>>2796027

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

“Captain, ah, I've been thinking,” Blessings chuckles nervously, “About your story, I mean. About Aunt Miriam. She told me a story of her own, once, about some... well, ah, I suppose you could call it buried treasure. She claimed that she had a little stash of “precious things” buried on the estate, somewhere where she would be able to find them if she ever needed them again. I think...”

“You think that my share of the money from the pearl job might be buried there?” you finish for him, shrugging sluggishly as you look about the Helena's bridge. Maybe it's because the ship herself is out of action for a moment – installing the Megiddo cannon has grounded her for the time being – but you feel especially lazy today. All you've been doing is sitting back and listening to the radio, occasionally talking with whoever wanders your way.

“I think... well, ah, I wouldn't say that I was certain,” the boy offers, “But-”

A snarl of static from the radio cuts him off. Shrugging, you answer the call to find a voice that you've not heard for some time. “Milos, my boy, is that you?” Salazar asks, “I wasn't certain if I should call, but in the end I thought that it was best. A man came to my office today, asking about you. Asking when I last spoke with you, among other things. You don't happen to owe him any money, do you?”

“What did you tell him?” you ask slowly, keeping your voice even and level – revealing nothing, or so you hope.

“That I had not seen you in quite some time. The truth, in other words,” Salazar pauses delicately, “Are you in trouble, my boy? As your lawyer, perhaps we should discuss this in person. I understand these things better than you might think, and the radio is... not suitable for these sorts of discussion. My door is always open to you, so...”

Blessings, you realise, is staring at you. “I need to check some things over,” you tell Salazar, “Just give me some time. If you get another visit from this man, don't tell him that you've spoken with me. Just tell him...”

“That the situation has not changed,” Salazar agrees gently, “I'm no stranger to these sorts of thing... although this feels rather different. I'd be lying, my boy, if I said that I wasn't concerned. Well, don't take that as a complaint – actually, it feels rather nostalgic. Do stay safe, my boy!” Signing off with a chuckle, Salazar leaves you to frown for a while before Blessings awkwardly clears his throat.

“Is he...” the boy asks, “Is he going to be okay, do you think? I don't want, ah... I don't want him to get in trouble because of us.”

He might be an old man, more scholar than soldier, but Salazar isn't some defenceless dotard. Then again, he might not be dealing with some regular thug, so...

[2/3]

>>2796030

Before you have a chance to think more on the issue, Freddy arrives on the bridge. She has a sack under one arm, and a very serious look on her face. “What are you boys up to?” she asks, setting the sack down in an empty chair, “Bad news?”

“When isn't it bad news?” you counter, pausing for a moment before explaining the situation to her. Even as you talk, though, you find yourself wondering if there's any point in getting the full story from Salazar himself – you've heard this before, from Crowe, and you doubt that Salazar has any more to add. Eishin's agent would have been careful not to reveal too much of themselves, you assume.

“I wonder how this man found Sierzac,” Freddy muses, “If they know that Grace is a part of the crew, they might have tracked down her family. They're better informed than I'd thought, though. Maybe they asked an oracle.” She smiles wanly as she says this, but there's no humour in it. “Speaking of family,” she continues, gesturing to the sack, “Keziah suggested that we take this slab down to Nadir so that her mother can examine it. We can take the Eliza, since we're grounded here for the time being.”

You glance around at Blessings, who has lapsed into an uneasy, thoughtful silence. This whole situation seems to have ruined his good cheer, and you can't really blame him for that. Having Eishin breathing down your neck like this is really starting to become a pain in the ass.

Just one more thing for you to deal with, you suppose. With that, it's time to decide your next move.

>You're best off lying low for a while and waiting until the Helena is finished
>You'll take the stone slab down to Maeve and see what she says about it
>Best to visit Salazar and get the full story, just to make sure nothing goes amiss
>Visit the Hawthorn Estate to look for Miriam's buried treasure
>Other

>>2796032
So many options!
>>Visit the Hawthorn Estate to look for Miriam's buried treasure

>>2796032
>>Best to visit Salazar and get the full story, just to make sure nothing goes amiss

Curious about where this leads.

Drumming your fingers on the Helena's controls, you consider your options for a moment more. “Blessings,” you begin, the sound of your voice causing him to flinch a little, “How certain are you about this buried treasure? Do you have an idea of where it might be, or would we need to dig up the entire estate?”

“Ah, um, well... I can't be entirely sure, but I do have an idea,” the boy answers, “On the grounds, we have the remains of a great tree. I think it was struck by lightning at some point, but... well, I think Aunt Miriam might have buried her treasure there. She liked to go out to the tree whenever she was home, you see, and-”

“It's somewhere to start looking, at least,” you decide, reaching for the radio and keying in Salazar's number. He picks up immediately, the usual formalities with his secretary put aside this time. “I'm heading over now,” you tell the old man, cutting past any niceties, “I don't know if there's anything I can do to help, but I want to make sure. Just stay in the office and wait for me. We'll be over soon enough.”

“Very good, my boy,” Salazar agrees, a faint note of relief creeping into his voice, “I'll be happy to catch up with you. It's been too long, hasn't it?”

“Something like that, sure,” you conclude vaguely, hanging up the radio and glancing back to Blessings. “We can stop by the estate on the way home,” you explain, noting his confused look, “Best to get this out of the way first, before Salazar forgets any of the details. Old men, you know...” Smiling to suggest that this is a joke, you feel a faint feeling of unease stirring within you. Maybe it's just Salazar's concern rubbing off on you, but you've got a bad feeling about this.

Best not to leave it too long, perhaps.

-

As Freddy is getting the Eliza ready for flight, Grace wanders down into the cargo hold and studies you for a moment. “Going anywhere nice?” she asks at last, gesturing towards the skiff.

“We're going to speak with your father,” Blessings replies, cutting you off before you can say anything, “Would you like to come along?”

“Oh. Father,” Grace frowns a little, “Yes, I really suppose I ought to join you. Is there room for one more?”

With four seats in the skiff, there's just enough space for her. Shrugging, you nod for her to follow you. She doesn't look particularly enthusiastic about the idea of seeing her father again, but it'll be a nice surprise for Salazar. Hopefully not too nice to distract him from the important matters, but you're not especially worried about that – Salazar could always put business ahead of his personal feelings.

“Well captain,” Freddy murmurs as you slide into the seat next to her, “Looks like we're babysitting today.”

[1/2]

I'm late and not to shadowrun, but wouldn't the people that asked about us be watching Sal because of this exact scenario?

>>2796067

Nobody talks much as Freddy guides the skiff towards Carthul, other than a few bits of banal back and forth. Blessings mentions your plan to visit the estate later, and Grace responds with polite agreement. All very civil and pleasant, really, but it never goes beyond that. For the most part, you fly in an awkward silence. When you land in Salim, Freddy opens a small lockbox and reveals a jumble of miscellaneous tools – including a small pistol.

“You two,” she asks, glancing back at the young pair, “Are you armed?” Blessings touches the revolver holstered at his side – a sight that always looks vaguely comical to you, no matter how hard you try to take him seriously – but Grace simply shakes her head. “Then take this,” Freddy concludes, passing the small automatic over, “Just a precaution.”

So you're not the only one with a bad feeling about this.

“This could be a trap,” Freddy mutters, “Someone visits Sierzac, trusting that he'll ask you to meet him. You arrive, and this spy is lying in wait – to launch an ambush, or just to observe. It's what I might do if I was in their position.”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” you agree, “But we might be able to play that to our advantage. If you hang back and watch my back, you might be able to catch someone in the act. Spy on the spy, in other words. What do you say?”

“I like it,” Freddy replies with a nod, “It might be our chance at getting a lead on these people. Confirmation, at least, of who we're dealing with. Will you be okay on your own?”

“Hey,” you assure her, “Trust me.”

-

Public discretion compels you to keep your weapons concealed as you stroll towards Salazar's office, but you find yourself constantly touching the butt of your revolver as if seeking reassurance. The evening is drawing in and the streets are starting to grow quiet, but you still feel like you're being watched with every step you take. Even when you pause and glance down the gloomy side streets, though, you see nothing out of the ordinary. Trusting Freddy to handle her half of the plan, you force yourself to keep moving.

Arriving at Salazar's office feels like escaping from hostile territory. The lights are bright and the room is warm, with soft furnishings to comfort your unsettled nerves. Salazar himself greets you fondly, clasping your hand in his and shaking it vigorously. “Milos, my boy, I'm glad that you could make it,” he begins, before Grace steps out from behind you, “And Grace – a wonderful surprise!”

“Father,” she replies stiffly, bowing formally, “I don't wish to be impolite, but I think it would be best if we discussed business first. Catching up can come later.”

She's definitely his daughter.

[2/3]

>>2796117
>“Hey,” you assure her, “Trust me.”
inb4 snake eyes on a roll

>>2796117

“I'll cut straight to the heart of the issue,” Salazar begins, pouring out two glasses of mild Carth wine, “Early this morning, a rough young man – certainly not a gentleman – visited the office. He didn't have an appointment, but I had some spare time and... I was curious. He claimed to be representing one of your business partners, Milos, and they were quite concerned about you. According to him, you recently vanished – with, he implied, an item of some value. As you can imagine, they were quite eager to find you again.”

“Describe him,” you reply immediately.

“A Nadir man, although he was trying to blend in – he dressed like an Azimuth man, but his face... I can't say exactly what was wrong with it, but it was a distinctly Nadir face,” Salazar shudders slightly, “After I explained that I hadn't seen you, he left – but not before giving me a threat. He mentioned that he would return the following day, and with friends, to see if I had remembered anything more. Quite uncouth. So, I decided to take steps of my own – I asked my secretary to follow the man, and they traced him to a rather unpleasant hotel on the outskirts of town. He-”

A belch of static from the radio cuts him off. Answering it, Salazar frowns as Freddy barks out at him. “Captain Vaandemere?” she snaps, “There was someone watching the office. A woman. I followed her into a nearby tenement block, then came to call you. I'm at a public radio terminal now. What do you want to do?”

“Hold on a moment,” you order, taking the radio and glancing at Salazar. “If you know where this man is,” you ask, “Why didn't you report him to the authorities? He threatened you, after all.”

“I thought that you might want the chance to speak with him,” Salazar replies blandly, a faint smile finding its way onto his face.

So. One man – perhaps with a group of “friends” - on the edge of town, and a woman in a nearby tenement block. Something of a heavy-handed approach for one old man, but maybe Eishin is getting nervous. You'll get to the bottom of this, though.

>Investigate the male spy's hotel
>Investigate the female spy in the tenement block
>Report the spies to the authorities
>Some other plan... (Write in)
>Other

>>2796148
>Investigate the female spy in the tenement block
She knows we have arrived, while the man does not. We need to silence her immediately.

>Don't bring Blessings or Grace along.

>>2796148
>>Investigate the female spy in the tenement block
Third party maybe?

>>2796148
>Investigate the female spy in the tenement block

>>2796153
No blowing her head off immediately. We need to ask questions. The fact that she is going to a separate tenement instead of just directly going to the other spies makes me think there is more to this than meets the eye.

>>2796171
>No blowing her head off immediately
Not immediately, of course.

>>2796177
And not if she has nothing to do with Eishin.

>>2796185
Any information leak must be stopped, or Eishin will hear about it sooner or later.

>>2796188
Yeah no.

Unless you wanted to go kill everyone we met after we faked our death. Should we kill Mara? Or that Iraklin officer that offered us a job?

>>2796188
Also on that same line of thinking, killing all the other spies would tip off Eishin too.

We need to get them arrested on their own fuck up. Have Carth authorities ambush them when they try to shake down Sal again.

It's simple really – the man doesn't know you're here, the woman does. Both of them might be a problem, but only one of them is an immediate concern. “Freddy, stay there. I'm coming over,” you order, “We need to make sure that she doesn't send word to anyone else.”

“Understood, captain. I'm not far – about two streets away, in the public terminal. I'll wait outside for you,” the Iraklin reports, “Don't be long. It's unlikely, but if she has a radio of her own...”

“I'll be right there,” you conclude, ending the call and turning to the young pair. “Looks like this is your chance to do that catching up,” you tell them, “You're staying here. This might get rough, so you're better off staying here.” Neither of them looks like they're about to object, although Salazar has a curious expression on his face. When you give him a questioning look, he just shrugs.

“Oh, don't mind me,” he sighs, “I'm just trying to figure out what this is all really about... and what you're planning on doing with this woman when you find her.”

Smiling wolfishly, you spread your empty palms in a harmless gesture. “It's just like you said,” you answer, “I want to have a little talk with her, see what she has to say for herself. That's all.”

That's all for starters, at least. Depending on what she tells you...

-

A light rain has started to fall by the time you reach the public terminal. Freddy is already starting to move off as soon as she spots you, and you hurry to catch up with her. When you reach her side, you see her smirking. “Nice costume,” she teases, plucking at the thin prayer shawl you have pulled up over your head like a cloak. Salazar gave it to you, a flimsy nod towards a disguise. At the very least, it somewhat hides your face.

“Yeah, it's great,” you shoot back, “Not as good as those barbarian rags you wore, though.”

“I had almost forgotten those,” the Iraklin mutters, shaking her head before nodding up at a looming building. It's old, but then most things in Salim are, and unremarkable enough that you wouldn't give it a second glance if not for this situation. A good place to hide out, in other words. “She had a key, and she looked like she knew the area well,” Freddy reports in a low voice, the brief moment of frivolity forgotten and replaced by a hard professionalism, “If I had to guess, though, I wouldn't say that she lives here. Call it a hunch.”

“A borrowed apartment, maybe,” you think aloud, “Eishin's summer home?”

“This is getting too damn strange for me,” Freddy grunts, popping upon the clasp of her holster, “Let's just get this over with. We're looking for the eighth floor. You don't mind climbing a few stairs, do you?”

Groaning, you glance back towards Salazar's office. Maybe it's not too late to change your mind about this...

[1/2]

>>2796209

“Questions first,” you tell Freddy as you arrive at the eighth floor, trying not to show how out of breath you are, “Shooting later.”

“Of course,” Freddy agrees, her breathing still even and calm, “Do you need a few moments?”

Grunting a curse, you shake your head and flap an irritated hand at the hallway. “You followed her all the way up here, right?” you ask, lowering your voice to a whisper, “Which door?” Moving past you, Freddy stalks over to the right door and pauses. You hesitate as well, your plan suddenly coming to an end. Kicking the door in seems like it might attract a little too much attention. So, feeling vaguely foolish, you reach out and knock on the door. After a few moments, you hear the lock being opened. It opens a crack, and then you see an eye peering through. The eye widens as the owner realises who they're looking at, but you don't give them time to react.

Shoving the door firmly open, you take one firm step inside the apartment and press the barrel of your revolver against her forehead. The woman doesn't scream of cry out, simply backing away into the apartment as you follow her, with Freddy quietly closing the door behind her. A rich smell of incense hangs over the room, several sticks of the stuff smouldering on a modest shrine. Beneath the perfumed smell, though, there's something else, something you can't quite isolate...

“You,” the woman croaks at last, her eyes narrowing to vicious slits. She's unlovely to look at, with a vaguely squashed looking face and a contemptuous twist to her lips. Saying nothing more, she slumps down onto a battered chair and glares at you. “You're alive,” she adds, “He knew you couldn't have been dead. He said.”

“Eishin, you mean?” you ask casually, sitting down opposite her. You keep the revolver pointed at her, although she barely seems to notice the gun.

“King Eishin,” she corrects you, “Rightful king of Nadir.”

Well, that answers that question. As the woman lapses into a sullen silence, you take a brief look around the apartment. It's pretty messy, as if it hadn't been tidied in quite some time, but most of it seems normal. The only thing that doesn't fit is the Imago device propped up by the window, carefully set up to take pictures of anyone entering Salazar's office. A few slides have been left on a nearby table, and you nod for Freddy to check them over. “Tell me,” you ask, “What's your name?”

This question takes her by surprise, and she actually has to think for a few seconds. “Imelda,” she offers eventually, sounding faintly unsure about it. A Carth name, you note, and probably fake.

“Well then, Imelda,” you continue, “Why don't you start from the beginning?”

[2/3]

>>2796264

“King Eishin knows of you, Milos Vaandemere,” Imelda begins, her voice rising and falling strangely as she pronounces your name, “He knows of your quest, and he wishes to see it succeed. You share the same enemy, you see – the tyrant that men know as the Lord of Rising Light.”

“I've got something here,” Freddy reports, holding up a sheaf of papers, “Information on all of us. You, me, Grace – it has her father's details listed – and all the others. That's not all. Look at this.” She throws the folder down onto the table so you can look at it, and your eye is immediately drawn to the Iraklin insignia stamped on it. A copy of your file, from the Bureau of Military Intelligence itself. “Stolen,” Freddy adds, uncertainty creeping into her voice, “I can't imagine how else they could have...”

“You,” you tell Imelda, “How did you get these?”

“I was given them,” she answers flatly, “King Eishin himself put them in my hand.”

Not exactly a helpful answer. Freddy asks the next question. “You're not working alone, are you?” she asks the Nadir woman, “Are you expecting company? Is that why you're stalling us?”

“I am alone,” Imelda states, “I have no wish to stall you. I am not your enemy, Milos Vaandemere. We can... cooperate.” This last word, she pronounces with relish. The way she says it, you can't help but picture an inhuman tongue running across jagged fangs. She might look normal enough, if a little ugly, but you feel a growing sense of... disgust towards the woman. From the squalor of the apartment to the cloying scent of incense, you feel bile rising up in your throat.

“Talk, Milos Vaandemere,” she continues, “You have been told many things about King Eishin, but you listen only to his enemies. I will bring word of your survival to the king, and he will be happy to meet you in person. Meet with him, Milos Vaandemere, and he will show you the truth. No harm will come to you, I promise you. Now... will you let me leave this place?”

>Allow Imelda to return to Eishin's side
>Silence Imelda now. She can't be allowed to escape
>Ask a question... (Write in)
>Other

>>2796336
>>Ask a question... (Write in)
Who is the group that shook down Sal?

>>2796336
>Silence Imelda now. She can't be allowed to escape
I was gonna just tie her up and leave her there until someone notices(or i dunno, make some elaborate rope fire that sets her free after the rope burns enough), but...

Nobody needed to tell us anything about the daemon ships. There is no fucking thing that needs to be said.

>>2796336
>Ask a question..
Why does Eishin think the Lord of Rising Light is our enemy?
Why is the Lord of Rising Light Eishin's enemy?
What was the point of the demon ships?
Does Eishin work with Iraklins?

>>2796336
>>Ask a question... (Write in)
Have you seen Iraklins meet with Eishin? How did he get that file?

Why do you think I have a problem with the Lord of the Rising Light?

>>2796336
>>Allow Imelda to return to Eishin's side
Either way he is going to know. At least this way it can open a few more doors.

>>2796343
I agree he is a cunt, but making him believe we have common ground could help in the future to pull something on him.

>>2796398
The first thing he'll do is stick his unkillable goon onto our ship to watch us. Like hell we'll pull off anything.

