>>3093546

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

“We need to talk,” Caliban mutters, grabbing your arm and steering you a few paces away from the others, “About-”

“We're not leaving him behind,” you snap, cutting your voice to a hard whisper at the last moment, “That's not an option, so don't even...” The look on Caliban's face – startled, even a little bit disgusted – causes you to fall silent. “Hell,” you mutter, shaking your head in dismay, “Right, start over, what did you want to talk about?”

“We can't keep going on like this. We need to stop and rest... and TALK. You're the captain here, isn't morale important to a crew?” the hunter presses, “There's a settlement not too far from here, close enough that we should be able to reach it by nightfall. They're not exactly friendly, from what I recall, but they're not hostile either. They're traders at heart, they'll treat us well enough... so long as there's some profit in it.”

Looking back to where Gunny sits, you watch him talk quietly with Branwen. You're both having your own private conversations, you think glumly to yourself, when you should be talking to each other. As you watch, the ground beneath you trembles slightly – so slightly that you cannot be certain that it moved at all. “Okay, let's do it,” you mutter to Caliban, “Lead the way.”

-

Malairt, the settlement that Caliban leads you to, is almost as ruined as the village you just left. At least there are signs of life here, uneasy looking women carrying antique rifles while men toil on rebuilding their stone houses. The work stops at your arrival, almost a dozen rifle barrels jumping around to face you. Before the stalemate can draw out for more than a few seconds, one of the older men gestures for calm. “Nobody shoot,” he orders, his voice hushed but firm, “Are you here to cause trouble, strangers?”

“No. We're just looking for a place to rest,” you reply, holding up your empty hands, “A safe place to spend the night, some warm food in the morning, and then we'll be gone.”

Studying you for a moment, the man nods. “Perhaps we can work something out. My name is Ualan, and this is Shona,” he says, gesturing to the woman next to him, “We need extra hands to help with the repairs here. Give us a day of your labour tomorrow, and we'll happily grant you shelter. Two nights. We have food to share, and a healer for your wounded, so what do you say?”

Hard labour... not exactly restful, but at least they're not chasing you away. Then again, you're not sure if they could – even with numbers on their side, they don't look like they've got the stomach for a proper fight.

>Agree to work in exchange for food and shelter
>Refuse their offer, camp out for the night instead
>Threaten them into letting you stay
>Other

>>3093547
>Agree to work
It'll be comedic.
Also we should poke Gunny in a stone eye annd ask how it feels.

IT BEGINS

>>3093547
>Agree to work in exchange for food and shelter

>>3093547
>>Agree to work in exchange for food and shelter

>>3093547
>Agree to work in exchange for food and shelter
We should tell gunny to meditate on his eyes, see if they have a command word

“You drive a hard bargain, Ualan, but you have yourself a deal,” you decide, offering the scrawny man your hand to shake. He accepts it with ill-disguised relief, nodding quickly to himself as he pumps your hand up and down. Uncharitable it might be, but you find yourself mentally comparing the man to a rat as you try to extract your hand from his grip. With his grey hair drawn back into a tightly woven braid and his narrow lips showing a hint of his angular teeth, he certainly doesn't look like the most trustworthy man you've ever met. “So,” you add, finally pulling your hand away, “What needs doing?”

“We're building a wall,” Ualan explains, gesturing for his woman to lead your companions futher into the village, “Here and here, both sides of the clearing where the trees open out to a path.”

You follow his expansive gesture, studying the first hints of construction with a new eye. While most of the men are rebuilding their stone huts, others are gathering up a stack of loose rocks to place along the outer edge of the village. “When morning comes, just tell us what to do. We'll hold up our end of the deal,” you assure him, looking up at the large roundhouse he leads you towards. Built around a tall tree that spreads its canopy across the whole settlement, the thatched roundhouse looks mercifully intact. Almost cosy, in fact. Above, perched on a small platform built into the tree's branches, you spot owlish eyes peering down at you.

“Corvo, get down!” Ualan shouts, “You'll break your neck! Stranger, please, see to your comfort. I will have food sent to you. For now...” Trailing off here, he shoots a hard glare up at the boy above.

-

Although almost stiflingly dark, the roundhouse feels absurdly comforting as compared to the open forest outside. Soft, warm furs cover the ground beneath you, muffling your movements as you shuffle about. A gas lantern, its flame turned down low, provides a hint of light here, but you still need to wait a moment for your eyes to adjust. Already making themselves comfortable, your crew spread themselves out on the thick furs and relax. Branwen in particular seems perfectly at ease here, rolling about on the furs as if marking them with her scent. Taking the chance to speak with Gunny on his own, without the girl assisting him, you touch him lightly on the arm.

“Come outside for a moment,” you mutter to him, “I want to take a look. Out where it's lighter.”

“Oh?” Gunny replies, his lips twitching slightly, “Is it dark in here?”

“That's not...” you start to snap back, only to bite your tongue at the last minute. Not funny, you were going to say, but maybe he DOES find it funny.

If so, he's the only one.

[1/2]

>>3093577

Taking Gunny by the arm, you lead him outside and steer him a short way away from the village. Before arriving here, Blessings had the idea of covering Gunny's eyes with a scarf – a man with a hideous injury, he reasoned, might be less alarming to the locals than a pair of stark white Abrahad eyes. “Okay,” you breathe, turning to face Gunny and his impromptu blindfold, “Here we are.”

“Here we are,” he agrees, “Away from prying eyes.”

You really wish he wouldn't do that. Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you cautiously lift up the blindfold. You're glad of one thing – Gunny can't see the way you wince at the sight of what lies beneath. You had been hoping that it would have grown easier to accept over time, but the sight of his dead white eyes, the skin around them bleached and hardened into stone, still causes you to shudder with instinctive revulsion. “Why did you do it?” you ask at last, all but the bluntest words failing you.

Gunny doesn't answer this straight away, instead touching his frozen eyes as he thinks. It's both fascinating and terrible, watching his fingers roaming across the changed flesh. When he taps one fingertip against the eye itself, you turn away with a shudder. “It's not an easy thing to explain, brother, I've been racking my brains trying to think of a way to tell you,” Gunny says at last, “Just, if feels like whatever I say, we won't see eye to eye on-”

His words are cut sharply off as you spin around and punch him in the face, the blow splitting his lip and causing him to reel back against a tree. “You hit me!” he blurts out, the surprise barely managing to show on his paralysed face, “You can't hit a blind man! Didn't anyone ever tell you...”

Before he can say anything more, you grab his shoulder and pull him into a rough embrace. “You damn fool!” you hiss, “Did you know what would happen? Why didn't you tell me?”

“It's... some things, brother, a man has to decide for himself,” Gunny whispers at last, “I had an inkling of what might happen. A feeling. Until I saw it for myself, I never knew for sure what would happen.” Fumbling at you, he carefully pushes you back and looks you in the eye. Well, he tries – he ends up looking slightly past your shoulder. “Besides, if I HAD told you...” he continues, “You would have tried to stop me, wouldn't you?”

>Of course I would!
>No, I wouldn't
>I would have... (Write in)
>Other

>>3093598
>I wish I had never left you alone with that damned thing.

>>3093598
>>Of course I would!

>>3093598
>Of course I would!
>The witch's poisoning wasn't your fault. Dogma had no right taking your sight.

“Of course I would!” you snap back at him, “I never should have left you alone with that damn thing. I thought you were just going to take a look at it, not...” Pausing here as the words catch in your throat, you jab a finger straight into Gunny's chest. “Not burning your damn eyes out as some hideous sacrifice!” you cry, “A sacrifice for what? For being poisoned, for something that was done TO you? It wasn't your sin that needed burned away!”

Gunny waits patiently until you're finished, his mouth twisting down in a grimace of sorrow. “You heard what Masque told us, brother. That filth, that devil's tongue, it doesn't make something unclean – it just brings what was already there to the surface,” he points out, “You want to know why I did it, brother? That's why – knowing that I had that poison within me all along, I wanted to get it OUT of me!”

“And this was an acceptable cost, was it?” you reply, the words dropping from your lips like a curse. Once again, Gunny holds his tongue for a moment before giving you a simple nod.

“Yeah, I think it was,” he admits, “Those nightmares I had, dreams of being helpless and powerless while you were all suffering... I couldn't let that happen.” Cocking his head to the side for a moment, Gunny listens to the sounds of the forest. Insects chirp, birds cry out to each other, and muffled conversations drift back from the settlement. “We've all got our reasons for being here, brother,” Gunny confesses after a moment, “You told me that Dogma is broken, and we might be able to fix Him. Well, that won't happen if you get killed by some daemon along the way... and that's why I need to be right here by your side. I ain't such a smart guy, but I could figure out what I needed to do.”

There isn't much you can say to that. You were expecting – hoping for, even – some hint of regret, but Gunny's mind seems made up. In that regard, he was right - you could talk past each other for hours, and you wouldn't find a way of seeing eye to eye. Swallowing down this unpleasant realisation, you nod back towards the village. “We'd best be heading back,” you rasp, “They said there would be food.”

“Sure thing, brother,” Gunny agrees, his voice light and free from resentment, “Mind leading the way?”

-

Masque is already working on the repairs when you return to the village, putting his tireless shell to good use. Returning his curt nod of greeting, you follow the scent of hot food to the roundhouse. Shona sits inside with a bubbling pot, your crew all gathered around with bowls of the hearty stew.

“Don't worry about it, boss,” Keziah thinks to you, “The food's clean – she had the first bite of it. It's real good too, better dig in before we finish it all off!”

[1/2]

>>3093628

As you eat the thick vegetable stew, Shona talks a little more about the village and her life here. The boy you saw earlier, Corvo, is both her son and the closest thing that the village has to a witch. An apprentice to his grandmother, the boy had been thrust into the job after his teacher had vanished – she just wandered off into the woods one day, Shona explains with a rueful smile, seeking the wisdom of the gods. “But that's no great loss,” she concludes with a sigh, “We were never much for the gods. Corvo knows a few blessings and rites, enough to make our lives a little easier. That's good enough for us.”

“Not such an uncommon thing,” Keziah thinks to you, “Me mam said that she did the same thing once. She went out wandering in the Deep Forest, fasting until the gods granted her a revelation, a rite that would bring good health to our village. She passed the test, but not everyone does.”

As Keziah falls silent, you realise that Shona has changed the subject. “Now, we have a good life here,” she muses, gesturing around at the comfortable that you sit upon, “Trade is good. We stay in contact with all the other villages around here, and a trading post up north, so we're more... modern than most.” Smiling softly, she brushes her curtain of hair aside to reveal a gold trinket decorating her ear. Carth work, by the looks of it – not something that your average Deep Forest tribal would have.

“Excuse me,” Blessings asks quietly, “Do you know, ah... do you know anything about a village near here? It was about a day's march south, and-”

“Queer folk, those,” Shona interrupts, her expression darkening, “We did a little trade with them now and then. They worship some terrible fire daemon, I think. Barbarians – they cut off limbs touched by the gods and cast them into a great flame. Cripples everywhere when I was last there. No, we don't go there if we can help it. Did you come from there?”

Blessings looks nervously around at you. “We... did,” you admit, “But the town was destroyed when we arrived there. Raiders, most likely.”

Closing her eyes, Shona lets out a low moan of dismay before standing and gathering up the dinner dishes. “I must speak with Ualan,” she announces, “He ought to know about this. When we saw smoke rising, we suspected that something was wrong, but... he ought to know about this. Excuse me!” Demurely bowing her head, the woman hurries out of the roundhouse. A few moments after she leaves, Caliban gives you a firm punch on the shoulder.

“Hey!” you snap at him, “What the hell?”

“Here we were, having a nice dinner together,” the hunter complains, “Then you had to go and talk about a massacre!”

“No manners,” Grace agrees quietly, sipping from a cup of cool herbal tea.

[2/3]

>>3093652

That night, your sleep is often broken by one thing or another – every now and then, the ground beneath you is disturbed by tremors that cause you to sit bolt upright. It's hard to sleep easily in a place like this, never knowing what might be a harmless bump in the night and what might be the first hint of a raid. Maybe you shouldn't have told Shona about the destroyed town, but lying about it had been the furthest thing from your mind at the time. Either way, what's done is done now.

Shuddering awake for the fourth or fifth time that night, you sit up and look about you. Unease steals into you as you notice that not everyone is here – Keziah and Branwen are missing. Being careful not to wake any of the others, you slip out of the roundhouse and look about for any sign of trouble. Out on the far edge of the village, Masque is still working on building the wall, while Shona patrols with a rifle nearby. The light of a small gas lantern causes you to glance up, and you realise that Corvo is still sitting in his perch – doing... witch things, you presume. A rickety ladder allows access up to his perch, and you find yourself thinking that the kid must be pretty brave to trust it.

Speaking of witch things, you breathe a sigh of relief as you spot Keziah and Branwen gathered around the village well. Judging by the basket they have, they must be washing clothes. Attempting to wash clothes, in Keziah's case, but she's trying hard.

A false alarm, it seems. With that matter settled, you should probably think about heading back to bed. Although...

>Head back to the roundhouse and rest up
>Brave the ladder and introduce yourself to Corvo
>Join Shona on her patrol and speak some more with her
>Help Keziah and Branwen with their chores
>Other

>>3093681
>Brave the ladder and talk to Corvo

Grab some witch trix for Kez

>>3093681
>>Brave the ladder and introduce yourself to Corvo

>>3093681
>>Join Shona on her patrol and speak some more with her

Well, if a kid can do it then climbing that ladder should be a breeze for someone like you. At least, that's what you tell yourself as you place your heavy boot on the bottom rung of the ladder and hear the thin wood creak ominously. Banishing a few last second thoughts, you steadily climb higher and higher. When you're about halfway up the ladder, you hear a soft whimper of fear drifting down from above. Maybe your estimation of Corvo wasn't entirely accurate. Adopting what you hope to be a friendly expression, you climb the last of the way up and peer out onto the platform. Corvo squats a short distance away, his wide eyes seeming to take up the entirety of his face.

You get halfway through a cautious greeting before a leather-bound book slams down onto the top of your head and almost – almost! - causes you to lose your grip on the ladder. It's not even the pain in the top of your head that does it, as the book is padded out with soft leather, but the blow causes you to bite down on your own tongue. Tasting blood, you change tactics and fix Corvo with a fierce look, causing him to freeze in place.

These Nadir types. You've got to assert your dominance early, or you'll never get anywhere.

Climbing up onto the platform, you watch as Corvo scuttles away from you and crouches low, watching you with wary eyes. “So we got off on the wrong foot,” you begin, not bothering to offer him a handshake that would go unaccepted, “My name is Milos. I'm going to be helping out here. You're Corvo, right?” The boy nods, then sets his book aside as an afterthought. “Strange, seeing a book like that out here,” you continue, undeterred by his silence, “Is it full of secrets and witchcraft?”

The boy looks uncertain for a moment, weighing up his options – endure a conversation with you, or throw himself off the edge of his platform. Eventually, he settles on the former. “Not exactly,” he replies softly, placing a hand on the book, “It's birds. My parents got it for me, from one of the traders in the north. I don't know a lot of... anything else. My grandmother always told me that I was too young to learn more.”

Witches in these parts don't give up their secrets easily, it seems. “I know a witch,” you muse, gesturing faintly down to where Keziah flounders with an armful of wet clothes, “Several, actually, but I know some better than others. They come in all kinds, don't they? What was your grandmother like?”

