>>2630925

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

Therese – Dwight's woman, and the reason for his showing off – has the same kind of glasses that Keziah sometimes wears, their lenses coal black over cool blue eyes. The similarities end there, though – her figure is full, wrapped in a soft grey fur, and her dark hair is painstakingly groomed. A face with good breeding to it, certainly not even so much as a single drop of Nadir blood in it, and a knowing smile on her lips. Dwight seems faintly embarrassed that you found her here, but that only seems to amuse her more.

“Wasn't expecting you back for a few days yet,” he explains, or tries to explain, “You called so suddenly that-”

“That he forgot all about poor little me, sleeping not three feet away,” Therese purrs, “Now look where we are. Why, at first I thought that I had been kidnapped by some ruffian!” Far from troubling her, this idea seems more like a source of amusement as far as she's concerned. Flicking at her fringe with one slender finger, she lets out a refined sigh. “But I suppose I should let you gentlemen talk business,” she remarks, “Your employer has a very serious look on his face. Treat him gently, captain!”

Dwight watches as she swans off the bridge, a pained look on his face, then he turns back to you. “She didn't cause any trouble, chief. My woman might be many things, but she's not nosy. Well, I guess maybe she's got a curious streak in her, but she understands limits. I figure you've got business that you don't want sharing, and I made sure it stayed that way,” he runs a hand across his unshaven cheek, “She just wanted to see my new job, you know? I didn't see any harm in it, so...”

You cut him off with a tired gesture. “It's fine, Dwight. At least, until she does anything to prove otherwise. Give me the important details,” you order, “What's the situation here, are we ready to get back to work?”

“There are a few supplies we're running short on, food and sundries mostly. I was going to sort that today, up in Monotia,” Dwight pauses, “Closest thing to civilisation you'll have seen in some time, huh chief?”

“You're not wrong,” you reply with a wan smile, “I've been eating out of cans for the past two weeks, I could really use a decent meal.”

“Oh, then you MUST allow me to cook for you,” Therese butts in, appearing in the doorway, “I have a humble little place in Monotia, and it's been far too long since I had any guests. Call it my way of apologising for this intrusion. What do you say, Captain Vaandemere?”

>I say that sounds like an excellent idea
>I can't spare the time. Important business
>Other

>>2630926
>I say that sounds like an excellent idea
After the Outside, having a nice dinner in Monotia of all places seems like heaven.

>>2630926
>I say that sounds like an excellent idea

>>2630926
>I say that sounds like an excellent idea

I wonder if kez will get into cooking because of this.

“I say that sounds like an excellent idea,” you decide with a nod, “A spot of fine dining is exactly what we need after...” Stopping yourself short here, you give Therese a wan smile. “After so long spent at sea,” you finish, saying nothing else about what you saw out there in the Outside. Half because you fear that she wouldn't believe you... and half because she just might. Your reticence does not go unnoticed, but the woman leaves the matter alone this time.

“Then I suppose I should think about what to make,” she replies, “Come along, Dwight. Walk with me a while.”

“She thinks better while she walks,” Dwight explains with a weary smile, “I'll let you have the controls, boss. Reckon you probably want to spend some quality time with your girl.”

You do, and you suspect that he does as well – albeit in a rather different manner.

-

It's not been long enough for you to lose your feeling for the Spirit of Helena's controls, and soon you're guiding the airship on a leisurely path northwards. With no need to hurry, you're all too happy to take the journey at your own pace. As you fly, you hear the bridge door open and Lem, your little spy, clears his throat. “I was hoping to see you,” you announce after glancing around to make sure that he's alone, “Did anything happen with DuPont while we were away?”

“Something happened, sure,” Lem mutters, hurrying across to sit close by, “I was told, in no uncertain terms, that my services were no longer required.”

This causes you to glance around in surprise. “You think DuPont found out about you?” you ask sharply, “Tell me everything you can, and quickly.”

“Well that won't be a long list. I checked in about... a week ago, and they told me that I was done. Not the usual folk I talk with, someone new – they sounded serious, like... hard, you know?” Lem scratches his cheek as he thinks, “They told me that they were speaking for DuPont, and that was that. Didn't answer none of my questions either. Truth be told, I'm almost worried for the bastard – that new guy didn't sound too friendly about the whole thing.”

“Describe his voice,” you order, “Young, old?”

Lem throws his hands up in disgust. “Just average, totally nondescript. If I had to guess, I'd say they were a soldier, or had been one once,” he offers, “They were used to giving orders, and having them followed. You know the sort.”

An Iraklin, probably. DuPont always was friendly with them – although you've got no room to cast accusations in that regard – and so you wouldn't be surprised if he had some former soldiers on his staff. Running his security, perhaps, or...

“Anyway, that's all I know,” Lem grunts, “And I don't reckon I'll be able to find out much else. Looks like it's back to pushing a mop for me...”

[1/2]

>>2630984

Therese's “humble little place” just happens to be a suite at the Monotia Coronation, perhaps the finest hotel in the city. You've visited the original Coronation, up in Sol Carthul, but that's one memory that you'd rather not dwell on for too long. You went there with company and left alone... with a heavy bill hanging over your head.

Normally you might have trouble in a place like this, but Therese's presence warded off all security as though they had been daemons fleeing from Gunny's staff. Breezing through the lobby as if she owned the place – and for all you know, she might – Therese escorted you up to her large room. The thought of cooking is momentarily forgotten as she launches into a brief tour of her suite. In particular, she shows you an old oil painting.

The portrait depicts a tall, broad-shouldered man, his neatly trimmed hair and beard framing hard black eyes. His age is hard to guess – he could be a coarse young man, or a particularly fortunate man of middle age. A brass plaque at the bottom of the frame reads “Prince Eishin.”

“I'm told that most of Eishin's portraits were destroyed,” Therese gloats, “This might well be the very last one. I found it in some beastly market, the sort of place without a single honest merchant, and I bought it right there on the spot. I had planned to take it back up to Azimuth, but... it didn't feel right. This is where it belongs, wouldn't you say?”

“I suppose so,” you agree slowly, studying Eishin's features again. Compared with everything you've heard about him, the portrait makes him look... normal. As civilised as anyone you might see in Iraklis or Carthul. Maybe that shouldn't come as a surprise to you – he wasn't born in the Deep Forest, after all.

“Now then,” Therese chirps, taking out a sheet of the hotel's elegant paper and a gold pen, “What would you like to eat? I can send an order down to the kitchen, and they'll be only too happy to oblige.”

So much for her offer of cooking for you.

[2/3]

>>2631042

“I don't think I could survive that,” the rich woman muses, considering your vague account of the time spent at sea. A banquet is spread out before the three of you, but you've only picked at the food despite your hunger. After the bland canned meals, this luxurious food seems almost sickeningly rich.

“Life at sea is tough,” you reply, “You've got to be prepared for-”

“Oh, I don't mean being at sea,” she interrupts, “I mean being out of touch with the rest of the world. I couldn't bear it!”

“It was only two weeks,” Dwight points out, “The world isn't going to change that quickly.”

“Every day the world is born anew, and all the people with it – me and you,” Therese quotes, “I can't recall who said that, some poet in all likelihood. In either case, you never can tell. These days, things seem to happen ever so quickly. Captain Vaandemere, I imagine that you'll have missed all the latest gossip.”

“Probably,” you sigh, “But I don't keep a close track of it at the best of times...”

“Oh that won't do!” she tuts, “Go ahead and ask me anything you like. I might not look it, but I'm very much a traveller in my own way. There isn't one city in this entire land that I've not visited. It's hard work, you know!”

“That's how we first met, believe it or not,” Dwight adds, “Therese hired a ship, and I was the one flying it. Not exactly an exciting story, is it?”

“Only because you're leaving out all the good parts!” the woman teases, nudging Dwight with her elbow before giving you a demure smile. “But my offer was a sincere one, captain,” she continues, “In your line of work, isn't it important to stay well informed? Of course, I might ask for a little... give and take. Information isn't free, after all.”

Give and take is a concept that you're all too aware of. “I thought my gossip was all terribly out of date,” you point out, “Isn't that a problem?”

“Oh my, no,” Therese giggles, “I enjoy a little ancient history now and then.”

>Sorry, but I've got no use for gossip
>Okay then, what's going on in Carthul?
>Let's hear the latest news out of Iraklis then
>I'm curious about something... (Write in)
>Other

>>2631044
>Okay then, what's going on in Carthul?
>Let's hear the latest news out of Iraklis then

>>2631044
>Okay then, what's going on in Carthul?
>Let's hear the latest news out of Iraklis then
>>I'm curious about something... (Write in)
What's Eishin been up to?

>>2631044
>Let's hear the latest news out of Iraklis then
We can tell her the story about the dragon....if Dwight didn't already do so.

>>2631044
>Recent events in Carthul and Iraklis?
>And since you have a portrait of him, Eishin get up to anything new these past couple weeks?

Accepting her jibe with a smile, you pick up a small pastry and study it as you think. Crystals of sugar glisten enticingly atop it, but you hold back from biting into it straight away. “Okay then,” you concede, “Indulge me a little. What's been going on in Carthul lately?”

“You missed Saint Bartholomew's festival, you know. Oh, but don't worry – you didn't miss much. It was all a little subdued this year. If you believe the gossip, it's because of Hierophant Milleux and his sermon. Allegedly, it was supposed to be quite a controversial little piece before he was convinced to neuter it. He wanted to say... let me think,” Therese purses her lips as you bite into the sweet pastry, as if she was tasting it and not you. “His original speech claimed that if a man's conscience disagreed with the word of the church, that man had a duty to follow his conscience. As you can imagine, his advisers weren't very happy about that.”

“Can't say I blame them,” Dwight muses, “It's like a captain telling his crew to do whatever they felt like. Someone has to give the orders.”

“He's quite the little radical, Milleux,” Therese chuckles, “Far more interesting than the usual stuffy figures ruling from Sol Carthul. I don't suppose you've ever heard anything about him, Captain Vaandemere?”

She's given her piece, and now it's your turn. “I met him once, actually,” you remark, smiling as her eyes widen a little, “He's definitely not what I had expected from a leader of the faith. He seemed... well, more like a mischievous young man. He's certainly got a mind of his own, though. I get the impression that he's not entirely popular with all the church.”

“Not the higher ups, certainly,” the rich woman says with a coy nod, “He's one to watch, mark my words.”

“And what about the other side of the coin?” you press, “What kind of news has been coming out of Iraklis?”

“Great success in their military campaigns against radical Nadir anarchists!” she announces, in the air of someone quoting from a newspaper, “They're claiming to have put an end to some odd plot, something about airships attacking anyone flying over Nadir. Perhaps you've heard of that?” Taking a sip from her sweet tea, Therese studies you over the rim of her cup. Before you can offer a comment to that, she continues on. “Of course, I've heard that there was no military campaign at all,” she whispers, in a gleefully conspiratorial tone, “But the threat seems to have passed nonetheless. Are they just taking credit for someone else's work, or did they do something more... subtle?”

“Subtlety isn't exactly an Iraklin concept,” Dwight laughs, lighting a cigarette with some of the hotel's matches.

“Unless that's just what they want you to think!” Therese shoots back, “That's true subtlety, wouldn't you say?”

[1/2]

>>2631094

“But you know, speaking of Iraklins... you're rather well acquainted with them, aren't you Captain Vaandemere?” Therese flashes you a coy smile, “An honoured guest at Consul Hess' most recent gathering. Oh yes, I heard about that – if I hadn't been busy in Carthul that day, I might have seen you there myself. Then again, considering how it all played out... well, maybe it was a stroke of luck that saw me elsewhere that night.”

You feel the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end, caution flitting through your thoughts. “So...” you reply cautiously, “Are you looking for my version of events, is that it? That's more than some harmless gossip.”

“Oh, enough of that!” she waves away your warning glare with a laugh, “I'm not trying to dig up any unhappy memories, I simply wanted an answer to one question. You took along a guest, a rather adorable young woman by all accounts. Who was she? Inquiring minds wish to know.”

“They really do,” Dwight agrees with a nod, “There's talk about whether the dashing Captain Vaandemere is a bachelor or not. Hard to believe, I know, but...”

Your caution vanishes, replaced by incredulous amusement. “You're kidding!” you laugh, “Is that what people are saying about me?”

“Are you really that surprised? Free Captains like yourself always attract notice, and you're more notable than most – a war veteran who keeps interesting company and moves through high society...” Therese giggles, “You're a popular one, Captain Vaandemere.”

You're almost certain that she's teasing you now, and that Dwight is in on it. “Grace Sierzac,” you answer with a faint trace of reluctance, “She was my guest, but there's nothing salacious going on between us. I want to be especially clear about that. I brought her along because... well, she's more suited to polite company than I and so I thought she could keep me out of trouble. That's all.”

“Boring!” she calls out in a singsong voice.

“Then let's talk about something more interesting,” you counter, pressing ahead before she can hit you with more questions, “That portrait got me thinking. What has Eishin been up to these past few weeks?”

Therese's face falls a little at this, and she toys with her food for a moment as she thinks. Everything on the table is sweet or sticky in some way, you note, hardly what you'd consider suitable for an early morning meal. “Now I can't say about Eishin himself, but the word on the street is that he sent a man here to Monotia. A messenger, sent straight to King Roegar himself. If you stroll over to the palace, you might still be able to see the messenger – they stuck his head on a pike, believe it or not.”

Roegar might be a puppet of the Azimuth powers, but apparently he's not totally out of touch with his Nadir roots.

[2/3]

>>2631132

“This messenger, what did he look like?” you ask, thinking of Segharl as you gesture up at your brow, “Large man, maybe a horn on his...”

“Oh, nothing like that. He was just a regular sort of fellow,” Therese shakes her head, frowning as if disappointed by that fact, “His message was more interesting than the man himself. Allegedly – and this is talk from the palace itself, from people who know these things – he told King Roegar to renounce his crown and his throne. If not, Eishin would make him renounce them. Perhaps now you can see why they reacted, ah, poorly?”

“Bad manners, that,” Dwight remarks, “Don't behead the messenger.”

“Well, they had to behead someone. A price has to be paid,” Therese shrugs cheerfully, “And speaking of prices...”

“I know, I know,” you sigh, pushing away your plate of sweetened cakes, “Has Dwight told you about the wyrm we saw? It's not exactly gossip, but it's a good story nonetheless.”

With an almost childish air of enthusiasm, Therese nods for you to continue.

-

As you talk, Therese listens with her eyes closed and a dreamy expression on her face. The words come easily to your lips, allowing your thoughts to wander. What she said before seems more accurate than you thought – things really have changed in your absence. This talk of Eishin is especially worrying, when you consider it along with what else you know about him. If he has gained some form of control over that black smoke daemon, it could be a potent weapon for him. Set loose in Monotia, it could cause no end of harm.

You'll be seeing Maeve later, when you fly west to pick up Masque. She might know more.

When Therese opens her eyes, you realise that your story has come to an end. “I do wish you'd been able to take an Imago,” she murmurs, “I'd love to have something like that, to show off to all of my friends. I'd be the talk of the town!”

Dwight snorts laughter. “Which town?” he asks her, stubbing out his cigarette in an empty dish.

“All of them, I suppose,” Therese purrs.

-

“Sorry for putting you through that, chief,” Dwight murmurs later, as you're walking through the hotel lobby, “She's a good one, that woman, but she's not what you'd call conventional. When she gets an idea in her head, she's... well, I guess you don't need me to tell you.”

“She's not boring,” you reply simply.

“True,” the pilot laughs, “Back to the ship, then?”

>Right. Let's go
>I want to head to the palace, maybe see if that head is still there
>There's a bar I want to go to first. Morey's Pit, if you know the place
>Other

>>2631212
>There's a bar I want to go to first. Morey's Pit, if you know the place
See if we can't get some more information.

>>2631212
>Right. Let's go
where were we supposed to go next?

>>2631212
>Right. Let's go

>>2631217
Maeve's to pick up Masque who will take us to that pirate Haven.

>>2631212
>Morey's Pit
Grab Caliban first, so he doesn't miss out on seeing his crush.

“Right. We're flying for Sybile next, to pick up a friend of mine,” you tell Dwight, “After that... we're bound for Zenith. I'll be able to tell you more when I know exactly where we're going.”

“Sybile...” he repeats with a wan smile, “Another home cooked meal, then? I don't mind, but the chief engineer might not be too happy about it.”

“We're not likely to be staying that long,” you assure him, “Like I said, we're just meeting someone there and then moving on. Quick and easy, nothing to worry about.”

“Quick and easy, sure,” he chuckles, “I've heard that one before, chief.”

-

When you arrive back at the Spirit of Helena, you find Caliban sitting on the cargo bay floor with all of his attention focused on the flute he brought back from the Outside. You watch for a moment as his fingers dance across the holes, quietly marvelling at how nimble they seem. Then, as if to ruin the illusion, he lifts the flute to his lips and plays a long, discordant note. “Shit...” he mutters to himself, dropping it down into his pocket, “Damn thing must be broken.”

“Can you really break a flute?” you ask, causing his shoulders to tense up.

“I knew you were there,” the hunter insists, “You've been somewhere fancy – I can smell it on you, perfume and burned sugar. While you were off living the good life, we've been suffering here with empty bellies and-”

“Caliban!” Blessings calls from the other side of the cargo bay, “Did you eat those breakfast leftovers? I was keeping those for the captain!”

“Empty bellies, huh?” you remark, raising an eyebrow as Caliban swiftly rises to his feet and flings Blessings a vulgar gesture. To your amused surprise, Blessings throws it right back at him before leaving. “Whatever. How about a drink to wash down that double breakfast of yours” you ask, “I wanted to go see some people, ask a few questions. I figured you might like to come along and hear what they have to say.”

“Sure, sounds like-” Caliban pauses, his eyes narrowing into slits, “What people, exactly?”

“Oh, don't give me that look,” you scold him, slapping him on the arm, “Come on.”

-

Even this early in the morning, Morey's Pit has a few dedicated drinkers nestled in their usual dark corners. Morey himself sits behind the bar, methodically sharpening a meat cleaver, while Mara sits atop the bar itself, studying herself in a small hand mirror. As you watch, she pulls back one corner of her mouth to reveal what looks like a new tooth – jutting out at an ugly, unnatural angle. Sooner or later, she'll be just as deformed as her... whatever Morey is to her.

“I'm out,” Caliban hisses to you as the little mutant looks around, her eyes widening, “I'm leaving.”

You grab his arm as he starts to back out of the doorway, your fingers digging into his flesh.

