>>2391582

>Twitter: https://twitter.com/MolochQM
>Previous: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Into%20the%20Skies
>Airship combat rules: https://pastebin.com/DTLDheZ6

“They were destroyed,” Cardoso grunts, his cloudy eyes narrowing to harsh slits, “Only Coteaz made it out alive, and he was... damaged. He showed up here with that crate, with all the documents the church had on that damn Vault, and I could barely get a straight answer out of him.” Gesturing towards the kitchen, the old man sends Gunny to pour a fresh cup of cold tea. Drinking it slowly, he shakes his head. “The air was bad, he said, it did strange things to his head,” Cardoso shudders a little as he says this, “He went down with eleven other men, but only he came out. After leaving that case here, he vanished. Said that he had something he needed to do, and I never saw nor heard from him again. As he was leaving, I heard him talking to himself. Something about... flowers.”

“Flowers?” you ask, considering his blunt words for a moment, “Odd thing for him to mention.”

“I said that he wasn't making any sense, didn't I?” Cardoso snaps, “I don't know, maybe it was something he saw down there. Maybe it's in those notes somewhere – I've barely glanced at them over the years. Sometimes, I thought to burn them and be done with it. I wish I had, now.” Lapsing back into silence, the old man broods for a moment more. When his silence continues, you try a different approach.

“That tomb down in Nadir...” you muse, taking out the Imago of King Olaus' pendant and offering it out to him, “There was something down there, something evil. We destroyed it, if that's any consolation to you. It won't cure your ailment, but the comrades that you lost down there can rest better now.”

Cardoso takes the Imago slide and gazes at it for a long time. The pendant itself doesn't seem to mean much to him, but your words cause his face to smooth out a little. For the first time, he actually looks vaguely at peace with himself. All this time, the guilt must have been gnawing away at him. “I never thought...” he begins, faltering before forcing himself to continue, “You've done more than I ever expected. Saint Alma's staff has found its way into the hands of one who deserves to carry it, and my brothers can rest in peace. This is... That picture there, do you see it?”

He waves a hand towards the group portrait, depicting the former Knights of Saint Alma. Getting up, you take a closer look at it. “You see that tower, the background? That belonged to Coteaz – his... retreat, he called it,” Cardoso continues, “The back. Check the back.”

An address, faded ink spelling out a spidery script.

[2/3]

>>2391583

“You'll find no treasure there – no weapons or wealth,” Cardoso warns you, “All that it had to offer was peace and solitude. Coteaz would go there often, to pray to Saint Alma for guidance. He would spend days there, and then he would return with a new site marked on his map – always some new tomb or cavern, some miserable Nadir shit to wade through. We did it willingly, as the saint herself once did.”

And they certainly paid the price for it, just as the saint herself had been slain on Nadir soil. “Do you think Coteaz went there?” you ask, gesturing to the picture, “After he escaped from the Vault?”

“Maybe. I can't think where else he could have gone,” Cardoso shakes his head, his face twisting as if he had tasted something bitter, “But if he went there, he went there to die. I... know that much, I'm certain of it.” Slumping lower in his wheelchair, the old man gazes wearily into empty space for a moment more. When he says nothing else, Gunny nudges your shoulder and leads you a few paces away.

“I don't know how much else he can tell us, brother,” he murmurs, “We've got these papers, at least. You want to take them back to the ship?”

That would be your most pressing concern, but after that... Coteaz's tower, perhaps? No weapon and no wealth, but perhaps a chance to see how he thought. That tower was where he prayed and meditated, and so maybe you'll be able to learn a little more about the man himself. Or, perhaps you'll just be chasing ghosts – wasting time better spent on more practical matters.

>Right. We need to start looking through them as quickly as possible
>I do, but then we're heading out to this tower. I want to take a look around
>Hold on, I want to ask him a few more questions... (Write in)
>Other

>>2391586
>>I do, but then we're heading out to this tower. I want to take a look around
I want to go into the vault as prepared as we can be.

>>2391586
>I do, but then we're heading out to this tower. I want to take a look around

>>2391586
>Hold on, I want to ask him a few more questions... (Write in)

Can he make Gunny a knight? Or does he know anyone who can help him with the staff?

“I do want to take these papers back,” you confirm, “But after that, we're heading out to this tower. We might not find buried treasure out there, but I'd like a chance to see how Coteaz thought. Even if he didn't leave us a useful stack of documents like this, he might have left...” You trail off here, unable to put what you're trying to say into words. You might be able to feel what he felt, perhaps. Before you can take another stab at explaining it, Cardoso calls over to you.

“Here, you!” he snaps, “If you're going out there, you... you better treat that place with respect! Might be, it's the closest thing Coteaz will ever have to a grave, and I don't want you ransacking it like some Nadir tomb. I told you about his tower because... because of what you've done for me, but there are lines you ought not to cross, you understand me?”

“Hey, brother, we're not bad people,” Gunny assures him, “We're not the type to rob a grave like this.”

Well, he might not be that kind of person – considering how you got your hands on the Spirit of Helena, you can't really claim the same. “We'll treat the tower will every respect,” you agree, nodding, “You don't need to worry about us.”

“Hrm,” wheeling his chair back a few paces, Cardoso waves a hand at the crate of documents, “Is that it, then, or did you want to bother me some more?”

“Say, could you make Gunny a knight?” you ask, half-joking, “Or at least, do you know anyone who could help him with that staff?”

“A knight? Bah, call yourself what you like,” the old man grunts, “If you can call yourself a knight without choking on the words, you're a knight in my book. As for the staff... all he needs to do is listen. The saint will do the rest – or so Coteaz always said.” He sniffs, then, and slumps a little lower. “Go on then, take your papers,” he adds, “And don't tell me what you plan on doing with them. I'm happier not knowing.”

“My lips are sealed,” you reply, lifting the crate and tucking it under one arm. Nodding one last time to Cardoso, you take the crate and show yourself out.

-

On the way back to the Spirit of Helena, you pass a small shop catering to pilgrims. The grimy window shows an eclectic mix of items, ranging from items of faith – prayer shawls and religious icons – to practical equipment. There, something catches your eye. Leaving Gunny to carry the documents for a moment, you pop inside and make a quick purchase. When he sees what you've bought, Gunny lets out a loud laugh.

“A little gift for little sister, then?” he jokes, looking down at the pair of thick spectacles with their deep black lenses. Useful for protecting against the bright Zenith sun, as well as hiding all manner of things.

[1/2]

>>2391641

When you arrive back at the Spirit of Helena, Gunny hurries off to check some maps – to pinpoint exactly where Coteaz' tower is located. As he hurries off, you dump the crate of documents in your quarters and summon Grace. She arrives a short while later, looking as if she had been deep asleep just a few moments ago. When you mention that, she slowly shakes her head.

“Just resting my eyes for a few minutes,” she lies, “Are these... more documents you need translating?”

“I don't know. Could you take a look through them and sort out anything that does need translating?” you ask her, “Get Blessings to help you, if you want. I need to go run an errand, so I can't start right away.”

“Oh, certainly. I can do that,” Grace nods, opening the crate and pulling out a random paper. As she skims it over, her face falls. “These look so dull and dry, though...” she sighs, “I suppose it can't all be fun and games, can it?”

-

Coteaz's tower isn't far outside of Sol Carthul, but it's still too far to walk. Sending Brookmeyer to hire out a motorcar, you check around to see who else is interested in joining you. Only Keziah agreed, with everyone else busy with their own things – Freddy had been cleaning out the entire armoury, Caliban had been deeply focused on whispering things to his arm, and Blessings was helping Grace with sorting the papers. That just left the three of you.

“Just like old times, right boss?” Keziah laughs as she climbs into the back seat of the motorcar. Her dark glasses sit low on the bridge of her nose, simultaneously hiding nothing at all and giving her an oddly rakish look. Gunny sits up front with Brookmeyer, his staff – you're still trying to get used to calling it that – clutched tightly in both hands. Together, you look more like spirited youths going on a fun drive than anything else. Really, though, that description isn't so inaccurate – except maybe for the “youth” part.

Wind whips through your hair as Brookmeyer drives you through the countryside towards your destination. The old tower sits on the outskirts of a tiny hamlet – little more than a few houses, as old as any that you've ever seen. There are no other motorcars in sight, although you do see a few horses tied up in a simple stable. A vague sense of nostalgia stirs within you as you glance at the animals – Salazar tried to teach you to ride once, back when he was looking after you. You managed to learn the basics, but...

“Milos, brother, are you listening?” Gunny asks, slapping you on the arm, “I said, the tower should be nearby. Do you want to go looking for it?”

>Of course. Let's go
>Let's try and ask around here. Maybe someone knew Coteaz
>Other

>>2391704
> , Caliban had been deeply focused on whispering things to his arm,

He knows. It is known by all men, deep in the hindbrain. He must first woo his arm, but it isn't love until he uses it to jerk off.

>Let's try and ask around here. Maybe someone knew Coteaz

Always do recon first.

>>2391704
Side note for asking around

> Tell people we've been sent to deliver some final effects for him from an old acquaintance.

Just to make it look like this is a side-job and not part of our investigation. We ARE being watched.

>>2391704
>>2391712
This

>>2391704
>>Let's try and ask around here. Maybe someone knew Coteaz

“I want to ask around here, see if we can find someone who knew Coteaz,” you suggest, “He came here often enough, going by what Cardoso said. The people here, though... Keziah?” You shoot the witch a pointed glance, and she pushes her dark glasses up until they hide her eyes completely. “We've only got a few houses to check,” you add, “It won't take long.”

“Oh aye,” Keziah agrees, “If we can find someone who doesnae just sweep us away. Places like these arenae always the most welcomin', you know, especially to folk who go around askin' all kinds of questions.”

“Don't worry, I thought of that,” you assure her.

-

In the end, though, Keziah's fears proved to be baseless. The first door you knocked on bore fruit – the family that lives there has been living in the area for generations, and the stern patriarch knew Coteaz well. Or, as he vaguely added, as well as anyone ever knew the knight. He appeared reluctant to say more until you gave him your excuse – you were here to deliver something to him, you explained, some items left to him by an old acquaintance. It's not the most elaborate cover story ever devised, but it's enough to win over the man.

“Aye, old Coteaz often had visitors here. He was part of some group, he said, some sort of club. They would meet up here sometimes, holding little gatherings in an old barn. You'll have a hard job finding that now, though, seeing as it burned down last year. My damn fool of a son was to blame – he was hiding from me, trying out a cigarette he stole from my desk,” the old farmer explains, ambling through his story in an easy-going voice, “Haven't seen the old dreamer in a while, though, so I'm afraid that you might be out of luck.”

“A dreamer?” Keziah asks curiously. The farmer glances across at her, then gives his answer to you directly.

“A fantasist, I suppose you might call him, all full of grand ideas. Faithful man, but that's the norm out here. I know that we don't have a chapel or nothing, but we keep the faith in our own ways. He'd always give us a wonderful speech on Saint Alma's Day,” regret fleets across the farmer's face here, “When he didn't show up one year, we were all worried about him. I sent a missive to Sol Carthul asking after him, but we never got a reply. Oh, but I'm getting distracted – what I mean to say is, you're not likely to find him here. His old tower is close by, though, if you wanted to see if he left anything behind.”

Leaning back, you consider the picture of Coteaz that the old farmer paints for you. A devoted man, a man of faith, but also a man with lofty ambitions – precisely the kind of man to attempt some grand gamble like coaxing Saint Alma back to life. “When did you see him last?” you ask, “If, that is, you can remember?”

Frowning deeply, the old man considers your question for a long moment.

[1/2]

>>2391788
Well, we owe it to him as part of our job but also as fellow faithful men to check on him now.

>>2391788
I mean. If he HAS passed, we DID bring a priest.

And Gunny has the Staff. If it's sentient it might appreciate being allowed to say goodbye.

>>2391788

“More than a few years back, that's for certain,” he answers at last, “He showed up here with a few men, looking as rough as I'd ever seen him. He wouldn't say why, only telling us that he'd lost something important – he needed to make amends, he said, and he was here to ask for guidance. That's what he'd do out in that tower of his, you know, he'd pray for hours on end. Faithful man – did I mention that?” Slowly rolling a cigarette, the farmer shakes his head. “His other men wouldn't say much either,” he adds, “But we never asked them too closely. Some of them, they had a nasty look about them.”

“And... did he get this guidance?” Gunny asks quietly, “Were his prayers answered?”

“Might be,” the old man says with a cautious nod, “When he came back from his old tower, he seemed... calmer, like. Serene, almost, like he'd made up his mind about something.”

That, you assume, must have been when he decided to take the saint's bones into the Vault. Losing her staff must have pushed him to the brink of despair, and he saw her rebirth as the only possible means of penance. At least, that's the impression that you're getting – perhaps you're reading a little too much into his motives. After all, a man rising out of his desperation and seeking to break some taboo? That sounds awfully familiar to you.

“Afraid I can't say much else to say about the man. He was a good man, but he never mixed that much with the folk here,” the local man thinks aloud, “Not personally, that is. Polite enough if you got talking to him, but he wasn't the sort to get himself involved in other folk's lives. I always got the impression that folks like us were... very small, as far as he was concerned. Might not make much sense, but I can't put it any other way.”

Having said this, he sticks his cigarette into one corner of his mouth and shrugs.

>Well, thank you for your time. We'll leave you alone now
>I'd like to ask you something else... (Write in)
>Other

>>2391860
>Well, thank you for your time. We'll leave you alone now

>>2391860
>Well, thank you for your time. We'll leave you alone now

“Well, thank you for your time,” you tell the old man, “We'll leave you, now.”

“Take care, now,” he urges, “And if you do end up finding old Coteaz, you let him know that he's still got a place here – if he still wants it.”

“Sure, I'll tell him that,” you assure him sadly, certain that you will never have the chance to pass the message along.

-

After leaving the farmhouse, you set off towards Coteaz's tower and explain everything to Keziah – filling her in on everything that Cardoso told you. Partly, you had been hoping that she might be able to offer some comment on it all, but she just listens in a thoughtful silence. The fundamental idea of bringing the saint back from the dead doesn't sit easily with her, you can tell, but she keeps her unease to herself. Instead, when your story is finished it is replaced by silence, only broken when you arrive at the tower.

In reality, it hardly warrants the name. Barely peeking out over the trees around it, the building could only be two or three stories tall. It might not be very impressive to look at, but it does mean that you won't need to spend a long time searching it. You won't need to leave Brookmeyer waiting by the car for hours on end. The door is unlocked and well-oiled despite the advancing years, swinging silently open when you push. Inside, though, the tower feels the weight of every year it has been abandoned for. Sunlight streams through the filthy windows, dulled by the layers of dust clinging to the glass but otherwise enough to see by.

And the first thing that you see upon entering is a large tapestry hanging from the wall, depicting Saint Alma during her moment of martyrdom in a vague, abstract style. Tied to a tree and stoned to death... it couldn't have been a pleasant way to die, but her features suggest calm acceptance. The reality, you suspect, would not have been nearly so dignified. The first floor of the tower is humble enough, with a few simple items of furniture and a small cot bed, but the decorations are almost overwhelming – you see countless paintings, icons and sculptures scattered about, all of them showing that same female figure. Saint Alma, of course, but-

“But he doesn't have one single icon devoted to the Lord of Rising Light himself,” Gunny murmurs, “Churchmen often have framed prayers or something like that. You know, church stuff.”

“This Coteaz fellow seems more like a witch to me,” Keziah thinks to you, “A witch devoted to a patron daemon. I don't like this, boss, this place smells like trouble to me.”

It does have a smell, you realise – the thin, somehow yellow scent of a curious mania.

[1/2]

>>2391992

There are two flights of stairs you can take from the ground floor, one up and one down into some dingy basement. You head upstairs first, finding the upper floor to be even more empty than the floor below. You see a ladder leading to the roof, a writing desk, and a single large portrait. This is the first painting you've seen that doesn't just depict Saint Alma – at least, not as the sole object of study. In this painting, the saint stands hand in hand with a man, a darker figure that strikes you as both savage and holy. A redeemed barbarian, perhaps?

Speculation is the best you can offer, as the painting has no plaque naming it or the artist. Shrugging, you turn away and search through the writing desk. Pushing aside mouldering sheets of blank paper and an empty inkwell, you come up with a heavy pendant, the face set with a tiny replica of that happy couple. The saint standing hand in hand with her... what, her lover? The pendant has a certain roughness about it, as if it was created by an inexpert hand – Coteaz himself?

A faint flush of guilt runs through you as you pocket the pendant, but neither Gunny nor Keziah offer any comment. Leaving the ladder for now, you descend and take a closer look at the basement door. This one is locked with a heavy padlock, although Gunny lets out a soft grunt as he inspects it.

“I could get this open,” he says, taking a tool out of his overalls and prying out a small blade, “Easy enough, brother, I could get this open in a few minutes.”

“Aye, maybe you could,” Keziah agrees, “But I dinnae ken if that's such a good idea. Might be, this door is being padlocked for a reason, see? All this other stuff, anyone could just stroll in and look at – so why lock the basement door, huh?”

Why indeed?

>There's only one way to find out. Gunny, get that door open
>You might be right. We're leaving it locked
>Other

>>2392032
>There's only one way to find out. Gunny, get that door open
Curiosity never hurt anyone~

>>2392032
>There's only one way to find out. Gunny, get that door open

>>2392032
>There's only one way to find out. Gunny, get that door open
>But first we close the outer door and aim at the basement door with every firearm we possess.

“There's only one way to find out,” you decide with a shrug, “Gunny, see if you can get that door open.”

“You've got it, brother,” he says, kneeling by the lock and taking a few experimental prods at it, “My old man, he had a tougher lock than this on his liquor cabinet. If that couldn't stop me, this thing doesn't stand a chance. Two minutes – not a second more than that.”

“I'll be timing you,” you joke, stepping back and letting Gunny work. He fiddles with the padlock for a moment – for precisely a minute and a half – and then lets out a triumphant laugh. Metal rattles as he lifts the padlock away and hands it across to you. “Easily less than two minutes,” you confirm, “If I ever lock myself out of my quarters, I know who to come to.”

“Well brother, it's less messy than just shooting out the lock,” Gunny chuckles, gesturing towards the door, “Do you want to do the honours?”

Glancing back, you watch as Keziah takes an uneasy step backwards. Even with her eyes hidden behind blank, black lenses, you can see the vagueness of her confusion. She might have a bad feeling about this, but she can't explain why. How much of that is down to knowing her, you wonder, and how much is because of your undeniable link? Her unease is like smoke from a bonfire, drifting across and clinging to your own thoughts.