>>2796410
I'm just saying we'll more maneuverability than we would killing her and basically declaring war.

>>2796418
>we'll more
we'll have more*

>>2796418
This is if he even knows what happened to her.
We can so easily drop the body into ocean it's ridiculous.

That's a difficult question to answer. So, you avoid it entirely. “You seem very sure of your facts,” you muse, “About me. Why are you so certain that the Lord of Rising Light is my enemy?”

“You seek to undo his work, do you not?” Imelda tilts her head to the side, confusion flitting across her features, “You are gathering the holy relics that he scattered across the lands, uniting them after he divided them. Why would you do this if you were not his enemy?”

This, you almost answer aloud – then you realise that she's fishing for answers just as much as you are. What would Eishin say, you wonder to yourself, if he found out that you were just in this for the money and the sense of adventure? It's almost enough for you to want a face to face meeting... almost. “Okay, forget that,” you continue, “So why is the Lord of Rising Light Eishin's enemy? The same reason?”

This time, Imelda is the one to act coy. “King Eishin acts in opposition to what men have named the Lord of Rising Light,” she answers carefully, “That is all. You may as well ask why north opposes south.”

Considering her words for a moment, you find yourself realising something. She's not trying to squirm out of awkward questions, she simply doesn't understand them. The more you talk with her, the more you feel a gulf of understanding opening up between the two of you. “The daemon ships Eishin built,” you ask, “What was the point of them? Why bother?”

Again, a look of confusion and uncertainty. “Pressure,” Imelda offers after a pause, “To remind the men of these upper lands that they are not beyond his reach. Too often, the men of Iraklis have written King Eishin off as impotent. This displeased him, as it would displease anyone. He wished to make a point.”

“And now that he's made his point, is he... working with the Iraklins?” you suggest, “He has one of their files, after all. How did it find its way into his possession, if not for theft or cooperation?” Freddy utters a soft grunt of disgust as you ask this, turning away from the window and moving behind Imelda. You see a faint glint of metal in her hand – her baton, concealed for now but ready to strike.

Slowly, Imelda smiles. “Not everyone considers King Eishin to be their enemy,” she purrs, smug satisfaction returning to her face, “Yes, perhaps a “friend” of his delivered this file to him. You see now, how far his reach extends?”

“This is bullshit!” Freddy hisses, “An Iraklin wouldn't betray their nation for a degenerate like Eishin!” She draws her hand back to strike the woman, only for you to curtly gesture for her to stop. Slowly, Freddy lowers her hand and turns away. Imelda just lets out an odd, lilting laugh before turning her eyes back to you.

Hateful eyes, those.

[1/2]

>>2796423
Imagine your Eishin and you're sending daemons and agents everywhere to find Milos.

Nothing happens for weeks but the one you sent to Salazar disappeared. That's a bit so you press the Salazar angle even harder.

He is going to find out regardless. We shouldn't have come here if we wanted to stay incognito

>>2796433
He can press the Salazar angle all he wants. We simply won't go there anymore.

>>2796452
RIP Sal then. The authorities might be able to protect him but not all the time.

>>2796454
Then we'll have to cart him around on the Helena for a time.

>>2796430

Scoffing to herself, Freddy turns away and slips out of the main room, moving to search the rest of the apartment – and to be away from Imelda, you suspect.

“You've got other people here. One of them met with an acquaintance of mine and made some rather uncouth threats,” you remark, “Who are they? Are they more of Eishin's “friends”, more people like you?”

Imelda giggles again. “Yes, that's it,” she agrees eagerly, “Very much like me, in fact.” Before you can try to figure out exactly what that's supposed to mean, the strange woman sobers up and fixes you with a mocking stare. “He'll know,” she warns you, “Kill me, and King Eishin will realise that you're alive. No matter where I go, he knows where I am – he knows if I live or die, he knows if I run from my mission. You see? There is nowhere where my king cannot reach.”

She has a point, as much as you hate to admit it. Maybe Eishin wouldn't be able to prove it was you if his agent here vanished here, but perhaps he's not the kind of man to care about proof or evidence. What really catches your attention, though, is the madness of her later words. Eishin would be able to track her anywhere she goes? You've heard something like that before, you're sure, but your thoughts remain hazy. These damn incense fumes are starting to give you a headache.

“Say that I do kill you,” you suggest, gesturing towards Imelda with your revolver, “What would Eishin do? If I'm correct about this, he doesn't want me dead – in fact, he wants the exact opposite. So if I put a bullet in your head, right here and right now, what could he do to me?”

“Nothing... for now,” Imelda admits, accepting your threat without fear, “But there will come a day, Milos Vaandemere, when you will outlive your usefulness. When that day comes, would it not be better to have the king as a friend?”

No matter how you look at it, you've been backed into a corner – you walked right into this trap, and it's hard to see any clean way out of it.

But still, you have to do something...

>Kill Imelda
>Let Imelda live
>Something else... (Write in)
>Other

>>2796499
>Let Imelda live
"Tell the King that I'm willing to entertain this offer of friendship, but any attempt to interfere with my quest or to go near my associates or their families will be considered a hostile action and will not be tolerated. He wants my quest to succeed? Leave me and mine alone. I'll meet with him when I'm good and ready."

>>2796499
>>Something else... (Write in)
Take her to kez to find and neutralize the binding.

>>2796515
Even if we somehow neutralize it he still is going to investigate a missing agent.

>>2796499
>Make it seem like Imelda has been betrayed and captured by the Iraklins
By taking her to an Iraklin base on the skiff then offing her.

>>2796515
>>2796499
At the very least we can figure out what kind of hold he has on his agents which will be valuable information.

Otherwise
>>2796514
This

>>2796499
Let Imelda live

>I'm going to close the vote here. I'm sorry for the delays today, I'm still feeling a little out of practice

Letting out a slow sigh, you let the muzzle of your revolver drift away from Imelda as you reach an unpleasant conclusion. There's just no good way out of this. “I'm going to let you live,” you tell Imelda bluntly, “Tell your king that I'm willing to entertain this offer of friendship – but if he tries to get in my way, or to interfere with any of my associates, then I won't take it lying down. If he really wants me to succeed, he can leave me the hell alone.”

“Acceptable,” Imelda replies, the answer coming almost immediately, “Your conditions will be accepted. When you meet with King Eishin-”

“I'm not meeting with Eishin until I'm good and ready,” you interrupt, “And there's one last condition.”

-

“Explain this to me again,” Freddy mutters, glancing back at the hooded prisoner in the back of your skiff, “Why are we bringing her back to the ship?”

“I want to understand what kind of hold Eishin has over her,” you reply quietly, “She's under some kind of compulsion, I can tell that. I don't think she's a daemon, so I want to know just what she is. If Eishin has some kind of... I don't know, some kind of enchantment on her, we might be able to find a counter to it.”

“To help her?” the Iraklin asks, scepticism in her voice.

“To stop it happening to us,” you correct her, “Like I said, I don't know exactly what's going on here, but I don't want to take any chances.”

Shrugging, Freddy turns back to the controls and focuses on flying. You left Grace and Blessings back at Salazar's office while you deal with this little errand, so at least they'll be spared Imelda's unpleasant company. Drifting out from beneath the pillowcase covering her head – a faint nod towards discretion – you occasionally hear a muffled giggle. Every time she laughs, Freddy's expression tightens a little. She'd be perfectly happy to drop Imelda out of the skiff, you suspect, sending her back down to Nadir the quick way.

-

In the Helena's engine room, you finally pull the pillowcase from Imelda's head and allow Keziah to take a good look at her. Keziah's face is still smudged with oil and grime, but her eyes are bright with restless energy. Now that you think about it, you can't remember when she last slept at all.

“Aye, so you just want me to give her a wee look over. I can do that,” Keziah agrees, turning to Imelda and giving her a probing look, “Now dinnae worry, this willnae hurt a bit!”

“Why do you talk like that?” Imelda asks, tilting her head to the side, “You sound ridiculous.”

“Scratch that,” Keziah mutters, “It might hurt a BIT.”

[1/2]

>>2796499
>>2796571
Nooo!

I wanted to vote to get her to ask if Eishin could have his Iraklin "friend" help us get that one piece from the Iraklins.

We can always turn the traitor over afterwards.

>>2796599

Freddy lingers in the background, blocking the doorway and keeping her pistol trained on Imelda as Keziah goes about her business. The witch frowns as she daubs small smears of oil on your captive, drawing crude symbols onto Imelda's face. When the last marking is finished, Keziah carefully places her hand over the other woman's face, touching each of the symbols with a fingertip as she murmurs something under her breath. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as a phantom wind begins to stir, rustling the papers that litter the engine room.

Then, with a thin cry, Keziah lurches back as Imelda drops to the ground. A shudder runs through the captive's body, some kind of fit or convulsion. Freddy runs in to grab the fallen woman, hauling her up to reveal...

To reveal the face of a man, the flesh flowing like molten tallow. A man one minute and a woman the next, the nose flattening and deforming before shaping itself into a bestial snout, eyes dividing and multiplying as they crawl across the creature's face. The smears of oil are twisted out of shape as the flesh beneath them warps, dark stains forming new symbols altogether. The only thing that remains constant is the dull black stone that sometimes peeks out from within the flowing flesh.

“Oh gods!” Keziah wails, “Changeling! It's a changeling!”

A hideous, watery laugh bubbles up from within Imelda's flowing form as it rises up and slowly regains a solid shape. This time, it bears the face of a man – the “distinctly Nadir man” that Salazar spoke with, you suspect. She... he... it turns to look at you, lips twisted into a sneer. “Does that satisfy you, Milos Vaandemere?” it asks, “You know now - the agents of King Eishin can be anywhere, anyone. We claim our faces and cast them aside as is needed, as our ruler commands.”

“Gods...” Keziah repeats, breathing the word. You're all tense, waiting for the changeling to attack, but it shows no sign of aggression.

“Now I wish to return to my mother soil,” it concludes, “I must bring the news to my king.” Turning away, the changeling gently pushes past Freddy and strides out of the engine room. The Iraklin makes a half-hearted attempt at raising her pistol, but gives up before long.

“Well,” you mutter to yourself after a long pause, “I guess that explains that.”

>I'm going to close things here for today. I'll try and continue this tomorrow, but things aren't totally certain yet
>Thank you for your patience today!

>>2796665
Thanks for running!

So there isn't a gang of dudes ready to shake down Salazar? It was just this guy threatening him?

>>2796665
Thanks for running!

Couldn't make it today, phone IP was banned and I was at work :(

>>2796665
Well. Time to figure out how to prevent changelings from infiltrating our crew!

>>2796677
Correct, that was pretty much a bluff.
Although they might not have needed many friends to rough Salazar up

>>2796665
Thanks for running!

Though I must ask, if the only way to avoid detection was to vote against visiting Salazar, was it really proper to call the vote after only two votes which were a tie to boot?

>>2797835
Gotta be there for your friends, dudearino.

Personally I think we should have kidnapped the Changeling and taken it out to sea, past where the living part of the world exists.

It would be interesting to see how that affected it.

>>2797835
I would have voted for that too if I could have.

>>2798286
You shouldn't brag about such things.

>>2798286
Well, retcons don't happen so fuck it.

Now, I'm not saying that we're on a railroad, but Eishin IS a Witch King so that did mean he could have pursued investigations with his, you know, kingdom worth of normal spies and connections too.

But yeah OFC it was a changeling.

He's surprisingly competent like that, which means we have to start being thorough in our planning of we are to go against him.

For those that don't have Twitter there is no session today.

I hope everything's going fine over there, Moloch. Don't burn yourself.

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

83 KB JPG

Changelings, shapeshifters, spiders of the soil... quite frankly, it doesn't matter what you call them, you hate them all the same. It's an instinctual hatred, the loathing a man possess for that which tries – and ultimately fails – to copy his form. They're revolting things, and it comes as little surprise that Eishin would make use of them. After all, you've seen Segharl using one of them before, why should his master be any different?

“It must have been a bluff,” you mutter, your voice barely rising above the sound of the Eliza's engines, “There's no way that Eishin could have those things everywhere. They'd be discovered.” Shuddering a little, you glance around at the pilot. “I mean, those things can't keep up the act for long. They might look human, but they can't really act human,” you continue, “Sooner of later, they'd slip up and reveal themselves.”

Freddy grunts something indistinct and shrugs. “Maybe,” she replies eventually, “But maybe not. Maybe Eishin is just better at this than we are.” Lapsing into a silence, she guides the Eliza underneath the bulk of a sluggish cargo ship. “What I mean is, we're doing this for... what? Money and adventure? I get the impression that Eishin is taking this far more seriously than we are – he's making plans, contingencies, he's thinking like a general. We might as well be making this up as we go along,” she continues, “Is it really that surprising that we ended up playing into his hands?”

There's no easy answer to that, is there?

-

“Milos, my boy, I was starting to feel worried about you!” Salazar declares, greeting you with a firm handshake, “I assume that everything is...”

“Dealt with,” you finish for him, quietly hoping that he'll accept your story on face value. For a moment it seems like he's about to press for the full details, but then he nods gregariously. Gesturing for you to follow him, Salazar stands aside and shows you into his office. Blessings is slumped, sleeping, in the plush chair behind Salazar's desk while Grace reads – or at least pretends to read – by the far wall. “This looks like a cosy scene,” you remark, spotting the open bottle of wine on his desk, “I thought you were supposed to be responsible.”

“Oh, there's nothing wrong with giving the young ones a cup of wine,” Salazar laughs, taking out another pair of cups and pouring wine for you and Freddy, “In fact, I was hoping it might loosen their tongues a little – have you sworn them to secrecy, Milos?”

“Just a sensible degree of caution,” Freddy counters, pushing her wine away from her, “Or are you telling us that you share all of your secrets with any strangers willing to listen?”

“Very good, very good,” Salazar chuckles, giving you an aside look, “I like this one.”

[1/2]

>>2801769

Glancing across at the ticking clock hanging from the wall, you see that the hour has grown late – it's just a little short of midnight. Noticing your look, Salazar gestures to a low couch. “Should you wish it, you could sleep here,” he suggests, “I've done it often enough myself, when going home didn't seem worthwhile. Stay here with my blessing – I have some business of my own to attend to.”

“What business?” you ask, belatedly realising how suspicious that question sounded, “I mean, is it anything you need help with?”

“No, nothing of the sort. I simply arranged to meet a contact of mine – a friend in the security forces – to get his opinion on some things,” Salazar shakes his head, “I was wondering if anyone else had been approached by these uncouth strangers. Perhaps not, but once my curiosity has been roused it's not easy to put it back to sleep. Even if there's nothing to learn... well, there's no harm in meeting a friend for tea, is there?”

“Try and keep our names out of it,” Freddy warns, turning to you, “Captain, I'd like to check out the hotel, just to see if our “friend” left anything behind. I can investigate it on my own, if you had some other plans. I don't know if...”

“Oh no, you'd be welcome to join me,” Salazar assures you, “But it might be boring, taking tea with a pair of old men. You might end up getting a rest either way, especially if our conversation puts you to sleep!”

A rest sounds nice – not because you're tired, but because it would help put this whole mess behind you. On the other hand...

>Rest up now, so you're ready to leave in the morning
>Accompany Salazar to his meeting
>Investigate the changeling's hotel with Freddy
>Other

>>2801772
>>Rest up now, so you're ready to leave in the morning

>>2801772
>Investigate the changeling's hotel with Freddy
Maybe it left something useful.

>>2801772
>Investigate the changeling's hotel with Freddy

>>2801772
>Investigate the changeling's hotel with Freddy
this is daemon stuff, and Freddy doesn't have anti-daemon boolet

“No, I'll check out the hotel with you,” you tell Freddy, “It'll be a quicker job with two pairs of eyes working on it.” Suddenly remembering something, you turn around to Grace and give her a smile of greeting. She nods coolly at you before returning her gaze to her book, only the stiffness in her shoulders revealing how tense she is. Her gloved hands, you realise, she's probably been fretting about Salazar mentioning them. “Think you can wait a little longer before heading back?” you ask her, “You could come with us if you prefer.”

“Oh no, I think it's best if someone keeps an eye on things here,” she replies demurely, “Besides, I'd like to finish this book. It's quite interesting.”

Trading a shrug with Freddy, you get the address from Salazar and head out.

-

The rain has grown heavier now, battering down at you from a grim sky. Letting it wash across your face and hair, you work your way through the streets of Salim. Neither you nor Freddy says a thing until you get close to the address Salazar gave you. This is the rough end of town, the buildings you pass all crying out for renovation – or to be torn down completely. Some of the buildings bear signs that promise new funds, provided by the church, to bring them back up to standard. Judging by how old some of the signs are, the funds never arrived.

Arriving at the hotel, you approach the clerk and ask about any unusual guests – Nadir types, or anyone who just didn't belong. Before you've got halfway through your explanation, the clerk cuts you off. “Aye, I know the man you're talking about. He paid in advance and never made any trouble, so we couldn't exactly turn him away, but I hated having him here. Seems like he always had some guest or another coming and going, although he said he was staying alone. Gave me the creeps, he did,” the clerk shudders, “Something about the way he looked at me. Hungry eyes, I reckon you'd say. You're looking for him?”

“We've found him,” you assure the man, “We're just here to search his room. You know how it is.”

You hope he does, because you're not sure what to tell him if he asked. Fortunately, the clerk nods sagely. “Aye, I know. Here, I gave him the room furthest out, away from everyone else. Didn't want him mixing with the rest of the guests – some of them, they wouldn't like the way he stared. Last thing I wanted in here was a brawl,” digging out a key, the clerk tosses it across to you. “Now, if you should find anything valuable left in his room, then...” he pauses, biting his lip for a moment, “Well, then I'd best keep hold of it. In case he comes back for it, see?”

“Of course,” you assure him, as Freddy stifles a snort of curt laughter.

[1/2]

>>2801794

The changeling's room is small and cluttered, the bed unmade and the furnishings left in disarray. Then again, perhaps they were already in disarray when it arrived here – this place hardly looks like cleanliness is a high priority. Two large trunks occupy much of the floor, and you waste little time in digging into them. As you rummage through a chaotic assortment of clothes – everything from a fine, if crumbled, gown to a frayed Iraklin uniform.

“An outfit for every shape,” you remark, holding a rough wool shirt up to your nose and sniffing it. It has a strange smell about it – a damp smell, like a forest after heavy rain. “Imela was burning incense in her home,” you comment, “Do you think that changelings just... smell like this?”

“How should I know?” Freddy counters, not looking up from the trunk she rifles through, “Just clothes in here, no weapons or tools. Nothing that particularly links it with Nadir either. Whoever packed this chest was smart.”

Dropping the shirt, you rise to your feet and pace the length of the room in frustration as Freddy finishes off searching the luggage. Floorboards creak under your heavy boots, but one area in particular stands out. Stooping down, you work your fingers under the loose plank and lift it up to reveal a small hollow beneath. Inside, a small wooden tube awaits.

“Looks like a scroll case,” Freddy mutters as you lift the tube out, “Hell, I would have missed that. Looks like those heavy boots of yours came in handy.”