[1/2]

>>2631282
How do you fit such 24 carat comedy gold into a dark quest so well?

This quest is my fetish.

>>2631292
He's an artist.

>>2631282
Just tell Mara that Caliban is arm in arm with another woman now, or some better arm pun.

>>2631300
Oh god yes

>>2631282

“You smell of the sea,” Mara hisses, leaning uncomfortably close and smelling both you and Caliban. His lips drawn back into a distasteful sneer, Caliban pushes her back down into her seat. Far from being put off by this rough treatment, Mara only favours him with a hideous smile. “The sea, and something old,” she adds, “And something... someone... familiar. I shan't say any more, though.”

“Thank the gods for that,” Caliban drawls. Maybe you're just imagining things, but you swear that this grumpiness of his is an act.

“You're so cruel,” Mara whines, still smiling at him, “We've not seen each other in so long, and this is how you treat me?”

“Give it up, girl,” you scold her, “He's arm in arm with another woman these days. They're always holding hands, and I hear that he's even thinking of putting a ring on her finger.” You chuckle a little at this, especially as Mara's eyes narrow to suspicious slits. Practically lunging forwards, she tastes Caliban's scent one more time.

“You're lying,” she hisses, “I don't smell no woman on him.”

“Some women wash,” Caliban points out, pushing her away again, “You should try it one of these days.”

Mara studies you both with her blank eyes before laughing – or rather, saying the word “hah” with a flat voice. “I missed this,” she admits, “Not enough fun in this place these days. Everyone always looks so gloomy! Even the Morey has been glum about something. The winds are changing, he says.”

“Something to do with Eisin, maybe?” you ask, “I hear that he sent a messenger to the palace. The luckless bastard ended up with his head on a pike. You hear anything about that?”

Mara runs her greying tongue across her teeth as she thinks. “They're saying he was an assassin,” she answers, “That's all a load of shit, though – he was unarmed, and that's a big deal for one of Eishin's people. We have someone inside the palace, they saw it all with their own two... er, more or less... eyes. I don't know much more than that.” Stubbornly, she turns her face away from you and crosses her arms.

Leaning over, Caliban hooks two of his fingers under her chin and turns her face back to his. “I think you do,” he insists quietly, his voice charged with animalistic power. Mara practically melts, her eyes losing their focus as she sighs.

“There was two days,” she murmurs, “Two days between when he showed up in the palace and when he appeared on that pike. Word is, that messenger guy was being held as an honoured guest for a while. Had some uniform talking with him all hours of the day. Big lad, with one eye all white.”

That sounds a lot like Carter, like Consul Hess' man, but why would he be here speaking with one of Eishin's people?

You feel a chill run through your body, as if you stepped into a puddle and found it to be as deep as a lake.

[2/3]

>>2631351

Still reeling from Caliban's attack, Mara manages to stumble away and pour herself a drink. As she leaves, you quickly brief Caliban about the news coming out of Iraklis. Eishin's suicide airships have ceased their attacks, but not because of any overt military action. Meanwhile, Carter was here speaking with one of Eishin's emissaries. You don't like the idea, but it almost sounds like some kind of deal was made.

“And here I was, thinking that the Iraklins wanted to crush Eishin,” Caliban mutters, his expression darkening, “If they are trying to cut a deal with him, they must be fools. Eishin would never honour any deal with outsiders. He couldn't – not unless he wanted to piss off his rabble of an army. If I know the Deep Forest tribes, and I do, then their hatred of Azimuth is what keeps them together. If Eishin was found to be cutting deals... they'd tear him apart.”

“You'd like to see that happen, wouldn't you?” you laugh.

“Of course,” he agrees, “But speaking realistically, I doubt that it would be as simple as that. Two outsiders flinging about all manner of accusations? It might cause a bit of a stir, it might loosen Eishin's grip a little, but that's all.” Sighing, Caliban looks across at Mara, watching as she throws back a small glass of some noxious spirit – you can smell it from where you're sitting. “But do you know what I think, captain?” he adds, “It's not our problem. Let them all stab each other in the back and cut each other's throats. To hell with them.”

This brings a wan smile to your face. “You're in a good mood today,” you remark, “She really does bring out the best in you.” Before you can twist the knife a little more, Mara returns and treats you both to the reek of alcohol. “Anything else you wanted to tell us?” you ask her, “Now that your tongue has been loosened?”

“I can do more than just talk with this tongue,” Mara retorts, although her voice is distracted. “But I got nothing...” she adds, before her eyes widen, “Oh!”

“What?” Caliban asks, giving Mara a hard look. She squirms a little, then answers.

“The guy, the messenger. He was like you,” she says, poking Caliban in the chest with one bony finger, “Flawless. Not a blemish on him. Weird, for one of Eishin's lot.”

“Weird,” Caliban agrees slowly. Mara nods unsteadily, then rises and creeps off. “Hell,” he mutters, “Does any of this make sense to you, captain?”

>Not really, but you're right – it's not our problem. Let's head back to the ship
>Let me ask Mara something else... (Write in)
>Other

>>2631426
>>Not really, but you're right – it's not our problem. Let's head back to the ship

>>2631426
>Nope. Maybe we'll hear something later that helps us make sense of it.

Jeez Mara is so thirsty. I feel almost bad for subjecting Caliban to this.

>>2631438
>I feel almost bad for subjecting Caliban to this.
Never forget the eaten leftovers

>>2631471
You're right anon, thank you for reminding me. He cannot suffer enough.

“Not really,” you admit, “But what you said earlier was about right – it's not our problem. Let's head back to the ship before your secret admirer gets even more agitated.”

“Secret?” Caliban repeats with a snort of amusement. Leaving Morey's Pit and stepping into the bright sunlight, you shield your eyes and start back towards the aerodrome. Before you've gone more than a dozen paces, you hear Caliban cursing. Patting his pockets down, he jerks an angry hand back towards the bar. “I must have dropped my flute,” he explains, “Go on ahead, captain. I'll catch you up. Won't be a moment.”

Frowning, you watch as he turns and hurries off back into Morey's Pit. Then, with a shrug, you return to your original path.

-

Caliban ends up being longer than a moment. Quite a bit longer, in fact – you end up waiting in the Spirit of Helena for almost fifteen minutes before he joins you. “Little bitch took it, wouldn't give it back until I asked nicely,” he explains, rubbing at a mark on his neck, “Then she bit me when I tried to take it back. Someone ought to put that little mutt down. Do you think I should see the doctor?”

“Can't hurt,” you reply, raising an eyebrow at his explanation, “Go on, do what you have to do. If the doctor can't help you, Maeve might – she's probably got a trick or two up her sleeves.”

Nodding briskly, Caliban turns and marches off the bridge.

-

The skies are clear and there are no storms in sight, so you make good time on your trip westwards. Before long, you're guiding the Spirit of Helena down onto what passes for the Sybile aerodrome. Waiting a moment more for the engines to finish cooling off, you turn around to see Keziah lingering by the doorway. She must be learning some of Caliban's tricks, creeping up on you like that. Her face is set in an uncertain mask.

“It's odd, boss,” she announces, “I'm actually lookin' forwards to seein' me mam again. Never did think I'd see the day. Might be that seein' that Outside place put some things in perspective for me, but I'm actually lookin' forwards to seein' me mam again.”

“At least, until she opens her mouth,” you reply, “Then things might return to normal.”

“Aye, there is that,” the witch agrees cheerfully, “Well, I cannae complain too much. Let's take a wee stroll over and pick up Masque.”

You chat with Keziah for a while more as you leave the ship, telling her about the news from Monotia. She listens without comment, occasionally offering a thoughtful nod. As you're passing through the outskirts of town, you hear a voice calling out to you.

“Sir!” Arran hisses, leaning around from the doorway of his incomplete house. Frowning, you approach him. “He was here!” the man adds as you approach, “I saw him here!”

“Slow down,” you urge him, “Who did you see?”

“The giant with the broken horn!” he answers feverishly.

[1/2]

>>2631502
Caliban 1000% went back for a quicky with Mara, that's definitely a hickey. Priscilla will be so sad...

>>2631520
Gotta pay for using power, he got her all riled up.

>>2631520
Not sure if we should be happy for them that he can see the beauty behind the beast or feel sorry or weirded out for Caliban that he's so far gone he'd tap a deep one

>>2631520
'Hiding the flute' is what the Nadir kids are calling it nowadays

>>2631539
I think he just follows BattlePope rules.

Any port in a storm.

>>2631502

It's hard to get much sense out of the man, but you manage to calm him. Ciara is just as distressed, although in a far more subdued way. While you talk with Arran, the woman sits silently in the corner and tugs at her hair. They both look pale and drawn, as if they spent the last few days without sleep.

“I dinnae understand this at all,” Keziah groans, “Run it all past me one more time, will you?”

“It was... two days ago. Late. I was out front, checking the walls for... that doesn't matter now,” Arran shakes his head, “I heard footsteps. When I turned around, HE was there – walking straight past me as if I wasn't even there. Wherever he went, people looked away from him. They didn't want to see him.”

“You're sure of this?” you press, “It couldn't have been someone else, or-”

“He was the man who destroyed our home!” Arran snaps, “I can't ever forget his face!”

“I'm not saying you... Fine,” shaking your head, you gesture for him to continue, “So he came here. What did he do? Did he speak with anyone, or did it seem like he was looking for anything?”

Arran takes a moment to compose himself before continuing with his tale. “He ignored everyone. He knew exactly where he was going,” he explains slowly, “He went to the witch. I saw him, he marched straight up to her door and he... he knocked, like he was begging her permission to enter! She let him in, and then... I don't know. He was inside for maybe an hour, then he left. Walked straight out of the village, never said a word to anyone else.” Having finished his account, he slumps back.

“Did you talk to anyone about it?” Keziah asks, “Ask them if they knew what was goin' on?”

“I... tried,” Arran swallows heavily, “They wouldn't say. Denied ever seeing anything. Since then, we've been hiding out here and... gods, maybe coming here was a mistake!”

-

As you're leaving the ramshackle house, Keziah spits a vile curse. “Cannae believe this!” she hisses, “As soon as I start thinkin' that maybe she isnae so bad, she pulls a stunt like this! What, was she invitin' that monster in for tea? Serving him dinner on the same table that we ate from? I... Shit!”

That just about sums up your feelings on the matter. There was the matter of the lodestone – Maeve said that she could trick Segharl, fool him so that he couldn't track it here, but... maybe she underestimated him.

“Should we call her out on it, or keep quiet and see what she says?” you ask, “She's your mother, what do you think?”

Keziah meets your eyes, her childhood fear surfacing once more, but all she can do is helplessly shake her head. Sighing, you make a decision. You'll...

>Confront Maeve with this new information
>Keep quiet, see what Maeve says
>Try something else... (Write in)
>Other

>>2631569
>Confront Maeve with this new information

>>2631569
>Confront Maeve with this new information

Tell her that we'll give her a chance to explain, but we don't expect an explanation from her. After all, Witches do as Witches wont.

But it's pretty shitty to be constantly pulling Witch politics on your own kid and we had thought she was past that with Keziah.

>>2631569
>Confront Maeve with this new information
But don't be accusatory like Keziah. Remember that Eishin is trying to fuck up the natural order with daemons and other shit that witches hate. If Maeve and Segharl are conspiring about anything, it'd probably be to depose him.

Otherwise, Segharl was looking for that changeling lodestone, in which case that's not anything to be mad at Maeve for. If anything we should thank her again for running interference.

>>2631569
>Bring it up
Ask if she's ok and if Segharl knew about the lodestone though, don't start off confrontational.

>>2631594
This.

You don't see any other choice in the matter – you have to get this out in the open. “I'm going to ask her about this, but we're not going to accuse her of anything – yet,” you explain to Keziah, “Being confrontational might just make things worse. Eishin is no friend to the natural order of things – perhaps that's why Segharl came to see her, to try and... do something about it. The point is, we won't know unless we ask her.”

“Right,” Keziah whispers, her voice as dry and brittle as old paper, “Just... you do the talkin', boss. I dinnae trust myself not to say somethin' we both regret. I want to be there, though, so I can look her in the eye.”

Nodding, you gesture for her to stick close and head off towards Maeve's home.

-

Maeve and Masque are waiting for you when you arrive, Maeve sitting casually at one end of her long table and Masque standing beside her with his arms folded. It's a pose that you've seen countless times before, that of a bodyguard standing ready to protect his charge. Strange, to see him like this when not so long ago he was urging you to be cautious of Maeve. The witch gestures, and you sit. Keziah hesitates for a moment, then sits down as well.

“We're back,” you begin simply, “It was a strange journey, one that you'd probably find quite interesting. Before we talk about that, though, there was something I wanted to speak with you about.” Pausing, you glance across to Keziah and meet her eyes. The fear has faded from her now, although you sense it lurking deep behind her eyes. “You had a guest here recently,” you state, “Didn't you?”

“I did,” Maeve answers, making no attempt to divert or distract from the question, “Segharl the Broken, King Eishin's herald. He came here to see me... although not in what you might call an official capacity. He did not come here as Eishin's hand, but as his own man.”

All of a sudden, you realise that you had been bracing yourself for the worst, for lies or outrage. Reminding yourself that she might still be telling you a carefully constructed tale, you give her a grateful nod. “That's interesting to hear,” you continue, “But... a personal call? Strange company for you to keep. Tell me, was it regarding that lodestone business?”

Maeve waves a graceful hand in front of her face, dismissing the very thought. “Not at all. In fact, he came to give me a warning,” here, Maeve treats you to a cool smile, “I have been asking too many questions of late, he told me. Eishin does not like people who ask too many questions. In fact, Eishin does not like a great many things.”

“So I've heard,” you agree drily, “And why would Segharl warn you about this?”

“A matter of professional courtesy,” she answers carefully.

[1/2]

>>2631689
> “A matter of professional courtesy,” she answers carefully.

Didn't realize Segharl was a witch.

>>2631689

“Can't even give a straight answer!” Keziah hisses, and you realise a moment later that she did not speak aloud. You reply with a wordless urge of caution, and her lips tighten slightly.

“You'll have to forgive me, but I'm not quite sure what you mean,” you tell Maeve, “Are you saying that you're... friends with this man?”

“Not friends, no. In fact, this was our first time meeting one another face to face. I may, however, have known his mother once, a very long time ago. This is not as much of a coincidence as you might think – we initiated often communicate with one another. This man, Segharl, prizes his honour above all else, and that honour led him to give me this warning,” Maeve closes her eyes, smiling softly to herself, “However, if I do not heed his warning, he may one day burn this town to the ground – his master may order it, and he would be honour bound to obey.”

“He can't!” Keziah cries out, standing up so hastily that her chair topples backwards, “He mustn't...”

“My daughter, be seated,” Maeve says quietly, her calm voice causing the younger witch to slump. “Let me be clear,” she continues, “I have been trying to learn exactly what Eishin is planning. That information yet eludes me, and Segharl has learned of my efforts. Eishin, he tells me, does not yet know. Furthermore, Segharl – and perhaps Eishin – may have learned of your mission.”

“What?” you snap, “How? We've been careful, we've tried to-”

“I suspect that he has consulted a daemon of his own – perhaps even Ohrmazd,” she answers, naming the daemon of knowledge that she summoned for you all that time ago, “Certainly, I am not that spirit's sole master.” Here, Maeve gives you a long, studious look. What she sees in you remains unsaid, but you get the strangest feeling – as though she was looking at you and seeing someone else entirely. “In truth, I cannot be certain what this means. Segharl did not suggest that he wished to stop your mission, but neither did he support it. His interest in this matter remains unclear,” she frowns slightly, the idea of being unsure about anything clearly irritating her, “I urge caution.”

Of course she does. Letting out a low sigh, you slump back in your chair and think for a moment. It doesn't work – your mind remains stubbornly blank. “You say that he may have consulted with daemons,” you ask at last, “Does that mean that he's a witch too?”

“Perhaps, or perhaps he has the services of one,” Maeve shrugs, “Forced service, perhaps. I imagine that willingness is irrelevant to him.”

“Bastard...” Keziah whispers. This, she does say aloud, and Maeve agrees with a solemn nod.

>So what happens next?
>There's something I want to ask you... (Write in)
>Other

>>2631854
>What next? Can we shield ourselves from his scrying?

>>2631881
>>2631854
This

>>2631854
>>2631881
this

>>2631881
>>2631854
This, or can we feed him false information? Maybe lying with an incomplete truth or something?

“So what happens next?” you ask, “Do you know of any way to shield us from his scrying?”

Maeve thinks about this. In a way, that actually scares you a little – you can't ever recall seeing her thinking so hard, searching her thoughts for any solution to your problem. It's enough to make you wonder if you might be outmatched this time. Despite everything that he's done to upset the natural order of things, to twist the relations between men and daemons, Eishin might simply have the better witches.

“There may be something that I can do for you,” Maeve offers after her long moment of silence, “Let me ask you something in turn. When you leave here, will you be going to a place of danger?”

“There will be danger,” Masque states, his first words since you arrived. You look around at the daemon, then nod your agreement.

“Then, my daughter, I shall need you to send word to me when you are there,” the older witch continues, “I shall... it may be possible to play a trick, for something else to die in your place. Animals, beasts of the forest, will suffice. I cannot promise that it will be perfect, but it will... complicate things for Eishin and his witches. I will need some items from you – hair, say, locks of your hair. My daughter, will you go and bring me these items?”

“Uh, aye, I can do that,” Keziah nods slowly, “Hell, what am I goin' to tell them? Oh, dinnae mind me, I'm just here to give you a wee trim. Nae need to-”

“Please,” the older witch interrupts, and Keziah reels back as if struck. Nodding again, she stumbles a little and hurries out of the room. “I will make it appear as though you have died,” she explains to you, “As I say, it is an imperfect solution, but it may suffice to fool a daemon searching for you. I fear that this is the only solution that I can offer you.”

“False information. Right, that should work,” you murmur, allowing yourself to feel a touch of optimism, “But what about you? Will this serve to hide you as well?”

“I shall not hide,” Maeve decides simply, “And if Eishin sends his men to fight me... I was once a warrior. If the gods will it, I shall be one again.”

>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!

>>2632006
Thanks for running!

>>2632006
Thanks for running.

So we need to get hair from all our crew?

>>2632006
Thanks for running!

How would you rate Maeve's prowess as a warrior on a scale of one to Freddy? Multiple Freddies are allowed.

>>2632006
> Just don't think youbhave tonfight them alone. Make a tactical retreat, and I'm sure we can find you Allies to stand beside - we will be willing to stand beside you for sure.