Shaking off that contagious dismay, you back off and close the front door tightly. Then, drawing your revolver, you gesture for Gunny to do the same. Keziah takes another step back and raises her fists weakly – reminding you, in some strange way, of your sparring session with Freddy. That's certainly not what you want to be thinking about right now, and so – shaking off those thoughts – you grab the door and boldly throw it open. In that moment, you...

You smell old soil and faint damp, the smells of a cellar left long abandoned.

You feel a rush of cool air, or something like it.

You sense the presence of someone else, as though they were looking down upon you from some great height.

You see... an empty room, the walls and floor both featureless white. Plaster has been spread over them to make the entire chamber as seamless and monotonous as possible, as if replicating the white Abrahad stone of Zenith. Those walls would offer absolutely no distraction to someone who chose to sit here, you realise, making it a perfect chamber for thought and reflection. Is there where Coteaz came to do his serious praying, then?

“You'll forgive me for bein' a coward, boss, but I dinnae want to go in there,” Keziah calls over, “It's so white and clean, you dinnae want my dirty footprints gettin' everywhere, do you?”

It's hardly spotless white – age and damp have left their marks here – but neatness was only the excuse she chose. It's probably the first time in her entire life that she's been worried about getting something dirty.

[1/2]

>>2392145

Taking a second look around the room, you realise that your first estimate was not quite correct. The chamber isn't entirely empty. There is one single item inside it, a tiny box of bleached wood – so pale as to blend in with the whiteness around it. Kneeling down to take a closer look, you see dull metal gleaming on the lid of the box. Dials of some kind, five of them with tiny letters engraved into them.

“I've seen one of those before,” Gunny breathes, peering over your shoulder, “Old Albrecht had one. I don't know if they've got a proper name, but he called it his puzzle box. It's trapped, see, to destroy the contents if you force it open – acid, usually. He kept his sensitive papers in there, so nobody could steal them. His was a three dial version, mind you, and it used numbers. I've never seen a five dial before...”

“So presumably, he used a five letter word to lock it, and...” the strange feeling of being watched returns, and you falter mid-sentence. Even though the walls here are far from the pristine white of Saint Alma's academy, you feel a faint phantom of that uncanny feeling that the academy left you with. Swallowing heavily, you glance around at Gunny to see if he's noticed anything.

“Right, brother. At least, I hope it was a word,” heedless to your discomfort, Gunny laughs a little, “We'd have a far tougher job opening it if it was a random jumble of letters, right?”

“If you boys are done playin', I dinnae see any point of hangin' around here for much longer,” Keziah calls down to you, “We can fiddle with that wee box later, back on the ship! C'mon, this place is borin'!”

“Actually...” Gunny brushes past you, placing one hand against the stained plaster wall, “Milos, brother, I want to stay here for a little longer. Alone, I mean. I want to...” Frowning, he finishes that sentence with a wordless shrug. He means to pray here, you realise, to do what Coteaz did.

>Go ahead, Gunny. Come find us when you're done
>Sorry Gunny, I don't think this is wise. It didn't do Coteaz any good, did it?
>Other

>>2392235
>Go ahead, Gunny. Come find us when you're done
No harm as long as he doesn't isolate himself in there for months or something.

>>2392235
>>Go ahead, Gunny. Come find us when you're done

Maybe he'll have the revelation that he is the reincarnation of Saint Alma after all. It would fit in with our odd cast of characters.

>>2392235
>Go ahead, Gunny. Come find us when you're done

You consider Coteaz for a moment. The man had shut himself up in this little cell for untold lengths of time – maybe hours, maybe days – only to emerge with... what was it that Cardoso said? He took his maps down, and then he emerged with new exploration sites marked on them. He sought to continue the saint's duty, and somehow he was granted guidance – even if that guidance eventually led him to ruin. Now Gunny wants to follow in his footsteps.

Hell, you told Gunny that you'd support him no matter what. Having promised him that, you can't exactly go back on your word now, can you?

“Go ahead, Gunny, we'll take another look around here,” you tell him, “Come find us when you're done – just... don't be down here for days on end, okay?” You add that last part as a joke, but Gunny doesn't laugh. He nods slowly, still resting his hand on the wall, then finally tears his gaze away from the grimy plaster.

“Got it, brother,” he murmurs, “I'll come find you when I'm done.”

-

Together, with Keziah, you head up to see what the roof of the tower is like. The view is nice enough, with healthy trees and farmland stretching out around you, but nothing specular. A few clouds drift idly through the sky, and the warm sunlight washes over you. Leaning against the crumbling stone wall, you and Keziah let time pass with easy, unhurried grace. Finally, you find something to say.

“You said that Coteaz seemed like a witch,” you begin, “What did you mean by that?”

“Oh yeah, that,” Keziah lowers her glasses and winces at the bright sun, “It reminded me of how some witches work. They devote themselves to one daemon above others, rather than pickin' and choosin' which one dependin' on what they need at the time. Often, they make that daemon a familiar. It's an odd wee relationship, that – master and servant, like, but it isnae always clear who is who. Take Herod, for example. He's bound to me, to obey my commands, but he's also here to teach me whatever scraps of magic he knows – and that means sometimes, I need to obey him, see?”

“Give and take,” you agree, “So what does this have to do with Coteaz?”

“Well, I dinnae ken about that exactly,” she shrugs, “It's just the feelin' I get, like instead of prayin' he was busy makin' deals down there. Now, I'll grant you that I dinnae ken all about what the church does, but it seems to me that unless he wasnae up to no good... why did he need to hide out here and do his thing?”

“It's a secret society thing, I guess,” shrugging, you turn around to give Keziah a questioning look, “Why do the Guild keep their business so secret to outsiders? It's the same basic idea – secrets have inherent value. By keeping their affairs secret, they had a strong bond with each other. Hell, it's not so different to what we're doing, is it?”

[1/2]

>>2392347

“Aye, well, that might be, but...” Keziah pauses, then snaps her fingers, “Oh! I cannae believe that I nearly forgot about this. I took a wee visit to the Guild and asked them about that key. I was right – but was there ever really any doubt? - it should open up a Guild locker over in Waffenfabrik. The key was registered to a... Professor Orellana. Aye, that was it, although I dinnae recognise the name. Some Guild scholar, apparently, vanished a few years back. Somehow, his key must have ended up down in Nadir.”

Probably stripped off his corpse, you think to yourself, although it might have passed through any number of hands before winding up in Yhulla's village. “So now we've inherited whatever the good professor has locked up in storage,” you muse, “I hope it's not just some collection of old shoes.”

“Well, there's only one way to find...” Keziah pauses again, a smile creeping up on her face, “Old shoes?”

“Hey, some people collect old shoes,” you reply, dismissing the comment with a wave of your hand, “You covered the engine room in pictures of owls, so you don't have any right to lecture people on silly habits!”

“You're gettin' awfully defensive about this, boss,” the witch jeers softly, “If I took a wee peek in your quarters back on the ship, I wouldnae find a great big pile of shoes, would I?” Taking off her dark glasses so that she can look you in the eye, Keziah leans closer as her smile widens a little. “There's nae need to be ashamed of it, you know,” she continues, “You cannae have too many pairs of shoes, even if half of them are-”

“I'll toss you over this ledge,” you warn, forcing a very stern look onto your face. “So you'd better-”

“Come to think about it, those boots are lookin' a wee bit ragged,” she teases, “Are they next in line for... AH!” Keziah yelps as you grab her shoulders and push her against the low stone wall. Her body is as light as a sack of feathers, and you probably could toss her over without too much trouble. Her cry of fear quickly turns into laughter as she grabs onto you with a tight grip, clinging with all her strength. “Okay, okay!” she squeals, still giggling, “I give up!”

“You'd better,” you growl, pulling her back to safety – although really, she was never in much danger. Even so, she holds onto you for a moment more before letting go and smoothing down your coat with exaggerated care. With all this talk of saints and rituals, it's good to be able to do this – messing around as if you didn't have a care in the world. With one final laugh, Keziah turns away from you and looks out over the trees, a coy little smile on her face.

>Come on, I'm getting sick of this roof
>You've got a bad feeling about this saint business, don't you?
>Do you want to down to Waffenfabrik to check that locker?
>I'd like to ask you something... (Write in)
>Other

>>2392426
>>You've got a bad feeling about this saint business, don't you?
>>Do you want to down to Waffenfabrik to check that locker?

>>2392426
>>Do you want to down to Waffenfabrik to check that locker?
>You've got a bad feeling about this saint business, don't you?

>>2392426
>>You've got a bad feeling about this saint business, don't you?
>>Do you want to down to Waffenfabrik to check that locker?

Standing at her side, you join Keziah in gazing out across the trees. As you look at them, you feel a sudden alien contempt welling up from within you – those trees are pathetic things, manicured and groomed into a mockery of nature. Looking at them, you feel... a yearning for the wilds of Nadir, something that you never thought that you'd ever feel. Looking down, you slowly clench your damaged hand into a fist. Such a subtle deformity, just a trace of discolouration really, and yet it still has this undeniable influence over you.

“I don't think there's anything ugly about it,” Keziah muses, without looking around at you, “At least, it could be a lot worse. At least you've got nothing wrong with your backside.”

“Can we not talk about my backside, please?” you counter, “Why don't we talk about something wholesome instead? Like...” Fumbling for something more decent to talk about, you fall back on business – that old standby. “You've got a bad feeling about this entire saint business, don't you?” you ask, “You've been making sour faces ever since I told you about it, whenever you think I'm not looking. If you've got something to say, just say it.”

Keziah holds her silence for a few moments more. “Dead is dead, Milos,” she says at long last, her voice soft and solemn, “There are some things that you can't come back from – some things that you shouldn't come back from. I know, I know, you're about to say-”

“I came back,” you do indeed say, “Back out from the jaws of death... with your help.”

“Aye, well, you weren't actually dead. Wee difference there,” Keziah pouts a little, “This is pretty much one of the fundamental laws – dead is dead. You can bring someone back from the brink of death, and you can force a daemon into a corpse, but that's not bringing it back to life. Look at Masque – whoever he was once, he didn't come back from the dead, did he? He just... got a new owner.” Hugging herself, she shivers as if chilled by some wind that you cannot feel.

“We don't know what happened down there,” you point out, “Maybe this entire situation is a misunderstanding – something happened, something that wiped out Coteaz's knights, and he was too broken to explain what really happened.”

“C'mon,” punching you lightly on the arm, Keziah gives you a humourless smile, “You really believe that, boss?”

“No,” you admit, “Not really.”

“But what really bothers me is...” the witch struggles for the right words, “This is something ELSE. We've seen weird, but this is different. If this was witch business, I could do something to help, but this? This is... something NEW.”

“Well,” you joke, “Novelty IS the spice of life.”

“Get a load of this guy!” she laughs, “All kinds of optimistic, aren't you?”

[1/2]

>>2392566

“I try to be,” you answer with a casual shrug, “Speaking of optimistic, how do you fancy checking out that locker in Waffenfabrik? I've got a feeling that it might be something good inside. We could be there and back in a day, and the Vault of the Sun isn't going anywhere. What do you say?”

Keziah hums a soft tune to herself as she thinks, then flashes you a coy smile. “This your way of asking me out on a date, boss?” she teases, “Because you could think of a nicer place to take me than a smokey factory town!”

“Oh, you're getting picky now, are you?” you shoot back, reaching out as if to shove her over the ledge again. Laughing, the witch dances back out of your reach and sticks her tongue out at you. “But seriously,” you add, trying to bring the conversation back onto some semblance of relevancy, “I might need a guide – I've heard some pretty nightmarish stories about the Guild offices over in Waffenfabrik. If Madame Lamia really wanted to see a labyrinth, she'd go there and take a stroll about.”

“Oh hell, I can just imagine her there!” Keziah grins broadly as she thinks, “Stompin' about snappin' at people, and if anyone tried to make her leave she'd... I don't know, she'd throw a snake at them!”

“Ah yes, pocket snakes,” you agree with a grim nod, “That fearsome Nadir weapon.”

“Boss, if you keep talkin' about pocket snakes, I'm gonna have to cry harassment,” she says with a dirty chuckle, “Us girls are delicate, you know, you cannae just talk about-”

“You kids ought to have more respect,” Gunny scolds, his voice causing you both to jerk around. His head pokes up through the trapdoor, and his expression is a sly one. “This is a sacred place,” he adds, “And you're up here, talking about the captain's...”

“Hey!” you interrupt, “Don't make this sound like something it's not!”

“Don't worry, brother, I'm just saying that there's a time and a place for that sort of talk. Speaking of time, I'm done here – thanks for giving me a few moments to myself,” he says with a nod, already starting to descend the ladder, “But I'm done here. We've seen and heard everything that we're going to.” His voice, as he says these last few words, is heavy with a note of weary finality.

-

“I thought you lot had gotten lost, the way you were gone for so long. I've been sitting here, and that bloody horse has just been staring at me,” Brookmeyer says genially as you return to the motorcar, “I hate the way they do that. Stare, I mean. Horses, I mean.”

“Don't worry, we're here now,” you assure him, “We can head back to Sol Carthul now – we're finished here.”

[2/3]

>>2392662

Keziah takes the front seat on the drive back, practically standing up as she allows the wind to buffet her. Her face, when she glances back at you and Gunny, is fixed in a kind of primal delight – the same joy that you've sometimes seen on the faces of particularly unhinged skiff pilots. Seeing her like that, it reminds you of how glum and gloomy she had been not so long ago. It's a change for the better, but the sheer intensity of it bothers you – it's like seeing someone in the throes of a potent drug, never knowing when they might crash out.

Forcing yourself to look away, you sit back and nudge Gunny's shoulder. “So?” you ask him, pitching your voice just barely above the roar of the engine, “What happened down there? Did the saint give you a message?”

Gunny starts to answer you, only to clamp his lips tightly shut. “Nothing happened,” he says after a moment, his voice taut, “Sorry captain. I guess it was just a waste of time.”

The falsehood is as obvious as red wine on a white tunic. Before you can press him for the truth, however, you feel the engine shudder as Brookmeyer cuts your speed sharply. Up ahead, another motorcar sits by the side of the road with two figures standing by it. They wave as you approach, with Brookmeyer guiding the motorcar to the side of the road. Up close, you see that the pair are somewhat worse for wear – the man has a dark bruise on his face while the woman is pallid with shock. “Hello there!” the man calls out, “I do hate to trouble you, but would you allow us to ride with you? We're heading for Sol Carthul, and... well, our motor is in a spot of trouble.”

He's not kidding – someone has put a large calibre bullet through the engine block, by the looks of things. They might need to squeeze in tight, but there's room enough in your motorcar for an extra two bodies. These two bodies look like they might be coming with their fair share of troubles, though. Brookmeyer glances back, awaiting your decision.

>Sorry, we don't pick up passengers
>Hop in, we can drive you to the capital
>Hop in, and tell us what the problem is. Maybe we can help
>Other

>>2392696
>Hop in
>Do tell us, though, where might the previous owner of that bullet be and how much they're likely to give chase.

>>2392696
>Hop in, we can drive you to the capital

>>2392696
>Hop in, we can drive you to the capital
So how likely is it we are going to be shot at in a minute?

>>2392696
>"Is our motor going to end up in the same type of trouble if we take you?"

Ugh, I missed almost the whole thread. :(

“Hop in,” you tell the pair, nudging Gunny back to make room for them, “But there's one thing-”

“Oh, thank you. Thank you very much,” the man interrupts, sighing with relief, “My name is Claude, Claude Medina, and this is my wife, Patience. We're just... travellers, I suppose. I'm not sure if we could really call ourselves pilgrims, you see, and... Oh, we come from Nieves. Do you know it?”

“What is this guy talking about?” Keziah thinks to you, “I mean, is he making any more sense to you than he is to me?”

“He's probably in shock,” you think back to her, “And look at that bruise on his head, you might add a spot of concussion into the bargain. The chances are, he doesn't know what he's saying – he's just talking without thinking. Does that remind you of anyone?” Grinning to herself, Keziah doesn't dignify that with an answer. “Nieves... I don't think I've had the pleasure,” you say aloud, “But as I was saying, I wanted to ask you something. That motor of yours looks like someone put a particularly large bullet in it. Do you think it's previous owner is likely to end up chasing us?”

“Owner?” Claude repeats slowly, pausing in the act of climbing into the motorcar, “The... motorcar?”

“The bullet,” you correct him, inwardly sighing. “Look, someone shot your motor,” you continue, “Are they still nearby?”

“Oh. Oh no, I shouldn't think so,” the wounded man says at last, shaking his head, “They drove off after, well, after shooting our motorcar. I think they didn't want us to follow them, although I can't for the life of me think why we'd follow a gang of ruffians like them. I think their message was quite clear when they bludgeoned me over the head with-”

“Fine, okay. That's good enough for me,” you cut in, “We're heading to the capital ourselves, so we can take you all the way.”

Claude lets out a sigh of relief. His wife, you notice, hasn't said a single word since you stopped to pick them up.

-

The pair barely say anything as the rest of the journey flashes past in a churn of wind and road dust. When Sol Carthul is in sight, the pair seem to relax a little. Brookmeyer drops you off at the entrance to the city, then takes the motorcar back to the rental garage. As it drives away, Patience finally makes some kind of noise – a small choked sob of relief. Her husband looks just as thankful, his delicate features quivering with outrage that he has likely never tasted before. Soft, you think to yourself, both of them.

“I'm sorry, sir, but I can't offer you any kind of compensation,” Claude apologises, wincing as if in anticipation of a blow, “But I can... oh! I can put in a good word for you at the church. I'll say a prayer in your name tonight!”

You're not sure if his prayers will do you much good, but you give him your name anyway. He repeats it to himself, then nods and ambles away.

[1/2]

>>2392828
Should we just let them go? Let's take them to see our doctor.

>>2392853
They are just a little banged up. Also I think they have their own shit to deal with right now.

>>2392853
No need to go that far, and they seem pretty eager to be off anyway

>>2392828

“Hey,” you call out, your voice causing Claude to flinch, “You need a doctor, friend. Come with us, we'll get you checked out.”

“Oh,” the traveller hesitates, then slowly turns to face you, “Oh no, you're quite fine. We were planning on visiting the infirmary later as it is, so...”

“If you're sure,” you reply with a shrug, “But stay safe.”