Seemingly surprised by this approach, Corvo allows himself a thin smile. “She placed all her faith and trust in the gods. We all did, for a while,” he decides, the smile soon wilting away, “But that was a bad idea. When those men come back, the gods won't help us... will they?”

Both of you fall silent here, and your unease comes rushing back.

[1/2]

>>3093743

“What men?” you ask simply, hoping that the boy will appreciate your straightforward question. He doesn't answer for a while, his pallid hands kneading the thick woollen scarf around his neck. He's a curious boy to look at, Corvo, definitely a product of Nadir birth. His overlarge eyes are proof of that, along with his long and nimble fingers. His parents could likely pass for normal, but he wasn't nearly so lucky.

Eventually, the boy speaks. “A few days ago, the ground shook. I nearly fell out of my perch,” he begins, “It knocked down some of our old huts, but that didn't matter. They were empty – they've been empty since the king's men came and took some of our... oh...” Rubbing his eyes with both hands, Corvo yawns. “Eishin, he is... was the king of this forest. I've heard tell that he fell, or died, or... something happened to him. Sometimes he sent a man to trade with us, and we couldn't say no. Sometimes they demanded a few of our people as a tribute, and we couldn't say no to that either. If he IS gone, I won't be upset at all,” he continues, speaking hastily as if eager to get the matter of Eishin out of the conversation, “So we've had empty houses, and they fell down when the ground shook. Then, while we were rebuilding, some men came here.”

So he said – getting any straight answers out of the boy is proving more difficult than you expected. When you gesture for him to continue, Corvo jolts with shock. “Of course, you asked...” he mutters to himself, “They had guns, and I think they were HIS men. I don't know what they wanted, but I heard them arguing with my parents. When they left, father said that we needed to build defences. I think... I think they might be coming back.”

Peering over the edge, you watch as Shona restlessly paces back and forth. That might explain why they were so happy to get some help, you consider, and why Shona was so alarmed by the grim news from their neighbours. If one settlement was raided, theirs could easily be next. “I might have a word with your mother about this,” you tell the boy, nodding down to the patrolling woman, “She hasn't said anything to you?”

“Just that I should focus on studying grandmother's old rites,” the boy complains, opening his book and taking out a few crumbling sheets of parchment, “They just want me to stay up here and hide. I'm no good at fighting...”

His words trail off here, and the young witch glances down towards where his mother patrols. You should see what she has to say about all of this, but first...

>Head down to speak with Shona
>Talk some more with Corvo... (Write in)
>Other

>>3093775
>Head down to speak with Shona
Remnants of Eishin's old army doing some banditry? I guess we should have expected that after they lost their leader.

>>3093775
>Head down to speak with Shona

Why did we get stuck with physical labor when we could just wipe out the reason to build defenses?

>>3093790
It's good to have defenses regardless

>>3093775
>>Talk some more with Corvo... (Write in)
Ask if he wants to be introduced to Keziah, another witch

>>3093775
>Talk some more with Corvo... (Write in)

Ask him about the birds, and offer to introduce him to Keziah

>>3093803
>>3093775
When I say ask about the birds, I mean both the ones in the book and the ones in the forest.

Take a big, steaming Lore dump all over my chest Daddy.

“Birds, huh?” you ask, pointing to the book Corvo is constantly touching, stroking or patting, “What kind of birds do you get around here?”

“Oh, all sorts!” he replies briskly, looking happy at long last, “My favourite are the golden owls. Their eyes shine very brightly at night, you see, and some people even say that they can see daemons. Er, I mean, most people can see daemons, but they can see daemons who don't want to be seen. Just a story, though, I've never spoken to a golden owl to find out the truth.” Corvo pauses here, smiling proudly as if he just said something that makes sense. “Ah, and I've seen a lot of sicklebeaks around here lately. They're scavengers, corpse feeders. Ugly things, sort of grey with a black...” he waves a hand in front of his face to indicate markings, “Well, those are the interesting ones. I've heard a story about giant sicklebeaks, but that was just to scare kids... I hope.”

Smiling at the boy's enthusiasm, you decide that one good turn deserves another. Glancing down at Keziah, you watch as she hangs a muddied shirt out on the line that Branwen has strung between two trees. It won't dry much without any sunlight and only a little breath of wind, but she doesn't seem to realise that yet. “You see her down there?” you ask Corvo, gesturing to Keziah, “She's a witch too, the one I told you about. Would you like to meet her? I could introduce you if you...”

“Er...” Corvo pauses, blushing a little, “Could you... ask her to come up here? I like it up here, better than I like it down there, so...”

“Say no more,” you assure him with a wink, “Just hang in there.” All too aware of how much of a platitude that is, you leave him to it. He nods with a wan smile, only to wince a little as you back down onto the ladder. You don't blame him – the wood doesn't just creak this time, it cracks a little. Still, it holds your weight until you make it down to ground level and head over to rescue Keziah from the laundry. She grins as you explain the situation, heading off to the perch with a confident smile.

Halfway up the ladder, and she doesn't seem nearly so confident.

-

Shona jolts around a little when you approach her, half raising the rifle before she realises who is there. “On the lookout for Eishin's men?” you venture, watching as her eyes narrow with dismay. Lowering the rifle, she gestures for you to follow her across to the defences. “Only, they're not Eishin's men any more, are they?” you continue, “I'd wager they've gone independent, turning to banditry and extortion to make ends meet. Am I close to the mark?”

“So far as we can tell, you got it in one,” Shona replies, not even bothering to lie, “Let me guess... Corvo told you. He's a smart boy, he sees things even when we try and keep them a secret. How about you tell me what he told you, and then we can take it from there?”

[1/2]

>>3093822
Looks like we gotta get ourselves some golden owls.

Also ask what the tales say about dealing with giant sicklebeaks.

>>3093822

Nodding briskly, you lay out the facts. It's a lot quicker when you're the one telling them, and Shona doesn't interrupt with questions. When you're done, she sighs. “When they first came, they told us that they had caused the ground to shake. They had a witch doing it, they said. Now, Ualan and I didn't believe them – we still don't – but we can't be sure that they're not bluffing,” she explains, “They wanted us to give them everything we had – food, valuables, anything they could steal. We managed to stall them with a story about a shipment of goods arriving later. They left, but they promised to return. Since then, we've been trying to prepare weapons and defences. It's all we can do.”

“Why not give them what they wanted?” you ask casually.

Shona just shakes her head. “They knew that we had a witch here. I don't know how, but they knew,” she explains, “And they wanted him too.”

“That does change things,” you sigh, “Defences, I understand, but why not hire mercenaries as well? If you tracked these bandits down to their lair, you could take them out before they got here.”

“We sent a runner north to bring reinforcements, but nothing came of it. Either they didn't make it to the trading post, or they've abandoned us,” Shona grimaces as she says this, clearly reluctant to entertain the idea of being left to die, “Even if we could hire fighters, we don't know where to find them. There are a lot of places to hide in the Deep Forest. Digging in and defending is our best chance – if we stand up to them, the bandits might leave without a fight. If they wanted to throw their lives away, they would have stayed by Eishin's side and died with him.”

It's a hell of a gamble. Reading the dubious look on your face, Shona shrugs. “We counted a dozen men but their leader, a man calling himself Yoku, claimed to have more. Again, we think he's bluffing. We can assemble about fifteen armed men, and with the defences on our side...” she shakes her head, “Maybe, just maybe, we can swing the odds in our favour – especially if we can find an advantage that Yoku doesn't know about.”

You don't need to be a master of subtlety to know what she's hinting at. With your people fighting alongside them, they'll stand a much greater chance of victory. “So,” you ask, “When are they coming back?”

“We're not sure,” Shona lies, reflexively looking away from you. Soon, then. Any day now, you expect. “Listen, I'm sorry that we weren't honest with you,” she adds, “Ualan thought that if we told the truth, you might flee as far away as possible. Most other travellers would do just that.”

“We're not most travellers,” you assure her.

“Yes,” she agrees, “I can see that now.” Saying this, she turns away and leans on the half-built wall. Waiting, you think, for you to say something.

>Promise to help the defence
>Say nothing, remain uncommitted
>Ask a question... (Write in)
>Other

>>3093877
>>Promise to help the defence

It's partly our responsibility since we helped destabilize the area.

Nothing says we have to do it for FREE, though. Maybe we can parley this into them letting a Carth mission or Iraklin outpost be set up out here, or to get us some of those demon seeing birds.

>>3093877
>Promise to help the defence

>>3093879
I think we are trying to avoid letting Carth and Iralkins carve up Nadir more than they have already as per our deal with the Maven. Still we can see if we can get this place on the map for traders.

>>3093887
What about a Pastonne expedition, of people who aren't thrilled to be under Iraklin rule, but don't want to go full-nadir?

This is a decent compromise.

Maven doesn't get consideration for parts of Nadir they can't maintain.

>>3093877
>Promise to help the defence

>>3093877
>>Promise to help the defence

>>3093877

>Promise to help the defence

>>3093892
Doesn't hurt to put the word out. Dunno about a whole expedition though.

>Maven doesn't get consideration for parts of Nadir they can't maintain.
It was less that and more making sure Nadir culture and their people still have a place. Spreading Carth and Iraklis influence is counter intuitive to that. (Even if their influence and protection would make the area safer)

“Hey,” you call out, “You need help, don't you? I'll stay and fight with you.” Shona turns, surprised at first, then pleased, although her expression soon turns wary. She's expecting a catch, a price that they'll have to pay for your help. Considering the circumstances, it would almost seem rude to disappoint her. “You're traders, aren't you?” you continue with a weary smile, “Make me an offer. We can haggle a little to pass the time.”

“Most people would pass the time by sleeping,” Shona points out, shooting a meaningful glance up at the night sky above, “But, okay. An offer... I know. You're a traveller, right? I've got something you can use. That trading post I mentioned – it's about a day away... if you know the right path. Otherwise, you're looking at two days minimum. This shortcut goes through some pretty dangerous territory, and we like to keep it that way. Trade secret, you know?”

“How dangerous are we talking here?” you ask cautiously, “Rough terrain? I don't know if you've noticed, but I have a blind man in my party. He isn't in any fit state to-”

“Beast territory,” Shona interrupts, “Rabid sicklebeaks, to be precise. If you're not prepared, they'll strip the flesh from your bones whether you're alive or dead. If you know the way to slip past, on the other hand... harmless. Mostly harmless.”

“Mostly?” you press. That's never a good sign.

“Don't go throwing any rocks at them,” she explains, “Just don't pick a fight, because trust me – you won't win.” Laughing, she sets her rifle down and yawns. “That's all I can offer you off the top of my head. My shift on the watch finishes in an hour – after that, I can talk with Ualan and we can arrange something properly,” the woman concludes, “You think it over, talk about it with your people, then we can finish this in the morning. Oh, and... is that your woman up there?”

You turn to see where Shona points. High up in the perch, Keziah gazes down at you. When she notices you looking back, the witch gives you a big, cheerful wave.

-

“Rabid sicklebeaks,” you begin, speaking even before you've stuck your head above the ladder's end, “Can birds even get rabid?”

“Er... I don't think so,” Corvo answers, flipping through his weighty tome, “They're not really rabid, they just behave... strangely. We don't know why, and we can't exactly study them for... obvious reasons. Namely eating anyone who tries.”

“Cannae be very helpful,” Keziah agrees cheerfully, “But! Speakin' of being helpful, we've been doing a wee little trade. Swappin' rites and rituals, that sorta thing. I dinnae ken if this is the “traditional” way of doin' things, but I cannae see the harm in it. We're all friends here, right?”

“Er, friends, yes,” the boy stammers, looking around at the older witch, “Where did you say you were from again? Your accent...”

[1/2]

>>3093951
we can just shoot birds tho
pew pew

>>3093951

“Okay, so, the path north of here passes through a sort of... gully. I think. It cuts a lot of time off the journey, but it passes through a nest of sicklebeaks. They don't normally form nests either, so... I have no idea what they're doing there,” Corvo continues, “I think the stories about giant sicklebeaks are connected. It's easier to scare a child away with a story about a giant beast, you know? I don't know the secret to sneaking through the gully unharmed – my parents won't tell me, so I can't help you. Um, I'm sorry about that.”

“We'll earn that secret,” you reply firmly, “I made a deal, and I'll stick to it.”

Smiling warmly, Corvo nods.

-

When you return to the roundhouse, the others have woken – probably roused by your conversations. When you tell them about the situation, the reaction is... mixed. Caliban sighs heavily, clearly frustrated by the thought of being dragged into someone else's trouble, while Freddy looks more contemplative. You nod to her first, curious to see what's on her mind. “This place would be a good foothold,” she explains, answering your nod, “If the Iraklins took them under their protection, it would give us... them another route into the Deep Forest.”

“That's true,” Grace agrees softly, “But I'm not entirely sure if that's a good thing or not. They already have enough of the Deep Forest, I think. As for the Carths... well, they had their chance at setting up here, and look what happened to them. No, I rather think the great powers should keep their hands off.”

“The Pastonnes, on the other hand...” you muse, “A place for those who resent Iraklin occupation. This place could really become something with a little help, especially with that trading post up north. It'll be nice to do something for my own people for once.” Nodding slowly to yourself, you remind yourself to talk to Ualan and Shona about it when the morning comes. “Anyone else have an opinion?” you ask, “Anyone think it's a terrible idea?”

“I don't know, brother,” Gunny sighs, “I just can't see them taking to the idea.”

“You can't see anything, you damn fool,” Caliban shoots back, causing Gunny to let out a loud boom of laughter. “I'm inclined to agree with the churchman, though, most Deep Forest folk wouldn't happily trade away their independence,” he continues, “Then again, these people here are different. Always were. They're just a hair away from being city folk. They might be happy to secure an alliance with the outside.”

“King Eishin's defeat has changed the existing power structure,” Branwen chips in, “Things are different now, and there will be many warlords seeking to replace King Eishin as the new ruler of the Deep Forest. Villages like this will be caught in the crossfire.”

Villages like this, you think, or like her own lost home.

[2/3]

>>3093971

All that work climbing up and down ladders must have tired you out, because you finally manage to fall into a deep sleep. When Freddy shakes you awake, sunrise has long since come and gone. Outside, the village looks barely like the same place you fell asleep in. Masque was busy overnight, doing most of the work you signed up to do on his own. The north and south edges of the village are blocked by a waist high stone wall, a thin gap left in the walls to allow people to squeeze through. The eastern and western flanks are left open, thick trees providing some semblance of defence. Still, sharpened wooden stakes have been pounded into the ground all around the village.

Yesterday, it seemed like a fat and vulnerable piece of prey. Now, the village bristles with hostility and a newfound sense of determination, of hope. Word of your promised help must have spread, as the members of the impromptu militia that you pass often slap you on the back or shake your hand. It's hard not to think back to the days before the Annexation War, when you were – for a brief and shining moment – a nationwide hero.

This might be somewhat smaller scale, but it feels... pure. Even in the run-up to the Annexation War, there were arguments and bickering – politics, in other words. This feels more honest than the war ever was.

Also, you stand a pretty good chance of winning this fight. That's always nice.

>Okay, I think I'm going to pause things here for today. Into the Skies will continue tomorrow
>Thank you for your contributions today!

>And an additional question from me. Are there any characters you'd like to see a bonus episode focus on?

>>3094016
Thanks for running!

Bonus episode on the mysterious doctor whose name Branwen uniquely remembers but I have forgotten!

Could we just shoot a sicklebeast? If the giant ones aren't just myth, how giant are they? Person sized? 5 people? Airship? Wyrm?

>>3094016
Barnum, Caldwell, hmm....