“What about the person wearing them, huh?” you reply as you open the case and tip out the papers within. Disappointment rises up within you as you realise that it's just another copy of your file. Old news... except for the handwritten annotations in one corner. Three names are listed, along with an order: Milos Vaandemere, identify and observe; Salazar Sierzac, interrogate; Esmeralda Dubois, eliminate.

“Esmeralda Dubois,” you read aloud, “Whoever she is, Eishin wanted her dead. You recognise the name?”

“Not even slightly,” Freddy tells you, “But this means she's in danger – if she isn't dead already. Come on, let's head back and share this with the others. If this Dubois woman is a scholar of some kind, Grace might recognise the name. Failing that, we could always check with the authorities... although I don't know how much help they'd be. If we were in Iraklis, we might be able to check her file, but considering the state of Carth paperwork...”

Smirking at the unconscious disdain in her voice, you rise to leave the hotel room.

>Head back to Salazar's office and share what you've learned
>Check Dubois' name with the local authorities
>Ask the hotel clerk some questions... (Write in)
>Other

>>2801831
>Head back to Salazar's office and share what you've learned

Can't really argue with that plan.

>>2801831
>Head back to Salazar's office and share what you've learned
checking with the locals sounds downright crazy unless we're acting as bait for something.

>>2801831
>Head back to Salazar's office and share what you've learned

“Let's just head back. We can figure things out as we go,” you reply, gesturing for Freddy to follow you, “For all we know, this Dubois woman isn't in any danger now that the changeling is gone. Any immediate danger, at least. Still, I wish we had something more to go on. Just a name isn't going to get us very far...”

Shrugging silently, Freddy joins you as you leave the dismal hotel behind you.

-

“Esmeralda Dubois...” Grace murmurs to herself, pressing the tips of her fingers to her temples as she thinks,. She seems a little calmer now that her father is absent, a little more willing to drop her mask of cold composure. More and more, you find yourself wondering if they've always been like this with each other. A question for another time, perhaps. “I think I've heard the name before, yes,” she offers at last, “But not in any significant way. Her name was listed along with several other linguists in one of my books. So, I suppose that's what she was. Is. A linguist of some kind.”

“Eishin has shown an interest in scholars before,” Freddy points out, “Hasn't he?”

“Capturing them, though,” you counter, “Not killing them. At least, not killing them straight away.” Sitting down with a heavy sigh, you shake rain out of your hair and think for a moment. “So you think she might have written a book or something?” you ask Grace, “That might tell us more about her.”

“No, I don't think so. If she had written something, I imagine that I would have read it,” Grace frowns, her lips silently moving as she considers a new idea. “Linguists often dabble in folklore,” she offers, “Could it be that Dubois discovered something that Eishin didn't want anyone knowing?”

“At the moment, it could be anything,” you grunt, reaching across to the bottle of wine and taking a deep swig, “Let's sleep on it. We can think more about it in the morning.”

-

A delicate, ticklish feeling stirs you from a murky, dreamless sleep. Blinking yourself awake, you feel a small hand pressing down over your mouth. Grace leans over you, her features pinched with a deadly serious look. When she can be certain that you're not about to blurt anything aloud, she removes her hand. “I'm sorry, captain, but I didn't want to wake the others,” she whispers, nodding at Freddy and Blessings, “I wanted to talk to you in private.”

There has to be an easier way of doing that, you think to yourself as you glance across at the clock. The small hours of the morning – in other words, your least favourite time to wake up. Stifling a groan, you sit up from the low couch and meet Grace's eyes. “Go on,” you murmur, “What is it?”

“Miriam's journal. I found something in it,” she explains, biting her lip a little, “Actually, I found it some time ago. I couldn't decide what to do... until now.”

[1/2]

>>2801882
>“Miriam's journal. I found something in it,” she explains, biting her lip a little, “Actually, I found it some time ago. I couldn't decide what to do... until now.”
it was her weird sex things, wasn't it?

>>2801882

“I'll be blunt,” Grace continues, “Very little of what I've been able to translate has any practical use. Most of it is just history, and possibly a version of history that has been heavily mixed with myth. However, there was one section that I found somewhat... disturbing. It mentioned... I believe you call him Feanor? It didn't mention him by name, but it was referring to the thief whose path we now follow. For his crimes against the gods, the thief was condemned to an endless punishment.”

“That does sound bad,” you agree, “And rather vague. Is that all?”

“No. That wasn't all. The passage also noted that others would attempt to follow in Feanor's footsteps – and they too would be condemned to share his fate,” Grace closes her eyes for a moment, before opening them and looking cautiously at you, “According to this, we have already committed a grave sin. We committed it long ago, the moment we started out on this quest. That, captain, is what I found. I thought it might harm morale if it got out, but... it didn't feel right, keeping it from you.”

Well. In some ways, you've already accepted what she's telling you. You ARE committing some taboo act, defying the gods for your own selfish reasons. Maybe this is because you've never been much of a churchman, but the idea that you've stained your soul beyond redemption... it hardly seems to matter much. You've come too far to turn back now.

“I see,” Grace whispers, your expression telling her everything she needs to hear, “If I may be so bold, captain, I suggest that we keep this between us. It may just be a warning, an attempt at scaring away anyone who might think of breaking the taboo. Either way, it seems that it's too late for us to change anything. Well... I'm sorry for waking you, captain, but this seemed like an apt time to tell you. I, um... Yes, that's all.”

Nodding decisively to herself, the girl rises to her feet and smooths out her clothes, turning to leave you be. Then she pauses, lingering a moment as if there was something on her mind. Shaking her head, Grace retreats to her side of the room and lies down on a patch of floor, resting her head on a small pillow. Almost immediately, she's asleep.

It takes you far longer to fall asleep. By the time you start feeling drowsy, the first rays of the morning sun are creeping through the office windows. Not long after that, you hear Freddy rising and starting her morning exercises.

It's going to be one of those days.

>I apologise for this, but I need to take a pause here while I run an errand. Next post should be up within the hour, I hope.

>>2801982
Poor Grace. Milos might have walked into this on his own, but Grace was just along for the ride. And now she's supposedly has irrevocably tainted her soul, and definitely irrevocably tainted her body, for no reason than being in the wrong place with the wrong people.

>>2801982
Lines up with what the changling was saying about us being an enemy of the Lord of the Rising Light and that the god allegedly split the fragments up to begin with.

>>2801982

Grace's words stick with you during the short hop across to the Hawthorn Estate. Salazar had been coy about whatever his contact had told him, beyond assuring you that the information hadn't been relevant to the matter at hand. Dubois' name hadn't meant anything to him either, leaving you with nothing more to go on. So, you said your goodbyes and left, to dwell on what Grace warned you about.

Memories of Firebase Alpha come back to you. There, Blessings had been spared the illusions and nightmares of his sins made manifest, but he had still felt great pain when exposed to the Pleonite core. Had that pain been an early sign?

Maybe. Or maybe not. It wouldn't change anything either way.

-

Penelope Hawthorn was far more accommodating than you had been expecting, listening to your request and granting permission without a second thought. Largely, you suspect, because Blessings had been the one asking. If anyone else had come in with the idea to dig up her garden, they would rather rapidly have been shown the door. Borrowing a pair of shovels from the groundskeeper's shed, you and Freddy trek across the large estate as Blessings roams off ahead, looking for the shattered remains of the lightning-struck tree.

“I've found it!” the boy announces, rushing back to you. Panting a little, he beams up at you with a proud smile. “It's not far,” he adds, “So, captain? What, ah, what do you think of the estate?”

“Not a bad little place,” you remark, “It would be nice to go riding here. Have you ever done that?”

“No, ah, we never had horses. Mother never cared for them,” a vaguely puzzled look crosses Blessings' face as he thinks back, “I did see Aunt Miriam carrying a riding crop once, now that I think about it, but she never explained why she had it.”

Freddy coughs loudly, covering up what you suspect to be a burst of incredulous laughter.

-

Once, this would have been a truly vast tree. Now, all that remains is a jagged stump nearly as tall as you are and a twisted forest of roots. Peering into the hollow beneath them, you spot a patch of soft, loamy soil. Definitely a good place to bury something, although it doesn't leave you with much room to use a shovel. Setting the tools aside, you kneel down and begin to brush at the dirt with your bare hands. Before you can really dig in, Blessings clears his throat.

“This, ah, this might not be the time for this...” he begins, “But ever since you told us that story, I've been wondering. What would you do if, ah... if you saw her again?”

Pausing, you look up from the soil. He's not talking about Miriam, you realise, he's talking about Shea. It's not a question you ever expected to answer when you woke up this morning - just what would you do if you met her again?

>You would... (Write in)

>>2802060
>Nothing, probably.
At this point, we've also done some fucked up shit to get ahead in life. We won't tell this to Blessings though.

>>2802060
>You would... (Write in)
"Get a beer and catch up. She's a bitch sure, but I can't say I'm not a little curious on how she did over the years. Beyond that though, nothing. She's one to keep at arm's length as my story probably told you."

>>2802060
>Ten years is a long time. I'd catch up with her, see if she has changed at all.

>>2802060
>I wouldn't trust her an inch
>But it wouldn't be bad to catch up

File: Spoiler Image (252 KB, 768x1024)

252 KB JPG

You don't answer straight away, instead focusing on scraping at the bare soil. “Miriam couldn't have buried this very deep,” you mutter to yourself, “Or she would have needed to dig for hours whenever she wanted to check her stash. Miriam wasn't the type to work hard if she could help it, so...”

“Ah...” Blessings reaches out to weakly touch your shoulder, “Captain?”

“I don't know!” you snap, looking up at him, “I... it's been ten years. I've changed, and I'm sure she's changed as well. I don't know what I'd do if I saw her again. I suppose... I'd have to think about catching up, maybe ask her what kind of trouble she's been getting up to.” Forcing a smile to soften your words, you shift your position and look Blessings in the eye. “Ten years is a long time. For all I know, she's completely turned her life around since then,” you continue, “It might be nice to get a drink and talk, but that's it. I wouldn't trust her with my wallet, and I sure as hell wouldn't offer her a place on the crew if that's what you're wondering.”

“Oh, I... I see,” the boy nods slowly, “I can understand that, I think.”

“We'd get a drink, talk a little, then go our separate ways – never to see each other again, probably,” you conclude, “Nothing more than that.” Nodding firmly, you turn back to digging at the soil. There's not much room to work here, and so Freddy soon takes Grace outside to give you more room – and, perhaps, to discuss whatever it is that the fairer sex discuss when men aren't present.

“Obviously, I never knew her like you did. Ah, that is, if you ever really knew her at all, but... what I mean is...” Blessings stammers, “I don't think she was... a bad person. Not really. From what you told me, she had a hard upbringing.”

An upbringing that left her so twisted that there was no chance of her leading an honest life. “Maybe,” you grunt, leaving it at that.

“I mean, I don't think I could ever really understand what she went through,” the boy continues, “If I met her, I think I'd tell her-”

“Got you!” you interrupt, brushing aside one last layer of soil and spotting the dull gleam of brass. Leaving Blessings to stumbled over the rest of his words, you dig your fingers into the dirt and lever out the box. It's not a small thing, with a weight to match. Blowing off a few clods of dirt, you run your fingers along the brass lock fixed to the front and whisper a curse.

“Mother might have the key for that,” Blessings remarks as you draw your knife and slide the blade under the box's lid, “Aunt Miriam might have left it somewhere and... oh.”

The box pops upon with a clunk as you lean on the knife. Looking inside, you see... nothing. Nothing save for a note. Slowly taking it out, you unfold it and read it over. Then you read it over again, feeling a bilious anger bubbling up from within you.

Miriam bloody Hawthorn.

[1/2]

>>2802138
This was her way of inviting Milos to her home to whatever that might entail and he blew it by taking too long (and having his ship blown up)

>>2802138
You know, I've been regretting less and less acquiring her ship they way we did.

>>2802138
What a reprehensible person.
We'll need to morally corrupt Blessings as a revenge.

>>2802182
Too be fair it has been 10 years. I guess how much of a bitch she is depends on how long it took her to give up on Milos finding it and spending it herself.

>>2802138

The sharp taste of astringent mint tea cuts through your anger as you sip it, and you start to feel calm for the first time since reading Miriam's note. Somehow, you feel as though an empty box would have been less of a slap in in the face... and, of course, Miriam would have known that. That's why she left you a mocking little note, just to make sure that you got the message. Just to rub a little salt in the sound.

Too slow by half... maybe she does have a point, though. It DID take you ten years to get here, after all.

“Do you not care for mint tea, Captain Vaandemere?” Penelope asks, “Your expression is rather bitter.”

“Ah, no, the tea is fine,” you assure the austere woman, “I'm just feeling a little... irritated. I'm sorry to say that your late sister hasn't quite finished toying with me just yet.” Then, if only to air your discontent, you find yourself explaining the situation to Penelope. She listens without expression, without any hint of pity or sympathy, and yet when you finish your tale, she nods firmly.

“Blessings,” she orders, looking over at the boy, “Go to my office and fetch a blank letter of credit. My personal seal, too. Hurry along now.” Looking back to you, she allows a tiny hint of a smile to show on her face. “If I understand your predicament correctly, Captain Vaandemere, then my sister owed you a considerable sum of money. A Hawthorn should honour their debts,” she explains primly, waiting until Blessings has left the room before continuing, “And I would like to offer this as my own personal thanks. I see that my son has... changed under your patronage. He is becoming a man at last.”

“I don't... this is...” you stammer, finding yourself lost for words, “You have my gratitude, certainly, but-”

“But nothing,” Penelope interrupts, “His health is improving, as is his confidence. Not long ago, he visited me with that same young woman who accompanied you today. As it happens, where is she?”

“Wandering about the estate,” you manage, gesturing back towards the grounds, “She wanted to take a stroll and enjoy the morning. Take a break from work, that sort of thing.”

“Hmm...” looking up from her cup of tea, Penelope fixes you with a studious look, “And what kind of work are you involved in, Captain Vaandemere? Blessings is always rather vague when he writes to me. What sort of jobs are you working on?”

Currently, you're defying the highest god in the land and breaking damn near every taboo you come across. Of course, you could hardly say that aloud. “We're... trying to track down a woman,” you hear yourself reply, “Dubois. Esmeralda Dubois.”

This gives Penelope a moment's pause, as if the name had caused some long buried memory to rouse itself from the depths of her mind.

[2/3]

>>2802204

“Dubois, yes. I think I met her once, many years ago,” Penelope offers slowly, “She came here... and do forgive me if this sounds crass, but she was begging for money. She wished to publish a book, but she was having trouble finding the funding. I can't say that I was very surprised – I remember very little about what she showed me, save for how sloppy it was. Poorly researched and amateurishly written. Quite sad really.”

“You don't remember anything else about the book?” you press, Miriam's money temporarily forgotten, “Anything about its contents?”

“Oh... some collection of folk tales, I think, originally from Nadir,” Penelope shudders slightly, “If Miriam had been present when Dubois visited, I'm certain that she would have funded the book. It was exactly the kind of thing that Miriam would have done. As it stands, I sent her home again.”

“I see...” you murmur, “Did she say where “home” was?”

“I'm afraid not. From what I understand, she never stayed in one place for very long – one more reason why I simply couldn't trust her with a donation. How could I trust her to stay in one place long enough to see her book published?” sadly shaking her head, Penelope wets her lips with a tiny sip of tea, “You could try asking around the various museums, I suppose. It's possible that she tried to sell her manuscript to one of them, and so they may have her details. Beyond that, I'm not sure what else I can tell you. Does that help at all?”

>I think it might, yes
>I have some other questions... (Write in)
>Other

>>2802270
>>I have some other questions... (Write in)
Any distinguishing features? She talk to or approach anyone else you know? Any thefts of late?

>>2802270
>I think it might, yes
>I have some other questions... (Write in)
"Hey what was Miriam like as a sister growing up?"
>Other
"By the way, if you wanted to thank anyone for Blessing's physical health you should thank Freddy when she comes back. She's been giving him routines."

>>2802279
Also this.

>>2802279
>>2802270
>Any distinguishing features?
This, at the very least let's ask what she looks like.

>>2802270
Supporting >>2802287

“I think it might help, yes,” you assure her, “But I wonder. Can you remember if Dubois had any distinguishing features? Anything that might help someone recognise her?”

“Now, I do remember her hair very clearly, because of how untidy it was. That was the first thing I noticed about her, and I fear that it might have coloured my opinion of her. She was coming here to ask for funding, but she clearly had no intention of making a good impression – if she did, she would have brushed that mop of her hair. Grey hair even when she was young, very thick and tangled. That's what I remember about her,” Penelope answers, “And... spectacles. I think she had spectacles.”

“Messy grey hair and spectacles. She does sound like she would make an impression,” you agree, “Do you know if she approached anyone else about funding?”

“I did hear rumours that she was asking other wealthy families for donations. Actually, I heard that she got quite vulgar about it at points – almost threatening. Desperation can do that, I suppose. Not long after that, I believe she dropped out of the entire social scene,” she shakes her head, “So, no, I'm afraid I can't give you any names in particular.”

“Don't worry about that. I've got some leads to go on,” you reply, “Now this might be a strange question, but have there been any thefts lately? Anything of that sort?”

“Thefts? No, certainly not,” Penelope assures you, “Should I be concerned, Captain Vaandemere?”

“No, I don't think so. It's...” you stop yourself short here as Blessings hurries back, mumbling some excuse about getting lost... in his own home. Putting the subject aside, you ask a question that's been on your mind for a while. “Tell me,” you ask, “What was it like, having Miriam as a sister when you were growing up?”

“Now that's an odd question!” Penelope laughs, “It was very... mixed. She could get in trouble, fighting with boys or even stealing. Not that she ever needed to steal, you understand, but I think she liked the challenge. She could be pushy, especially when she wanted me to join her in her troublemaking, but she never hesitated to defend me if things turned rough. Even as a child, she was... hard to control. Blessings, I'm sorry to speak about your aunt in such a way, but...”

“No, that's okay,” Blessings replies, “I've... realised what Aunt Miriam was really like. You needn't concern yourself with me.”

“You really are growing up,” she remarks bluntly, causing Blessings to blush and mumble another excuse. “Now then,” Penelope continues, taking the blank letter of credit and scratching in the details with a pen, “I believe this should cover all of what Miriam owed you, Captain Vaandemere. Financially, at least – I'm afraid that I can't do anything to compensate you for the emotional harm.”

[1/2]

>>2802344

As Penelope gives the letter of credit one last check, stamping it with her personal seal, she speaks up once again. “Now that I think about it, Miriam mentioned this money once,” she remarks, without looking up at you, “She never mentioned you by name, but she seemed disappointed that nobody came to collect it. I got the impression that it was a game of some kind – at least, she saw it that way.”

Considering this with a carefully neutral expression, you take the letter and carefully fold it into your inner pocket.