-

Back at the Spirit of Helena, you head to the dining room for a bite to eat. There, you find a strange scene waiting for you. Grace, Blessings and Caliban have taken over one of the tables, covering it with a spread of papers. They seem to be sorted into a few rough piles, but it's hard to tell. The one thing you do notice is that Caliban has brought his new friend, the statue's cold hand closed around a thin stack of papers. As you watch, he murmurs something and the hand opens its grip. He slides a new paper onto the pile and whispers something else, causing the hand to close up again.

Which is certainly one way of keeping some papers separate, you suppose.

“Slow going, captain,” he tells you with a lazy grin, “But we're getting there. Most of this stuff is useless, apparently.”

“Conjectural translations of the various markings the exploration teams found,” Grace explains in a distracted voice, “And the theological ramifications thereof.”

“And there was a call on the radio for you,” Blessings adds, handing across a tiny slip of paper, “It was Provost Trice. She gave me a number, and apologised for the delay in calling. Had you been expecting a call?”

About DeRais, you recall, and visiting Barrow Jackson. “That's right. I'll go and call her back now,” you tell him, “When I'm done, I'll see what kind of progress you've been making – good work, by the way, you look like you've made real progress.” It's a white lie, but it puts a proud smile on Blessings' face. He'll be working twice as hard now, you're sure.

-

It takes a moment for Trice to answer your call, but when you hear her voice her tone is cheerful. “Captain Vaandemere, it's good to hear from you,” she greets you, “Sorry for taking so long to get back to you about that thing we discussed.”

That thing – she doesn't trust this line to be secure. “Right, that thing,” you agree breezily, “Is your new friend getting used to his new room?”

“He's not so happy with the furnishings, but he'll just have to get used to things,” Trice answers, a note of cold satisfaction stealing into her voice, “He's not in a position to be switching rooms any time soon. My boss seemed pretty positive about that other thing you mentioned. We'll meet up some time, discuss the details in person. Just use this number – I should be available... some of the time.”

[2/3]

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>>2392927
>As you watch, he murmurs something and the hand opens its grip. He slides a new paper onto the pile and whispers something else, causing the hand to close up again.

>>2392932
He whispered enough sweet nothings into the hand that she told him the password.

>>2392932
Our boi works fast

>>2392927

With the business out of the way, Trice's voice grows even more carefree. “So hey, I've got some interesting news for you,” she remarks, “You'll never guess what I got today – an invitation to that party Consul Hess is holding. Apparently, my boss got in contact with him and gave him an earful about a lack of cooperation. He seemed pretty shocked about it, and he promised to investigate matters. As a way of apologising, he sent me an invitation.”

“Wow,” you laugh, “You'll probably be the only Carth in the entire place.”

“I know, right? Even so, it looks like this princess is going to the ball,” static crackles as Trice pauses, “I mean, it's nice but I wasn't really desperate to go or anything. I might not even bother. You still have your invitation, don't you?”

“Hell, I've barely glanced at that thing since I got it. I dumped it in my desk and...” shaking your head, you continue, “When is it, anyway?”

“Three days. There was some talk of shuffling the dates around, but I don't know about that. The point is, it's three days from now,” the provost answers, “So, am I likely to see you then?”

Three days... you might need to delay your exploration of the Vault for a little, but it's not going anywhere. You're more worried about spending an evening in a room full of the great and good of Iraklin society. It'll probably have free food and drink, though, so...

>Absolutely. I'll be there
>I don't know yet, I might be busy that day
>No way I'm going
>Other

>>2392956
>>Absolutely. I'll be there

>>2392956
>>I don't know yet, I might be busy that day

>>2392956
>Absolutely. I'll be there.

Free food!

and maybe sponsors?

>>2392956
>No way I'm going
Too many Iraklins, and probably local collaborationists as well.

>>2392956
>Absolutely. I'll be there
Who knows? Maybe we can find something that'll help our goal between all the artifacts and people.

“Absolutely,” you decide, a bold step forwards, “I'll be there. At least, I intend to be there – you know what business is like...”

“Oh sure, I know how that works. I'll cross my fingers and say my prayers, so with a little luck we'll both be able to make it,” Trice laughs, “Got a guest in mind? I'm allowed to bring someone along with me, but... I don't think I can think of one single person to ask. Your social life sucks when you're as busy as I am. I'd be willing to bet that you don't have that problem though, do you?”

“Well, something like that,” you reply, pinching the bridge of your nose, “I'll talk to you later, Trice. Thanks for calling me about that thing – I'm glad it worked out for you.” Trice offers a clipped goodbye to that – duty calls, apparently – and then ends the radio call. Hanging up the radio mic, you lean back in your chair and let out a long, heavy sigh.

Your guest... that's not a decision that you're looking forwards to making.

-

Back at the dining room, you're greeted by what seems like more chaos rather than less. Some papers have spilled over onto the floor, and Grace sits – quite happily – in the middle of them, skimming over one page after another. Blessings has slumped back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling like a traumatised man. Caliban, for his part, is regarding the scene with a wan amusement. You notice that he's not actually helping to read any of the papers, he's just watching and laughing.

“Bottled air!” Grace blurts out as you take a step closer, “They planned to use bottled air!”

“I... okay?” you ask, “I could do with a bottle of something right now, but I don't think that it would be air. Why the hell would you bottle air, anyway? Is that even possible?”

“For breathing, of course. These reports here mention a problem with the air inside the Vault,” Grace waves a sheet of paper like a flag, “It made the explorers delirious, it forced them to flee back outside. Even gas masks would only reduce the effect, not protect against it completely. So, they planned a second exploration using... well, I don't know the proper term for it, some kind of breathing apparatus. Anyway, they planned that, but...”

“But the second attempt was never made,” you finish for her, “Because the site was sealed after a team of explorers was lost within... correct?”

“After a team of explorers was lost... uh, yes,” Grace nods again, “You knew about that already, then. The point is, we'll need some of this breathing equipment for ourselves if we want to go into the Vault and not, well, and not lose our minds.”

“I think most of us lost those a long time ago,” Caliban chuckles, “Isn't that right, Priscilla?”

The statue arm gives him a slow wave in response to that.

[1/2]

>>2393027
>The statue arm gives him a slow wave in response to that.
HOLD UP WHAT

>>2393027
>The statue arm gives him a slow wave in response to that.
C U T E
U
T
E

>>2393027
> I don't think I can think of one single person to ask. Your social life sucks when you're as busy as I am. I'd be willing to bet that you don't have that problem though, do you?”

BLESSINGS.

That way there will be TWO Carth's there. They'll have the Iraklins outnumbered.

>>2393118
I was thinking Grace. She's Carth too and she might get a kick out of all the artifacts.

>>2393027

“According to, ah, to some of these,” Blessings rouses himself just long enough to flap a hand at the mass of papers, “Some prototypes were made. They had enough air to last for a few hours, and they were portable enough. Not, um... not too heavy or bulky. They might still be in storage somewhere, if we're lucky. If not, the schematics are here... somewhere. The chief engineer might be able to rig something up.”

“I'll mention that to her,” you reply, “Anything else you've found so far?”

“There was a rough map of the first level. Apparently, there was a lot beneath them that the early explorers were unable to chart due to the... you know, the part where they were losing their minds,” sifting through the papers, Grace produces a crumpled sheet and hands it over, “They labelled some of the areas as well.”

“Hall of Birth and Hall of Death,” you read aloud, “And... Organ? I don't like the sound of that.”

“We think it means an instrument of some kind,” Blessings points out, “Ah, like a church organ. Music seems important here, although we've not exactly pieced together how.”

“And I keep coming back to that first hall you mentioned – the Hall of Birth,” Grace muses, “That's really not how I'd translate that. Maybe they were working off an older translation key, or maybe... I don't know.”

Shrugging, you watch as she idly sorts through some papers at random. “Okay,” you say at last, when she doesn't continue, “So how would you translate it?”

“More like...” Grace pauses for a second, “More like “Construction”, I think.”

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

>>2393128
Thanks for running!

Caliban has quite the mastery over his arm already. I thought the stones were like super basic computers, that performed specific functions when given a keyword, but it looks like they're more similar to daemons, just bound to a specific type of stone rather than corpses.

>>2393128
>“Construction”
Zenith Statue Construction facility maybe? Stuffing souls into statues is a form of rebirth/immortality I suppose.

Thanks for running.

How long was Caliban whispering to Priscilla before she talked back?

>>2393124
For Trice's date?

But we're trying to hook her up with Blessings, no?

>>2393188
I can't bring myself to care about you guys trying to force that pairing. At the very least it's not going to influence the way I vote.

>>2393141
Some are more complicated than others. The statue down in Nadir, for example, is only capable of following that single order - raise its shield upon being given the password. Even something as simple as that, though, was able to adapt to the local language eventually. Just why some Abrahad items are more capable than others remains a mystery, however.

>>2393144
He's been at it pretty much non-stop since he learned what he needed to do. I guess women, or bits of them in this case, like attentive men?

>>2393223
Damn he can be determined when he wants to. I wonder if he is going to be determined enough to find the rest of her.

>>2393223
So are we going to go find the rest of her body then?

>>2393327
I wonder. Looking for the rest of the statue might not be practical, but that doesn't mean we might not find it. Who knows what the future might hold?

>>2393359
> Construction

Are these statues made from dead people?

>>2393363
Souls given form??

>>2393027
>The statue arm gives him a slow wave in response to that.
CALIBAAAAAAAAAN

>>2393223
are we even sure it's a lady's arm?

>>2393790
Cuteness = Justice

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There's still plenty of work to be done on sorting the papers, and plenty of other jobs to be done elsewhere – little things, mostly, errands that need to be run. If getting the second key fragment had turned out to be unexpectedly easy, just a matter of trading away King Grundvald's crown, then the third piece is turning out to be unexpectedly complicated. Your search has already sent you down into a Nadir tomb and an Carth watchtower, and you've not even started on the main event yet. You shudder to think of what awaits you down there.

So, you do what you always do when faced with dire troubles, and you pour yourself a drink. Sipping the cup of strong wine, you study the puzzle box on your desk. Assuming there is a password, it's almost certainly something to do with Saint Alma when you consider who owned it. Coteaz was nothing if not devoted to the saint. With five letters, you make that word your first attempt. “Saint,” you mutter to yourself, spinning the tiny dials to the right letters. A cautious tug produces no results, with the lid refusing to open, and you're not willing to force it. Not “saint” then.

“And “Alma” doesn't have enough letters,” you sigh. Pushing the box aside for now, you study the second item you took from the tower – the pendant depicting a couple. Coteaz had a painting with that very same motif in it, but you're not sure of the significance. You're fairly certain that the woman depicted in both painting and pendant was Saint Alma, but the male figure remains unknown. Perhaps, you think to yourself, Coteaz hired someone to paint HIM standing hand in hand with the saint.

An amusing thought, but it just doesn't have any weight behind it. The impression of Coteaz that you've been building doesn't allow for that kind of... arrogance. Would it be blasphemous to depict yourself holding hands with a saint? Blessings would probably know more than you about that sort of thing. As you're considering that, you hear a firm knock at the door.

“Come in,” you call out, looking up as Freddy lets herself in. She approaches the desk, hesitates for the usual moment as she fights back the instinct to salute, then sits when you gesture to the seat opposite yours. “Take a look at this pendant,” you say, passing it across to her, “What do you think?”

“It's very... I don't know, captain, I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be thinking,” the pilot admits with a shrug, “Is this a test of some kind?”

“No, I was just wondering if anything would cross your mind,” you reply as you take it back, “I wouldn't worry about it. So, what can I do for you?”

“I've been thinking,” she says carefully, “About the matter of that... training.”

[1/2]

>>2395102

Really, you have to admit to yourself, what you did together was hardly worthy of being called “training”. It was fun, for one thing, which is not a term that you've ever really associated with-

“Training as a crew, I mean,” Freddy clarifies hastily, her thoughts evidently straying into the same territory as your own, “I've been thinking about it a lot, and I'm not sure that it's really practical. Training on that scale needs expert guidance, and we just don't have that kind of talent.” Pausing, she straightens her jacket and fiddle a little with her tie, some vague memory of her own training warning her against any breach of neatness. “I don't have a solution for this, either,” she admits, “But I'll keep my eyes and ears open. If I hear of anyone offering freelance training, I'll report back to you as soon as possible. Is that acceptable?”

“Of course, that's already more than I'd been expecting,” you answer, “Keep up the good work.”

“Yes captain,” she assures you, a small smile touching her face as the formal mask slips, “But you'll make sure to do your part as well, won't you?”

“Oh, definitely,” you reply as you pour yourself another cup of wine, “I'm no stranger to hard work.”

-

Limiting yourself to two cups, you turn your attention back to the puzzle box. Idly spinning the dials, you input the first thing that comes to mind - your own first name. You're actually glad when that produces no success. Even after everything you've seen and done, finding your own name as a password would just be too much for you. So, with no further progress on the puzzle box front, you lean back and plan out your next move.

>Travel to Waffenfabrik with Keziah and investigate the Guild storage locker
>Help Grace sort through the church papers and learn more about the Vault
>Speak with Blessings about Saint Alma, and possible solutions for the puzzle box
>Other

>>2395104
>Drop off the pendant and puzzle box with Blessings while we are gone. See if he can make heads or tails of it or has any idea about the codeword.
>Travel to Waffenfabrik with Keziah and investigate the Guild storage locker

>>2395104
>Travel to Waffenfabrik with Keziah and investigate the Guild storage locker

I'm curious. Try "faith" on the box before we leave.

>>2395104
>>Travel to Waffenfabrik with Keziah and investigate the Guild storage locker

>>2395104
Give 'Flame' or 'Dogma' a shot too

>>2395104
Light is also 5 letters, but I doubt it's the passwo-

....what about doubt? That's also 5 letters.

>Death
>Birth
>Risen
>Bones

>Travel to Waffenfabrik with Keziah and investigate the Guild storage locker

Maybe you've spent too much time on this saint business, you consider, and you'll be better able to concentrate it after taking a break. Waffenfabrik, you decide, that's your next stop – if there's anything valuable in this Guild locker, it'll be a nice surprise for you. Before you head down to the cargo hold, however, you scoop up the puzzle box and head down to find Blessings. He's not in the dining room, but Grace points you towards the boy's quarters. There, you find him lying prostate on his bed.

“Headache...” he groans, sitting slowly up and wincing at you, “Captain? What's that box you've got?”

“A puzzle box, apparently. The password might have something to do with Saint Alma, and so I thought you might be able to guess it,” you explain, setting the box down next to him, “Five letters, and I've already tried “Saint”. Got any ideas?” To demonstrate how to work the box, you dial in a possible word - “faith” - and test the lock. Nothing. You start to jot down a list of other possibilities – flame, dogma, light, doubt, death, birth, risen and bones – when Blessings clears his throat.

“It probably won't be something so, ah...” Blessings hesitates, “Simple? Obvious? That is, I don't think it's something that just anyone could guess. I'll take a look through my books, though, and I'll see if anything catches my eye. It's definitely something to do with Saint Alma, yes?”

“I hope so,” you sigh, “Otherwise, we could be spinning those dials for years.” Pale with dismay, Blessings regards the box with a worried eye. He brightens up a little when you place Coteaz' pendant down next to it, though. “I found this as well,” you add, “Maybe it'll inspire you. I need to run a few errands, but I'll be back soon. Let me know if you find anything – I'm relying on you, Blessings.”

Pride washes away the boy's uncertainty. “Yes captain!” he chirps, eager to be of service.

-

For a quick jaunt like this, taking the Eliza over to Waffenfabrik was the more efficient option. As Freddy sits behind the controls, firing up the little skiff's engines, Keziah sits opposite you and tugs at the collar of her formal Guild robes. The way she keeps fidgeting is enough to make you feel uncomfortable as well – a kind of contagious itch that only you can feel. “Would you settle down?” you scold her, “You're making me nervous, the way you keep dancing around like that.”

“I cannae help it, boss, these robes are awfully itchy,” the witch complains, “I dinnae ken how they did it, but those Guild tailors must have found the most uncomfortable fabric known to man. Nae expense spared here, that's for sure.”

“You should try an Iraklin training uniform,” Freddy counters, “Now those are unpleasant.”

“Aye, whatever you say,” Keziah mutters, a petulant frown settling over her face, “It wasnae a competition...”

[1/2]

>>2395165
Guys we didn't try the statistically most probable password.

'abcde'

>>2395183
you forgot aaaaa.

at least we can't crack jokes about the password being faggot or something

>>2395165

“You'll need to stay here,” Keziah tells the Iraklin, upon your arrival at the Waffenfabrik aerodrome, “They dinnae like having outsiders wanderin' around Guild property. So, you can keep an eye on the skiff, aye? Right then, boss – follow me!”

“Wait,” Freddy points out, “The captain isn't a member of the Guild either.”

“Oh, well...” pausing, Keziah thinks for a moment, “We're allowed to bring in ONE guest, see? Any more than that would be too hard to manage. The Guild thinks these things through, you know!”

Freddy gives Keziah a look of blank disbelief for a moment before shrugging. “Very well, then. I'll stay here with the skiff,” she decides, “Take as long as you need, I don't mind a spot of guard duty.” With that, she sits back down behind the skiff's controls and takes out a dog-eared technical manual to read. Sighing inwardly, you follow Keziah out of the aerodrome as she leads you towards the Guild headquarters.

“That was incredibly petty, you know,” you tell her as the pair of you walk through the grimy, ugly streets. Reichstag at least attempts to hide the worst of its brutality, while Waffenfabrik revels in it – it seems like every other building is some kind of factory or machine shop. The air is dark with soot and smoke, while the people you pass in the streets all have a hard, sullen look to them. You could get used to living in Reichstag if you had to, but this industrial hell will never be anything other than hostile territory to you.

“Ah, come on boss, it was just a wee joke,” Keziah replies with a shrug, “Besides, it willnae take all three of us to check this out. I bet you feel better having someone watchin' the skiff and all, right?”

“That's not the point,” you insist, any further words cut off as your gaze falls on a news bulletin posted on a wall. The bulletin announces a successful raid on the headquarters of an “anarchist group”, although it adds that the leader of the group was able to slip the noose. The group, you read with mounting dismay, had been based out of a tailor's shop. Anyone with information relating to the fugitives, the bulletin concludes, has a duty to inform the authorities.

“Boss?” Keziah presses, unnerved by your sudden silence, “What's wrong?”

She doesn't know, you remind yourself, she doesn't know what Sinclair had been getting up to. Back before the war, the old man had always been good to Keziah – like a kindly grandfather spoiling a child. Now, he's a fugitive from Iraklin justice and she has no idea. Maybe it's better that way.

