>>2669504

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

As you're walking back to the Spirit of Helena, you spot a mismatched group of survivors heading towards one of the other hangers. Most of them clutch weapons, and they have violence in their eyes. Hanging back, you wait for them to pass by before continuing onwards – those coarse men hardly look in the mood for some friendly conversation, and you have little desire to get into a pointless fight. They're probably just looking for a way to leave the Kingdom.

“Yes, a ship,” Masque agrees when you mention this, “It might even be their own ship... although I doubt it.”

“Wonderful,” you mutter, gesturing for Masque to follow you as you continue on. Best to make sure that your airship is still safe.

-

The Spirit of Helena is docked exactly where you left her – with the heavy hanger doors still solidly closed, the ship would have a hard job leaving. Freddy is waiting outside the ship when you arrive, restlessly checking her rifle over and over. Calling out a greeting, you approach her. “What's the situation here?” you ask, “Any trouble while I was gone?”

“Nothing, no trouble. The chief engineer is up now, trying to get the hanger doors open,” Freddy reports briskly, “It's a little early for her to be getting back to work, but she seemed eager to do her part.”

“That's right,” Keziah thinks to you, “I think I can divert some of the Helena's power to the doors, so we can open them without firing up the main generator. All I need is some muscle – I've got Stafford helping me out here, but he's not really one for heavy lifting. Do me a favour, boss, and send Gunny my way... unless you feel like doing some real work for a change?” Her thoughts have a warm, humorous note to them, but you still feel a faint ghost of pain. You're about to reply, but Masque distracts you.

“Spit it out,” he orders, his curt words directed at Freddy.

“Ah,” the Iraklin pauses, “There was something. Captain, it's about the stables. I don't like the idea of leaving the women here. I'm not expecting it to be heavily guarded, but... you never know. Do I have your permission to leave?” She hesitates for a moment, her eyes darting across to the bloody mark on your cheek. “I won't ask for your assistance,” she adds, “You're injured, captain. You should probably have the doctor take a look at that.”

“This?” you ask, touching your bloodied face and trying not to wince, “It's not that bad. It looks worse than it really is. Anyway, you have my permission to leave. Take Caliban if you need some extra muscle, though.”

Freddy considers this, but she looks less than convinced.

>Head to the doctor
>Accompany Freddy to the stables
>Help Keziah with the hanger doors
>Other

>>2669505
>Accompany Freddy to the stables
Have Gunny and Caliban help Kez

>>2669505
>Help Keziah with the hangar doors.
>Order Freddy to take Caliban and maybe Masque along, she should still be suffering from that concussion.

>>2669505
>Accompany Freddy to the stables

>>2669505
I don't suppose Kez could take another crack at that generator?

>>2669527
I think we've already signed this place off and probably for the best

>>2669505
>Help Keziah with the hanger doors
>Send Gunny and Masque with Freddy
sacred light also works as regular light, right?

>>2669527
>It would be possible, but ultimately it would be a temporary solution to a larger problem without much lasting benefit.

>>2669530
>Gunny's staff does produce some light, yes

>>2669531
>temporary solution to a larger problem
just wondering if it would be worth it between the doors, the stables, and general decreased chance of ambush

>>2669505
Fugg I gotta tie break.

>Accompany Freddy to the stables
Seems interesting than opening a door tbqh

“You're injured as well, unless you forgot about that. If anyone should be taking it easy right now, it's you,” you point out, gesturing to the white bandage tied around the Iraklin's head. She touches it with a small frown, then pulls the brim of her leather cap down a little lower to hide the gauze. “Take Masque along with you,” you add, “He knows the area, and he can handle any heavy work that needs doing.”

“Bloody work, you mean,” Masque replies, his voice flat and devoid of either support or condemnation. As ever, he remains a cypher.

“If that's how you want to put it,” you agree, before looking around to the Iraklin, “But I'd better come along as well, to make sure that nothing gets out of hand. These women might need careful handling, after all. A delicate touch.”

“Understood, captain,” Freddy nods briskly, before a small smile touches her lips, “I'll make sure to keep them away from you.”

You're pretty sure that a comment like that would have gotten her flogged back in the military.

-

Before leaving, you send Caliban to help Keziah with her work. You had been planning on sending Gunny, but Freddy's words had changed your mind. Gunny might be better at providing the women with a friendly face if the need arises – women tend to like him, you've noticed, in a fatherly kind of way. “And if Caliban can't help you,” you think to Keziah as you're leaving, “Just hold for a moment and wait for us to get back. I'll see if I can help at all.”

“Got it boss, I'll keep that in mind,” the witch thinks back, “Hope Caliban doesn't mind getting his hands dirty, though. These machines haven't been cleaned in years!” A stream of rambling complaints carries on for a while more, but you slowly start to tune them out.

“I've been thinking,” Freddy murmurs to you, aiming her rifle at an empty doorway as you pass it, “This business with the Pierrot – he was a church project, wasn't he? That information could be worth something to the Bureau of Military Intelligence.” Lowering her rifle, she gives you a cautious look. “It might be a way to get our hands on the fragment,” the Iraklin adds, “Administrator Gehrard has reason to believe that you're reliable – if you bring the information to him, he might be more willing to trust it.”

So she's still thinking about that. You nod slowly, considering her words as Freddy pans her flashlight around the tunnel. A brass plaque marks the entrance to the stables, and the wall around it is covered in repulsive graffiti.

“Definitely the right place,” Gunny mutters, clutching Saint Alma's staff a little closer and murmuring to it in a lower voice, “And you say that I never take you anywhere nice...”

[1/2]

>>2669545

The first thing that you notice about the stables is the smell. Not the smell you had been expecting, stale sweat and sex, but the dense odour of a drug fiend's lair. Pots and vials of dubious concoctions lie scattered about, along with a litter of pipes and needles. Worn and faded cushions have been scattered about more or less at random, offering the building a sad imitation of luxury. There are two closed doors leading deeper inside, both of which have small peepholes set into them.

Bracing yourself for what you might see, you press your eye to the closest peephole and look inside. The room is almost pitch black, but slowly your eye adjusts and you see a number of figures lying on drab bunks. Faintly, you hear a whispered prayer coming from behind the door. When you rattle the doorknob, it sounds desperately loud and the prayer is abruptly cut off. Before you can open the door, the second door flies open.

All of you jerk around to see the ragged, filthy man gasping in surprise and raising the gun slung at his hip. It's an automatic, a cheap piece of stamped steel that could nevertheless spit out enough bullets to cut a man in half. Masque is closest to him, and he wheels violently around to grab the gunman by the throat. The gun fires wildly as Masque lifts the man from his feet and slams him back against the wall, bullets stitching their way across the room. From behind the sealed door, you hear screams of panic.

“Oh fuck!” the gunman splutters, just barely able to talk from around Masque's grip, “You're... you're the guy! I never meant... I never wanted to-”

Before he can finish this sentence, Masque twists his hand around and breaks the man's neck with a loud crack of bone. Gunny lets out a loud cry as the man's neck breaks, his voice almost drowning out that sickening snap. His cheeks flushed red with anger, Gunny pushes forwards and grabs Masque's arm.

“You killed him!” Gunny snaps, “Why the hell...”

“He had a gun. He would have quite happily shot all of you,” Masque answers coldly, dropping the limp body to the ground. Freddy lets out a low hiss of disgust, but looks away and says nothing. “What would you have had me do?” the daemon continues, “Stand aside and do nothing?”

“You had him by the throat, he was helpless!” Gunny protests, looking around at you for support, “Milos, brother, you've gotta do something about this!”

“Just stop, both of you!” you snap, dearly wishing that the women next door would stop their screaming, “Just... settle down and let me think...”

Grudgingly, Gunny falls silent and shoots a dark glare at Masque as he holds his staff closer. In response, Masque puts a hand to the revolver in his belt.

>Gunny, stand down. Masque did nothing wrong
>Masque, you shouldn't have killed him without an order
>Both of you, give it up. I'm not interested in your squabbling
>Other

>>2669580
>Masque next time just knock him out. Less lethal and just as likely to make him a non threat.

>>2669580
>Masque, it's possible you killed one of the people protecting the girls.
>Protecting a life is one thing, but being overzealous is just what happened to Theon.

>>2669580
>Gunny is right. If he was still able to hit us, it would be understandable, but you had him restrained.

Also second part of >>2669589

>>2669580
>Masque, you shouldn't have killed him without an order

Pinching the bridge of your nose hard, you take a moment to gather your thoughts. “Masque,” you begin slowly, “Have you considered that you might have killed one of the people protecting these women? He was armed, yes, but Gunny was right – you had him caught. Next time, just knock them out instead of killing them.” Pausing for a moment, you stare into the blank, emotionless lenses that cover the daemon's eyes. Even if you could look him in the eye, you might not see any more feeling there.

“Being zealous is one thing,” you continue, “But sometimes it can cause more harm than good. Look at Theon, and what happened to him.”

Masque considers this – at least, you certainly hope he's thinking about it – and then he nods once, solemnly. “I understand,” he growls, “My actions were... hasty.”

“Next time, wait for my orders,” you stress, before shaking your head and gesturing towards the second door. “Gunny,” you order, “You lead the way. I heard some praying before – they might feel happier to see a churchman.”

“I'd feel happier seeing a priest right about now and all,” Gunny mutters, rubbing sweat off his brow, “But I'll see what I can do.”

-

Judging by the lack of any screaming or sounds of fighting, Gunny must have been able to calm down the women. Leaving him to it, you give the second room a quick search. Frankly, a quick search is about all you can stomach. It's a vile room, the low bed filthy with an awful collection of stains – blood among other things. A heavy leather case contains blades and other tools, while a brazier sits cold and unlit in one corner of the room. Terrible things happened here, once.

“I'm glad that he's dead,” Freddy mutters, retreating back until she stands at the threshold, “I'm glad that he didn't die... well. He deserved everything he got.”

You don't need to ask who she's talking about. “It felt good,” you admit, clenching and unclenching your fists as you recall the feeling of the Pierrot dying, “It felt right, like cleaning up someone made. Does that make any sense to you?”

“A little,” the Iraklin agrees with a nod, forcing a smile, “I always feel better after cleaning my quarters. A neat and orderly home is vital to a healthy lifestyle. My mother used to say that... although she had staff to do the cleaning for her.” Letting out a soft grunt of disdain, Freddy glances back towards Masque. The daemon waits by the entrance, looking out for any signs of trouble. “He's a good fighter,” she remarks, “But I wouldn't trust him to watch my back. I can't understand him.”

“I don't think he understands us either,” you suggest with a shrug, “Ending a life... it's not a big deal to something like him.”

“Even so...” Freddy murmurs, leaving her thought unfinished.

[1/2]

>>2669628

There are six women in total, all of whom have scars or injuries visible to even a passing glance – some wounds are old, some are more recent. Most of them are sullen and haunted, silently following Gunny's softly worded instructions, but one woman seems a little more... present. She helps Gunny with keeping the other women calm, reassuring them with a touch on the shoulder or a quiet word whenever their will begins to falter.

The soft glow from Gunny's staff seems to help as well. Normally it's not something you really notice, how it seems to bleed a faint but pristine light, but here in the gloomy tunnels it can't be ignored. If the light seems to comfort the women, it seems to irritate Masque – more than once, you've seen the daemon cautiously step back whenever Gunny got too close. You're going to have to watch those two, you suspect. This might not be the last time they butt heads.

-

Leaving the women in Gunny's capable hands, you head straight back to the Spirit of Helena. A thick cable runs out from the guts of the ship, vanishing into a small tunnel near the hanger doors. As you approach, the air crackles with static and the tortuous groan of metal grinding against metal fills your ears. Wind rushes into the hanger as the doors begin to open, and Keziah's dirty face appears out from the tunnel.

“Did it!” she cries, shouting over the background noise, “I'm a bloody genius!”

“And so modest,” Freddy sighs, slinging her rifle over one shoulder and hurrying aboard the ship. “I'm going to give the ship one last sweep,” she adds, calling back to you, “Just to make absolutely certain that it's clear.”

The hanger doors move slowly, but eventually they stand open and Keziah crawls out of the tunnel. Caliban follows, dragging the heavy cable behind him. Both of them are absolutely filthy, covered in machine oil and all kinds of grime, but Keziah doesn't seem to notice. Caliban doesn't share her good cheer, scowling hard and hopelessly attempting to dust off his clothes. Considering that you've seen him splattered with blood before, his reaction to a little engine oil seems excessive. Amusing perhaps, but excessive.

“We're good to go, boss!” Keziah shouts, only momentarily pausing to press a hand to her wounded side. Recovering quickly, she waves to you and hurries aboard the ship. You follow behind her, stepping around Caliban as he drags in the heavy power cable. As he's storing it away, Gunny hurries down and waves you over.

“Milos, brother, one of the women is asking questions,” he reports, “All sorts of stuff, about what kind of man you are and... well, I tried telling her that you're a decent sort, but she didn't seem convinced. I don't reckon they're about to cause any trouble, but...”

>Let them talk. The sooner we can leave, the better
>I'll have a word with her, see if I can put her mind at ease
>Other

>>2669661
>>I'll have a word with her, see if I can put her mind at ease

>>2669661
>I'll have a word with her
Don't want them firing missiles at us on our way out.

>>2669661
>I'll have a word with her, see if I can put her mind at ease
is Barnum having a look at them. Something that actually looks like a clinic should be nice. Or just make things worse.

>>2669661
>I'll have a word with her, see if I can put her mind at ease
We are taking them to Carth I imagine. The church will probably take care of them until they are ready to rejoin society.

It's always one thing after another, you think to yourself with an inward sigh, there's always something else that needs your attention. “I'll have a word with her,” you assure him, “What's the situation with the others, is Doctor Barnum taking a look at them?”

“He is, yeah. Not in the infirmary, though – I put them in one of the private cabins, and he's been dressing their wounds there,” Gunny winces a little as a thought occurs to him, then laughs nervously. “Didn't mean to say that I shoved them all in the one cabin on purpose,” he clarifies, “Just, they wanted to stay together. Tight confines are no trouble after what they've been through, so... So, right, head down to the mess hall. I told her to wait there, see.”

“Good work,” you tell Gunny as you start to head off. He gives you a weary smile as you leave, but his heart isn't in it.

-

Sitting alone in the mess hall, you see the woman from before – the alert one, the “leader” of these former prisoners. If not for the ugly burn scar covering half her face, she would be a beautiful woman – or handsome, perhaps, with a noble cast to her features. Grey hair is pulled back in a tight bun, and her eyes flick restlessly from side to side as she waits. Her age is hard to guess, and you recall reading that a hard life can put years on a woman. If that's the case, she might only be as old as you are... although she looks far older.

“Milos Vaandemere,” you tell her as you sit opposite her, “I'm the captain around here. If you have any questions, I should be able to answer them.”

Immediately, the woman's eyes settle on your face. “Prudence Zellweger,” she replies, in a voice as hard and flinty as her eyes, “Your man assures me that your intentions are pure, but I'd rather hear that from your own mouth. I'll know if you're lying – I'm an excellent judge of character.”

“Then I'll be plain – my intentions are entirely innocent,” you tell her, holding her gaze without fear. “As soon as we return to civilisation, you're free to do whatever you choose to do,” you continue, “But I should warn you, that's about all I can offer you. I have my own work to take care of, I don't know if I can spare the time to make sure every one of your group returns home safely.”

“Of course. You have your own life to lead. If you can stop in Salim, I will handle things from there. The church will take us in, I think,” Prudence leans back, stroking her burned cheek with one slender hand, “Very well, Captain Vaandemere, I've decided to trust you. In truth, I don't see us as having any other option, but I'm glad to know that you're not planning to... well, that needn't be said aloud. I do, however, have one question of my own.”

“Go ahead,” you urge her, “Like I said, I'll answer them if I can.”

“Your man tells me that you killed the Pierrot,” Prudence asks, “Tell me... how did it happen?”

[1/2]

This quest is my favorite

>>2669699

Not exactly the question you had been expecting. When you hesitate, Prudence taps one finger sharply on the table to get your attention. Her eyes have turned even colder, a flat anger seeping into them. “I was his favourite, you see,” she explains, her voice perfectly mild and calm, “Because I used to be a member of the church. My ship was captured on pilgrimage, and... eventually... I ended up in that blighted island. It was the Pierrot that did this to me.” Again, she touches the burned half of her face and falls silent, waiting for you to answer her question.

“We fought. He was wounded already – a gash across the leg – and if not for that, I don't think I could have beaten him. As it was, we were just about an even match,” you answer, “It was neither quick nor clean. I dislocated his arm, then I took his eyes with my bare hands.” Saying this, you hold out your hands to her. To your surprise, Prudence takes them and gazes down at your fingers. Most of the blood has flaked off by now, but there are still some dark stains lingering here and there. It almost feels like Prudence is about to taste those stains, such is the intensity with which she studies you.

But then, of course, she lets go of your hands. “Thank you,” the scarred woman says, the beginnings of a tiny smile creeping their way onto her face. The expression does little to warm her face, and when you draw your hands back you feel the fleeting urge to wipe them on something.

“Did he say anything to you?” you ask, to distract yourself as much as to learn anything, “I mean, anything... significant?”

“He said a lot of things, but I'm afraid that it was hard to understand much of it. He would rant or whisper to himself, carrying on conversations with what I can only assume was his imagination...” Prudence shakes her head wearily, “The drugs didn't help, I expect. He sought oblivion through any means he could get his hands on. Awful Nadir poisons, mostly... sometimes he would force us to share in his vice. He enjoyed making us unclean, I think, as unclean as he was.” Faltering here, Prudence glances away from you and stares off into space for a long moment. Just as you're about to try and get her attention, her gaze snaps back to you.