Funds gained: 3
Current Funds: 7

As you're finishing off the last of your tea, Freddy arrives with a gentle knock at the door. You're reminded of her own noble upbringing as she pauses at the threshold, bowing slightly as Penelope gestures for her to enter fully. “If you're looking to thank someone for Blessings' health, this is your woman,” you explain, nodding to Freddy, “She's been teaching him some routines, and making sure he does them.”

“Fredrika Lhaus, ma'am,” Freddy says, her voice crisp and clear, “It's been a pleasure to work with your son. He's a quick learner.”

Confusion flits across Penelope's eyes as she takes in Freddy's unmistakably Iraklin poise. “Then, I owe you my thanks Miss Lhaus,” she announces, bowing her head to Freddy, “Blessigns, I trust that you've shown Miss Lhaus your gratitude?”

“Yes mother!” Blessings yelps, his cheeks looking as red as spilt blood. This whole exchange has been terribly embarrassing for him, which makes it all the more amusing to you. “Er... Freddy, I mean Fredrika, I really do appreciate...” he stammers, “That is to say...”

“That's quite sufficient. Thank me by working extra hard tomorrow,” Freddy interrupts, nodding back towards the estate's landing pad, “Captain, the skiff is ready to leave whenever you are, and Grace is waiting by the landing pad. I'll head back now. Take as long as you need, please.”

“Miss Lhaus, would you wait here for a little while more?” Penelope requests, “I have something that I'd like to give you. It won't take a moment.”

Looking bemused, Freddy shrugs as Penelope hurries away. Sitting down at the table, she lets out a wan sigh. “Can't remember the last time I tried acting so formal,” she mutters, “Captain, are we heading back to the Pastona Union when we're finished here?”

>Yes. We're heading straight back to the Spirit of Helena
>Yes. We're heading to the Pastona Grand Museum to ask after Dubois
>No. We're headed somewhere else... (Write in)
>Other

>>2802400
>Yes. We're heading to the Pastona Grand Museum to ask after Dubois
Hope we aren't too late.

>>2802400
>>Yes. We're heading to the Pastona Grand Museum to ask after Dubois

>>2802400
>Yes. We're heading to the Pastona Grand Museum to ask after Dubois
I think she is already dead.

>>2802400
>Other
"By the way, how is Grace doing? From a big sister perspective. She seems a bit down."

>>2802400
>>Yes. We're heading to the Pastona Grand Museum to ask after Dubois

>>2802400
>Yes. We're heading to the Pastona Grand Museum to ask after Dubois

“That's right. We'll be making a short stop in the capital,” you order, “I want to head to the Pastona Grand Museum. They might have a lead on where we can find Dubois, and I don't want to leave it until later.”

“Understood, captain,” Freddy nods firmly, glancing wistfully towards the door. She's not exactly comfortable here, amidst the finery of the Hawthorn Estate. With his cheeks still flushed red, Blessings rises to his feet and hurries out to wait in the skiff. Both you and Freddy watch him leave with matching smiles, both weary and amused. Your smile, though, doesn't last.

“You were walking with Grace, weren't you?” you ask, “Does she seem a little down to you? I thought she might have said something to you. You know, in a sisterly kind of way.”

“Well, yes, she has been quiet lately. I asked her if she was feeling ill – she really shouldn't be drinking wine at her age – but she told me that she was okay. Just thinking deep thoughts, she said,” Freddy shakes her head, “I think she's concerned about her father, about the kind of business he's doing. Apparently he's always kept her at arm's length until now, and I can see why. He's not exactly... legitimate, is he?”

Now that's an awkward question. Fortunately, you don't get the chance to answer it - before either of you can say anything else, Penelope sweeps in and approaches you. Taking Freddy's wrist, she presses something into the palm of the Iraklin woman's hand.

“A gift for you,” Penelope announces, “To thank you for taking care of my son. It's nothing much really, just a piece of costume jewellery that I never wear. Better that someone like you gets some use out of it, wouldn't you say?”

This time, Freddy is the one who is left stammering. “I... this is...” she splutters, looking down at the piece in her hand. A heavy hairpin of silver set with a small emerald, the sort of thing that Freddy the skiff pilot would never wear. Fredrika the young aristocrat, on the other hand, would wear it well. “I'll treasure it,” the Iraklin replies slowly, unsure exactly what to say, “Ah, but...”

“I'll have to give you some more time off,” you tease, picking up as she lapses into an awkward silence, “So you can go out and enjoy yourself a little more. Go to some fancy parties, maybe.”

“Uh... right, certainly,” Freddy replies weakly, nodding with resignation, “I'll keep that in mind, captain.”

With a smile heavy in aristocratic pride, Penelope escorts you out to the waiting skiff. You have to try very hard to not laugh, holding it in until she's retreated back inside the manor. Then, at long last, you can let it out.

It feels good to laugh.

>I'm going to pause things here for today. To make up for missing Saturday, I'll try and run a short session tomorrow. If not, I'll continue next Friday as usual
>Thank you for your patience this weekend!

>>2802473
Thanks for running.

Same time you usually start tomorrow?

>>2802473
It occurs to me that if she's reading Miriams diary, there might be some mentions of the ship being intended to go to Blessings originally. Could be awkward to deal with.

>>2802473
Thanks for running!

>>2802479
Perhaps an hour later than usual, as I'm normally a little busy on Mondays. Shouldn't be too much later though.

>>2802499
That's where I thought the conversation was going, actually. Though, I do trust Grace to be discreet with that info.

>>2802473
Yay

Couldn't post from work on friday and was out with family on sunday, thought I'd miss the whole session

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

607 KB JPG

A woman walks barefoot through the long grass, delicate ribbons of green swaying around the paleness of her bare legs. She wears a simple dress of white cloth and a wide-brimmed hat, a veil hanging down around her head. From behind, you can see nothing of her face or her features, but you can hear her humming a faint tune. It's a sad melody, but not without a flicker of hope. Grass rustles around you as you blunder after her, feeling unbearably clumsy by comparison, and you reach out to-

“Captain, wake up!” Grace hisses, poking you hard on the arm, “We're here!”

The last fading remnants of the dream slip through your fingers as you sit upright, blinking and looking around you. Details rapidly come flooding back – the Pastona Grand Museum, Esmeralda Dubois, Miriam bloody Hawthorn...

You could have done without remembering that last part.

-

Professor Castaign, the curator of the Pastona Grand Museum, looks at you like you're something he found stuck on the bottom of his shoe. It seems that his attitude towards you hasn't changed since last time you met. Then again, that time you were pushing him hard for details about some of his more questionable administrative decisions, so... perhaps it would have been too optimistic to hope for a warm welcome.

“You again,” he mutters, looking between you and your companions, “Are you here selling another piece of ancient history?”

“Just looking for some information,” you tell him, skipping straight past the pleasantries, “We're looking for a woman by the name of Dubois. Esmeralda Dubois. I understand that she had a manuscript on Nadir folklore that she was trying to get printed, and that she might have come in here with it. Does this sound familiar to you?” Waiting a moment, you give Castaign a prod. “Sort of an eccentric woman,” you offer, “Tangled grey hair, spectacles, might have seemed a little pushy...”

“I know the woman,” Castaign sighs, his shoulders slumping a little at the memory, “She took up residence here in the city and visited here, every day, until we accepted her manuscript. I read... perhaps a dozen pages, and that was enough for me to leave it in storage. It was, put simply, worthless. If we had sponsored it as a work of academia, our credibility would have suffered.”

“So you accepted it, only to bury it somewhere,” Freddy deduces, “Can we read it, at least?”

“Unfortunately not – along with many of our stored items, the manuscript was destroyed in the Annexation War,” Castaign replies, with what seems like a sick note of satisfaction, “For all I know, Dubois herself was killed as well. Her district was damaged by falling debris, and she vanished. I've not heard from her since then... and I don't particularly want to. Now that I've answered your questions – and said more than I really should have said – I must be leaving. Good day to-”

[1/2]

>>2803981

“Wait!” Grace protests, her sharp tone causing heads to turn your way, “You must know something about what happened to her!”

Castaign scowls at her. “No, I really don't,” he snarls, “Even if she DID survive the war, I have no idea where she might be now. Rehoused somewhere, perhaps, at someone else's expense. Now, if you don't stop making a scene, I'll have you thrown out of this museum!”

For a moment it looks as though Grace is about to take him up on his challenge, but then Freddy puts a hand on her shoulder. Sometimes discretion is the better part of valour.

-

“So much for our lead,” Freddy mutters as you're walking away from the museum. You're all feeling grumpy after your encounter with Castaign, and somewhat unsure of what to try next. Wandering into a decorative square, you sit heavily down at the base of a fountain and consider your options. After the war, there were a lot of people who needed new homes or help with eking out a living. The Iraklin occupation only did so much, so people turned to...

“The charity!” you declare, snapping your fingers, “The... what was it called? The Pastonne Volunteer Foundation, I think. They might know something about Dubois.”

“Well, we don't exactly have much else to go on,” Freddy agrees, dusting off her breeches as she stands, “I don't know where this place is, captain, so you'd better lead the way. If this doesn't work-”

“Excuse me,” a hoarse voice interrupts, “Did you say that you were looking for Dubois?” You all turn to see a scruffy man approaching you. You'd put him in his fifties, at a guess, but he still moves with a spry pace. Something about his face, the jowls perhaps, reminds you of a beaten dog. “A woman? A... a writer?” he continues, “I know where you can find her. Might be that the Foundation knows as well... but they won't help you, not without a “donation”, if you catch my drift.”

“You mean a bribe?” Blessings gasps, and the scruffy man gives him a weary look, as if pitying him for his naivety.

“Well, you call it what you like, but some folks just take advantage any way they can. Me, I'm an honest sort, so I'll take you to Dubois,” he offers, “Fair warning though, stranger, she's out in the rough district. Lot of nasty sorts out there – you'll want a guide to help you avoid the worst of it, and I'm your man. The name's Gleeson, so what do you say?”

Grace turns to you, a question in her eyes. Can you really trust this Gleeson to help?

>Accept Gleeson's offer of a guide
>Try your luck with the Volunteer Foundation
>Abandon your efforts and head back to the Spirit of Helena
>Other

>>2803982
Doesn't the Foundation owe us for the big Sinclair bounty we donated?

>Try your luck with the Volunteer Foundation
How about we open with that, but if they somehow have short memories then we can try Gleeson

>>2803982
>Try your luck with the Volunteer Foundation

>>2803982
Take a deep sniff at him, see if he smells like forest....
>accept

>>2804003
He's trying to lure us for his friends to mug, anon.

“A donation, is it?” you wonder aloud, studying Gleeson with a dubious eye. As you recall, you've already given a more than generous gift to the Pastonne Volunteer Foundation – more than enough to buy a little bit of information, you should think. Oblivious to what you're thinking, Gleeson nods eagerly. While he's busy looking as earnest as possible, you take a deep breath and smell the air around him. He smells faintly of unwashed flesh and cheap liquor – you know that scent well enough – but you don't detect anything suspicious. Not the soil scent of a changeling, at least – he's suspicious for other reasons.

“They're as good as criminals, that lot,” Gleeson gripes, not paying any attention to your scrutiny, “Even if you should pay them, they might just send you away with nonsense. Not a lot of records about, see? Easy to sell an honest man like you a pack of lies...”

“Even so, I think I'd prefer to see what they say,” you conclude, “If they prove as unreliable as you say, will we be able to find you here later?”

Just for a moment, you see a flash of resentment showing in the man's eyes. Then, as soon as it appeared, the ugly light is gone. “Oh aye, I'll be around,” Gleeson replies vaguely, “Well, stranger, I see that you've made up your mind. I won't bother you no more. Safe travels, then – chances are, a man like yourself won't have nothing to fear from the rough district.” Turning on his heel, the scruffy man quickly lurches off and vanishes into the crowds before you can get the last word in. His exit is so swift that you're left stunned for a second.

“That's a double negative,” Blessings points out after a few moments, “If we don't have nothing to fear, doesn't that mean...”

“It means he's uneducated,” Grace finishes, “That's all.”

“Right,” you agree, allowing an exaggerated slur to creep into your voice, “He don't have no fancy schooling like us.”

This causes Grace to giggle, an easy smile coming to her face for the first time in hours.

-

It takes you a while to find the Pastonne Volunteer Foundation again, the time spent wandering the maze of narrow backstreets until something clicks within you and your sense of direction starts working again. When you find the right building, a familiar old woman is waiting inside – the same woman you spoke with before. That's a stroke of luck – things should be easier if she remembers you. Just a shame that you can't remember her name.

“Good day to you, Captain Vaandemere,” the old woman announces, putting on a tiny pair of spectacles and studying you, “And you brought some new faces here. Good day one and all – my name is Andringa.”

When she introduces herself, you have to hide your sigh of relief behind a dignified bow.

[1/2]

>>2804005
4 armed people?

>>2804038
2 of which are women, one a pudgy nerd, and the weapons are all hidden.

>>2804047
Hey that pudgy nerd is getting /fit/ and those two girls are hardcore killers!

But yes that asshole was trying to mug us.

>>2804035

Andringa listens politely as you lay out the situation, nodding every so often before taking a dusty ledger out from underneath her desk. “We did help several people to find new homes after the war,” she explains, “And we made sure to take their details, keeping them as up to date as possible. If your friend Dubois was among them, we should be able to find her.” Falling silent, the old woman slowly runs her bony finger down page after page of her ledger. Judging by her expression, the news is grim. “But I don't seem to have her in here,” she concludes sadly, “Most unfortunate.”

“Oh,” you let out a heavy sigh, “Back to square one, I suppose...”

“There is... one other possibility,” Andringa suggests cautiously, “There were some who preferred not to accept any formal help. After the war, they chose to remain in the outskirts of the city where the Iraklin control is... loose. Most of them were, ah, those who feared the new authorities. Criminals, outlaws, even some who still harboured thoughts of resistance. As you can imagine, we have no records of who might be out there. It's an excellent place for someone to hide.”

“Do we think that Dubois is hiding?” Freddy mutters to you, “If she was trying to hide, the war would have given her a good opportunity to vanish.”

“These outskirts,” you ask, “The rough district?”

“Some call them that, yes,” the old woman confirms, “We have a little camp there, where we hand out food and supplies. That's about all the help the people there will accept, bless them. If you accompanied today's delivery, you might be able to meet some of the people. Your friend... would you know her if you saw her?”

Thick spectacles and a tangled mop of grey hair. “Pretty sure I'll know her when I see her,” you confirm, “Now this might be an insensitve question, but is the rough district... dangerous?”

“It can be. Sometimes the local gangs will try and steal our supplies, to sell them to the rest of the residents. We try to send a guard along with the supplies, although we don't always have the manpower. Or, the troublemakers might try and lure unwary visitors into isolated parts of the outskirts and... well, you don't need ME to tell you what happens then,” fiddling with her spectacles, Andringa laughs suddenly, “But listen to this old woman prattle on! You just came here to ask a simple question, and I just about talked your ears off. Ah, where was I...”

You know where this is going. “You were about to make us an offer,” you suggest.

“Of course!” the woman agrees, “If you would be so kind as to escort our supplies into the outskirts, I'm sure our staff there will help you find your friend. What do you say?”

>Sounds good to me. I accept
>Sounds like a bad deal. I'll have to decline
>I'd like to ask something else... (Write in)
>Other

>>2804093
>>Sounds good to me. I accept

>>2804093
>>Sounds good to me. I accept
Though we could use an extra body for protection. We should get Caliban.

>>2804093
>Sounds good to me. I accept

>>2804093
>Sounds good to me. I accept
Also ask for a paper and pen we going to give them somw monry 1 credit so they can hire the manpower

“Sounds good to me. I accept your deal,” you reply, “When do you want the supplies moved out?”

“Oh, you needn't rush... so long as it's today. We normally hand out food in the evening, you see. Was there some other errand you had to run?” Andringa opens a drawer and rifles through some of the dusty, crumpled papers within. Eventually, she emerges with a map of the outskirts, a route drawn in dark ink.

“Nothing much. I just wanted to bring another one of my colleagues along. I'm sure he'd enjoy a job like this,” you explain. Bringing Caliban along might be a good idea for this – if there are any troublemakers hiding out in the ruins, he'd be the man to sniff them out. Besides, he's probably getting bored waiting back on the ship, bored enough to jump at a chance to wet his knife.

-

As Freddy and Blessings take the Eliza back to the Spirit of Helena, you stay back in Pastona with Grace. Sitting in a small cafe near to the aerodrome, you find yourself running short on small talk. Grace doesn't seem to mind, settling for taking small bites of a steaming pastry. The way she eats almost reminds you of a mouse nibbling at cheese, taking tiny and furtive bites while clinging to the pastry as if expecting you to snatch it out of her hands.

“So you've been reading Miriam's journal, right?” you venture, knowing full well that she has been, “Did she write anything... personal in them? You know, like her plans for the future or anything like that.”

Anything about leaving the Spirit of Helena to Blessings in her will, in other words. Of course, you can't exactly say that aloud. Setting down her food, Grace dabs crumbs from her lips with a linen handkerchief before shaking her head. “It seemed to be more of a mission plan than a personal journal,” she explains, “Really, there wasn't much that linked it to Miriam at all. If she kept a personal diary at all, it would have been elsewhere.” Pausing for a moment, Grace offers a tiny smile. “And I wouldn't read it,” she adds, “You wouldn't either, right captain?”

“Oh, I don't know about that...” you sigh, “I remember a time when I would have given just about anything to get some dirt on Miriam. Anything that might let me get one over on her.”

“You're terrible!” Grace scolds, reaching across the table to slap you on the arm, “I can't believe this, all this time I've been associating with a villain!”

“The nefarious Captain Vaandemere, scourge of the skies and corrupter of fair maidens,” you joke, your flamboyant words causing Grace to giggle, “You know, it has a ring to it. Maybe that's how I should start introducing myself in future.”

“It certainly would have caused a stir at Consul Hess' party,” the girl muses, “Although I suspect that we still wouldn't have been the most memorable guests of the night.”

[1/2]

>>2804165

What Andringa failed to mention about the supplies was that you'd be the ones hauling them to their destination. Confronted by the shipment of supplies – mostly food, but with some medical supplies and clothes thrown in for good luck – that has been loaded into a rickety handcart, you find yourself feeling like a beast of burden. Nobody says anything for a long moment, and then everyone tries to speak at once.

“I'm not doing it,” Caliban hastily announces, his denial coming a split second before yours. You and Freddy both lapse back into a sullen silence before the Iraklin lets out a weary sigh.

“I'll take the first shift,” she offers, “But I'll need someone else to take over after a while. Toss a coin or something, I don't really care, but I can't pull it ALL the way by myself!”

Before she's even finished that sentence, Caliban is digging through his pockets for a loose coin.

-

The cart creaks as it rattles over the uneven ground, every bump in the road causing Freddy to grunt with irritation. Caliban leads the way through the city outskirts, occasionally glancing down at the map and nodding to himself. It's not exactly a complicated route, but he seems content to navigate. In either case, you're busy watching the surrounding buildings for any sign of trouble to worry about the route.