>Nothing. There's nothing wrong – let's keep moving
>This fugitive anarchist... it's Sinclair, I'm sure of it
>Other

>>2395206
>This fugitive anarchist... it's Sinclair, I'm sure of it. Pretty sure, at least.

Not sure what info we can give anymore. All we knew currently was that shop was his base, and he's been run out of it.

>>2395206
>>This fugitive anarchist... it's Sinclair, I'm sure of it
>but that man won't budge, believe you me. We'd have to put a bullet through his leg, and I'm not even sure that'd slow him down.

>>2395206
>This fugitive anarchist... it's Sinclair, I'm sure of it

>>2395206
>>This fugitive anarchist... it's Sinclair, I'm sure of it

“This fugitive anarchist,” you begin quietly, glancing around you to make sure that your conversation won't be overheard, “It's Sinclair, I'm sure of it.”

Keziah lowers her glasses to reveal wide, disbelieving eyes and reads the news bulletin over. Then she reads it again, slower this time. “Shit...” she whispers, “You mean, he survived the war? When his ship went down, I thought...” Her words trail off as she thinks for a few moments, her shoulders slumping with defeat. “I guess it makes sense,” she sighs, “He wouldn't have given up the fight just because of a little thing like that. All this time, he's been... and now he's on the run. Do you think-”

“He won't back down now. He won't budge from this war of his – I tried hard enough to get him to reconsider, and he went straight back to his old tricks,” bitterness creeps into your voice as you recall his self-destructive schemes, “And now, yeah, he's on the run. You'd need to put a bullet in his leg to get him to stop, and even that might not be enough.”

“You know about him, but...” Keziah freezes for a moment, “You're not thinking of telling the Iraklins about him, are you?”

“Hell no!” you snap back, “I don't agree with what he's doing, but that doesn't mean I'd turn him in. Anyway, there's nothing that I could tell them – they found his base already, and that's all I knew. I didn't want to know any more than that.”

“Shit...” she repeats, the curse whispering softly from her lips, “I guess... thanks for telling me, Milos. I wish I could do something for the old coot, but I guess it's too late for that. I'm pretty sure I owed him money, too...”

“Then hey, at least you don't need to worry about paying it back,” you suggest, forcing a smile, “Silver linings, and all that.”

She stares at you for a moment, then punches your arm with a laugh. “You're awful!” she scolds, “You really are the worst!”

“Guilty as charged,” you agree, nodding solemnly.

-

For the rest of your walk to the Guild headquarters, you and Keziah trade old stories about Sinclair – stories from the good old days. Sinclair had been good to a lot of up and coming Free Captains, and so you've got a lot of material to cover. The conversation is light, but a pall still hangs over you as you walk together. No matter how much you try, you can't escape the unpleasant facts of the matter. Still, you're glad of one thing – you managed to avoid being dragged down with him. In that regard, you were successful.

When you arrive at the Guild headquarters, though, you bring the reminiscences to an abrupt end. This isn't a place for that kind of talk.

[1/2]

>>2395293


“Guild Maiden Mason, here to see Guild Knight Berne,” Keziah tells the sullen attendant at the front desk, “Is he available?”

“I'll send for him,” the attendant replies, “Please wait here.” Waving a hand towards some brutal, utilitarian chairs, the attendant retreats into some dark inner cavern. Sitting down, you glance across to Keziah.

“Guild Maiden Mason?” you repeat, shooting her a questioning look.

“I tried tellin' them that I dinnae have a second name, but they didnae pay any attention to that. They needed one, they said, for the paperwork. Seemed quicker just to make somethin' up on the spot, and “Mason” was the first thing that popped into me head,” Keziah pushes up her dark glasses, making sure that her eyes are covered, “Pain in the arse, really, but that's the Guild for you – all rules and regulations. Pain in the arse.”

“So it is,” you agree. The Guild, you consider, is not something that you could ever really stomach. Free Captains tend not to be full members of the Guild for largely the same reason – too many restrictions to deal with. Engineers with Guild training, on the other hand, are in very high demand. Sometimes, you still wonder just how Keziah managed to join up with her... casual attitude towards rules and regulations. As your mind drifts from one topic to another, a short, weary-looking man emerges from deeper within the building.

“Guild Knight Berne,” he says in a flat voice, offering you his hand, “How can I help you?”

“I have a key to a storage locker here,” you tell him, “Locker 625 – I believe it was registered to a Professor Orellana. We'd like to check out the locker.”

“I see,” Berne pauses for a long moment, “You don't appear to be Professor Orellana. I'm not sure if I should let you just pillage whatever he left in his locker.” Another long pause. “Then again, if he was going to come back for it, he would have done so years ago. He's been missing for... quite some time,” Berne shrugs, “We could use the space, actually, Orellana took one of our larger lockers and those are always in popular demand. We're not allowed to empty the lockers out ourselves, though – it's against regulations. Whatever he kept in there, it's been sitting untouched for years.”

“So...” you prompt.

“So you'll be doing us a favour emptying it out,” Berne finishes, faint disgust in his voice, “You've got the key, you can do what you like. Those are the regulations. I'll show you to the locker, but then I need to get back to work. We're really very busy here.”

>Lead on
>What did Professor Orellana work on, exactly?
>Do you know how the Professor went missing?
>I'd like to ask you something... (Write in)
>Other

>>2395365
>>Lead on
>>What did Professor Orellana work on, exactly?
>>Do you know how the Professor went missing?

Walk and talk

>>2395365
>>Lead on
>>Do you know how the Professor went missing?

>>2395365
>What did Professor Orellana work on, exactly?
>Do you know how the Professor went missing?

Damn, what a snob. We should empty everything except one worthless item.

“Lead the way,” you tell him, “Say, do you know what Professor Orellana was working on, exactly?”

“By all accounts, his work was purely theoretical in nature. He didn't talk about it much, though. I won't say that he was... paranoid exactly, but he was very careful about who he chose to mix with. Didn't share his work with any other engineers if he could help it,” Berne thinks for a few seconds, his face growing blank, “His work may have been something to do with shields, though. I heard that he was asking various airship captains about any... unlicensed modifications they had made to their ships. That was strictly unofficial, mind you, not Guild business.”

“Was there anyone else he might have discussed his research with?” Keziah asks, her accent set carefully aside for now, “Family, say? A wife?”

“He had neither. As far as I know, he lived alone – although he did visit a young man quite often,” a faint look of distaste slips across Berne's face as he says this, “His... research assistant. Apparently.”

“...Ah,” you mutter awkwardly, “This young man, is he...”

“Missing, as well,” Berne confirms, “He was with Orellana when the professor was last seen.”

“And where was that?” you press, “And when? What can you tell us about his disappearance?”

Heaving a heavy sigh, Berne regards you with his sleepy eyes. “There's no reward for his recovery, you know,” he points out, shrugging a little before continuing, “He was last seen in the Monotia office. I don't know why – probably that unofficial business I mentioned earlier, since he had no official duties down in Nadir. He chartered a skiff to being him back here, but he never arrived. As I recall, there were bad storms that night – it's possible, probable even, that his skiff got caught up in those. Unlucky bastard... I wouldn't want to go out that way.”

You murmur a vague agreement as you arrive at the locked door. Berne looks it up and down, then nods. “Here. 625. When you're finished here, leave the key at the front desk,” turning to leave, Berne glances back to you, “Oh, Mason. Whatever happened to that report on native traditions that you promised us?”

“I'm working on that, Guild Knight,” Keziah promises, bowing her head a little, “But it requires a great deal of slow and difficult research, and I-”

“Whatever,” the Guild man sighs, his shoulders slumping as he ambles away.

Keziah waits until he vanishes around a corner, then waves an extravagant, vulgar gesture at the empty corridor. “Prick!” she spits violently, drawing in a deep breath before smiling sweetly at you, “Dinnae mind him, boss, he's just got a stick up his arse – regulation length, of course.”

“Of course,” you agree with a faint smile of your own.

[1/2]

>>2395488

You'll say this about the Guild – they make excellent locks. The key turns smoothly, and the door is unlocked with a satisfyingly heavy clunk. Pushing open the door reveals a room that reminds you, in some strange way, of Coteaz's basement cell. It has that same empty, meditative air, that same near-absolute lack of anything inside it. The main difference is that this room has no... otherworldly presence about it. It doesn't leave you feeling uneasy in the same way that Coteaz's cell made you uneasy.

The room is decently sized, although the emptiness contributes to that. A table sits in the centre of the room, one chair sitting at either end and a single box of documents sitting in the middle. Nothing else.

“Fuck OFF,” Keziah hisses, clearly disappointed by the haul.

“Berne did say that his work was largely theoretical,” you remind her, although you can't fully hide your own disappointment. It seems like all you do lately is sift through great mountains of paper. Sitting down in one chair, you drag the box across and pull out a random folder. Inside, it contains a set of mechanical diagrams – no less unreadable to you than some of Grace's Zenith scripts. Digging out one half of the documents, you push the other half across to Keziah. “Just skim them over for now,” you order, “We can take them back later... if there's anything worth taking.”

-

For a while, the only sounds are the rustle of paper as you and Keziah flip through the drab, arcane documents. They don't make much sense to you, but Keziah occasionally nods or raises an eyebrow. Eventually, the silence gets to be too much for you. “If you were given an invitation to an Iraklin party,” you think aloud, “What would you do with it? Would you go?”

“Cannae really say,” the witch replies, “I dinnae think they'd invite someone like me.”

“Yeah, but what if they did?” you press, “What then?”

“Depends on whether there's a buffet or not,” Keziah decides eventually, “I wouldnae really enjoy spendin' an evenin' in a room full of stuffy aristocrats, but a table of good food might make things a wee bit more appealin'. Why do you ask?”

Murmuring a vague response – it's not really anything like a proper answer – you wave a sheet of paper at Keziah. “I'm getting nowhere with this,” you tell her, “Any luck on your end?”

“Maybe, aye. Looks like our professor was researchin' ways of makin' shields more efficient. You know, usin' less power for the same effect. It's somethin' that a lot of engineers aim for, and it looks like he was gatherin' up all the wee tweaks that people have tried,” she smirks a little at that, “Folk arenae supposed to do unlicensed modifications, mind you. They have a nasty wee habit of... explodin'.”

At this, you glance down at the papers in front of you as if they might detonate at any minute.

[2/3]

>Sorry for the radio silence, I hit a bit of a block. Writing now, hopefully.

>>2395574

“Still, the old boy might have been onto somethin' with this,” Keziah adds after a moment, “You take all the best bits of these modifications, work around the flaws and the failings, and... well, might be that you could do somethin' with this. Of course, you'd need a bloody good engineer.” She leans forwards as she says this, resting her head on her tented hands and giving you a grin like a contented cat.

“Oh really?” you reply, not rising to her bait, “And do you know any engineers like that?”

“Ah, so cold!” she wails, allowing herself to dramatically collapse down onto the table, “So cruel!”

“Okay, okay, let's not get carried away here,” shuffling the papers together, you drop them back into the box. Keziah does the same, and you tuck the crate under one arm as you leave the storage locker. Back at the front desk, you're just passing across the key when you hear Berne's angry voice drifting through from the back room.

“Tell them that they have two days to pay up, or we're taking the Ebisuno for ourselves,” his muffled voice snaps, “I've got no patience for captains who don't pay their repair bills. Two days!”

The Ebisuno is here?

-

Your walk back to the aerodrome is a distracted one, your mind more focused on looking out for any sign of trouble. It'll be trouble if you run into Captain Skallgrem here, especially if he blames you for the damage to his ship. By the sound of it, he can't afford to have it fixed – or he's refusing to pay – and that's only likely to worsen his mood.

Your heart sinks when you arrive at the aerodrome and spy a group of unwashed, unpleasant looking men lingering around the Eliza. Most of them are armed with simple weapons – crude clubs and bare blades. A few pistols thrust into belts, but they don't seem eager to draw those. Drawing a gun changes everything. The leader of the group is obvious, just judging by the air of belligerence that hangs around him like a shroud as he paces back and forth.

Ducking back behind a blocky shop, the alley cluttered with garbage, you drag Keziah into cover as well. “Keep quiet,” you hiss, “This looks like trouble.” Quietly, you explain the situation to her and watch as she thinks.

“So this guy wants to bash your head in, right?” she guesses, “Why don't we just... I don't know, tell the guards about it?”

“It's complicated. He's one of Morey's men, and if I shopped him to the guards it could make things... difficult,” you explain, “It's a matter of pride. Stupid really – if I bashed his head in, Morey wouldn't give a damn about it.”

“Bloody hell,” Keziah mutters, “So what do we do?”

As you think, your eyes fall to a thick plank of wood sitting in the garbage pile.

>Let's talk this out, see if we can settle this peacefully
>Simple. We bash his head in first
>Fuck it, I'm calling the guards
>Other

>>2395867
>Simple. We bash his head in first
Handle it discreetly and professionally.

>>2395867
Wait this is between the Guild and Skallgrem right? What's stopping us from just getting in the Eliza and leaving? I mean other than them picking a fight in which we'll bash his head in.

>>2395867
>Simple. We bash his head in first

>>2395867
>Fuck it, I'm calling the guards

We've got some goodwill, and this is far from Morey territory

He might never even get to return to Morey, if those debts are real.

Also we're heavily outnumbered.

>>2395896

>Skallgrem's ship was damaged when he tried to "rescue" DeRais, and he largely blames us due to our involvement. Not exactly flawless logic, but he's not really a logical sort

>>2395930
But do they recognize the Eliza? Like does she look any different from any other skiff? There was also two skiffs in that altercation. Cause personally he only knows our voice through a radio.

>>2395867
>Is your familiar with you? If we get it to deliver a note to Freddy, we can tell her to take off and pick us up in another place.

>>2395968
>>2395867
I guess I'll second this. If Herod isn't nearby then just call the guards.

I really can't tell if these guys are waiting for us or this is just one big coincidence and they are just loitering while waiting for their guy inside to finish business.

>>2395867
>Simple. We bash his head in first

>>2395867
>Other
>Literally just walk by and leave.
They aren't going attack a couple of strangers in a Guild Aerodome. They don't recognize the Eliza cause they would be fighting Freddy. That is she ran which I don't see her doing. They have no idea the Helena was involved since the daemon ship attacked before she got involved.

>>2396100
There are so many poor assumptions in this that I don't even know where to begin.

>>2396112
To be fair this whole encounter is confusing. Like I said I can't tell if these guys are just waiting in the aerodome and we are about to bash their heads in for no reason which'll make them onto us.

Like if they were prowling around the Eliza or if they were in an argument with Freddy that would be something. Or if they were bashing the skiff up. But they are just standing nearby, doing nothing while someone representing them is off at the Guild.

>>2396157
It seems pretty clear to me. They're hanging out near the Eliza, and will make trouble if they see us. No idea when they're going to move on, they're probably in the guild on some business. They might even have recognized the Eliza and be waiting for us to return, but there's no reason we'd know if they did or not in character.

“Bloody hell,” Keziah repeats, whispering the words to herself, “What's the point in havin' someone guard a ship when somethin' like this happens, and they just hide inside?”

“It's not exactly a fair fight, there's...” you point out, peeking around the corner, “Hell, there's seven of them including Skallgrem. Definitely not a fair fight, her against all seven of them. Now, if she had help...” Reaching down, you pick up the stout piece of wood and give it an experimental swing through the air. “So the plan is simple,” you finish, “We bash his head in first, and that's the end of it. If he wants a fight, I'll give him a fight.”

“Hang on, hold on a minute...” Keziah stammers, “This is so stupid, you mean that you're gonna... march out there and start throwing punches?”

“Have you got a better idea?” you ask, “Is Herod with you? We could try sending Freddy a message and arranging another landing site. It's not the most convenient solution, I know, but...”

“Ah hell, I didnae bring him here,” the witch groans, looking up at the smoggy sky, “I thought the air here wouldnae be any good for him...”

“He's a dead bird, what did you think was going to happen to him?” you ask with an incredulous laugh. Shaking your head in irritation, you ready the plank of wood and test its heft, imagining the best way to break it over a man's head. Probably not a fatal blow, but it certainly won't leave Skallgrem with many happy thoughts.

“Hey, come on,” Keziah protests, her eyes growing wide, “Milos!”

She yelps this last word as you emerge from the alleyway, tightening your grip on the wooden plank. Skallgrem is still pacing, his back to you, when you reach him, and you don't waste that advantage. Without hesitating or breaking stride, you swing the plank into the back and his head, smashing it against his skull with a brittle crack. He drops in a heartbeat, falling face down to the aerodrome floor as his slovenly allies scrabble to their feet. Hurling the broken stub of wood into the face of the closest man, you knock him down before he can fully rise.

As the other men brandish their weapons, you hear the Eliza's door dropping open and Freddy emerges, flicking her baton out to its full length. One man, his face a riot of metal piercings lunges at you and swings a loose, wild punch at your head. Ducking back, you kick him in the stomach and cause him to fold like laundry. A second man strikes with his own bit of plank, but you manage to catch the blow on your shoulder rather than your head. Even so, it's enough to numb your entire arm. Twisting around, you grab his with your left hand and tighten your grip until you feel bones grinding together. Screaming, the savage looking man jolts back and falls down to his backside.

This is just like a Monotia bar brawl – almost nostalgic.

[1/2]

>>2396171

The thin, harsh report of Freddy's baton snaps out as she strikes a man from behind, dropping him in a single blow, and then you hear Keziah cry out as she... shoves a smaller man over. It's not exactly a powerful blow, but it knocks him down until you can grab his head and smack it down against the aerodrome floor. A crowd has gathered now, watching the brawl, and you hear a faint cheer ring out. Incredibly, you feel a smile starting to form on your face.

Then you see Skallgrem rise, drawing a revolver out of his coat and aiming it at you. He cocks back his hammer, and then-

And then a whistle rings out, causing you all to freeze. A group of soldiers, their rifles shouldered and ready, hurry into the aerodrom and point them at you. Their leader, a bulky man with a handgun in one hand and a steel whistle in the other, glares at the scene. “Public disorder and disarray!” he bellows, “Does anyone here want to explain what the fuck I'm looking at?”

“Just a little bit of rough-housing,” you call back, holding your hands out in an open, harmless gesture, “Settling a little dispute as friends. No need to get the law involved, right Skall?”