“I'm sorry,” she apologises, “You were asking me something, weren't you?”

Maybe you were, although right now you could name any number of things that you'd rather be doing. Could some aspect of the Pierrot's mania have been contagious, you find yourself wondering, somehow infectious?

>I think we're done here, Prudence
>I wanted to ask you... (Write in)
>Other

>>2669761
>I think we're done here, Prudence
I got nothing

>>2669761
>I think we're done here. Best of luck with the rest of your life.

Not sure what we'd ask that wasn't answered already by the Pierrot himself after his match.

>>2669761
>I wanted to ask you... (Write in)
He ever speak about the church or Abrahad?

“He ever speak about the church?” you ask Prudence, “Or Abrahad?”

“Not in what you might call specific terms. He hated the church, and... no, that's not quite right. He hated the people of the church more than the church itself, and I don't recall him ever mentioning the Lord of Rising Light. To the Pierrot, the Lord seemed... irrelevant,” Prudence thinks for a moment more, “And Abrahad... the stone, correct? He claimed that he couldn't master it, and that really made him angry. Things were always worse when he was angry...”

“I think we're done here, Prudence,” you conclude, feeling the mood darkening, “Until we're back at civilisation, make yourself at home here. Most folks here are the decent sort, so I don't expect you'll have any trouble. If there's anything else...”

“Actually,” Prudence asks, “Is there a priest on board? It'd like the chance to speak with one.”

“Closest thing you'll find here is Gunny. He'll be happy to say a few prayers with you if you ask him,” you offer with a shrug, “Or Blessings – you'll know him when you see him. That's all, at least until we make it back to Salim.”

Prudence nods, slowly looking back down at her own hands as they clench into tight fists.

-

The bridge feels like a paradise after everything that you've been through. Sinking down into the soft leather seat, you allow yourself a few blessed moments of peace before checking the controls and the data screens. Everything is looking good, and you're ready to leave. Dwight sits nearby, ready to take the controls if needed, while Masque lurks in the background. He's not quite found a good place to stay yet, it seems, and so he's taken to lingering on the bridge. Whether that becomes an issue or not... well, it's too early to tell.

“Engines are hot, moving off now,” you murmur to yourself, adjusting the controls and feeling the Helena respond. Easing forwards, you leave the hanger and brace yourself for the gruelling trip out of the densely packed sky. Raising the shields to their full power, you wince as bolts of lightning play across their glowing surface like water splashing against a window. Static whines at you as the unstable Pleonite interferes with your radio, and you order Dwight to turn it off.

The sudden silence feels worse, somehow, as if the ship itself was holding her breath and waiting for the danger to pass. Ignoring it as best you can, you guide the Helena around the field of debris and turn her to face clearer skies. It's only as you're easing forwards on the controls that Masque speaks.

“It feels good to be leaving that place behind,” he admits, “I wondered how it might feel.”

“Glad to hear it, chief,” Dwight drawls, toying with an unlit cigarette, “Does that mean you're gonna stop hanging around and glaring at everyone?”

“No,” the daemon answers bluntly. Dwight starts to laugh, only to hesitate as he realises that Masque is being serious.

[1/2]

>>2669825

Once you're out of the worst of the debris field, you allow yourself to relax a little. Dwight turns the radio on again, skimming through the airwaves until he finds some mournful music. Masque paces for a while, only to stop dead in his tracks as he spots something in the distance. Another airship, you realise as you follow his directions, maybe the other crew you saw leaving the Kingdom. Masque studies it for a moment more before snarling a curse.

“Bastards,” he growls, “That's the Eòin Eagal.”

“That's not good,” Dwight mutters, “...At least, I assume it's not good. That name supposed to mean anything?”

“It was Theon's airship. He spoke of it often, although I did not realise it was still held within the Kingdom,” Masque explains, snatching up the radio mic and adjusting the dial. “Identify yourself!” he spits, “Who are you, to claim Theon dhen Chreig's property for yourself?”

“That you Saighdear, or whatever you're calling yourself these days?” a crackly voice replies, “This is Captain Bhaskar, and yes, we've taken the old bird for one last dance. Would you rather see it rot away to nothing in that tomb? It's better this way, better for all of us!” Static swallows up the angry voice for a moment before fading, allowing you to hear the rest of Bhaskar's words. “...Don't just get to run!” he snarls, “You don't just get to run and let everything fall apart again!”

“She's raising shields, and her weapons are warming up,” Dwight warns as the airship approaches, “Boss, I don't reckon they're playing about here. Can't imagine that we'll have much chance of talking them down either.”

“No,” Masque growls, “They want to fight and die, to make one last story worth telling.”

“Lunatics!” you groan. The Eagal is a shade larger than the Helena, and much older – you'd have a good chance of outrunning it if you tried to flee. On the other hand, this Captain Bhaskar seems set on fighting whoever he can, doing whatever it takes to find a glorious death for him and his crew. If you don't bring him down now, he might go after some other poor bastard.

“So, uh, boss?” Dwight prompts, pushing his mop of hair out of his eyes as he looks around at you, “Orders?”

>Hang on tight, we're outrunning her
>We're engaging. Prepare the ship for combat
>Other

>>2669883
>We're engaging. Prepare the ship for combat

>>2669883
>We're engaging. Prepare the ship for combat

>>2669883
>We're engaging. Prepare the ship for combat
They don't have much to go back to

>>2669883
>Hang on tight, we're outrunning her.

I don't think they'll just mindlessly lash out at whoever they find. Better to give them a chance to cool off. Safer too.

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

39 KB PNG

>Closing the vote here, going with engaging. Next post in 5 minutes or so.

File: Combat.png (17 KB, 400x600)

17 KB PNG

“We're engaging,” you announce, “Dwight, relay the order – prep the ship for combat.”

“You got it, boss,” he replies, tapping a few of the controls with uncharacteristic haste. As he's working, you take the radio mic.

“Bhaskar,” you call, “This is Captain Milos Vaandemere. If you really want to fight, then we won't back down. Still, I'm going to give you one last chance to pull back and live for another day. You might be happy dying here, but can your crew say the same?”

“They can. Each and every man among us has agreed to this,” Bhaskar's voice lowers a little, and you know – with an uncanny certainty – that he is telling the truth. “Captain Vaandemere,” he continues, “It is good to know a man's name before crossing swords with him, and I am glad to know you. Now, do not hold back, not even a little! Come at us with everything you have, and we shall respond in kind!” A muffled cheer follows this, his bridge crew howling their approval.

On your bridge, the contrasting silence is jarring. Leaning forwards and grasping the back of your chair, Masque breaks the silence. “Burn it,” he urges, his voice a savage hiss.

Ignoring the daemon, you glance across at the data coming in from your scanners and prepare to issue your first order of the battle.

>Advance/retreat
>Fire Pleonite Cannon (1d8 damage, +2 for every 3 power spent)
>Fire Missiles (1d4 damage per missile, up to three missiles)
>Disengage

Hull integrity: 25
Available power: 10
Recharge rate: 5
Missiles remaining: 3

>>2669942
>>Fire Missiles (1d4 damage per missile, up to three missiles) 3
Since they refresh after every battle, unload them all now.

>>2669942
>Fire Pleonite Cannon (1d8 damage, +2 for every 3 power spent)
Spend 3 power
>Fire Missiles (1d4 damage per missile, up to three missiles)
All 3.

>>2669942
> Fire 3 missiles

> Fire cannons +3 power

>>2669942
I hope we can upgrade an overpowered pleonite shot, maybe do more damage but have to let it cool for a turn.

>Okay, closing the vote here. Firing three missiles to open, and then firing the cannons with 3 power. So, calling for a 3d4 roll, taking the best of the first three.

Rolled 4, 3, 1 = 8 (3d4)

>>2669961

Rolled 2, 2, 2 = 6 (3d4)

>>2669961

>>2669942
> Ask if they want any messages left behind

> Complain that there's no profit in us fighting them so we hope they appreciate our gift. Of missiles.

Rolled 3, 4, 3 = 10 (3d4)

>>2669961

>>2669966
Huh.

Rolled 3, 3, 3 = 9 (3d4)

>>2669961

Rolled 10 + 1 (1d10 + 1)

“Gunnery deck, give them some missiles,” you order, “All three, hit them hard.” If you can hit them hard now, then maybe you can end this quickly. They might be all fight now, but a good volley can take the steel out of any man's backbone. That's the theory, at least...

“Three missiles, aye,” Gunny replies. The radio link robs his voice of most of its feeling, but his voice seems to have a satisfied edge to it. When you're eating dinner later, you're sure to hear him recounting all the twists and turns of the combat in exquisite detail.

“Then warm up the cannons for our next shot,” you add, watching the missiles flare as they launch and streak towards their target. As they fly, you feel a twinge of pain – the Eòin Eagal is a beautiful ship, a piece of history as well as a work of art, but today is almost certainly the day that it meets its end. When the missiles hit, they blossom out into lurid flowers and the airship shudders like a wounded beast. From your radio, you hear Captain Bhaskar laughing.

“That's it!” he yells, “That's the stuff!”

“Any last requests?” you reply, feeling your lips drawing back in a savage smile, “Any messages you want to send back to civilisation?”

“Let our story be known!” Bhaskar boasts, “That is all, my friend, that is all!”

Scoffing, you turn to the intercom. “Gunny,” you demand, “How are those cannons-”

“Incoming fire!” Dwight yells, “Looks hot, captain!”

“Shields,” you order, switching channels on the intercom, “Magnitude...”

>Devote how much to shielding? (1 damage reduced per power spent)

Hull integrity: 25
Available power: 10
Recharge rate: 5

>>2670000
ooof quads and max damage

>>Devote how much to shielding? (1 damage reduced per power spent)
7

>>2670000
7
Shouldn't our scanning array tell us how much hull it has left and it's other stats?

File: Combat.png (17 KB, 400x600)

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>>2670000

>>2670000
7

>Closing here, shielding for seven points and then recharging.

>>2670000
9

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“Magnitude seven!” you order, gripping the controls tightly. Wincing, you see the shields flare brightly for a moment before failing, some of the Eagal's attack ripping through them and punching into your precious airship. As much as you try telling yourself that it's a minor blow – minor compared with the hit that they just took – it offers little comfort. That bastard hurt your ship – now things are getting serious.

“Shields are down, damage sustained,” Keziah reports, her voice taut with controlled nerves, “Engines are still hot, recharging now. Hang on a wee bit, boss!”

The lights flicker for a moment before glowing brightly as the engines funnel more power into the system. You're not yet at full power after that last attack, but you've got more than enough power to launch a counter attack. It's time for the Spirit of Helena to bare her fangs.

“They're feeding more power into their own shields,” Dwight tells you, looking up from his data screen and letting out a sly laugh, “What happened to wanting to die?”

“They wished to die well,” Masque points out, “That means fighting, with everything they have available. Burn them, captain. DO it.”

“Mister Hotchkiss,” you order, “Listen closely, we're going to make this a story worth telling...”

>Advance/retreat
>Fire Pleonite Cannon (1d8 damage, +2 for every 3 power spent)
>Disengage

Hull integrity: 21
Available power: 8
Recharge rate: 5

>>2670037
>Fire Pleonite Cannon (1d8 damage, +2 for every 3 power spent)
3. 6 would be better but they got a better cannon so we need to save some for shields. Also it'll be better to go all out if they drop their shields lower.

>>2670037
>>2670060
I'll support this

>Okay, closing the vote here. Going with a 3 power cannon shot. So, calling for a dice roll. 1d8+1, best of the first three

>>2670037
>>Fire Pleonite Cannon (1d8 damage, +2 for every 3 power spent)
3 power

Rolled 8 + 1 (1d8 + 1)

>>2670072
We are just going to be chipping away at him but it's what we have to work with

Rolled 4 + 1 (1d8 + 1)

>>2670072

Rolled 1 + 1 (1d8 + 1)

>>2670072

>>2670076
Nice

Might be better to rely on RNJesus for damage and save all the power for shields.

Rolled 2, 1, 3 = 6 (3d4)

“Hit them with the cannons, magnitude three,” you tell him. Their cannons hit hard, and you don't want to risk leaving the Helena without sufficient shields when their counter attack comes. It's hard to know exactly how much they have left in them. You can see smoke boiling out of the Eagal's torn hull, but that could easily be cosmetic damage. Killing an airship in one hit is difficult – you need to cut straight to the heart or strike off the head, and even then nothing is certain.

Blue light flashes out as your cannon shot strikes the Eagal, and once again you see it jolt as if struck by some giant hammer. Something within them explodes, blasting out an entire section of their deck in a vast, rippling fireball. Masque tenses up at the sight of it, although you can't know exactly why – excitement at the sight of the violence, or dismay at watching his master's old ship endure such a beating?

“Those were their cannons,” the daemon growls, “A chain reaction, perhaps. Old technology was... volatile. Do not think they are defenceless, however.”

“I see missile tubes opening!” Dwight reports, “They've got... ah shit, that's a lot of them. Shields won't help here, and... Chief, what are your orders?”

“Board them,” Masque urges, “Their main weapons are down. We can board them and finish this personally – face to face. Your pilot can take over here, and the woman... she is capable of making this attack?”

Boarding them... it has a certain appeal, to see the inside of the Eagal if nothing else, but it's a dangerous move. Before you can give your next orders, however, you see a fan of missiles launching and cutting through the skies towards you. “Brace for impact!” you call out, holding on tight as the missiles pierce through your shields and slam into the Spirit of Helena.

[1/2]

File: Combat.png (18 KB, 400x600)

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>>2670113

When the missiles hit, you cry out as if you were the one struck by them. Even so, you have the awareness to realise that you got off lightly – the warheads are relics, old enough that some of them fail to detonate fully. The damage is far from crippling, although you fear the thought of facing multiple volleys of them. One way or another, you're going to need to finish this quicky.

“I can take over here, chief,” Dwight reports, “Maybe give them the slip. There's cover enough around here. Might buy you enough time to do what you have to do.”

“Freddy?” you call into the intercom, “Is the Eliza ready to launch?”

“Ready, captain!” the Iraklin replies immediately, “What are your orders?”

>Press the attack
>Board the Eagal and take the fight to them
>Retreat while their cannons are disabled
>Other

Hull integrity: 15
Available power: 8
Recharge rate: 10

>>2670134
>Board the Eagal and take the fight to them
Might not be the safest option but I'm curious what's on an old pirate warlord's ship

>>2670134
>>Press the attack
+6 to cannons

>>2670134
>Board the Eagal and take the fight to them

>>2670134
>Board the Eagal and take the fight to them

Will we finally loot a ship?

“Prepare to launch,” you tell her, “We're boarding her. Is Caliban ready?”

“I am,” Caliban answers you, his voice filtering through the intercom instead of Freddy's.

“He is,” the pilot adds, a weary note in her voice.

“You have the bridge. Keep my ship intact,” you tell Dwight, rising out of the captain's chair and gesturing to Masque. “You're with me,” you order, nodding for him to follow you as you hurry down towards the cargo hold, “Are you prepared for a fight?”

A stupid question, really.

-

Turbulence tugs at the Eliza as it darts towards the Eòin Eagal, flying like a bullet shot from a gun. Whenever you think that Freddy is about to lose control, to crash into some tiny yet fatal piece of debris, she calmly corrects the skittish little craft and keeps pushing forwards. Jinking left and right around chunks of drifting rock, the Iraklin seems perfectly at ease. There's only one problem – the skies above seem to be darkening, clouds gathering with sinister intent.

“Storm...” she mutters to herself, coming to the same conclusion as you, “I don't like this.”

“No,” Caliban remarks dryly, “You wouldn't.”

“You're never going to let me-” Freddy cuts herself short, sending the skiff into a controlled dive to avoid a larger clump of debris before continuing, “Never going to let me forget that, are you?” Grunting something that might be laughter, she pulls the skiff up into a steep dive and sets her sights on the Eagal's observation deck. “You can always walk home f you prefer,” the pilot adds, “Just step off the edge, you'll reach Nadir soon enough.”

Masque endures this in silence, his paired blades held close at hand. Even so, you can sense a lurking excitement radiating off of him like a wave of hot air, the inevitable violence rousing something terrible within him.

The Eliza comes down hard on the Eagal's observation deck, magnetic landing gear clamping down on the metal hull. Wind smashes into you as the skiff door opens, and you have to crouch low to avoid being swept off the airship, thrown into the pitiless void. Scrabbling towards the Eagal's door, you slam through it and batter aside the first man you see. Knocked back by your sudden charge, he is thrown to the ground and the gun spills out of his grip. Masque is there before he can rise, stabbing downwards with his thinner sword.

With his blade bloodied, Masque leads the way through the airship corridors. The men you encounter throw themselves into combat with a fanatical devotion, even knowing that it means embracing their own deaths. Every time Masque strikes out, a head or a limb is parted from its body. Freddy turns left and right, dropping targets with controlled burst of rifle fire as if she was on the firing range. The few men that they leave behind, Caliban is quick to gut.

It's almost... boring.

[1/2]

>>2670218
Oh no, our crew is too skilled. We're being ... outshone? Outshined? They're outshining us?

>>2670241
I think it's more that these enemies are suicidal idiots and our team, including Milos and his arm, are outclassing them heavily.

>>2670255
Nope. We need to fire everyone and hire incompetent idiots so we stand out as the best at everything.