I'm in no particular rush to check on Brookmeyer, but I'm kinda curious if Fred's brother is back in business or if he got himself into hot water again.

What about that gunsmith Gunny was working under? Got a new apprentice, made some bigger dakka?

>>3094016
Thanks for running.

Maybe Caldwell or Barnum

File: Sicklebeaks.jpg (13 KB, 275x183)

13 KB JPG

>>3094016
How dangerous can birds be?

>>3094045
Sicklebeaks can be shot, certainly. The regular ones vary, but they fall within regular "bird" sizes - from pigeon to eagle. Of course, when they do attack people, they tend to do so in large numbers. That's not fun!
According to the stories, the giant kind were about the size of a large man. Big enough to completely wrap someone up in their wings and whisk them away to some dreadful fate - but those are just old stories, of course!
>>3094055
Oh, there's never any shortage of apprentice workers looking to get their foot in the door. Business as usual, you know?
>>3094092
I mean, what are they doing to do, peck you?

I'm working on catching up with this quest and I've made it through thread 11. I've got a question that I'd have liked to ask in the moment, but maybe it'll be answered as I read further.

Milos dreams while recovering from the fight with Alma...

>With your hands bound in front of you by coarse rope, Alexander leads you forwards towards the great tree. You follow him calmly, ignoring the jeers and cries that the wind carries over to you. Holding your head high, you lean back against the rough bark and close your eyes as Alexander ties you in place. His knots are tight, mercilessly so, and just the act of breathing becomes a trial. Even so, you draw in a deep breath and open your eyes.

>Gathered in front of the tree, you see your crew taking rocks from a great pile and glaring at you, their faces brimming with spite. Taunts and curses spill from their lips as they face you down, savouring their moment of victory. Keziah is the first to draw back her arm, preparing to throw her stone at you. She hurls the rock, and-

... which seems to recall Alma's martyrdom. Add in the calmness with which Milos/Alma takes all this, and Alexander being from the self-effacing Brotherhood of Saint N, I wonder if it wasn't Nuada himself who tied Alma to the tree. The Brotherhood's creed is doing what's needed and not being remembered for it, after all. Taking part in another Saint's martyrdom sounds like it might be both necessary at the time, and not regarded as good canon in later years.

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

607 KB JPG

Ualan and Shona listen carefully as you set out your ideas about the future of their settlement, and bringing in new settlers from the Pastona Union. They don't seem opposed to the idea – or, at the very least, they're cunning enough not to risk offence with an open show of hostility – but neither do they seem particularly enthusiastic about it. Guarded, you'd say, their reception is definitely guarded. Still, given the current situation, the idea of safety has an appeal to it.

“For many years, we have kept a precarious position here – a link with the outside world whilst still remaining within the Deep Forest,” Ualan muses, toying with the heavy revolver at his hip, “We have no desire to drive outsiders away, but our isolation... it grants us value, you see? We live quietly, beneath the notice of most people. That has always suited us.”

“But things are changing,” Shona sighs, “And we must change with it. Stagnation leads only to death. We shall see how the battle plays out – if, indeed, there is a battle. It may be that we can only survive with the assistance of outsiders.”

Shrugging, Ualan spreads his hands wide. “Then we can conclude this matter another time,” he decides, “We should finish the preparations. We expect Yoku and his men to return today – sundown at the latest.”

As he says this you shoot Shona a faintly accusatory look, and she has the good grace to look embarrassed. So much for not being sure when the attack would come. At least you won't need to be waiting around for days on end – the sooner you can be done here, the sooner you can be leaving the Deep Forest. Nodding to the pair of leaders, you slip out of their hut and look around the village for something to do. Thanks to Masque, the manual labour - your pretext for staying here until the attack – is finished. That leaves you all with a spot of spare time...

Freddy has already found a way to pass the time, training a group of young men and women in how to best use their weapons. There's only so much they can do with antique single-shot rifles, but the training should make them more confident when the time comes. That, in your experience, is often as important as equipment or tactics. Besides, shouting at them seems to be keeping her happy as well. Turning away from Freddy, you notice Branwen and Gunny roaming the outer edge of the village. After her role as an assistant to the Mavens, it shouldn't come as much of a surprise to see the young healer helping Gunny so much, but you still wonder about them – about what they talk about when they're alone together.

Private conversations, of course, but you'd be a liar if you said you weren't curious.

[1/2]

>>3095340

“So I taught Corvo about how to call up Sullygrahn,” Keziah explains, looking up from the untidy scrawl she was writing in her notebook. Sitting together under the canopy of a great tree, it almost feels like you're spending a pleasant morning on a noble estate. The idea of fighting seems very far away... for now. “There wasnae much he could offer in return,” the witch continues, “But there is one interestin' bit of work he taught me. Eyes of a golden owl – simple wee rite that lets folk see unseen spirits.”

“So... how many unseen spirits are there? On average, I mean,” you ask, glancing about you as a sudden paranoia tightens its grip on you, “Would we be surrounded by them, or...”

With a carefree laugh, Keziah slaps your arm. “Well, I dinnae ken that! I havenae tried it out yet. Accordin' to the kid, they're no all that common. You can usually tell when there's somethin' about – a chill down the spine, a bad feelin' in the pit of your stomach, a sudden headache... you know, the usual. Actually being able to SEE them, though, that isnae somethin' to sniff at,” sighing happily, she leans back against the tree, “Always amazes me, knowin' how much there is to learn out there.”

“Speaking of learning,” Caliban announces, causing both you and Keziah to jump, “I found something interesting.” Smirking a little as you glare at him, the hunter circles around from behind the tree and crouches down next to you. “A trail, out in the forest. I was setting up a few traps, just to make a noise if anyone tried sneaking up on us, and I found some footprints in the dirt. Seemed to me like there was someone spying on the village. Nothing better to do, so I figured I might follow the trail and see where it leads me.”

“Alone?” Keziah asks, raising an eyebrow, “Bit of a risk, isn't it?”

“Alone, or with one other person to watch my back. Too many people, too much noise,” he explains, shaking his head, “Feel like coming along, captain? I'm not heading off straight away. Come find me if you feel like getting some exercise.” With that, he strolls casually off.

“Aye right, a nice wee stroll through the woods,” Keziah scoffs, “And he's the one always tellin' us no to go wanderin' off on our own. Honestly...”

As she mutters a few extra curses to herself, you watch as Gunny and Branwen return to the roundhouse. Branwen leaves alone a moment later, carrying a small basket in one hand and a pistol in the other. Going out gathering herbs, perhaps?

>Accompany Caliban along the newly discovered trail
>Assist Branwen with her herb gathering
>Join in with Freddy's training program
>Find something else to do... (Write in)
>Other

>>3094468
>That's an interpretation that I like a lot. It would certainly put an interesting spin on the relationship there!

>>3095343
>>Accompany Caliban along the newly discovered trail

>>3095343
>>Accompany Caliban along the newly discovered trail

>>3095343
>Help the Caibantzer

>>3095343
>Accompany Caliban along the newly discovered trail

>>3095343
>Accompany Caliban along the newly discovered trail
always up for some good old marksmanship

>>3094468
but then wouldn't it be Gunny tying us up, not Alexander?

“Keep an eye on Branwen. I don't want her going off on her own,” you quickly tell Keziah as you chase after Caliban. She nods agreement, hurrying away to join the young healer. Caliban has barely made it a dozen paces away before you catch up with him, raising a hand in greeting. “That offer still open?” you ask, “Even if it wasn't, I'd be coming along anyway. Captain's orders, and this captain says that you're not going out there alone.”

“Suits me fine,” the hunter replies, an unlikely touch of gratitude showing very briefly in his dark eyes. Adjusting the hunting rifle he carries over one shoulder, Caliban points up at Corvo's perch. “I was thinking that I'd set up there later,” he remarks, “Good line of fire there, I could look over the whole damn village. Plus, there's not much that scares away a pack of raiders better than being shot down from above. What do you say?”

Giving the perch a cursory glance, you nod. You've been up there enough to know how useful it would be as a vantage point, and having a rifle up there will definitely work in your favour. “Keep an eye on the boy while you're up there,” you add, “The bandits were looking to take him as well. I can't say why, though...”

“Witches know things, and knowledge can be put to good use. If nothing else, he's young and impressionable enough that they might be able to turn him to their side,” Caliban grimaces at this, as if speaking from a position of experience, “Anyway, I'll stay up in the nest and keep an eye on any high value targets – their leader, or a witch if they really do have one. You want them dead, you just give me the signal.”

With a little luck, they won't know what hit them.

-

The trail is a subtle one, likely not one that you'd be able to follow on your own. A few easily recognisable footprints in the mud soon give way to a faint trail of bend grass and parted bushes, but Caliban is able to follow it without so much as a pause. Seemingly bored by the task, he occasionally glances around at you as if encouraging you to ask the question that's been hanging on the end of your tongue. Finally, you spit it out.

“Gunny,” you begin, “What do you think?”

“Creeps me the hell out,” Caliban replies immediately, “And that's coming from a guy who keeps one of those stone hands in his bedroom. In his bed, sometimes.” He grins – although his scarred face turns it into a sneer – at your expression here. “That was a joke, captain,” the hunter continues, “Mostly. A guy gets lonely sometimes, you know? Or... perhaps you wouldn't know. You and Keziah should really keep it down at night.”

“You shouldn't be listening in,” you counter, “Anyway, we're perfectly discrete and... and I am NOT having this conversation.”

“Suit yourself,” he chuckles, “Awkward silence it is, then.”

Considering that he was the one who made it awkward...

[1/2]

>>3095343
>>Accompany Caliban along the newly discovered trail
>> Bring Gunny

>>3095383

In the space of a single step, Caliban's demeanour changes from casual to all business. Dropping low, he studies the ground in front of him and the small clearing beyond. “More footsteps. Our scout met some more people here. I count two more, at the very least,” he hisses, creeping forwards a few paces. The clearing has some signs of a disturbance – namely trampled grass, broken branches on the nearby trees... and a large pile of dried dung in the middle. Without even hesitating, Caliban draws his hunting knife and begins to dig through the dung.

“Come on...” you mutter to yourself, glad that the dung is old enough for the smell to have faded. Even so, this isn't exactly how you imagined yourself spending the morning.

With a triumphant grin, Caliban levers something out of the dung pile and holds it out to you. A small bone, still with a crusting of dung clinging to it. “It's a human bone. Part of a finger, I think,” Caliban explains, “This dung comes from a boar. See here, these cloven prints? Hooves, I'd stake my life on it. Can't say I've ever seen tracks from a boar this size though, this thing could be about a thousand pounds. That's a hell of a lot of pig.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” you blurt you, wincing as your voice rings out around the clearing, “Are you telling me that these bandits are dragging about a giant boar? Where would they even find-”

“You get all sorts of things hidden away in the Deep Forest,” he replies with a shrug, “I've heard stories about these things. They never really stop growing, or even die of old age, so if you get a pig that manages to dodge the hunters... sure, they can get big. Cunning too, if you believe the stories. Not smart, but cunning and mean. I wonder...” Looking up at the sky, Caliban rubs his brow as he thinks to himself. You're going to hope that he wiped his hands clean first, but you doubt it. “Maybe they were looking for a witch they could coerce into binding a daemon into it. They knew there was one here, didn't they?” he continues, “A monster of a boar, with the will of a daemon... that would be a powerful weapon.”

Shuddering at the idea, you take a look around at the empty clearing. “So where are they now?” you venture, “Something like that must have made a serious trail.”

“Of course,” Caliban agrees, pointing down at the ground near the tree line, “It's right there. I figure we could follow them right back to their hiding place... if you wanted to. What do you say?”

>Let's do it. Lead the way
>We'd better not. Let's head back and report this
>I think... (Write in)
>Other

>>3095431
>Let's do it. Lead the way

>>3095431
>Let's do it. Lead the way
I'd really like a molotov to toast that boar right about now

mmm, boar...

>>3095431
>Let's do it

Recon only though, r-right?

>>3095445
That's the idea, though there might be a target of opportunity we can snipe.

“Let's do it,” you reply with a decisive nod, “Lead the way.”

“Don't reckon you'd need me to find their trail this time,” Caliban chuckles, kicking lightly at a clump of grass that has been uprooted by some huge hoof. He walks for a while before turning back to you and lowering his voice. “Dangerous things, these boars. When I was at Camp Prosperity, a couple of the Iraklins got the bright idea of adding some more fresh meat to their diet. Paid me a few coins to help track one of the bastards down. When they spotted it, they hosed the damn thing down with gunfire – it just charged straight through,” he muses, “I saw a bullet bouncing right off the thing's head, like shooting an armoured car with one of those tiny pocket pistols that Grace likes so much.”

The worst thing is, you know he's not exaggerating. Your father told you a very similar story once – of course, his version ended with him heroically killing the boar. “So...” you reply slowly, “It didn't end well, did it?”

“One of them survived,” Caliban assures you, “At least, he lived long enough to make it back to the infirmary. I don't know if they were able to put his guts back inside him. That wasn't my problem.” With another one of his sneering smiles, the hunter shrugs and turns back to the trail. “Not my problem,” he repeats to himself, “At least they paid in advance.”

-

The trail leads down onto a surprisingly steep slope, the trees here precariously clinging to the uneven ground. Tangled roots jut out like probing fingers, and a loose carpet of leaves shifts underfoot. Not good terrain to run through. At one point you find half of a broken spear, the metal tip stained with old blood. “They used spears to goad the boar down this slope,” Caliban mutters, “I guess it didn't like that much. I'm surprised it didn't kill-”

An echoing roar shakes the still air, and you both drop low until the noise has passed. “That didn't sound much like a pig to me,” you mutter at last, “That sounded more like... hell, I don't know. Like an airship engine. Zenith might have its own problems, but at least we wouldn't need to worry about being eaten by a giant pig up there.”

“Oh, stop complaining,” Caliban whispers back, “What good is a life without a few risks?”

Grumbling quietly to yourself, you straighten up and move a few paces ahead. You can smell the beast now, a rich and powerful scent of unwashed flesh and raw muscle. Just a few dozen paces away the ground sharply turns up in a wall of exposed rock, the mouth of a cave mostly covered up by a number of wooden boards ripped from some now-destroyed home. A campfire burns in front of the cave, and a number of barbaric figures have gathered around the warmth it offers.

You've found them.

[1/2]

Doesn't sound like we can kill this thing conventionally. Caliban's explosive arrows might be able to pierce the hide and explode while inside.

That said, we might be able to get this thing to turn on it's handlers somehow. Doesn't seem very tame.

>>3095504
BLADE OF KILLING LIGHT

just gotta find a daemon

>>3095490

Dry leaves whisper under you as you creep a little closer to the camp before you. The land here seems dried up and lifeless, with little in the way of a hiding place. Caliban touches your arm and points back the way you came, to a ridge overlooking the area. Nodding, you silently – as silently as you can, at least – withdraw to the vantage point. Once you're there, you gaze down at the encampment.

Yoku's gang of bandits are surprisingly well-armed, the few men you initially spot all carrying heavy Iraklin rifles – likely taken from soldiers killed in the attack on Eishin's camp. Some of them even have odd bits of combat webbing hanging off them, and you spot one man with a number of grenades dangling from his belt. Contrasting with their modern weapons are the crude furs and painted wooden masks they wear, demonic faces leering out from the carved wood.

“Damn it,” Caliban mutters, looking from one identical mask to the next, “What kind of leader hides like this? He should be wearing a bigger mask, something grander.”