>>2632057
A little bit. Blood or flesh would also work, but hair is generally easier to get a sample of.
>>2632083
She's older now, but Maeve was quite the rough one when she was younger. I'd rate her at about one and a half Freddies in her prime, but maybe a little less nowadays.

>>2632167
>1.5 Freddies
Damn, she's too good at fighting to be a witch.

>>2632269
I would think being a bit wild and tough qould be necessary for being a Witch though.

File: Maeve.png (1.49 MB, 1024x1365)

1.49 MB PNG

“But we've allowed ourselves to get distracted,” Maeve announces, rising from her seat with a sigh so soft that you can barely hear it. There's fatigue in that sigh, a rare glimpse of human weakness from the old witch, and you wonder if she would have shown that had Keziah still been here. Slowly walking around the table, she reaches deep into her robes and produces a small knife – a tool, not a weapon. Circling behind you, she places a firm hand on your shoulder and leans down to whisper in your ear.

“I am not afraid to fight,” she murmurs, “I will defend this village, with my life if that is what is asked of me.”

“You don't need to fight alone,” you urge her, “You could find allies to stand with you, I'm certain of that. You've helped us this far, we'd be ready to fight alongside you.” It's strange, saying this without being able to see her, but somehow you know that she's smiling. Her fingers brush your hair, and then you feel the tug of the blade as she cuts a lock free. “I hope it's not going grey,” you remark, “I'm not as young as I used to be.”

“Youth is wasted on the young. We all think that we're invulnerable in those days, always rushing off into new danger,” Maeve reaches down and plucks at your shawl, “He was no different. He had a path that he wished to follow, even knowing that it was surely an impossible one. Impossible for him, at least – not so for you.”

It takes a moment for the significance of her words to sink in. “So the man this shawl was meant for... he was also following this path?” you ask, “That's why you're helping me, isn't it? To see his work finished.”

Maeve laughs softly, patting you on the shoulder before she returns to her seat. “Masque and I have been discussing where your path will take you next,” she continues, gesturing to the daemon, “Masque, why don't you share what you told me?”

“I can get you inside the kingdom,” Masque rumbles, “However, in doing so, I will surely have to do battle with the Pierrot. It was he who defeated me and led to my exile. If I return, I will have to fight him and regain my place there.” He pauses, touching the sheathed sword in his belt. “It is a fight that I will almost certainly lose,” he states, “This vessel will surely be destroyed. However, you will be granted an opportunity to achieve your goal.”

“How can you be so certain?” you ask him, “This time, you might be able to beat him.”

“No,” the daemon replies bluntly, “This vessel is dead. As long as I am bound to it, it will not degrade or decay... but neither can it improve. No amount of training can strengthen these muscles or sharpen these reflexes. The Pierrot is a man – he can always seek new heights.”

“But perhaps things need not be this way,” Maeve muses, “There is always a way... for those willing to seek it out.”

[1/2]

>>2634382

“While it is true that daemons have certain... limitations, there are ways to work around them,” Maeve continues, heedless of Masque's attempt at stopping her, “There is a weapon, a sword once carried by a being much like yourself – a daemon bound within human flesh. It carried this sword for so long, and yet its story remains unfinished. Take up this sword, Masque, and you may be able to continue the daemon's story.”

“And benefit from its power,” the daemon growls, “So you claim, witch.”

“This sword... do you know where it is?” you ask, looking between Maeve and Masque. There's a strange, stilted air between the two of them, as if the daemon has his own doubts about this.

“I do. In fact, it is close,” Maeve smiles, “You will find it in the Owlwood, held in the care of a custodian. However, he may not easily hand it over. If you seek it out, you may need to perform some tedious service for him, if he is willing to give it to you at all. If he is unwilling, then...” She finishes that thought with an idle shrug, leaving you with little doubt as to what she is suggesting. “But you should take care,” she adds, “There is danger in taking up another's tale. Without a strong grasp of who you are, you can become lost in it.”

Looking to Masque, you gesture for him to speak. “What do you want to do?” you ask him, “This is as much your choice as it is mine.”

Masque lets out a low growl, an animalistic sound coming from a human throat. “Were it an option, I would fight and win by my own merits. Sadly, that is not the case. I do not wish for this vessel to be destroyed – I have grown quite accustomed to it – yet neither do I wish to become... something else,” he thinks for a long moment before continuing, “You bested me in combat, Milos Vaandemere, and you brought me here. Were it not for that, I would not have reclaimed my past. I put myself at your disposal.”

To this, you say nothing. The dispassionate glass lenses of Masque's iron mask stare unwaveringly into you, while Maeve watches on with an enigmatic smile. “I am a tool,” the daemon concludes, “To be used as you wish, and disposed of when you require it. I will follow your orders.”

In a way, you almost wish he wasn't being so... subservient. Being a captain often means holding the fate of your crew in your hands, but this feels different. Even reminding yourself that Masque is a daemon, that he won't really die, doesn't make the decision any simpler for you.

>We'll seek out this sword. Maeve, tell me more about it
>We're not using this sword. Perhaps there's some other way to win
>I have questions... (Write in)
>Other

>>2634385
>>We'll seek out this sword. Maeve, tell me more about it
Better to have it and not need it, etc.

>>2634385
>I have questions... (Write in)
"Anything you can tell me about this custodian?"

"How would we best prevent Masque from losing himself to this sword?"

>>2634385
>We'll seek out this sword. Maeve, tell me more about it

>>2634385
>I have questions... (Write in)
Mybe show off our sword?
If it bruns when there deamoma and things mybw itl keep burninf if a deamon holds it

>>2634414
Our sword doesn't burn when there are daemons nearby. You might be thinking of our gun.

“What can you tell us about this... custodian?” you ask Maeve carefully, “You say that he might ask for some service, but what sort of task are you talking about?”

Maeve touches a finger to her lips as she thinks on how best to describe the man. “He is... skittish,” she ventures, “If you would see him, I suggest that you go alone – he dislikes large groups of people, you see. I would say that he is a harmless man, although not especially welcoming to outsiders. Perhaps you might have seen him before?” Her smile deepens a little as she suggests this, and a thought springs to mind.

The last time you went into the Owlwood, to do a spot of practice shooting with Blessings and Freddy, there had been a man – a savage, by the look of him. At the time, you hadn't known if he was alone or simply one part of a larger group, and so you had fled. “That was him?” you murmur, and Maeve nods. “Well, that's... that doesn't matter now,” you continue, “His errands, what should we expect?”

“Maybe something as simple as bringing him food, or maybe chasing away some outsiders that he has taken a dislike to,” the witch shrugs, “I really couldn't say. However, he is no young man – should you merely wish to take the sword from him, I dare say that he could not stop you.”

“And, what, you're okay with the idea?” you ask her, not quite able to keep a note of accusation from creeping into your voice.

“His role is to hold the sword until someone who truly needs it arrives,” she explains, “If he refuses to turn it over, he will have failed to uphold his end of the bargain.”

A bargain, you muse, implies that some kind of deal was made – a deal with what? “Say that we do get this sword,” you press, taking a different approach, “How would we stop Masque from getting... lost in it?”

“His memories have been recovered – that, I should think, is already a strong point in his favour,” Maeve turns to Masque and gives him an appraising look. “Never forget the sins that your vessel has committed,” she tells him, “You have shared them for a great many years, and if you should ever waver they shall guide you back to yourself.”

“I cannot ever forget them,” Masque promises, a note of cold steel in his voice.

“Then I suppose that we've done all that we can,” you sigh, “Very well, we'll seek out this sword. It may be that we won't need it, but... I'd rather have every tool possible in our disposal, just in case. What else can you tell me, then?”

Maeve's smile widens ever so slightly, as if she approves of your decision. “You will find the custodian in the heart of the Owlwood. Find a stone circle, then follow the path eastwards. Look for a hill, a cavern sunk into the side of it,” she nods towards Masque, “Take him with you, but only him. If the custodian refuses you, mention my name – that should put him at ease.”

[1/2]

>>2634451

“The sword itself will be of little use to you, or to any human who holds it. It shares its power only with a fellow daemon,” Maeve looks down at your waist, “But that should not worry you. After all, it seems as though you have a sword of your own now.”

“Not much of one,” you grunt, drawing the ruined blade from its sheath without thinking about it. As you close your hand around the grip, Feanor's apparition appears in the corner of your eye. At first his face is set in a typical mask of sardonic amusement, but then his brow dips into a fierce frown. Looking back to the blade, you see wisps of white smoke leaking from the holes in the useless remnants. Before your eyes, the mist hardens into its usual blade.

“Fascinating,” Maeve breathes, leaning across to examine the weapon, “It bares itself when faced with a foe beyond mortal ken!”

Whatever that means. Looking around, you see Feanor staring at Masque with his eyes filled with hate and his lips drawn back in a silent snarl. “It doesn't like you,” you tell him, sheathing the weapon and banishing the supernatural blade, “Any idea why?”

“I wonder,” the daemon replies flatly, turning and striding from the witch's dwelling before you can press the point. Shooting Maeve a quizzical look, you rise from your chair and hurry after him.

-

With the pace of a man who knows exactly where he's going, Masque marches towards the Owlwood. You hasten after him, pausing only to send Keziah a quick burst of thoughts to explain the current situation. Her reply is wordless, just a formless haze of concern. You catch up with Masque at the border of the Owlwood, and he begins to speak as soon as you approach him.

“I feel as though I have seen that blade before,” he decides, “But for one such as I, it is not as simple as that. It may be that it yet holds some significance to me.”

Nothing is ever simple when it comes to daemons. “What kind of significance?” you ask, although you already have an idea of what he might mean.

“That blade may be the weapon that destroys this vessel and puts an end to the current phase of my existence,” Masque confirms, “Or, to put in in human terms, you might say that it will kill me.”

That's a cheerful thought.

-

You arrive at the stone circle without too much difficulty, and from there the path ahead is obvious enough – generations of footsteps have carved out a route through the trees. Ahead of you, the ground rises up to form the particularly unimpressive hill that is your destination. Clouds have started to gather overhead, darkening the skies and threatening rain, and it's hard not to take it as an ill omen of things to come.

When you reach the mouth of the cave and spot a crumpled shape lying in the entrance, that feeling of unease only deepens.

[2/3]

>>2634549

The sour smell of decay hits you even before you've reached that crumpled shape, confirming what you already suspected. The man, the custodian, is dead – beaten to death, if the sorry state of his body is any indication. The dirt around him has been churned up by countless footsteps, but it looks like there was a great many people involved in the attack. Masque stoops down and studies the dirt in silence for a long moment.

“Eight men,” he decides, before pointing to a spot a few feet away, “And one more, who did not take part in the attack. They watched.” Reaching down to the body, he pulls off one heavy glove and touches the cold flesh. “This happened two days ago,” the daemon continues, “Roughly. I cannot say more than that.”

Two days... Segharl was in the area around that sort of time. Crossing over to where Masque pointed, you take a look at the faint impressions left in the soil. The footprints are too small to belong to that giant. They seem almost dainty by comparison, perhaps left by a woman. “Segharl came with a retinue,” you think aloud, “He sent his men here while he went to meet with Maeve. A distraction for them, so that he could speak with her alone. Did he know about the sword? Did he know that we would be looking for it?”

“You speak to yourself,” Masque points out, “Do you expect answers?”

“It helps me think,” you shoot back, marching into the cave itself. It's not deep, fortunately, hardly anything more than a shallow depression in the side of the hill. A few feet inside, you find an altar lined with human skulls. The bones don't look damaged, though, and something about their placement seems... reverent.

“The skulls of previous custodians, held here in honour of their work,” the daemon explains, before pointing to an empty set of brackets atop the altar, “And this where the sword would have rested. They must have taken it, killing the blade's guardian in the process.”

“I guess they didn't feel like helping him with some errand,” you mutter, “You seemed pretty certain about their numbers. You think you can follow their trail? We could go back for the others, and-”

“I can do it,” Masque interrupts. He sounds more than just certain – it's as if the idea of getting help is anathema to him.

>Very well, lead the way
>We're outnumbered here. We need to bring the others along
>Other

>>2634651
>>We're outnumbered here. We need to bring the others along

If they have a daemon of their own, we might need to fight humans and an upgraded sword daemon. Best not to go in outnumbered.

>>2634651
>We're outnumbered here. We need to bring the others along
8v2 seems very unwise and we aren't the best fighter like Freddie or Caliban. Does Masque have a plan or is this just pride?

>>2634651
>We're outnumbered here. We need to bring the others along

2v10 not good odds
I know we're both good fighters, but still

>>2634651
Very well, lead the way

>>2634651
>We're outnumbered here. We need to bring the others along

Have Keziah follow us in the airship using our demon telepathy

>>2634651
>We're outnumbered here. We need to bring the others along
I mean, sure, having an adventure to get it back might solidify Masque's "story" in not getting sucked into the sword's, but 2v10 is really, really stupid.

>>2634658
We has a sword that kill the deamon though and our deamon is unkillable kinda not bad odds realy

>>2634729
Dont you know fun and we get back with a cool story

>>2634730
Except they totes ganked the demon killing sword so he is pretty killable now.

“We're outnumbered here,” you point out, “We need to bring the others along – unless you have some kind of plan to even the odds?”

“I am more than equal to this band of churls,” Masque snarls, placing a hand atop the sword at his hip, “I could cut down twice their number without-”

“And what if it's more than just them?” you counter, “They could be meeting up with their master. They may have a daemon of their own – something that can wield this blade against us. I don't want to take any chances with this, especially not because of some... professional pride on your part. No, we're getting the others before we go any further.” Holding Masque's gaze – as best you can with those blank lenses covering his eyes, at least – you give him a moment more before continuing. “Is that a problem?” you conclude.

“No,” the daemon replies, shaking his head firmly, “I will obey.”

-

“Beating an unarmed old man like this...” Freddy mutters as she kneels down by the custodian's body, “I just can't see the sense in it. If they wanted to take the sword, they could have just... taken it. There was no need for any of this.”

“If he said no to them, that would be reason enough,” Caliban corrects her. His voice is thick with anger, and his eyes flash darkly whenever he glances at the old custodian's body. Abruptly stalking away, he crouches low and starts to examine the ground. “Eight men and a women, no mistaking it. One of the men was heavy – fat, probably – and another one had a limp. Maybe he sprained an ankle while he was kicking the old man to death.”

“That might slow them down,” Freddy suggests, “An army marches at the speed of the slowest.”

“Not this army,” the hunter mutters, “If he was slowing them down, they'd leave him to die – or they'd cut his throat themselves. No chance of him falling into enemy hands that way. Follow me, I can track them easily enough.”

“Lead on, brother,” Gunny murmurs. He has Saint Alma's staff resting over one shoulder – a little insurance policy in case you run into any other daemons, although its presence only seems to have worsened Masque's temper. An insult atop an insult, perhaps. You can sympathise with his desire to prove himself, to craft a story of his own, but you still want every advantage you can.

Including the Spirit of Helena herself, hanging in the thick clouds above you with Dwight at the helm. With Keziah relaying your orders to him, you'll have it ready to act at a moment's notice.

“You heard the man,” you tell Caliban, “Lead the way.”

[1/2]

>>2634735
Its not a deamon killing sword its a sword with a deamon in it that makes other deamons fight better its down side is that the deamon can lose themslfs in the blade and gorget who they are.

>>2634755
> You can sympathise with his desire to prove himself, to craft a story of his own, but you still want every advantage you can.

But here he has a unique chance to craft a story of a demon adventuring with human companions and learning to value themselves as individuals within a group, not just someone playing a role and accepting a teagic end as much as a triumphant one.

The story can be about US instead of him and them. Then we can help him come back.

>>2634755

“Well,” Freddy murmurs as she looks down at the bloodless cadaver, “There's one less of them now.”

The barbarian has been bled dry, his body marked with countless gashes and stab wounds. He was tied to a stout tree before dying, it seems, and someone... cut his face. Lifting his head up, you show Caliban the ugly symbol carved into his cheek. “It means “thief”, I think,” Caliban explains, “To be more precise, it means someone who took something meant for their betters. My guess would be... he tried to take the sword for himself, and they caught him at it. Tied him up, cut him, and...”

“And watched him die,” you guess, prodding the blackened remains of a campfire with the tip of your boot, “The evening's entertainment?”

“Setting an example,” the hunter replies, “Let's keep moving.”

-

“Masque,” you mutter, slowing your pace until you're walking alongside the daemon, “You need to understand that we work as a team, and we're stronger for it.” Having said this, you wait a moment to see if he's going to reply. When he maintains his sullen silence for a while longer, you frown and continue on. “Think of this as a way of... I won't say making friends, but forging some bonds,” you suggest, “Maeve told you to remember your sins, but there's more to life than that. Colleagues, allies, fellow fighters... remember these, and you won't need to worry about losing yourself.”

“The power of friendship,” the daemon sneers, “Delightful.”

“You said it yourself – you're a tool, for me to use and cast aside as I wish. Yet here I am, looking for a way for you to defeat your rival,” you point out, “Think about that, will you? Think about why I'm doing this.”

Masque nods, almost reluctantly, but a hissed order from Caliban cuts off anything he might have said. Slapping him on the shoulder, you hasten ahead to the front of your group. “Clearing ahead,” Caliban murmurs to you, “Voices. Smell of smoke. They must be here. It's a good place to hunker down and meet up with allies – we might be looking at more than just a few barbarians.”

“They have a daemon,” Masque announces, moving ahead to join you, “I can feel it, somewhere in there. A familiar, bound to the will of some master.”

A familiar. Then it could be a man, like Masque, or an animal like Herod. Paranoia creeps up on you as you notice just how many birds you can hear around you. Grimacing, you creep a little closer to the edge of the tree line and peer out into the clearing. What waits there seems to be the remains of some old building – a fortification of some kind, now reduced to ruins. Just at a passing glance, you count twelve armed men standing watch. Twelve men, and a single cloaked figure standing at the top of a ruined tower.

[2/3]

>>2634828

Turning, glancing to the sky, you make doubly sure that the Spirit of Helena is out of sight. The thick clouds are turning out to be more of a blessing than an ill omen, hiding the airship from the ground. Even so, you send an order to Keziah – pull back, and get a little higher until you send new orders. Then, you look back down to Masque. “What do you think?” you ask him, “Can you tell me anything more about the daemon?”

“Her. A witch, and probably the spirit's master,” Masque growls, nodding towards the cloaked figure, “But I can say nothing more for certain.”

“If we kill her, the daemon would no longer be bound here,” Caliban mutters, “Isn't that right?”

