wan smile, before shaking your head and shrugging, “You're ready to leave, then? It's awfully sudden.”

“Oh, neither I nor Grace like long goodbyes. Time is money, and I have appointments to keep,” the old man tells you, checking a small pocket watch, “In fact, I should be leaving soon. I trust that you'll take good care of my girl, although she has a good head on her shoulders – I dare say that she might end up taking good care of you instead!”

“Perhaps so,” you agree. You watch Salazar leave, then glance across to Freddy. “Maybe that's where Grace gets her odd behaviour from,” you suggest, “Like father, like daughter.”

“I like him,” the pilot decides, “He reminds me of an uncle I had. He was... eccentric too. He collected insects, and hats. Nothing else interested him.”

“That's...” you fumble for the right words, but nothing comes to mind, “That's certainly eccentric.”

[2/3]

>>2295506

After Salazar leaves, you announce two hours of leave – a chance for the crew to get out, stretch their legs and have a few drinks before you get back into the air. Checking your watch as you leave the bridge, you head down to Grace's new quarters and knock briskly at the door. When she replies, you let yourself in and take a long look around. Her borrowed texts are stacked neatly up against one wall, while her shooting trophy takes pride of place on one shelf. A sealed case – about the right size for a target pistol – rests on her desk, with what looks like a long pipe sitting next to it.

When Grace notices where your gaze lies, she quickly clears her throat. “These quarters are very nice, Captain Vaandemere,” she tells you, “I was expecting something far more cramped.”

“Well, these are the private cabins,” you point out, before nodding towards the pipe, “That's a bad habit to get into, you know.”

“Oh, no, I don't smoke,” Grace assures you, “Except... occasionally a touch of Bartzoff Petal, but that's different. That's for work.”

Bartzoff Petal. A strange drug derived – like so many other drugs – from a Nadir flower, the petals are dried, treated, and eventually smoked. They influence concentration, allowing the user to shut out worldly distractions and focus on one single task. You can see how useful the petals might be to a scholar, but it's not exactly what you expected from Grace.

“Well, I won't tell your father if you were worried about that,” you sigh, “Just make sure it doesn't become a problem.”

“Yes Captain Vaandemere,” she promises, bowing her head ever so slightly, “You won't have anything to worry about.”

Still so formal, so oddly colourless. You can't even blame that on any drug she might be in the habit of taking – you've seen Petal users before, and they don't... fade like this. You study Grace for a moment more, and she looks blankly back at you with eyes devoid of expectation. How long that silence lasts, you couldn't say, but eventually you're the one to break it. “Good, great,” you decide, “Make sure that it stays that way, and...”

And what, you think to yourself, what else was there?

>I was just making sure that you're settling in. We'll be flying again in two hours
>There's no need to be so formal, you know
>Can you tell me a little about the academy? What kind of things do people do there?
>Does the academy bother you at all? My pilot couldn't stand the place
>There's something I want to ask you about... (Write in)
>Other

>>2295556
>>I was just making sure that you're settling in. We'll be flying again in two hours
>>There's no need to be so formal, you know

>>2295556
>>Can you tell me a little about the academy? What kind of things do people do there?
get her into the information sharing mindset right away

>>2295556

>I was just making sure that you're settling in. We'll be flying again in two hours
>There's no need to be so formal, you know
>Can you tell me a little about the academy? What kind of things do people do there?

>>2295556
>I was just making sure that you're settling in. We'll be flying again in two hours
>Can you tell me a little about the academy? What kind of things do people do there?
>Does the academy bother you at all? My pilot couldn't stand the place

I feel like the formality is a personal choice or hers, not an obligation.

>>2295556
>I was just making sure that you're settling in. We'll be flying again in two hours
>There's no need to be so formal, you know
>Can you tell me a little about the academy? What kind of things do people do there?

>>2295556
>I was just making sure that you're settling in. We'll be flying again in two hours
>There's no need to be so formal, you know
>Can you tell me a little about the academy? What kind of things do people do there?
>Does the academy bother you at all? My pilot couldn't stand the place

Just when I thought Freddy was the one who had a stick up her ass, Grace comes in and blows her out of the water.

>>2295556
>Does the academy bother you at all? My pilot couldn't stand the place

“There's no need to be so formal, you know,” you suggest to her, vaguely hoping that you can stir some new life into her. She considers your suggestion for a moment, tilting her head to the side as she thinks.

“I didn't realise that I was being very formal,” she admits eventually, “I suppose this is just natural for me. Maybe that'll change after getting out of the academy for a little. What do you think, captain?” A faint lilt comes into her voice as she says that last word, softening some of the former stiffness.

“I can tell the difference already,” you tell her with a slight smile, “But speaking of the academy... can you tell me a little about it? Like... what kind of things do people do there?”