“Aye, lad, that's true,” Skallgrem spits, hiding his revolver, “That's just how we settle things, down in Nadir. Didn't think you'd take offence to it, seeing as we didn't get any honest Iraklin citizens involved.”

The guard glares at you for a moment more, then lowers his handgun. “You Nadir filth are all the same,” he grunts, “Go on, get out of here – and if I catch you harassing any honest folk, I'll see you shot. Understand?”

“Understood!” both you and Skallgrem bellow.

-

“Awful people,” Freddy grunts as she pockets her baton, “I knew we had trouble when one of them saw the Eliza. He stared at me for a good long minute, then ran off to find his friends. When they arrived, they just... lurked. I assume they recognised the Eliza, and then they decided to wait for you.” She gives Skallgrem's retreating back a hard glare. “Is this really how you settle things down in Nadir?” she adds.

“Not always,” you reply, “Sometimes we kill each other.”

>I think I should stop here, I'm not in the right mood to write at the moment. I'll continue this tomorrow, I should be in a better mood then.
>Sorry about the rough session today

>>2396219
No problem. Thanks for running.

>>2396219
Thanks for running!

That could have gone a lot worse, I'm happy the Iraklin guards were so quick.

>>2396219
Thanks for running!
How many teeth did we punch out? Is it enough for a necklace?

>>2396219
No worries Broseph! But next thread I AM voting we take Skallgrem out for a drink and tell him about the tomb of the Wyrm King we didn't loot as a peace offering. If he's willing to risk his life to revenge himself on us, he might as well risk his life for treasure or something instead.

Even if it's worthless, he gets the theatre of us making restitution so he can move on.

Otherwise we kill him. Dude drew down on us. This is his last chance.

>>2396346
I would support this. I doubt he would hold too much a grudge if he could get out of it with even a small reward.

>>2396571
Problem is we took a real good look around after we killed Worm and couldn't find anything of value. He might feel screwed over if he doesn't get anything.

>>2396671
Yeah, on second thought, I'd rather not have an angry pirate going off on the village near the cave.

>>2396219
Thanks for running!

>>2396773
That's something I didn't think of. Good call.

>>2396346
Oooor we could leave him behind and let the Guild confiscate his airship.

>>2397429
Happy St. Paddies!

We could just kill him then.

>>2396671
I thought we just GTFO'd

>>2397597
Nah I did a write in to go back and check. Didn't want to leave any Funds behind for all the work we put in.

Let me see if I can find the passage.

>Before you leave the tomb behind, you take a quick look around for the treasure room itself. As you explore the caverns, though, you realise that the slope you climbed up to reach the others must have been the remains of it. As with with temple, the ground must have crumbled beneath it – either with the recent tremors, or through natural decay. Perhaps the treasure itself had been carried away by the underground river, leaving the mindless crawlers to rebuild the treasure trove with whatever they could find. Bones mostly, and whatever they could strip from the bodies of those who visited this place.

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

607 KB JPG

“Engines are warm, we're good to go,” Freddy announces, her hands set on the controls, “We're airborne in three... two...”

“Here, boss, aren't you forgettin' something?” Keziah interrupts, “Maybe you took a few too many blows to the head, huh?”

And then you remember the crate of documents, tucked away in the back alley where you hid from Skallgrem. “Cancel that, Freddy, I need to grab something,” you call out, slapping the back of Freddy's chair, “Keep the engines warmed up, though, I won't be long.” Leaving her to grumble a little, you clamber out of the skiff and glance around the aerodrome. Most of Skallgrem's thugs have dragged themselves away, and the scene has more or less returned to normal, but signs of the scuffle remain. In particular, a pool of blood marks the spot where you hit Skallgrem, and you notice a bloody tooth lying where someone spat it out. The urge to pocket that grim trophy passes thankfully quickly.

In the alleyway, you're just reaching down to pick up the box of papers when the pile of garbage rustles. Someone had been slumped there, and you jolt around to see that it is Skallgrem himself – and that his revolver is once again pointing your way. He holds the gun on you for a moment more, then twists his head to the side and spits out a wad of bloody froth.

“Fuck it,” he grunts, lowering the hammer on his gun and pocketing it, “Not worth the bullet. Not worth the headache I get when the Morey has his girl give me a scolding. Fucking hell, I'd like to give that one a slap.”

“I think we've all felt that way, sometimes,” you agree, “How is Morey, anyway?”

“Grumpy,” Skallgrem mutters, touching the back of his shaved scalp, “Why'd you have to hit me so fucking hard, anyway?”

“Are you telling me that you would have been gentle, if you'd been the one swinging?” you counter, “Come on...”

“Yeah, true,” the sullen-faced man slumps back down in the garbage and takes out a dented flask, “But you owe me, you know. When my boy saw that ship of yours, I thought about smashing it up. I thought about teaching you a fucking lesson – but I figured I'd be generous, see, and I'd break something that would heal... eventually. That DeRais shit left me out a good chunk of coin, and now those Guild bastards are saying they'll take the Ebisuno.” You smell strong spirits as Skallgrem opens his flask and takes a swig. “So, what I'm saying is...” he adds, “Is fuck you, Vaandemere.”

Sighing, you crouch down so you can look him in the eye. “Listen, you've got to play by the Guild's rules,” you lecture, “If you can't pay for the repairs, do some work for them. Make a deal. Do basically anything except stamp your feet and shout.”

Skallgrem considers this carefully, as if it was a truly alien concept to him.

[1/2]

>>2399229

Skallgrem looks a little happier – in his own belligerent way – when you leave him. You're not really sure if he'll be able to make some kind of deal with the Guild, but it should at least distract him for a while. Even if it doesn't work out so well, it's hardly your fault that he's pissed Berne off so badly. Then again, when Skallgrem wants to blame someone for something, no amount of logic or reason can deter him.

When you back to the Eliza, Keziah is stretched out and napping peacefully away – sleeping off the excitement. Leaving her to rest, you dump the documents down and sit next to Freddy. “Good call on lying low,” you tell her quietly, “Those guys weren't out for blood, but they would have roughed you up pretty bad if you'd given them an excuse.”

“Believe it or not, we're not trained to pointlessly throw our lives away,” she replies with a hint of a smile, “Or to pick senseless fights. I think some of our senior officers missed that lesson, though.”

-

The sun has started to fade by the time that you arrive back at the Spirit of Helena. Keziah takes the bundle of schematics and documents to her quarters, while Freddy lingers for a moment more to give the Eliza a quick check over. You head to your quarters, but you're hardly there for a few moments before there's a knock at the door. Caliban enters at your call, holding a small book as if it was a dead rat.

“Blessings wanted you to see this,” Caliban explains, “He needed to sleep, said he had done everything he could for that puzzle box of yours.” You open the book – Lives of the Saints – and turn to a scrap of paper that Blessings used as a bookmark. There, you see a long list of words that he must have tried – everything from place names like Salim to shortened and abbreviated words like martr. “He did mention getting an idea,” the hunter adds, “But he wanted to sleep on it.”

“I see,” you murmur, scanning the list over again. He even tried random jumbles of letters, perhaps out of frustration.

“Well then, that's everything,” he concludes, “I need a break from all this scholarly stuff, I'm going out to get blind drunk.”

“You'd have an easier time of it staying here,” you point out, “This is the religious heart of Carthul, and they don't take kindly to drinking around here. Do you really think you'll find a good bar?”

“Life finds a way,” Caliban replies with a shrug, “Want to come with me, captain? It'll be fun, just the two of us.”

“The last time we did anything as just the two of us, a daemon ended up gnawing on my arm,” a wince crosses your face as you say this, but Caliban just laughs.

“Like I said, fun,” he insists, “So what do you say?”

>Fine, you've convinced me. Let's hit the town
>Sorry, but I've got work to do. I need to hit the books
>Other

>>2399231
>Hell yeah buddy! Party hard!

>>2399231
>>Fine, you've convinced me. Let's hit the town

File: What could go wrong.jpg (45 KB, 594x383)

45 KB JPG

>>2399231
>Fine, you've convinced me. Let's hit the town

>>2399231
>Sorry, but I've got work to do. I need to hit the books

“Ah hell, why not?” you sigh, smiling despite your best efforts at looking exasperated, “You've convinced me. Let's give the book learning a break and hit the town!”

“Words of wisdom, captain,” Caliban chuckles, “Why don't we have a bet? If I can't find us a good bar, you can have that gold ingot back. If I can find us somewhere... you're buying the first round.”

This is Sol Carthul, you think to yourself, the heart of the Church of the Rising Light. A literal shrine to bodily purity and cleanliness. “I'll take that bet,” you tell Caliban, rubbing your hands together with glee.

-

“Well...” you ponder aloud, “I believe the bet was that you could find a GOOD bar...”

“What are you talking about, captain?” Caliban counters, looking at the bleak den of iniquity that stands before you, nestled deep into what seems like the darkest alleyway in all of Sol Carthul. “This is the best kind of bar,” he continues, “You wouldn't be trying to worm out of our little wager, would you? No, of course not – so I believe the first round is on you.” He nods to himself, perfectly satisfied with his find. You've got no idea how he found this place – it's not exactly marked on the city maps – but perhaps he followed the smell.

And what a smell it is. You're still trying to figure out exactly what it is, but it carries pungent notes of spices, crude spirits and... less wholesome things. An open sewer, perhaps. Certainly, it reminds you of Gutter Sut's reeking manse.

When you enter, the first thing that strikes you is how quiet the illicit bar is. It's not silent by any means, but it doesn't have the kind of raucous din that a Nadir tavern might have. Nobody shouts or bellows at each other, but there are countless hushed and conspiratorial conversations. Ratty looking women – barmaids and other, less reputable workers – move through the crowded room, taking coins and handing out cups of liquor. A furtive place, made worse by the dim lighting.

Not your typical idea of a good bar, but it has a certain theatricality to it. Buying a pair of drinks from the meagre bar, you follow Caliban to one of the few empty tables you can find. This might be an illicit bar, but it certainly does a good trade. The patrons are an odd mix, rough types rubbing shoulders with more groomed churchmen – all of whom seem paranoid and skittish, fearful of being recognised in such a place.

“Even the faithful get a thirst sometimes, it seems,” Caliban chuckles, “I'd be willing to bet that the church knows about this place, they just know enough to turn a blind eye to it. So long as everyone here show up for morning prayers, all is well.”

“That's a shockingly cynical thing to say,” you reply with a smirk, “But I'm not exactly going to disagree with you.”

[1/2]

>>2399282

“Still,” the hunter says, taking a deep swallow of his drink, “Churchman, barbarian or airship captain, everyone needs to blow off some steam now and then. I hear you got in a little scrape over in Waffenfabrik.”

“Just a bit of posturing, really,” you explain, “It's like how the gangs in Monotia fight – a lot of noise and fuss, but deaths aren't so common. It's a matter of pride, reputation. If someone slights a gang, that gang can't let the grudge go unanswered, but killing each other... that's not good for anyone's business, especially if it escalates. So, everyone gets together and has a nice little brawl, then the matter is considered settled.”

“It's not so different in the Deep Forest,” Caliban agrees, “For different reasons, though. If one group tried to wipe out a rival clan, it might draw down the wrong kind of attention. You know what I'm talking about, don't you?”

That black smoke daemon, you recall, drawn by the scent of spilled blood and death. “I know,” you mutter, drinking deeply, “If the Iraklins – or anyone else – tried to fight a war in the Deep Forest, that thing would be drawn to them like a fly seeking out honey. They don't have any way of countering it either, I reckon. It would be a bloody slaughter.” Shuddering a little at the thought, you throw back the last of your drink and raise your hand for a second round. Talking about this has left a bad taste in your mouth.

“Bad business,” the Nadir man muses, “And it only benefits Eishin. Nobody wants to risk a war, so when he swallows up their people and makes them his own... hardly anyone resists. When they do, they try and settle it with a duel. The way I hear it, Eishin fights them himself – and he's never lost.”

“The way you hear it, huh?” you ask with a wry smile, “I bet Eishin wouldn't want an unflattering story getting out.”

“True, true,” Caliban concedes the point and finishes his mug of ale. When the fresh drinks arrive, he leans forwards and looks you in the eye. “Got a question for you, captain,” he says, lowering his voice, “What was the first time you ever killed?”

That's... certainly a question.

>Nothing face to face. We shot down a pirate airship, destroyed the entire crew in an instant
>There was a fight in Monotia. I was pretty drunk at the time, and I don't remember much
>Someone hired me to carry a package, then pulled a knife instead of paying me. It got messy
>Other

>>2399293
>Nothing face to face. We shot down a pirate airship, destroyed the entire crew in an instant

>>2399293
>Nothing face to face. We shot down a pirate airship, destroyed the entire crew in an instant
>I don't know if that counts for you so first time face to face was when Miriam and I were protecting pilgrims and pirates just charged at us. (Referencing the Miriam story last thread).

>>2399293
>Nothing face to face.

Your first kill... it feels odd to talk about it so openly, but this might be Caliban's Nadir heritage showing. Certainly, they're a lot more casual about death down in that shadowed land. You were young, just getting started in your career as an airship captain. Gunny and Keziah were with you at that point, and...

“It wasn't anything face to face,” you explain, “We shot down a pirate airship, destroyed it in an instant – the whole crew went down with the ship.” A sour look crosses Caliban's face as you tell him this. “What?” you press, “It still counts. I gave the order to fire, I have to accept the responsibility of what happened. That's how being an airship captain works – you can't pass the blame off onto anyone else.”

“Even so...” Caliban sighs, “Well, maybe you're right. How did it feel, though? I mean, once you did your duty as captain and accepted the responsibility, how did you feel about it?”

“Honestly?” you ask, “I felt proud of myself. The way I saw it, I was doing my part to make the land that little bit safer. It never occurred to me to feel bad about it. I was... young. When you're young and fired up, it's easy to get carried away with that sort of thing. Getting high off your own self-righteousness, I guess.” Drinking again, you consider your explanation. It's not precisely true – you DID feel good about it, but not in the way you said. Later, you justified it to yourself as a righteous act, but at that first moment when you saw the ship explode, your pride had been a cruel thing. It had been the pride of one warrior besting another, and revelling in his strength.

“If you want face to face, though, it was when we ended up fighting more pirates, protecting some pilgrims with Miriam,” you elaborate, hastily moving on to safer ground, “That was more of a fight worth talking about.”

“I know, Grace gave me the story – a rather... scatterbrained version of it, at least,” Caliban chuckles, “The way I hear it, you got up to your usual tricks after the fighting ended.”

“I... what do you mean, my usual tricks?” you demand, causing the hunter to chuckle and shake his head, refusing to answer. “Anyway,” you grunt, “What about you. What was your first kill?”

“Some guy I grew up with. He might have been a cousin or something, some relative, but I never knew for certain. This was just after I decided to leave home, and he was coming after me. I don't know if he was out to kill me or drag me back home. I never gave him the chance to do either,” drawing his knife, Caliban begins to gouge the wooden table, “I had a bow with me. I didn't have much experience with guns then, you see, but I knew how to shoot a bow. I hid in the undergrowth as he blundered about, trying to follow my trail, and then...” Here, he mimes drawing back a bowstring.

[1/2]

>>2399337

“You shot him,” you state, the words sounding vaguely like an accusation.

“Right in the back,” Caliban agrees, “I had to. You remember when I told you about the totem beast? That had been the first time in my life when I felt a sense of destiny, of fate. This was the second time. When I saw him I knew that if I didn't kill him, I would end up going back home with him... and I wouldn't get a second chance to leave. So, in order to completely sever those last ties with my home, I killed him.” A few heads turn your way as he stabs his knife down into the table, but they soon look away with disinterested expressions.

“So it wasn't exactly face to face either,” you point out, “Was it?”

“No, I suppose not,” he admits, “Would that have made it any more honest, if I'd been looking him in the eyes when I killed him?”

“...You know, I'm not sure if I want to talk about this sort of thing,” you groan, drinking again and thinking of a way to change the subject, “So, hey, I've got this invitation to a fancy Iraklin party, and it lets me bring a guest. I was wondering-”

“I'm flattered, captain, but I'm already taken,” Caliban laughs, “I've got at least part of a woman waiting for me back on the ship.”

He's getting way too fond of that arm of his. “You're an ass,” you tell him, “What I was going to ask was, who would you bring with you? You've got the whole crew to choose from, so who would you pick?”

Caliban considers this for a long moment, a look of grave concentration on his face. “Grace,” he decides at last, “She's the only woman on the crew with a spot of refinement to her. I wouldn't trust Keziah not to make a scene, and your Iraklin... well, I suppose they are her people, but it might send the wrong impression. Besides, she'd probably spend the entire evening saluting people. No, I'd bring Grace and hope for the best.”

“Very interesting...” you muse, “Bringing Freddy might send the wrong impression, but bringing a teenage girl wouldn't?”

“Hey, we don't exactly have a lot of options here, do we?” Caliban points out, “So – the important question. Who were you going to ask?”

>I was going to ask Keziah, that would certainly ruffle a few Iraklin feathers
>I was going to ask Freddy. It's her territory, after all
>I was going to ask Grace. You're right, she's a better fit for this
>I think I'm just going to go alone, maybe meet up with Trice
>Other

>>2399353
>>I was going to ask Keziah, that would certainly ruffle a few Iraklin feathers

>>2399353
>I was going to ask Grace. You're right, she's a better fit for this
"She might also appreciate a chance to look at the host's collection"

>>2399353
>I was going to ask Freddy. It's her territory, after all

>>2399353
>bring blessings
he needs to learn.

>>2399368
This is for our guest. Not Trice's

>>2399353
>I was going to ask Grace. You're right, she's a better fit for this

Finishing off the last of your drink, you mull over this most contentious of issues. Grace would probably enjoy the chance to poke through Hess' collection of relics and museum pieces, while Freddy might be able to steer you through the finer points of Iraklin etiquette. Keziah... she would likely not be the most refined guest, but that has a certain value in itself. Watching the great and good of Iraklin society trying to deal with her... that might be the most entertainment you could expect all evening. As you drink, though, a brilliant idea comes to you.

“I'm going to ask all three of them,” you decide, “And let them fight it out amongst themselves.”

Caliban stares at you for a moment, then laughs. “You're a funny man, captain,” he chuckles, “Braver than I am, certainly. I wouldn't-”

“I'm serious. We're all responsible adults here, we can sort something out amongst ourselves,” you tell him with a shrug, “If we talk it over, we can probably reach some agreement. It's simple, see?”