>>2670218

By the time you've reached the bridge, the scent of blood is so thick in the air that it almost chokes you. Seeing Masque unleashed like this is a terrible thing, a fearful thing, and you can only be grateful that he is on your side. As if fleeing from the bloodshed around you, your eye seems drawn to the airship itself, noting down details as they come to you. Everything seems more ornate than what you're used to seeing, the handiwork of skilled artisans rather than factory workers. Floral decorations are everywhere, along with scrollwork and hand-painted murals.

One such mural is defaced by a spray of blood as Masque strikes a man's head from his shoulders, roughly shoving the body aside even before it can fall. The bridge door is up ahead, sealed tight with a crude padlock. Masque doesn't even slow down, striking the lock off with his sword before kicking the door open and marching inside. There are five men on the bridge, four heavyset men with potent looking rifles and Captain Bhaskar himself.

Bhaskar is a large man, older than you expected, with a neatly trimmed beard of pure white. His heavy coat sits open over a bare chest, his skin red with blood from a shallow, self-inflicted cut. Brushing his coat aside, he places one hand on the curved grip of an ornate duelling pistol.

“So, Captain Vaandemere, you wished to see this end with your own eyes?” Bhaskar asks, his voice rich and full, “I thank you. Truly, you have given us everything that we could have wished for.”

“I will make sure that your story is told, Captain Bhaskar,” Masque growls, pointing one blood-slick blade at the captain, “You will not be forgotten, and neither shall Theon dhen Chreig. I will remember you all for as long as this incarnation lives.”

Smiling a beatific smile, Bashkar bows his head first to Masque and then to you. “That pistol you carry, Captain Vaandemere,” he remarks, “Are you a duelling man, perhaps? It would be a fine end to my tale if we could finish this with the proper... formality.” You pause for a moment, getting the measure of the man before you. He's old and tired, you can see that now, kept aloft by little more than the thrill of this last dance – not much of an opponent. Perhaps some of your doubt shows, as Bashkar laughs. “I can still shoot straight,” he boasts, although there's a strained edge to his voice, “Ready your pistol, Captain Vaandemere. Saighdear, will you give us the signal?”

“I shall,” Masque replies.

A duel it is, then.

>Calling for a 2D6 roll, aiming to beat 8-9 for a partial success and 10+ for a full success. I'll take the best of the first three rolls, and this is at +1 due to our pistol

Rolled 6, 5 + 1 = 12 (2d6 + 1)

>>2670297

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

>>2670297

Rolled 2, 3 = 5 (2d6)

>>2670297
Inb4 this kills the Milos

>>2670303
Nicu

>Full success!

With the witnesses looking on, you step forwards until you face Captain Bhaskar and look him dead in the eye. He looks peaceful, as peaceful as you've ever seen a man look. Suddenly, you feel a pang of uncertainty. When your own death looms, will you ever be able to feel that kind of serenity or will you go down screaming, crying out in futile defiance? What should be a passing thought clings onto you and won't let go, causing a cold sweat to gather at the base of your spine.

When Masque speaks, it finally shakes you from the fearful trance. “But my name, Captain Bhaskar, is now Masque,” he states, “That is the name that I have chosen for myself.”

“So be it,” Bhaskar muses, “Theon would be proud of you, I think.”

The daemon accepts this in silence, sheathing his smaller sword and raising his hand high above his head. Slowly counting down from three, each word intoned with a heavy weight, he drops his hand. Swiping your revolver out of its holster, you thumb back the hammer and fire from the hip just as Bhaskar is drawing his own pistol. His shot flies wide, sparking off one of the empty chairs by your side.

Your shot takes him square in the chest, causing him to cry out and stumble back against the Eagal's controls. With blood leaking from his mouth, he slowly lifts his head and looks you in the eye. “Mag...” he begins, coughing as he tries to force out the word, “...Magnificent!”

Then, with his eyes turning flat and glassy, the man dies. Slumping sideways, he collapses into the airship's controls and knocks them askew. Alarms blare as the ship is slung into sudden motion, bucking like a horse as her nose dips into a steep dive. Thrown from your feet by the unexpected lurch, you slam into a radio station and feel the air rush from your lungs. Some of Bhaskar's men cry out, their voices warring with the sirens as the ship plummets out of the air. Any airship captain, any man with a trace of common sense, would know what those sirens meant.

Disaster. As plain and simple as that.

>I'm going to leave this 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!

>>2670342
Well I guess we ain't looting

Thanks for running.

>>2670342
Thanks for running!

Would these guys have come after us if we had pushed Masque to replace Theon?

What would have happened if we failed that duel roll?

>>2670342
Thanks for running!
What would you do if Bhaskar shot the shit out of Milos?

>>2670418
I don't imagine they would have. Masque's leadership would likely have given the kingdom new life. As it is, what we're seeing are more or less the death throes.

>>2670431
>>2670418
It would have put us all in a pretty awkward position, that's for sure!
It would have been less "fatal" and more "humiliating". A failure would have meant a straight miss with Bhaskar getting a decent hit on us. After that, who knows?

>>2670480
Dang, maybe we made a mistake taking him. I figured the kingdom was doomed either way, so better to grab Masque before he went down with it.

>>2670500
Does the world really need a pirate group organized by Masque of all people? Seems like that would be a dangerous menace eventually.

>>2670500
The kingdom would be drenched in blood. All crimes lead to death, etc.

They also might have just picked a fight with that dragon and end the kingdom with a bang.

>>2670342
> or will you go down screaming, crying out in futile defiance?

Damn straight and fuck anyone who just lies back and takes it when death comes for them. I mean, we actually already went through this after all and I believe our response to why we should live was because fuck you that's why.

>>2670347
I will be rather spiteful if this is truth.

>>2670342
I just want you to know I appreciate the FUCK out of how much effort goes into every post you make. So much fleshing out of every scene, decision and situation makes this one of the better quests on the board.

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

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With no way of knowing what lies beneath you, there's no way of knowing how long the Eòin Eagal will dive for. With no way of knowing how long the Eòin Eagal might dive for, there's no way of knowing how long you have left to survive. Under conditions such as these, making any kind of plan is impossible.

So, you improvise.

Pulling yourself up as best you can, you lunge forwards and cling onto the airship's controls, unceremoniously pushing the late Captain Bhaskar's body out of the way and blindly searching for the altitude lever. The Eòin Eagal is an old ship, and the controls don't seem like anything you're familiar with. Even the markings are strange, with needlessly ornate symbols replacing the more common numbers or letters. Still, you know enough about airships to make a good guess – rather than a lever, might that knurled dial serve to control altitude instead?

Without any alternative ideas, you grab the dial and crank it up. Somewhere deep within the ship, you feel the engines throbbing as they fire. Only then, as you allow yourself a glimpse of hope, do you look up at the window ahead.

There, you see the craggy surface of a floating island rapidly approaching. Turning back to the controls, you-

-

Soft grass caresses your face, and the brilliant sun filters down through the canopy of leaves above you. Someone strokes your hair, and you can smell the faint scent of jasmine flowers carried on the wind. You hear a song being gently sung, but the words make no sense to you – they are in a language that you have never heard spoken aloud. Even so, the scene is a peaceful one – the sort of scene that you could enjoy forever.

There's just one flaw, one problem that nags at you. You dearly wish to see whoever it is behind you, to see who is singing that song, but you cannot bring yourself to move. Even turning your head is too much effort. All you can do is look up at that brilliant, cleansing sunlight. You-

-

You ache, as if some cruel soul had spent long hours working you over with a wooden club. Forcing your eyes open, you look around you and see dull metal above you, a gloom hanging over the entire scene. No cleansing sunlight here, and no scent of jasmine flowers either – all you can smell is the acrid smell of something smouldering away. Confusion descends, but flees just as quickly as it arrived. This isn't the Spirit of Helena, and you're not dead. Both very good things to consider.

It's a good start, and things get better once you realise you can walk with nothing more than that awful ache. No broken bones, no missing limbs. Your cheek feels like it's started bleeding again, but that's a small thing compared with what could have been.

“Now then,” you announce aloud, “What next?”

[1/3]

>>2672170

“I don't know, captain,” Masque replies, his flat voice causing you to spin around in surprise, “What are your orders?”

The daemon sits nearby, scrubbing at his bloodied swords with a sodden rag. It stands to reason that he would wake up first – you're not even sure if he could have been knocked out in the first place. The others lie nearby, too neatly to have fallen naturally. Masque must have gathered them together and lined them up like that... for some reason. It probably made sense to his inhuman mind, but it just looks vaguely eerie to you. “What's the situation here?” you ask him at last, “The others?”

“One of Bhaskar's men was crippled in the crash. I put him out of his misery – he would not have survived,” Masque reports, “The others are all intact, relatively unharmed. The ship appears to be damaged, although not as badly as it could have been. You managed to slow its fall, it would seem, although not enough to reverse it entirely.”

“Well... that's good enough for me,” you sigh, “What about the Spirit of Helena?”

“Holding position above us,” the daemon replies, “But radio contact is impossible. The Eagal's radio equipment was severely damaged in the crash. The Eliza may be able to make contact, but I have not yet tried it. I remained here, to make sure that no harm came to you while you were unconscious.” Pausing here, Masque tosses away his rag and rises to his feet. As he does so, you hear Freddy letting out a low groan of pain.

“I didn't crash this time,” she mumbles as she sits up, rubbing at her eyes, “Don't blame me... captain?”

“Your head is bleeding,” you tell her, pointing to the reddened bandage around her head, “Again.”

“It won't ever heal up at this rate,” the pilot groans, “What a pain...”

“Cheer up,” Caliban adds, speaking up even though he is yet to rise, “I hear that some men like the bandaged look. It makes the woman look like someone who needs protecting. All very adorable, as I'm sure you'll agree.” Finally sitting up, Caliban takes out a cigarette and lights it with a hand that only shakes a little bit. “So,” he continues, “We're all still alive. Hale and hearty. What's next?”

“That's what the captain was just asking himself,” Masque says, “Although I don't think he had an answer yet.”

“I'm still considering my options,” you point out. Then, with an inward sigh, you realise that you might not need the Eliza's radio to contact the others. Reaching out to Keziah with your thoughts, you taste her fear. “We're all okay down here,” you think to her, “What's the situation on your end?”

“Oh gods, Milos, I'm glad you're...” the witch begins to reply before pausing and composing herself. “Okay, right. We're okay up here – took some damage, but the systems are holding. We've got you on scanners, and I have some good news and some bad news.”

[2/3]

>>2672172

“The bad news is, the Eagal's engine core is dead. You won't be flying it out of there. The good news, though, is that it shouldn't be exploding any time soon. So, you know, take some comfort from that,” Keziah tells you, her thoughts coloured with both relief and a lingering unease. When you wordlessly urge her to expand on that, she hesitantly continues. “See, we're picking up some strange readings down there. Probably some kind of cave beneath you,” she explains, “Dwight doesn't want to bring the Helena down just in case they're something dangerous.”

“What does he think they are?” you ask.

“Well, he said that the last time he went poking about in a cave like this, a bloody great monster appeared and tried to kill us,” Keziah remarks, “We've got eyes on the Eliza right now – she looks good to go, so you've got a ticket out of there. You want my advice, boss, I'd hop in the skiff and get out of there while you've got an opening. I don't like the look of those storm clouds.”

She might have a point there, but... you're curious, both about the Eòin Eagal itself and these strange readings. Just what kind of island have you landed on?

“Captain?” Freddy asks, “What are your orders?”

You glance around to the three remaining members of Bhaskar's crew, quickly checking them over. Only one of them looks as though he might wake from his stupor soon, but you don't want to take any chances with them. “Disarm those men and bind their wrists. We can decide what to do with them later,” you tell the Iraklin, “After that...”

>Let's head for the Eliza. We're getting out of here
>Sweep the ship, see if there's anything we can use here
>The Helena is picking up some strange readings here. I want to track them down
>Other

>>2672173
>Sweep the ship, see if there's anything we can use here
"See if we can't get some medical supplies to swap out that bandage too."
>The Helena is picking up some strange readings here. I want to track them down

Damn Zenith and it's curiosities.

>>2672173
>Sweep the ship, see if there's anything we can use.

Gives the other crew time to wake up so we can ask them about that cave. It's near their kingdom, they might know something.

>>2672173
>Sweep the ship, see if there's anything we can use here
>The Helena is picking up some strange readings here. I want to track them down

>>2672173
>Bring them to the Helena with the Eliza.
>I want to track down some strange readings here, and if we have to bail I'd rather the Eliza primed and no.....EXTRA deaths on my conscience due to lack of space.

“After that, I want us to sweep the ship and see if there's anything we can use or salvage,” you decide, “Depending on how stable things are looking after that, I'd like to investigate this island. The Helena is picking up some strange readings, and I'd like to track them down.”

“And the prisoners?” Freddy asks as she's tying them up. Their bonds are crude things, improvised using wire from a damaged control terminal, but they should be enough to hold the men for a while.

“Give them some time to recover, I'd like to ask them some questions once they can talk,” you reply, “This island isn't too far from the Kingdom. Maybe they know something about it.” As you cross over to the main controls, your foot catches something and knocks it across the floor. Stooping down, you pick it up and take a closer look – Captain Bhaskar's duelling pistol, you realise. It's a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, but with only a single shot of an unimpressive calibre, it's not much of a weapon. Still, you tuck it into your belt. “Masque, do you know much about this ship?” you ask, “We could use a guide here, to show us where the goods are kept.”

“We start at the gunnery deck,” the daemon declares, “What little is left of it, that is.”

-

The Eòin Eagal seems more intact than you had been expecting, especially considering the rough landing and the exchange of missile fire. Freddy seems to come to the same conclusion, nodding slowly as she thinks to herself. “This whole ship might be salvageable,” she tells you, “I'm no engineer, but I don't see any critical damage. It might not be cheap, but we might be able to recover this whole craft. At least, it should be possible.”

“Something to keep in mind,” you muse, “Masque, what's to see on the gunnery deck?”

“Theon often spoke of a weapon the Eagal possessed. It was a special kind of Pleonite cannon, he told me, powerful but... unreliable. It failed him once when he needed it most, and so he never used it again,” the daemon pauses for a moment, “Theon had no use for things that had failed him.” Saying nothing more than this, Masque sullenly leads you onto the gunnery deck. Here, the smell of burned machinery is even stronger, mixing with the tang of discharged energy.

“Here, you see?” Masque points to some blackened ruins connecting to the cannons, “The capacitor coils overloaded. These early designs always were volatile.”

“I didn't know you were an engineer as well as a butcher,” Caliban remarks, raising his brow at Masque.

“I have lived for a very long time,” Masque replies brusquely, “I know a great many things. Come, follow me – the Megiddo cannon is ahead.”

“I don't like the sound of that...” Freddy mutters to herself, nevertheless following along behing the daemon.

[1/2]

>>2672206
>>The Helena is picking up some strange readings here. I want to track them down

>>2672210

The Megiddo cannon is not what you had been expecting. Your first impression upon entering the sealed chamber is that of a church or a shrine, not the firing station for a weapon. Ropes strung with paper charms hang from the ceiling, while the faint smell of incense still hangs in the air even after countless years. “Theon sometimes claimed that airships had a spirit,” Masque explains, “I was never certain if he was sincere or not. Seeing this... I feel even less certain.”

“Never seen anything like this,” Keziah thinks to you, borrowing your eyes for a moment as you gaze around the chamber, “Living up in Zenith really does give folk some crazy ideas, huh boss?”

“Unlike living in Nadir, which is always so sane and rational,” you counter, feeling Keziah's warm amusement at your words. “So this Megiddo cannon,” you ask Masque, “What exactly does it do?”

“Theon claimed that he was able to punch a hole in an Iraklin dreadnought with it,” the daemon answers, wiping cobwebs from the main controls. Even these look archaic and ornate, a small string of beads wound around the trigger mechanism. Masque takes these and studies them for a moment before silently slipping them into his pocket. “There is nothing else for us here,” he concludes, “I shall return to the bridge. The prisoners may be awake by now.”

“What the...” Caliban mutters as the daemon marches out, “What's gotten into him?”

-

Masque's words prove prophetic, with your sweep of the ship turning up nothing else that you can use. You do, however, get the chance to examine the damage caused by the crash, finding it to be far from irreparable. The idea of repairing the Eòin Eagal and getting her back in the air seems increasingly plausible, although you're still not sure if it's a good idea. You don't really need a second airship, after all, but... needing something and wanting something are two entirely different things.

After your search, you return to the bridge and find Masque standing over the three prisoners. They look calmer than you had been expecting, as if resigning themselves to whatever fate you deal out to them. Gesturing for Freddy and Caliban to hang back, you crouch down beside them and take a moment to look each of them in the eye before greeting them. “Captain Bhaskar seemed like a good man,” you begin, “Under different circumstances, I think we could have been friends.”

“He was a good man,” the first of the crewmen replies, his voice surprisingly clear and free from judgement. “He died on his own terms,” he adds, “The Captain couldn't have asked for anything more than that.”

“We'll remember him,” the second crewman agrees, “And I hope you'll do the same.”

[2/3]

>>2672251

Once the formalities are out of the way, the crewmen introduce themselves. Akshay is the oldest among them, with a tight web of wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. Dhaval has a brutish look about him, although his voice is unexpectedly musical. Finally, Jayesh is the unofficial leader of the group – he was Bhaskar's radioman, and the most senior survivor. Nominating himself as the group's spokesman, he does most of the talking.