“I can't figure out why the Iraklins haven't moved into this area,” Grace remarks, thinking aloud to herself, “I suppose it would be a lot of work, tearing down these old buildings, but still... it doesn't seem like them, leaving a place for troublemakers to hide.”

Murmuring some vague acknowledgement, you look around the deserted street. Debris from the single aerial battle that was the Annexation War carved a swathe of destruction here, leaving the buildings crumbling and ruined. Even the ones that weren't totally destroyed were left unstable, unsuited to any normal use. Definitely a good place for a desperate outlaw to hide, though – you'd hate to imagine how hard it would be for a team of soldiers to dig an entrenched enemy out of these ruins. Grace and Blessings really should have stayed back in the safety of the capital, but they both insisted on coming – to meet Dubois, in Grace's case, and... probably to act tough, in Blessings' case.

“Never enough resources to go around,” Freddy grunts, pausing to wipe sweat from her brow, “I assume these ruins will be reclaimed eventually, but these things take time. They-”

Caliban hisses a curt curse and raises a hand to silence you all. His eyes have narrowed to hard slits, and you realise that he's not joking around. Drawing your gun, you look around at the ruins and listen hard. Somewhere deeper within the ruins, there is a dull rattle as loose rocks shift and settle.

[2/3]

>>2804235

“Maybe an animal?” Grace suggests after a long pause, “Some stray, rooting about for scraps...”

“Wish I brought my rifle,” Freddy complains, easing down the handcart's handle and drawing her pistol. You all draw your weapons and form a loose circle, watching and waiting. Waiting a moment more, Freddy glances across at you. “Maybe it was just an animal,” she mutters, doubt still thick in her voice, “I don't know, do you...”

“I can smell sweat,” Caliban hisses as the wind changes, “Not you Lhaus, although you're not so fragrant. No, there's someone hiding up ahead, close by. Someone scared, I think. Can't say I blame them.”

“Scared?” Blessings repeats, laughing incredulously as he clumsily shoves his revolver back into his belt. Striding ahead of you, he looks about the ruins and takes a deep breath. “You don't need to be scared!” he calls out, “We're not here to hurt you, or to cause any trouble! We're just here to-”

“Don't!” Grace cries, hurrying over to the boy and grabbing him by the arm, “You fool, don't-” Her warning ends in a shrill cry as she drops, clutching her head in pain. You see a hint of dark blood on her hands as you glance rapidly from one direction to the next, but you can't afford to dwell on it. Peeking out from the ruins ahead, you see a young boy holding a crude slingshot – not a gun, fortunately. Almost as soon as you've seen him, the boy ducks down behind the rubble as Freddy takes a hasty shot at him. Even before the sound of her gunshot has faded, you hear the heavy thud of a rock slamming down into the ground by your feet.

Everything seems to happen at once. Grace keeps crying out, and the rocks keep flying from all around you. Confusion engulfs you as you spin around in a clumsy circle, looking for... anything. Any part of this madness that makes any sense at all.

And there you see him, up in the hollow window of a gutted tenement block – a man aiming his old rifle down at you. Bringing up your own revolver, you...

>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 superior revolver.

Rolled 2, 5 + 1 = 8 (2d6 + 1)

>>2804299

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

>>2804299
I shoot from the heart

>>2804312
That you do.

Rolled 5, 2 + 1 = 8 (2d6 + 1)

>>2804299

>>2804312
Your father is smiling at you anon.

>Full success!

Closing your senses off to everything except the target, you settle the revolver's finely tuned sights over the man and pull the trigger. With the sharp crack of recoil, the rest of the world rushes back in and time resumes its normal flow. The gunman pitches forwards and tumbles out of the window, falling down to the rubble below with a crash as his rifle clatters harmlessly away. As if your gunshot had been a signal, the bombardment is cut sharply off as the rock throwers retreat back into the ruins.

As soon as you confirm that the danger has passed, you hurry over to where Grace is sitting. Blessings has helped her up, and now he fusses at her dirtied hair with a handkerchief. “I'm fine, it's just a scrape, I'm fine...” the girl repeats over and over again, “It took me by surprise, that's all. It's just a scrape, I'm fine...”

“Stay here, keep an eye on her,” you tell Blessings firmly, “You're doing good. Just keep her calm.” Catching a glimpse of Caliban out of the corner of your eye, you nod for him to follow you as you approach the section of ruins where the gunman fell. It wasn't that much of a fall, and...

And true enough, the man is still alive when you find him, although the rubble around him is splattered with blood from his injuries. His face is hidden behind a rough scarf, but his eyes are lurid with both fear and pain. He fumbles out a crude pistol – handmade by the looks of it – as you approach, but then he reconsiders and drops the weapon. “Good idea,” Caliban warns him, pointing his knife at the wounded man before reaching over to him, “Now let's see who we're talking to.”

When he pulls away the man's scarf, you're met with a scabby, scarred face. “Huh,” you remark, “I was expecting Gleeson.”

“You know...” the man begins, cutting himself short with a wince.

“Gleeson? We've met, yes,” you agree, squatting down next to him, “He gave us a very generous offer – he said he'd guide us through these ruins. Only, he would have taken us into a much worse spot than this, wouldn't he? Some place with more than just one man with a rifle. Give me an answer that I like, and maybe we can share some of these medical supplies with you.”

“I'd consider accepting that offer,” Caliban adds, “You look like you could use them.”

-

The young scavenger, who gives his name as Magr, is very talkative once his tongue starts wagging. Most of what he says is unfortunately garbage, alternating between spiteful curses and whining pleas for mercy, but he does explain a little about his operation – and the man he works for. Gleeson is the closest thing they have to a friendly face, and so he often baits in outsiders, while Magr searches the ruins for any... “wandering prey”, as he calls it.

He's a real charmer, Magr.

[1/2]

>>2804354

After giving Magr a spot of makeshift treatment, you rearrange your positions and then continue along your way. This time, you're pushing the cart along while Caliban scouts ahead. Magr trudges glumly along with the barrel of Freddy's pistol hovering inches away from his back, while Grace and Blessings cautiously watch each other's backs. “What I don't understand...” Caliban says suddenly, “Why kids, Magr? They easier to order about?”

“My boss, he got them,” Magr mutters, “They had no parents, see? Nobody to help them get registered for no help or nothing. So, they slipped through the cracks. If we hadn't taken them in, who knows what would have happened to them? Your woman there, chief, she almost shot Berkley's head off.”

“He shot first,” Freddy counters, her voice devoid of sympathy, “Maybe you shouldn't attack random strangers if you're not prepared to live with the consequences. What did you expect, anyway?”

“Most folk just cut and run when we get the drop on them,” the scavenger grumbles, “Ain't often that they actually fight back.” With that, he lapses into a sulky silence and focuses on putting one weary foot in front of the other.

You hadn't been planning on bringing him with you, but then Magr had mentioned something that changed things. A proper ambush, he had claimed, one meant to claim the daily supply train. Not just one man with a rifle this time – the scavengers would be out in force, more than a dozen armed men. You're still not sure what to do about the ambush. Judging by the map, you're getting closer and closer to the site. So far, you've been considering using Magr as a hostage, a bargaining chip. It was that, or take a longer route that circled around the ambush site.

But that, Magr claimed, would be a bad idea. “Okay you,” you grunt, stopping the cart and glaring at the prisoner, “It's time you explained yourself. Why is it a bad idea to go off this path?”

“Out there, see, you have your crazies. They rig up all kinds of traps, bombs and shit, in case the soldiers come looking for them. They're paranoid, see? Totally gone in the head. Even we don't like to mess with them,” Magr explains, “I'm telling you man, it's not worth it. Those guys are fucking serious.”

“Sounds like a bluff to me,” Freddy snarls, jabbing him in the ribs with a strong finger, “You're not lying to us, are you?”

“No!” Magr wails, “Just... shit man, just believe me!”

“That aside, we do need to deal with this ambush somehow,” Grace laments, “What do you say, captain?”

>Use Magr as a bargaining chip to pass straight through
>Take a detour through the dangerous territory
>Circle around and launch a preliminary attack on the ambush
>Other

>>2804391
>>Circle around and launch a preliminary attack on the ambush
Ambush the ambushers.

>>2804391
>Circle around and launch a preliminary attack on the ambush

Push the food cart toawrds them and once they ran out to it we shoot them.

Also we need to guve money to the people so they can get man, guns and amour for this shit

>>2804391
>Circle around and launch a preliminary attack on the ambush

>>2804407
>Push the food cart toawrds them and once they ran out to it we shoot them.

That's the opposite of circling around. We will be approaching them from behind.

>Also we need to guve money to the people so they can get man, guns and amour for this shit

I don't think we can continuously fund something like that.

>>2804391
>Use Magr as a bargaining chip to pass right through

Honor among thieves

>>2804426
Not like all the time but give them some money now and tell they to buy some wepons or whatever 2 credits should be more then enoguh.
I mean most of us go around and one person pushes the cart down like the guy we have with us

>>2804454
I think I might have a better idea regarding funding though it may depend on a few things.

>I mean most of us go around and one person pushes the cart down like the guy we have with us

They'll just take off with the cart then. Sure we'll shoot some of em but it just takes one or two to make off with the goods.

>>2804391
Hey Moloch is does the Consul position need to be elected? Or was it just given to Hess?

>>2804463
>It's not an elected position. Hess was assigned the role after the war. Pastona does have an elected representative, though, who isn't entirely powerless

>>2804470
How viable would it be to see if this elected official or Hess could get some bodies out here to escort supplies spun as a PR stunt? Volunteer Foundation gets their supplies protected and whoever okays this looks good to the Pastonnes for reelection or whatever.

“Okay, listen up,” you begin, gesturing for everyone to gather around, “We're going to launch an ambush of our own. If we use the cart as bait, we might be able to draw the scavengers out of their dens. Once they've left their cover, we can hit them hard. Does anyone have anything to add?”

“Just so we're all aware,” Caliban speaks up, “This could get messy. These gentlemen were prepared to butcher us, so we can't give them any quarter. Unless... they were just going to give us a little scare and let us run away?”

“...No,” Magr admits, “Used to be that the boss let folk go when he could, but lately he's stopped caring so much about that. Doesn't mind killing a few folk if it brings in the goods.” He pauses, a sly and hopeful light entering his eyes. “That's why I tried robbing you folks, see?” he eagerly adds, “So you'd run off and not get hurt. Ah, hurt seriously I mean!”

“Nice try, but I still don't believe you,” Freddy counters, “So, captain, we'll be pushing the cart out into the open, right? That means we'll need someone to-”

“I'll do it,” Blessings offers, “I... don't think I'd be much use as part of the ambush. This way, all I need to do is push the cart out and, well, and hide, right? I'm certain that I can do that without messing it up. Besides, they might be more careless if they see... ah, well, if they see someone like me pushing the cart. Someone less likely to put up a fight, I mean.”

You almost turn down his request, but then you see the determined glint in his eyes – he wants this, you realise, he wants a chance to prove himself. Slowly, you nod your agreement.

-

Leaving Blessings to strain and struggle with the handcart, you take Caliban and circle around to the left of the ambush site. Freddy goes right, with Grace following her at a cautious distance. Magr, you left tied up somewhere where he couldn't get in the way of things. Gagged too – the last thing you need right now is for him to cry out some kind of warning.

Now that you see it in person, you can see why Magr's gang chose this spot for their ambush. The road curves between two heavily ruined buildings, the fallen rubble narrowing the path significantly. If not for the traps laid further out, you imagine that any alternative route would have been chosen. The ruins offer plenty of places for a waiting ambush to hide as well. All in all, it's not the spot you'd choose for an honest fight.

But this isn't exactly an honest fight, is it?

When you get close, Caliban grabs your arm and pushes you down low. Waiting, you listen to the sound of the cart creaking on ahead. A moment more, and the creaking comes to a stop as Blessings reaches the narrowest spot of the road. Just about wide enough for a cart to fit through, according to Magr.

Then a single gunshot rings out, and you launch into motion.

[1/2]

>>2804487
>Overall, it wouldn't be too easy. The Iraklin forces typically avoid the ruins, and a local militia would need official permission. That said, it wouldn't be impossible - especially if the worst of the local outlaws get broken up by someone

>>2804494
Why didn't we call in the airship for reinforcement?

>>2804511
Cause you don't want to bomb your homeland? Did you want to Megido cannon them or something?

>>2804516
Maaaaaaybe.

Or we could have Keziah send her familiar out to first scout and then intimidate the dudes into not fucking with us.

>>2804516
Like. Too late now, but we should keep Murray in mind for things.

>>2804494

Curt laughter follows the gunshot, the base cruelty in it lending speed to your steps. Casting aside your stealthy approach, you leap over mounds of rubble as you approach the exposed flanks of the ambush site. Cresting the ridge, you catch a glimpse of the situation – Blessings is prone, frantically crawling for the cover of the cart as the scavengers watch on with mocking contempt. It's not hard to guess which one is their leader – most of them wear scarves and sashes around their faces, but their boss is the only one with a brightly patterned garment.

Arrogant really – a gesture that he wants to be seen. Well, you can certainly see him now.

With your revolver in your hand, you put a bullet through the first scavenger that you see and cause their eyes to turn your way. Caliban falls upon another one of the gunmen, plunging his hunting knife into the man's throat before wrenching it free in a spray of blood. From the opposite side of the pass, you can hear the bark of Freddy's automatic pistol. Chaos descends as the carefully planned ambush breaks up into confusion and disorder. Already, you can see a few of the outlaws breaking off and melting back into the ruins as their survival instincts outweigh their loyalty.

Plunging into the heart of the confusion, you lash out at any scavengers that get too close at you. Fighting men like these isn't enough to rouse your sword, so you follow Caliban's example and hack away with your knife between shooting at your targets. When the hammer falls on an empty chamber, you automatically move to reload – a distraction that almost costs you your life. A flash of red and gold is the only warning you get as the outlaw leader pushes aside one of his own men and pounces on you, swinging a machete in a wide arc that cuts through the air above your head. It would have found your neck, if not for a quick dodge beneath the blow. Lashing out with your knife, you feel the blade recoiling off a layer of metal armour hidden beneath the man's coarse garments. Knocked off balance by the unexpected jolt, you feel yourself tip backwards as the loose rubble shifts underfoot. Despite your best efforts at a recovery, you feel yourself tumble down.

Landing badly, you twist around just in time to see the outlaw raising his machete in a heavy grip, preparing to split your skull in two with a mighty blow. Then he convulses and stumbles forwards, a glowing bar of light piercing through his gut. Looking down at the light, his expression grows slack with confusion. “Oh fu-” he begins, before the arrow explodes violently. When his remains – little more than a pair of legs – tumble sideways, you see Caliban standing behind him with his Abrahad bow raised.

Not just good at blowing up trees, then.

[2/3]

>>2804600
That bow is something out of Doom.

>>2804600
> “Oh fu-” he begins

Famously frequent last words.

>>2804600

After that little display, the rest of the gang loses their will to fight and breaks up into a riot of fleeing individuals. Dismissing the bow's enchantment and returning it to a simple rod of white Abrahad stone, Caliban reaches down and heaves you to your feet. “Got to watch out for this uneven ground,” he tells you in a dry tone, “You'll do yourself an injury.”

“Yes, thank you,” you reply, wiping a hand across your face and feeling something thick and wet on your brow, “Oh that's disgusting. I'm covered in blood, aren't I?”

“No, no, you're fine,” Caliban assures you, pausing for a moment before adding: “Maybe just a little bit here and there.”

-

Once you've towelled yourself off a little and regrouped with the rest of your team, all that's left to do is to bring your cart of supplies the rest of the way. Following Andringa's map, you emerge out into what was once a scenic plaza. Now, it's the site for a small settlement - a large canvas tent in the centre, and several smaller ones scattered about around it. Spotting your cart, a few people call out greetings as they hurry over. All off them are armed, but none of them look like they have any business carrying weapons. Not exactly a show of force, in other words.

“These are the supplies? That's great, we were starting to worry. Did you run into any trouble on the way here?” the leader of the group – a rather hyperactive young man – asks, continuing on before you have a chance at answering his question, “Well, I guess that doesn't matter – you're here now. Did Andringa tell you much about this place? We get a lot of people in about this time, to get a bowl of soup and a few words of encouragement. I think that's really all someone needs to make it through the day...”

On and on he talks, rambling about life in the ruins. As he's talking away to himself, Grace tugs at your sleeve and points. Following her gaze, you see what's caught her attention.

A rail thin woman is walking past, her grey hair as tangled as an untended garden and her eyes hidden behind battered spectacles.

Esmeralda Dubois.

>So, I think I'm going to close things here for today. I'll continue this on Friday, and I should have another bonus interlude ready on Wednesday
>Thank you for your contributions today!

>>2804661
Thanks for running!

Is Magr still tied up back at the ruins?

>>2804661
Thanks for running!

>>2804661
Thanks for running!

How long was Milos forced to listen to that young man talk before he managed to get away?

>>2804668
Huh. Now that you mention it, I suppose he is. We can always untie him on the way home. Or not
>>2804694
In objective terms? Not all that long. Subjectively though? Far too long!

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

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Caldwell's finger began to tighten on the trigger. Even at this distance, he could see the expression on Gorgon's face – a complicated mix of fear, acceptance and even relief. This was the end she had chosen for herself, and-

Something hit the assassin, knocking him aside and causing the gun to spill from his hand. Not just the gun – through eyes that had suddenly blurred and lost their focus, he saw blood spurting into the air. Then he was falling, dropping to his his knees as he clutched his mutilated hand to his chest. The first three fingers on it were gone, save for the ragged stumps that still bled in time with the beating of his heart. Gorgon screamed again, but her voice seemed to be coming from miles away.

Footsteps, then. Forcing his head up, Caldwell looked around at his attacker as the man emerged from his hiding place inside the skiff. The traitorous Iraklin wore an expression of bitter disgust, resentment at what Caldwell had made him do. Swallowing against the urge to vomit, Caldwell forced himself to meet the man's lone eye. “You're a traitor,” he spat, “You've turned your back on the nation, and... and for what?”

“I'm doing this FOR the nation,” the officer replied, slowly raising his pistol until the muzzle rested against Caldwell's temple. Closing his eyes, the assassin waited for the final shot. When it came, would he even hear it?

“No,” Eishin interrupted, his voice low and smooth, “Enough, Faulkner. This one should live... for a while longer, at least.”

-

Time passed. There seemed little point in keeping track of the days, and so Caldwell tracked the passing of time by events, the conversations he had with his captors and the things he saw from his prison. This time, he was allowed no pretence – he was kept in a cage, the wrought iron box barely big enough to hold him. Sometimes children – and Caldwell felt vaguely appalled to see children here in Eishin's territory – would stop and stare at him.

Twice a day, Caldwell was given food – a bowl of some thick porridge and some dried meat. He ate sluggishly, dimly aware that he needed to keep his strength up. The idea of poison was something he had considered and then discarded. If they wanted him dead, after all, they wouldn't need to bother with subtlety. So, he ate whatever food they put in front of him.