“You're the captain, you make the decisions,” Caliban sighs, “But I want this on record, I'm telling you that this going to go horribly wrong. I reserve full right to say “I told you so” when someone ends up with a knife in their back, or... something terrible happens.”

Looking at the knife he left planted in the table, you start to reconsider. “Maybe I'll ask Grace after all,” you consider, “You have a point, this is more of her sort of thing. I'll... yeah.”

Shaking his head in weary amusement, Caliban leans back and takes a slow sip of ale. “Things like this makes me glad that my woman can't talk,” he mutters, “Good old Priscilla...”

“You really learned how to talk to that arm faster than I expected,” you tell him, “You even gave it a name. A nice name, at that. Someone you knew?”

“A girl from my village. She was pretty much the only person there who didn't treat me like dirt,” he explains, “That's not to say that she was nice to me, but indifference seemed better than outright scorn. I suppose she must have made an impression on me, because hers was the only name I could think of.” Pushing away his empty tankard, Caliban leans back and smiles a little to himself. “The funny thing is, I was making no progress at all until I gave that dumb arm a name,” he adds, “Once I did that, it all just... worked.”

Laughing, you throw back the last of your drink. “How romantic!” you jeer, “How about another drink?”

“I don't think so,” the hunter decides, “This place is no good at all.”

“Does that mean I won the bet after all, then?” you ask with a sly smile.

“Not a chance,” he grunts.

[1/2]

>>2399436

Hardly blind drunk, but pleasantly distant from sober, you and Caliban wander back to the Spirit of Helena. Despite the warmth of the day, the night has turned crisp and cold, with a thin mist clinging to the ground. Maybe it's your conversation with Caliban, but it reminds you of that terrible Nadir daemon – all formless mist and gnawing hunger. If something like that was released in a city like this...

Well, some things just don't bear thinking about.

-

The best thing about stopping after only a few drinks is that you wake up with a relatively clear head. It's been a while since you had any especially strong dreams, you realise as you're pulling on a clean shirt, as if your increasingly unsettled waking life has replaced them as your main source of mystery. You've got to admit, it's a trade that you're happy to make – with your waking life, at least you can do something about your problems.

Over breakfast, Blessings arrives with an excited, nervous look on his face. “I had an idea,” he begins, sitting down opposite you before you can invite him to join you, “I had it last night, but I wanted to-”

“To sleep on it,” you finish for him, “Okay, so what's this idea of yours?”

“Ah, yes, I suppose Caliban told you, well...” the boy clears his throat, “The book I left you, Lives of the Saints. Did you read it?”

“Not... exactly. I wanted to get an early night, and I didn't really feel like reading something,” you explain, massaging the truth slightly, “Did you find something useful in the book?”

“No!” Blessings states emphatically, beaming proudly at you for a moment. When your reaction could be politely described as “utter confusion”, his smile fades and he hurries to explain himself. “Well, you see, I noticed the edition – this is the “mass print” edition of the book,” he eagerly continues, “So, ah, I got the idea that maybe there were other editions of it. Older editions, say, or... complete versions. Some details might have been omitted from the mass print edition.”

“That seems logical,” you agree with a slow nod, “But why would something get omitted?”

Here, Blessings begins to fidget awkwardly in his seat. “The church isn't entirely united, you know. Some bishops have different opinions on... well, on all sorts of things. Sometimes, old laws or stories need to be... revised,” he pauses, “It's only natural, I mean, to update books for a new generation. But sometimes...”

“But sometimes, uncomfortable facts get shuffled away into the background,” you suggest, causing Blessings to wince... and then nod slowly.

“I was going to visit the archives again,” he offers, “They might have... other texts to consult.”

>Good idea. I'll come with you and help you look
>Go for it, I've got some things to take care of here
>Other

>>2399492
>Go for it, I've got some things to take care of here
>Other
Tell him he's a grown up, he can handle it alone

>>2399492
>Go for it, I've got some things to take care of here

>>2399500
Maybe a little less condescending

>>2399492
>>Good idea. I'll come with you and help you look

>>2399492
>Go for it, I've got some things to take care of here

good luck with that nerd shit

“Go for it, I've got some things to take care of here,” you tell Blessings with what you hope is a reassuring smile, “You don't need me to hold your hand here. Hell, I reckon you've got the advantage when it comes to book learning.” Blessings' face twitches in a faint half-smile as you say this, as if he doesn't know if he's allowed to laugh or not, but then he nods. “You don't need me to tell you what you're looking for,” you add, “Something to do with Saint Alma, I'm certain, and not common knowledge either.”

“The secret stuff,” he agrees gravely, “Oh, what if I'm asked about those documents? We should really return them to the church at some point, but...”

“Tell them that we're working on it,” you suggest, “You might imply that this password could help us with it. You know, just in case they need a little convincing in order to show you the older books.”

“I... that's awfully dishonest,” the boy murmurs, “I hope that it won't come to that. I'm sure that they'll let me see the books I need, without any need for that kind of thing.”

Shrugging, you accept his point. “Still,” you conclude, “Better to keep a backup plan, right?”

Nodding once, Blessings rises to his feet and hurries away.

-

With some free time ahead of you, you start with the first of your little errands and head for Keziah's quarters. Your knock is answered with a mumbled call, and then you hear the lock clattering open. Judging by the look of her, Keziah must have spent most of the night reading the schematics you brought back. Certainly, there are a great many loose papers scattered about the room. Herod shifts on his perch as you enter, eyeing you with his usual muted hostility. He always feels like a disapproving parent, especially when you're visiting Keziah in her quarters.

“You ought to sleep more,” you begin, “If you work right through the night, you're just going to end up burned out.”

“Always tryin' to get me into bed,” Keziah counters with a filthy laugh, “But you're right, boss, I didnae mean to sit up all night – I just... got busy readin' and lost track of time. But – but! - I think I've got some results for you. If what I'm lookin' at is right, we might be able to get a serious boost out of our shields. I'm talkin' about... shit, about twice as much defensive power without increasin' our power costs. Imagine it, double!”

“This is the part where you tell us about the side-effects,” you sigh, “Right?”

“Well... maybe,” the witch tilts her head to the side, “This all theoretical, like, so it might no work quite so well in practice. Oh, and even if it did work I'd likely need to baby the engines a wee bit – just to take extra special care of them. I dinnae mind the extra work, though. Other than that... I suppose the whole thing might explode spectacularly if it went unstable – but that probably willnae happen! Probably!”

[1/2]

>>2399573

“I notice,” Herod announces suddenly, projecting his dry voice directly into your thoughts, “You're not mentioning the other research we were doing last night.”

“Hey!” Keziah yelps aloud, “We agreed that we wouldnae say anythin' about that until later!”

“We came to no such agreement,” the familiar counters, “You merely decided it for us both, without ever asking for my thoughts on the matter. I was not given the chance to object... which, for you, probably counts as agreement.”

Keziah winces, then slowly turns to look your way. “I was doin' a wee bit of research, tryin' to learn a few of me mam's old tricks. Yesterday, when I didnae have Herod with me to run messages, it gave me the idea. Maeve, you know, she doesnae have a familiar – I dinnae ken why, but then I never bothered to ask her about it. Point is, she just calls up a wee daemon, just a messenger spirit, whenever she wants to bother someone like Madame Lamia,” she explains in a rush of jumbled words, “So, I figured that if I could learn to do that, we'd never be short of a way to call for help!”

More witchcraft. It's still odd to see her throwing herself into that uncanny area of study, especially after the fear and discomfort with which she first regarded it. “And you didn't tell me because...” you ask slowly, “Because you thought I'd forbid it?”

“No! No, I just wanted to surprise you when it was done,” Keziah insists, “You know, as a nice surprise. A helpful surprise!” Digging through the scattered papers, she produces a blank sheet – that is, blank save for the crude circle she quickly draws on it. “It's real simple, boss, real easy,” she continues, scratching odd markings onto the circle, “Not flashy, either. Most times, the daemon just looks like dust caught in the wind. Look, I'll call one up right-”

“Wait, don't just start calling up daemons!” you snap, snatching the pen away from her before she can finish drawing the summoning circle, “I don't need a practical demonstration, thank you very much.”

“Aw...” she sighs, “But I was lookin' forwards to tryin' it out for the first time!”

>You heard me. No daemons!
>Fine, but only if you can promise me that nothing will go wrong
>Other

>>2399630
>>Fine, but only if you can promise me that nothing will go wrong

>>2399630
>Fine, and I'll understand if something goes wrong the first few times.

All the daemons!

>>2399630
>Fine, but only if you can promise me that nothing will go wrong and you promise that you keep me in the loop ahead of time. No more surprises.

As cautious as you are, you've got to admit that she's got a point – being able to call up messenger spirits would certainly be an improvement over any other means of communications. “Fine. I must be mad, but... fine,” you concede, “But I've got two conditions. Firstly, you're only calling that thing up if you can promise me that nothing will go wrong. No rampaging daemons, no explosions, nothing. Got it?”

“Got it!” Keziah agrees, already starting to grin, “Second?”

“Secondly, keep me informed about this stuff in future,” you stress, “No more surprises – I don't care if they're good or helpful, I prefer to know what you're getting up to in here.” As her smile turns especially dirty, you quickly make an addition to that. “In terms of witchcraft, at least,” you add, “Got it?”

“Oh aye, absolutely. I suppose I did get a wee bit carried away this time, but it willnae happen again!” nodding vigorously, Keziah crosses over to her desk and digs out a bit of chalk. Sweeping a section of floor clear, she stoops and starts to copy out the harsh, angular symbols, humming softly to herself as she works. “The hummin' isnae part of the rite,” the witch explains without looking up at you, “But it helps me concentrate. Dinnae want anythin' going wrong, after all.”

Kneeling down, you take a closer look at some of the symbols. Some of them feel vaguely familiar, and you recognise the symbol for the winds – or rather, the Master of the Winds. “That is what I said, yes,” you agree, “So, how do you-”

Hushing you with a gesture, Keziah begins to whisper something to herself. The air seems to stir, as if a breeze had just blown through the sealed room, and the loose papers begin to rustle around. A few of them take flight and whip around your head as the winds strengthen, and dust begins to church up within the chalk circle. While it never really takes a single shape, you see the vague suggestion of birds forming within that tiny maelstrom. Even after the wind dies down, the dust continues to churn and shift. Within the centre of it, a flicker of light blossoms into life.

“Great success!” Keziah announces, clapping her hands like an eager child, “Oh, and it's cute!” You're... not so sure about that, but you're not about to argue the point. “Go on then, boss, who should we pester first?” the witch asks, “I was so excited thinking about the rite itself that I didnae think of what to use it for. Got anyone you want to talk to?”

Thinking for a moment, you snap your fingers as an idea occurs. “Maeve,” you suggest, “She was going to try and unseal some of Masque's memories. Ask her if the ritual worked.”

Keziah repeats your question to the sprite and then it vanishes, collapsing in on itself.

[1/2]

>>2399709

“And there he goes,” Keziah chuckles, “Wait, do you think it was a boy daemon or a girl daemon? Not that there's really any difference there, but... ach, who cares? We should get an answer back-”

Before she can finish that sentence, the sprite unfolds itself once again. A rift yawns wide in its body, forming something that looks unpleasantly like a mouth. “The rites went well, although we are only just getting started. We still have some way to go before your friend has all of his memories back,” Maeve's voice seeps out from the daemon's body, “Keziah, my daughter, did you do this all by yourself? I'm very impressed – although, as I recall, I was able to call up a messenger daemon when I was half your age.”

“Thank you, mother,” the young witch mutters through gritted teeth, “For that kind reminder.” Looking around at you, she offers a brittle smile. “She cannae hear that. It has to come and go, see, it's no like a radio,” Keziah explains, “Tell her that I've been a wee bit busy with a whole bunch of other stuff. Go on!” Again, the daemon vanishes for a few moments before returning in a flurry of dust.

“Of course, my daughter, you have your own life to lead,” Maeve's reply comes, “When are you all going to come down and join me for a dinner? Your Captain Vaandemere is embarking upon a great work, and it's only fair that I meet all of his... sworn companions. I'm very curious about them all.”

“Dinner?” you ask, glancing at Keziah with a sceptical eyebrow.

“Oh, I dinnae ken,” she sighs, “Just another one of her wee games, probably. Got anythin' you want to ask her, boss, or can I send Dusty away?”

“I'm not...” you pause, “You're giving it a name?”

“What's wrong with “Dusty”? It's a fine name!” Keziah protests, “Besides, daemons like being given names, I'm sure of it!”

Rolling your eyes, you look down at the churning sprite and sigh.

>No, I've got nothing. Sent it away
>I've got a question for her... (Write in)
>Other

>>2399769
>>No, I've got nothing. Sent it away
Can we use Dusty to prank someone?

>>2399769
>I've got a question for her... (Write in)
"Any update on Eishin down there?"

>>2399769
>I've got a question for her... (Write in)

Ask what she knows about the magic wielded by the Church of Rising Light

Ask if she knows the trinket she gave us is mad blasphemous, and also ask what it guards against because we have faced a variety of magical enemies. I guess it would guard against priests and holy magic?

Also >>2399781

>>2399769
yes i'd like to invite her to a irakhin art party
don't actually do that though

>>2399769
> Does dusty . . . Like giving messages?

>>2399769
Also

> Invite Maeve to the party. Say Keziah said she wouldn't enjoy it.

Tease the engineer mercilessly.

“I've got something for her,” you tell Keziah, “Ask her if there's been any news of Eishin. Any irregularities, any... news at all.” Keziah nods, then whispers your question to the daemon. It seems as though the summoner and the recipient are the only ones who communicate directly to it. Everyone else has to use less direct methods. The daemon is gone for longer this time, perhaps waiting as Maeve takes her time to think of an answer.

“Eishin has been sending his men out of the Deep Forest lately. This, in itself, is not unusual, but he has been doing so more often that ever before. Some say that he is scouring the forest for traitors to his cause. Other suggest that he is looking for something – for someone. A great warrior with one broken horn has been asking many questions, about scholars from the lands above and soldiers,” Maeve's answer hisses out from the daemon's churning body, “I hear word of terrible violence – a breach of our usual... protocols.”

You recall Caliban's mention of the black smoke, and how its indiscriminate hunger discourages bloodshed. Now this.

“I cannot explain this,” Maeve continues, as if in anticipation of your thoughts, “But this suggests, to me, a certain desperation on the part of someone. Eishin, or this horned giant who is his right hand. Should you return to the Deep Forest, I would urge caution.”

“I want to know what you know... I mean, what she knows about the magic wielded by the Church of the Rising Light,” you ask next, “The white Abrahad stone. The trinket she gave me, as well. I was told that it was a blasphemous thing, an open wound. Does she know if it will protect me from the church's power?” Keziah, tugging at her hair as she struggles to keep up, relates your question to the daemon. When it reappears, the first thing that you hear is a low, husky laugh.

“I see that the good Captain Vaandemere is as full of questions as always. An inquisitive mind is a wonderful thing to see. My daughter, you could do with learning more about the world,” Maeve's answer pauses, and then her dissociated voice continues in a more serious tone. “Of late, I have been asking my own questions about this... Church of the Rising Light. Your friend, Masque, has also mentioned them and their magic stone. He dislikes it – I think he's jealous, if a daemon can truly be jealous of anything,” another low laugh, “To be jealous of something, one must have a sense of kinship with it. This... Abrahad stone. It is like a familiar, but not bound by any pacts or agreements. Not a daemon, not one carried by the Winds, but something... like their kind.”

Before you can ask anything else, the daemon reshapes itself into the facsimile of a smile – Maeve's smile.

[1/2]

>>2399878
> thiiiis>>2399874

I bet Keziah would 100% want to go if we invited her mum.

Tease her. Tease her hard.

>>2399888
yesssss

>>2399888
Didn't we already decide on Grace? You're just setting her up for disappointment.

>>2399914
Nope. The girls are in for a Battle Royale for the plus one spot.

>>2399914
Yes. That's how teasing works.

Because Keziah doesn't actually want to go to the party. She'd probably love a date, but we can do that any time


Indignation about her Mom getting invited because of her competitiveness -> brash overcommittal -> Mad nerves when we start talking about what kind of dress she will have to wear and what topics she would like to discuss at the party, while I assume Maeve is over somewhere existing and so Kez knows that as she lives and breathes she'd be judging her about how she handles the party. -> Initial relief when we say we're taking Far e for practical reasons. -> Sour grapes about not going though. -> We offer to take her out for a fancy night for the two of you she can wear a nice dress and you'll still go somewhere that she can have fun.

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59 KB JPG

>>2399938

>>2399958
I mean it's easier to act out then it is to write.

I could trim It down.

Indignation and insecurity lead to brash overcompensation soon seeking escape from the overcommittment anxiety she will be suddenly relieved when the option to not go comes up.

>>2399980
No I understood it. It's just that you thought out a simple tease that much.

>>2399958
Or she'll summon a demon to whisper into our ears "you're a diiiiiiick" the entire party.

>>2399983
Keziah is a mess.

>>2399878

“Are you making good use of my trinket, Captain Vaandemere? I assure you, I did not intend for it to be an insult in the face of the church... although I do not apologise if it was taken as such,” Maeve's voice pauses again, “To tell you the truth, I know little about it beyond that it is an item of protection – or rather, an item that I am told will, or may, protect you. Please, if you learn more, do tell me all about it.”

So it seems as though the pendant remains a mystery for a while longer. Considering how the badly the pilgrim up in the Palace of Silence reacted to it, though, you're pretty sure that it has something to do with the church's power. “If Maeve really wants to see us in person, maybe she can come up here,” you suggest, giving Keziah a teasing grin, “She could always accompany me to this party while she's here. I'm sure that she'd find it interesting – more than you might, I reckon.”

“Aw, c'mon boss...” Keziah groans, “You dinnae want her there, do you?” She shoots you an imploring look – a look that you reply to with a grin – and then sighs heavily, muttering your offer to the daemon with intense reluctance.

“Milos Vaandemere, you flatter me,” Maeve purrs back, “But alas, I cannot leave the soil of my birth. I have made pacts and bargains that cannot be spoken of aloud, and they bind me to this place. However, your offer was really very kind – I only wish that I could repay it with a suitable kindness.”

Keziah, her cheeks flushed bright red, hisses something to the daemon – you distinctly hear the words “almost half your age” - and then makes a curt gesture. The “mouth” closes it up, which you take to understand that the conversation is over. “Boss, you're the worst,” she mutters to you, “The absolute worst... honestly, what would you have done if she said yes, huh?”