“Do you know this island at all?” you ask first, “My ship is picking up some strange readings, and I thought you might know. We're pretty close to the Kingdom, after all.”

“I cannot say,” Jayesh concedes, shrugging as best as his bonds allow, “We did not often leave the Kingdom, and when we did it was to visit the civilised lands. Exploring the Drift was never our true goal. Whatever is here, I cannot say.”

So no clues there. It looks like you'll just have to go out and look for yourself. As you consider this, Jayesh continues to talk – speaking more to himself than to you, thinking aloud in a rueful tone.

“Surviving like this is most inconvenient,” he admits, “I almost feel a little foolish. I suppose we all got caught up in the heat of the moment. That isn't to say that I regret what we did, but now... I'm not sure what to do with myself.”

“We passed through the jaws of death, but we survived,” Akshay murmurs, “We shouldn't take that lightly. Our lives must mean something, must have some higher purpose.”

You don't understand these men at all. Their names are strange, and you don't recognise their accents at all. A touch of Pastonne to it, but not a dialect that you're familiar with. Perhaps it shouldn't come as a surprise that there are still some corners of the world yet unknown to you, but still. It's odd to think that-

“Well?” Jayesh asks, looking up to you, “What do you say, Captain Vaandemere?” When you blink at him in confusion, he smiles a little and lets out a weary sigh. “I asked if you would accept us into your crew,” he explains, “I will admit, we're nothing special, but we feel... this is the right place for us. What do you say?”

Not so long ago, these men were trying to kill you. Now, they're asking to join your crew. Sometimes, the world can be a very strange place.

>If you're all agreed, then I'd be happy to have you
>I'm sorry, but I have no need of your services
>Allow me to ask you something... (Write in)
>Other

>>2672294
>>Allow me to ask you something... (Write in)
>You're not going to try to kill me, or cause trouble for me past normal crew stuff when we hit port are you? No standing bounties or long time feuds not back on the kingdom either?

>>2672294
>I think I'd like that, but I worry we're on a rather tight schedule
>I'll send you back to the Helena. You'll be disarmed until you're more properly accepted, but you'll have a perfectly good view if anything.....INTERESTING happens to the island.
how do we even get the Megiddo if we can't get the ship close?

>>2672298
>>2672294
This

>>2672294
>>If you're all agreed, then I'd be happy to have you
"On the condition you don't try to pull the same shit you did here on my ship. I value my life and lives of my crew too much for that shit. I'd rather live to fight another day than throw everything away in a blaze of glory. Can you deal with that?"

“I have conditions,” you warn them, “First of all, I want you to be upfront with me. If you've got any warrants or bounties on you, then now is the time to tell me. I can't risk bringing wanted criminals onto my ship.” You wait a moment to make sure that they've got the message, then continue on. “Next, I need to know that you're not going to cause me or my crew any trouble,” you add, “No grudges, no attempts at revenge. No dragging us into mindless death or glory fights either, understood?”

“We're prepared to follow orders,” Jayesh assures you, “And... I can't vouch for all of us, but my record is clean. More or less clean, at least. I did some time in a Carth dungeon for smuggling, but that's in the past now. Ancient history.” The other two add their agreements to his, pleading innocence or something close to it. They might not be model citizens, but you won't be burdening yourself down with wanted criminals or would-be saboteurs.

“Then, I'm going to send you back to my ship. You'll be held under guard for a while, until I know that I can trust you, so please don't give my men any trouble,” you start to undo their bonds, helping them up one by one. “Look at it this way,” you add, “You'll have an excellent view if anything... interesting happens to the island.”

This draws a few laughs, although they have a nervous edge to them. Out here in the Drift, exploding islands are an all too likely possibility. Before Freddy takes them back to the skiff, you catch her by the arm and lower your voice. “Any idea how we can get the Megiddo cannon back to the Helena?” you ask her, “It'll be trouble if Dwight can't bring the ship down.”

“That could be the least of our troubles, captain,” the Iraklin replies, “That cannon is built into the ship – hell, I'd say that the ship was built around it. It won't be easy to remove it.” Thinking for a moment, she then snaps her fingers as an idea strikes her. “We may need to hire a Guild salvage team. They'll have the suitable tools and expertise to help with this,” she suggests, “The closest place we can hire them... it's probably Firebase Alpha.” Her brow furrows a little at this, and you can't blame her. Firebase Alpha has a bad reputation – some even claim that it's haunted.

“Otherwise, all I can think of is investigating the source of those readings ourselves. If they're nothing unstable, there won't be a problem with bringing the Helena down closer,” Freddy adds, “I'll speak with Dwight after bringing the prisoners back, see if I can talk some sense into him.”

“Do that,” you urge her, “For now, we're going to take a look and see what we can find down here.”

[1/2]

>>2672354

Standing on the observation deck, you watch as the Eliza lifts off before turning your gaze to the craggy landscape around you. The sky above has darkened considerably since the fight, thick with ominous clouds, but it is that gloom that allows you to see the faint glow. It emerges from an otherwise nondescript patch of the ground, the slight blue light illuminating what might be an entrance.

A blue light... that could be a Pleonite deposit, although you'd need to check it out for yourself to make sure.

-

A shiver runs through you as you trek across the rocky island, every blast of cold wind seeming to cut straight into your bones. As you walk, you keep a careful eye on the loose pebbles that you kick away. They bounce and fall as they should, showing no sign of abnormal physics – a good sign, you assume. Masque and Caliban follow behind you, keeping silent and awaiting your orders. When you reach the source of that blue glow, you pause to take stock of what you've found.

Stairs. There are stairs here, carved into the rock and leading down into the island. Muttering an order, you lead the others down into the rock. Even with the blue glow granting you enough light to see by, you take the stairs at a cautious pace. The tunnel is narrow, forcing you to walk single file, with the air growing damp and stagnant as you descend. Deeper and deeper you go, with the light growing brighter with every step you take. Then, you find the source of it.

Hanging from the tunnel ceiling, you see a beautifully carved piece of Pleonite set into a length of silver chain. Reaching up to touch it, you stop yourself and draw back your fingers at the last minute. “Definitely not natural,” you remark, glancing around at Masque and Caliban, “Have either of you seen anything like this before?”

“Can't say that I have,” Caliban admits, “Sorry captain.”

“Men have lost the ability to work Pleonite in this way,” Masque rumbles, “These amulets were created a very long time ago.” Falling silent, he offers no further explanation and simply waits for you to keep moving. Sighing inwardly, you continue to descend the stairs. It isn't long before you see another dangling amulet, and then the tunnel levels out, opening up into a wider chamber. As you step inside, you hear yourself gasping aloud.

It's beautiful, with dozens of the amulets glinting like stars. Those twinkling lights draw the eye so much that it takes you a moment more to see the body, the white Abrahad statue that occupies the middle of the chamber. Gesturing for the others to hang back, you draw Feanor's sword.

The blade ignites, white mist flashing into a killing light.

[2/3]

>>2672458

Holding the sword tightly, you approach the faceless Abrahad statue. It sits upon a simple palanquin, a litter with handles for four bearers, and it carries no weapons. Sitting with its legs folded, it resembles a meditating pilgrim. All too aware that any sound, any word, might draw some reaction from the statue, you reach out and touch it. A faint tingle runs through you when you touch the uncanny white stone, but that is all.

“What do you think?” you ask quietly as you return to the others, “Masque?”

“The Drift hides all manner of secrets,” the daemon offers vaguely, “These amulets, at least, they would have been enough to register on your scanner. There is no danger here.”

Looking down at Feanor's sword, you have to wonder if that's quite right. “What do they do?” you wonder aloud, “These amulets, I mean. Are they protective charms? Religious items, or some kind of lucky trinket?”

Masque says nothing to that for a long moment, leaving Caliban to break the silence. “Berwick's men thought they could make some coin selling a statue like that,” he remarks, “You think we should take it, see if we can find a buyer? The church might be willing to take it off our hands, or some museum. You know people, captain, people who might buy strange stuff like this. What do you think?”

“You're assuming that we can carry it out of here,” you point out, looking back at the narrow stairs. It'll be a tight fit, but it looks like it might be possible. Not easy or comfortable, but possible. The question, then, is whether you want a statue like that on your ship.

>Take the statue
>Leave the statue here
>Other

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

45 KB JPG

>>2672513
>>Take the statue

>>2672513
>Take the statue
It's totally going to come alive and start flirting with Priscilla in transit

>>2672513
>Leave it
We have not made the choices that would make this statue an ally.

>>2672513
>Leave the statue here
Our sword is probably glowing for a reason.

>>2672513
>Take the statue

Statue-fu get!

Looking back to the roof of the cavern, you close your eyes and let the blue glow of the Pleonite amulets wash over you. You picture yourself here, sitting where the statue now sits, meditating beneath that unchanging light. What kind of thoughts would pass though your mind as you sat there, deaf to any desires of the flesh? Would you experience some blinding revelation, or the perfect clarity of utter nothingness? Would you-

“Captain?” Caliban prompts, touching your shoulder. Opening your eyes, you see Feanor's shade prowling about the cavern. His eyes twinkle, and his lips are set in a mocking smirk – nothing unusual there, then. The apparition vanishes as you sheath the blade, shaking off the last of your daydream and giving Caliban a nod.

“We're taking it with us,” you decide, the words spilling from your lips before you're even aware of saying them.

Caliban accepts this with a wan smile, looking between the statue and the stairs. “Okay then,” he mutters to himself, “This is going to be delightful...”

-

Masque's impressive strength comes to your aid here, making the task a little easier than you had been anticipating. Even so, it's both awkward and difficult to carry the statue up towards the surface of the island. As you work, you explain the situation to Keziah and instruct her to relay your orders to Dwight. It's a slow way to communicate, but you've got time to spare – so long as you're burdened down by this statue, you're going nowhere fast.

When you finally reach the surface, the Spirit of Helena has landed nearby – Dwight apparently trusting that the island isn't about to explode. The ground might be safe, but the sky is another matter. The storm clouds have only darkened since you last saw them, and a flash of white lightning stabs at your eyes as you scan the skies. It's a good thing that the Helena was able to land – pretty soon, it's going to get too dangerous for a skiff to take flight.

Freddy hurries out to help with the statue as you arrive, lending her strength to the task of carrying it up the cargo bay ramp. “We need to lock this up somewhere safe,” you order, your voice breathless, “Nobody gets to examine it without my permission. I don't want to risk this thing waking up on the ship, understood?”

“Understood, captain,” Caliban agrees, “I know just the place. We've got a spare room on the lower deck that would do the job. It's filled with cleaning supplies at the moment, but we can get rid of needless trash like that.”

“Hey!” Freddy protests, “I use that stuff!”

“Oh good,” the hunter chuckles, “Then we can dump it all in your quarters.”

[1/2]

>>2672624
Did we also loot the amulets?

>>2672624

Once the statue is stowed away, you linger just long enough to hasten back down into the tunnels and snatch up one of the Pleonite amulets. Even that small delay feels like a luxury now that the Spirit of Helena is up in the air again and the storm is raging around you. Lightning crackles around you as thunder howls, with rain hammering against the airship's hull. Ordering the shields to full power, you hear Keziah groaning over the intercom.

“Boss, I dinnae think this is safe!” she protests, “The engines are makin' some awful noises, all sorts of hissin' and clankin', I think we need to find somewhere to-” The ship shudders as a bolt of lightning strikes it, the impact causing a brilliant flare of light as the shields disperse the deadly energy. Even so, the lights dim and Keziah shrieks over the intercom. “I think one of the shield panels just blew out!” she wails, “Boss, we cannae-”

“Just hang on in there, and do what you can to keep us flying,” you order, hands dancing across the airship's controls, “We're heading to port now – we WILL make it!”

“Aye aye, captain!” the witch yelps, abruptly abandoning the intercom as you hear something groan in the background.

-

With the storm raging around you, the flight to Firebase Alpha is a tense one – and yet some part of you enjoys it, savouring the feeling of pushing back against the hideous power of the storm. Masque paces behind you, his daemonic sword held in a tight grasp, while Dwight naps in the chair beside you. At first you had thought that he had passed out, but... he's actually sleeping, his legs clumsily thrown over one arm of the chair.

The lights of Firebase Alpha burn brightly ahead of you, offering you a beacon to follow. As you draw closer to it, the radio lets out a shrill burp of static. Startled awake, Dwight almost falls out of his chair. Fighting back the urge to laugh aloud, you grab the radio mic and listen to the broken, fuzzy transmission. “...Approaching ship... identify yourselves or... open fire,” the radio snarls, “I repeat... Identify yourselves now!”

“This is Captain Vaandemere, of the Spirit of Helena,” you reply, “Requesting permission to land – it's raining pretty heavy out here, and our shields have taken some damage.”

There is a pause, long enough for you to feel a stab of panic, and then the answer comes. “Permission granted, Captain Vaandemere,” the Iraklin radioman replies, “Head to pad four, and make yourself at home.”

Breathing your thanks, you focus on guiding the Spirit of Helena towards your assigned landing pad. Compared with the holy sites in Zenith, Firebase Alpha is an ugly thing – grey concrete structures built around the existing ruins until nothing of the original buildings remain visible. A tall tower stabs at the sky, while enclosed landing pads swell up like tumours at the base of the island.

It's ugly, but... any port in a storm.

[2/3]

>>2672732

Metal grinds against metal as the overhead doors close and shut out the storm above you. With the thunder muffled by a layer of reinforced concrete, the aerodrome seems eerily quiet. There's hardly anyone around either, just a few uniformed soldiers patrolling the area. Electric lights burn all around you, and for a moment you're painfully reminded of the Kingdom. Keziah catches a reflection of your wry worry, and hurries to reassure you.

“There's nothing to worry about,” she remarks, “They wouldn't be allowed to use an unstable generator here. Guild regulations, see? Doesn't matter who you are or how powerful you are, you don't mess with Guild regulations.”

“Obviously,” you reply, speaking that word aloud as you forget yourself for a moment. Dwight looks around, startled by the sound of your voice, but you gesture for him to relax. Before you can plan your next move, the bridge door opens and Gunny strides in.

“Milos, brother, I hear you found something interesting down on the island,” he begins, “One of those statue things. You've got it locked up tight, don't you?”

Digging in your pocket, you take out a key and hold it up. “As tight as tight can be,” you assure him, “This is the only key, and that door actually has a decent lock on it. I'm thinking that it was originally intended as a prison of some sort, somewhere to lock up a target for bounty hunting. Either way, though, it won't be-”

“Actually,” Gunny interrupts, “I wondered... Milos, brother, you mind if I take a look at it? I've been thinking about that weapon you gave me, how I could... hear things when I concentrated on it. I wanted to see if I could get anything out of this new statue. Now, I'm not trying to wake it up or anything, but if we know more about it...”

“Maybe we can make sure it stays inert,” you finish for him, “I see. Still...”

>Go ahead. See what you can find out about it
>I can't allow it. I don't want to risk waking it up
>Other

>>2672807
>Go ahead. See what you can find out about it
but take someone with you to make sure nothing bad happens

>>2672807
Take it outside the ship first?

>>2672807
>Go ahead. See what you can find out about it
He should take the glaive with him just in case cause it's able to pierce the stone I think.

>>2672807
Oh yeah speaking of that glaive, shouldn't we let one of our fighters have it? Dunno if Freddy wants to trade out her baton or Caliban with his knives though. (though I guess nothing says they can't use two weapons)

>>2672807
>Go ahead. See what you can find out about it

Still, there is the risk of him rousing it from its slumber. Still, there is the risk of any number of things happening. Taking it aboard the ship was a risk, if you really want to be honest with yourself, but what part of your work doesn't involve a little bit of a risk?

“Ah, what the hell. Go ahead and see what you can learn about it,” you tell Gunny, tossing across the key, “But don't go in alone, just in case something does happen. Bring someone in with you.”

“Got it, brother” Gunny replies with a hearty nod, “I'll ask Pru, see if she-”

“Wait,” you interrupt him, holding up a hand to silence him, “Prudence? Gunny, she's not a part of this crew!”

“She's a tough old crow!” he protests, “I'd trust her to watch my back. Hell, brother, I'd sooner trust her than I would that daemon. You know, she spent a few years in the Carth Volunteer Fleet – by my reckoning, that makes her about as qualified as any of us. She-”

“Caliban,” you tell him firmly, “Take Caliban, and make sure he has that glaive. If that statue does wake up, he'll need something capable of cutting it apart. Is that clear, Mister Hotchkiss?”

Gunny studies you for a moment, then laughs. “Hell, brother, you must be serious – okay, I hear you. I'll make sure that Cal is with me,” holding up the key, he gives you a reassuring nod, “What are you going to be doing while we work on this?”

“Speaking with the Guild, I suppose,” you sigh, already dreading the thought. Talking with them will be the easy part. After that comes the paperwork. Maybe you can get Keziah to take care of that – she's with the Guild, after all.

“Oh shit,” the older man murmurs, “Brother, you've got my condolences.”

-

Keziah is all smiles when you meet her in the engine room, even though her clothes smell of smoke and her hair is a tangled mess. That's always a sign that she's stressed – it seems to tie itself in knots as if it has a mind of its own. Maybe, you think to yourself with a smile, that's just another manifestation of her Nadir blood. “There's a Guild outpost here, right?” you ask her, “That's our first stop. Once we've got someone taking a look at the Helena, we can...”

“Enjoy the sights?” Keziah jokes, gesturing at the dreary aerodrome around you, “I reckon there's probably a bar somewhere around here, so it's not a dead loss. Cannae think of a better way to ride out a storm than with a few glasses of something strong!”