“You just want an easy target,” you whisper back. Caliban just shrugs, not denying the accusation. Turning back to the camp below you, you start to count heads. Six men in sight – half of what Shona claimed to have seen. Instead, you peer down and count the bedrolls laid out near the campfire – exactly a dozen. You can't rule out the possibility of them sleeping in shifts, but it's looking more and more likely that Yoku was exaggerating his numbers. Six men accounted for, six men you've not seen.

Crawling back from the overlook, Caliban turns to you. “So what do you say?” he hisses, “We stick around here much longer, the rest of them might come back. A quick hit and run attack, though...”

>Right, let's take these guys out and then get out of here
>We've seen enough here. Let's head back and report this to the others
>We'll keep watch on them for a while more, see if we can learn anything more
>Other

>>3095568
Any sighting of the boar or it's pen?

>>3095568
If we have the bow, we can snipe an explosive shot to blow the boar's lock free. The delayed explosion might even give us time to tag 2 and run the heck out while they struggle to rechain the now spooked boar.

>>3095568
> Take em out

RECKLESS

>>3095568
>>3095578
this

>>3095572
>>3095568
Well regardless

If the boar pen is in sight send one arrow at the lock. Then time the next arrow shot with the explosion and hit the raider with the grenade belt for the obvious reason.

If no boar pen is in sight, then just shoot the grenade belt raider when he is close to his friends.

We should be leaving after that second shot is fired.

>>3095572
>The boar isn't currently visible, but the other signs - smells etc - point to it being inside the cave
>>3095578
To confirm, Caliban does have his bow with him

>>3095612
Then yeah let's just blow up grenade guy when he is next to his buddies and then book it.

“We can take these guys out,” you mutter, pointing to the wooden barrier sealing the cave shut, “I think that's where they're keeping their pet. I think you can blow that door open, don't you?”

“Absolutely,” Caliban confirms, taking out the small Abrahad rod. It always looks so innocuous when the magic hasn't been activated, little more than a simple baton, but you've seen its power enough times to know exactly what it can do. “So, we blow the door and get the hell out of here,” the hunter continues, “Hopefully the boar will be too busy eating them to chase us. Is that about accurate?”

“Get the man with the grenades too,” you add, pointing out the heavily armed bandit, “The last thing we need is him tossing one of those at us. Two shots, and then we're done. Got it?”

For a reply, Caliban mouths a word to his bow, causing the rod to blossom with two lances of brilliant white light. Rising up from his concealment, the hunter hooks two fingers around the empty air and draws back, an arrow of light taking form. The display does not go unnoticed, though, and a shout rises up from beneath you. Barbarians turn, raising their weapons as Caliban lets his arrow fly, the deadly light streaking into the wooden barricade. Even before that first arrow has hit the mark, Caliban is firing a second into the heavily armed bandit, the man's shout of alarm drowned out by the first few gunshot – and then a louder explosion puts both to shame.

As the barricade explodes, the monstrous boar smashes through what little remains. Just briefly, you stare in awe of the sheer size of it, taking in a few details about its form. Patchy brown hair clings to the blackened body, pinkish scars marking where the bandits goaded it forwards. Crude armour – both a helmet and a blind – has been hammered around the thing's muzzle, leaving the thing's tusks and slavering mouth exposed. One man, knocked low by the first arrow's explosion, is immediately trampled as the boar advances. Bellowing with fury, it hurls itself from the cave just a few short seconds before the second arrow – and the grenades – explode.

“Away!” you yell, although Caliban is already up and running. Hearing shouts of confusion, stray gunshots and bestial roars behind you, you join him in fleeing the scene. Despite everything, you hear a mad laugh bubbling out of you as you run. There's no way to know if Yoku was one of the men down there, but you almost wish he wasn't – just for the sake of picturing his face when he returns to his camp and finds the mess you left him.

Still laughing, you stumble on the steep slope and nearly tumble back down, a shower of dry leaves flying up as your balance falters. That, at least, puts an end to your laughter.

For now.

[1/2]

>>3095708

When you're a short distance away from the camp, you finally allow yourself to stop running. Bent double, you gasp for breath as Caliban easily jogs up beside you. “That went well,” he decides, nodding happily to himself, “Better than a straightforward attack would have gone, I wager. I wonder if they're regretting their decision now – you can't exactly rely on the loyalty of a giant pig. At best, you can rely on it being hungry.”

“Not so hungry now,” you reply, “Considering the meal we just served up.”

“I suppose that's one way of disposing of the bodies,” Caliban agrees with a curt laugh, looking around as a few of Ualan's men approach with their rifles raised. Probably here to see what all the noise is about, although they soon lower their weapons when they see you. Greeting you warmly, they turn and lead you back to the village. Ualan and Shona are there to meet you, along with the rest of your crew. You barely get halfway through your story of what you found before they start to cheer and pat you on the back. There's one person who doesn't cheer, though.

“Do you mean to tell me,” Masque rumbles, “That I built all of those walls for nothing?”

-

Sundown comes and goes with no sign of Yoku or whatever is left of his men. A few gunshots echo out through the forest, but even they die down after a while. The locals are in good cheer, but you're not sure if you can relax just yet. When the sun has finally sunk down beneath the horizon, Shona comes to find you. “I think that little trick of yours actually worked,” she announces proudly, giving you a brief hug before pulling away, “Even if he wanted to get revenge, Yoku wouldn't dare attack us with so many of his men defeated. We're safe!”

“So it seems,” you agree. Up in Corvo's perch, Caliban is still keeping watch with his rifle. Leaning over the edge, the hunter catches your eye and gives you a thumbs up.

“Tonight, we shall celebrate,” Shona decides, “We have liquor and spirits to share, and good food to eat. In the morning, we shall give you the means to pass through the sicklebeak hive – the route will see you directly to the northern trading post. We both have made a good profit today, stranger.”

Already, you can see some of the locals producing small kegs of ale and bottles of liquor, both local concoctions and outsider spirits. Something to suit all tastes, in other words. “Best not to celebrate too hard,” you suggest, “Keep some men guarding the walls, just to be on the safe side. If Yoku had more men than I thought...”

Sighing heavily, Shona gives you a weary smile. “So you won't allow me a moment of optimism?” she laments, “But yes, you speak sense. I will see if I can find some volunteers to stand guard. Will you be joining the festivities?”

A good question. A spot of wine might not hurt, but...

>I'm sorry, but I'm not in the mood tonight
>Certainly, I'd be honoured to join you
>Other

>>3095848
>Certainly, I'd be honoured to join you
Though we should keep our drinking to a minimum. Yoku might have learned from our sneak attack and planned one of his own. Maybe Freddy too if she doesn't mind. After training with these folk she'd be the best one to rally them if something does happen.
>Other
Have Masque and Herrod keep an eye out.

>>3095867
>>3095848
+1

>>3095848
>I've literally never turned down free liquor.

A spot of wine, certainly, but no more than that – you can save the real celebration for when you're back in the comfort of your own ship. For now, you can keep things in moderation. “Certainly,” you tell Shona, watching as her seamed face breaks out in a bright smile, “I'd be honoured to join your celebrations, and I never turn down a free drink or two. I've just got one question to ask you...”

“Good man!” she replies, slapping you on the arm, “I'll tell you what I can.”

“Do you have any brandy?” you ask.

-

The celebrations don't take long to get underway, and soon wine is flowing like water through the village. Stepping around a pair of drunken men slurring two different drinking songs, you spot Freddy leaning up against the south wall. A clay cup full of some strong spirit sits beside her, but she only takes the occasional sip from it. Greeting her with a wave, you join her by the defences. “Got a job for you, if you feel up to it,” you begin, launching straight into it, “Don't go too hard tonight. These guys might think the danger has passed, but-”

“But Yoku might have other ideas,” the Iraklin finishes for you, nodding her agreement, “I wasn't going to drink much, anyway. I don't know about the rest of you, but I don't want to march with a hangover tomorrow. So, I'll make sure to keep a clear head... but you'd better stop by for a chat later. Guard duty can get lonely, after all.”

“Call it a deal,” you agree, shaking the hand she offers out, “And I'll see what I can arrange some more guards. No harm in making sure, right?”

Freddy nods, then turns back to the dark forest beyond. At least you won't need to worry about any trouble sneaking up that way. Masque is covering the north edge of town, and he agrees to remain there before you even need to ask him. With both ends of the path covered, you head back into the roundhouse and blink away the curtain of darkness that confronts you. Once your eyes have adjusted, you spot Keziah and Grace bent over a sheet of parchment covered in spidery scrawls. A diagram of some kind, you note as you peer at it.

“It's a standing... frame... thing,” Grace attempts, an empty cup explaining why she stumbles over her words, “For that bloody mirror. It needs to be held at an angle, to catch the sun and... do something. The vial needs to go here as well, to catch the light. The reflected light, I mean. You DID think that through, didn't you captain? Or were you expecting me to hold the silly old thing in place while I read it?”

“Maybe you should go easy on that stuff,” you tell her, glancing down at the ewer of wine sitting nearby.

“Don't avoid the question!” she rants, punctuating each word with a firm poke to your chest. Meeting Keziah's eyes, you let out a low sigh and gesture for the witch to see you outside. Nodding, she murmurs something quietly to Grace and follows you out.

[1/2]

>>3096003

“I cannae understand that girl,” Keziah sighs, shivering a little as she steps into the chilly air outside of the roundhouse, “One minute she's talkin' about how we should take a hammer to that mirror, and then she's figurin' out the best way to put it to use. She doesnae ken what she wants, that one.” Sighing, the witch hugs her arms around herself as a cold wind stirs the air. “You know, she hasnae even said sorry to Branwen,” she adds, “About that whole stew thing, I mean. Accusin' Branwen of all that crap...”

“She's probably still embarrassed by it,” you offer, trying to be the diplomatic type, “Anyway, I had something to ask you. You think Herod can keep watch tonight? It could help, having some eyes in the sky.”

“Aye, well, it cannae do any harm,” Keziah decides, letting out a shrill whistle and looking up into the sky, “Cannae promise that he'll be able to see trouble comin', mind you. His eyes aren't so good, especially at night, and these thick trees willnae help. Honestly, what are you good for?”

It takes you a moment to realise that these last words weren't intended for you, instead directed up at the bird descending down to land perched on her outstretched arm. “How insolent,” Herod replies, his words throbbing in the inside of your skull, “I am a wise and ancient being, not some petty guard dog. If I cannot do something, it is because you asked me to do a task that was beneath me.”

“You're a bird,” you point out, “Most things are beneath you.”

Herod gives you a blank stare – which is more or less his normal expression – and then takes flight with enough force to leave Keziah brushing feathers out of her hair. Taking that as an end to the conversation, you look back down to Keziah and think back to the design she had been studying. “So this frame... thing that Grace wants to make,” you ask, “Complicated? Difficult?”

“Oh no, should be easy work. Chances are, we've got most of the stuff we need tucked away back on the ship. Just spare parts, you know?” Keziah assures you, “And if that isnae good enough, if we need to go lookin' for some ancient stand to place the bloody thing in, I'll have to agree with Grace and say smash it. This piece of junk has put us through enough trouble already...”

More trouble than either of you predicted. Still, as you listen to the raucous drinking songs echoing throughout the village, you have to admit that some good did come of it. You're about to say this aloud when Keziah's eyes flash open wide.

“Oh!” she gasps, slurring her words a little, “That rite Corvo taught me, with the invisible daemons. He found a wee pot of gold paint we could use, that's all the rite needs. You want to try it?”

Daemon rites and a belly full of wine tend not to go too well together, but...

>Perform the rite together
>Make an excuse and decline
>Other

>>3096092
>Make an excuse and decline
Not tonight. I'm still worried about an attack. Later for sure though

>>3096092
>Do it
Damn invisible daemons

>>3096092
>>Make an excuse and decline

“Probably best if we keep it until another day,” you suggest, gesturing at the forest all around you, “I don't want to get distracted just in case there's another attack, and flocks of invisible daemons would definitely be a distraction. Visible daemons, I mean, I... you know what I mean.” Shaking your head, you give Keziah a smile to cut off her look of disappointment. “But we'll definitely try it some other day,” you assure her, “What does it involve, anyway?”

“Oh, it's real simple, boss,” she explains, taking a folded sheet of parchment out of one pocket and spreading it out before you to reveal a flowery design, “You just paint this on someone's face, see? Has to be done with gold, though – apparently they used gold leaf once, way back when, but paint works as well. Apparently. Corvo said that he's never tried it before – he was scared about what he might see!”

It seems like just about everything scares that kid – everything except heights, that is. “Well, then we'll be breaking new ground,” you point out, “But not tonight. I'm going to take a quick circuit around the village, make sure everything is okay. You want to come with me?”

Keziah almost agrees, but then she glances back to the roundhouse – the warm roundhouse filled with good drink and merry company. “You know, I better make sure Grace doesnae do anythin' daft. She hit the wine pretty hard and she's just a kid, you know? Doesnae ken her limits yet – she reminds me of someone, that way!” the witch chuckles, enthusiastically nudging you with her elbow, “Dinnae stay out too long, okay? It's gonna be cold out tonight, I'd bet my bird on it.”

“I am not some bargaining chip to be bartered back and forth,” Herod snaps, “Be more respectful, girl, or-”

They continue to bicker for a long while after that, even after you've left on your patrol.

-

But Keziah was right about one thing – it does get cold quickly. Well prepared for just this eventuality, the locals shift to hot spiced wine and carry on carousing. Accepting a cup of the potent brew – just to keep your temperature up, of course – you carry on looking out for any sign of Yoku. A sensible man might not attack with his numbers halved, but a man crazed by revenge? A man like that might do any number of foolish things. Still, the coast seems clear and soon you find yourself back at the southern wall.

“Quiet night,” Freddy reports, a faint note of irony in her voice. With the drinking songs still ringing out, the night is anything but quiet. “Caliban told me all about the bear, and what you did,” she continues, “That's what they called “unorthodox tactics” back during basic training. They told us not to try it – we'd just put the whole unit at risk. Save that kind of thing for the special forces, for the experts.”

“They call it unorthodox,” you muse, “I just thought it was effective.”

[1/2]

>>3096223

“In all fairness, I don't think my old drillmasters imagined any of this business when they taught us about orthodox tactics,” the Iraklin sighs, listlessly shouldering her rifle and scanning the darkness, “Guard duty is something I understand. Magic mirrors, daemon rites and all manner of other things? They were never part of the training program... but then, I never made it into the special forces. Maybe they covered the more interesting parts.”

“No, I'm pretty sure they just teach you to shoot people better,” you reply with a low laugh, taking a drink of the spiced wine. Just the thing for a chilly night like this, it warms you from the inside out. Finishing it off in one last swallow, you realise that Freddy's cup has barely been touched. She took her guard duty as seriously as she takes any order, even without anyone breathing down her neck. That's just the kind of person she is, you suppose.

Snapping her fingers in front of your face, Freddy brings you back to reality. “So our final goal is still here in Nadir, correct?” she asks, “A tomb here. Are we ready to explore it?”

“More or less. We know how to stay safe down there, but I don't want to take that last step until we've cleared everything else off of our agenda,” you explain, setting your cup aside so that you can list things on your fingers, “Ibn'ah's vial is the most immediate concern, after getting out of this damn forest of course, and after that...” Pausing, you find yourself coming up short. There was the matter with D'aubigny and his enchanted bell, but you're still undecided on that – you might be better off leaving that whole mess well alone.