It hadn't been long before the flesh of his mutilated hand had started to blacken with corruption. His wound had been left unbound for too long, and decay had begun to settle in. Regarding the wound with a dull lack of surprise, Caldwell had shown his hand to his captors when they came to give him his food. They ignored him, but the next meal he was given was drugged. After eating it, Caldwell had fallen into a deep sleep.

When he woke up, the infection was gone.

So was his right hand.

[1/3]

>>2808427

A conversation. Segharl.

Caldwell woke with a start, waking with the absolute certainty that this was it, that his death was near. Eishin had tired of him, and now he would be shot like a sick dog. Determined to face his end with some dignity, he rolled over and fumbled himself up into a sitting position. It was hard for him to move with just one hand. The stump had been sealed with pitch, and even the slightest touch was enough to send jagged pain shooting up his arm. Still, he forced himself to rise as much as his cage allowed.

Segharl sat outside the cage, his legs crossed and two small wooden bowls resting before him. They were filled with some liquor, the moonlight reflected in the oily spirit. “We are much the same, you and I,” Segharl began, his voice low and rumbling, “We both serve our masters with unflinching devotion. Allow me to ask you something, then, as one servant to another. Do you believe that what your masters are doing is right?”

Slowly reaching out, Caldwell took one of the bowls and sipped the strong alcohol. After so many days of meagre rations, it seemed to go straight to his head. “I used to,” he admitted, not caring enough to lie or hide his true feelings, “But now, I can't be certain of anything.”

“Then we are of the same mind,” Segharl mused, drinking his own liquor, “My king has great plans in motion – plans beyond my scope. I cannot say whether they are right or wrong, but I swore and oath to obey him until the day that I die... and beyond that, if he wishes it.” Rising to his feet, Segharl looked down at Caldwell. “Stay strong,” he urged, “You will not be so easily defeated, I think.”

Without another word, Segharl turned away and strode off into the night.

-

A second conversation, this one overheard.

“He can't be dead!” Eishin snapped, his voice thundering across the camp, “Find him, Segharl – I want to know exactly where he is and what he's doing!”

“The Mavens are clear. His entire company has been slain,” Segharl replied, slow patience in his voice, “They saw a white devil, a genius of the blade, and a kingdom in the clouds. There, the boy met his end.”

“Impossible. His path doesn't end there. I don't care what it takes, Segharl, I want him found,” Eishin snarled. The two men were arguing a few dozen paces away from Caldwell's cell, not caring who might overhear them. It was strange to see them bicker like this, with Segharl playing the role of cowed servant as Eishin snarled his orders. Dimly, Caldwell wondered who they were talking about – some agent, perhaps, an important minion pursuing some equally important duty.

Faulkner perhaps, or... someone else?

[2/3]

>>2808430

Dismissed, Segharl turned to march away. Eishin watched him leave, before looking across to Caldwell's cage. Composing himself, the barbarian king approached the assassin. By the time he stood at the cage, he was once again the very picture of calm certainty. As Segharl had done before him, Eishin sat down in the dirt and examined Caldwell through the iron bars.

“Fàilte gu tìr naomh nan diathan,” King Eishin began, the ancient words slipping easily off his tongue, “I greet you in the old language, as a show of respect. Welcome, assassin, to the sacred land of the gods. My agents have told me about you. Faulkner speak highly of your abilities, and Segharl believes that you have a strong spirit.” He paused here, looking Caldwell up and down, “I wonder,” he continued, “You wounded me, assassin, but only because I allowed you to. Every action you have taken since setting foot inside this land, I have allowed. I ask you this... have you ever done anything of your own free will?”

Caldwell remained silent at this. He felt the urge to spit in Eishin's face, but he could not force his body to move.

“The path you walk has been set out by other men – your masters, and myself,” Eishin continued, “That is why you lost. To walk in another man's path is an inexcusable weakness.” A thoughtful expression settled on Eishn's face as he studied Caldwell, his black eyes never blinking so long as they were fixed upon the assassin. “I will tell you this, and perhaps you can learn. When I first came to this land, driven from my home by your masters, I was taken in by a handful of natives. They wished for a leader – no, they wished for something that was both more and less than that. They wished for a king who would do their bidding,” the tyrant lectured, “This king they wished for, he would be bound within the grasp of their prophecy. I refuse to be that man.”

“You speak of paths and prophecies, you talk in dead languages, but you're just a petty warlord,” Caldwell spat, finally managing to speak aloud, “If you're going to kill me, then do it now and spare me this mockery.”

Letting out a deep laugh, Eishin rose to his feet. “Kill you? No, assassin, I have plans for you,” he sneered, “A great change is coming, one way or another. Soon, the world will enter a state of transition, and it will fall to men of ambition to shape it to their will. Ah, but I see that you are weary. Sleep, assassin. In the morning, you will finally get the chance to choose your own path. This is the gift that I give to you, assassin. Treat it with the respect that it deserves.”

>This concludes today's bonus interlude. Into the Skies will continue on Friday
>Thanks for reading along today!

>>2808434
Thx bae

I was wondering if Segharl would ever discover we killed that changeling and got him branded, but given all that spying power Eishin has, he probably knows already.

>>2808434
>>2808774
Drives home that the Dude really is a Witch King.

Also that he is a serious business.

>>2808774
I so hate villains who know of the protagonist's every move. Damn, how I hate them.

>>2809744
We'll even though he knows we are alive the wards are still up so he still can't track us.

>>2809744
Changeling told us about how he hates the Lord of Rising Light, so we can take that back to Carth and have them crusade all over his face.

>>2809889
If they take us up on our word, if they deem it a real danger, if they won't think it can provoke the Iraklins, if they take it seriously enough, if they have anyone with expertise on demons....

>>2809905
I think they'd consider provoking Iraklin to be a bonus honestly

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

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Leaving the talkative young man to blink in confusion at your sudden exit, you turn away from him and stride after Dubois. She doesn't look around at the sound of your boots thumping against the stone road, but she seems to start walking a little faster. Hastening after her, you feel a sudden sense of disorientation. Feeling as though you've somehow slipped back into that morning's dream, you see yourself reaching out a hand to grasp the fleeing scholar. As if this had been the signal she had been waiting for, Dubois spins around to face you.

You see the glint of metal in her hand, and instinct takes over. Lunging forwards, you grab for her hands and the tiny pocket revolver she carries, your larger hands almost entirely engulfing the miniature weapon. Jerking it away from you, you feel a tiny pain flaring in your hand as the revolver's hammer bites into the soft meat of your thumb. Ripping the gun out of her hands with a single tug, you meet Dubois' wide, frightened eyes.

“Oh god!” she yelps, “I'm so sorry!”

-

“It took me a long time to figure it out, but here in these ruins I finally figured out why my life went so wrong,” a calmer Dubois explains over a bowl of thick vegetable soup, “I was born in the wrong generation, too early by... oh, twenty years or so. By the time I was ready to make my mark on the world, there was nothing left for me. I slaved away learning dead languages, but by the time I was finished with my studies, there was nothing left to discover. I managed to get a little work assisting other, more... established scholars with their work, but after that? Nothing.”

It seems that everyone in this camp talks far too much. Since you sat down to share this meal with her, Dubois has been bemoaning the state of her terrible life. Grace listens politely, frowning ever so slightly to show that she appreciates the seriousness of the situation, while the others have rather wisely gone elsewhere, to do literally anything else.

“But if I'd been lucky enough to be born a mere twenty years ago, I would have been one of those haughty fools!” Dubois stresses, “Well... I wouldn't be haughty or a fool, but I'd be as successful as they are now. That's what I meant!”

“...Excuse me, I had a question for you,” you ask quickly, taking advantage of the break in conversation to get a word in, “Why exactly did you try and shoot me?”

“Oh. Isn't that obvious?” Dubois asks in reply, “I thought you were here to kill me. It wouldn't have been the first time, after all.”

These are usually the sort of important details that people mention at the start of a conversation.

[1/2]

>>2812323

Heedless to your incredulity, Dubois loudly slurps her soup between glancing nervously about her. Her head jolts around as Caliban enters, sitting down at your table and nodding a curt greeting. It's only when the spoon falls from Dubois' numb hand that you realise the problem. “Don't worry about him,” you assure her, gesturing to Caliban as the tracker lights up a cigarette, “He's a good... well, he's with me.”

“Hrm,” Dubois grumbles, “If you're such a good guy, then give me a smoke.”

Raising an eyebrow, Caliban gives Dubois one of his cigarettes and lights it. Drawing in a lungful of smoke with obvious relish, Dubois leans back and studies you with narrowed eyes. “I was living in Salim at the time. Never liked that place much – too snooty for my tastes – but I thought I could find a patron there. No such luck. Just as I was getting ready to move on, they caught me,” fiddling with the collar of her high-necked dress, Dubois exposes a ragged scar across the base of her neck, “I never saw who attacked me. There was a crowd, I was busy trying to negotiate passage on an airship, and... well, I don't know. Someone tried to cut my throat, and they came bloody well close to succeeding!”

Caliban looks around to you, his eyes showing both amusement and confusion. It's a feeling that understand all too well. “I'm sorry,” Dubois continues, “What were you asking me about?”

Not for the first time, you find yourself wondering just how stable Dubois is. “I understand that you did some research of your own,” you venture, “Nadir folklore, I believe. You wrote a manuscript, and you were trying to acquire the funds to-”

“Yes yes, I know where you're going with this,” Dubois flaps her hands at you, “But I don't have the manuscript any more – I gave it to the museum here, and then THEY destroyed it. You see now, don't you? There are powerful forces that don't want me to-”

“We just want to learn what your research turned up,” Caliban interrupts, his patience growing thin, “Can you help us or not?”

“I still have my original notes. I can give...” pausing here, a sly light enters Dubois' eyes, “I can SELL them to you.” Nervously licking her lips, she takes a breath before naming her price. It's not much, but still more cash than you have on hand – and you get the feeling that Dubois won't take a letter of credit, so....

Dubois' price: 2
Current Funds: 7

“You write your letter, captain, and I'll run back to the capital and cash it. I can move pretty fast when I'm on my own,” Caliban offers, leaning over to mutter into your ear, “That is, if we're buying whatever madness this woman is selling.”

>Pay for Dubois' information – it could be worth the price
>Decline Dubois' offer – you don't need any more of her ranting
>Threaten Dubois for the information – perhaps “they” might want to learn where she's been hiding...
>Other

>>2812324
>Other
"How about protection and a better place to sleep on my airship instead? The reason I started this journey to find you was because I found a file with orders to kill you on an agent of Eishin's. And if I found you, they would be able to. You get out of this dump, get to work with someone that actually appreciates your research, and have a better chance at living while I get your notes and your skills in your field going forward."

>>2812324
>You need to understand why we're looking for it: because someone else is. King Eishin.
>So I rather think you should be negotiating for something OTHER than cash.
....you know, Hess might actually take her in. If there's anything left of those tablets he owns, she can take a look at them in exchange for safety/pay for the near future. At least long enough to get Eishin off her tail.

....or spark a war with Iraklin.

>>2812342
>>2812324
Seconding

Pay otherwise

>>2812324
Backing >>2812342

>>2812355
Not a bad idea but it's hard to be safe from changeling assassins unless you have a witch looking out for you.

>>2812368
we could also....not care enough to do something about it.

She's unhinged and already being hunted down for one debt or another. We're already doing her a big favor bringing in Hess.

Eishin probably knows we're still alive now, but having her in our ship for long periods of time might make us even easier to track.

>>2812374
Our ship is the only place invisible to Eishin actually.

>>2812379
I'd rather avoid doing everything in my power to prove it. That daemon scout still got IN, and if they do directed scrying on Dubois, she isn't covered by the whole death thing.

Or it would be very, very strange for her to suddenly be included in "Milos' crew that died"

Slowly tapping your finger on the dented metal table, you consider Dubois' situation for a moment more. She's paranoid, you're certain of that, but paranoia gives you something to work with. It gives you an opening that you might be able to exploit. “I'll make you an offer,” you tell her, “You're right that someone is trying to kill you, and I think you have a right to know who it is – Eishin, the king in exile. There was someone looking for you in Salim.”

“Then they've got the wrong information. I've not lived in Salim for...” Dubois frowns suddenly, “You mean King Eishin?”

“That's what he said, isn't it?” Caliban snaps, “Try and keep up, won't you?”

“I was able to find you, and that means Eishin can find you too. It's only a matter of time before one of his people come looking for you,” you continue, “What I'm offering you is a place on my airship – protection, a place to sleep, and a chance to continue your research for someone who appreciates it. What do you say?”

“King Eishin...” the scholar marvels, violently crushing out her cigarette with a jerk of her wrist, “You might be right. God, you might actually be right. Wait a moment...” Scratching at her scalp, Dubois gives you a cautious look. That paranoia of hers is starting to turn back against you, her unbalanced mind searching your offer for any hint of an ulterior motive. Eventually, though, her shoulders slump. “What if I don't like your ship?” she asks, “What if I change my mind later?”

“Miss Dubois, we're not trying to take you prisoner,” Grace assures her gently, “You would be free to leave at any time, of course, although we wouldn't be able to guarantee your safety if you did leave. Perhaps we could find somewhere else for you to stay, maybe even a patron to support your work, but nothing would be certain.”

A patron, she says. Hess might appreciate a pet scholar of his own, especially one whose studies are focused on matters of Nadir. That might actually work out quite nicely – especially if you can trade her services for a favour. It'll get her out of your hair as well, so you won't need to worry about looking after her.

Maybe this is the ulterior motive she was looking for. Still, it's something for you to keep in mind.

“Well, I suppose that I've stayed here for too long as it is,” Dubois sighs, “If I don't keep moving, they're likely to find me eventually. I've seen some of the other folk here giving me funny looks, I think they've finally recognised me...”

Grace looks around at you and gives you a tiny shrug. You just reply with a faint smile of bemusement.

[1/2]

>>2812390

As Caliban escorts Dubois to her dwelling, you amble off and find Freddy sitting in the shade of another tent, the pieces of her disassembled pistol laid out on a small cloth. Looking up at you, she waves you over with a delicate cleaning brush. “Don't mind me, captain,” she tells you, “I'm just doing a little routine maintenance. How are things going with Dubois?”

“I think I've won her other. She'll be staying with us for a while, so we can really learn about her research. After that... I don't know, I was thinking that Hess might like to meet her,” you crack a smile, “Take her off our hands, perhaps.”

“Hmm,” Freddy holds up the barrel of her pistol and peers down it, “Do you think Hess can keep her safe?”

“Probably,” you reply with a shrug, “But she'll be his problem then. I don't mean to sound heartless, but...”

“We've got more important things to be concerned about. We've already done plenty for her, after all,” the Iraklin nods, looking at you for a moment before continuing, “Something else on your mind? You've got that look of yours – the one that tells me you're planning something. Probably something dangerous.”

She knows you too well. “I DID have an idea, something I wanted to get your opinion on,” you admit, “So we know that Eishin is working against the church, right? If we told them about his plans, do you think the church would want to... do something about him?”

Freddy considers this for a moment. “Hard to say. It's not easy for either power to move their armies into the Deep Forest. It would run the risk of provoking the Iraklins,” she thinks aloud, “But then we also want Eishin dead, so... perhaps an arrangement could be made. It would take some discussion, though – as you can imagine, it takes a lot to get our leaders to agree with the Carths on anything. As for my opinion, though? No, I don't think it's impossible.”

“Even if they could agree to a joint attack, it would be bloody work,” you muse, “Clearing the Deep Forest out with ground troops...”

“I'd be more concerned about the air bombardments,” Freddy argues, “One of the remaining fragments is in an old tomb, correct? An unlucky shot could collapse an underground tunnel system, burying our prize under countless tonnes of rock. Not good news for us.” Shaking her head, she speedily assembles her pistol again. “But it's all hypothetical now,” the pilot concludes, “We don't even know if the two leaders would agree to meet, let alone agree on anything more important than that.”

“Sure,” you agree, still considering the practicalities of it, “Thanks for the input.”

“Any time, captain,” Freddy assures you, “Was that everything?”

>It was, yes. Let's head back to the capital
>There was something else... (Write in)
>Other

>>2812385
What if we can get the best of both worlds here. Let her stay on our ship a bit, with the risk it entails, long enough to get her notes free of charge and potentially teach Grace what she knows. Then later we can let Hess be her patron in exchange for a favor and get her off our hands.

My only addendum to the Hess plan would be to give her a new identity (name, hair dye, contacts, etc) and maybe some witch wards before letting her go, cause I'm a bleeding heart asshole that doesn't want her to get ganked.

>>2812415
>Everything we were here for. Let's head back to the capital.

>>2812415
>It was, yes. Let's head back to the capital
"You think that guy Caliban blew up had a bounty on him?"

>>2812415
>It was, yes. Let's head back to the capital


>>2812416
I don't think any amount of disguising will fix her....recognizable....personality. The SAFEST thing for her would be either for us to take her or we drop her off at a sanatorium. The first would be to our detriment and the second would be shitting on her agency and life's work. I'll go with letting her do exactly what she wants in a productive manner, with risks she can accept or deny.

>>2812432
>I don't think any amount of disguising will fix her....recognizable....personality.

Maybe so, but we came almost 100% of our way from her name and 'graying hair + glasses'. It'd be better than nothing.

>>2812437
true enough

“It was, yes. C'mon, let's head back to the capital,” you tell her, “Hey, do you think that guy Caliban blew up had a bounty on his head? We might be able to make a little money out of this run.”

“Enough money to buy a clean outfit, hopefully,” Freddy remarks, “I don't know about a bounty, but getting rid of the local gang leader might make things a little safer around here. If Hess sends some troops in now, he might be able to get a proper foothold on...” Stopping herself short, the Iraklin lets out a wan laugh. “I'm sorry, captain, I was getting ahead of myself,” she apologises, “You're right, let's head back.”

-

Dubois has very little in the way of luggage to slow her down, and the now empty handcart is easy enough to bring with you, so you make good time returning through the ruins. You don't spot any scavengers either, so the ruins really might be safer. As a downside, there's no real need to move quietly – Dubois takes advantage of this, telling you all about a few of her more “interesting” theories on the Guild before Caliban urges her to silence.

As you walk, you feel Keziah's thoughts brushing up against your own. “Hey, boss, good news,” she reports, “The Helena is fit to fly again, all fixed up and everything. You want us to meet you in Pastona?”

“Definitely,” you reply, “I want to see my favourite girl again – it's been too long.”

“I'll tell ol' Helena that you said that, I reckon she feels the same way,” the witch thinks back, “Okay then, I'll let Dwight know. See you soon, boss.”

As her thoughts retreat, you realise that Dubois is talking again – this time about her research, the folklore she was able to collect. “I've got seven stories. Well, six and a half. Maybe a little less than a half,” she explains to Grace, “The point is, I was never able to find any other reference to two of those stories in the existing literature! You know what that means, don't you? Completely new material, never before seen outside of the Deep Forest!”

“Very impressive!” Grace replies, with what appears to be genuine enthusiasm, “I can't believe that nobody had been interested in supporting your work. It's so sad...”