“He's... half right,” Keziah thinks down to you, distance rendering her voice thin, “If she dies, her familiar will still be bound to its host but it will be able to act on its own. It'll do whatever the hell it likes. It might run, it might fly into a rage... there's no way of knowing how it might react.”

“I can bring her down from here,” Caliban assures you, readying his hunting rifle and checking the scope on it. No, you correct yourself with a bitter wince, it's not his rifle – it's Carmen's gun, taken from when you chased Sinclair down. “Easy kill,” he adds, “But the noise will be like sending up a signal flare. Not necessarily a bad thing, mind you – the chaos could work to our advantage.”

“Captain,” Freddy hisses, touching your shoulder and pointing to a smaller building at the heart of the ruined fort, “That's the most secure place in this entire area. If they were looking to lock something up, that's the most logical place to keep it. Their patrols look sloppy as well, we might be able to slip through with a little care... or a distraction.”

“Awaiting your orders,” Caliban whispers, sighting down his rifle.

>Take the shot, Caliban. We'll punch through while they're reeling
>Let's try and slip in, we can do this quietly
>We need a distraction. Does anyone want to volunteer?
>Other

>>2634884
>Carmen's gun
at least it's a useful trophy.

>Take the shot, Caliban. The rest of you will punch through while they're reeling
>I'll be taking shots from somewhere else. That way, they'll think they're surrounded. And if the daemon still fights, I'll be in the best spot to take it down.

>>2634884
>Other
Would it be possible for the Helena to take a cannon shot at the ground nearby. Doesn't need to be accurate.

This can do two things. Serve as a distraction and make enough noise for Caliban to snipe the witch if he can sync his shot with the explosion. Then we can punch through.

Would that be possible?

>>2634884
>We'll do it by the book:
Assault section sneaks and tries to steal the sword quietly.
Support section is ready to open fire if assault section is detected, then retreat, drawing the enemy out.
Covering section lays an ambush on our retreat route.

>>2634897
>That would be possible, yes

>>2634902
Okay. If we can try to have the cannon shot hit the opposite side of the ruins from us. As in if we are in the 6 o clock position from the ruins have the cannon hit the 12 o clock position so the guards all look away from us during the initial shock.

>>2634897
This is bretty good

>>2634897
We can just shoot them

>>2634935
That's true but I'm worried about two things. Helena's accuracy shooting through cloud cover and the sword breaking on a direct hit.

>>2634902
Is the sword breakable?

>>2634940

>Potentially, yes. A direct hit from the Helena's guns would almost certainly destroy the sword

>>2634884
> Have assault team sneak in

If they're caught, Caliban takes the shot at the Witch while Masque attacks the others. Leave the Demon alone at first.

If we're in the Assault team the we go for the demon as soon as we're discovered since our sword and gun mess them up.

Gesturing for the others to gather around you, you begin to announce the plan. “We're going to do this by the book. More or less by the book, at least,” you begin, “Caliban, I want you standing ready to fire. I'm going to call in some air support, and the sound of the explosion should cover your shot. If this works, they won't know what hit them.”

“Why not just blow them all up from above?” Gunny asks, but you shake your head briskly.

“We do that, we run the risk of destroying the sword and then all of this will have been for nothing,” you explain, “No, we just need to scatter them. One good shot opposite out position should do the trick. Once they're reeling, we can press the attack on foot. Masque, you're with me – we're going to be making a run for the sword. Freddy, Gunny, you hang back a little and provide fire support. Caliban, you wait here for as long as you can and pick them off with the rifle. Everyone understand?”

A round of nods greets you, along with a confirmation from Keziah. “I can see you now,” Herod assures you, causing you to glance up and scan the skies for him, “Fear not, we shall not miss our mark. We will fire upon your command.”

You give him the nod, and Caliban moves into position. Setting his sights on the witch, he allows himself a smile of pure feral delight. Masque's hand falls heavily onto your shoulder, in what feels like a passable imitation of camaraderie. Freddy checks her rifle over, Gunny says one last prayer, and then...

And then you give the order.

-

The sky flashes blue as a shot from the Helena's Pleonite cannons rips through the clouds and slams into the ground opposite your position. The explosion is deafening, casting a huge plume of dirt and dust into the air as Caliban takes the shot, the sound of his rifle lost in the explosion. As you launch into motion, you see the witch crumpling and dropping from the tower upon which she stood. The ringing in your ears fades, allowing you to hear the shouts and cries of panic rising from the fort.

Drawing your revolver, you plunge into the smoke and punch through the reeling defenders. Freddy's rifle cracks again and again as they reel, and you see a few bodies drop as you pass them by. A fallen man begins to lurch upright as you approach, raising a pistol in one unsteady hand, but Masque's sword flashes out and takes his arm off at the elbow. Leaving him to bleed out, you press on towards the sealed chamber.

You don't even try to see if it's locked. Meeting the door with your shoulder, you barge straight through it and smash into the small room. The blade sits on a velvet rag, while a blank-eyed savage sluggishly turns to confront you. Lunging forwards with your left hand, you grab him and slam his head into the stone wall behind him. Bone snaps, and the man drops silently to the floor.

Gathering up the sword, you tuck it under your arm and prepare to make your escape.

[1/2]

>>2634997
>Crashing a man's head against a wall
Based Milos.

>>2634997

The Helena's shot must have set a part of the forest aflame, you can't think of any other way to explain the smoke filling the area. Tightening your grip on the sword and blinking against the stinging, burning smoke, you follow the sound of Freddy's rifle and make for the tree line. Before you've gone more than a dozen paces, though, you feel a biting pain lash at your body. Every inch of your flesh cries out, and you feel yourself dropping to your knees. When the pain gets worse, you feel one desperate thought flash through your mind – you're being eaten alive.

And that's when you realise. The black smoke that fills this place is not just the smoke from countless small fires – it's the daemon, impossibly manifesting outside of the Deep Forest's borders. Drawing your sword of light, you let out a cry of defiance and slash at the darkness surrounding you. Your voice sounds thin and helpless in the face of this doom, but then a second voice rings out.

“Luciftias!” Gunny yells, and you feel a wave of blessed force washing over you. The black smoke is blasted back, coalescing around the edge of the dome of force that Gunny has summoned. A near-silence falls, broken only by the sound of your ragged breathing. “C'mon, brother,” Gunny says, helping you to your feet, “This is no place to sit around.”

You start to reply to that, and then you see the black smoke part. Striding through the sudden clearing, Segharl the Broken approaches you. His chest is bare, as if inviting a blade, and he has – of all things – a ragged fox perched atop his broad shoulder. Studying you for a moment, he nods his head in a formal bow. “We meet again,” he rumbles, “That sword belongs to my lord. Set it down, leave it, and you can walk away. I give you my word, I will allow you and your companions to leave unharmed.”

Ignoring this, you look around to get a better idea of the situation. No sign of Freddy or Masque, but Segharl is alone as well. Alone save for his daemon. “I don't think so,” you reply, “I'm taking this sword. Your daemon can't harm us.”

“That seems to be the case,” Segharl nods, “But I wonder. Is there anything stopping me from walking over and snapping your neck like a twig? I am no daemon, no power you possess can compel me. I repeat my offer – drop the sword, and walk away.”

“We have him in our sights,” Keziah whispers into your thoughts, “A low power shot, far enough away to catch him in the edge of the blast. You might get singed a little, but he'll get the worst of it. Probably.”

Probably. That's a hell of a chance to take. Your own blade might not be much better, but...

>Agree to his demands and surrender the sword
>Call for the Helena to fire
>Fight Segharl face to face
>Negotiate... (Write in)
>Other

>>2635087
>Other
"Why does Eishin want the sword?"

>Call for the Helena to fire
Try to use the few seconds of conversation to inch towards some cover.

>>2635087
>Why do you even want this sword?
>How about we give it to you once we're done with it?

>>2635087
>Why do you even want this sword?
>Shoot him in the face while he's answering.
We have a revolver, why the hell do we have to swordfight.

>>2635087
>Is there anything stopping me from walking over and snapping your neck like a twig?
Yes? Our airship just blasted his forces into disarray. It's not like we only had one shot. He's really in no position to be making demands.

But regardless.
>Why do you even want this sword?
>Fight Segharl gun to face

>>2635087
>Other

Run like a bitch going all "whoop whoop whoop whoooooo!"

>>2635087
For real though

> Negotiate

Masque is looking to make his own story, and the sword is for him.

If Segharl wants the sword, he can fight Masque for it. If he beats Masque we won't have a need for it anyways.

>>2635125
>>2635087
Supporting this though if we do fight him.

>>2635183
I think Masque would probably lose to Segharl. He strikes me as being a bigger deal than some guy in pirate city. I'd be fine with attempting to negotiate and at least hearing Segharl out instead of a fight though.I just really doubt there's anything he can say that would convince us to give up the daemon sword to Eishin and co. Conversely, I doubt there's anything we could say to get him to give up.

>>2635200
>I just really doubt there's anything he can say that would convince us to give up the daemon sword to Eishin and co. Conversely, I doubt there's anything we could say to get him to give up.

Pretty much the biggest issue. He seems honor bound to carry out all of Eishin's tasks to the letter.

“Why does Eishin want this sword?” you counter, “Can you tell me that, at least?”

“My master demands a weapon,” Segharl replies simply. As if to emphasise his point, he draws a long dagger from his belt. That seems to be the only weapon he carries, just a humble knife. You take a step backwards as the weapon appears, edging as far back from him as possible. Sheathing your sword, you shift the bundle of velvet to your other and and tighten your grip on the revolver. He has no armour, and he's a big target – if you can put a bullet between his eyes now, that'll be the end of it.

“A weapon,” you repeat, “Are you trying to tell me that Eishin doesn't have any swords of his own?”

“The sword and the hand that wields it are one. That perfected form – THAT is the weapon,” the giant answers. Idly reaching up with his empty hand, he scratches the mangy fox's flank. It's a strangely delicate gesture from such a huge hand, one that could easily crush the fox's skull. “My master's need outweighs your own,” he continues, “There will be great trials ahead, and he will need a powerful warrior by his side.”

The fact that his goals and yours are so similar feels... odd to say the least. “Look, we both want this sword,” you tell him, “I want it for one of my people, and you want it for your master. Why don't you and him fight for it. An honourable man like yourself wouldn't shy away from a duel, would you?”

To your surprise, Segharl actually looks like he's considering this. “Tyrann, what say you?” he murmurs to the fox, only for his brow to dip in a frown. “Very well, orders are orders,” he mutters, looking back to you, “I regretfully decline your offer. Now, give me the sword or-”

His attention has wavered, if only for a moment, and you know that you won't get another chance like this. Snapping your revolver up, you fire a quick shot at his face. You're quick off the mark, but Segharl is somehow quicker. It seems as though he moves before you've finished pulling the trigger, but even that isn't enough for him. The bullet catches him in the temple – not quite between the eyes as you had hoped – and twists him around. Howling with pain, he drops the dagger and claps his hands to his face.

“Fire!” you shout, grabbing Gunny by the arm as Segharl straightens up again. His face is a mask of blood, contorted with rage and spite. Before he can make a move, though, the Helena fires. A second explosion, smaller than the first but still terribly powerful this close up, knocks you all from your feet. The daemon, the black smoke, is scattered in an instant – taking to the skies like a flock of panicked birds.

You flee, letting out a triumphant – and maddened – cheer as you make a break for the trees.

[1/2]

>>2635200
Wow, after that power of friendship moment you aren't willing to believe in Masque?

>>2635219
This outcome pleases me.

>>2635223
Isn't it counter to the power of friendship to have Masque fight a duel for it by himself?

>>2635230
No, because it would be 1v1 not 1v8-10.

Gotta trust in your Bro as an equal with their own strength, not be a crutch that carries and ultimately weakens them.

>>2635219
Holy shit, he took a bullet to the head and lived.
And of course we didn't finish him off immediately. Now he'll turn into a recurring antagonist.

>>2635244
He already was, this is appearance #2

>>2635244
That and the explosion should have staggered him though.

And we have an airship to retreat to.

> Brave Sir Robin ran away!

>>2635247
He wasn't really an antagonist until we shot him in the face. Now it's personal.

>>2635251
I don't get your point.

My point was that we should have shot him again instead of running away like a bitch.

>>2635252
That's a rather rigorous qualifier for antagonist status.

>>2635266
We only accept the best.

Rolled 79 (1d100)

>>2635264
> one bullet to the head already didn't work

I am unsure as to the effectiveness of that.

In fact I think we should be dodging while fleeing in case he chucks a sword at us.

>>2635264
Well, we gotta get away before smokey reforms. Gunny isn't exactly a trained practitioner, and a single failure will doom us to pretty much being dissolved.

Even though Moloch won't reply to this, I just want him to know this is my favorite quest, even if I don't participate much. The character interactions and quests are fantastic and I love the whole concept of the ships and they way they work.

>>2635274
It doesn't take a lot of time to take five shots.

>>2635273
It's not like he ignored the bullet altogether. We just needed a bit more firepower.

>>2635244
>>2635247
I think we could still be friends with Segharl. It seems like all he cares about is honor and honor adjacent pursuits. We're doing our mission and he's doing his, no hard feelings. If we found out that Eishin was two-timing him and had convincing enough evidence for him, we could probably reconcile our differences.

Eishin strikes me as the kind of guy that would two-time Segharl, what with the whole undermining ancient and sacred traditions thing he's got going on. Speaking of Eishin fucking with the natural order, is Segharl really ok with that? I'm sure he's fine with the whole fucking people over in pursuit of power thing, but is he really alright with Eishin making a mockery of ancient agreements?

>>2635290
> Speaking of Eishin fucking with the natural order, is Segharl really ok with that?

Maeve just told us he wasn't. But honor.

>>2635290
Nah, a psycho who would beat an old man to death doesn't make a good friend, honor or no.

>>2635288
He already half dodged our sneak attack shot, he's not gonna just stand still and let us shoot him. He's not an opponent we want to fight on even terms, he's hueg and has even more Nadir mutant strength than we do.

>>2635296
I don't think that was him. I think he was the ally this group was waiting for.

Could be wrong though.

>>2635304
He himself was at Maeve's, but he ordered the rest to beat the custodian to death.

>>2635311
Or just to retrieve it and they decided to get their kicks in by beating the old man to death instead of just taking it and leaving.

>>2635314
That doesn't speak well of Segharl's nature as well, since he is their leader.

>>2635296
>>2635311
Eishin ordered them I'm sure since Segharl just took orders from a Fox.

He probably went to Maeve to avoid the conflict between his honor and Eishins orders.

Alternatively, it doesn't matter to them if their opponent was an old man and it would have been less honourable to treat him as less than an enemy and to leave him alive with the shame of having been robbed.

>>2635314
No, I think he perfected the shadow clone jutsu, sent a clone with the band, and personally beat that old man to death.

>>2635321
>To your surprise, Segharl actually looks like he's considering this. “Tyrann, what say you?” he murmurs to the fox, only for his brow to dip in a frown. “Very well, orders are orders,”

Is he though?

>>2635333
Of this particular band? Pretty much.

>>2635219

As you enter the trees, something strikes you – a wild haymaker thrown by something that is terribly strong. Knocked sprawling, you feel the velvet bound sword tumble from your grasp and fall to the ground. Landing heavily, you jerk around to see what hit you. A man, at first glance, but the look in his eyes is not human. His face is twisted into a bestial snarl, while lunacy dancing across his features. This is the daemon, you realise, thrown into a frenzy by the death of its master.

Snarling, the daemon pounces on you before you can bring up the revolver to shoot. Its jaw yawns wide, far too wide to be anything a natural, normal human could achieve, and you see a mouth filled with teeth that would make Morey seem harmless. The daemon rears back, preparing to bury its fangs in your exposed throat, and then steel flashes. Masque's thin sword pierces through the back of its throat and drives it down, pinning the daemon to the ground and just barely missing your shoulder. Stuck like a bug on a pin, the daemon lets out a wet choking sound, its eyes rolling in their sockets as its hands flap helplessly at the sword.

Pushing yourself out from under it, you watch as Masque withdraws the blade and brings it around in a sweeping arc, separating the daemon's head from its shoulders.

“Well then,” Masque drawls, wiping off his sword blade on the decapitated man's cloak, “This is turning out to be quite the interesting day.”

-

Guided by Herod's instructions, you manage to link back up with Freddy and Caliban. They had scattered when the black smoke daemon appeared, realising that they had no way of countering it. Neither of them looks particularly proud of their retreat, but you're in no position to be casting any accusations. As soon as you had an opening, you had fled the scene as well. Maybe your escape had been a little too hasty. Segharl may yet live, and he's not likely to forget this. Maybe you should have stayed long enough to finish him off, but-

“You may not have achieved even that,” Herod explains, “I do not know where he is now. The daemon engulfed him as soon as it was able to reform, and when it retreated there was no trace of him.”

“Maybe it ate him,” you think hopefully, “Maybe he lost control over it – although we still don't know how the hell he can control it in the first place – and it turned on him.”

“You see that fox he had on his shoulder?” Gunny asks, “Tyrann, he called it. You think that had anything to do with it?”

“Who knows?” you sigh, feeling a sudden weight of fatigue settle over your shoulders, “Right now, though, debate club can wait until we're back on the ship. I need a drink...”

>I think I'm going to pause things here for today, but I'll continue this tomorrow
>Apologies for the delays today!

>>2635344
Thanks for running!

>>2635344
Good times Brosif

>>2635344
Thanks for running!

Is airship to ground bombardment pretty normal in warfare of this setting?

Is Segharl going to hunt our ass down across Zenith? He doesn't seem like the kind of guy that goes back empty handed.

>>2635351
If we go to Iraklin territory then they can't attack us without ruining whatever agreement they have, thanks to Freddy being part of our crew.

>>2635351
Also if they try to turn us over for political gain it could restart the flame of rebellion in Pastonne after we were the ones to handle Sinclair.

>>2635389
Nah fuck hiding. We should continue our mission and deal with him as he comes. I'm just curious if the possibility of coming back with failure is even an option for him.

>>2635351

If the two great powers ever came to open, overt warfare then aerial bombardment would likely become a common occurrence. As it is, the high degree of collateral damage is such that conflicts, when they do arise, tend to be between airships. It's a little like nuclear weapons - once people start using them, it could potentially lead down a very dangerous road.

I imagine that Segharl will mostly be limited to operating in Nadir. Putting aside the issue of getting a reliable airship, spending too long away from his home soil wouldn't be very good for him. The poor lad might get homesick!

>>2635415
>spending too long away from his home soil wouldn't be very good for him. The poor lad might get homesick!

That sounds like a hint if you ask me.