“Enjoyed a wonderful evening together, probably,” you reply with a bland shrug, “Hey, do you think Dusty enjoys giving messages?”

“I... what? What kind of...” throwing up her hands in dismay, Keziah lets out a dramatic sigh, “I dinnae ken, it's just what he does! It's like askin' if a bird likes flyin' or if a bee likes doin'... bee stuff!” Shaking her head in exasperation, she sweeps a pile of loose papers off her bed and flops down onto it. “You're really goin' to a party then, right?” she guesses, “Figured out who you're takin'?”

“Grace,” you tell her, “The host is a collector of artefacts and curios, I figured that she'd get a real kick out of seeing some of them. She loves that sort of thing.”

“Oh,” your answer seems to take Keziah by surprise, “Oh aye, that makes sense. I bet she'd look real pretty, once she's all done up for a party. Like a wee doll, almost.”

[2/3]

>>2400007

“But you know, boss, you'd better not think that I'm gonna forgive you that easily!” she adds with a sudden snap, standing upright and jabbing you in the chest with a scrawny finger, “You're gonna have to make this up to me, and I'm no gonna make it easy for you! Honestly, askin' me to pass along all that nonsense... you're the worst!”

“You may have mentioned that already,” you point out, “Anyway, I'm going to go talk with Grace. Good work with that engine stuff, and the... the other things. If you make any breakthroughs, on either count, you come and tell me.”

“Aye, I'll do that,” Keziah agrees with a wicked grin, “I'll send Dusty to wake you up in the middle of the night!”

“Good enough for me,” you shoot back, leaving her quarters with a laugh.

-

“A party?” Grace repeats, “At the Consul of Pastona's estate?”

“I thought you might be interested,” you explain, “He's a collector of curios, including a number of Nadir relics. Actually, King Grundvald's crown is going to take pride of place in his collection soon enough. If you want to go, do try and look surprised when he unveils it. He's likely to have a lot of other pieces there, and... well, he's the sort of man who likes to show things off. If you want to learn all about them, I'm sure he'll be happy to-”

“I'd love to come,” she interrupts, her eyes wide and fascinated, “Ah, that is, I'd be happy to accompany you, Captain Vaandemere. I'll do my very best not to embarrass you in any way. Father instructed me to take some etiquette lessons at the academy, but I never imagined that I might have an occasion to use them. He told me that they would come in handy one of these days, and I suppose I should thank him. You can make useful contacts at an event like this, you can... meet interesting people.”

A subtle reminder of her father's real work, the work that his lawyering is just a cover for – the buying and selling of information.

“I'll need a new dress, though...” she muses, before hastily flashing you a smile, “Don't worry, captain, I wasn't asking you to take me out shopping. Father has some money put aside for me, set aside for exactly this kind of occasion. I'll ask Caliban to take me out later. Oh, but I should see if Miss Lhaus has any advice about what to wear...” As she lapses back into her thoughts, you glance across at a neat stack of papers – the church papers, it seems.

“Are you done with these?” you ask, causing her to jolt back to reality.

“Oh, yes. I've at least skimmed over everything,” Grace confirms, “Were you... I mean, did you want to know about what they say?”

>Later. I've got other things to do right now
>Do they mention any kind of rite to bring back the dead?
>You said music was important. What does that mean?
>Do the note suggest any dangers inside?
>Here's what I need to know... (Write in)
>Other

>>2400106
>>Do they mention any kind of rite to bring back the dead?
>>You said music was important. What does that mean?
>>Do the note suggest any dangers inside?

>>2400106
>Do they mention any kind of rite to bring back the dead?
>You said music was important. What does that mean?
>Do the note suggest any dangers inside?
>Here's what I need to know... (Write in)

> What other translation s might be possible for the names of the different areas? Ignore g whether or not it makes sense.

>>2400106
>Do they mention any kind of rite to bring back the dead?
>You said music was important. What does that mean?

>>2400106
>You said music was important. What does that mean?

>>2400106
>Do they mention any kind of rite to bring back the dead?
>You said music was important. What does that mean?
>Do the note suggest any dangers inside?

“I do. I've got some questions about what they say,” you begin, sitting down on an available chair and gesturing for Grace to sit opposite you, “Do they mention any kind of rite to bring back the dead? Or anything like that – I'm not sure what kind of terms the church might use.”

“Well. That's a tricky question to be certain about, but I think... yes,” Grace clears her throat, “The second team of explorers were able to record a fairly large number of inscriptions, enough to gain quite a degree of insight into how the Vault operates. There are references to “those who have crossed the bridge of birth and death”, which... may have been a literal bridge. I'm not clear on that part, though. It's complicated.”

“I'm sure,” you agree drily.

“Still, they were able to recover certain details. The rite seems to require a person's remains – even a flake of ash or a single hair, apparently – and an item of great value to that person. That item was supposed to attract their... erm, I'm not exactly sure. You could call it their soul, or their spirit, or any number of things really. The point is, they needed that item,” shuffling her papers, Grace nods at you, “I think they must have used the key fragment. Saint Alma was said to have recovered it from Nadir, yes?”

“So the story goes. How true that story is remains to be seen,” you consider with a weary shake of your head. So there really was a ritual to bring someone back from the dead. That's a kind of power that... that you can't really comprehend.

“There's a problem,” Grace warns, “The rite was said to have incredibly strict requirements. Only those with an unblemished nature were permitted to return. What happens to anyone else... well, it doesn't say. I gather that it isn't anything good.” Shifting in place, Grace gazes off into space with an uneasy frown. “But a saint... they would have to be unblemished, wouldn't they?” she murmurs, “If not them, then who?”

“Leave that to the priests and the philosophers, and focus on the practical matters,” you advise, “Like the music. You said that music was important, but I don't think I understand. What did you mean by that?”

“Ah, right. Well. Do you remember how I said that the “bridge of birth and death” might have been a literal bridge? This is related to that. You see, the bridge was said to be located at the far end of the Hall of Assembly, and yet the explorers found only an empty chasm,” Grace spreads her arms wide to suggest great distance, “There were no signs of damage either, nothing to suggest that a bridge HAD been there at some point. Now, we come to what they identified as an organ – a church organ.”

[1/2]

>>2400211
So the dungeon has puzzles!
Are there also monsters and treasure chests?

>>2400211

“A musical instrument,” you add, prompting Grace to continue after she slides back into silence.

“Yes, of course. I'm sorry, captain, I'm just a little distracted...” Grace shakes her head, “The organ was the only thing that the explorers found that suggested any kind of mechanism or machine – anything with moving parts at all, in fact. The organ itself was inscribed with... hold on.” You wait a moment as Grace digs out a different sheet of paper and skims it over, her lips softly moving as she reads silently. “Only those who have visited both birth and death will sing a bridge into being,” she quotes, “And only then can they ascend to the flower garden.”

“Flower garden?” you mutter. According to Cardoso, Coteaz had mentioned something about flowers...

“I'm unclear on that part,” Grace says with a shrug, “But this all suggests to me that using the organ – somehow – is the key to accessing this bridge. I assume that the two adjacent halls are also significant. Maybe someone would need to visit each hall before they could cross the bridge? In their report, one of the explorers suggested that it might have ceremonial significance – to remind the person of the two constants that life holds. Perhaps... to remind them of how serious the concept of resurrection might be?”

Having said this, Grace hurriedly rises from her chair and digs out her elegant pipe, toying with it for a moment. “More material for the philosophers,” you tell her, “What about dangers? Do these reports mention any traps or hazards?”

“Other than the poor air quality – which, they couldn't actually explain – not really,” Grace seems to reconsider something, setting aside the pipe, “They DO mention an army, but that refers only to the large number of statues they found in the Hall of Assembly. That makes sense, though, the “assembly” does have rather martial concepts once it's translated. An army, assembling for a great crusade...” She murmurs that last part, gazing down at her slender, delicate hands as she thinks.

“Speaking of translation...” you ask, speaking quietly as to avoid shocking her back to reality, “Do any of the other names have alternative translations? Tell me any of them, even if they don't make sense.”

“Now that you mention it, there WAS one odd way of translating something. The Hall of Death... well, “death” - in this context, at least – is a strange term. To give it a full and proper reading, it would read as “disposal of an object that is no longer needed”. Rather clumsy, yes?” she laughs nervously, “It's odd, isn't it? This is supposed to be a sacred place, but it's hardly respectful at all...”

[2/3]

>>2400255
See if Calibans arm can play the Organ for him.

>>2400265
I'm sure he's already using it to play his organ :^)

>>2400255
So these guys were obviously stuffing souls into White Zenith Statues huh?

>>2400300
That seems like the most probable explanation so far
Though if so, where did all the created statues end? I think there are a few in the palace of silence or whatever it's called?

>>2400317
Spread all over the world it seems considering Priscilla was in a random mine and there was the statue we toppled to get into cave near Lamia's place.

I almost feel bad now for knocking it over.

>>2400317
What if they're still there, just waiting for juicy adventurers or a saint to unleash them?

>>2400321
Yes but consider the words used, "army" and "large number", surely a well travelled captain like Milos would have heard of a few more by now?

>>2400325
Perhaps

>>2400325
Sounds like some one was making an army of living stone to fight something but what?
And this isnt really a speacle place just like a robot factory and who was going to lead them?

>>2400255

So you have “construction” over in the Hall of Birth, “disposal of an object that is no longer needed” in the Hall of Death, and the Hall of Assembly suggests the gathering of an army... this is all shaping up to a rather unpleasant picture. Just what is it that gives the white Abrahad stone its power? Ideas are starting to form, and you don't like a single one of them. “Coteaz must have known all of this...” you think aloud, “And he still went ahead with this insane mission. What could have been driving him to...”

“Captain?” Grace asks, reaching across and placing one of those delicate hands on your shoulder, “Is there something wrong?”

There's a lot wrong with this, you want to tell her, but you bite back the words. “I just don't think I'll ever understand these knights,” you sigh, “What about you?”

“Hmm...” touching a finger to her lips, the young scholar thinks for a moment, “I think it's rather admirable, to have a cause that you're so devoted to. These knights were so... loyal to Saint Alma, it's really quite amazing. I must confess, I'm rather jealous of anyone who has a cause like this – like how the Iraklins are ready to lay down their lives for the nation, or... or even how you're working so hard on finding these key fragments. I don't really have any drives like that, I'm just... tagging along for the ride.”

You've seen this doubt before, when Grace was agonizing over how she might justify her own existence. So much of her life has been planned out by her father, you consider, even her place on this ship was his idea. But then, even if you took great pains to help her... wouldn't that just mean that you were running her life instead? Before you can act on your bleak thoughts, though, Grace brightens up with a visible effort.

“I shall take a nap!” she declares, “All this talk of death has tired me out, and I fear that my mood is suffering for it. I'm sorry, captain, but would you excuse me?”

“Sure thing,” you tell her quietly, rising to show yourself out, “Take it easy, okay? There's no sense in working yourself into an early grave.” Wincing a little at your own blunt words, you let yourself out. Closing the door behind you, you lean back and sigh. Blessings is still away, doing his research, so you'll...

>Go see how Gunny is doing
>Visit Freddy in her quarters
>Check on Caliban... and Priscilla
>Other

>>2400343
Also we need to try a few of these words for the Dwemer puzzle box
>organ
>birth
>death
>bridg

>>2400343
>Check on Caliban... and Priscilla
Get all the hot juicy details.

>>2400343
>Go see how Gunny is doing

We just went drinking with Kal. I wanna know if Gunny has unlocked any other staff functions. Maybe telling him about Caliban's progress will motivate him.

>>2400343
>Check on Caliban... and Priscilla
bring some oil, to help with "chafing"

>>2400343

>Go see how Gunny is doing

>>2400343
>>Go see how Gunny is doing

>>2400343
>Go see how Gunny is doing
I want to ask him about the insight he got from St. Alma in Coteaz's meditation chamber. We can share with him our suspicions about what was going on with St. Alma's remains in return. I wonder whose soul is in St. Alma's staff.

>>2400343
>>Check on Caliban... and Priscilla

>>2400336
>Sounds like some one was making an army of living stone to fight something but what?
Well, stone doesn't bleed and hence doesn't attract certain Nadir demons...

>>2400351
I want to add "taint" and "ritus" to that list. Oh, and "Jihad."

First things first, you'll pay Gunny a visit and see how he's doing. It's hard to tell, but you get the impression that he's been avoiding you since you returned from Coteaz's tower. He lied then, when you asked him if anything had happened down in the meditation cell, but you never had the chance to press him for an honest answer. Now, it's about time that you correct that mistake. After that... you might pay Caliban a visit, to see how the domestic life is treating him.

Gunny isn't in his quarters when you check them, but that's not much of a surprise – he's hardly ever there. Instead, you find him down on the gunnery deck. Just as Keziah has redecorated the engine room to better suit her tastes, so too has Gunny made a few “alterations” to his surroundings. A cheap tin icon, shaped like a blazing sun, dangles from the far end, while Saint Alma's staff sits beneath it in a carefully constructed cradle. He's made a shrine, you realise with mixed amusement and uneasiness, a humble little shrine.

Following the smell of cigarettes, you find Gunny lying on a bedroll with his eyes half-shut. He's not asleep though, you can see him tensing up as you enter. Behind you, his assistants go about their business with careful efficiency. “Hey, Gunny,” you begin, “How come you never sleep in those nice quarters you've got upstairs?”

“Milos, brother, you would laugh if I told you the truth,” he replies, sitting up and tapping cigarette ash into an empty can. “Ah hell, maybe not. Here goes nothing,” he relents, “I don't like being alone so much, these days. If I sleep here, there's usually someone working in the background. Helps me relax, hearing other people doing the hard work for a change.” He smiles with that last part, but you can tell that his heart isn't in it. Memories of his brief stay in Cloudtop Prison, you realise, still giving him grief after all this time.

“Hey, there's nothing to be ashamed of,” you assure him, “Hard work puts me right to sleep as well.” Lowering your voice, then, you give him a serious look. “I don't want to be hard about this, Gunny, but I need to know,” you continue, “What happened down there in Coteaz's cellar? You said nothing happened, but we both know that that was a lie. So what, did you hear something?”

Gunny's lips twist into a grimace. “I don't know, brother. I was never good at that meditation stuff, but when I was sitting there, I got... a feeling. Or a thought. I don't know, brother, it's hard to say just what it was,” he gestures vaguely as he tries to find the right words, “Look, all I can say is, when I was down there, I had the sudden feeling that this, all of this, is just a big mistake. Like, we're getting ourselves into some serious shit with this key business. That's all.”

[1/2]

>>2400449
>Like, we're getting ourselves into some serious shit with this key business.

Oh we could have told him that.

>>2400449
>Like, we're getting ourselves into some serious shit with this key business.
yeah, that's the POINT of all this!

>>2400449

“And do you believe that?” you ask gently, glancing back to the rest of the gunnery crew. They work on, not paying you a hint of attention.

“Do I believe that we're getting into something big? Sure I do,” Gunny replies, “Does that mean I'm going to back out now? Hell no, brother, I'm with you all the way on this. For all I know, it was just foolish old Gunny Hotchkiss getting freaked out for no reason. Like I said, I'm not so good with being on my own these days – it leaves me thinking all kinds of weird things.” Shaking his head, Gunny takes out a fresh cigarette and wedges it into one corner of his mouth. “That what you're worried about?” he asks, “That I'm going to bail out on you?”

“I've gotta consider all the possibilities,” you remind him, “You know that. Captain's duty to keep track of these things.”

“Not blaming you, brother, I know the score,” striking a match, Gunny lights his cigarette and takes a powerful draw on it, “I don't know why I hid it from you, that first time. Just instinct, I guess, and I thought you might... I don't know. Thought you might not take it seriously, or maybe you'd take it TOO seriously.” Suddenly, he laughs. “Hell, brother, this isn't even news to you, is it?” he chuckles, “I reckon you've known that this was some serious crap since day one, huh?”

“Well, not quite. Day two or three at the earliest,” you agree, “Seriously though, I'm glad that it wasn't... you know, anything bad. When a man as honest as Gunny Hotchkiss starts to lie, it gets me worried.” Slapping him on the arm, you turn to leave. “Oh, hey, before I go,” you ask, “Do you have any oil lying around here? Something to keep the machines moving nice and smooth?”

“Right here,” Gunny takes out a small ceramic flask and tosses it across to you, “Got a desk drawer that needs unsticking?”

“Not exactly,” you reply with a dirty laugh, “I'm paying Caliban a visit after this.”

>I'm off then. See you later, Gunny
>Hey, have you been able to get anything else out of that staff?
>Hypothetically, what would it take for you to back out? Is there a line you won't cross?
>Got a question for you... (Write in)
>Other

>>2400510
>Have you been able to get anything else out of that staff?

>>2400510
>Hey, have you been able to get anything else out of that staff?
>Other
"Look Gunny. When we eventually go into the Vault we might learn some dirty truths, maybe about Carth and maybe about the church, specially if my speculations are correct. I just want you to be prepared for that."

“Say, have you been able to get anything else out of that staff?” you ask, “Like, I don't know... It's supposed to talk to you, isn't it? That's what they said up in the Palace of Silence.”

“Brother, I don't even know where to start with that thing. To be honest with you, I can't even promise that I could make it do its thing again. Maybe that was a one time deal – just the Lord of Rising Light doing us a favour when we were in a tight spot,” Gunny shakes his head, “If I really want to learn from it – if there's anything TO learn – I might need to sit down for a good long while and think. You know how good I am at that kind of deal...” Laughing bitterly, Gunny crosses over to the staff and lifts it from its cradle. “Some chosen one I am,” he adds, “I'm holding it the right way up, but that's about all I can say for certain.”

“It's a learning experience. You don't learn to shoot overnight, and a pistol is just a machine,” you tell him, “This is... I don't know, some kind of magic rock with exceedingly high standards. I'd be more surprised if you had mastered it already. So what I'm saying is...”

“I'll give this meditation business another shot,” he promises you, “And I'll let you know how it goes. How does that sound to you?”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” you confirm, hesitating for a moment before adding, “Look, Gunny, when we head into the Vault of the Sun, we might... learn some things. Bad things, things that might not reflect too brightly upon the church. Maybe I'm all wrong about this, but that's what my gut is telling me. I figured that you've got as much right to know as any of us, so you can prepare yourself for the worst.”

“Bad things, huh?” an unusually thoughtful look crosses Gunny's face, “I'll have fun trying to imagine what THOSE are...”

“Sorry,” you reply with a grimace, “But it's better to be ready for anything.” For a moment more you share a solemn silence, and then you show yourself out.