“That's the way of the world. The Carths don't care about “heathen stories”, while the Iraklins don't care... well, about anything except guns and killing,” Dubois laments, “As for Nadir, well, they've already made their feelings clear! Trying to murder me because of my work... imagine the publicity I could get if I found the right people. Maybe I could write a book about it – I'd have to polish it a little, make it all a little sexier, but...”

You're trying your best, you really are, but you're starting to think that Dubois has a death wish.

[1/2]

>>2812484

Before heading back to the Spirit of Helena itself, you stop in at both the local Guild outpost and the aerodrome's security bureau. In the latter, you find a notice asking for information about “anarchist gangs” in the ruined district. No reward is mentioned, but you tell the uniformed cler what you know regardless. He takes careful notes as you recount your story, occasionally asking for clarification on certain details – precisely how many fighters were there, what weapons were the armed with, that kind of thing – but otherwise listening in silence. When you're finished, he reads his report over again and thanks you sincerely.

Still, he doesn't offer you any compensation. Sulkily leaving the office, you find Dubois staring up at the Spirit of Helena. “Is that your ship?” she asks, a faint note of disappointment in her voice.

“It is, yes,” you reply, “Not what you were hoping for?”

“Oh no, it's fine,” the scholar assures you, “Just... well, it's a bit lumpy, isn't it?”

-

Inside the ship, Dubois opens her battered leather case and tenderly extracts a fat notebook. “These are my notes – be careful with them, do you understand me? Careful!” she warns, before dusting off her hands and looking around, “Well, I'm going to make myself at home. It's not exactly luxurious here, but...”

Muttering to herself, Dubois hurries off as Keziah enters the cargo hold and gives you a cheerful wave. Before you can approach her, Freddy grabs your arm. “Captain, I don't know what you had planned, but I think we need to talk. All of us, I mean, as a group,” the Iraklin mutters to you, “I think we should tell everyone about Eishin and his interest in us – full disclosure, even if not everyone is happy about it. If it comes out later, it might look worse.”

“Like I was trying to hide it,” you mutter. You had been planning on taking a look at Dubois' notes, or possibly taking the Helena down to Nadir to show Maeve the stone tablet you found, but...

>Take a look through Dubois notes now, before you get distracted
>Gather the crew for a meeting about Eishin
>Take the Helena down to Nadir and meet with Maeve
>Other


>Sorry for the delay, I had some pretty dire technical problems.

>>2812634
>Take a look through Dubois notes now, before you get distracted
It seems to me that gathering intel before notifying the group is the best course of action. Definitely hold a group meeting later, though.

>>2812634
>Gather the crew for a meeting about Eishin
leave Grace with Dubois, keep her focused and not, I dunno, stealing things or something

>>2812634
>>Gather the crew for a meeting about Eishin

>>2812634
>Gather the crew
Make sure to say that we have a lot of defenses in place and he shouldn't be able to spy on us directly, or even know who most of the crew are.

Frowning a little, you give Freddy a nod and gesture for Grace to wait a moment. “Stick close to Dubois,” you tell her, “Talk with her, make her feel welcome, and... make sure she doesn't steal anything or shoot anyone. Understand?”

“Yes captain,” Grace replies quickly, “I'll keep an eye on her, don't you worry.” Bowing ever so slightly, she turns and hurries after the eccentric older woman. Once she's gone, you look back to Freddy.

“Gather everyone together,” you order, “Better that we get this out of the way sooner rather than later.”

-

The cargo hold is the only place large enough to comfortably hold all of your inner circle, so you hold the meeting there. Looking out at the expectant faces turned your way, you feel a sudden pang of anxiety. It's one thing to admit that you're defying the gods by pursuing this mission, but telling them that you'll be helping the king in exile, even incidentally? That's not an easy subject to raise with any kind of caution.

So you throw caution to the wind and go for the blunt approach.

“Thank you for gathering here,” you announce, “I'm afraid that it's bad news – Eishin has found us.” When you throw these words out there, you don't know what kind of reaction to expect. Outrage, perhaps, or fear? Instead of either of those, you're met with a confused silence. “One of his agents spotted us when we were meeting with a contact of mine,” you explain, “Even if we had silenced them, it would only have postponed the inevitable. I was faced with an unenviable choice, and...”

“I don't like where this is going,” Caliban mutters, his voice cutting through a brief lull in your speech.

“We came to an arrangement,” you conclude, grimacing as you pronounce the words, “An agreement not to meddle in each other's affairs. Considering the options, I deemed it the best course of action.”

“Now hold on, brother,” Gunny blurts out, “Are you telling me that we're friends with him now?”

“Not friends, no. We're not even allies of convenience, not really,” you explain, “Here's what I know – Eishin is aware of our mission, but he has no intention of preventing us from completing it. As for how much he knows about us... Keziah, can you explain this part? This is really more of your area of expertise.”

“Ah! I mean, yes, very good,” Keziah leaps up from the crate she had been leaning on, “So, I dinnae ken exactly how Eishin is spyin' on us, but I have a few guesses. A few days ago he sent a spirit to spy on us, but the wards I placed on the ship stopped it from seein' anythin'. You dinnae need to worry about him peekin' while you're on the privy, at least.” Laughing at her own joke, Keziah runs a hand through her hair and thinks about the next half of her explanation.

[1/2]

>>2812702

“Now, I've been givin' this some thought – dinnae laugh, Caliban, I see that smirk – and I reckon I know what Eishin knows about us. If my guess is right, he knows more about our deeds than us ourselves. So Eishin knows when the boss grabs another of the fragments, see, but that's about all,” the witch concludes, “So, there isnae really much to worry about, okay?”

“Nice explanation,” you think to her, “You sounded like you believed it.”

“I do, more or less,” she silently replies to you, “Eishin doesn't really care about us – he cares about what we're doing. So long as we keep putting the pieces together, he'll leave us alone. Probably.”

“Okay brother, you need to explain one thing to me because I'm lost,” Gunny says slowly, “Eishin went to the trouble of spying on us, just so he can... what, make sure we don't make trouble for each other? I don't understand this.”

An awkward silence descends. Meeting Freddy's eyes, you recall her suggestion – full disclosure. If it was Keziah or Caliban asking you this, it might not be so bad, but Gunny? Drawing in a deep breath, you force yourself to give him an answer. “Eishin believes that our mission will somehow help his cause,” you tell him, “I don't know how or why. I'm not even entirely sure what his cause is, save that he's acting in opposition to the church. That means-”

“Wait!” Blessings yelps, “Wait, ah, captain, you... we... Does that mean WE'RE acting against the church as well?”

The cold silence returns, and this time you can't find any comfort in the crew before you. No comfort, no easy answers, nothing of the sort – this time, you're on your own.

But you've got to tell them something, don't you?

>Dismiss the crew. This meeting is over
>You'll tell them... (Write in)
>Other

>>2812755
>>You'll tell them... (Write in)
"No idea Blessings. Eishin seems to think so, but I take anything he proclaims with a large grain of salt. The point is, regardless of what he thinks, we get to choose whatever path we take and what we do with the results of this mission. I don't plan to make an enemy out of anyone, except for maybe Eishin himself eventually."

>>2812770
>>2812755
Seconding.

>>2812755
> You'll tell them
He seems to believe that we're defiling the holy sites we visit. After St Alma's tomb I'd argue we're just revealing the existing corruption in them.

Meeting Blessings' eyes, you give him a deliberately nonchalant shrug. “I don't know, Blessings. Eishin seems to think we are, but I wouldn't put too much stock in anything he says or believes. What I do know is that we're choosing our own path here, not following his orders. Whatever comes of our mission, we're the one who get to decide what to do with those results,” you tell him, “I don't intend on making an enemy out of anyone – except maybe Eishin himself, when the time is right.”

“So long as Eishin believe us to be an ally, we have more room to work around him,” Grace adds, speaking up from the far end of the room. You all look around as she returns, and she colours a little at the sudden attention. “What I mean is, one of the fragments is down in Nadir – it might even be in Eishin's territory,” she continues, “If we play the part Eishin has written for us, we'll have less trouble operating under his nose. If he wants to believe that we're his ally, I think we should let him.”

“That's right,” you agree, still a little nonplussed by her arrival, “I'm not prepared to throw away this advantage, even if I find it just as unsavoury as the rest of you.”

“Oh, um, and I'm sorry for interrupting,” Grace adds, “Dubois fell asleep, so I thought I'd see where everyone else had gone. You didn't tell me that you were having a meeting!”

“That's because the captain didn't want anyone smarter than him showing him up,” Caliban remarks drily. A muted laugh greets this, and the tension in the air bleeds away. Without you needing to give the order, everyone starts to break off and go their separate ways. Gunny lingers, meeting your eyes for a moment. As soon as you've got enough space to talk privately, you approach him.

“I don't like this, brother,” he admits bluntly, “In fact, it makes me just about sick to my stomach. If anyone else was telling me this, I think I'd just walk off this ship right now – wouldn't even stop to pack a bag. Thing is, brother, I trust you enough to see this out. Just tell me one thing – what you said, about making an enemy of Eishin... you mean that, or were you just trying to set some minds at ease?”

“I don't know yet, Gunny. We don't know what Eishin is capable of – I don't fancy picking a fight that we can't win,” you confess, “We know basically nothing about him. I'll tell you this, though, I spoke with Freddy. She thinks that the two powers might be willing to cooperate against Eishin. The Iraklins already see him as an enemy, and if the church learns that Eishin is working against them...”

“Now there's a bit of good news,” Gunny sighs, relief in his voice, “Imagine, Iraklis and Carthul working together!”

“That really would be a miracle,” you chuckle.

[1/2]

>>2812851

When the last of your crew has filed away and left you alone in the cargo hold, you take out Dubois' notes and give the first page a look. To your great relief, the pages were typed on a typewriter – somehow, just looking at Dubois is enough to convince you that her handwriting would be nigh-illegible. With that first hurdle out of the way, you skim over the introduction. In it, Dubois claims that her texts were translated from oral accounts in an especially old dialect. Adding to this is the – in your opinion, somewhat dubious – claim that her translations are the original versions of the tales.

Flipping through the notes, you glance at a few of the titles – The Timid King, The Wyrm's Pity, and... “must think of a better title later”. Dubois DID say that these were her early notes, but still. Skipping straight to the last, untitled story, you quickly read it over. It's short, prefaced by a note telling you that it's one of the unique stories. It's strange to imagine that what you now hold in your hands is the only written version of the tale left in existence. Reminding yourself to make a copy of the relevent details later, you begin to read.

This must have been the “half” that Dubois mentioned, as there isn't much to the tale. In fact, there isn't really a narrative of any kind. It's more of a curt description, speaking of...

It speaks of the existence of giants, creatures who had gnawed at the roots of the world and gained great power. They towered over normal men, and they did not age, but beyond those gifts was one simple fact – so long as they remained upon the land of their birth, they could not be killed. Their flesh would turn away any blade, and fate itself would conspire to defeat any attempt to do them harm.

“Well well, Eishin...” you mutter to yourself, “Is this what you didn't want anyone to learn?”

>So I think I'm going to pause here for today. Into the Skies will continue tomorrow, starting at the usual sort of time
>Thank you for your patience today – I apologise for the technical difficulties!

>>2812979
Thanks for running!

Is this why Eishin doesn't leave his territory?

>>2812979
Thanks for running!

How do the roots of the world taste? Are they pleasant to gnaw on?

>>2812979
How are we supposed to kill a giant? We don't even have an explosive harpoon!

>>2813136
Guess we'll just have to make do with our new super weapon we strapped onto the ship.

>>2813136
Simple, slip a noose around his neck and lift him off of Nadir.

>>2813032
Plot twist: Eishin just hates leaving his basement. When he wants something done, or if he just wants his tendies, he yells at Segharl to do it.

>>2813062
I'm imagining something that tastes of very strong liquorice. Whether that's good or not is all a matter of taste!

>>2813136
I've heard of a hunter from the north who specializes in taking down giant beasts. He might be available.

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

101 KB JPG

What kind of pity does a wyrm have for a human?

That's what the second of Dubois' unique tales speaks of. The story begins by introducing a hero – although a footnote explains that heroism, in the Nadir tradition, means power rather than virtue – with a great destiny ahead of them. This hero, fated to achieve amazing things, eagerly plunges into the first of what is certain to be many challenges.

Only to fall at the first hurdle, their destiny broken and unfulfilled. It is then that a great wyrm comes across their body floating in a great lake of mud and, sensing this unfulfilled destiny, breathes new life into the hero. This act of charity is done not because the hero was a good person – they weren't – or even because they had earned a second chance – they hadn't – but simply because they were... a loose end.

So, with the life returned to their body and the aid of this wyrm, the hero returned to their fated path. This time, the tale promised, they would see it to the end.

-

“Hey, come on!” Keziah protests, “That's it? It doesnae even end, it just trails off!”

“I suppose it's meant to be like... the adventure continues,” you suggest with a shrug, closing the book and dropping it down onto the bed, “Or it's to keep people interested. Tell them that one day you'll finish off the story, they'll just have to wait until the time was right. I don't know, I didn't write the damn thing.” Sighing, you lean back and stare up at the ceiling, feeling Keziah holding back a yawn. You've been like this for a while now, her resting her head in your lap while you read Dubois' note aloud, and now you're both feeling drowsy.

“What other stories are there?” the witch asks, closing her eyes and letting out a soft sigh as you run your hands through her hair.

“We've got two monster stories – lots of blood and violence – and what seems like a romance. Nadir romance, that is, so it's probably still got a lot of blood and violence. Freddy might like it, though,” you remark with a quiet laugh, “There's one about a king leading his people out of the Deep Forest, that might be about the founding of Monotia, and... I'm not sure what else.” Picking the book back up, you flip through the pages again. “Oh hey, it's us,” you chuckle, “The Thief Who Defied A God.”

“God?” Keziah asks, opening her eyes and looking up at you, “Not all of the gods?”

Frowning at the sudden alertness in her voice, you give the story a quick read. What was it that Dubois had claimed, that her versions of the tales were supposed to be the unaltered originals?

“Keep reading,” the witch whispers, her thoughts brushing up against yours, “I've got a bad feeling about this.”

[1/2]

>>2815319

In the end, it comes as little surprise that the god in question is the Master of Dogma – the Lord of Rising Light, and Eishin's enemy. Four of the other gods, the primal and elemental gods, barely featured at all in the tale, as if the original storyteller had been reluctant to credit them with thoughts or wills of their own. The only other major player in the tale was the Master of Impurity, who was said to have appeared to the thief... in the guise of a blind old man.

“So,” you mutter as you slop a measure of brandy into a cup, “I guess that's that. All this time, I've been following the advice of a god. It's funny – I never really thought of myself as being religious.”

“Well...” Keziah says slowly, “Does this really change anything?”

You think on this for a moment, then shake your head. “No, it doesn't. We're too far in to turn back now. It just... shook me a little,” you take a sip of brandy, feeling the spirit burn its way down into your stomach, “We'll continue on as planned. Two remaining fragments, that's all we need to find.”

“Are we aimin' for one of those next?” she asks, picking her loose tunic up off the ground and yanking it down over her head, “I guess so, unless you were bein' serious about tryin' to arrange some kind of alliance against Eishin. You have any idea how to get started on that?”

“Hess, perhaps. He probably knows how to get things done, one way or another. After that, head to Carthul and pass the message on,” you shrug and throw back the last of the brandy, “Delivering messages might not be all that exciting, but it's for all for a greater good. Other than that, there was...” There was speaking with Keziah's mother, you silently finish, largely about your own. If you want to know about a witch, ask another witch. That's personal business, though – not part of the mission.

At least, you hope not.

Focus. Time to plan your next move.

>Get the crew together and decide on the next key fragment to recover
>Speak with Hess about the possibility of an alliance against Eishin
>Descend to Nadir and speak with Maeve about your mother
>Find Dubois and ask her some questions about her research
>Other

>>2815322
>Speak with Hess about the possibility of an alliance against Eishin
We are in the area so I suppose this would be more efficient.

>>2815322
>>Find Dubois and ask her some questions about her research
Inquire after why the four elemental God's weren't featured in her story.
>Speak with Hess

>>2815322
Backing >>2815348

>>2815322
Let's go with >>2815348

“We're in the area, so we might as well speak with Hess,” you decide with a faint shrug, “Might ask him about Odyssey Point while I'm there, see if he can pull any strings... ah, that's planning a little far ahead, though.” As you idly pass the book of Dubois' notes from one hand to the other, an idea occurs to you. The inconsistency you found is nagging at you, and you'd like to see if she can explain it.

Plus, you'd like to make sure that she's not getting up to any trouble.

Leaving Keziah to flop back onto your bed and doze off, you go looking for Dubois. You find her in Grace's room, the first place you thought to check, but the two scholars are deep in a painfully intellectual discussion when you arrive – something about verb forms and predictive tenses. It makes your head ache just listening to it, so you make your presence known with a loud knock on the ajar door. Jolting up from her desk, Grace looks around at you with a faintly guilty expression. “Captain!” she squeaks, “I didn't know you were...”

“The door was open,” you explain, “I always wondered what women talked about when they were alone, but I never expected it would be so boring.”

“Oh, this isn't boring. Languages are fascinating – they're like puzzles, in a way, and... ahem,” Grace clears her throat awkwardly, realising that you're not convinced by her reasoning, “Were you looking for us, captain?”

Considering that you're standing in her quarters, the answer to that should be obvious. “I've been reading over Dubois' notes, and I had a question about them,” you explain, holding up the book. Dubois carefully takes it from you, stroking the cover with a fond hand. “It's about your story about the thief. In the version of that story that I've heard, the thief steals from all of the gods, but your version barely mentions the four elemental gods,” you point out, “What could cause that kind of discrepancy?”

“Well. I have a theory about that. In fact, I'm fairly certain about it, but one must always leave room for error, right?” Dubois replies, taking off her thick spectacles and polishing them with a rag, “It seems to me that, at some point in Nadir's ancient history, all references to the Master of Dogma were purged from the old stories. That left some tales with, well, with holes in them – in those cases, the generic label of “the gods” was used instead. As for why those references were purged... I'm not quite sure. Some form of information control, obviously, but I don't know why. In either case, I had to do a lot of digging to find someone who still knew the old story.”

You just hope she isn't being literal about that.

[1/2]

>>2815404

After that, Dubois segues into a boastful spiel about her scholarship and you take that as your cue to leave. Grace, at least, looks interested in what the eccentric woman has to say, so you decide not to feel bad about running out on them. As you leave the Spirit of Helena and head for the consul's office, you find yourself thinking about life in the Deep Forest. Isolated from the outside world, the people there don't have the same freedom or luxury that you have. When you want to learn about something, you can visit any number of places – libraries, archives, museums...

But in the Deep Forest, where can you go for information? Oracles and storytellers are both fallible and vulnerable to coercion. A capable warlord could twist the folk tales to fit their own purposes, ensuring that their subjects never learn any inconvenient truths. It makes your head spin just to think about it.