>>2635344
Thanks for running!

How mad will Eishin be when Seg goes back with no sword? This is failure #2.

>>2635463
A smart leader doesn't execute someone capable for failing where others also would have failed.

But it dpes give said others to prove that they WOULDN'T have failed, so it's likely he'll be demoted or surpassed and given less critical roles to play.

Dude is still capable after all, and redemption is a powerful motivator.

>>2635463
It's tricky. This is undeniably a setback, but Segharl isn't the sort of person who can easily be replaced. He has a role to play in Eishin's plans, and that grants him a degree of protection. So, while Eishin might be mad about this - and he will be - there isn't much he can really do about it. Probably lucky for our boy Seg!

>>2635281
Thank you for your kind words - I hope I can continue to create something that you enjoy reading!

>>2635550
There's always more brands!

>>2635550
So for awhile we were pretty subtle in our dealings with Eishin. Stealing away the professor and getting the daemon rockets on the Iralkin's radar isn't easily traced back to us. But this stunt on top of Eishin learning of our goal means that Milos is heavily on his radar huh?

>>2635613
Very likely, yes. What Eishin is actually going to do with that information is another question entirely. He's quite the opportunist, Eishin. His first thought is to see if there's a way he can benefit from any of this. After that, who knows?

>>2635344
Wow I completely forgot about the black smoke. We'd be seriously screwed without Gunny.

>>2636056
There's probably something we could do to fight it with our anti-demon sword and gun, even if it is smoke.

>>2635415
How come the Iraklins don't bombard the Forest?

Your quests are amazing, Moloch. I've just finished Heavenly Child and this one is shaping up to be even better. Keep on doing what you're doing.
>lighter tone

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

101 KB JPG

You were slightly disappointed to learn that, after everything you went through to get it, this venerable daemon's sword is... ugly. Seriously ugly. Made from crudely beaten iron and pierced through with a dozen mismatched rings – some gold, some steel, all different sizes – it looks like something you'd find in a pile of scrap. Even the grip is awful, tightly wrapped in metal wire that bristles like thorns. You doubt that you'd be able to hold it without lacerating your hand, even with a thick glove. At least it has a fine edge to it, as sharp as any you've ever seen.

But it's really very ugly.

Sitting in the Spirit of Helena's engine room, bathed in the blue light of the Pleonite core, you examine the blade with Keziah and Masque. Every so often one of you asks a question aloud, and Keziah's messenger daemon brings back Maeve's answer. The old witch was very interested in hearing your account. The death of the nameless witch had saddened her a little, and she had seemed strangely happy to learn of Segharl's escape.

“I still wonder if I should have killed him,” you remark, “Or tried to, at least.”

“Ach, who knows?” Keziah replies with a shrug, “Maybe now he'll feel like he owes you one, for letting him live.” If she had seen the look of utter fury that had been in his eyes, she wouldn't think that. “Dinnae worry too much about it, boss. If this all goes to plan, he'll think we all died up in Zenith. Speakin' of that...” she glances around the messenger daemon, “How's that rite lookin', mother? I dinnae want to worry you, but it's lookin' a wee bit more important now.”

“My daughter,” Maeve's reply comes, “Can you not ask your questions in a normal voice?”

“She wants to know how that rite is doing,” you ask instead, flashing Keziah a teasing smile, “Will you tell me, at least?”

“Anything for you, Milos Vaandemere,” Maeve purrs, “The work goes well. I have caught many birds, ideal for the sacrifice. It pains me to kill such magnificent creatures, but this is all for a greater purpose.”

As those words fade out, Masque runs his hand along the length of the ugly sword. This is far from the first time that he's touched the weapon, but he's yet to actually grasp it by the handle. He seems almost afraid – not of the glinting metal thorns lining the grip, but of what might happen when he holds it. You'll admit to feeling a certain curiosity about that, an uncertainty as to what to expect. Some grand fanfare, or something a little more sedate?

In the end, it's Keziah who prompts him to take that final leap. “Go on!” she jeers, “What, you're afraid of a few wee spikes? You're a big lad, so-”

Snarling at her, Masque snatches up the blade and turns away from you, slicing it through the air behind him. The various rings rattle, and then...

[1/2]

>>2636931
>That would be the most efficient way of dealing with things, wouldn't it?

>>2638413

And then... nothing really happens. It's a good swing – quick, powerful, and controlled – but that's all it is. You've seen Masque training with his old sword, and this seemed no different.

“Eh?” Keziah yelps, “Is it... broken?”

“The sword?” you ask, “Or Masque?”

“Both?” the witch suggests, scratching at her tangled mop of hair, “Hey, do you-”

“No,” Masque interrupts, his voice low and calm, “This will do. This will work.” Lowering the sword, he turns it over in his hands and tests its weight. Apparently satisfied with the blade, he strides out of the engine room. Every motion he makes seems utterly right, utterly natural, and you have to wonder if maybe there's something to this sword business. Your first impression had been wrong – there is something different about him, something subtle enough to defy a simple explanation. If you had to put a name to it, you'd say that...

“That he believes his own hype,” Keziah offers, “It's like... he was beaten in this duel thing before, right? I reckon that was making him doubt himself, but now he's gonna be just fine. That's how I see it, at least. Cannae say what makes the difference, mind you. Might be that the old daemon, the one who carried that sword, never got stressed out about this stuff. He's borrowing a wee bit of its confidence.”

“Not too much, I hope,” you remind her, “I don't want him turning into some... ancient murder daemon. Not while he's on my ship, at least.”

Keziah laughs, but then a thoughtful expression slowly crosses her face. “But you know, we dinnae ken anythin' about what this daemon is, who it was or what it did,” she muses, “Doesn't that bother you, boss? We might be callin' on somethin' we cannae really control.”

“Maeve didn't really say anything about it, just that it carried the sword for a long time. Maybe that's all she knows,” you shrug, “It's not something I'm entirely happy with, but what can we do about it? I get the feeling that we can't exactly ask Masque about it.”

“Maybe we can,” the witch murmurs, “There are... ways of contactin' a daemon. Studyin' it, like. I've done it before, remember that... thing in the airship?” Keziah shudders at the memory of Eishin's suicide pilot. “Course, I cannae promise gettin' anythin' out of him. Or, we might get too much,” she frowns at the idea, “If we're tryin' to keep this monster at a safe distance, goin' pokin' around inside his head might, uh, it might no help things.”

In other words, learning about the daemon, and the story it started, might be putting Masque at risk. A balanced risk?

>Let's do it. We need to know what we're dealing with
>No, it's too risky. We don't need to know about this daemon
>Other

>>2638415
>No, it's too risky. We don't need to know about this daemon
We need to keep Masque's indentity at the forefront and the sword's subdued. If we pull it out and start asking questions it might regain it's sense of self and overpower Masque.

At least that's how I think this works.

>>2638415
>No, it's too risky. We don't need to know about this daemon

Kinda agree with >>2638425

>>2638415
>No, it's too risky. We don't need to know about this daemon

“No, it's too risky. If we wake this thing up and start asking questions, it might...” you pause, gesturing vaguely as you try to think of the right words to use. “It might overpower him,” you conclude, “The way I see it, there's a balance that we need to preserve here. Doing something like this might upset that balance.”

“Aye, you might be right there,” Keziah nods slowly, “Keepin' things balanced, that's important. Everythin' in moderation and all that. Still, I thought I should offer – you know, letting the captain know what's what and all that.” Hopping to her feet, she crosses over to the engine and checks a few of the dials and instruments. “Still a wee bit curious, mind you,” she thinks aloud, “It's like seein' a locked door. When you see one, don't you just want to open it up and take a look inside?”

“Sometimes,” you admit, “But when there might be a murderous creature waiting behind it... I get a lot less curious.”

-

Dwight is behind the Spirit of Helena's controls when you arrive at the bridge, while Masque stands behind him in silence. You're bound for Zenith now, with your pilot awaiting directions to the Kingdom of the Rock. Despite the fact that he might as well be talking to a brick wall, Dwight keeps up a one-sided conversation with the daemon. “So you got beaten up or something, right?” he asks, “Bad news. I got a bad beating once, when I was younger. Stupid really.”

Masque says nothing, and the scruffy pilot continues with his story. “See, I was running with a gang back then. Not exactly a big deal, but it felt exciting. Course, it came with its fair share of problems as well. You run with these people, that makes those people your enemies,” he rambles, “A bunch of them caught me once, gave me a damn good thrashing. That was the point at which I decided to steer clear of all that stuff. It's not worth it, that kind of-”

“Stop talking,” Masque says bluntly, “I am trying to concentrate.”

“Sure thing, chief,” Dwight mutters, shrugging his shoulders and falling silent. His silence doesn't last long – when you break through the clouds and enter Zenith, he lets out a low whistle. “Always a pretty sight,” the pilot remarks, “Can't really blame the churchmen for seeing this as a holy place, can you? First time I flew up this high, I thought I was hallucinating or something like that. Man...”

“Northwest,” the daemon announces, “The Drift. We will need to travel far out, into the remote belt. I trust that this ship can handle that?”

“Don't worry about my girl,” you reply, causing both of them to glance around at you, “Dwight, you look tired – you take a break, and I'll handle things from here on.”

“Huh? Sure thing, I guess,” the pilot shrugs again, rising and slouching out, “Have a good one, boss.”

[1/2]

>>2638482

“He talks too much,” Masque complains as you're settling into the pilot's seat.

“You don't talk enough,” you counter, “He wouldn't feel the need to chatter so much if you gave him something to work with.” Masque only replies to this with a disgusted grunt, and you laugh. “Whatever, you do what you like,” you add, “But it's like I said before. You make a few bonds with the people here, you'll have something else to hold onto when things get tough. A captain is only as good as his crew.”

The daemon is silent for a moment more, perhaps thinking on your words or perhaps just holding his tongue. Then, he speaks. “Northwest,” he repeats, “And set the radio to an open channel. I will remain here – if I issue a command, follow it immediately.”

“Yes captain,” you remark, a faint smirk on your lips.

-

Neither of you says a word as you guide the Spirit of Helena through the Drift. You're too focused on steering around the countless islands - some large enough to carry a small town, some small enough that a single man might struggle to balance atop them - that make up this ever changing region. That worries you somewhat – depending on how the Drift is moving, you might not have a clear escape route. Not a problem if you can settle things peacefully, but if that fails...

A flicker runs through some of the Helena's data screens, and your frown deepens. Probably just some Pleonite deposits, but that gives you another thing to keep track of. Definitely Pleonite, you decide as you see arcs of blue lightning crackling between some dense islands, and very likely unstable. As you're slowing your speed down ever so slightly, the radio crackles with sudden static. “Turn back!” an anonymous voice rasps, “This will be your only warning!”

“Rìoghachd na Creige,” Masque replies, taking up the radio mic, “I, Saighdear, have returned to my rightful place at the right hand of Theon dhen Chreig. All those who deny me this claim will die, even if I must slay every one of them myself.”

This, you think to yourself, is not getting off to a good start. The radio hisses with static for a moment, and you wish you could see the radioman's face. Would he be confused, or perhaps afraid at this dire proclamation?

“I can think of one who would deny you your claim,” the voice finally replies, “Are you sure that you want to do this?”

“I am certain,” Masque confirms, “And I will fight my claim in person. Grant my ship admission, that I might face the Pierrot once more.”

Silence again, and then you hear a sigh coming from the radio. “So be it,” the radioman concedes, “You may enter.”

The radio dies, and Masque lets out a low chuckle. “The die has been cast,” he says to himself, “Forward, Captain Vaandemere, and carefully.”

Forward, of course, directly into the teeth of those unstable islands.

[2/3]

>>2638535

The Kingdom of the Rock is indeed well defended – if not for Masque's assurances, you would have thought that merely approaching it was suicide. The Kingdom itself is a large island at the heart of a dense field, with barely any space to ease the Spirit of Helena through. Most of the ships that come here are smaller, more nimble than yours. The unstable Pleonite deposits play havoc with the Helena's systems, while the arcing discharges of energy batter against your shields. They're holding, but just barely.

Then you see signs of human work clinging to some of the smaller islands, squat bunkers that bristle with crude rocket tubes. If they wanted to, they could bombard you with a flurry of rockets and you'd have no chance of evasion. All you can do is creep forwards, wincing every time a bolt of lightning cracks against the shields and causes the lights to flicker. Keziah's panic is a living thing, gnawing at the edge of your mind despite your best attempts at closing it out.

“Stop,” Masque snaps, and you quickly move to obey, “Turn. You see the door?”

Slowly wheeling the Spirit of Helena around until you face the large island – a single burst of forward motion would bring you into direct collision with it – you see a dull metal surface set into the wall. As you watch, it begins to grind ponderously open to reveal a large cavern, and you carefully guide the Helena inside. A group of figures has already formed up to greet you, and not one of them appears unarmed.

“We are here,” the daemon concludes. Nodding to yourself, you deftly lower the Spirit of Helena down until she lands with a slight thump. The ground here is uneven – not enough to damage the ship, but certainly enough to give you a rough landing. “From here on, you must consider this to be hostile territory,” Masque warns you, “Do not let down your guard. Your presence here will be tolerated – for now – but that can change. If you have questions, ask them now – I will likely not be able to serve as a guide once we leave this ship.”

>I'm ready, let's go
>I did have a question... (Write in)
>Other

>>2638605
>Any customs we should know about and be careful not to violate?
>Any last minute advice on how to get the fragment?

>>2638605
>>I did have a question... (Write in)
Anything my crew and I should know about conducting ourselves here

>>2638605
>I'm ready, let's go

“Are there any customs we should know about? Anything we should avoid doing?” you ask, “You know, so we can all be on our best behaviour.”

Masque considers this for a moment. “If someone does not wish to speak with you, respect that. Likewise, if you do not wish to speak with someone, they... should... accept that. In the Kingdom, we learned not to intrude upon others. We have no written laws to follow, so you will have to trust your instincts. Treat the people here as you wish to be treated,” he pauses, “But remember that you will be an outsider. You will not be given help should you need it.”

“We're on our own, got it,” you agree, “What about the fragment, do you have any ideas how we might be able to get it?”

“Should you take it by force, you will likely end up fighting against the entire Kingdom. Theon is well respected here, and the people will rise to protect – or avenge – him,” the daemon thinks again. More than ever, you wish that you could see his face, to be able to guess what he is thinking. “But it has been a long time since I was last here,” he admits, “Perhaps that has changed. When I knew him, Theon had little interest in making deals with outsiders – if they had something he wanted, he would simply take it.”

“So we might not be able to make a trade,” you muse, “Stealing it, perhaps? Where would he keep it?”

“His treasury, I expect,” Masque replies immediately, “I recall the security being quite thorough. It would not be impossible, but... I cannot say for certain.”

“Looks like we'll have to see how things look on the ground,” you sigh, “Okay, I'm ready. Let's go and get this started.”

-

The door has closed tightly behind you by the time you exit the Spirit of Helena, and so you don't need to fend off the wind. Even so, the air is cold – little wonder that the armed men who approach you all wear thick furs. The rifles they carry aren't quite pointed at you just yet, but neither are they held at rest. One order from their leader, and the hanger will turn into a battlefield. The tallest of the group splits off from his companions and approaches you, tugging a scarf down to reveal a coarse, unshaven face.

“It's been a long time since we saw any new faces in the Kingdom,” he begins, studying you with hard but not unfair eyes, “An impressive ship, stranger. Did you buy it, or did you earn it?”

“I got it from my greatest rival,” you reply, “She's dead now.”

Which is all technically true, although you can tell that the man interprets it in his own way. “Kavinsky,” he says, jabbing a finger into his barrel chest, “Don't bother telling me your name. You won't be here long enough for it to matter.”

A friendly lot, this.

[1/2]

>>2638703

“First things first. Saighdear, I'm going to have to ask you to come with us. You know why,” Kavinsky orders, waving for a pair of armed men to approach before turning to you. “We have to hold him until the people have been consulted. Any who take issue with his presence will be granted the opportunity to fight him,” he explains, “He will not be harmed, and you will be able to visit him. However, he will not be permitted to roam freely. Do you understand me?”

“I understand,” Masque promises, bowing his head ever so slightly, “I remember our laws.”

“And you, stranger. You and your people will be allowed some freedom, but you cannot go wherever you please,” Kavinsky continues, “The other hangers are forbidden, as is Lord Theon's manor. Depending on the outcome of Saighdear's... trial... you may be granted an audience. Until then-”

“The Pierrot,” Masque interrupts, his voice hushed and hard, “Where is he?”

A strange look of distaste, almost disgust, passes across Kavinsky's face. “The stables,” he answers curtly, “Where do you think?” The daemon lets out a low growl of disgust, but says nothing to that. “Stranger, we will hail you when your presence is required,” Kavinsky adds, pointing to a rusty metal loudspeaker crudely wired into the ceiling, “Until then, as I say, you can do as you please. Perhaps you wish to meet some of our people? A meal will be served soon, and I expect that we would welcome a new face. I can take you there if you wish.”

His smile, as he says this, is cold and humourless. Exactly how welcome you'll be is unclear.

>I'll be staying on my ship until you call for me
>Very well, we'll attend this meal of yours
>I'd like to visit these stables and meet the Pierrot if possible
>Other

>>2638776
>I'd like to visit these stables and meet the Pierrot if possible

>>2638776
>Very well, we'll attend this meal of yours
Lets not meet thr horse fucker mid mount

>>2638776
>Very well, we'll attend this meal of yours

>>2638776
>Very well, we'll attend this meal of yours

???
Does Pierrot have an unhealthy attraction to horses?

You're curious about these stables – surely they don't have horses up here? - but the more you think about it the less you like the sound of them. Judging by the way both Masque and Kavinsky reacted, you might be right to have your doubts. Maybe you'll visit it later, once you know a little more about what you'll be walking into. Until then, maybe the safer option would be best. “Very well,” you decide, “We'll attend this meal of yours. Lead the way, Kavinsky.”

He nods, before gesturing to the two men flanking Masque. They seize him, each one holding onto one of his arms, and then they lead him away. Masque goes peacefully, his head bowed low and his posture one of utter calm – the kind of calm that comes from having a flawless plan.

At least somebody here knows what he's doing.

-

For some reason, the idea of sharing a table with a motley band of murderous pirates was not a popular one with all of your crew. Caliban was all for it, Keziah reluctantly followed along, and Freddy hesitated a moment before deciding to join you – as much out of a morbid sense of curiosity as her duty towards you. After seeing the company you'll be enjoying, you can't really blame the others for staying behind. The feast is occupied almost entirely by men, and your female companions get more than their fair share of uncouth looks.