-

Caliban looks at the bottle of oil for a long time, then looks back up to you. “Captain,” he begins gravely, “You've got some pretty funny ideas of what goes on within these four walls.”

“Chafing is no joke, Caliban,” you warn him, somehow managing to keep a straight face, “I'm just looking out for you.”

“Well, congratulations, you've left me speechless. Not everyone can do that,” the hunter sighs, putting the flask of oil down on his desk and giving it a sour look. He's building up quite a collection of oddities now – the gold ingot, a broken sword hilt from King Olaus' tomb, and now Priscilla herself. As you're looking at the pristine white arm, Caliban mutters something and the smooth fingers squirm with a disturbingly fluid grace. Shuddering a little, you hurriedly look away from the limb.

[1/2]

>>2400510
>>Hey, have you been able to get anything else out of that staff?

>>2400584

“Fair warning,” you tell Caliban after a moment, “Grace is going to ask you to take her shopping at some point soon.”

At this, he lets out a heavy sigh. “I lead a hard life,” he mutters, “But I suppose I'll play along. I don't mind, really, and perhaps I should feel flattered – after all, she always asks me first. I must be very good at mindless lifting and carrying.” Crossing over to the desk, Caliban picks up Priscilla and studies the limb, turning it over in his hands and testing its weight. “It's strange, though, thinking about just how old this thing might be,” he thinks aloud, “Older than... I don't know. Most things, I imagine. Maybe that iron ring you're putting together might be older, but I'm not even certain about that.”

“Heavy stuff,” you murmur.

“No, actually, it's quite light,” Caliban counters, waving the arm casually through the air, “My Priscilla is a slim girl.”

“You know, there's no guarantee that the rest of the statue is female,” you point out at last, unable to hold back any longer, “Unless we find the rest of it, and I have no idea where how we'd go about doing that, there's no way to be certain. For all we know, that arm might have belonged to some... I don't know, some slender, beautiful boy.”

“Yes,” Caliban replies in a deadpan voice, “And?”

Sometimes, you have no idea how serious Caliban is about... well, about anything really. This is one of those times.

“It does make me wonder, though, about these statues. They do seem to get around,” Caliban sets the arm down with exaggerated care, “We've seen them in Nadir, in the Pastona Union, and scattered throughout Zenith. That's where most of them are, I suspect - it's their homeland, after all – but I'm still not sure how one of them ended up down in Nadir. Do you think we weren't the first ones to drop it?”

“If I was to list everything that I didn't know about those things, I think I'd be here all day,” you groan, “The church would probably say that it was a miracle send down to the unappreciative savages in Nadir. Uh, no offence.”

“None taken,” he assures you, giving your left hand a pointed look.

>I'm going to have to stop things here for today. I'm going to run a special session tomorrow, just to tie up some loose ends, then I'll break until next weekend. If anyone has any questions, though, I'll answer them if I can
>Thank you for your patience this weekend!

>>2400630
so maybe those statues were made before the land was split, and that is how they ended up all over the place?

>>2400630
Thanks for running.

>>2400647
Pretty good theory. The Vault probably predates the split too.

>>2400630
So do we know sign language? What with the thieving and all?

We should teach the hand.

>>2400673

That's not an idea that ever really occurred to me, but I don't see any reason why that shouldn't work. I wonder what a disembodied hand would have to say for itself?

>>2400630
Thanks for running!

Abrahad stone is super light and durable, can we use it to armor our airship? Or make an airship out of it?

>>2400721

Abrahad stone is hard to work with and difficult to find in large quantities, so it's not really practical for building airships. That said, the Palanquin - the flagship of the Carth fleet - does make significant use of it.
The Carths didn't exactly build the Palanquin themselves, after all.

>>2400721
That seems like the kind of thing that could go horribly wrong. I guess it'd be fine if we got the stone to agree first, but otherwise I think we wouldn't want to be flying around armored by unwilling souls.

>>2400760
So what youre saying is that we should build an abrahad ship and pilot it with a daemon

>>2400758
>The Carths didn't exactly build the Palanquin themselves, after all.

Is it ancient precursor race time?

File: Caliban.jpg (313 KB, 1000x1100)

313 KB JPG

“You know,” you wonder aloud after a moment, “In the Palace of Silence, they said that these Abrahad constructs were able to learn – to adjust to the language around them. It's how the statue in Nadir was able to react to Keziah's language, and it's how that... it's how Priscilla reacts to your voice.” Crouching down, you take a closer look at the smooth white hand. “Maybe we could teach it to speak back,” you continue, “With sign language, or some kind of code – tapping out letters, say. What sort of things would it be able to say?”

“I wonder,” Caliban frowns a little as he considers the possibility, “Captain, you've got me curious now. You leave her to me, I'll see if I can teach her a thing of two. If she has anything interesting to say, I'll let you know. If she just badmouths you behind your back... well, we might keep that to ourselves.” A smirk touches his lips as he says this, while Priscilla clenches a fist. You're not sure what, if anything, that is supposed to imply. Somehow, though, it seems rude.

“You're a terrible influence on her,” you scold the hunter.

-

Back in your quarters, you busy yourself with reading the copy of Lives of the Saints that Blessings left in your quarters. Before checking out Saint Alma herself, you notice a reference to Saint Ann – the same saint that Trice had named her skiff after, apparently. Saint Ann actually pre-dates the Church of the Rising Light, only coming to be recognised as a saint after the church was founded. She was a hunter, apparently, someone who drove beasts from their lairs with a great lance. Through her actions, men could live in safety.

The name suits Trice, you decide, although you can't help but wonder if Saint Ann really had anything to do with the Lord of Rising Light at all. According to the book, she received guidance and inspiration from the deity, but... well, they would say that. Perhaps she was just a local folk hero who was incorporated into what was then a rapidly growing religion – just an example of the church rewriting history in their favour.

Setting Saint Ann aside for now, you flick back through the book until you find the object of your research. There isn't much that you don't already know, though. Saint Alma was born in what would become the city of Salim, just in time to be a part of those early expeditions to Nadir. There, she claimed that the Lord of Rising Light was granting her guidance and protection. True enough, the very first site she discovered contained the staff that would later bear her name – the staff that now rests in your airship, in the hands of a faithful man named Gunny Hotchkiss.

[1/2]

>>2402129

From there, the details of the saint's life unfold as you've been told – she wandered Nadir, uncovering ancient barrows and retrieving items of historical value. These items, she sent back to Carthul where they were first studied, then enshrined as holy relics. The only new piece of information that you can find is that she was said to have converted a number of Nadir locals, bringing them into the arms of the church. Compared with her explorations, though, these conversions are left as a footnote – barely mentioned in passing before the book skips ahead to her martyrdom.

A strange omission.

-

“I'm sorry that I took so long, but I ended up doing more research than I expected,” Blessings apologises, his eyes flicking down to the book still sitting on your desk, “Ah, have you been reading that? That's good, that's... did anything, ah, catch your eye?”

“Saint Alma's conversions,” you offer, “It seems odd that they were given so little attention.”

“Yes, exactly!” the boy claps his hands together with excitement, “Alfaro let me see a far older copy of Lives of the Saints, and it went into rather more detail about them. Saint Alma was never really a missionary, but she was said to have converted an entire village in Nadir on one occasion. There were no miracles involved, no great acts – she just... talked to them. She talked all day and all night, and eventually she won the village over. Her first convert was a man who would go on to become her travelling companion – a man named Nuada, although he was briefly known as Saint Nuada.”

“A male companion...” you muse, thinking back to the painting in Coteaz's tower, “But... briefly?”

“Ah, well, it seems that his title was later stripped from him,” Blessings clears his throat awkwardly, “In either case, Nuada travelled with Saint Alma until her martyrdom, and then he largely vanishes from the records. I was able to learn a little more about him – Alfaro showed me some other text that mention him – but... well, I don't quite know what to make of it all. I'm not sure if... oh! How did your errands here go? I've been so rude, blathering on about my own day without ever asking about your... erm, your business.”

If you didn't know any better, you'd swear that he was trying to change the subject. “My errands went well,” you tell him, “By all accounts, a satisfying day so far. Now then...”

>Let's take another look at that puzzle box, shall we?
>What else did you learn about Nuada?
>Why would the church strip Saint Nuada of his title?
>I have a question to ask you... (Write in)
>Other

>>2402131
>What else did you learn about Nuada?
>Why would the church strip Saint Nuada of his title?
Cause he was Nadir?

>Let's take another look at that puzzle box, shall we?
I guess we can try 'Nuada'.

>>2402131
>Let's take another look at that puzzle box, shall we?
>What else did you learn about Nuada?
>Why would the church strip Saint Nuada of his title?

>>2402131
>>What else did you learn about Nuada?
>>Why would the church strip Saint Nuada of his title?

“Why would the church strip Saint Nuada of his title?” you ask slowly, “Was it purely because of his Nadir birth, or did he do something... unwholesome?”

“No, ah, that is to say, nothing that I was able to find out about. From what I could tell – and this wasn't written down, but Alfaro mentioned it to me – Nuada was stripped of his title on the orders of a past hierophant. Um... Hierophant Mathers, that's it. Mathers was, well, he was a hard man, very... rigid in his interpretations. Rather the opposite of Hierophant Milleux, now that I think about it. Anyway, ah, Mathers felt that Nuada, by virtue of their association, cast a disreputable light over Saint Alma,” Blessings clears his throat again, brushing back a curtain of hair as he searches for the right words. “Mathers was quite clear on the subject – he believed that the saints should be held above over men, and so their histories were... sanitised,” he concludes, “In Saint Alma's case, that meant removing all mention of Nuada.”

“But evidently, not from the oldest tomes,” you consider, “And I suppose that nobody after Mathers' time thought about reversing his edict?”

“I suppose there were... um, more important things to do,” the boy offers weakly, “Nuada seems to have been forgotten by all but a very few, these days. I took a look through the sectarian register, and I found a vague mention of a group called “The Brotherhood of Saint N.”. Now, that could mean Saint Nadia, Saint Nathaniel the Healer, or... well, you get the idea. In those cases, though, why would they conceal the name?”

Leaning forwards, you idly flip through the book's pages. “So you think this Brotherhood was a secret group dedicated to Saint Nuada,” you ask Blessings, “And... what?”

“Er, well, that's all I know about them – just the name,” he falters, “But, ah, but it means that Nuada isn't entirely forgotten these days!”

Coteaz, perhaps, could have been a member of this Brotherhood. There's no evidence that points towards it, of course, but your gut instinct is pointing you in that direction. Besides, between the painting and the pendant you found, he certainly had a fixation on Saint Alma – and her companion. “So what were you able to learn about Nuada himself?” you ask, “What was he known for?”

“In the short time that he was recognised as a saint, he came to be associated with the idea that, um... that nobody was too low or too sullied to find redemption,” Blessings explains, “Even after he was stripped of his title, he was supposedly venerated by those who... who worked in secret, seeking no recognition for their deeds. A hidden saint, I suppose you might say. This Brotherhood, I'm certain, would follow those same principles – even hiding their full name.”

[1/2]

>>2402131
>Why would the church strip Saint Nuada of his title?

File: Coteaz.png (1.37 MB, 780x1040)

1.37 MB PNG

>>2402155

“As I said before, Nuada largely disappears from the records after Saint Alma's martyrdom. I was able to find two contradictory accounts of his death, however. One claim says that he tried to interrupt Saint Alma's martyrdom and rescue her, although he was killed in the attempt. The second account suggests that he allowed her martyrdom to proceed, and then took his own life – a slow suicide, apparently, by starvation,” Blessings winces at the thought, involuntarily clutching at his gut, “Some of his followers burned his body and hid the remains, but that site remains undiscovered.”

Thinking for a moment more, Blessings continues. “Nuada was said to carry an axe, protecting Saint Alma so that she could uphold her pacifism. That seems like... cheating to me, but...” he pauses and shakes his head, “Well, that doesn't matter. Even after he was stripped of his title, Nuada was often praised in secret – sometimes, you see old heraldry that includes an axe in some way. At times, it seems as though he also carried Saint Alma's staff for her – acting as her herald, I suppose you might say. It's so hard to tell what is true and what is false. What do you think, captain?”

“Who knows?” you shrug, “I think it's time we give that puzzle box another shot, don't you?”

-

You've got a pretty good idea of what might open the box, but you run through a couple of other ideas first. Birth, death and bridge – terms you've come to associate with the Vault of the Sun – get you nowhere, and neither does “Vault” itself. Finally, you spin the tiny dials until they spell out “Nuada”. This time, the wooden lid smoothly opens up to reveal the contents of the box – a tightly wound scroll of paper, and nothing else. Frowning, you unfurl the scroll and glance over the faded ink.

Coteaz wrote this, you decide, spelling out the words in his maniacally precise script. Judging by how some sections are more faded than others, he wrote some entries long before others. Reading them over, you can almost feel the man's obsession bleeding from the pages – and his despair upon losing Saint Alma's staff. The contents of the scroll read like the writings of a madman, and yet so much of it feels vaguely familiar to you.

What has been, will be, and what will be, will be again – you're sure that you've heard similar words before, from that deathly spirit you confronted in the Nightlands.

“Can I see?” Blessings asks, tentatively taking the scroll when you pass it over to him. He reads it fretfully, his brow furrowed and fearful.

>Does this make any sense to you?
>He talks about reincarnation. Does the church believe in that?
>I'd like your opinion on something... (Write in)
>Other

>>2402183
>>Does this make any sense to you?
>>He talks about reincarnation. Does the church believe in that?

>>2402183
>>Does this make any sense to you?
>>He talks about reincarnation. Does the church believe in that?
>>I'd like your opinion on something... (Write in)
Six tainted by the One. This is referring to the gods. Question is, did one of the six tainted the others or did something else taint all six of them?

>>2402183
>What does the part of impure reflections mean to the church?
it's probably about the 6 elemental gods, but....isn't it bad if the one in control of the dead is also tainted?

Or does it mean that we're going to face 6 different "trials" in the vault? We know tainted air, and tainted fire could easily be ghost enemies. Does the scattered documents and info count as water?

“Well,” you sigh, “Does this make any sense to you?”

“Not... really,” Blessings admits, “I recognise that quotation about acts of goodness, but I don't recall who originally said it. Um... that last part about the six. Do you think he could be referring to the islands in Zenith? There are six islands surrounding the Mountain of Faith, and... and I'm not sure what else that might mean.”

Strange that the islands of Zenith are his first thought, you consider, as your first thoughts were related to the six gods... and perhaps the six key fragments. “The “one” that it mentions could be the Master of Impurity. Tainting and corrupting things is his area, after all,” you decide, “But what the “six” part refers to isn't nearly so clear. As you say, it could well be a reference to the islands of Zenith. I'm inclined to say that it means the gods, though. The question is, was one of the gods – like the Master of Impurity - responsible for tainting the others, or did something else taint all six?”

“Ah, well, I'm hardly the expert here,” the boy points out, “All I really know about are... church subjects. Even then, I'm starting to wonder if I ever really knew what the Church of the Rising Light had at its heart...”

“Then let's start there. Does the term “impure reflections”? mean anything to the church?” you ask, “Any references to it in the scriptures?”

“Um, there is one reference I can think of. The church teaches us that it is not human urges that are sinful, but the impure reflections of them. In other words, it's only when man's desires grow distorted and ugly that they taint his soul,” Blessings' eyes widen a little, “Do you think it might mean there exists an impure reflection of these... Nadir gods? What would that even mean?”

“I don't know. I'll think on it, but who knows? Maybe Coteaz was genuinely unstable when he wrote that,” sighing, you tap the document, “What about the mention of reincarnation? Does the church believe in that?”

“No,” he replies immediately, without a hint of doubt in his voice, “I've never heard any reference to it in any of the mainstream teachings, or even the fringe materials that I... might have accidentally stumbled upon. It's definitely not an accepted part of the church. Some texts DO suggest that the Lord of Rising Light specifically sent certain people to this land as saints, although... I never liked that idea.”

“Why?” you ask.

“It... makes them less... I don't know,” Blessings shrugs a little, “If they were supposed to become saints and do great things, doesn't that make them less... special?”

“I suppose so,” you agree with a slow nod, “There's no point in doing something if you don't choose to do it.”

[1/2]

>>2402218

Pouring a cupful of wine, you consider Coteaz's scroll. You'll be interested to compare it with whatever else Grace manages to translate, to see if her material has any references to these “impure reflections”. One thing that you can say for certain is that Coteaz was working off some extremely radical beliefs, beliefs that the church could not endorse. He would have been working in secrecy, taking care to cover up his footsteps.

“I wonder what would have happened if he had been successful,” Blessings thinks aloud, “I mean, ah, if he was able to bring the saint back to life...”

“I'm sure that Coteaz would have been very happy about it,” you reply with a grim laugh, “Although I can't say the same about the saint herself.” Shaking your head, you reach out and examine the puzzle box itself. A delicate glass vial of some murky fluid – acid, perhaps – it set into the underside of the lid, and it's not hard to see that a firm blow could split it open. Perhaps it might be possible to break in, but it would certainly be a risky operation. Before you set the box down, though, you notice some scratches on the bottom. Not just accidental scratches either, but... what looks like a ragged section of coastline. “A map,” you snap, “Bring me a map!”

Blessing hurries to it, bringing over a selection of maps. Glancing between them, you manage to find a section of Nadir coastline that matches up. Gesturing across for a pen, you circle the approximate area.

“So...” Blessings murmurs, “What do you think it means?”

“A tomb, perhaps,” you reply with a shrug, “Nuada?”

Silent, solemn, both of you gaze down at the slowly drying ink that might well mark out the tomb of a hidden saint.

>Okay, that was everything that I wanted to cover for today. So, I will continue this on Friday and if anyone has any questions I will answer them if I can
>Thank you for your contributions today, and look out for an interlude on Wednesday!

>>2402238
Thanks for running!
Will zombie Alma hunger only for the brains of the faithful?

>>2402250

It's not good to be a picky eater!

>>2402238
Thanks for running!

Nice image for those notes, very mood appropriate.

>>2402238
Thanks for running.

All this talk of impurity and tainted gods reminds me of the duality of gods in Sleeping Gods.

File: 1521489348923.webm (2.7 MB, 1000x600)

2.7 MB WEBM

>>2402238
I'd like to ask, is this the Free Captains' favorite aesthetic?

>>2402722
Is that the Space Captain Haarlock movie from a few years back?

>>2403525
Yep.

>>2395187
Faget.