“Think it over,” Freddy urges, picking up where your silence leaves off, “That's one thing we DID learn in training. Prepare as much as you can before an important mission.” The orthodox approach, of course. Somewhere far out in the Deep Forest, some massive beast bellows with rage. Glancing aside for a moment, Freddy sighs a little to herself. “Shame that you couldn't bring that boar back here,” she thinks aloud, “I've got a real craving for wild pig right now.”

>I think I'll close things here for today. I'll continue this tomorrow, aiming for the same usual time
>Thank you for your patience today!

>>3096320
Thanks for running senpai

>>3096320
Thanks for running.

Have we ever gotten Freddy's opinion on the potential world changing power that might go in Milos's hands?

>>3096344
I believe so, yes. Her preference didn't lean too strongly in either direction, although she urged caution. Change isn't always a good thing!

>>3096388
You know as we keep discussing this I find myself agreeing with her and that sentiment more and more.

For all it's faults this world isn't too bad. It's not a doomed world like in SMT or something. Could use a few tweaks, but for the most part we don't need to drastically change it.

>>3096320
Thanks for running! wAS yOKU IN THE CAMP WE HIT, AND IF NOT, HOW MAD WAS HE UPON FINDING OUT WHAT HAPPENED?

I hit caps lock by accident somewhere in there but I like it.

>>3096320
I'm starting to worry that Shona was a traitor.

>>3095374
Still catching up, so I'm not working with the same evidence as you are. But the hand-wavy answer: If Milos can be an Alma, Alexander can be a Nuada as I interpret N.

More seriously: It's true that Alma called Gunny "[Her] Nuada" when she was first discovered, but I chalk that more up to Gunny being the latest man associated with the Staff. Alma was broken, and, like her transformed Knights, was stirred by memory of the Staff, nothing more.

It's also true that, from the perspective of travel and companionship, Gunny is something of a Nuada to Milo. But in terms of betrayal to a persecutor -- which seems to be the theme of Milos' dream -- Alexander absolutely (potentially) fits the bill at the time.

He's not a perfect fit for Nuada's every aspect, but as I've said above, neither is Milos to Alma's. Perhaps one day we will have Gunny the Betrayer, but I don't think the dream attempts to be so prescient.

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

83 KB JPG

It's late now, or very early. Either way, the revellers have tired themselves out and the drinking songs have finally fallen silent. Still sitting at the southern wall with Freddy, you watch as she turns her lantern flame down low, so low that you can barely see each other for those few moments until your eyes adjust. Out in the trees, you spot a faint glow of golden light. Eyes, you realise, the golden owls that Corvo told you about.

“Hey owls,” you call out, “You see any daemons here?”

Predictably, the birds don't answer you. Instead, Freddy gives you an incredulous look. “Did you just talk to those birds?” she asks, “And were you actually expecting an answer?”

“Yes and no, respectively,” you answer, shrugging a little, “You've got to make your own fun at a time like this. I thought you'd know that, being trained in guard duty and all.”

“Believe it or not, my training didn't cover talking to the wildlife,” the Iraklin remarks, her voice perfectly deadpan and serious. If not for the slight creases at the corners of her mouth, you wouldn't know that she was joking. Picking up her unfinished cup, she sniffs at the spirit and pulls a sickly face. “Could you do me a favour and fetch me a cup of water or something?” Freddy asks, “Water or tea, anything like that.”

“Yes ma'am,” you reply, giving her a sarcastic salute before strolling back into the village. Surely there has to be something non-alcoholic hidden away somewhere... right?

-

As you approach the roundhouse, you spot two things – the glint of moonlight reflecting off the scope of Caliban's rifle, and a delicate ribbon of smoke rising up from whatever he's smoking. It's not quite a celebration, but he's having his own kind of fun up there – and still keeping watch at that. The smell of smoke also drifts out from the roundhouse, and once you stick your head inside you see Ualan leaning against the central tree, a slender pipe in his hand.

“Stranger,” he wheezes, smoke leaking from his nose and mouth as he greets you, “How are you enjoying our hospitality?”

“You've certainly pulled out all the stops,” you reply, looking around at the dozing forms slumped about, “Although I wonder if my people will be quite so merry when morning comes. They might have enjoyed your hospitality a little too much.”

A throaty laugh escapes the old man. “No such thing,” he insists, watching with a beady eye as you rummage through Freddy's pack and find a canteen of water. Normally, you wouldn't have searched through her things like that, but she DID ask. “I would ask you to do me a service,” Ualan adds, politely ignoring the fact that you're wrist deep in Freddy's rucksack, “In the morning, I will write a letter. I would ask that you take it and deliver it to the northern trading post. I have decided to accept your suggestion. New blood will be good for this place, I think.”

[1/2]

>>3098583

With the canteen hanging from one hand, you start to make your way back to Freddy when Herod's dry voice stabs into your skull. “There is movement in the forest,” the daemon announces, “Beasts do not move in such a way. This is methodical, the act of men seeking to avoid notice... but they cannot hide from me. Remember that, when you would speak of me as a doddering-”

“How many?” you snap, hurrying towards the southern wall.

“Three,” Herod grumbles, “Two coming from the eastern edge, one from the west.”

“Stop right there!” you hear Freddy yell, “Put your hands up! Do NOT come any closer!” Reaching the wall a few moments later, you spot a masked figure lurking nearby with their hands very definitely not up in the air. He holds a sword out in an unwavering salute, and the snarling devil of his mask reveals nothing of his true expression. “I won't tell you again,” Freddy snaps, keeping her rifle trained on the warrior, “Put down the sword, and-”

“I am Yoku,” the warrior interrupts, his voice dripping with every drop of the fury that his mask suggests, “My heart cries out for retribution. Who was the one who spilled the blood of my brothers?”

Technically speaking that would be either Caliban or his own boar, but... you were the one to give the orders. Trusting that the hunter himself as Yoku in his sights, ready to shoot the raider if he makes a move, you step forwards. “I'm the man you're looking for,” you announce, “What can I do for you?”

Yoku raises his sword a little more, and Freddy tenses up in anticipation. “I challenge you,” the bandit declares, “My men have this village surrounded, and they will burn it to the ground if I give the signal.”

“You'll all die,” Freddy points out, “You lost this fight, just give it up.”

“Never!” the bandit snarls, “If we are to die, then my last act will be to spit in your face. Cross blades with me, outsider, or this entire village will be forfeit.”

Leaving this ultimatum hanging in the air, Yoku stares you down. All it would take is for you to raise your hand, to give Caliban the signal to fire, and you could end this annoyance once and for all. “Boss?” Keziah thinks to you, her thought sluggish with sleep and liquor, “Herod woke me, says there's trouble. What's going on?”

Even before you can answer this, the bandit points to you with the keen edge of his sword. “Face me!” Yoku spits, “Or are you afraid to stake your life on an honest fight?”

>Accept Yoku's offer of a duel to the death
>Give Caliban the signal to fire
>Try and talk Yoku down. He doesn't need to die here
>There's something else... (Write in)
>Other

>>3098588
>Try and talk Yoku down. He doesn't need to die here
"There's only three of you left, beaten and completely outnumbered. Why throw your lives away like this?"

If he makes any outright hostile movements, then
>Give Caliban the signal to fire

>>3098588
>Try and talk Yoku down. He doesn't need to die here
"Without our intervention you'd have a dozen men and a boar at a mostly unfinished wall attacking untrained villagers. How the hell do you call that an honest fight?"
>Other
'Herrod, have Masque hunt down the raiders other than Yoku surrounding the village'

Closing your eyes, you reach out to Keziah and her familiar. “Herod. Keep an eye on those men and make sure Keziah knows where they are,” you think to him, before shifting the weight of your thoughts to the witch herself, “Keziah, you need to tell Masque where these men are. Hunt them down and take them out – but try and keep them alive, understand? Maybe we can use them as leverage.”

“I... right, sure. Leverage. Got it, boss,” she thinks back to you, Herod mirroring her agreement. Opening your eyes again, you look back to Yoku. The bandit has barely moved since delivering his taunt, standing with his back as straight as a rod and his blade raised. Looking at him now, you find yourself wondering if he's more than just some common bandit.

“You've got a funny idea of an honest fight,” you think aloud, keeping your gaze locked on Yoku, “Twelve men and one very large boar against a band of poorly armed traders with a half-finished wall. If I hadn't come along, you would have razed this town to the ground and taken whatever you wanted. Why, then, should I give you the courtesy of an honest fight?”

“Because you took the lives of my men using trickery and treachery. These men, these... traders you wish to defend, they were not harmed. Destroying this petty village was never my goal – they simply had what I needed. Had they given me what I asked for, this all could have ended peacefully. You, outsider, you were the one to spill the first blood here, and you did it on base terms,” Yoku growls, “I cannot accept that. An insult must be redressed.”

“Even at the cost of your own lives?” Freddy spits.

“I have to agree with my companion here,” you tell him slowly, tilting your head in Freddy's direction without ever taking your eyes away from him, “You're done. You've got three men skulking about in the forest. Three – that's all. You're beaten and outnumbered. Why throw away your lives in some petty gesture? Take your insult, and be glad that you can walk away with nothing worse.”

When you mention how many men he has left, Yoku hesitates a little. “That's right,” you continue, “I know what you had planned. What was it, two men coming in from the east and one from the west? I guess you don't have enough people to encircle us properly. Face it – you won't get the chance to burn this place, or to get any other kind of revenge. Every move you make, we had a plan to counter it.”

Letting out a low, rumbling laugh, Yoku stabs his sword down into the soil and lifts his mask to reveal a face made hideous with crude piercings and scarification. “We shall see,” he sneers, before whistling a shrill note that rings out through the night. When no matching whistle returns to him, his face grows tragic.

“You're done,” you stress, letting your words hang in the air before him.

[1/2]

>>3098645
Poor Yoku. I want to see his sadface.

>>3098645

Nobody says a thing for a long moment, and then you hear a harsh scraping noise. Masque emerges from the forest with a rope in his hands, dragging the three men behind him. All of them are alive, although bound and unconscious. Mercilessly dragging them through the dirt, he lets the bodies drop a few paces away. “They came with fire and oil,” he intones, “Intent on some wicked mischief, I do not doubt.”

“By the swine god, I swear that you will pay for every drop of their blood that is spilled,” Yoku snarls, the sight of his beaten men causing his sorrow to turn to rage. Leaving his sword impaled into the ground, he stalks over and kneels by the bodies to check them over. All the while, Freddy keeps her rifle trained on the bandit leader. One by one, the bandits claw their way back to consciousness as Yoku shakes them awake and unties their bonds. Not one of them wakes easily, each one jolting as if roused from some nightmare. Then again, if Masque was the last thing you saw before passing out then you might feel uneasy as well.

As his bandits stand, Yoku turns away from you and starts to lead them away into the forest. Startled by the sudden move, Freddy glances around at you. “Is that it?” she hisses, “Are we just going to let them walk away?”

What else are you supposed to do? Shooting them in the back would be the pragmatic choice, but the idea leaves a bad taste in your mouth. Taking them prisoner and turning them over to the authorities isn't much of an option either – out here, there aren't any authorities to turn them over to. The men are disarmed and their morale is broken, it's hard to imagine them causing much trouble in this state. Then again, spite can be a powerful motivator and Nadir warriors do not happily accept defeat...

>Allow Yoku and his remaining men to flee
>Shoot them down before they can leave
>You have some other plan... (Write in)
>Other

>>3098696
>Allow Yoku and his remaining men to flee

>>3098696
spitballing an idea
>Take Yoku's challenge up, but for a different bet
>If we win, his men must swear to serve the village for 10 years. If they wish to retain Nadir culture, Nadir ways, then do it. Don't just throw your life away, actually confront the tides of change and come out with an identity that they feel is still Nadir.

>>3098696
Yoku WILL return if we allow him to leave, probably with more men and with the intent of burning this village that resisted him to the ground.

Either
>Shoot them down before they can leave
or any fancy idea that you guys come up with.

>>3098716
I thought of that too, I just worry about letting in wolves into the chicken farm so to speak. It's also something that requires the villager's consent.

>>3098696
>>Other
"So what's the plan Yoku? Stride into the forest with nothing and hope you can survive the coming days? You don't have the manpower for raiding and even if you did Eishin and his ways are dead. You're going to start seeing more and more of what happened here. If Nadir is going to survive you need to band together like these people have and stop killing each other."

>>3098696

>Allow Yoku and his remaining men to flee

They're broken, and I don't want to assume the worst.

No, so long as Yoku lives to nurse this grudge, you know that he'll be back – and you won't be able to protect the village forever. Something has to be done about this. “Hey!” you call out, leaving the barricades behind and yanking Yoku's sword out of the dirt. It's a long thing, far longer than most swords you've seen, but the slender blade keeps it from being unwieldy. Still, holding it gives you a new appreciation for the bandit's skills – this isn't an amateur's weapon. Yoku doesn't turn around at the sound of your voice, and so you shout again. “Hey!” you repeat, “You forgot your sword!”

This gets his attention. Slowly turning the scarred man glares down at the sword in your hands. “I have been defeated here,” he declares slowly, “I leave my blade here... until I have the strength to reclaim it.”

“I can't let you do that,” you reply, your voice turning cold. Behind you, the commotion has finally roused Ualan and Shona, along with the few members of their militia still capable of holding a rifle. “But sure, I'll humour you. What's your great plan to get it back?” you continue, all too aware of the eye settling on you, “You're walking into that forest with nothing but hope and the clothes on your back, do you really think you're going to march back here with an army? Those days are over now, Yoku. They died along with Eishin's dream.”

“This here?” you continue, gesturing around at the village behind you, “This is the future – men banding together to protect themselves from scavengers like you. Right now, you're looking at adapt or die.”

“Stagnation is death,” someone – Shona, perhaps – mutters from behind you. A few murmurs of agreement follow, and even one of Yoku's men nods grudgingly to himself.

“You have no end of things to say, it seems,” Yoku growls, although his eyes have a glint of curiosity in them, “Very well – make your point.”

“A duel, just like you wanted, but not to the death,” you suggest, “If you win, you can just walk away and do what you want. Die in the forest for all I care. If I win, though... you stay, and you work hard to earn a place here. Work WITH these people, instead of just taking what you want from them. Ualan, Shona... what do you say?”

A murmur of discontent greets this suggestion, but Ualan silences it with a dry cough. “It is... a novel suggestion,” he rasps, “And not one that I might have thought up for myself. Yet, I see some merit in it.”

“Would you swear?” Shona snaps, her voice harsher than that of her husband, “Would you swear to live here in peace?”

Yoku, still surprised by your proposal, thinks this over for a long time before nodding. “Your ways bested my ways,” he tells you, “There is worth in that. We shall see if your merit extends to single combat.”

[1/2]

>>3098819

Taking back his sword, Yoku follows you into the centre of the village. As you walk, he lowers his bestial mask and looks about at every face you pass. “This should be witnessed by a servant of the gods,” he grunts, “The witch. I know you have one – bring her to me, that she might bless this duel.”

“You're too late,” you tell him, “She disappeared long before you ever came here. The forest claimed her.”

Pausing mid-step, Yoku lets out a bitter laugh. “Then this was all for nothing!” he snarls to himself, angrily shaking his head, “Enough talk – we shall settle this in the old way, one man against the other. Fight well, outsider, and I shall do the same.” Bowing curtly, he takes his blade in a two-handed grip and readies himself. Gathering around you, the locals form a rough circle and watch with eager anticipation.

It's just not a Nadir party until someone starts a fight.