“I hear you,” you agree, “After everything we've been through, it'll be nice to cut loose for a little...”

“But first, the paperwork!” the witch declares, her laughter echoing off the aerodrome's high ceiling.

[1/2]

>>2672901
Paper work!!?? She realy is a witch

>>2672901

Guild outposts tend not to be the most cheerful of places, but this one is especially bleak. Bars cover the windows, the iron speckled with flaking rust, and the Guild clerk waiting behind the counter has the haunted look of an insomniac. He stares sullenly at you as you describe the Helena's damage, occasionally making a lethargic note on a pad of paper. Glancing down, you realise that he's just doodling random stick figures. Trading a look with Keziah, you fight back the urge to sigh.

Leaning forwards, Keziah raps her finger on the pad of paper. “According to Guild regulation forty-two alpha, misappropriation of Guild resources is a disciplinary offence,” she declares, her voice hard and devoid of any of her usual accent. “And this,” she adds, tapping the pad again, “Artistic endeavours are not considered an appropriate use of-”

“Wait!” the clerk protests, “My mind wandered, that's all!”

“Then wander it back to the task at hand,” you scold him, “My ship needs repairs. I trust you can take care of that?”

“Oh yes, absolutely. We're a little short-staffed right now, but there's nobody else...” he mumbles, shaking his head before ripping off the doodled page and crumpling it up into a ball. Shoving it into a deep pocket, he looks back up to you. “Give me the details,” me adds, “Uh, again.”

This time, maybe he'll listen.

-

After you recount the damage for the second time, the clerk takes a moment to tot up the figures. As he works, you glance across to Keziah again. “Guild regulation forty-two alpha?” you think to her, trying to keep a smile from your face, “Is that...”

“No such thing,” she replies, “But the folk I knew in the Guild were always quoting this rule or that. Scared the pants off me when I was new, but it always got me to straighten up and follow orders. I figured a few scary words might do the trick here.”

“Okay,” the clerk concludes, turning his pad around and presenting you with a figure, “This is the cost of the repairs. If you, uh, if you agree to that price, please sign here.”

“What if I don't agree?” you ask mildly, watching the young man squirm a little, “What then?”

“Well...” he pauses, “Your ship doesn't get fixed, I guess.”

As always, the Guild has you at its mercy. Unfortunately, that's just how the world works.

Repair cost: 2
Current Funds: 5

>Pay the bill
>Do not pay

>>2673061
>Pay the bill

>>2673061

>Pay the bill

I prefer a working ship.
Funds getting low though. We might need to pick up an odd job here or there.

>>2673061
>Pay the bill

>>2673061
>Pay the bill

“I don't really have much choice in the matter, do I?” you sigh as you take the pen and scrawl your name on the bottom of the pad.

Funds lost: 2
Current Funds: 3

“Not at all, Captain Vaandemere,” Keziah teases, still keeping her voice cold and formal, “You can escape or avoid many things in life, but the Guild is not one of them. Consider this a necessary formality.”

“You're enjoying this,” you accuse her, making sure to keep your words silent.

“Oh yes, absolutely,” she shoots back, her thoughts pointed and gleeful, “But isn't a girl entitled to a little fun now and then?”

As much as you'd like to continue this little bit of mental sparring, the clerk seems to be getting unnerved by the occasional glances you cast at each other. As he clears his throat and prepares to say something, you cut him off. “Now then,” you add, “I'm curious about hiring a salvage team. I understand that this is-”

“I'm sorry,” the clerk mumbles, “But we can't help you with that right now, not with the storm activity. Guild Regulations, you see, so...” Clearing his throat again, he takes the pen from you and fiddles with it, nervously jabbing the nib into the soft flesh on the back of his hand. You watch, hypnotised, as a few beads of blood and ink begin to form there. He doesn't seem to notice, not even when one of the beads breaks and spills down the side of his hand. “I'm sorry,” he repeats, practically coughing the word out.

“I'll... ask again later,” you conclude hastily, eager to be away from the young man.

-

“Oh man,” Keziah breathes as you're walking away, “What was his problem? He was stabbin' himself and he never even noticed!”

“Maybe he doesn't like storms,” you suggest idly, your languid voice concealing the unease lurking beneath. The clerk's odd mannerisms remind you of the ill rumours surrounding this place, and you have to scold yourself for such wild speculation. One strange man doesn't mean anything – it's only when a pattern has been established that you really ought to worry. In either case, the repair order has been signed and a Guild crew should be getting to work soon. Eventually.

“Can you imagine being stuck behind a desk all day?” Keziah wonders aloud, “I dinnae ken how they do it. I'd go mad, I reckon... although seein' how weird he was actin', maybe he's already lost it.” The idea makes her laugh again, her voice free and uninhibited.

“How come you're so cheerful?” you ask her, “What's your secret?”

“I'm alive,” the witch replies, touching her side, “Ain't that reason enough to be grateful? A wee brush with death... it changes how you look at things, you know? It makes me appreciate things a whole lot more. Even the stuff that isnae so great... I feel like I can accept it a little more now. C'mon boss, you gotta know what I mean!”

“Maybe...” you murmur, speaking more to yourself than to her.

[1/2]

>>2673147

“But you know...” Keziah pauses here, her expression darkening a little, “It wasnae what I had been expectin'. It all happened like it should, I met this... thing... that said that it was my death. Looked like... hell, it looked like me on a really bad day.” She makes an attempt at a ferocious expression as she says this, but it just ends up making you laugh. Pouting for a moment, Keziah soon joins you in laughing. “But seriously,” she continues after a moment, “It never asked me to, you know, prove my existence. Never even gave me a chance to speak.”

“Seriously?” you ask, not sure what to think. Was this because the ritual was imperfect, or...

“All it said to me was...” Keziah clears her throat, closing her eyes and gathering her thoughts before quoting from memory. “You remain bound within the prophecy,” she recites, opening her eyes and giving you an uncertain look, “Pretty weird, huh?”

You consider this for a few moments before shrugging. “Witchcraft,” you reply, with deliberate levity in your voice, “Don't ask me about any of that stuff. I'd tell you to ask your mother, but I think you'd rather-”

“Go another round with the Pierrot,” she finishes for you, leaning across and punching you lightly on the shoulder. Her hand lingers there, and soon she's holding onto your arm. Letting her cling to you, you walk back to the Spirit of Helena together. When you get closer, though, she pulls away from you and tenses up with fright. You can feel her sudden caution like a cold breeze, washing over you and causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on end.

Then you realise why. Standing near the Spirit of Helena with their rifles held close at hand, you spot three Iraklin soldiers.

Standing there... waiting for you to return.

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

>>2673217
Just a routine inspection for sentient statues

Thanks for running Moloch

>>2673217
Thanks for running!

Could we have not paid and still flown around? We'd keep the hull damage for sure, but would there be any other penalties?

>>2673293
No, we could have continued to travel about without any penalty, unless you take Keziah's constant whining and complaining into account.

>>2673375
For the best then
Happy wife happy life

>>2673638
Gotta keep Helena happy I agree.

Fug missed the thread

>>2673217
Can Keziah ward the ship against Ghosts?

Aside from the ones we ourselves brought aboard.

But yeah clearly they exist and things are weird here and I would like us to leave ASAP.

>>2675851
>Not wanting to meet Feanor's buddies

Shiggy diggy

>>2675851
There are a few things that Keziah can do, yes. I'll be sure to take that into account for later. Speaking of later, we'll be getting started in about 5-10 minutes. Small delay, but I need to check a few details

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

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Calm. You tell yourself to stay calm, then silently urge Keziah to do the same. If the Iraklins wanted to arrest you – or just to harass you – then they would have sent far more than just three soldiers. They'd NEED far more than just three soldiers – you're fairly certain that Masque alone could cut them all down in the space of a single heartbeat. Accepting the logic of your thoughts, Keziah nods slowly, straightening up and making sure that her dark glasses are on properly, covering up her inhuman eyes.

Resting a hand on the grip of your revolver, you assume an authoritative stance and stroll over to the soldiers. As you walk, an old memory surfaces – Tobias mentioned something about Firebase Alpha, about how the soldiers are posted here on punishment duty. They might be troublemakers, or outright criminals. You're sure that there was something else, but you can't remember it now.

Bracing yourself for the worst, you set your sights on the group of soldiers and call out a low greeting. The three soldiers turn sharply towards you, two of them starting to bring up their rifles before the officer – now that you're closer, you can make out the rank pins on his uniform – gestures for them to lower their weapons.

Not just criminals, but jumpy criminals. Jumpy criminals with high-powered rifles. This is getting better and better.

“Gentlemen,” you begin, slowly lifting your hand away from the pistol, “I didn't park illegally, did I?”

The officer steps closer, studying you closely. You return the favour, finding little to like in what you see. He's a large man, as Iraklins often are, but the thinness of his hair and his attempt at a moustache somehow make him seem smaller, weaker. One of his eyes twitches as he looks at you, squinting briefly before returning to normal. That's twice now that you've seen someone here with a nervous tic of some kind.

“My name is Siegert,” the officer begins, “I was dispatched here to bring you a message.”

“Oh?” you ask, glancing at the armed men either side of him, “It takes three men to bring a message, does it?”

“Standard protocol, sir. Nobody goes anywhere on their own,” Siegert explains, his eye drooping in that awkward wink once more, “Orders of Marshal Lhaus.” Now you remember – Marshal Fredrick Lhaus, sharing the same last name as your Iraklin pilot. Feeling a new sense of curiosity, you gesture for the officer to continue. “Your name was brought to Marshal Lhaus' attention, and he wishes to speak with you personally,” the officer continues, “Will you accept this offer?”

“Can I think about it? I have important business that I need to discuss with my crew first,” you lie, gesturing back towards the Spirit of Helena.

“Of course. Take as long as you need,” Siegert tells you, in a voice that really says “hurry up”.

[1/2]

>>2676257

Freddy has already worked up a good sweat when you find her, her sleeveless shirt clinging to the contours of her body. She's busy doing some sit-ups, her face set in a snarl of concentration, and even the sound of you knocking at the ajar door isn't enough to break her rhythm. Leaning against the doorway, you watch as she brings her routine to a close. Rising to her feet, she snatches a towel off the bed and wipes sweat from her face.

“Captain,” she begins, her breathing heavy but controlled, “Is there something you need?”

“We've got some soldiers outside. Apparently, the marshal here wants to speak with me,” you explain, pausing a moment before adding, “Marshal Lhaus.”

“My brother,” Freddy confirms, using the bare minimum of words. Judging by her expression, she'd rather not think about the man at all. Taking a basin of water and a cloth, she flaps a hand at you before hauling the shirt over her head and tossing it aside. Smiling wearily to yourself, you look away – mostly – as she washes herself.

“I thought that might be the case,” you tell her, “So, I wanted to get your input. Do you think I should agree to this? I'm not sure if I want to spend my time on some stiff, formal meeting. If it was something more important than that, I don't think they'd be giving me the choice.”

“That's true,” Freddy agrees, “But as I understand it, we may be kept here for some time with the repairs. If he wanted to, Fredrick could make our time here very difficult. If he's anything like how he used to be, he's petty enough to do it too. Keeping him happy will make things easier for all of us.”

“I feel like I know the answer to this already, but...” you pause, “Would you want to come with me?”

“I would do it if you order me to,” the Iraklin replies, “There's no love lost between the two of us, but we're not exactly enemies either. I find him to be an unpleasant person, but he may appreciate the chance to catch up. So, if you wish me to accompany you, I'll do so.” Dropping the cloth back into the basin of water, Freddy takes out a clean shirt and pulls it on over her head. As always, this leaves her with a clump of hair sticking up at an angle. Glaring at herself in the mirror, Freddy smooths it down with her hand until it finally stays flat... for a few moments, at least.

“So...” you guess, “You don't want to come with me, then.”

Freddy looks around at you and hesitates, sighing as she shakes her head. “I don't know,” she admits, “I think part of me does want to see him, but I find myself dreading the idea as well. I... I'm probably not making much sense right now, huh?”

In a way, it makes you think of your father. “I understand, I think,” you tell her, “And I've reached my decision. I'm going to...”

>Accept Marshal Lhaus' offer, and bring Freddy along
>Accept Marshal Lhaus' offer, but go alone
>Decline Marshal Lhaus' offer
>Other

>>2676259
>Accept Marshal Lhaus' offer, and bring Freddy along
I'm mostly curious to see what they tell each other.

>>2676259
>Accept Marshal Lhaus' offer, and bring Freddy along

>>2676259
>>Accept Marshal Lhaus' offer, and bring Freddy along

>>2676259
>Accept Marshal Lhaus' offer, but go alone
She doesn't seem enthusiastic.

>>2676259
>Accept Marshal Lhaus' offer, but go alone

“I'm going to accept his offer,” you finish, “And I want you to come along with me.”

“Orders are orders,” Freddy replies, a faint and uncertain smile touching her lips, “I hope this isn't too formal – I hardly have anything to wear.” Lifting her leather pilot's jacket off the back of her chair, she studies it for a moment before slipping it on and tightening the buckles. Checking herself over in the mirror one last time, she nods to her reflection.

She looks, you think to yourself, like someone about to attend their own execution.

-

As you're leaving the ship, you run into Keziah. She had been hanging back while you spoke with the soldiers, only creeping into the ship while they were distracted. Sometimes, you've noticed, she has trouble with authority figures like them – or, more generally, any erratic men with guns. “Hey,” you call out to her, “I need you to do something for me. Is there anything you can do to ward the ship against ghosts?”

“Ghosts?” Keziah repeats, scratching her head in confusion, “Boss, there isnae any such thing as ghosts... most of the time, at least. You've got your one day a year when they can walk – if you believe that stuff – but other than that...”

“Well something here isn't right, be it ghosts, daemons or bad vibes in general,” you point out, “And I want to know if there's anything you can do to protect us from them.”

“Well...” she thinks for a moment before shrugging helplessly, “Gunny's got his staff to chase away daemons, and I know a few wee protective rites meant to placate them. Uh, they're all pretty quiet by the way – you dinnae need to worry about them causin' any kind of trouble. I cannae promise that they'll help much, but there isnae much else I can do. Better than nothin', right boss?”

“That it is,” you agree, “I'm heading out for now. You're in charge until I get back - keep an eye on the repairs, and let me know if the situation here changes.”

“Yes sir!” the witch declares, snapping a salute while trying not to giggle. Freddy shoots her a withering glare, but otherwise says nothing.

-

Siegert's eyes widen a little when he sees Freddy, but he makes no comment. Offering her a stiffly formal nod, he focuses on you. “Please come with me,” he instructs, turning on his heel and marching off. “Some areas of the base are off-limits to civilians, but they are all clearly marked. You won't be able to simply wander into anywhere you shouldn't,” the officer continues, pointing across to a heavy door set into the concrete, a broad stripe of crimson paint warning away any intruders, “If you do get lost, find a soldier and ask for directions. Don't cause any trouble while you're here – Marshal Lhaus does not tolerate mischief.”

“No,” Freddy sighs, “He never did.”

[1/2]

>>2676298

Firebase Alpha is divided up into three rough sections – the aerodrome, divided up into four smaller hangers; the civilian quarter, containing all sorts of different services; and the citadel, devoted entirely to the military garrison. Siegert leads you into the citadel, passing through a checkpoint on the way. There, both you and Freddy are issued flimsy badges of red paper to wear – confirming that you're allowed to enter the citadel. You try not to think about what might happen if you lost the badge.

As you're passing through the checkpoint, you spot a flash of white out of the corner of your eye. The concrete wall has cracked, some of the dull grey material crumbling away to reveal the white Abrahad stone beneath. So far, this is the only hint you've seen that this place was once anything other than a typically bleak Iraklin fortress.

“Take this elevator up. The Marshal is on level four,” Siegert orders, grasping the heavy metal door and hauling it open. The elevator beyond is a cavernous thing, easily large enough to carry an armoured car. Trading an uneasy glance with Freddy, you step inside and crank the stiff level until the dial above the door sits at four. As the elevator shudders into motion, Siegert gives you one last warning. “You picked a bad time to come here, captain,” he declares, the rumble of the elevator cutting him off before he can say anything else.

“When we were younger, my brother and I used to play with sticks – pretending to fight as if they were swords. He was older and stronger, so he would always win... except for one time, when I managed to land a good hit on him. It actually cut his cheek open,” Freddy says slowly, speaking just loudly enough for her words to reach you over the background noise, “He gave me a damn good thrashing after that, but we never played like that again. He refused to.”

“He sounds...” you begin, only to falter and fall silent. There's really not much you can say to a story like that. “What do you think is going on here?” you ask instead, “If you believe the rumours, this place is either haunted or cursed.”

“Maybe both,” Freddy suggests with a wan smile, “Honestly, captain? I don't know – Zenith has a way of doing strange things to people, and I don't see why the men here should be any different. Being cooped up in this base can't be easy. All it takes is for one man to lose his nerve, and that mania can spread like a disease. I'm more inclined to believe in hysteria, rather than curses.” She pauses here, then lets out a curt laugh. “But after everything else we've seen...” she adds, “Well, maybe a curse isn't so unlikely. I'll make you a deal, captain – I'll watch your back if you watch mine.”

“Consider it done,” you reply, taking her hand and shaking it firmly.

[2/3]

I really like your writing Moloch, but this is not a fun quest. It is not engaging. You ask for and receive extremely little input from "players"…And I'm sad about that. It's far less a quest than it could or should be.