Kavinsky led you on a short tour of the Kingdom before taking you to the dining hall. A narrow system of caves winds through the island. Branching paths lead to other hangers, according to the various brass plaques fixed into the stone walls, but Kavinsky ignored those. Instead, he brought you to the main chamber – a larger hollow with several ramshackle structures leaning against the walls. The whole place has a strangely organic feel, as if it was grown rather than built, and it seems to have electrical power. Just how they managed that little feat remains unclear.

The dining hall is sunk deep into one wall, and it hardly lives up to that grand name. Little more than a long, low table – there are no seats, just rough mats on the floor – with a flickering light hanging above it, it makes the Dust Treader look hospitable. Instead of lingering on the hall, you focus on the people in it. A mixed bunch, you see men from all walks of lives. Men in the garb of Nadir barbarians rub shoulders with men in defaced Iraklin uniforms, while some wear even stranger costumes – lurid silks and gaudy jewellery, flaunting wealth without displaying an ounce of taste. Weapons, of course, rest close at hand – swords, pistols, daggers, all manner of things.

“Take a seat,” Kavinsky suggests, his lips twisting in an unkind smile, “Make yourself at home.”

[1/2]

>>2638887

You'll say this about Theon's followers – they might be uncouth, but they never let your cup stay empty for long. Whenever you empty it, there's always someone leaning over to fill it back up with wine or strong spirits. All of them seem to be heavy drinkers, and you find yourself feeling vaguely glad that Gunny isn't here – his refusal to drink might cause problems. Freddy has been limiting herself to small sips, and she's attracted more than a few ugly glares.

“You!” one of the pirates calls over to Caliban, “Nadir, yes? My sister ran away with a Nadir man.” He's an ugly man, with a flat face spreading out over a shirt of noxiously bright yellow silk, and the alcohol has put a ruddy flush in his cheeks. He has a habit of gesturing at people with a pistol, and Freddy winces every time the gun points directly at someone.

“I'm terribly sorry to hear that,” Caliban replies with an utterly insincere smirk, “Were you hoping to keep her for yourself?”

He says this loud enough for half the hall to overhear, and you fight the urge to groan in frustration. He's a drunk man with a habit of waving a gun around – of course Caliban is going to taunt him. Silence falls, but soon the drunk man bellows laughter. “You!” he yells, leaning across and slapping Caliban on the shoulder, “I like you! Come, you join my crew – you can have all the women you can snatch, easy!”

“I have my hands full already,” the hunter replies with a regretful shake of his head, “Sorry.”

“Ah, suit yourself!” the drunk chuckles, “You want a woman, you go to the stables and see if any catches your eye. Pierrot has been in a good mood of late, so maybe you can find one without too many bruises.” Throwing back the last of his drink, he leans forwards and bathes you in a cloud of body odour. “Good to see old Saighdear back again,” he tells you, his voice lowering slightly and taking on a conspiratorial tone, “You ask me, things started to go wrong when he left – when he got driven out.”

The man sitting next to the drunk – an aggressive looking sort with inky splotches discolouring his skin - jabs him in the side with an elbow, shooting him a dark look. The drunk shoves him back, hard enough to make him spill his drink, and just for a moment it looks like a fight is about to break out. Before the situation can deteriorate, Keziah leans over and pours a fresh round of drinks for everyone. “Now, there's nae need for any of that!” she chirps, “We're all friends here, aye?”

The discoloured man mutters something to himself, but he lets the matter lie – for now. “Now then,” the drunk laughs, drinking off half of his new drink in a single gulp, “Where were we?”

>Can't say that I remember, friend
>You were telling us about the Pierrot, I believe
>We were talking about... (Write in)
>Other

>>2638997
>You were telling us about the Pierrot, I believe

Aw, this is a nasty place. Let's burn it behind us. Maybe call a Wyrm.

>>2638997
>You were telling us about the Pierrot, I believe
Ah 'stables'. I see.

>>2638997
>You were telling us about the Pierrot, I believe
I agree with the notion of burning this place to the ground after we're done.

>You were telling us about the Pierrot, I believe
big fan of this quest, though I haven't been able to follow it too closely because I was busy. glad to be able to participate!

>>2638997
>You were telling us about the Pierrot, I believe
Yeah, this place should burn.

“You were telling us about the Pierrot, I believe,” you suggest, taking a casual sip of your drink and gesturing for the drunkard to continue, “What's your name, friend?”

Maybe he's even drunker than you thought, as he has to search his memory for the answer to that. “Sylvester?” he answers after a long pause, shaking his head before lurching back into speech, “Aye, that's right. See, Pierrot... he's rotten to the core, he is. Way I hear it, he was a preacher once and you know what they say. Those holy sorts, deep down they're always the worst. He came here one day – and I don't think anyone can really recall how or why – and just made himself at home. When someone finally called him out, he raised a sword to old Saighdear and challenged him.”

“Wait,” Caliban remarks, “Are you talking about Masque?”

“That what he's calling himself now? Time was, Theon called him Saighdear. Means “soldier” I think, something like that...” Sylvester shrugs, prodding at one of the small plates of cured meat that rests nearby. In place of the feast you had been expecting, that's really all there is to eat – small plates of snacks, and a whole lot of alcohol. “So like I was saying, he got buried in deep here,” he continues, “Saighdear left, and after that...”

“You talk too much,” the discoloured man hisses, leaning over again, “Maybe I should shut your mouth, before you say something you-”

“Here, you,” Keziah interrupts, reaching across and tugging at the angry man's sleeve, “I dinnae mean to intrude, but I cannae help but ask. Your skin is so pretty, see, and... is it all like that? Even down... below?” A lascivious smile creeps across her face as she says this, and the disfigured man's attention immediately switches from you to her. “Gods, but he's awful!” the witch thinks to you, “Hurry up and ask what you need to ask, I don't know how long I can distract him for!”

“Everything changed after that, right?” you press, tapping Sylvester on the shoulder and feigning a friendly smile. You're grateful for Keziah's distraction, but something about it leaves a smouldering coal of anger in the pit of your stomach. You could quite happily drag that ink-stained son of a bitch outside and-

“Aye, it got worse. Theon, he used to walk among us and talk, just like we're talking now, but then he got quiet. Stopped coming out of his place, like,” Sylvester frowns to himself, “And new people stopped coming. Didn't used to be like this, everyone carrying their guns about the place. You needed to be careful, sure, but it weren't so... ugly. Like some folk here are always looking for a fight.”

“Stables started up soon after,” another man – this one a slender, bitter looking sort – adds, “Most folk liked it at first. At first.”

[1/2]

For the sake of someone playing devil's advocate destroying this place would make a lot enemies, nor do I think we have the capability for an external attack out side of letting the other countries know. Might be able to do something interally if it arises but we'll need more information.

>>2639141
I just want to, I'm not sure how we'd do it and I realize it's probably unfeasible.

But it won't make a lot of enemies if everyone who would hold a grudge over it dies.

>>2639141
Well, the way things seem to be going the pirates are not as happy with their situation as we thought, so we might be able to shut it down without having to kill/destroy everything.

>>2639114

“Here, it's not that bad,” Sylvester protests, although he looks deeply unsure about his own words. His earlier bravado seems to have faded, revealing anxieties that must have been building for months... years maybe. “Girls get treated okay,” he continues, “So long as Pierrot is happy. He gets rough with them, see, but not always...”

“What's he like?” you ask, swallowing back the wave of bile that threatens to choke you, “This Pierrot, I mean.”

Sylvester and his slender companion trade an uncertain glance. “He's like a man missing something in his heart, and he tries to fill it with whatever he can,” the bitter faced man offers, his voice more cultured than you had been expecting, “He drinks, takes whatever intoxicants he can, and he indulges any desire that comes to him. I cannot fault him for that – I believe that all men have a right to do the same – but his desires are... twisted. I know not what has made him like this, but I hope that I never suffer the same fate.”

“He's a shit,” Sylvester adds bluntly, “Always laughing about something or another.” With a sudden burst of anger, he slams his pistol down against the table. Unable to restrain herself for any longer, Freddy lunges across and snatches the gun out of his hand, disarming him with a simple flick of her wrist. Blinking with slow confusion, Sylvester looks down at his empty hand before laughing again.

“It's not a toy,” she scolds him, clearing the gun before slapping it back down onto the table, “Why are you still here, if you hate it so much?”

“Don't hate it, I just...” a look of drunken confusion drifts across Sylvester's face, “Folk like us, where else are we supposed to go? He doesn't show his face as often, but Theon had... he has a vision! If we abandon him, we'd be running away from everything, everything we've worked to build here!” His eyes widen, boozy tears glistening in them, and his voice grows louder. Too loud – the ink-stained man finally jerks back and away from Keziah, his hand closing sharply around Sylvester's throat.

“Shut UP!” he snarls, drawing a knife from his belt and raising it in an underhand grip. Sylvester grabs his unloaded gun and jabs it into his opponent's side, squeezing the trigger to no effect. The dagger begins to descend, when-

“Attention please!” Kavinsky announces, his voice crackling from a speaker above your table, “Lord Theon wishes to say a few words. Please proceed to the lord's manor.”

The dagger hovers for a moment more before its wielder lets out a curt laugh. “You got lucky,” he sneers at Sylvester, before turning to you, “And you, stranger. Best you keep out of trouble from now on. Your little bitch might not be able to help you next time.” Rising to his feet and turning away, he stalks out of the dining hall. Other men follow him, and you feel the tension bleed out of the air.

Some of it, at least.

[2/3]

>>2639255
I think Keziah needs a hug after this.

>>2639263
a very deep, intemate hug

>>2639255

The mob slowly files away as Kavinksy repeats his instructions over the speakers, leaving you and a few stragglers to gather your thoughts. By the looks of them, the little spat was no uncommon thing – hardly worth more than a passing glance, and certainly not worth worrying about. It reminds you of Berwick's crew on the Dust Treader – they had a similar nervous energy, their nerves frayed and their tempers raw. They had a good excuse for it, though, what excuse do Theon's followers have?

The rot that seems to have settled into this place, you assume, and it all started with the Pierrot. Finishing your last cup of wine, you look around at your companions. Freddy has an utterly blank look on her face, suppressed fury boiling away beneath the surface, while Caliban has lost some of his smirk. Keziah trembles like a leaf, and she clutches at herself as if chilled. Throwing an arm around her shoulders, you lead the group out to see Theon's speech.

-

Lord Theon's manor is not what you had been expecting. Little more than a blank rock face with a doorway carved into the base and a balcony – rickety metal crudely welded together – suspended higher up. You count almost fifty people assembled here, eagerly waiting to hear Theon speak. The man himself leans on the balcony railing, surveying the crowd that has gathered. He looks thin, you think, and very old. Faded somehow, like a garment worn thin with age.

“I am grateful,” Theon dhen Chreig begins, “That you have come to hear my words. I wish to speak to you now of strength, and what it means to be strong. Our prodigal child has returned with a new resolve, a new strength, and he wishes to rejoin our kingdom. I ask you, is this strength enough to redeem him in our eyes? Many of you have said it is, and...” He pauses, his eyes seeming to focus on a single figure in the crowd. Looking around, you follow his gaze and see him.

The Pierrot.

The man is dressed all in white, loose clothes that flow around him like water, and a trio of masks hangs at his belt – one cheerful, the second tragic, and a third with no expression, no face, at all. His own face is just as much of a mask, noble features offering no hints at what thoughts might be passing through his head. Only his hair has any colour to it, an incongruous red tone that seems curiously insulting. Turning his back on Theon, the Pierrot begins to slip away.

As he leaves, Theon's speech tentatively resumes.

>Stay here, try and learn more about Theon
>Follow the Pierrot, see where he's going
>Other

>>2639406
>Stay here, try and learn more about Theon

>>2639406
>Stay here, try and learn more about Theon

>>2639406
>Follow the Pierrot, see where he's going

Doubt Theon has anything important to say.

>>2639406
>Stay here, try and learn more about Theon

He probably knows where Peirrot is going already.

>>2639406
>Follow the Pierrot, see where he's going

Actually changing >>2639452 to this.

Theon doesn't seem to be the only power anymore.

>>2639406
>Follow the Pierrot, see where he's going

Watching the Pierrot slink away, you feel obscurely glad when he fades into the crowd. Knowing what you know about the man, just seeing him is enough to leave you feeling unclean – as if your skin was coated in a thin layer of oil and grime. Even so, you realise that not seeing him is no better. In a way, it's worse – you'd rather keep a man like him where you can see him. “Stay here,” you hiss to Keziah, “Let me know if anything goes wrong here.”

“What?” she yelps, “Where are you-”

“I'm going to catch a rat,” you reply, slipping away before she can protest your decision.

-

His white garb seeming almost luminous in the gloom, the Pierrot is not a hard man to follow. He leads you down a narrow path – one that is so narrow that you barely noticed it before – with a confident, almost jaunty, pace. He hums a tune as he walks, occasionally tapping something hard against the stone wall. That tune makes him even easier to follow, letting you hang back a little more. As you shadow him, though, you start to wonder if he's deliberately leading you astray. Once the thought enters your head, you can't dismiss it. The image of him slipping behind you and cutting your throat keeps darting through your thoughts.

When you reach an ajar door, the thought finally begins to fade. Reaching out a tentative hand, you push it open and peer inside.

The room is dark, and the first thing that you notice is the spiced smell of whatever drug the Pierrot is smoking. A sinuous giggle cuts through the gloom, and then a bright light snaps on. Grunting with pain, you shield your eyes against the brilliant glare and stagger back. Recovering your wits, you drop a hand to your revolver and squint against the glare. Sitting opposite you, the Pierrot offers a sly smile.

“I don't often have guests,” he remarks, his voice light and lively. It doesn't seem to be the same voice that giggled at you, but there's nobody else here. Unhooking one of the masks from his belt, the Pierrot covers his face with it. “Normally, I'm the one paying visits to people,” he growls, his voice turning deep and hoarse, “I visit them in the day, and I visit them in the night. No lock can defeat me, and no one can hide from me.”

“If you're looking for a fight, you might regret it,” you warn him, “Beating up whores is one thing, but I won't go down quite so easily.”

“You're wrong about that,” he jeers, “My blade could split you in two, and you wouldn't know that you were dead until I told you.” Lowering his mask, he stares at you with mismatched eyes – one pure black, the other solid white. You hold his gaze for as long as possible, but eventually you have to look away.

What IS he?

[1/2]

>>2639578
Demon bound to a living person?

>>2639578
A guy with colored contacts and an inflated ego, that's what.

>>2639578

Lowering his tragic mask, the Pierrot takes his joyous face and raises that instead. “I am what I am what I am,” he declares in a singsong voice, “But what are YOU?”

“I'm just a regular guy trying to make a living,” you counter, “There's nothing interesting about me. I'd rather know about you, friend.” Slowly raising your hands in a harmless gesture, you shoot the strange man – if he truly is a man – a smile. “Some people say that you're a preacher,” you continue, “You'll have to forgive me, but you don't strike me as the religious type. Maybe some unorthodox branch of the faith?”

“The most unorthodox of all,” the Pierrot titters, dropping his mask into his lap and taking a draw from a delicate pipe instead. Absurdly, the gesture reminds you of Grace. “Tell me,” he adds, pointing a slender finger at you, “That thing you wear around your neck. Do you think it obscene?”

It takes you a moment to realise what he's talking about. Fishing Maeve's trinket out, you look down at the chip of Abrahad stone. “Some might,” you concede, “But I don't.”

“Then why do you hate me so?” he asks, “We're not so different, that thing and I. We're both... incomplete. Someone reached down inside the both of us and tugged, tugged, tugged something out!” Here, he presses both hands to his chest before flapping them away as if miming a bird's wings. Despite your better judgement, you find yourself following his hands as they flutter up and away.

When you look back down the Pierrot is standing before you, his face little more than an inch from yours and his hand lightly resting against your chest. “Maybe I should reach into you,” he breathes, his eyes slitted with sensual pleasure, “And see what I can pull out.”

“This man is Lord Theon's guest,” Kavinsky announces suddenly, his voice causing both you and the Pierrot to jolt around. He has a large pistol drawn, aimed at the monster's head. The Pierrot laughs, brushing down your clothes with exaggerated care before taking a step backwards. “It's almost time,” Kavinsky continues, “You want to prepare for the fight, don't you?”

“Yes, yes,” the Pierrot sighs, rolling his mismatched eyes, “I should have killed that silly old daemon when I had the chance... Well, no matter. I can remedy that little mistake easily enough. Lead on, noble Kavinsky, lead on!”

Judging by the look that passes across Kavinsky's face, you're not the only one who loathes this monster.

>I think I'm going to pause things here for today. I'll continue this next Friday, assuming everything goes to plan
>Thanks to everyone who contributed today!

>>2639777
Thanks for running!

There's something up with this guy, if he could sense the necklacelike that, and what it is.

Is it true that he could cut us in two and we wouldn't know we were dead until he told us? If so, has he already cut us in half? Are we only alive until he tells us we're dead?

>>2639777
Thanks for running!

>>2639777
thanks for running moloch!

>>2639777
Thanks for running!

>>2639810
That was probably a small degree of exaggeration on his part, but he's still pretty quick. Then again, you never know - maybe our boy Milos really is dead, and even I don't know it yet!

>>2639777
I'm guessing he's a guy who went into the Vault of the Sun and had part of his soul removed instead of all of it.

>>2639777
If Masque fails to kill this dude, I say we step up next for it.

I guess we'll see who eats who then.

What are we? We're the man for the job.

I would be interested to see if our sword responds to Peirrot

>>2639964
Oooh good guess.

>>2639114
Wow Kez, you didn't need to go that far.

>>2639964
They recorded the ones who came out alive though. Maybe he fell down the bridge, but that itself safely ejected him somewhere?

>>2639777
I'm guessing Theon's vision for self-determination falls flat in the face of this guy. Part of the issue seems that ganging up on the Pierrot would contradict everything he stands for, but no single man in the whole kingdom can take him.

File: Elias Caldwell.jpg (114 KB, 800x1098)

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Of all the places that Caldwell could have ended up, a Nadir village devoted to the Lord of Rising Light had not been something that he had anticipated. Indeed, until Hackett had explained their destination to him, the assassin hadn't even realised that such a thing could exist. Yet, true enough, here they were in this village of cripples. In the first few moments of their visit, Caldwell had counted six men with missing limbs.

“They cut them off,” Hackett had explained, “Deformities, twisted limbs, that sort of thing. They cut them off and burn them. Mad bastards, the lot of them.”