-

Keziah starts the fight with a sharp whistle, and you draw your blade. Masque lurks in the middle of the crowd, his inhuman presence causing Feanor's blade to flare with a bright and killing light. Taking the initiative, Yoku shuffles towards you with a series of short, quick steps before swinging his sword down in a high arc. Even before his stroke has finished, he leaps to the side and twists the weapon around in a horizontal cut that very nearly catches you on the arm.

“Careful, outsider,” he taunts, “We fight to first blood this time.”

“Shouldn't we have decided that before starting?” you complain, jinking back out of his long reach. His heart isn't really in this fight, not really, but hints of a formidable skill shine through. That sword of his will give him a good advantage at a distance, as well, but if you can close in and get under his guard...

>Dice! Calling for a roll, so that's 2d6 aiming to beat 8-9 for a partial success and 10+ for a full success. This will be at +2 due to Feanor's sword, and I'll take the highest of the first three results

Rolled 6, 3 + 2 = 11 (2d6 + 2)

>>3098912

Rolled 4, 2 + 2 = 8 (2d6 + 2)

>>3098912

Rolled 6, 6 + 2 = 14 (2d6 + 2)

>>3098912

No comment from Yoku about us bringing a lightsaber to a swordfight?

>>3098934
Alright dude, calm down. No need to vaporize the guy with those rolls. You cut his soul right outta him.

File: sweating.jpg (37 KB, 600x600)

37 KB JPG

>>3098934

>>3098939
I cut the evil out of him, and made him a hardworking and upstanding citizen of Malairt.

>>3098912
>Yoku shuffles towards you with a series of short, quick steps before swinging his sword down in a high arc. Even before his stroke has finished, he leaps to the side and twists the weapon around in a horizontal cut that very nearly catches you on the arm.
Did he just try a Zwerchau? This is a serious fighter we have here.

>>3098934
Too bad Milos is serioser

>Full success!

With a sharp yell, Yoku lunges forwards and chops his blade down towards you. Starting to raise your sword in a parry, you think better of it and duck aside instead. Scything out with his blade and driving you back before you can take advantage of the opening, the bandit laughs curtly. “Are you afraid that I might break that pretty sword of yours?” he sneers, patting his own sword before offering you a proud salute, “This is good steel, the best. More reliable than any trickery you could bring to a fight.”

Humouring him, you briefly clash your blade against his with a flicker of sparks and fire. “I'm not the one who should be afraid,” you jeer, “Take a look at that “good steel” of yours.”

Yoku looks down at his blade, and the small scar that your sword left in the metal. You're just sad that he's still wearing his mask – you'd love to see the look on his face right now. Roaring, he throws himself at you and launches into a flurry of slashes. Dodging some and turning others aside – each block leaving another chip in his blade – you wait for the bandit to tire himself out. When his attack falters, you creep forwards as if stepping into his embrace and flick your blade across his chest. It's a quick blow, almost casual, and it barely touches him.

But it does touch him, and the single bead of blood that drips from his body is proof of that.

-

You'll admit, you've had less awkward drinking sessions. Sitting in a loose circle with Ualan, Shona and Yoku, you take a sip of the rough Nadir spirit and wait for someone, anyone, to break the silence. Finally, Ualan lets out a heavy sigh. “Stranger, would you give us a moment?” he asks, “There is something I would discuss with our... guest.”

Eagerly seizing upon the excuse, you throw back the last of your drink and slip out of the thatched hut. Caliban is descending from Corvo's perch as you approach the roundhouse, his rifle slung over one shoulder, and you call out a greeting. With an enviable agility, he hangs off the rickety ladder and waves back to you before hastening down to ground level. “Shooting him would have been quicker,” he begins, dusting off his hands, “But I suppose your idea worked too. He went easy on you, though. I can tell these things.”

“I went easy on HIM,” you shoot back, “I could have cut that sword of his in half if I wanted, but that might have been overdoing it a little.”

Accepting your point with a tilt of the head, Caliban digs out a cigarette and jams it into his mouth. “Still, I think he wanted to lose,” the hunter continues, “It gave him an excuse – an easy way out. Just your usual Deep Forest crap, you know?”

“You'd be the expert in that,” you remark, watching as Caliban's mouth twists up in a smirk.

[1/2]

>Sorry for the delay, I had to run an unexpected errand

>>3099061
Btw, I don't remember Milos ever taking swordfighting lessons. Is our sword that magical?

>>3099061

You wake up a short while after sunrise, although it barely feels like you got a chance to close your eyes at all. When all this is over, you're going to sleep for a week - and hopefully, you don't get drawn down into some abyss while you're at it. Mercifully free from any hangover, you stumble out of the roundhouse and wander across to the small well. Blessings is already awake, and he helps you to get a cup of cold, clear water. As you drink, feeling the cloud lift from your brain, you spot a figure lurking at the far edge of the village. Yoku sits with his sword at the ready, facing away from you and watching out from any danger.

“Amazing,” you mutter, “How quickly some people can change.”

“Sorry?” Blessings replies, “Did you, ah... did you say something?”

-

Before you leave the village, Ualan and Shona present you with one last gift – a branch from their great tree, the young wood still sticky with sap in the middle. Accepting it with a dubious expression, you wait for them to explain exactly what you're supposed to do with it. “Before you reach the sicklebeak hive, set a flame to it. Make sure that it smoulders, not burns. That's important,” Ualan stresses, “The smoke lulls them somehow. It's this tree, no others, that works on them.”

“The gods gave this tree to us,” Corvo explains, looking like he can't wait to get back up into his perch, “A blessing from the soil.” Shona looks doubtful, but says nothing. “Anyway, er, you should pick up some loose feathers if you see any,” the boy adds, his expression brightening a little, “They're very nice looking, a deep and glossy black. Sometimes we make little trinkets out of them, and... well, anyway. If you see one of the giant sicklebeaks, don't go chasing after it!”

“I think we've had quite enough of giant beasts for the time being,” Caliban mutters darkly, not looking up from the crude map he was given. He's been studying it for a while now, engraving the shortcut into his memory. Turning away, you glance around to make sure that the rest of your crew are ready to leave. Gunny is carefully pacing back and forth, reminding himself of the feel of the terrain while Branwen nervously lingers a pace away. Grace watches the display with a cool lack of amusement, wincing every time a bird cries out – payback for the previous night's revelry, you suspect. Keziah, Masque and Blessings look ready too, eager to be making tracks in fact.

“And here,” Ualan concludes, handing you a folded length of hide, “A letter, to be delivered to my friend in the north. He runs the trading post – you can't miss him.”

Tucking the letter away in your pocket, you nod your thanks. With that taken care of, the time to leave draws near.

>Head north towards the trading post
>Do something else in the village before you go... (Write in)
>Other

>>3099076
>He has had some childhood lessons, but the sword plays a large part. Kind of a muscle memory thing

>>3099131
>Head north towards the trading post
Looks like we are good to go. Give a wave to Corvo on the way out.

>>3099131
>Head north towards the trading post

>>3099131
>Head north towards the trading post

“Look alive, you lot!” you shout, hiding a small smile as you see Grace clutching her head and biting back a whimper of pain, “We're moving out. I want us to reach our next stop by nightfall, so don't lag behind!” Turning back to the family, you give them a nod of gratitude. “Thanks for giving us a roof over our heads,” you tell them, “But the next time you need help putting up a wall... get someone else to do it, okay?”

“No promises,” Ualan replies with a tight smile. After giving Corvo one last wave, you fall in with your departing crew and leave the small trading village behind.

-

You had almost forgotten the simple pleasure of walking along a well-trodden path, and the flat trail ahead of you seems like the height of luxury. Even Gunny makes good time on terrain like this, although he's careful to test the ground ahead of him with a carved walking stick – one last present from Shona, given to you just as you were leaving the village. It's nothing fancy, just a simple branch with some whorls and loops carved into it, but he clearly appreciated the sentiment. His spirits high, Gunny had been whistling a cheerful tune to himself as he walked... until Caliban hushed him, that is.

You walk without a break until noon has been and gone, the trail leading to an abrupt fork. It splits off in two main directions, the paths curving around a darker and narrower trail leading straight north. This, you suspect, is the shortcut – the trees around here have been gouged with deep markings that you recognise as warning signs, even with no inkling of the language itself. “We'll stop here. Twenty minutes, no more than that,” Caliban decides, “Captain, do you have that branch ready?”

Handing it over to him, you sit down and lean back against a withered tree. Glad to take the weight off for a few minutes, you look up at the thinning canopy above. The trees here all look unhealthy, skeletal branches allowing you a clear view of the sky and the islands above. Birds circle the area, their distant cries constantly nagging at you, but you can't make out much more than their silhouettes.

“Milos, brother, I gotta ask you something,” Gunny mutters as he clumsily slumps down to the ground, “What... what does it look like around here?”

“Just see for yourself,” you shoot back, “Haven't you figured out a way to rouse those eyes of yours?”

“I don't... think it works that way,” he sighs, “And I've tried. Trust me, I've tried.”

Well now you just feel like the world's biggest asshole. Frowning down at the drab soil beneath you, you think for a few moments before you speak. “The trees here are pale, like old bones,” you begin, “And the bushes are all lined with thorns. It's a clear day, not many clouds at all, and the sky...”

He listens closely, a hint of sadness finally showing on his face.

[1/2]

>>3099240

With the smouldering branch held out before him, Caliban leads you through the narrow path. Forced into walking single-file, you trudge sullenly forwards as thorny bushes tug and snag at your clothes. Every so often you hear a hiss or a muffled curse as the needles find bare flesh, but otherwise you press on in silence. The branch burns with a thick, almost herbal scent, and it smokes heavily. That's good – the smoke is what will keep the rabid birds away – but it doesn't exactly make for a pleasant walk. A single runner could make good time slipping through the tight path, but a crew like yours?

Not so easy.

The trees have only grown more barren as you press onwards, the soil turning dry and dusty as the path slopes downwards. Soon it's bare rock that you're walking on, with more of those damnable bushes forcing their way through cracks in the stone. Even when high walls pen you in on both sides, the thorns seem to push out of the slightest flaw in the rock. Breathing a curse, Keziah looks up and peers towards the sky. It seems to have grown more distant than ever, a faint seam of light crawling across the dark terrain around you. This whole place feels menacing, like a scar gouged into the land by some massive sword.

And all the while, a faint murmuring noise grows louder and louder. When Caliban turns to give you an update, he has to raise his voice over it. “Path opens out ahead!” he calls, only for the murmur and rustle to get sharply louder in reply. Cursing, the hunter ducks low as a number of slick black birds explode out from ahead and madly fly overhead. With their heavy beaks, some broad like axe heads and others curved like scythes, you can only assume that these are the sicklebeaks that you were warned about. True enough, they never fly down low enough to really threaten you – the smoke keeps them away.

As soon as they came, the birds flit past and take to the skies, leaving you blinking in confusion for a moment more. Not speaking this time, Caliban checks the smouldering branch before nodding and gesturing for you to continue on. True to his unwise words, the path does open out ahead – like a crater in the rock, it widens out into a round hollow dominated by a tall, lifeless tree. Ragged gashes in the rock lead down into tight caverns, narrow enough that not even the smallest among your number could crawl into them... not that you'd want to. Even overpowering the stench of the smouldering branch, a musty animal scent hangs heavy in the air here, and the rustling sound of wings rubbing together would drown out any attempt at conversation you might try to make.

“Wow,” Keziah thinks to you, eagerly taking advantage of her ability to talk without speaking aloud, “I hate this place!”

[2/3]

>>3099361

Moving slowly, making as little noise as possible, you creep around the outer edge of the barren stone crater, constantly glancing back to check on Gunny. Blessings and Branwen work together on guiding him towards, carefully moving aside any loose rocks that he might kick away with his heavy boots. All the while, Gunny's mouth remained fixed in a pained grimace – even when he was tripping and stumbling over the forest terrain, he was never more aware of how much of a burden he had become.

When you're about halfway through the crater, you spot a tiny sicklebeak – a very young specimen, perhaps - squeezing itself out from one of the crevasses, shaking itself off before taking flight. You all freeze for a moment, waiting to see if more are to follow, but the bird remains alone. Caliban gives you the nod, and you start moving again. Even so, you keep a close eye on the circling bird as you creep towards the far end of the clearing. As you watch, it dips low and lands on Masque's shoulder. Not even bothering to glance around, the daemon stubbornly marches on.

That is, until the scavenging bird dips down and pecks at his dead flesh. As soon as the sharp beak touches him, Masque's hand flashes around and snatches the bird up. Biting back a cry of warning, you reach back to stop him, but it's too late. Even as you reach out, Masque clenches his fist and crushes the bird with a loud crunch of bone. Not even a full second later, all hell breaks loose. Countless sicklebeaks – hundreds of them at the very least – boil out of the rocks and take flight, whirling and filling the air above you. Grace screams as one of the birds smacks into the wall next to her, snapping its own neck in an instant, but you can barely hear her voice above the raucous chorus of squawks and shrieks. The smouldering branch is keeping them at bay for a moment, but how long can that last?

“Just run!” you yell, hoping that everyone can hear you over the din. Looking back, you spot Gunny faltering in place. Without stopping, without even thinking of being slowed down, you grab him by the arm and pull him along as the others run on ahead of you. As you're starting to flee, you see a dark form emerging from within the dead, hollow tree. Oily black feathers – each one as long as a sword – bristle as two wings emerge from the tree, pallid human hands visible at the tips. Red, feverish eyes glare out from within the tree as those hands grasp the edges of the wood, straining as some bloated form begins to pull itself free.

You don't stick around to see what it is. Tightening your grip on Gunny's wrist, you put your head down and you run.

>I think I'm going to pause things here for today. I'll try and run an extra session tomorrow, though, otherwise we'll continue next Friday as usual
>Sorry for the delays today, I've been feeling a little out of it

>>3099451
Thanks for running!

These sicklebeaks are annoying! Why hasn't anyone had them exterminated yet?

>>3099451
Thanks for running! Will Gunny ever recover his sight, or achieve some alternate way of seeing things?

>>3099451
Well this is getting spooky. Thanks for running!

>>3099451
Thanks for running.

Is the Deep Forest on par with Australia?

>>3099548
Nah, in Australia at least only the wildlife wants to kill you. In the Deep Forest it's the people as well.

>>3099483
Generally, they're not a real problem - they mostly just scavenge and eat dead bodies. Swarms like this are pretty much unique, and very much a local issue. For most people, it's just not enough of a problem!
>>3099489
I won't say that it's impossible, but it wouldn't be an easy or simple matter. Call it a work in progress, perhaps
>>3099548
>>3099554
In the Deep Forest, the people ARE wildlife!

File: Dwight Hasenkamp.png (770 KB, 600x819)

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All was quiet in the infirmary, which was entirely as it should be. It was quiet, but not absolutely silent – every so often, there was the faint whisper of a page being turned or the scratch of a pen against paper. Doctor Philip Wolfgang Barnum was no stranger to the quiet – in fact, it suited him just fine. He so hated to raise his voice, after all, the strain of it always causing him the most terrible pain. One does not have their throat cut without expecting some lasting consequences.

Behind him, Sandoval listlessly turned the page of her book. Physically, the patient was recovering well, but her mental state was far less certain. Withdrawn and sullen most of the time, she only ever spoke to Barnum when it was absolutely necessary. A consequence of the attempt on her life, perhaps, or maybe she just disliked the doctor himself. That was fine though, Barnum had never been concerned about being well-liked.

“Hey doc, I brought some food. Thought you might be getting hungry,” Dwight announced, shouldering his way through the door and nodding to Sandoval, “Brought enough for two, ma'am.”