“What subjects people study, you mean?” Grace asks, answering your question with a question of her own. When you nod, she takes a moment to think before giving you an answer. “Well, languages are a fairly niche field. Azimuth history is popular and a lot of people study natural law, although I don't really understand that. Things fall when you drop them, I know that much, but I couldn't explain why the islands float. I don't think they can explain that, either.”

“Not conclusively,” you agree, “Something to do with Pleonite deposits resonating with each other. That's why airships can't fly above a certain ceiling, as well.”

“Oh, is it? I never knew that,” Grace smiles a little, as if savouring the feeling of learning something new. “But really, people can freely study all manner of things with the resources available, or they can study directly under a tutor. Anyone is welcome, so long as they have some means of paying the fees, but most students come from Carthul or the Pastona Union. We don't see many Pastonnes, though, not since the war.”

The mention of the war brings a frown to your face, but Grace continues as if she hadn't noticed a thing. “I'm not quite sure how else to describe it. For the most part, people stick to their own little groups,” she thinks for a moment more, “We don't have to be a part of the Church of Rising Light, but we are encouraged to follow their lifestyle. It benefits education, apparently. Captain, can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead,” you urge.

“Do you call it “the Church of Rising Light,” or “the Church of THE Rising Light”?” she asks simply, “I've heard both terms used, and I'm terribly confused as to which one is correct.”

“I...” you pause, her odd question taking you by surprise, “I don't know. I think both terms are accepted. Are things like that... important to you?”

“Very important,” she answers, her voice grave.

[1/2]

Here's the tally for every instance we've thought or said. I'm not counting someone else speaking

Thread 1:
Church of the Rising Light: 1
Church of Rising light: 4

Thread 2:
Church of the Rising Light: 1
Church of Rising Light: 0

Thread 3:
Church of the Rising Light: 0
Church of Rising Light: 0
Plus a post from an anon that said Church of the Rising light, if random musings count as Milos's inner thoughts.

Thread 4:
Church of the Rising Light: 0
Church of Rising Light: 3

Thread 5:
Church of the Rising Light: 0
Church of Rising Light: 0

Thread 6:
Church of the Rising Light: 1
Church of Rising Light: 1

So it's a pretty clear victory for Church of Rising Light, beating Church of the Rising Light 8-3.

It's worth noting that the first ever mention and most recent mention were both Church of the Rising light, even though it is the loser.

>>2295703
You are some king of unsung hero.

>>2295643

Apparently satisfied with your answer, Grace nods slowly to herself before looking up at you. “Go ahead and ask,” she urges you, “There's something bothering you, isn't there? So go ahead and ask.”

You're not used to someone reading your face like that – normally Keziah is the one who is an open book – but you can't deny that you're ill at ease. So, with uncommon bluntness, you ask the question that has been hanging on the tip of your tongue. “Does the academy bother you at all?” you ask her, “My pilot couldn't stand the place. She couldn't get out of there fast enough. I just wondered if anything about it felt... off.”

“Off,” Grace repeats, “I couldn't say for certain. I... more or less grew up there. Father was in no position to raise me on his own and he wanted me to get the best education possible, so he arranged for me to attend the academy. If it is “off”, I've probably grown used to it by now.” Picking up her slender pipe, the girl toys with it as she thinks about your question. “Some of the new students have trouble adjusting,” she offers, “Sleep problems restlessness, eating disorders... I always assumed it was homesickness, or maybe the altitude. It tends not to last very long, at least, rarely more than a few weeks.”

So it wasn't just your imagination, you think to yourself, other people have noticed the same thing.

“I had awful dreams when I first arrived, I recall that much,” she adds as an afterthought, “Although I don't remember any details. I don't, as a general rule, remember my dreams. Do you?”

“A little too often for my liking,” you admit, before shaking your head and gesturing back towards the door, “Well, thanks for humouring my questions. I just meant to see how you were settling in, really. We'll be back in the air soon – two hours, a little less than that now.”

“Oh, captain? I had another question of my own,” Grace reaches out and touches your sleeve, catching your attention before you can leave, “Father tells me that you've known each other for a while. Is that correct?” Privately, you wonder if Salazar really should have mentioned that, but perhaps it was unavoidable. For all you know, he mentioned you long before Miriam Hawthorn's will became an issue. Confronted with what she already knows, all you can do is not ambiguously and hope that the matter ends there. “Ah!” she gasps, “Then, I'm very glad to finally meet you in person!”

“Finally?” you repeat slowly, “What do you mean?”

“Well, Father often mentioned writing letters to a sincere friend of his, and I always wanted to meet him,” Grace explains, her smile widening a little, “But I never thought that it would be like this!”

[2/3]