Privately, Caldwell had agreed. Still, things weren't all bad – the townsfolk had welcomed them in with open arms, and they even had a place to bathe. So, freshly bathed and feeling utterly at ease, Caldwell had retired to his room – borrowed from a family that was only too happy to accommodate guests, murmuring something about a relative long since dead – and sat down with a small leather notebook. He was taking notes on the journey so far, his thoughts and observations, when he heard a floorboard creak.

Growing still, Caldwell listened carefully for a moment. Although he heard nothing else, the assassin carefully set down his pen – making sure not to splatter his notes with ink – and reached for his pistol. Before he could reach it, he felt the chill of cold metal pressing against his cheek. It could only be a knife blade, and he could well guess who held it.

“Well,” Caldwell murmured, “You can be quiet when you want to be, can't you?”

“And you're too quiet,” Hackett growled, “It's time that we had a little talk. If I don't like what you have to say, I'll cut you open from ear to ear.” He paused, waiting a moment to make sure that his point had been made before continuing. “I want to know why you're here,” he demanded, “Are you really here to kill Eishin?”

“That option remains on the table,” Caldwell replied slowly, “Were it up to me, I would happily kill him. However, we are considering other options. Some of my superiors believe that we can... make a deal.”

“A deal? You people are delusional!” Hackett spat, “You have nothing to offer Eishin, no leverage on him. I can understand hoping to the kill the bastard, but this? This is pure foolishness!”

“You're wrong,” the assassin stated calmly, “We have all the leverage we need.”

The blade shifted away from Caldwell's cheek as Hackett drew back, thinking silently for a moment before glancing aside, towards the next room over. “Her?” he muttered, his tone dubious, “But-”

As swift as a pouncing snake, Caldwell twisted out of his seat and drove the heel of his hand into Hackett's throat. His blow dropped the larger man down to all fours, and the assassin wasted little time in driving his knee into Hackett's face. The tracker collapsed, growing still.

Kneeling, Caldwell checked the man's pulse – he was still alive.

Good.

[1/3]

>>2646271

After checking to make sure that Gorgon was still asleep and Hackett was tightly restrained, his hands tied tightly behind his back, Caldwell sat down on the bed and thought for a while. Healthy self-reflection was a useful tool, but now it offered little in the way of comfort. Caldwell wasn't happy with the way this operation was unfolding, wasn't happy at all. Having two sets of contradictory orders bothered him – it reeked of politics, of hidden factions making moves against one other.

Caldwell was no stranger to being a pawn in some larger game, but this felt different. This was a self-defeating game, a conflict of interests in which the nation itself would lose out. He wore a confident mask in front of Hackett, but that had only served to cover up a deep sense of unease. If Eishin lived, Caldwell would be failing the official orders given to him courtesy of Administrator Gehrard. On the other hand, if Eishin died... that too would be a failure on Caldwell's part.

He had an idea of who had given him these second orders. A nobleman, a political animal with a driving desire to further his own influence. Caldwell had heard the man speak once, a speech about the demands of a changing world. Nadir, the nobleman had claimed, could not be ruled over by outsiders. Even King Roegar, supposedly the ruler of all Nadir, was little more than an ineffectual puppet. Only Eishin could bring the people of Nadir to heel.

A fool's errand, perhaps, but orders were orders.

-

Caldwell slept for a while, but the numbing comfort of a deep sleep eluded him. Every sound or movement nearby would rouse him and send his hand reaching for a weapon. When Hackett began to surface, Caldwell woke up for good. Crouching down beside the hunter, he produced a small knife and held the blade out so that the captive man could see it. “I'm going to untie you now,” the assassin said quietly, “And then we're going to continue our mission. Say nothing to Gorgon – I don't want her to suspect anything.”

“And if I do say something, what will you do?” Hackett growled, “Kill me?”

“You'd be putting all three of us in a very awkward situation,” Caldwell replied, “And I would rather avoid any further complications.” Reaching over, he slit the hunter's bindings and allowed the man to rise. As he rubbed his wrists, Hackett gave Caldwell a sour look. “Details, Hackett, I want some details,” the assassin stressed, “How long will it take us to reach Eishin's territory?”

“Three days minimum. Maybe more,” Hackett grumbled, “Assuming we don't run into any more trouble. Knowing our luck, that's a bloody long shot...”

“We'll leave at first light,” Caldwell replied, cutting Hackett off before he could continue complaining. “The sooner the better,” he added, “I don't trust these people...”

[2/3]

>>2646273

It was the weight that woke Caldwell, not any sound or movement. He woke slowly, unsure whether he was still dreaming or not for the first few seconds, and a curious paralysis gripped his body. In the gloomy room, Gorgon seemed as pale as a wraith. She sat on the edge of his bed, leaning down so that she could look into his face. There was a pistol within reach, but Caldwell couldn't bring himself to move. Showing no sign of noticing that he was awake, Gorgon leaned closer. Breathing deeply, she tasted the assassin's scent.

“I know this smell...” she whispered, slowly rising from the bed and ambling away into her own room.

Caldwell remained awake until morning.

-

Aside from a few short breaks, the party walked for eight straight hours that day. All the while, Caldwell kept sneaking glances at Gorgon. She hadn't spoken much since they started out, and she had said nothing about Caldwell's nocturnal experience. It bothered him, that silence. As much as he wanted to confront her about it, he could never quite find the words. It was ridiculous – even when Hackett had a knife to his throat he had remained calm, but this witch had somehow got the better of him.

Beneath his composed mask, Caldwell's doubts continued to gnaw away at him. He had been glad to get away from the village, especially since the crippled locals had been encouraging them to join the morning prayers, but the wilderness had its own hazards. They were being followed, Caldwell was sure of that – cautiously followed and carefully watched. Eishin's people, perhaps. Whoever they were, they seemed content to keep their distance for now.

Everything was still under control, the assassin told himself, but that would not last. He was as certain of that as he had ever been about anything.

>This concludes today's bonus episode. Into the Skies will resume on Friday!

>>2646275
Thanks!

See you on Friday.

>>2646275
What could make her so special? Half-daemon?

>>2646412
Maybe she's related to Eishin?

>>2646275
Truly, being Caldwell is suffering

>>2646566
....Milos' mom?

File: Fredrika Lhaus.jpg (83 KB, 595x1000)

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Even long after you've left his company, the feeling of the Pierrot's eyes boring into you remains like a weight on your shoulders. He is no normal human, you feel certain of that, but what else could he be? Your first theory linked him with a daemon, but something about him – maybe the contempt in his voice when he mentioned Masque – leaves you doubting that it's anything as simple as that. The way he compared himself to Maeve's trinket...

It's not that something was put into him, it's that something was taken out. All the parts that made him a respectable human being, perhaps?

“He wasnae lookin' very good, that's for sure,” Keziah thinks aloud, her words drawing you back to reality, “This Theon guy, I mean. Didn't he seem ill to you?”

“I thought so,” Freddy begins, before shaking her head and correcting herself. “No, it's not quite like that. When I was younger, my family took me to the council chambers in Reichstag. There was an older politician I saw there, he looked like Theon,” she explains, “I don't know why, but I never forgot the sight of him. Years later, I learned that he was being manipulated, blackmailed, by his enemies – they just told him what to say or how to vote, and he was forced to obey. A broken man, that's what Theon looked like to me.”

“You think someone might be blackmailing him?” you ask. It does sound plausible, but the Pierrot didn't strike you as the blackmailing type.

“No, I wouldn't go that far,” Freddy decides after giving the matter some more thought, “But he IS compromised. I'm sure of that. Caliban, what do you think?”

“I wasn't paying attention,” Caliban offers with a breezy shrug, “Speeches bore me.”

“You ass!” Keziah groans, “Then what were you doing?”

“I took a walk around,” the hunter answers, “I found where they're keeping Masque, and they let me have a few words with him. He seems oddly calm, considering. Seemed more interested in talking to that damn sword than to me, though. I also stumbled across that man Kavinsky's private office. Seems like he likes his privacy more than the rest of these thugs – other than the cell they've got Masque tucked away in, his door was the only one I've seen with a lock on it. Well, if you can call it a lock – I'm willing to bet that I could have it open in a few minutes.”

Keziah narrows her eyes and gives Caliban a suspicious look. “You can pick locks?” she asks cautiously, “If I find out that you've been sneakin' into my room when I'm away, you'll regret it. You dinnae want to piss off a witch, I'll curse you so hard your balls will fall off!”

“Oh please,” Caliban sighs, “Credit me with some good taste, at least.”

“Excuse me,” Freddy calls out, “I think we're all getting a little distracted from the matter at hand.”

[1/2]

>>2650894

“Now then,” the Iraklin continues, “Caliban, you said that Kavinsky has a locked office? He's probably going to be busy for some time, so we might be able to take a look around. Of course, there is the danger of being caught in the act.”

“You think Kavinsky might have something to do with this?” you ask her, “So far, he seems like a decent sort – more decent than most here, at least. But then, if he's the only one with a lock on his door, then maybe...”

“Almost enough to make you wonder what he's hiding, isn't it?” Freddy remarks drily, “Maybe we should-”

“Oh hell!” Keziah blurts out, “I nearly forgot, I gotta let me mam know that we're here so she can do her thing. I gotta head back to the ship!” Turning, she starts to hurry away before a second thought stops her. “Wait, when are they gonna fight?” she calls out, “I dinnae want to miss it!”

“An hour or so,” Caliban replies, before turning to you and adding, “I overheard some of the men talking about it. They were looking forwards to this – somehow, though, I don't think they're going to get the result they're expecting.” Pausing here, he watches as Keziah scurries off back towards the ship before letting out a wan laugh. “Well,” he remarks, “I can't ever recall seeing her move so fast. I think this place is getting to her.”

“Can you blame her?” Freddy mutters, “This den of filth... I could happily see this place burn to the ground.”

You're not sure if a stone islands really work that way, but you understand what she means. Your personal feelings aside, you've not got long to wait before Masque and the Pierrot face each other. This is time that you should use wisely.

>Investigate Kavinsky's quarters while he's busy elsewhere
>Visit Masque before the duel
>Accompany Keziah back at the ship
>Other

>>2650895
>Investigate Kavinsky's quarters while he's busy elsewhere
>Freddy can you escort Keziah back to the ship? Like you said this is a den of filth and I'd rather her not go alone.

>>2650895
>Investigate Kavinsky's quarters while he's busy elsewhere

Risky, but maybe he has a key to the treasury or something else useful for fragment acquisition.

“Right, let's hit up Kavinsky's quarters,” you tell Caliban, slapping him on the arm before turning to Freddy. “Can you make sure Keziah gets back okay?” you ask her, “Like you said, this place is a den of filth and I don't want her getting into any trouble. Just keep an eye on her, make sure she gets back to the ship okay.”

“Understood,” the Iraklin replies crisply, turning and hurrying after the witch. As she leaves, you gesture for Caliban to lead the way. As he walks, you notice his hand never strays too far from the knife at his belt.

“Nervous?” you ask him, smiling a little despite yourself. It's strange to see him on edge like this.

Glancing around at you, Caliban's own lips twitch in a humourless smile. “I don't like this place much either,” he admits, “Although not for the same reasons as everyone else, I'm sure. The idea of living all the way out here... it's got to do strange things to a man, right? Why couldn't Theon have built his little kingdom somewhere more convenient?” Before you can offer any suggestions to that, Caliban presses on and changes the subject. “You think Masque will be okay?” he wonders.

“We've done everything we can to tip the odds in his favour,” you reply, “That sword... if that doesn't help, I don't know what will. He seemed to think it would work, at least.”

A grunt is all Caliban says to that, his attention focused on leading you though the twisting stone tunnels. Electrical lights burn here and there, their flickering glow casting wild shadows about the place. Eventually, the hunter leads you to a solid looking door. Without breaking stride, he takes a set of thin tools out of an inner pocket and kneels down next to the door. As he works on the lock, you listen for the sound of any approaching footsteps.

For all his boasts, it takes Caliban almost five minutes to get the lock open. Scowling at that, and muttering something about a lack of practice, he pushes the door open and gestures for you to enter. “Not much of an office,” he remarks, peering around the tiny room, “Hardly any room for the both of us.”

“You keep watch, and I'll search the place,” you order, “Shouldn't take too long...”

There are precisely two things in the office that seem worthy of attention – a writing desk, likely scavenged from somewhere down below, and a paper diagram fixed to the wall. You can't make any sense of the diagram, so you focus on the desk for now. In the drawer, you find an oddly formal ledger with row upon row of figures filling the pages. Of all the things you expected to find here, paperwork had been fairly low down on your list.

[1/2]

>>2650929

It takes you a few more moments to figure out exactly what the figures are saying. It's a list of money flowing in and out of the Kingdom – money given to Theon as tribute, and money spent on food or other sundries. The more recent entries show a sharp increase in the amount of money leaving the Kingdom, the explanation listed only as “special projects”. If you're reading this right, then the Kingdom has hardly anything left in its treasury – like a body that has been drained of blood.

“Special projects...” you mutter, shaking your head in frustration at the vague term. Turning your attention to the diagram, you study it for a moment more in hope of figuring something out. Parts of it look vaguely like an airship's engine, and so you reach out to Keziah with your thoughts. “Look at this,” you tell her, focusing on the diagram until your eyes ache, “Does this make any sense to you?”

“Uh, let me see...” Keziah replies, “It's probably what's generating the power in this place, but... oh, that's not right.” Concern darkens her thoughts as she hesitates. “They're using the island's Pleonite deposits to produce power, but they're feeding some of that power back into the system to keep it going – like a snake eating its own tail, see? Only, that's not safe at all! It's going to...” Instead of words, she finishes this thought with an image – an ocean of sluggish water turning stagnant and filthy, the fish inside choking and dying.

It takes you a few seconds to translate the image into words. “This power system is somehow... harming the people here?” you guess, “Is that what you're saying?”

“I think so,” the witch pauses, “Maybe not physical harm, like, but you remember what Sylvester said? This place got real ugly, he said, and this power system might have something to do with it. This is dangerous stuff they've been messing with, they can't have known what they were doing!”

“Captain!” Caliban hisses, “Someone coming, hurry up in there!”

Spitting a curse under your breath, you sweep the ledger back into the desk drawer and hurry out of the cramped office, fumbling with the lock as you leave. Caliban grabs you by the arm and drags you away from the door, a few scant seconds before Kavinsky approaches from the opposite branch of the corridor. Pausing when he sees you, he takes his time in choosing his first words.

“Were you looking for me?” he asks in an even voice, “I apologise, but I had some errands to run. Can I assist you with anything?”

>No, nothing. We were just taking a walk
>I was wondering about the lights. Where do you get the power from?
>What kind of “special projects” are you people running here?
>Other

>>2650989
>I was wondering about the lights. Where do you get the power from?

>>2650989
>I was wondering about the lights. Where do you get the power from?

This seems like it'll set up a good transition into "that sounds like it's causing a mental sickness here"

>>2650989
>I was wondering about the lights. Where do you get the power from?

He took his time choosing his first words, but that's not a luxury that you share. Even your moment of slight hesitation is enough to see Kavinsky's hand dropping to the holstered pistol at his belt. His finger hooks under the clasp, ready to pull out the gun at a moment's notice. Pasting a casual smile onto your face, you give him a harmless shrug. “I was wondering about the lights here,” you reply, nodding up to one of the flickering bulbs above, “It's not often that you see electrical lights out here. Where do you get the power from?”

Kavinsky matches your smile with a more restrained one of his own, lifting his hand away from the pistol and folding his arms. “We have a generator of sorts. I don't really understand it myself, but I can't argue with the results,” scratching at his nose, Kavinsky thinks for a moment more, “If you can believe it, the Pierrot was the one who taught us how to set it up. Cannibalised parts from a junker airship and gave some of the smarter men instructions.”

“Seriously?” you blurt out, unable to stop yourself.

“I know, I know. He's doesn't look like the sort to know about all that stuff, but there you go,” Kavinsky lets out a wan laugh, “He's done one thing right for this place, at least. The generator is lower down, but I'm afraid that I can't let you in. It's not safe – we lost two good men getting it up and running, discharges cooked them alive.” A grimace passes across his face as he says this, but it leaves as quickly as it arrived.

“You ought to be careful,” you warn, “These kind of systems can have dangerous effects on people if they're not built right. They get in your head, make you irritable or impulsive. Any of that sound familiar?”

To judge from the way Kavinsky's eyes widen at this, this is the first time that he's hearing about it. “You're saying, what, that we should turn the power off?” he asks, “Dismantle the whole system? That's not my call to make – I'd need to bring it up with Lord Theon. Hell, I don't even know what I'd tell him, it might be easier if you tell him yourself. I'll speak to him about this – you come find me after Saighdear's duel, I should have an answer for you then.”

“Glad to see that you're taking this seriously,” Caliban murmurs, causing Kavinsky to shoot him a hard look. This time, at least, his hand doesn't stray down to the pistol.

“The duel is going to be starting soon,” he says eventually, “You don't want to miss it, do you? Head up above, the area – hardly deserves a grand name like that, but never mind that – is higher up. Follow someone if you need directions.” Nodding briskly, he then steps past you and unlocks his office door.

Is it just your imagination, or did he pause for a suspicious moment before entering?

[1/2]

>>2651063

It always comes back to the Pierrot. That's the thought that keeps circling your mind as you climb the rough-hewn steps leading to the arena. Whatever is going on here, the answers lie in the Pierrot's head – and that head might soon part company with his shoulders, if Masque gets his way. Then what, everything he knows vanishes into the void? It would seem like a waste, if not for how much you dislike the bastard.

The arena is little more than a large cavern, roughly circular with a ring of bright lights burning above it. A single large platform has been crudely welded together, allowing someone – Theon, presumably – to look out over whatever crowd has gathered. Most of Theon's followers are already here, eagerly chattering amongst themselves. Shortly after you arrive, Freddy and Keziah hurry in and join you.

“Everything's done, me mam says that everythin' worked perfectly,” Keziah whispers, fiddling with the dark glasses hiding her eyes, “Bloody bright in here, aye? I'm glad I brought me glasses.”

Scowling up at the lights, you let out a non-committal grunt. As you stand bathed in their light, you can't help but wonder about what effect it might be having on you. Even now, will this place be slowly eroding your sense and sanity?

A murmur runs through the crowd, and you hear Kavinsky yelling out for a path to be cleared. Four figures – Theon, Kavinsky, Masque and the Pierrot – enter, splitting off and going their separate ways as soon as the crowd has parted. Theon and Kavinsky climb up to the metal platform, while Masque and the Pierrot march into the centre of the cavern. The Pierrot wears his blank, expressionless mask and carries a long stave of white Abrahad stone. A few men slap him on the arm or pat him on the back as he passes, but he shows no sign of noticing.