>>2676365
Speak for yourself

>>2676365
No?

He *just* used my write in.

>>2676365

See >>2676249 and >>2676339

> “Hey,” you call out to her, “I need you to do something for me. Is there anything you can do to ward the ship against ghosts?”

>>2676365
I disagree. It is more narrative heavy, but the choices we do make tend to be more significant compared to many quests.

>>2676365
?

He doesn't require long ass write ins, but he manages to work in just about every single one anyone submits.

>>2676365

I understand your point, and I definitely feel that it's a valid one. However, I believe that there are different ways of running a quest, and ultimately this is the style I feel most comfortable with. I try and make use of all the input and suggestions I get, although that isn't always possible or practical.

Regardless, I appreciate your candor.

>>2676339

When the elevator grinds its way to level four, you step out into a wide lobby. Siegert said that Marshal Lhaus was on level four, but that isn't exactly a specific direction – you were expecting to see a secretary here, waiting to give you further directions, but the lobby is utterly empty. Crossing through the lifeless hall, you step around a partitioning wall and find yourself standing at the threshold of an open office. At the far end, Marshal Lhaus sits behind a formidable desk.

“Come,” the marshal orders, without looking up from the papers he is sifting through. His voice is flat and hard, perfectly suited to the office he occupies. Not a single bit of needless comfort or decorations, barely any furnishings to soften the cold concrete. You've seen prison cells that were more welcoming than this. Inwardly wincing at how loud your footsteps seem against the concrete floor, you approach the marshal's desk. It's only at the very last moment that he looks up to study you.

Leaner and paler than Freddy, you nevertheless see the family resemblance there. One of his cheeks is marked by two long duelling scars, and the discoloured flesh wrinkles as he smiles, smirks, at you. “There will be no need for introductions, Captain Vaandemere, I know who you are,” he remarks, his cool grey eyes briefly flicking across to Freddy, “And Fredrika too, of course.” His eyes linger on her for a moment more before he reaches into his desk and takes out three small glasses. “This IS a surprise,” he says, sounding anything but surprised, “I was under the impression that you were in the courier business.”

“I quit,” Freddy replies tersely. That, you recall, is not exactly the truth – the way you remember it, she was fired.

“And fallen in with curious company, it seems,” Marshal Lhaus muses, “I do hope you're keeping out of trouble.” Taking out a bottle of expensive whiskey, he pours a tiny measure into each of the three glasses. As he busies himself with that, you notice something strange about the man – his uniform is spotless and perfectly crisp, his hair is flawlessly groomed, but he still carries an air of indifference and indolence about him.

You study him for a while longer over a sip of whiskey, trying to get the measure of this man. As you think, Freddy lets out a low hiss. “What do you want?” she asks in a firm voice, “Don't tell me that-”

“What brings you to my little kingdom, Captain Vaandemere?” the marshal interrupts, cutting Freddy off without looking around at her. Her jaw tenses up, but she manages to swallow the slight without reply. Instead, she leaves you to answer her brother's question.

>I heard this place was haunted, and I wanted to see it for myself
>I didn't have much choice in the matter. The storm forced us to land here
>I'm looking for work, if there's any available here
>Other

>>2676447
>I didn't have much choice in the matter. The storm forced us to land here

>>2676447
>I didn't have much choice in the matter. The storm forced us to land here

>Your kingdom? I thought kings didn't have to report to anyone.

>>2676447
>I didn't have much choice in the matter. The storm forced us to land here
Keep it simple, keep it civil. Don't rise to his bait and don't give him any excuses to make our life hell, at least not while we're stuck here.

>>2676447
>I didn't have much choice in the matter. The storm forced us to land here.

Gotta get back to our loot ship.

>>2676492
All I want is that cannon if it's feasible.

We might be able sell the rest of the salvage rights for a pretty penny.

>>2676486
I'd say he's limited in what he can do by all those Iraklin rules and regulations, but with the atmosphere in this place, there's a good chance that those are gone with the wind.

Still, we're travelling with his sister, and the other guy warned us this was a bad time. He's going to bother us no matter what. I think we should at least signal that we aren't gonna just sit back and take it.

>>2676533
Can we fit another reactor into our ship?

>>2676559
We'd probably have to replace our old one.

>>2676555
That's a good point, but from what Freddy told us, his ego is easily broken and he might lash out if he percieves it is in danger. Better to let him think he has the upper hand while we can't move.

>>2676571
I feel like that'll just encourage him. He didn't stop beating Freddy down in spars until she won one. I'm hoping a verbal dig will signal we aren't going to be easy prey, while being small enough that he can't justify significant retaliation.

>>2676447
>I heard this place was haunted, and I wanted to see it for myself

“I didn't have much choice in the matter,” you tell him simply, “The storm forced us to land here, and we need to make some repairs. As soon as those are completed, we'll be moving on.” That time, you silently add, can't come quickly enough.

“A story that I hear quite often. It's rather less common for people to come here by choice, after all. Did you know that there are one hundred and twenty men stationed here? Of that number, the vast majority are here as punishment – and I include myself in that number,” Marshal Lhaus finally takes his glass and raises it to his lips, emptying it in a single swallow with no apparent pleasure. “One hundred and twenty men, Captain Vaandemere, with no duties other than to monitor Carth movements in the area,” he stresses, “Can you imagine the tedium?”

“It might as well be a desk job,” you agree, thinking back to the bleak Guild outpost. You're starting to get a better picture of Marshal Lhaus now. There's a sense of loneliness behind that apathetic guise, a desperate hunger for any kind of excitement or novelty. Even so, it's hard to feel sorry for the man – he has an abrasive edge to him that you find hard to tolerate.

“I tell myself that I'm serving the nation in my own way, but that hardly helps. If not for chance encounters like this, I don't know what I might do,” the cold smile on Marshal Lhaus' face widens a little as he refills his glass and yours. Freddy's glass remains untouched and ignored. “And you, sister, you must tell me what you've been doing with yourself,” he continues, raising his glass to Freddy, “Serving under a Free Captain must be rather exciting, especially compared with courier work. What have you been getting up to?”

“I fly a skiff, and sometimes I have to fight. Its not all that different from being a courier, really,” Freddy crosses her arms, frowning hard at her brother, “What about you? Have you killed anyone else lately?”

Marshal Lhaus lets out a hard bark of laughter at that. “Tell me, Captain Vaandemere,” he remarks, without taking his eyes off Freddy, “Do you duel?”

“I've been known to dabble,” you reply in a level tone, allowing a note of warning to creep into your voice, “I don't just lie down and take slights peacefully. I presume that you're much the same.” Your words, and the pointed tone you deliver them in, cause the marshal to nod with approval. Without ever making an overt threat, you've given him something to consider – and to think, some people say that you can't be subtle.

“I used to duel a lot. Always swords – you're more of a pistol man, I expect. You have that look about you,” taking Freddy's glass of whiskey, Marshal Lhaus throws it back in a single gulp, “I killed a man - a boy, really. That's why I ended up here, with the rest of the scum and detritus.”

[1/2]

>>2676627
On purpose?

>>2676627

A strange look enters the marshal's eyes as he says this. Not a drunken look, but a fresh kind of energy. Rising from behind his desk, he begins to pace the length of the office. Now that he's standing, you can see two new things about him – his height, which is considerable, and the sword that he wears at his hip. Resting his hand on the sword's hilt, he continues to talk, to rant. “There's nothing illegal about duelling, of course, so long as it's done properly. Ah, but he was a boy and I was a man – I should have been the responsible one, making sure that things remained... within limits,” he spits, “And yet I killed him. Battered the blade out of his hand and then ran him through. When we were finished, he was like a bug on the end of a pin. Do you hear me? A bug on a pin!”

Freddy's face tightens, and you realise that this is the first time she's hearing this, the full and uncensored story . She starts to say something, but then a bell chimes from some other room. The manic energy leaves Fredrick's face in an instant, and his shoulders slump. “Duty calls,” he mutters, gesturing back towards the lobby, “I have a small matter to take care of. Excuse me.”

Neither of you says a word as he prowls out. It's only when you hear a distant door closing that Freddy lets out the breath she had been holding. “Something's wrong,” she whispers to you, “He could be erratic, true, but never like... this. And the duel - I was told that he killed a man by accident!”

“I suppose that story is more suited for polite company,” you mutter, “I think we'd better do our best to avoid him from now on.”

“Something must have happened to him, maybe some of the other soldiers know...” Freddy murmurs, thinking aloud to herself, “Or the civilians here. Rumours get around, and their lips might be a little looser. The bars, maybe...”

“Freddy!” you hiss, grabbing her arm and causing her to jolt to attention.

“Sir!” she snaps, “I mean, captain! What are your orders?”

>We're heading back to the ship. Quickly, before the marshal gets back
>I've got a plan. Here's what we're going to do... (Write in)
>Other

>>2676715
>I've got a plan. Here's what we're going to do... (Write in)
Checking the bars is a good start. We should also bring Caliban.

>Other
"When was the last time you saw your brother and how long has be been stationed here?"

>>2676715
I'll back >>2676732

>>2676715
I'm don't think we should stick around, but we might as well be proactive instead of staying inside the ship.

I'm backing >>2676732

File: What could go wrong (2).jpg (83 KB, 594x383)

83 KB JPG

Does anyone else think this entire set up is a terrible idea?

Criminals leading criminals in a remote section of the world with very tedious and non-stimulating jobs? Damn powder keg.

Almost feels like it's some kind of Fallout VaultTec experiment run by the Iraklins.

“I've got a plan... although I can't really claim it's mine alone. Like you said, checking the bars is a good place to start,” you tell Freddy, pointing back towards the elevator, “We might be able to find someone who knows more about what's going on here. We can bring Caliban along for backup as well – I'd like to know what he makes of this place.”

“Trusting his nose?” Freddy replies with a humourless smile, “Understood, captain. Let's get out of here – I... don't know if I can stand much more of Fredrick's company.”

“When did you last see him?” you ask as you're walking from the office, “And do you know how long he's been stationed here?”

Freddy takes a moment to think about this, counting back the years on her fingers. “He was stationed here before the war. A few years prior to it, so that was... I think he's been here for about eight years. That's a long time to be stranded up here,” pinching her brow as if to ward off a headache, she takes a few seconds before continuing, “But I did see him very briefly after the war. There was a celebration afterwards, a... a victory celebration. Do you remember it?”

“I was blackout drunk while that was going on above us,” you recall, “A cellar bar, I think, I can't remember the name...”

“Even with his reputation in tatters, he was still a high-ranking officer, and so he had a right to be there. I saw him, but we never spoke,” she sighs, shaking her head as if regretting that decision, “He looked... dazed, stunned by the crowds and the festivities. Even from a passing glance, I could tell that he'd lost weight. I thought he was ill – hell, I hoped that he was ill. Even as early as that, he was changing...”

She falls silent as you arrive at the elevator. Together, you reach down and begin to pull up the heavy door. As it slides up, you see a white shape waiting within the elevator – and it lurches out at you as soon as the door is out of the way. With his good hand reaching out to strangle you and his hollow eye sockets weeping blood, the Pierrot falls upon you.

-

Stumbling backwards, you rip your revolver out of its holster and bring it up, your finger tightening on the trigger. Before the hammer can fall, however, you hear Freddy crying out. A blink, and then the bloody illusion is gone. The elevator stands empty, although it takes a long time for your heartbeat to return to normal. Carefully, you ease back on the trigger and holster your revolver. “Did you see that?” you breathe as you step inside it, “Did you see... anything?”

“Not a thing,” Freddy assures you, worry stealing into her eyes, “The elevator door opened, and you went for your gun. I thought... I don't know what I thought. What did you see?”

Swallowing hard, you grab the control level and yank it to the ground level before answering her question. “A ghost,” you reply, the sound of the elevator almost drowning out your words.

[1/2]

>>2676804
Then again, maybe staying inside the ship isn't such a bad idea.

>>2676789
>>2676804
Not to mention adding ghosts into the mix

>>2676804
Just imagine, Fredrick has been hallucinating about the guy he killed in a duel like that for 8 years. Maybe. Could be he started downplaying the guy in his own mind to cope.

>>2676804
I think we need to blow this island up

>>2676804

Ghosts and phantoms, a remote outpost staffed by criminals and malcontents, dangerous levels of tedium... the longer you stay here, the more it seems like a perfect powder keg waiting for a spark. You're not sure whether to blame incompetence or irresponsibility for the state of this place, but it feels like the Iraklins are making their very own version of the Kingdom. A generator experiment of some kind, despite what Keziah assured you about Guild regulations?

Whatever it is, you need to leave this place as soon as possible.

“A day,” Keziah tells you bluntly, the look on her face telling you exactly how happy she is to be giving you this news, “The repairs are going to take another day at least, and that's without takin' the storm into account. The Guild is runnin' low on staff – apparently a good number of their workers haven't turned up.”

“This is a small outpost!” you protest, “It's not like they can be hiding anywhere!”

“Aye, well, that's just what they think is happenin'. The way I hear it, some of the folk here have taken to hidin' inside whenever there's a bad storm,” the witch explains, “I dinnae ken why, but that's just what I'm told. They're probably hidin' in their dorms, but no amount of threats can get them to shift. Bloody inconvenient is what it is!”

“No kidding...” you groan, shaking your head before turning to Gunny. He looks tired, but a little less dismayed about things. “Gunny, please give me some good news,” you plead, “I could really use something to lift my spirits right now.”

“Well brother, I had a word with that statue. I don't really know how to explain this, but I think it's praying,” Gunny runs a hand through his thinning hair as he thinks, “I tried holding onto it for a while, but the only things that I heard were the prayers I learned up in Cloudtop Prison. Just repeating over and over again. Pretty relaxing, if I'm being honest with you.”

“You would think that,” Caliban sighs. He looks frustrated and tense, maybe even a little bit frightened. “Point is,” he adds, “Your holy man here seems to think that the statue is safe enough for the time being. That's about the closest thing to some good news that you're going to get, I reckon. I don't know about you people, but I need a drink.”

Funny that he should say that, actually...

-

“So you saw him again?” Caliban muses, pondering your words, “I'd like to see that pale bastard myself. I'd stick that useless glaive up his ass, if I could.”

“Is there a problem with it?” you ask, looking around the main street of the civilian quarter for a good bar. The street is a simple curve, build into the wall of the fortress itself, but something about it leaves you feeling strangely disorientated.

“It's too clumsy for me. I tried swinging it around a little, and I nearly knocked myself out,” Caliban grunts, “If I'd had the blade out, I might have cut my damn head off.”

[2/3]

>>2676928
Have you tried getting good tho Cal? Pierrot could use it pretty well.

>>2676941
Everyone's got their strengths and preferences.

>>2676928

The first bar you find is closed, with metal shutters lowered over the windows and doors, but the second option is open – and busy. You had been expecting a sullen place, packed with people drinking in order to pass out in the most efficient way possible, but you end up stumbling into a party. Someone is feverishly playing a piano, and a number of voices are raised in a slurred song. It's heartening at first, but then you find yourself recalling Berwick's crew – shouting and screaming to force back the darkness of Outside.

Before descending into the bar, you notice Caliban shooting a ferocious glare down the curved street. “Thought someone was following us,” he explains vaguely, his frown hinting at something more than that.

Pushing through the crowd to the bar, you order three mugs of ale and glance around again at the crowd. “Off-duty soldiers,” Freddy tells you, pointing to a relatively sedate group gathered around one table. “And they look like traders,” she adds, gesturing to a larger group surrounding a man in a gaudy red coat, “That must be their captain. He might have had cause to deal with... with Marshal Lhaus directly, negotiating prices and such.”

Taking a sip of your ale, you consider the crowd. One man stands out to you, mainly because he's alone – sitting with his back wedged into the corner, a number of empty flagons piled up on the table in front of him. So far as you can tell, he's the only man here who isn't part of some larger group. He seems to be a youngish man, his face glistening with sweat – although you can't really blame him there, considering how warm the bar feels.

“Want to ask some questions, captain?” Freddy asks you.

>Speak with the off-duty soldiers
>Speak with the trading crew
>Speak with the lone man
>Other

>>2676986
>Speak with the off-duty soldiers
Close to Lhaus and they live here.

>>2676986
Speak with the soldiers first, get the perspective of the people who have been living here for a good while. If possible speak with the traders afterwards, as they might have been here long enough to know stuff but not long enough to have lost their minds.

>>2677014

>>2676986
this

“We'll start with the soldiers,” you reply, “You think you can help break the ice?”

“I've not been out of the military for that long,” Freddy replies grimly, turning to the barman and ordering another round of ales for the soldiers. When the drinks arrive on a beaten tin tray, she gestures for you to wait and brings them over to the soldiers. As they start to talk, Caliban sidles over to you and gives you a grim look.

“I saw something as well,” he mutters, “Back on the ship. While old man Hotchkiss was doing his “speak with rocks” trick, I saw someone out of the corner of my eye – leaning against the doorway, smirking at you like he had something to say. When I looked around properly, he was gone.” Caliban pauses for a moment more. “It was someone I used to know, back from my old village,” he admits, “He's dead now.”

“You killed him,” you guess, your voice free from any accusation. Neither of you have clean hands, after all.

Caliban nods. “You saw the Pierrot, and I saw...” his voice trails off here, and then he frowns, “I can't even remember the bastard's name. You know what I'm getting at, don't you?”