“I've told you before,” Sandoval muttered, looking up from her book, “If you keep calling me “ma'am”, I'm going to start calling you “young man”.”

“Go right ahead with that,” Dwight replied with a languid smile, “I might even like it that way.”

Sandoval opened her mouth, found herself speechless, then promptly closed her mouth again, settling for giving Dwight a cool smile. Barnum watched the exchange with quiet fascination. While he was a good pilot, Dwight was a man of little importance or ambition – the kind of man who would never achieve anything of significance, but was nevertheless a vital cog in some larger machine. There was no shame in that... although Barnum doubted that Dwight would see it that way. “Excuse me, Dwight,” he said instead, his voice low and humble, “I would ask a small favour of you. Could you mind Miss Sandoval while I run a small errand? I do not anticipate being long – call for me if there is an emergency, I will only be on the bridge.”

“Sure thing, chief,” the pilot agreed, shrugging as he looked around to Sandoval, “Although I'm not sure if she really needs someone to mind her.”

“To keep her company, then,” the doctor persisted, “I fear that boredom is starting to settle in. Not ideal conditions for her recovery, not ideal at all.”

Slamming her book shut with a weighty thump of paper, Sandoval glared at the doctor. “Her recovery is going quite fine, thank you,” she stressed, “I just want to get up and get back to...” Her voice trailed off her, the rest of her sentence dying on her lips. To get back to work, Barnum silently finished for her, although he wondered if that was ever going to happen.

After all, it had been her own people who ordered her death.

[1/3]

>>3106085

Leaving Sandoval and the pilot to talk, Barnum silently slipped out of the infirmary and made his way to the bridge. There, he immediately set to work tuning the radio to a frequency he hadn't used in many years. Even so, the memory came faultlessly back to him. Counting off the seconds, he listened to the radio static hissing softly away before – after the count of ten – tuning to a second frequency. This time, his call was rewarded by a low voice.

“Central,” the voice announced, just as it always had. Despite himself, Barnum smiled a little.

“I see that you're still using our old frequency, Administrator,” he whispered, his smile deepening at the bemused silence that followed. It was a long time before he received a reply.

“Philip,” Administrator Gehrard mused, “I was under the impression that you were dead. Perhaps I shouldn't be too surprised, though. You did always strike me as a man who wouldn't die easily. These last few years, you must have been very careful – not once did I get an inkling that you might have remained active.” He fell silent for a moment, considering the unexpected call. “You wouldn't have made contact without a good reason,” Gehrard concluded with a faint sigh of resignation, “Very well. What can I do for you?”

A willingness to cooperate – that was good, better than Barnum had been expected. Most Iraklin officers were trained to be suspicious, even when speaking with an old friend. “I understand that you have been busy,” Barnum murmured, “My... contacts tell me much, but I would like to hear from you.”

“You called for the latest gossip?” Gehrard laughed, although there was little humour in it.

“I am particularly curious about Faulkner,” the doctor replied casually, dropping the name into conversation without so much as a second thought. On the other end of the radio, he just about heard the sharp intake of breath. Now, Gehrard knew that he was being serious. “A difficult situation,” he continued, “Have you decided what you will do with him?”

Another long silence. “It's a delicate matter, as you can well imagine. Captain Faulkner will “retire” from public life soon, citing health concerns if anyone thinks to ask. Then, house arrest. It's not easy to arrest a national hero,” Gehrard explained at last, “Had he not been so cooperative, we would have needed to arrange something more drastic. His operation is finished – he gave us quite a list of names, and my people have been paying them visits.”

“All very polite and courteous, I am sure,” Barnum agreed, laughing silently, “And Eishin himself? Has his fate been decided?”

“If only it was that easy,” the administrator lamented, fatigue weighing down his words, “He plays with us, stringing us along with hints of some larger disaster that only he is aware of. A ruse, most likely, but so long as there is a possibility of danger...”

[2/3]

>>3106088

Gehrard paused then, stopping himself from revealing anything more. Friendship, it seemed, only extended so far. “But I find myself wondering why you need to ask ME about any of this,” he mused, “After all, Philip, your sources seem rather well-informed. I wonder if there's anything I know that they haven't already learned.”

“Your own sources down in Monotia might have told you some things about the recent... trouble there. Riots and gang squabbles,” Barnum murmured, slowly looking over his shoulder to see if Dwight was coming back. No sign of the pilot, thankfully. “I tell you now, the reality of the situation was rather more interesting,” he continued, pronouncing each word with care, “An attempted assassination, with a prominent member of the church as the target.”

Was that the sound of papers rustling on some distant desk? Barnum thought that it was. “An attempted assassination,” Gehrard repeated slowly, “Do your sources know who was behind it?”

“They do,” Barnum whispered, rubbing the scar that encircled his throat, “The church itself.”

Some of the men that Barnum had known in his long and inglorious career would have cheered to hear this, to learn of anything that might put a crack in the church's armour. Gehrard was not one of them – he placed stability above quick gains... when he was a young man, at least. Had the murky world of Iraklin military intelligence changed him at all? It was a risk that Barnum was taking, but he trusted what his instincts told him.

“Tell me everything...” the administrator ordered, and Doctor Barnum was only too happy to obey.

>That concludes today's bonus interlude! Regular updates will hopefully continue on Friday
>Thank you for reading along today!

>>3106090
Damn, how many moles got into our crew. Unlike DuPonts, we probably won't catch Barnum.

>>3106090
We can't trust anyone.

>>3106093
Barnum has used his contacts for us in the past, though.

Even now, arguably, he's probably looking out for Sandoval more than striking against Carth since he called a dude who values stability.

Still, even if he is, Carth ain't Pastonne. Not really our concern.

And hey, now we have a direct line to Iraklin Special Circumstances, Response Division.


>That sounds like a good time!

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You like to think that you have a healthy degree of suspicion, of scepticism. That you don't just believe everything you read and hear, especially when it comes to the more outlandish claims that often circulate amongst your kind of people – airship crew, Nadir barbarians and all those to cling to the outskirts of society. So, when you hear a strange bit of folklore, you don't automatically take it as fact. Still, Corvo's tale of how sicklebeaks can strip the flesh from a man's bones in a matter of seconds...

Well, you definitely believe it now.

Keeping a tight hold on Gunny's wrist, you pull him forwards as the surging flock of birds whirl above you. A dash of pain across your scalp causes you to duck your head down, covering your face with one arm. A gash across your shoulder is one thing, but if those hungry beaks found your eyes then Gunny might not be the only blind man here.

Crying out, Gunny loses his balance and stumbles forwards against your shoulder, his weight nearly knocking you down. As you stagger, you risk a glance up in search of the way out of this place only to be confronted by barren rock. No, not just that – ahead of you is a crack in the rock, just wide enough for you to squeeze into. Bitterly aware of the risks, you blunder ahead and push Gunny into the crevasse. He fights you for a moment, not realising what you're doing, and stars flash across your vision as his flailing hand catches you on the brow. Ignoring the pain, you barge into the crack after Gunny and chance a backwards glance.

Outside, the sicklebeaks fly back and forth with all the energy of a frenzy. Whether it's the scent of blood in the air – blood from you torn scalp – or just some primal anger that drives them, they show only a slow sign of calming. Still, that slow hint is better than nothing, and your hiding place shields you from their raking beaks. Leaning back against the cold stone and gasping for breath, you close your eyes and reach out to Keziah. You can just about feel her thoughts, only-

Only the scream of birds hammers into you instead, infinitely louder than the squawks and shrieks that echo out from beyond your meagre shelter. Hurriedly breaking off any hint of contact, breaking off even the attempt at contact, you slam shut the doors of your mind and wrench your eyes open.

Outside, the storm seems to have passed – almost in defiance of your previous guess, the flock of sicklebeaks seems to have vanished over the course of a few short seconds. Instead, you're left with... nothing. An odd silence, an odd stillness, and the intense reluctance to reach out with your thoughts once more. One barrage of that raucous din was quite enough for you.

“I don't hear anything,” Gunny whispers, “Is it... over?”

[1/3]

>>3110160

As you start to ease out of your hiding place, a sinister noise reaches you – a dry ticking sound, not entirely unlike a man tapping his finger against a solid wood table. Freezing in place for a moment, you slowly turn around and raise a hand to hush Gunny. Then, as you realise the futility of your gesture, you almost ruin your attempt at stealth by laughing aloud – it's still so easy to forget. Instead, you lightly hold your hand over Gunny's mouth until he grasps your intent, nodding cautiously.

“Okay, let's move,” you whisper at last, waiting a few long moments after that rattle has fallen silent, “I think the coast is clear.” Creeping out into the now silent gully, you feel black feathers crinkling underfoot. Dead birds are scattered about the whole area, the sickly angles of their bodies suggesting all manner of broken bones – self-inflicted injuries caused by them slamming into rock walls and the ground. With vague curiosity, you note that the bodies are untouched – sicklebeaks are scavengers, but this bounty has been completely ignored. Crouching down, you pick up a few of the fallen feathers and rub them between your fingers. They feel heavy, almost like velvet, and their black is as deep as ink. Shoving the feathers into your pocket, you look back to the dead, hollow tree. No sign of that looming, partially human thing now, so you move on.

-

Aside from the crunch of feathers underfoot, a stagnant silence hangs over the area. Moving out of the wider crater, you lead Gunny down into a narrow passage – so similar to the entrance that you have to fight back a moment of disorientation, to look back and confirm that you're headed in the right direction. When you start seeing faint signs of life – more of those awful thorny vines poking out from cracks in the rock – you actually feel glad. It's a sign that you're moving forwards. A few paces more, and spot another reassuring sign. A flash of red cloth – almost certainly ripped from Grace's sleeve - catches your eye, the torn fabric clinging to the thorns.

The uphill path steadily widens as you lead Gunny along, bare rock sinking beneath a scattered layer of dusty, powdery soil. The trees that you see here are drab and barren, and the terrain beyond the crude path that you follow rapidly deteriorates. A carpet of fallen leaves, thorny bushes and tangled undergrowth... difficult going for a man in your condition, far worse for Gunny. Sticking to the path, you press on ahead until a new and unwelcome sight rises up in front of you.

A short way ahead of you, a dark shape is perched up in the highest branches of a barren tree. It shifts a little, the great beaked head tilting this way and that as it moves. Slowly, a throaty clicking noise echoes out.

[2/3]

>>3110162

Being careful not to make any noise, any sudden movements, you ease Feanor's blade an inch out of its sheath, but the blade remains cool and dead. Whatever that thing is, it's no daemon – a creature of flesh and blood like you or Gunny. What you first took to be a featureless body is, on second glance, the shroud created by a pair of folded wings. Low on the creature's silhouette, two pale and human hands clutch at the branch it sits upon.

It's here. The thing from the tree.

Sensing your unease, Gunny fumbles to pat you on the arm. Turning, you try and think of some way to explain the situation without speaking aloud. With no other option, you cover his mouth for a few moments until he nods his understanding. At the very least, he won't be shouting anything out until you give him the signal. Now all you need to do is get through this mess...

Closing your eyes for a moment, you risk another attempt at reaching out to Keziah. At the first murmuring of birds, you immediately break the contact and pull back. Definitely not safe yet. Grimacing at the band of pain tightening around your temples, you focus on the path ahead of you. Taking a wider route that circles around the bird creature might keep you away from it, but the terrain is rough – with Gunny following behind you, keeping quiet might not damn near impossible. Sneaking under it, then? But the path would take you directly beneath the beast's perch...

Drawing your revolver, you check the cylinder. Six fat brass cartridges stare back up at you, promising violence.

>Take a shot at the beast with your revolver
>Circle around and take the wider route
>Sneak along the path and underneath the beast
>Other

>>3110163
>Sneak along the path and underneath the beast

>>3110163
wtf sicklebeaks are crashing our mental telephone? do they have special powers or is herod just in the middle of a big bird gangbang and can't be our relay?

>Sneak along the path and underneath the beast

Stay close because it mighta driven off the beaks, but don't disturb it

>>3110163
>Take a shot at the beast with your revolver
My guess is that taking the big one down will make the rest of the birds a little less aggressive.

Keeping your revolver drawn, you shuffle a pace closer and wait for a moment, watching for the sicklebeast's reaction. It continues to shift from side to side, head tilted, with no sign of noticing you. Taking that as encouragement, you lead Gunny further along the trodden path and prepare to sneak by the creature. Even so, you hesitate after every few steps to make sure that you've not caught the thing's attention. When you're about a dozen paces away from it, a branch snaps somewhere off in the distance. A small, thin sound, but the beast's head jerks around to face towards the noise.

Tightening your grip on your revolver, you freeze in place and wait. The sicklebeast stares off into the distance for a few seconds before its head contorts, the beak somehow unhinging itself and yawning wide – wide enough, so it seems, to swallow a man whole. Crouching low, and pulling Gunny down with you, you watch as the beast looks back around. Just before it closes its jaw, you see a hideous sight – within that great mouth, nestled in the back of its throat, there is a vaguely humanoid face. Pallid and mottled, with bulging, red-tinted eyes, the face stares out into the empty space and mouths some unrecognisable word.

Then, mercifully, the beak retracts and shrinks back into shape. You almost envy Gunny's blindness – he'll never know just how close you came to crying out, the unnatural sight pushing you to the limits of your revulsion. Pulling him back up to his feet, you continue easing your way towards the beast's perch. The closer you get, the more emboldened you feel, and you find your pace growing a little quicker. Part of it, you don't doubt, is simply wanting to be gone from here – to be as far away from it as possible.

As you reach the tree itself and crouch down beneath it, the beast lurches into a sudden burst of motion. Spreading one wing to reveal part of a humanoid torso, complete with the hint of a feminine curve, it feverishly pecks at its inky black feathers. Seizing your chance to move while the creature is otherwise busy, you drag Gunny along and hasten away. The instinct to abandon stealth and run with all your strength is never far away, but you keep it at bay... for now, at least.

Ahead of you, the path curves downhill to reveal a greener section of the forest, a healthier bit of land. This is all it takes for you to give in to your unspoken urges and run, running as fast as Gunny will allow. The beast itself makes no attempt to follow, although the mocking sound of its ticking chases you along the way. Once you find yourself surrounded by softer, greener trees, you breath a sigh of relief. Still, the memory of what you saw still haunts you.

That terrible piebald face, with its faint, perhaps familial relation to the young Corvo.

[1/2]

>>3110198
Oh shit it's Corvo's grandmother who never came back.

>>3110198
the hell did she do to herself that this doesn't involve daemons?

>>3110198

You march on in silence for a while longer before something occurs to you. Looking back behind you, you see Gunny's face pinched with concentration and shining with a thin layer of sweat. “Hey, we're okay now,” you tell him, “Don't start shouting or anything, but I think we can talk now. You okay? Good to keep moving?”

“By the Light, brother, I'd walk until my feet were stumps if that was what it took to get us out of here!” Gunny breathes, “What was that thing? It smelled like... well, I guess it smelled like an unwashed body, with a healthy pile of bird shit mixed in.”

“Not so healthy,” you mutter to yourself. You hadn't really been paying attention to what the bloody thing smelled like, but you suppose Gunny has a different perspective on the world now. Leaving his question unanswered – because answering it would require you to think about the monstrous thing for a few moments more – you tentatively open your mind up. Rather than the screaming of birds, you find yourself greeted by a strangely expectant silence. “Keziah?” you think, “Are you-”

“Oh thank the gods that you're okay!” the witch interrupts, her thoughts slamming into you with slightly less force than the birds, “We got separated, and I couldn't sense you out there at all, and I sent Caliban to see if he could sniff out your trail but now he hasn't come back either and-”

Wincing, you break off the link for a moment before reaching back out. “I think we got cut off for a moment there,” you announce, “Best save the rest of this for later. Before I go, though, you said Caliban is out looking for us? When did you last see him?”