When the two fighters stand opposite one another, Theon gestures for all to be silent. The Pierrot presses the tip of the stave to his mask, as if he was kissing it, and a flash of white light bursts from the weapon. When the flash fades, a crescent shaped blade of pure light burns there at the tip. If that blade is anything like your own shining weapon, it'll cut through damn near anything without effort.

“Gentlemen,” Theon announces, “Fight well.”

That's all it takes for the fight to begin. The Pierrot is quick off the mark, lunging forwards with a speed that you can barely keep up with. One moment he was standing stiffly in place, and then he was bringing his weapon scything down at Masque. Not even trying to block the strike, Masque leaps back and lets the glaive carve out a gash in the solid stone floor. The daemon sword still hangs at Masque's side, yet to even be raised.

Three seconds pass, and the Pierrot slashes out four more times. Each blow is a near miss, with Masque stepping around them or twisting out of the way at the last second.

[2/3]

>>2651119

“Is he playing around?” Caliban mutters, watching as Masque makes no attempt at a counter attack, “Trying to get that bastard angry?”

“I don't think that's going to work,” you reply, wincing as the Pierrot dances around in a circle and cuts low at Masque's ankles. This time, at least, Masque bashes the attack away with his sword – striking carefully so that he doesn't come into contact with that killing white light. He strikes at the weapon's Abrahad handle, kicking it up and ducking under the backstroke as the Pierrot twists around. It really does feel like you're watching the two of them dance with each other, but it can't last forever.

Or maybe it can. Masque isn't bothered by human things like pain or fatigue, and the Pierrot seems equally tireless. Where a normal man might pause to get his breath back, the pale man instead launches into another flurry of attacks. Each swing of his glaive is met by a ferocious roar from the crowd, and Masque's defences grow gradually more and more desperate. Then, a mistake – an opening so blatant that you can't see any way for him to escape.

But the Pierrot matches this mistake with one of his own. Faced with an opening, he strikes with a needless flourish – spinning his blade before striking out in a low blow meant to scythe Masque in half at the waist. Somehow, though, the blow finds only empty air and Masque – without ever seeming to move at all – is behind his opponent. Blood spurts from the back of the Pierrot's knee, and he tumbles forwards with a cry, a yell of disbelief as much as pain. The glaive falls from his hands, the blade of light dying as the weapon falls away. Before the Pierrot can rise from his knees, Masque brings his blade down to the back of the man's exposed neck. Drawing it back, he prepares to strike the killing blow when-

“Saighdear!” Theon cries out, his voice causing Masque to freeze. Dead silence falls over the cavern, and you look up to Theon in search of an explanation. You can't ever recall seeing a man so indecisive, so uncertain about what to do. He seems lost, struggling with some question known only to himself. The silence draws out, Theon's uncertainty spreading to the rest of the crowd.

>Keep silent and wait
>Call out for Masque to show mercy
>Call out for Masque to strike the killing blow
>Other

>>2651181
>Call out for Masque to show mercy

Chance to get answers from him

>>2651181
>Keep silent and wait

>>2651181
>Call out for Masque to show mercy

Dead silence from the crowd, even from Theon. Kavinsky watches with an utterly expressionless face, although his eyes dart back and forth between Theon and the two fighters below. Suddenly, you imagine the people here as a group of actors confronted by a sudden change in the script. This wasn't what they had been expecting, this wasn't how things were supposed to go. Now, not one man among this whole lot knows what to do.

With both of their faces hidden behind masks, it's impossible to know what Masque or the Pierrot could be thinking. Masque remains as still as a statue, while the Pierrot kneels with both hands clasped to the back of his leg. Strangely pale blood runs through his tightly woven fingers, but not much.

The silence draws out for a moment more, and then Masque finally moves. He raises his head and looks up to Theon, waiting for directions. None come from his former master, and so you speak up instead. You've remained silent for long enough.

“Mercy!” you call out, “Mercy for the defeated!”

Uproar greets this, a chorus of howls and cries from the crowd. Disagreement, approval, disbelief and pure wordless excitement all mingle together into a single wall of noise. Masque doesn't look around at the sound of either your voice or the shouts that follow, although you see his shoulders tense. Eventually, Theon raises his hand for silence and – gradually – the crowd obeys.

“There shall be... mercy,” Theon declares, almost as if reluctant to say so, “Saighdear, our prodigal son, has won his place among us once again. Take the Pierrot and bandage his wounds. I shall decide his fate later.” Having said this, he stumbles back from the edge of the platform and collapses down into a chair. Kavinsky leans down and whispers something to him, but the words are lost beneath a new tide of murmurs. The crowd is already starting to break away, the rough circle devolving into disorder as some leave, others approaching Masque to give him their congratulations.

Masque ignores them. Whenever a hand falls on him, he violently shrugs it off and pushes the man away.

“Mercy?” Caliban mutters to you, “Not what I expected from you, captain.”

“It's not personal,” you reply, “If there nothing he had to offer me, I'd happily see that clown's head parted from his shoulders. As it is, I think he might be the only one here who knows what's going on around here. I want to find out what he knows.”

“Ah, I see,” the hunter muses, “But you're assuming that he's willing to share that knowledge. What if he simply tells you to go to hell?”

“I'll cross that bridge when I come to it,” you tell him after a long pause.

[1/2]

>>2651253

Two men carry the Pierrot out, a rag roughly tied around his slashed leg to slow the blood loss, and the defeated man seems barely conscious. As the group passes you by, however, the Pierrot seems to rouse himself and his arm flashes out to snatch at your sleeve. Behind his mask, the man's eyes are feverish and bright with anger. He won't thank you for pleading mercy, you can tell that straight away, but his eyes seem to promise more than just that.

Then, without saying a word, he lets go of your sleeve and the men hasten him away.

-

“Lord Theon has heard your advice regarding the power situation,” Kavinsky announces as he approaches you, his eyes scanning the lingering remnants of the crowd, “However, his decision was clear. No action will be taken, the generator will remain operational.”

“You cannae do that!” Keziah protests, “You dinnae ken how dangerous that thing is, you might be-”

“My chief engineer,” you interrupt, gesturing for Keziah to be silent, “I've explained the situation to her, and as you can see, she's quite concerned about the potential issues that might arise.” Fighting back a grimace, you look over to the platform where a number of guards are helping Theon leave. “Did he give any reason why, at least?” you ask, “I'd feel a lot safer knowing that he's taking this seriously, one way or another.”

“There were concerns about security, the vaults...” Kavinsky replies vaguely, stopping himself before he says anything more than that. “However, you may have a chance to make your case to him directly. You caught his eye today, calling for mercy like that,” he continues, taking out a cheap tin badge in the shape of a key, “He wished for you to have this, a mark of his approval so that you can enter his manor. He will see you there – he doesn't see guests outside.”

Taking the badge, you turn it over in your hands with a faint air of confusion. It looks like something a child might make, but Kavinksy seems utterly serious about it. “What about the Pierrot?” you ask, “What's going to happen to him?”

“In the short term, we'll tend to his wound,” he shrugs, “After that, I can't say. It's up to Lord Theon. We'll be keeping him locked up for now, while the doc takes care of him.”

“My old cell, I assume,” Masque adds drily, approaching you. Kavinsky nods his agreement, and Masque lets out a soft growl. “Maybe I'll pay him a visit later,” he continues, “Maybe I'll strangle him to death while he's on his sickbed.”

Victory hasn't softened Masque's heart at all, it seems. Still, it's time for you to decide your next move.

>Visit Theon in his manor
>Speak with the Pierrot while he's recovering
>Gather back at the ship to discuss the situation
>Other

>>2651336
>Other
"Keziah, would it be possible for you to improve their system to be safer?"

I'm thinking that we could impose a trade. Keziah's improvements for the fragment. If she can do it though, the thing might just be FUBAR.

>Speak with the Pierrot while he's recovering

>>2651336
>Speak with the Pierrot while he's recovering

>>2651336
>Speak with the Pierrot while he's recovering

Hopefully the wound will have slowed him down, so we won't have to worry about getting bisected.

“Keziah, would it be possible for you improve the generator here to be safer?” you ask, looking the witch in the eye, “We might be able to make ourselves useful here.” Pausing a moment, you think your next words to her. “And if we can get it working correctly, we may be able to exchange your services for the fragment,” you add, wincing inwardly at how that sounds. Keziah smiles faintly, although her smile is nervous.

“I'd have to take a wee look at it, see what I can do,” she replies slowly, “But I might be able to help a little.” Clearing her throat, she gives Kavinsky a more confident attempt at a smile. “Chances are, boss, there won't be much that I can do,” she thinks to you, “These sorts of system are just fundamentally unsafe. I might be able to rig something temporary, something that might seem like it's working a little better, but it won't last forever. Weeks at the most, I reckon...”

“I'll take your offer to Lord Theon,” Kavinsky offers, giving you a vaguely helpless gesture, “I dare say that he'll prefer an option that keeps the lights on, but the final say still lies with him. Now, excuse me.” Inclining his head slightly, he turns and hurries after Theon as the aged man is helped out.

“I dinnae trust him,” Keziah mutters as she watches Kavinsky leave, “Not one bit.”

-

Masque leads you to his former cell – now the Pierrot's new home – but that's as far as he goes. Quite understandably, he reasoned that the defeated man might not want to see him so soon, and so the daemon elected to wait outside. The doctor who works on the Pierrot is an amusing sight, practically the complete opposite of Doctor Barnum – wild hair, a tangled beard, and a tremble that suggests some kind of drug problem. He's supposed to be stitching up the Pierrot's wound, but he just seems to be making an even bigger mess of it.

“Go on, get out of here. I'll finish things here,” you tell the doctor, who looks around at you with glassy eyes. “I've closed up my share of wounds in my time, so he'll be in safe hands,” you add, “Go on, go and... find something to drink. You look like you need it.” The Pierrot doesn't make any reaction to this, not even opening his eyes to see what all the noise is about. A quick glance at a nearby vial explains that – extract of Bishop's Mercy, an extremely potent analgesic derived from some Nadir herb. Strong concentrations of it tend to be fatal – hence the name, taken from a bishop who favoured suicide over falling into barbarian hands – and even a small dose can knock a man out for days. So much for getting answers, you think wearily to yourself, the Pierrot will probably sleep until-

His eyes, black and white, snap open.

[1/2]

>>2651419
I hope he's a little less angry after that Bishop's Mercy. At least, not at us.

Want to point out that we were inadvertently told that this generation controls the vault security so if we wanted to go the heist route we'd need to knock it out.

Something to keep in mind.

>>2651483
>generation
generator*

Fucking phone

>>2651419

His eyes are hard and dead, like cut glass. You try and hold his gaze but, once again, you have to look away. Circling around him, you sit down on the newly vacated chair and prod at the doctor's tools. Not exactly clean or well-cared for, but they'll do the job. As you're examining the tools, the Pierrot speaks.

“Ugh,” the Pierrot says, his lips slack and numb. He might not be as comatose as you expected, but the drug is certainly working on him. His hands flap weakly at the bed he lies upon as he tries to rise, but they fail to find purchase and he slumps back down. “Hurgh,” he adds, trying to form actual words, “...Cheated.”

“Oh come on, have a little dignity,” you scold as you thread a needle and bend down over his mutilated leg, “Nobody likes a sore loser.” Wiping away some of that oddly pale blood with a rag – and then slipping the rag into your pocket, just in case – you get to work on patching up his wound. It's harder than you expected, not least because of the clumsiness still hampering your left hand. “Good thing that we have light to work under, though,” you murmur, “I hear that we have you to thank for that, but... did you know it was dangerous?”

At first you think that he's not going to answer, but then the Pierrot lets out a slurred giggle. The more he speaks, the closer his words sound to normal. He must be shaking off the drug at an inhuman rate. “Of course,” he mumbles, “Didn't care. Amused me, seeing them all scurry, scurry, scurry about like ants. They fight like dogs sometimes, tooth and claw. Saw a man bite out another's throat once. Funny...”

Very deliberately setting the needle aside – otherwise, you fear that you might bury it in one of those mocking eyes – you kneel down and look into the Pierrot's face. “I don't understand you,” you tell him coldly, “I don't even know if I want to understand you. You caused all of this damage just because it amused you?” The Pierrot's mouth twists into a contemptuous sneer, all the answer you need.

“My kingdom now,” he spits, “Look at them, all those idiots and idealists, acting so above it all. Look at them now...” His words trail off here and his eyes lose focus, wandering until they face off in opposite directions. Caliban slips past you, taking the vial of Bishop's Mercy and sniffing at it.

“Spiked with something,” he murmurs to you, “Some kind of hallucinogenic would be my guess. He's out of his mind, probably doesn't even realise he's talking aloud. What do you say, captain?”

>We're leaving. I've heard enough
>I'm not letting this scum live. Pass me that scalpel
>Let me ask him something... (Write in)
>Other

>>2651535
in like a couple other quests, I'd kill him now. But that wouldn't really be a victory for, well, most everybody.
>Ask him about Theon. What did he do to the poor old guy, let him boast.
>Ask about his glaive. What does the glaive think about what he does?
>If the glaive is here, touch it while touching Faenor.
....wow, that sounds REALLY wrong when you read it out loud.

>>2651535
>Let me ask him something... (Write in)
What happened to you?
Why do they call you the Pierrot? A title, no name?
How did you get the know how to set up that generator?
What's wrong with you?

>>2651535
>Let me ask him something... (Write in)
What do you know of my necklace and the white stone in general?

>>2651535
How do you hold so much authority over these people?

Why did you exile Masque?

Leaning closer to the Pierrot, you lower your voice to a whisper. “Tell me about Theon,” you urge, “What did you do to old man? You DID do something to him, didn't you?”

His lips twist into a delirious smile, a thin trail of saliva slipping from one corner of his mouth. “Ah, he did it to himself!” the Pierrot gloats, “He... he felt it first, when he slept, he heard the Pleonite whispering to him. Enemies everywhere, it told him, plotting against him. First came the locks on the doors, all that silly little security, and then... ah, the killing! All he needed was a list of names, a lovely little conspiracy, and he did the rest himself...”

Swallowing back a wave of revulsion, you sort through what he just told you. Paranoia, the result of the unstable power generator, was the start of Theon's downfall. A conspiracy against him – real or imagined – led to a purge of his followers, and things degenerated from there. All this, just because the idea of destroying something like the Kingdom amused him. Rising to your feet, you glance around the cell until your eyes fall on the glaive. One of his escorts must have brought it here and left it with him. Arming a man like this...

“What happened to you?” you ask him, pacing back and forth as you weigh the glaive in your hands, “And your name. Do you even have a name, or do you just have this title?”

“Project Pierrot,” he sighs, his voice dreamy, “I remember... the sky. I could meditate for hours in those days. Maybe that's why they took me under, so I could speak to god. They wanted to make me pure, to pluck out all my impurity, but...” He giggles here, a slow and somehow liquid sound. “But they got it wrong,” he says with something that is half a chuckle and half a sob, “They took out all the wrong parts!”

“Is that how you know this trinket?” you dangle Maeve's pendant in front of him as you say this, “Is this something else they did?”

The Pierrot leans closer, as if trying to kiss the pendant, and you abruptly jerk it away from him. “Just another failure, just like me,” he giggles, “Only, they threw that one from the tower. They kept ME down below!”

Again, this talk of descending under something. Was he kept underground, then? “How does a man like you learn about power generators?” you wonder aloud, not sure if you're even going to get an answer to that. Despite this doubt, the Pierrot answers – in his own way.

“They brought me books, so many books. Something to keep me busy, to distract me from...” his tongue slips out, flicking across his lips to moisten them. “I'm a quick learner,” he whispers, “They all told me that...”

Another laugh, another sob.

[1/2]

>>2651661
"Do you know the Vault of the Sun?"

It sounds like he is a half finished Abrahad statue, made by whoever made the Vault. Maybe we should put him out of his misery. He's just going to go on being a cruel piece of shit with how broken he is.

>>2651661
Dang, now I feel bad for him.

>>2651661

“Captain,” Caliban mutters, leaning over you and tapping your shoulder, “I don't think we should-”

“You hold some authority over these people, enough to make them exile Masque,” you hiss, “How? And why do that to him?”

“I'm strong!” the Pierrot replies simply, his eyes wide with mocking insincerity, “I am Lord Theon's faithful servant, the only one he can truly trust! Of course those fools follow me – they fear what I can do to them if they step out of line!” This time, his laugh is loud and shrill, causing you to recoil in surprise. Scowling, you gesture for Caliban to check if anyone heard that laugh. As you lean back to the Pierrot, he continues. “Oh, but the daemon, but that thing... I should have killed him there and then, but he was just so... so funny!” those mismatched eyes roll in his skull as the Pierrot chuckles, the deepest part of his trance slipping away, “There's no place in my kingdom for things like him, except as a toy for me to break.”

“Yeah, sure,” you sneer, “And look where that got you. From where I'm standing, you look like the broken one.”

“He cheated,” the pale monster mutters, his mania leaving him as he slumps back down into a sullen mood, “Give me my blade. I'll show him...”

“This? This is a nice weapon,” you remark, holding the glaive up in front of him, “Does it ever speak to you?”

The sight of the weapon seems to hit him surprisingly hard, causing the Pierrot to jerk his eyes away with a whimper. “Worthington?” he mutters eventually, his voice taking on a more plainative, pleading tone, “You keep asking me that. I've said the words, I've roused the Charism, but it doesn't answer me. Is it because I'm not pure enough yet? I'll say the words as often as I can, you see? Linschiol, Linschiol!”

At the sound of that word, the glaive ignites with a flash of white light as its blade takes form. Grunting, you turn your head away from the light until it has dimmed somewhat. Blinking repeatedly against the flare of light, the Pierrot finally seems to realise that something isn't quite right. His eyes abruptly dry up, and his lips shrink into a firm line. Then he smiles, slowly and surely.

“Was I talking in my sleep?” he whispers, smirking at you, “Oh dear, a pox upon my foolish tongue. I ought to pluck it right out of my head.”

“What's wrong with you?” you mutter, the words slipping out, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“There's nothing wrong with ME,” he spits back, “Except for my leg, which your precious little daemon almost chopped off.”

“Oh grow up,” Caliban jeers, “That's just a scratch. I knew an old guy who lost his entire foot, and he didn't whine as much as you.”

[2/3]