-

The first thing you notice about the consul's office is the Abrahad statue standing in the lobby. You're certain that it's the one you destroyed in Firebase Alpha, the damage repaired with pristine white plaster. It's a good job, but there's a subtle difference between the unnatural stone and the more recent repairs. As you wait for Hess to finish his last appointment, you study the statue's new head and try to figure out if it's supposed to look like the consul. He wouldn't be that arrogant, would he?

“Captain Vaandemere!” Hess calls out, standing on the upper level and leaning over the parapet, “It's good to see you again. Come up, and we can talk business!”

Hastening up to join the consul, you spot his aide, Carter, lurking nearby. The heavyset man watches you with unreadable eyes, bowing his head ever so slightly in a subdued greeting. Returning the nod, you follow Hess into his office and sit down as he pours two drinks. “Marshal Lhaus sends his regards,” the consul begins, and you have little doubt that he's lying about that, “But neither of us wishes to dwell on him for too long, I imagine. So tell me, Captain Vaandemere, what brings you here today?”

“I'm not quite sure how to begin. It's something of a sensitive subject,” you reply slowly, “It concerns Eishin. Tell me something – what's the official Iraklin stance towards him?”

“Officially speaking? He's a fugitive for justice, wanted for the poisoning of his father. We'd very much like to see him put on trial, and we're working to make that happen,” Hess answers smoothly, “Unofficially, though, we're aware that that will never happen. Eishin would never allow himself to be brought in alive. Quite frankly, we'd rather just get rid of him as quickly and quietly as possible.”

Somehow, you find yourself wondering if that's really true.

[2/3]

What we should do is spread the knowledge Dubois dug up. Spread it so wide Eishin can't hope to bury it all.

Except the bit about the thief, of course.

>>2815485

“Should I assume, therefore, that you're here about Eishin?” Hess continues, “I'd be rather pleased if you were here to bring me his head, but I can't imagine that's the case.”

“Not yet, at least,” you reply with a wolfish smile, “But some new information has reached me – Eishin is working to oppose the church, which makes him an enemy of Carthul. It seems to me like both major powers would want him dead, so I wanted to talk to you about an alliance. Iraklis and Carthul joining forces to defeat Eishin... wouldn't that be worth putting aside hostilities for a while?”

“An enemy of the church, now? Why, there are some in Iraklis who would say that that makes Eishin our ally,” Hess claims with a smirk, “But no, I think you're quite right. If we could all agree to set aside our differences for a little, something might actually get done for once. On the other hand, it's not easy for two opposing nations to meet and talk things over.” Slowly sipping his drink, Hess considers the situation. “Allow me to make some calls,” he concludes, “I know people on both sides, people who know people – you know how it is. Together, we might be able to arrange something unofficial. That way, nobody loses face if the meeting falls through. These things must be handled with care, you understand?”

“I understand,” you reply, although you're not sure if you do.

“But you know, this would all be a lot easier for us if we knew more,” the consul muses, “I don't know where you're getting your information from, but if you happened to get any more of it... well, you see where I'm going with this, don't you? We suspect that Eishin is building an army, but we know very little about the specifics. Does Eishin have a way to counter airships, for example, or would we be able to bombard him from the skies?”

“You don't ask for much, do you?” you remark with a wan smile, only for Hess to laugh.

“The people I work with, Captain Vaandemere, they don't believe anything unless they read it in an official report. You can only get so far with whispers,” he laments, “What I'm asking you to do is gather information, that's all. What do you say?”

Mission: Gather information about King Eishin
Reward: N/A

>Accept the mission
>Decline the mission
>Ask further questions... (Write in)
>Other

>>2815566
>Accept the mission
>Other
I assume you already know about the daemon suicide ships, but since you seized DuPont's assets I'm not sure if he can make anymore. Wouldn't put it past him though, Eishin seems resourceful.

>>2815566
>>Accept the mission

>>2815566

>Accept the mission

>>2815566
>Accept the mission
Warn him about demons and changelings.

“Very well, I accept the mission,” you decide, “I already have some information to report. First of all, on the subject of airships – Eishin won't be able to produce any new ships of his own, with his “partner” under house arrest. Unless he has a number of the ships held back in reserve, your ships should have nothing to fear.”

“Yes, I heard about that. One of your fellow Free Captains, wasn't it? Some people will do anything to make a profit, I suppose,” Hess sighs, “In truth, airships were only one possibility we have been considering. The military might not place much stock in folklore, but I'm not so closed-minded. If Eishin has some kind of... creature... under his sway, it could cause us a great deal of trouble.”

“A creature... a wyrm?” you blurt out, “Do you think Eishin has-”

“Rumour and speculation, nothing more. Most of what the Iraklin military knows comes from the reports of one man, Captain Faulkner. You know the name, I see,” Hess shakes his head, “In his time in the Deep Forest, Faulkner heard talk. We've never seen any evidence to support it, but we've never had cause to provoke Eishin either. I'll have to see if I can get in touch with Faulkner, actually, get his input on this little scheme of yours.”

“Well, he is the expert...” you murmur, feeling a faint and nameless unease coiling around within the pit of your stomach. “Still, I'm glad that you're willing to entertain extreme possibilities,” you continue, “Because according to my source, Eishin is fond of using shapeshifters – changelings, they're called, creatures that can imitate people. He might already have people inside the military – best that you keep things as secret as possible.”

“Really?” Hess raises an eyebrow and takes out a gold pen, “Tell me all about these creatures...”

-

You spend about an hour telling Hess about all the unnatural forces that Eishin might employ, from changelings to daemons. All the while, you take the opportunity to enjoy the contents of Hess' liquor cabinet. Talking, after all, is thirsty work. Your information fascinates the consul, and it's clearly more than just professional interest that leads him to ask frequent questions. There's only so much you can do to answer him, but you take note of his various queries for later. You can always pass them along to Maeve.

Before you go, you cautiously change the subject. “I've heard that there might be a certain Nadir artefact stored in Odyssey Point,” you venture, “A bit of old iron, rather like the item you gave me. Have you heard anything about that?”

“This is news to me,” Hess replies, “But Odyssey Point is rather far out of my jurisdiction. Were you, by any chance, hoping to get your hands on this item?”

“Maybe,” you offer vaguely.

“I'll make some inquiries,” the consul decides, “But no promises.”

[1/2]

>>2815654

In theory, your task is simple – do a little scouting, get a vague idea of what Eishin's territory is really like, then return to Hess. Simple, perhaps, but it's still not something you're particularly enthusiastic about. Even knowing that Eishin considers you an ally, the idea of walking into his territory and presenting yourself to him is an uncomfortable one. If he should get the idea that you're actively spying on him, then... well, he might not kill you, but you get the idea that simple murder is the least of what Eishin can do to you.

Still, you agreed to do the job so that's what you're going to do. To Nadir, then.

-

Even before you've landed in Sybile, you can see Maeve waiting for you at the edge of town. The wind plucks at her clothes, occasionally tugging at the hem of her long skirt to reveal a flash of her inhuman legs. Exiting the ship and hurrying over to her, you see the grave expression on her face. “It's bad news,” you begin, getting the first word in, “Eishin knows that we're still alive.”

“I know,” Maeve agrees, “His agent came here to speak with me – to tell me the good news, or so he claimed. In truth, he wished to know how involved I was. It does not matter. Please, come with me.” Turning her back on you, Maeve treks towards her cliff side home. “In believing that you were dead, the king in exile was forced to confront the prospect of his plans failing. Now that he knows you live, he will be more cautious. More... cooperative,” the witch continues, “Our ploy may yet bear fruit.”

“I'm glad it wasn't a total waste of time, then,” you sigh, hurrying after her, “I want to visit Eishin's territory, to see it with my own eyes. Can you...”

“Inform his agent, that you might be brought to him? Yes, I can do that. A simple messenger daemon will suffice,” Maeve nods to herself, stopping and turning to look around at you. “Tell me something, Milos Vaandemere,” she continues with a faint smile, “My daughter... how is she?”

She knows. You don't know how – you don't want to know – but... she knows.

-

The wind in the gloomy room dies down, Maeve's messenger daemon carrying her words into the void as it vanishes. In the stillness that follows, you shiver – you can't help but feel as if you've implicated yourself in something terrible. “All that we can do now is wait,” Maeve murmurs, “Now, Milos Vaandemere... you want to ask me something, do you not?”

She's as perceptive as always. All of a sudden, you feel your throat dry up. “I wanted to ask you about... if you ever knew a woman called Caoimhe,” you ask quietly, “I wanted to ask you about my mother.”

>I'm sorry about this, but I'll have to close things early today, I just can't write. I'll see if things are any better tomorrow, then hopefully continue then
>Thank you for your patience today

>>2815777
>inb4 "Oh my sister?"

Thanks for running.

>>2815777
Thanks for running!

>Hess is going to tell Faulkner we're coordinating Iraklin and Carth against Eishin.
>OOC we know Faulkner works for Eishin, and will pass this on to him.
>In character, we're gearing up to meet with Eishin, which will happen almost immediately after he learns about our efforts.

Is this what it feels like to be trapped in a moving vehicle as it heads for a cliff?

>>2815777
Thanks for running!


>she knows
Oh god. What does Maeve think about it? Is she... jealous?

>>2815791
>Is this what it feels like to be trapped in a moving vehicle as it heads for a cliff?

Yeah pretty much. I didn't realize accepting the mission locked us into going to meet Eishin right away. I though it was more of a passive 'If you come across more information in your travels, let Hess know about it' kind of mission.

>>2815809
Same with me. We're boned, anons.

>>2815809
This is what I mean when I say that although this is a well written quest, it's not entirely player driven. It's way too railroaded. He'll include 50 details in an update but only let the players affect one. "Bullshit. If that shady dude had said that and left, we wouldn't have gone left instead. But you already moved us fifteen steps ahead there."

>>2817995
While I do think we have more control than your giving the quest credit for I also agree that Moloch does make some assumptions sometimes and moves us too many steps forward.

In this case we decided on the 'what' we were going to do: 'Getting information for Hess', but he decided on the 'how' and 'when' without any input from us which has us walking right into a hornets nest without a plan.

Maybe it's to maintain pacing but sometimes things can go a little too fast.

>>2817995
Honestly I prefer it that way. Entirely player driven quests turn out awful. The majority just vote to sit around and wait for things to happen to them, it gets incredibly boring, or increasingly ridiculous as the QM throws event after event at them against all odds. I think this quest has a good amount of railroad. Players need some direction and momentum.

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

1.49 MB PNG

“You must understand, I never knew her personally,” Maeve begins, looking coyly at you across the rim of her cup, “But the name... I know her name all too well. Madame Lamia mentioned it to me on several occasions. I believe she would have preferred it if Caoimhe had been her daughter instead of me, but... that isn't what you came here to learn, is it? So. Caoimhe... I can tell you only a little, I'm afraid.”

“Anything,” you breathe, the words catching in your throat, “Anything you can.”

“Caoimhe was one of three young initiates who sought out Madame Lamia, seeking her insight and wisdom. These three did not know one another, and yet they all found themselves walking the same path at the same time. Providence, some might say. They came to Madame Lamia's side and begged her for a prophecy,” Maeve continues, slowly taking a sip of her tea and thinking back. Talking about these old memories brings a bittersweet smile to her face, and she savours them in silence for a long time. You want to press her for more details, and yet you can't bring yourself to speak.

“Of you three, only one will be chosen. They will plant two seeds, and those seeds will grow to achieve great things,” the witch intones, summoning the prophecy up from her memory, “You see, Milos Vaandemere? These initiates learned that one of them would bear two children, whose deeds would leave a scar upon this world. Tell me – do you have any siblings?”

“No, I was an only child,” you reply, “At least, I think so.” Although your words are uncertain, you feel a powerful certainty blooming in your heart. Somehow, you would know if there was another out there who shared your blood. You would just know.

“So Caoimhe was not the one,” Maeve murmurs, “The other two initiates... I remember them even less. Madame Lamia did not care for them, and so she rarely spoke of them. One remained here in Sybile, seeking her destiny among the local men, only to die in the grip of childbirth. The last initiate – who, I now know, must have been the one chosen by Lamia's prophecy – left this place and never came back.”

“You don't remember anything else about her?” you press, “This final initiate?”

Covering her mouth with a hand, Maeve lets out a delicate laugh. “He,” she corrects you, “He was the only man among their number. Ah, I dearly wish that I could see Madame Lamia's face when I tell her this – fate has played a fine jest on us!” Still laughing to herself, Maeve leans back and shakes her head. “But this is a shame. I dare say that it will be near impossible to find him now, or his children,” she laments, “Men of Nadir often wander, spreading their seed far and wide.”

Sitting here and listening to Maeve talking about “seed”... right now, you might actually feel more comfortable in Eishin's camp.

[1/2]

>>2819161

As you awkwardly fidget in your chair, you hear the sound of water dripping from elsewhere in the house. Sitting bolt upright, you see Maeve smile as she gently hushes you with a gesture. Following her through to the back of her kitchen, you see water dripping from the ceiling. Slow at first, the dripping soon turns into a torrent that falls and forms a greasy looking puddle on the floor. You've seen something like this before, you realise, and so it comes as little surprise when you see the water rising up to form a semi-human head.

“Witch,” the messenger daemon gurgles, regurgitating Segharl's gravel tones, “The request has been denied. The Mavens claim that Vaandemere bears ill-intent in his heart, although the auspices remain unclear.”

“The Mavens?” you whisper.

“Eishin's own witches,” Maeve replies softly, “I have heard whispers about them - they are said to be very old and very wise. Hush now, and we shall finish this talk later.” Clearing her throat, Maeve lifts her skirts as she kneels down in front of the messenger daemon. “Segharl the Broken,” she announces, “Do you really believe what you are telling me?”

“I believe that Vaandemere is a trickster, and no true ally to our cause,” Segharl's daemon replies, “That alone is enough reason for us to keep him at arm's length. When my liege wills it, he will be brought to us. Not before.” With that final declaration, the daemon loses all cohesion and melts back down into a pool of water, the liquid shrinking down and retreating beneath the floorboards.

When the last drop of water has vanished, Maeve turns to you. “Well then,” she murmurs, “It seems that you're not welcome.”

“Shit,” you sigh, “So much for gathering information. I guess there's nothing to do but go back and-”

“Do you mean to give up so easily?” Maeve asks, raising an eyebrow, “The auspices, he claims, remain unclear – some remnant of my enchantment must still hide you from Eishin's sight. To me, this seems like an opportunity to... what was it that you said, to gather information?”

She's planning something, you realise. “I won't be able to gather much information if I can't find Eishin,” you reply cautiously, “Can you lead me to him?”

“Not I, but I can call up a spirit to serve as a guide,” Maeve thinks for a moment, “I know that to walk into Eishin's territory would take days, but with your ship...”

Now you see where she's going with this. The Eliza, flying low and stopping on the outermost edge of Eishin's territory, might be enough for you to stay undetected. From there, you can travel the rest of the way on foot. You're not sure, though – the last time you thought you were getting the upper hand on Eishin, you ended up walking right into his trap. Will this time really be any better?

>Accept Maeve's plan to infiltrate Eishin's territory
>Avoid Eishin's territory and find some other means of gathering information
>Other

>>2819174

>Accept Maeve's plan to infiltrate Eishin's territory

As long as we're not going in on his terms it should be fine. I hope. Just don't get caught.

Also we really should have hit that tomb before this, if we're gonna piss Eishin off.

>>2819174
>>Accept Maeve's plan to infiltrate Eishin's territory
Fuck it.

Though isn't Maeve underestimating Eishin's physical security? We may be hidden from daemons but not eyes. Do we have the ability even with Caliban to stay incognito with all of Eishin's followers patrolling?

>>2819174
>>Avoid Eishin's territory and find some other means of gathering information
Unless we actually have a plan here.

“I think you're being a little too lax about this,” you point out, “Even if Eishin's daemons can't sense us, his soldiers still have eyes – if just one of them spots us...”

“Yes, there is risk,” Maeve admits, “There is no way to avoid that. Even moving under the dark of night, you will need to be careful, but human soldiers are fallible. I trust your skills, Milos Vaandemere, and the skills of your companions.”

Letting a slow breath hiss out through your teeth, you give Maeve a nod. “Hell, let's do it,” you decide, “Your daemon can guide us straight into Eishin's territory? I don't suppose it can get us an easy way out as well, can it?”

“That, I am afraid, will be down to you,” the witch laments, “Now see to your preparations. I have a spirit to call upon.”

-

Back at the Spirit of Helena, your plan is met with exactly the reception you had been expecting. “This is insane,” Freddy states bluntly, “Are you certain, captain, that there isn't any other way to gather information? Maybe we could try asking in some of the other Deep Forest settlements, see what they can tell us. Eishin must have enemies, men eager to see him brought low. We...” Her words trail off as she notices the firm look in your eye, a look that denies any argument. “Very well. If we fly by night, I should be able to get the Eliza close. If I keep the chief engineer with me, she'll be able to keep in contact with you,” the Iraklin concludes, “So I'll be able to fly in and pick you up if there's any trouble.”

“Aye, I can do that,” Keziah agrees slowly, “The skiff holds four, right? At least that means you won't be goin' in alone. Who were you wantin' to take with you?”

“You need a woodsman, someone who knows the Deep Forest,” Caliban interrupts, “I'll go with you, captain. I've been wanting to take a look at Eishin's territory for a while now.”

“We're not going in to start a fight,” you warn the hunter, “If we did, I doubt we'd come out as the winners. No, I DO need a guide... but that's it, not an assassin.”

“What about a shield, brother?” Gunny butts in, speaking up from his place at the far end of the cargo hold, “We've both seen that smoke monster they have – if you don't have a way to drive it back, it'll eat you alive. What you need is this staff of mine, that'll keep you safe.”

You look between the two men, weighing up their various advantages. Caliban's stealthy guidance, or Gunny's mystical protection? With only one space left in the Eliza, you'll have to leave one of the men behind – but which one?

>You'll bring Caliban. He's quiet, and he knows the territory
>You'll bring Gunny. His staff can drive back the worst of Eishin's daemons
>You'll bring someone else... (Write in)
>Other

>>2819201
>You'll bring Caliban. He's quiet, and he knows the territory
We'll just have to pray Maeve's wards can let us give daemons the slip, but if we get caught by real people we are also screwed.

>>2819201
>You'll bring Caliban. He's quiet, and he knows the territory
This is a really close call, but I think Caliban's tracking and stealth expertise will be more useful than Gunny's protection.

>>2819201
Can we ask Maeve or Kez for something that can repel a daemon in an emergency? Or is that kind of power strictly on the Rising Light side of things?

>>2819161
.........wait.......Lamia is Kez' grandmother?

>>2819221
Yep!

Explains the snake scales Kez has.

>>2819201
>You'll bring Caliban. He's quiet, and he knows the territory
so uh, how would we get Eishin out of the forest? Tranq and kidnap? lift him off with the airship? Blast the forest so bad he sinks right through and into the sea?

>>2819238
We aren't kidnapping him. That would be impossible.

We are just gathering information. (Whatever that is going to entail)

>>2819161
The 2 seeds are Eishin and Segharl, calling it now

>>2819245
Money on Milos and Gorgon