“I do,” you agree. Before you can say anything more, Freddy waves you over. A few of the soldiers are moving on, leaving a few empty seats at their table. There's something uncanny about the four remaining soldiers you sit with, how similar they look with their cropped hair and blunt features. As you sit, you have the absurd image of some Iraklin production line stamping them out by the dozen. Hiding your skittish grin behind a sip of ale, you banish the illusion.

“This is the guy I was talking about,” Freddy says, slapping you on the arm and giving you a big, fake smile, “A proper hero, this one.”

“Brought down those anarchist bastards, didn't you?” one of the soldiers – a minor officer by the look of his rank pins – says, “Damn good work, that. The way I hear it, they would have blown away old Hess if you hadn't been there. Seems like we should be buying YOU the drinks!” Chuckling to himself, the heavyset officer thrusts out his hand to you. “The name's Landau,” he adds, “How's the Alpha treating you so far?”

You almost offer him a bland, inoffensive comment before thinking twice. “Shit,” you cheerfully admit, “That's why I figured men like yourselves could do with an extra ration of ale. After all, you must have been here for a while, right?”

Another round of laughter from the table, and you see Freddy flashing you an encouraging smile. “You've got that right, my man,” Landau slurs, taking a drink of his ale, “I've been here three years, and it feels like double that. I've been assigned five – just two more years, I keep telling myself, then I'm free.”

“Free to go back to regular duty, you mean,” Freddy jeers, raising her mug of ale and taking a deep swallow. Her cheeks are already pink, and not just with the heat in the bar.

[1/2]

>>2676986
>Speak with the lone man

>>2677114

“I used to be posted down in Camp Prosperity, see,” Landau explains, occasionally jabbing his finger down into the table, “Had to deal with the rain, and the damn barbarians trying to burn the town down every few days. Worst place a man can be posted, I thought, so I tried to run. I figured Monotia was a big place, they wouldn't track down a single man in a city like that. Well, they did, and here I am. Worst fucking mistake I ever made!”

“Five years, huh?” Freddy muses, “I hear that the marshal has been up here for eight. Anyone got a record that can beat that?”

“Not so far as I know,” one of the other soldiers answers, “Old Fred has been here since... since forever as far as I care. Far as I'm concerned, he just signs the forms around here – never leaves his damn tower, hardly ever speaks with anyone except the professor. Any work needs doing, he has one of his minions take care of it.” Staring down into his ale, the soldier shakes his head. “No, hold on, that's not quite it. He speaks with the traders, like those folk over there. The way I hear it, he does a little business on the sly to get a few bottles of the hard stuff shipped up,” he laughs bitterly, “Pampered traders and a washed up doctor, some company for an officer to keep!”

“The professor?” you ask, leaning forwards and raising an eyebrow.

“Fucking... Haydn or something like that. Prick,” Landau mutters, “The highest point in the Iraklin Empire, and they use it to give some arsehole a spot of peace and quiet.”

Haydn... that name sounds familiar. As you search your memory, it's Keziah who answers you. “Isaac Haydn,” she thinks to you, “He's a natural philosopher, wrote a few books and essays. I hear that he got sent to prison for that...”

“That orgy thing,” you finish, remembering the rest of the story. Unfortunately, you end up speaking those words aloud and find the soldiers staring at you with confused eyes. “Isn't that why Haydn is here?” you ask, flapping a hand to dismiss the awkward air, “Some kind of scandal?”

“Wouldn't surprise me,” Landau grunts, “Can't say that much would surprise me after three years in this hole.” Grinning mirthlessly, he leans forwards and jabs his finger down into the table. “Sensible man like yourself might not believe me, but I've seen things,” he hisses, “I've seen-”

“Hey, Landau...” the other soldier interrupts, “The marshal said that we weren't supposed to talk about this shit – and you, you shouldn't be asking. It'll be all the worse for you if he hears about this.”

All four of the men fall silent at this. Behind you, you hear chairs scraping as the group of traders starts to leave. Cursing inwardly, you hastily reach a decision.

>Press Landau for more information
>Catch up with the traders before they leave
>Other

>>2677202
>Catch up with the traders before they leave
I'm betting they're just talking about the ghosts. Mr. Lhaus is being haunted by the guy he killed in the duel.

>>2677202
>Catch up with the traders before they leave

>>2677202
Catch up with the traders before they leave

When we leave mybe drop something like if you wana talk about ghosts you knw where to find me
Lets see if we can get some good booze for bribes

>>2677202
>Catch up with the traders before they leave

>>2677202
>Press Landau for more information
We can share our own vision and form a rapport.

“Captain Vaandemere, at the Spirit of Helena,” you tell Landau and the others as you rise, “If you gentlemen ever want to share another drink, I'll be at pad four for some time yet. For now, I need to be somewhere else.”

Leaving to the sound of their voices bidding you farewell, you hurry after the traders as they file away. Fortunately, that gaudy red coat their leader wears gives you a beacon to follow. Stumbling on the bar steps as you follow them, you hasten out into the street and catch up with the group. When you call out to them, however, several of the men jolt around and reach for weapons. “Wait!” you snap, holding your hands up to show them that you're unarmed, “I just wished to talk!”

“Pistols away, lads,” the flashily dressed captain orders, flapping a hand at his crew. He has a coarse sort of face and he carries a little more weight than a man of his stature should, but his eyes look kindly... and glassy with drink. “My name is Hardie, stranger,” he adds, “May I ask what yours might be?”

“Captain Milos Vaandemere,” you tell him, “You're a Free Captain as well, aren't you? I can usually tell.” What you don't add is why – that it's usually a flamboyance, a certain lack of taste that seems common to men of your trade. Hardie nods, and you laugh despite yourself. “Bad luck for you to be caught here during a storm,” you suggest, “It looks like a bad one, too. Any idea when it might clear?”

“Not soon enough, as far as I'm concerned,” Hardie replies ruefully, his face falling, “It's always bad here, but it's always worse when the weather turns like this. I don't know why that should be, but... that's just how it works. If the money wasn't so good, I wouldn't make this run.” Gesturing for his crew to back off, Hardie throws a friendly arm around your shoulders and leads you a few paces away. “From one captain to another, Marshal Lhaus has a weakness for fine liquor. I can't really blame him, being stationed here and all, but he really should watch how much he drinks,” the hypocrisy of this statement seems to be lost on the drunken captain, but you don't see fit to point that out tot him.

“We all drink a little too much, don't we?” you chuckle, playing along, “Why shouldn't a man enjoy life?”

“Aye, but I don't think he enjoys it. He's a mean drunk, the marshal. One time I came to deliver his usual order, and he was deep in his cups. Pacing back and forth, waving that sword of his about. He threatened me with it, told me to leave him alone or he'd kill me,” Hardie thinks for a moment more, “Strange thing about that. He said... he said “I killed you once, I can do it again”. He must have mistaken me for someone else!”

“Well...” you murmur, “You said that he was pretty drunk, right?”

“Aye. He always drinks when it's blowing a storm,” Hardie agrees, “When that happens, you're best off staying away from him.”

[1/2]

>>2677336

From here, Hardie begins to wander off topic, talking about anything that crosses his mind. He talks about his ship, the Lucky Girl, and how the engines keep making clanking noises. He talks about how long it takes to unload the crates of supplies, especially when half of his crew are drunk or sleeping off the previous night's indulgences. It's a litany of complaints that you've heard many times before, always in the same note of fondness – it's a life that most captains wouldn't trade for anything.

When you hint at any ghosts or visions, Hardie responds with confused denial – a genuine enough reaction, you suspect. He's too drunk to lie about it. “Never seen anything off, but I can feel it,” he tells you, “When the storms roll in people get scared, or they get mean. Some folks lock themselves away and wait it out, while others – like the good marshal – do whatever they can to distract themselves. I get mighty bad dreams while I'm here, mind you, but that's just Zenith isn't it?”

“Is it?” you ask vaguely.

“I suppose so. Does strange things to you. I've got a cousin over at Saint Alma's Academy, and he says that he doesn't dream at all. Zenith, see?” Hardie slaps you on the shoulder, as he nods towards the hanger ahead. “Well, here I am,” he concludes, “Pad two. Two always was my lucky number, you know...”

You know where this is going. When a captain starts to drunkenly talk about luck or superstition, it's time to make your escape. Just as you're trying to make an excuse, someone else does it for you... albeit in a way that you hadn't been anticipating.

A gunshot rings out, shattering the uneasy peace.

-

As Hardie breaks and runs for his ship, you turn back on your heel and race towards the bar, the source of that gunshot. You hear a great chorus of shouting and yelling as you arrive, but the trouble is already over by then. All you can do is catch a glimpse of black Iraklin uniforms as they drag a slumped figure away. Looking around, you spot Freddy and Caliban lingering around the entrance to the bar.

“What happened?” you ask as you reach them, “Was anyone hurt?”

“Thankfully not,” Freddy tells you, “But some idiot pulled out a gun and let off a shot. The soldiers got him down before he could hit anyone, but... I don't think he was aiming at anyone. It seemed like he was just firing at thin air.”

“Or an illusion,” Caliban points out.

“Or an illusion,” the Iraklin agrees, “Still, the soldiers were able to take him alive. They might be able to get some sense out of him later, once he's calmed down... or sobered up.”

Maybe. Or maybe he'll just have another ghost story to tell.

>I think I'm going to close things here, and I'll aim to continue this next Friday.
>I apologise for the delays today!

>>2677453
Thanks for running Moloch!

>>2677453
Thanks for running!

I guess Hardie hasn't ever killed anyone, and that's why he doesn't see any visions?

Do the Iraklin top brass know about this effect, and only send killers here to study it? Is Freddie's brother their test on how long someone can endure before breaking down completely?

>>2677453
Thanks for running!

Thanks for running. I love vaguely unsettling haunted outposts, so this part of the quest is fantastic.

>>2677517
Hardie's a real nice guy, he wouldn't hurt a fly.
What do the Iraklins know? Well, I wonder about that - they're the sort of people who know more than they admit to, but that doesn't mean they know everything!

>>2677563
This is an idea that's been rattling around inside my head for a while, so I'm pretty interested to see how it plays out. I hope you enjoy it!

>>2677595
I mean it sounds like technically the people are haunted, not the outpost.

It should be interesting to see what our crew who haven't killed anyone feel like about it.

>>2676789
It hits a little close, yes

>>2677453
I don't think steel or concrete really blocks Abrahad, so I can't help but wonder if Hardyn here is designing his own soul reactor thing like the one in the Vault of the Sun.

We should try talking to the walls. If they don't respond then we should kill them with our sword.

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

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The long and sleepless hours were starting to take their toll. Caldwell's training had inured him to the worst effects of fatigue, but there was only so much he could do to stave it off. He wanted to sleep, to rest his weary eyes even for a few moments, but his body wouldn't allow it. They had been keeping a hard pace for a long time now, a brutal pace, but that made no difference. When they stopped for a break, he simply could not fall asleep.

Suspicion was a part of it, he supposed, the thought that either one of his companions might flee or cut his throat during the night, but that wasn't all. More than once, he had lain awake listening to Gorgon whispering words that he could only half hear. She whispered them to herself, or perhaps to the ratty, mangy fox that still followed her about. This time was no different – the moon was full, peeking out from the Azimuth islands above and staring down at him like a great eye, and Gorgon was speaking.

“Oh Tyrann, but I am scared!” the witch whispered, a faint whine in her voice, “Is it true? I have the power to end all of this?” A silence. “But what does that mean?” she continued, as if someone had answered her question, “I don't understand!”

“Be quiet, lass!” Hackett growled, “If you don't still that tongue of yours, I'll pluck it out of your head.”

It seems that Caldwell was not the only one finding it hard to sleep.

-

That next morning, he came to them. The path ahead had been clear, and then Caldwell had taken a moment to rub his red, aching eyes. When he opened his eyes again, a giant stood in his path. The man towered over all three members of the party, his single broken horn lending even more of a monstrous look. A raw, bloody brand decorated his face, which nevertheless carried a strange air of nobility. Bare to the chest, the giant wore simple leather breeches and carried to weapon.

“My greetings to you, travellers,” he announced, his voice as harsh as rocks grinding together, “From here, I will be accompanying you. King Eishin has charged me with-”

“Bastard!” Hackett snarled, pushing past Caldwell and lunging forwards. His rifle was forgotten, some innate savagery driving him to produce his blade instead. Caldwell cried out a warning, but the words fell on deaf ears. Gorgon just cried out, her voice raised in a shrill cry of fear. The giant made no move to evade, standing as firm as an ancient tree as Hackett slammed into him. The point of the knife found its mark, plunging deep into the monster's gut.

The giant grabbed Hackett by the front of the man's coat and lifted him up off the ground, studying him for a moment before wheeling around and hurling him into a tree. Wood crashed and split, and Hackett slumped motionless to the ground.

Slowly, indifferently, the giant pulled the knife from his gut and cast it aside.

[1/3]

>>2684429

Caldwell couldn't understand this man, this monster who had introduced himself as Segharl the Broken. It would have been all too easy for him to snap Hackett's neck while the man was unconscious. The guide had been expendable from the start, just local help of no consequence. Caldwell himself would have sooner killed the man before letting him slow them down, and yet Segharl now carried the unconscious man as he led the group towards Eishin's territory.

His arrogance was monstrous. He walked without looking back, certain that his “guests” would not flee or attack his open back. Caldwell knew that there would be little point in it – they were being followed by armed men, surrounded by a ring of Eishin's followers, and escape was quite impossible. Even if some of those guards slipped up and left an opening, why would he risk an escape? The mission was still going strong.

As was their pace. Too strong, perhaps – Caldwell could feel his body finally failing him. Even with Hackett weighing him down, Segharl kept an unforgiving pace and simply expected the others to keep up. His pride would not allow him to protest, but Caldwell still felt relieved when Gorgon broke the silence.

“Stop, please stop!” she pleaded, calling out to Segharl's muscular back, “We need to rest, please!”

To Caldwell's disbelief, the monster actually obeyed. Stopping dead in his tracks, he turned around and gave Gorgon a long, unreadable look. “As you command,” he then said, shrugging his great shoulders and dropping Hackett to the ground. The impact was enough to rouse the guide from his stupor, and he let out a loud groan of both pain and dismay. Ignoring him, Segharl let out a shrill whistle. Answering his call, a lesser barbarian emerged from the trees and raised his fist in a crude salute.

“We stop here,” Segharl commanded, “We rest.”

-

They were talking, the witch and this monster, while Caldwell listened from afar. Segharl had practically dragged Gorgon away from the rest of the group so that they could speak in private, and Caldwell had wasted no time in following them. Whether or not he had been permitted to do so remained unclear, unimportant for now. He dearly wished to know what the strange pair were discussing, even at the risk of inviting punishment.

“Blood is what matters,” Segharl said, his voice surprisingly gentle, “We all carry the blood of a god within us, passed down from our fathers and their fathers too. Tell me, child... what do you know of your father?”

Confronted by this question, Gorgon remained silent. Caldwell, hidden behind a thick-bodied tree, could only guess at her expression. Fear, or fascination?

[2/3]

>>2684430

Eventually, Gorgon spoke. “I remember very little about him,” she offered, “The sound of his voice, his... his scent. Not his face, nothing more than that.” A pause, and Caldwell realised that he was waiting with bated breath. “Is this what this is about?” the witch continued, a nervous edge entering her voice, “Did he send you to-”

“Your father is dead,” Segharl replied bluntly. Bluntly, but not unkindly.

“Oh,” Gorgon's voice faltered, “Did you-”

“No. I did not kill him,” the giant interrupted, “And I dearly wish that I could have found him before he perished. An heir shall have to suffice - King Eishin will be pleased to meet you.”

Here, Gorgon seemed to recover her wits and let out a shrill laugh. “That fiend!” she spat, “He makes toys out of daemons and threatens the balance between man and spirit! If I had the chance, I would happily plunge a dagger into his heart!” Undergrowth rustled as she began to storm away, and Caldwell slid into cover. Catching a glimpse of the witch as she blindly rushed past, he saw tears glistening in her eyes. Before the assassin could follow her, though, Segharl spoke once gain.

“You may show yourself, assassin,” he ordered, “I wish to speak with you as well.” Grimacing, Caldwell drew his automatic and approached Segharl. He doubted that the weapon would do him much good – in fact, anything less than a support autocannon might not bother the giant – but it comforted him to hold it. Studying him, Segharl let out a low growl of amusement. “You are a man who prides himself in serving his master,” the giant stated, “In that, we are similar. However, your masters are not worth such devotion. Let it be known that all false kings will be forced to renounce their thrones and their crowns.”

That last sentence caused Caldwell to freeze. It was a coded message, one he had been briefed on – expect treachery, the message translated to. Could his codes have been intercepted and compromised, or was this giant somehow privy to the secret information? Was he giving Caldwell a warning – and if so, a warning about what?

“It shall be known,” Caldwell replied cautiously, answering the coded message with the suitable response. Expect treachery... treachery from Eishin, or from Caldwell's own masters?

Putting an end to the conversation, Segharl began to follow Gorgon back to the path before pausing and looking back. “You will always have a place among us,” he told Caldwell, his voice solemn, “Consider that, assassin.”

>This concludes our bonus episode for this week. Into the Skies will resume on Friday
>Thank you for reading!

>>2684432
Yeah, an obvious recurring antagonist. There was no way we could've shot him dead.

>>2684430
>Segharl the Broken

That's a new title isn't it?

>Thank you for reading!
No, thank you for posting.

>>2684457
Pls no meta

>>2684432
Why are you the literal best?

>>2684429
>single broken horn
hmmmmmmmm

>>2684432
I suspect Caldwell will be one of the bosses we fight, super-possessed by a daemon but just barely kept from cosmetic changes by sheer force of robo-will.

>>2684593
>Pls no meta
But it's so easy!

>>2684607
You mean the next person to join our merry band

>>2684814
I maintain that we could be friends with Segharl. He seems like a pretty cool guy when you look past his flaws. And really, those flaws are mostly due to orders he's had to follow, and therefore only sort of his fault. Just ask the Iraklins.

>>2684814
yeah, that's what I said

>>2684432
How do you pronounce Segharl?
I say "Seig - Harl", but I've gotten a few strange looks because it very closely resembles Seig Heil.

>>2687471
I've always gone with "See-garl", with kind of a guttural tone that I'm not sure how to put into text. Imagine saying it while scowling very hard, and you shouldn't be too far off.

File: Albert Sinclair Fortuin.jpg (839 KB, 1920x2969)

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“Your problem, old boy, is that you have no moral fibre,” Sinclair tells you, his voice hard and judgemental, “You have no backbone, no sense of commitment when it comes to doing the right thing. Look at you now, mingling with the Iraklins as if they were your best friends. I'm ashamed of you, Milos.” He frowns at you, the pallor of his dead flesh lending the expression an extra degree of menace.

“I can commit to things,” you argue, taking a slug of cheap brandy before continuing, “Look at this mission, wandering all over the damn world to put together a magic key. If that isn't commitment, I don't know what is.”

“I said commitment to doing to the right thing, old boy,” the dead man scolds, “Do you really think what you're doing is right? Open your eyes, Milos – everywhere you go, disaster is never far away. The world itself is reacting to what you're doing here, contorting itself to try and stop you. Just think! The ground heaves and shudders with quakes, while the skies are split by terrible storms... all since you started this “mission” of yours!”

“Shut up!” you snap, slamming the glass down on your desk hard enough to crack it, “You're dead, what the hell do you know?” Brandy spills out of the cracked glass and spreads out across the table, dampening down of the papers you left here. Spitting a curse, you gather up the papers and throw them aside.

When you look up, Sinclair is gone.

-

Despite what Keziah might say, you're almost certain that you just spoke with a ghost. You had been sitting in your quarters, nursing a drink and thinking to yourself, when he appeared. Standing in the doorway, Sinclair had glared at you for a long moment before you set out a second glass and poured him a drink. It's still there, untouched on your desk. “Waste not, want not,” you mutter as you drain it in a single swallow.

It's late, and you have the peculiar feeling of being the only man in the world. Swaying a little as you stand, you wander out of your quarters and set off more or less at random, looking for... well, anything or anyone. You reach out to Keziah as you walk, briefly catching a glimpse of her dreams – birds flying above, so many that they block out the sky. Before you disturb her sleep, you draw back and leave her be.

Somewhere in the guts of your ship, one of Bhaskar's crewmen – Dhaval, you think – is singing, an oddly keening dirge that floats through the corridors and makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. It's strangely beautiful, but not exactly appropriate under these uneasy circumstances. At least it's a sign of life, a confirmation that you're not alone in this world.

[1/3]

>>2688611

The next sign of life, you find in the cargo bay. With the Pierrot's glaive in her hands, Freddy weaves through a flowing routine of attack and defence that seems as much a dance as it is combat. Watching her from the shadows, you feel a sudden disorientation – a wrenching feeling, as if the border between dream and reality was becoming distorted. Fredrika Lhaus and the Zenith warrior woman from your visions seem to change places, their respective images becoming impossible to separate.

At least, until the dance draws to a close. When Freddy brings the weapon down to a low rest, you can finally move out of the gloom and hail her. “Impressive,” you tell her, “I didn't know you had trained with a weapon like that. You should have said something.”

“I've never used a weapon like this before,” she admits, looking down at it in vague wonder, “But it just... works. It's like flying a skiff, it just feels natural to me.” She says this with an open, innocent smile, but you feel your stomach churn. Somehow, you feel certain that you're responsible for this. Sinclair's words, his accusations, bubbling up from the back of your mind.

“I couldn't sleep,” Freddy adds, oblivious to your unsettled thoughts, “So I came down here to check on the Eliza - that usually relaxes me, if that makes any sense. Caliban must have left the glaive here, and I just... gave it a shot. I don't know why he was having so much trouble with it. Maybe he's just better with knives?” Carefully setting down the glaive, Freddy glances back around at you and frowns. “Is there a problem, captain?” she asks, “You look... off.”

“I've had a little too much to drink,” you admit, “And I had a conversation with a dead man. Not a particularly nice conversation.”

“Oh,” Freddy pauses, clearly unsure just how sincere you are, “That sounds...”

“I wasn't dreaming,” you tell her quickly, “At least, I'm fairly certain that I wasn't dreaming. These days, it seems like things aren't always so clear cut.” With a smile that you don't really mean, you cross over to a low crate and sit down on it. “Caliban has been seeing things too – a man he killed. I think your brother might be experiencing the same thing,” you explain, “What I don't know is why.”

“Guilt?” she suggests, moving over to sit next to you.

“I saw the Pierrot,” you remind her, “And I certainly don't feel guilty about killing HIM.”

“True,” Freddy concedes, “Not guilt, then. Here's a thought – didn't the chief engineer say that she'd ward the ship against anything unnatural?”

“She did, although she wasn't convinced – I don't think she believes in ghosts,” you reply, wearily shaking your head, “Most of the time, at least. Still, we should be protected against that sort of thing, so... I don't know. Maybe it WAS a dream, or something... else.”

But what that “something else” might be, you couldn't really say.

[2/3]

>>2688613

“It's late,” Freddy says after a pause, after yawning enormously, “Too late for this sort of thinking. I'm going back to bed – I feel like I could get a few hours of sleep now. Captain, you should do the same. We'll need to be fresh and awake to face whatever comes our way.” Standing, she takes a few steps towards the entrance before pausing and looking back to you. “What's our approach?” she asks, “Starting tomorrow, what are your orders?”

“Assuming the storm doesn't die out over night? I'm not sure yet,” you reply with a shrug, “I get the feeling that these repairs are going to take longer than expected. The Guild staff here aren't exactly efficient.” Grimacing a little at that, you consider your next move.

>We'll meet up tomorrow morning and discuss this as a group
>All we need to do is lie low and keep out of trouble
>I want to speak with Haydn, this professor. He might know what's going on here
>Your brother knows about this place. We need to confront him, and maybe get some answers
>I have a plan... (Write in)
>Other

>>2688614
>We'll meet up tomorrow morning and discuss this as a group
>I want to speak with Haydn, this professor. He might know what's going on here
>Other
"You want the glaive? I don't think anyone else is going to be using it."

>>2688614
>I want to speak with Haydn, this professor. He might know what's going on here

>Your brother knows about this place. We need to confront him, and maybe get some answers

Plus how he's managed to stay sane, or reasonably close, all this time.

>>2688614
>We'll meet up tomorrow morning and discuss this as a group

“I think we should meet up tomorrow morning and discuss this as a group, to see if anyone else has any input,” you tell Freddy, “But after that, I want to speak with Haydn, this professor. He might have an idea about what's going on here. For all we know, he might actually be here studying these... ghosts.” As you say this, a bleaker thought occurs to you. “But if he IS connected with this, we might not be able to just stroll in and talk with him,” you grumble, “We'll have to come up with a plan.”

“Leave that to me. I have an idea,” Freddy replies, “If Doctor Barnum lends me a bottle from his private supply, I might be able to convince my brother to let us see the professor. We can discss the details later, though.”

“You know, we might need to confront your brother about this place,” you warn her, “To learn how he's staying sane – relatively speaking – at the very least.”

“I know. I'm ready for that,” the Iraklin nods, “I don't welcome the possibility, but orders are orders.” She says this with a wan smile, and you can't help but return it.

“Why don't you hang onto that glaive for the time being?” you conclude, “I don't think anyone else is using it, after all.”

Freddy thinks about this for a moment, then nods again. Thanking you quietly, and giving you an unusually soft smile, she slips out of the cargo hold with the weapon at her side. In her sudden absence, the cargo hold seems to grow colder and somehow sinister – the muffled rumble of thunder from outside certainly doesn't help. Suppressing a shiver, you stand up and follow the pilot out. As you walk, you feel a sudden wave of dizziness rolling over you. You had been drinking, true, but this feels...

You're not sure. Like something else.

As you straighten up you see the Helena's corridors blur for a moment, overlaid with another ghostly image – a different corridor, with wood panels on the wall and a thick carpet underfoot. Even when you blink, the illusion doesn't clear. Stumbling forwards a few paces, you lose your balance and fall sideways against the wall, feeling the reassuring firmness of metal meet you. Before you can start walking again, you hear the whisper of soft footsteps against the thick carpet. A boy slips past you, one of his hands pressed against the wall for support. He's young enough that his steps are weak and tentative, and he seems like he might fall over at any moment.

You watch the boy pass with wide, uncertain eyes, now wondering if everything – Sinclair, Freddy, and now this – has all been a dream. What else are you supposed to think, having just seen your younger self wandering past you?

[1/2]

Calling it now, this place was built over an ancient Zenith experiment and/or a Wyrm

>>2688646

Not quite sure what else to do, you feel yourself following the boy. Trying to call out to him, all you can produce is a hoarse whisper. The strangest thing about this is how much you remember it – you've dreamed about this moment before, staggering through the corridors of your family estate as a young boy, but never from this outside perspective. In your dreams, there is the smell of lightning from somewhere, and strange lights from the entrance hall, but you always wake up before finding the source.

Swept up by a violent curiosity, you hasten your pace and catch up to the boy. Moving ahead of him, you hurry towards the entrance hall – the engine room in reality, although it's growing increasingly hard to see through the layer of dream. There, you finally see it.

What is, in reality, the blue glow of the Helena's Pleonite core, has now become a crude altar of sticks and driftwood, gathered together and piled up in the entrance hall of your family home. A stone slab rests upon the makeshift altar, and a cloaked woman gesticulates above it. Lightning connects her hands to the stone, but you cannot be certain of which one is the source. Outside, in both versions of the world, a storm rages. You can't see the woman's face, and you feel obscurely glad of that fact.

A voice, then, as the young Milos arrives at the scene. “What are you doing in our house?” he demands, although his voice is more curious than afraid. The lightning fascinates him, drowning out any fear he might have felt.

“Boy,” the woman replies, her voice warm and confident, “Where is your father?”

“Away,” your younger self replies, a faint note of pompous pride entering his voice, “He's an airship captain, he's VERY important. I bet he's off having adventures now, but he's coming home real soon!”

“Adventures, is it?” she muses, “Then, he's left you all on your own?”

“Of course not, mother is here with me,” the boy laughs, as if realising something, “Are you one of her friends? She told me once that she had funny friends, friends that I wasn't allowed to meet yet. Did you-”

A door bangs open, but in which world? That difference seems increasingly irrelevant, the harsh noise puncturing the dream-like mood and causing reality to bleed back in. In the space of a handful of blinks, the illusion fades away completely and leaves you standing, alone, in the engine room. Slowly turning, you see Keziah standing in the doorway.

“Couldnae sleep up in my room, thought I might sleep better down here,” the witch explains, rubbing at her eyes, “Same idea, boss?”

Looking back at the soft glow of the Pleonite core, you hesitate.

>Just... checking the engines. I'll leave now, let you get some rest
>I was looking for you. I wanted to talk to you... (Write in)
>Other

>>2688683
>Just... checking the engines. I'll leave now, let you get some rest
I bet 5 shekels that hooded woman was Maeve

>>2688683
>I was looking for you. I wanted to talk to you... (Write in)

GHOSTS ARE REAL KEZ
THEY'RE EVERYWHERE

>>2688683
>I was looking for you. I wanted to talk to you... (Write in)

Ghosts all over!

>>2688683
>I was looking for you. I wanted to talk to you...
g-g-g-ghost!

>>2688683
Oh shit.

Eishin is our Grandpa.

>>2688707
nah, he's too young for that, he's our brother

>>2688683
>I was looking for you. I wanted to talk to you...
Keziahghostsarepursuingmehelp!

“I was looking for you,” you manage to tell her after a moment, “I wanted to talk to you about these... ghosts. They're real, no matter what you might say. I've seen them, and I'm not the only one. They're damn near everywhere here!”

“Ach!” Keziah groans, throwing her hands up in the air, “I dinnae ken what to tell you, boss, I've done all I can do! I've done my best to proof the ship against daemons – and I've had to listen to Masque complainin' about it – so we shouldnae have to worry about any kind of spirit.” Frowning hard, she thinks for a long moment. “Maybe this means we can rule out ghosts, if we're havin' trouble with them even after these wards,” she suggests, “Some kind of hallucination? Ask Caliban if he's been puttin' anythin' in your food.”

“I'll do that. I want us all to meet up in the morning, and I'll ask him them,” you grumble, “And if he has, he's going to take the quick way back down to Nadir...”

“Well, I'm tellin' you that they arenae ghosts,” the witch concludes stubbornly, before a mischievous smile appears on her lips, “Still, boss, if you're too scared to sleep on your own tonight-”

“Nice try,” you interrupt, chuckling a little at her less than subtle offer.

-

“I wouldn't waste the drugs,” Caliban insists, “Besides, I don't have anything like that, nothing that could cause hallucinations like this. Not on me, at least.” He lapses into silence at this, scowling around the table as if daring someone to disagree with him. After a moment more, the hunter breaks his silence and lets out a low growl. “So now that we're done with the accusations,” he continues, “What's our next move?”

“Haydn, the professor,” you explain, “I want to get an educated opinion on the matter.”

“Oh, aye, right,” Keziah nods quickly, “That reminds me. If you CAN get to see him, I've got some stuff I'd like you to show him. Technical stuff, I'd like to hear his opinion on them.” Everyone turns to stare at her, the sudden burst of enthusiasm taking the table by surprise. “What?” the witch protests, “You dinnae get a chance like this every day of the week, do you? I'm just makin' the most of the situation!”

“You'd better not be chasing after an autograph...” Freddy mutters.

“Excuse me,” Blessings says quietly, clearing his throat, “But I have something to say. I have, ah, I have a theory.” Hesitating here, the boy waits for your encouraging gesture before continuing. “You see, the church teaches that certain acts – especially killing another human – can leave a stain on the spirit,” he offers slowly, “I think that this place is somehow, ah, doing... ah... something.”

“Oh boy...” Caliban groans, “Some theory.”

“Making us relive these acts!” the boy blurts out, “Or something along those lines, at least.”

[1/2]

>>2688727

“I think he's right,” Grace says quietly, her soft voice causing heads to turn her way. She looks pale – ever since she took part in the Rite of Misogi, she's shown no sign of returning to her usual complexion – and haunted, worn thin by a lack of sleep. “Last night, I dreamed about the man I... shot. I dreamed that no matter how many times I pulled the trigger, he kept rising back up again,” she admits, “It was... well, it wasn't pleasant.”

“Gunny?” you ask, “What about you, have you encountered anything unusual?”

“Me, brother? Can't say that I have,” he answers, shaking his head firmly, “But I was busy yesterday, trying to get something out of that statue. Maybe that helped to keep the ghosts at bay.”

“They're not-” Keziah begins, but you cut her off with a curt gesture.

“Have you still got the key?” you ask him, “Remember, I want that statue kept locked up tight.”

“Safe and sound, brother, safe and sound,” Gunny assures you, lighting up a fresh cigarette and taking a grateful draw on it. “Now maybe I'm being uneducated, but there was something I've been thinking about with this old head of mine,” he continues, “I won't say that these ghosts – don't say it, little sister – are a good thing, but have they actually harmed anyone yet? I don't think we should get too carried away just yet, is all I'm saying.”

“There was a shooting last night,” Freddy points out, “But, admittedly, that was very likely someone reacting to a vision. In either case, just because they're yet to commit any real, actual harm, that doesn't mean that they're safe. I want to hear what Haydn has to say before we can decide anything more. Captain, I think I can get us in to see him – let me speak with Marshal Lhaus, and I'll get us permission.”

“Alone?” you reply, a note of warning in your voice, “The last time we spoke, he wasn't exactly helpful...”

“That's because you were there. I think he was trying to put on a front for a... an influential visitor,” Freddy suggests, “He might be more frank if he's speaking to his... to a fellow soldier.” She's careful with her words here, and even more careful with her tone. “Of course, if anyone else has any suggestions I'm willing to hear them,” she adds, gesturing for the others to speak up. “Well then,” the Iraklin concludes, when her offer is met with silence, “Captain, do you have any further orders? Any questions?”

You take a moment to glance around the table, looking at the pale and weary faces around you. Something feels off, but...

>No, no further orders. We'll continue after you've spoken with the marshal
>I've got something to add... (Write in)
>Other

>>2688773
>>I've got something to add... (Write in)
"It doesn't seem to just be killings. I had a vision of one of my memories from childhood last night. Pretty damn vivid too."
>No, no further orders. We'll continue after you've spoken with the marshal
>Something feels off, but...
Worry.jpg but I can't think of anything to check for.

>>2688773
I'll back >>2688796

>>2688773
>>2688796
This

>>2688796
yeah

>>2688773
>>I've got something to add... (Write in)
> "It doesn't seem to just be killings. I had a vision of one of my memories from childhood last night. Pretty damn vivid too."

> Gunny go with her.

We should figure why it hasn't affected him.

Maybe this place was designed to force people to accept their guilt or whatever before getting purified.