“I don't... a few hours ago, I think,” she answers, “I've been worried, I didn't really notice the time.”

Hours? But even with Gunny slowing you down, you couldn't have been more than a few minutes behind them. You ducked into the cave to wait for the birds to calm, but... but none of this makes much sense, does it? Ending the conversation with an assurance of your safety, you look up at the sky. It's dark, either sunrise or sunset although you can't be certain which. You're not even sure if you should be tired or hungry. It's enough to make your head ache.

A distraction comes in the heavy crash of Gunny collapsing, tripping over a fallen log and planting his face into the hard soil. Hissing a curse, you kneel down by his side and help him up. A bloodied mask stares back at you, and you automatically turn away from his blind eyes. “Damn it...” Gunny mutters, “Milos, brother, you know... I think I'm starting to get sick of this whole “blind” thing.”

With this, he falls silent and waits, waiting for you to say something – anything. But what CAN you say?

>Something non-committal. You need to keep moving
>Something comforting. He isn't going through this alone
>Something spiteful. What else was he expecting?
>Something... (Write in)
>Other

>>3110222
>Something non-committal. You need to keep moving.

"At least you didn't need to worry about getting your eyes pecked out a few minutes ago."

>>3110222
>Something comforting. He isn't going through this alone
Let's take 5

>>3110222
>This might sound crazy, but...
>Have you tried talking to your eyes?
>Caliban got it to work with the arm of a lady he never met, and these are your own eyes we're talking about here.

>>3110222
>>Something comforting. He isn't going through this alone

Biting back a sharp reply, you dig a rag out of your pocket and wipe blood away from his face. It looks like his nose isn't broken, although it is still leaking a little. Flowing blood and open wounds are never a good idea in a place like this, but both have plenty of shallow wounds already. One more little injury is hardly likely to make things any worse. “Come on,” you tell Gunny, “Do you need to take five minutes? We need to keep moving, but if you can't-”

“Just lost my footing, that's all it was!” Gunny interrupts, “I won't slow you down again, brother. If I do, you can just leave me here.”

“Hey, come on!” you protest, forcing a smile that Gunny cannot see before adding: “Can you really see me doing that?”

“Can't see shit, brother,” he replies, sounding a little more cheerful. Reaching out, he gives you his hand and you help to drag him to his feet. “Just testing you,” he adds, “Glad to say that you passed.”

“Of course I did,” you laugh, slapping him on the arm and nearly sending him tumbling back down to the forest floor, “I knew you weren't being serious. You should have seen that coming!”

“Oh, so it's okay when you're the one making the blind jokes?” Gunny grumbles, allowing you to lead him along.

Walking on in silence for a while, you listen out for any sign of Caliban. That's a fool's errand normally, but you thought that he might try and make some noise – some signal that you could use to find him by. When nothing comes, you sigh and speak up. “Still, I think you had one advantage over me,” you tell Gunny, “You didn't need to worry about those damn birds pecking your eyes out.” Gunny laughs at this, reaching up to flick one of his frozen other eyes. When he grunts in pain, you glance sharply around in surprise. “Wait,” you ask him, “You felt that?”

“Sure, I felt that,” he grumbles, “I damn near broke my finger!”

Rolling your eyes, you look away again. “Call this a stupid idea, and stop me if you've already thought of this,” you continue, “But have you tried talking with your eyes? You know, meditate on them to see if they'll talk to you. Some of these Abrahad statues, you know...”

“Aye, I've tried it. Didn't work – it's this place, it's no good for that kind of thing,” Gunny replies slowly, picking his words with care, “Too noisy, too busy. There was always some distraction, I couldn't focus on-”

“Speaking of being noisy,” a new voice cuts in, and you look up to spot Caliban sitting on a high branch a few feet away. “I thought the high ground might help me find you,” the hunter adds, noticing your bemused look, “Seems like I was right. You've got a lot of explaining to do, captain.”

Somehow, you're not sure if you'll be able to answer his questions.

[1/2]

>>3110290
Yeah, apparently it's been several hours for you guys but only a few minutes for us. Weird shit bro.

>>3110290

You do get one answer out of Caliban – it's almost sunrise, making it early morning. That means that you've got almost the entire night unaccounted for. Gunny can't give you an explanation either. So far as he was aware, there was no missing time. When you press him for answers, for his version of events, his mouth twists down in an uncertain frown.

“Hard to explain, brother. I didn't really know what was happening. You shoved me into some hiding place, I think, then you followed me in. That much, I could feel happening. After that, I can't really explain it – I think I heard your voice, you were crying out, but maybe it was just the birds,” he reluctantly explains, “After that, it was a long wait. Took those things a long time to calm down, and you never said a thing. I figured you were staying quiet to avoid setting them off again, so I followed your lead. About all I could do, you know?”

Accepting his answer with an uncertain nod, you follow Caliban as he leads you north.

-

When you arrive at the trading post, Keziah is there to greet you with a tight embrace. Gently peeling her away from you, you watch as Caliban leads Gunny away to join the others. Once you're alone together, you carefully explain what you saw in the forest – the sicklebeast, and the human traits that seemed all too familiar. “Is it possible?” you ask quietly, “Could it have been Corvo's grandmother?”

“I... think so,” Keziah replies, her own uncertainty showing through in her hushed tone, “It's possible. Backlash from a failed rite, something she wasn't able to control, it could have caused her blood to turn completely. Even a successful rite can have... lasting consequences.” Here, she pauses and touches her face. You know exactly what she means – her eye had been the first thing to change, following a bestial rite led by her mother. If that small ceremony had been enough to rouse her corrupted blood, then you could well imagine the failure of some grant rite being responsible for the sicklebeast you saw.

“The missing time, though...” she continues, “I can't explain that. Never really heard of THAT before. You know what it reminds me of, though?” Reaching out, she hooks Maeve's pendant out from underneath your tunic. “This thing,” she explains, “And what it does to those statues. Same thing – like a kind of abyss. You get sucked in, you don't notice a damn thing that happens around you until something jolts you back out.”

That does sound familiar. “Witchcraft, then?” you guess, only for Keziah to shrug her answer. The sicklebeast isn't likely to explain itself, even if you could coax it out from its lair, so perhaps some things will have to remain a mystery.

[2/3]

>Sorry for the delay. I had to sort a few things behind the scenes, and it took longer than expected

>>3110381
>Reaching out, she hooks Maeve's pendant out from underneath your tunic
Honestly forgot about that thing

>>3110381

“Oh hey!” Keziah chirps, putting an apparent end to the bleak topic, “Come look at what Blessings built! He's pretty good with his hands, when he's doin' it in front of the girls. I... ah, dinnae take that out of context, okay boss? I'm trustin' you with this!”

“My mind is as pure as a Carth river,” you assure her, blinking at the sudden change in topic, “What did he build?”

“That stand... frame... thing that Grace and I sketched up!” she explains, poking you on the forehead as if trying to stir your memory, “It should hold the mirror in place while the sun rises. We collect the sunlight, beam it into the vial, and... you DO still have the vial, don't you?”

Setting down your pack, you dig deep and unfold a spare pair of breeches. Wrapped inside is a small wooden box, the insides packed with straw. Buried under that second layer of padding is the glass vial, utterly flawless and perfect. “Not a scratch on it,” you assure her, “Sure hope I don't drop it...”

“Dinnae even joke about it!” the witch gasps, her eyes widening with horror, “C'mon, I'll show you! It's a wee bit crude, mind you, so dinnae you laugh or you'll hurt our feelings. You dinnae want to get a reputation as the kind of man who makes kids cry, do you?”

“They're hardly kids...” you grumble, watching as Keziah hurries off towards the trading post.

>Take a look at the “device”. Maybe it might actually be usable
>This isn't the time for playing around. Focus on securing a way back to Monotia
>Find the others and discuss the sicklebeasts with them
>Question Keziah some more... (Write in)
>Other

>>3110399
>Take a look at the “device”. Maybe it might actually be usable
>Find the others and discuss the sicklebeasts with them

>>3110399
>>Take a look at the “device”. Maybe it might actually be usable

>>3110399
>Take a look at the “device”. Maybe it might actually be usable

>>3110399
>Take a look at the “device”. Maybe it might actually be usable

I believe in them.

“Okay, fine, I promise not to laugh!” you call after Keziah, hurrying to catch up with her, “But could you gather the others as well? I want to talk with them all before we start getting too involved in any crazy experiments.” Pausing, you wince at the sound of those words. “And I'm not saying that we're going to DO any crazy experiments!” you add, all too aware of how dangerous those mirrors can be, “I'm just saying that-”

Laughing, Keziah flaps her hands at you – a kind of “don't worry about it” gesture. Suffice to say, it doesn't exactly fill you with confidence.

-

The “device” is covered in a heavy sheet when you arrive, and you feel obscurely glad about that. If the mirror is already installed, then you want to keep it out of sight for as long as possible. If it isn't installed, then you ALSO want to keep it out of sight for as long as possible. One way or another, it won't be getting much sunlight in here – Blessings seems to have chosen a ragged old barn as his workshop, the building clearly used for nothing more important than gathering dust. Just beneath the edge of the sheet, you spot a few scavenged wheels... although scavenged from what, you couldn't say.

The others have gathered, all according to your instructions, and you wander through the dusty barn to greet them individually. Freddy hails you first, and you head over to speak with her. “I think I have a way out of here,” she explains quietly, “The manager here is expecting a truck of goods to arrive at noon. We might be able to beg a ride back to Monotia.”

“That's good, but...” you pause, “I'm not thinking that far ahead yet. Back there, with the birds, did you notice anything... off?”

Freddy stares at you for a long moment before uttering a hollow laugh. “Not even a year ago, everything about this would be “off” as far as I was concerned,” she explains, “But no, there wasn't any one thing about the swarm of man-eating birds that struck me as unusual.” Starting to turn away, Freddy pauses an idea occurs to her. “Although maybe there was one thing,” she adds slowly, “One of the smaller birds seemed like it was going to attack me. It swooped down, and I managed to grab it out of the air, throw it aside. I was left with a handful of feathers, and I meant to shove them into my pocket. When we were out of that clearing, though, I couldn't find them. I assumed that I had dropped them, but maybe it was something more than that.”

“Something like an illusion?” you guess, reaching into your pocket and producing the feathers that you found. They're as solid and intact as your own hand. “So not all of the birds were fake,” you muse, “Maybe just some of them.”

“Or maybe I just dropped the feathers,” Freddy points out.

Iraklins. Always so unimaginative.

[1/2]

>>3110464

There doesn't seem to be much more to learn here, but then Masque puts a hand on your shoulder. A strangely human gesture by his standards – normally, he would just walk up to you and start talking if he wanted your attention. “You have not yet seen what the oldest and strangest of the witches have become,” he mutters to you, “In some places, “grandmother” is a title given to any relative of great age. They divide their time between the Deep Forest and the hollows that men have dug out, concealing their true form with rigid bindings.”

“And if these bindings are broken...” you guess.

“Yes,” the daemon concludes, “Their true form is revealed. If what you say is true, then you encountered an old and powerful being – not power that was borrowed or stolen, as Forlorn Ashtoret possessed, but true power. Yet, perhaps she was too much a beast. What use is power that cannot be controlled or guided?” Shaking his blank, masked face, the daemon strolls away to examine the covered device. Blessings gives him the nod, and Masque starts to push it outside.

“Almost sunrise,” Keziah mutters, appearing at your arm, “Shall we?”

-

You'll admit, it's hard not to laugh when you catch a glimpse of the device – it really does look like something a child would put together with sticks and twine. In fact, you think you can see some twine there, holding together some thin metal struts. What it amounts to is pretty simple, actually – a frame with padded clamps to hold the thousand year mirror up at the required angle, and an adjustable arm to hold the glass vial. You've not quite figured out how best to read it yet, so the arm can tilt it this way and that.

It'll probably work, but you feel vaguely embarrassed to be seen beside it. Grace stands beside the device, a heavy magnifying lens at the ready and a sour look on her face. Very deliberately, she keeps her back to the thousand year mirror. Most of your crew do, in fact, which doesn't come as a surprise after seeing the effect it had on Gunny.

“It's really more of a prototype,” Blessings offers weakly, giving you an apologetic smile, “Well, um, if you want to pop the vial inside then we can... you know. We can get started.”

Taking out the vial, you start to reach over to the device when Grace puts her small hand over your own. “Are you sure you want to do this?” she asks, her voice hushed and solemn, “We have no way of knowing if there are any kind of defence mechanisms built into it, any tricks or traps. This is ancient... I can't even call it technology, or witchcraft, or anything else that we understand. Do you really want to do this?”

>I do, yes
>Actually, no
>Other

>>3110518
>I do, yes

>>3110518
>I do, yes
Be a shame to let all this effort go to waste.

Looking back, you see expectant faces gazing back at you. You're not the only one who wants to find out what this vial contains – be it a blessing or a curse, you'll have your answers one way or another. “I'm ready,” you tell Grace, looking her straight in the eye. She considers something for a few seconds before nodding and taking her hand away. Taking care not to break anything, you cautiously insert the vial into the device's arm and tighten down the hand gripping it. A re-purposed vice, by the looks of things, although Blessings was careful to pad out the hands with torn cloth – one of his sleeves, by the looks of it.

Once the vial is secure, Blessings makes a tiny adjustment to the thousand year mirror. That tiny motion changes more than you expected, the silvered glass glowing like the midday sun as the weak, hazy light falls upon it. Flooding out of the mirror, golden light washes over the vial and brings a vivid glow to the delicate construction. Gasping, Blessings is quick to shift the mirror aside and the beam of purified sunlight dies. The vial, though, stays lit up.

“Quickly!” the boy hisses to Grace, gesturing for her to put the lens to use. She raises it, only to turn away with a soft gasp. Instead, she holds it out to you.

“Just... tell me what you see,” she whispers, “Perhaps I can translate from that. I dare not look!”

Frowning at her reaction, you take the lens from her. “I don't know if I'll understand any of this,” you point out, holding the lens up to a random spot on the vial and leaning in, “I don't read any of this Zenith script, and... and...”

And there's no way of describing what you're looking at. Not to her, or to anyone else who isn't seeing what you're seeing. The tiny inscription seems to swell and grow larger as you peer down at it. You become a giant eye fixed in the sky above, descending closer and closer to what you see is not a sigil at all but a landscape, towering walls of white Abrahad stone creating the letter you thought you were looking at. Plunging lower, you see that there is a figure already present in the alien landscape... and it's you.

The eye that you have become blinks, and then you are down there in the midst of the inscription. Looking down at your hands, you clench and unclench your fists. You can move, and you can feel things – when you dig your fingernails into flesh, you feel them bite. Awestruck at the power of Ibn'ah's device, you take a few tentative steps forwards and look up at the closest Abrahad wall. It's covered in carvings – all in the same unreadable language.

Your groan of frustration sounds very loud in this silent place.

[1/2]

Damnit Grace, be less scared. Hope we brought something to write on.

>>3110556
I think it's good to have someone play devil's advocate just in case.

>>3110545

Looking up towards the sky, you look to see if you can see... well, yourself gazing down at you. Just trying to imagine that gives you a headache, so you soon look away. The sky is covered in a thick mist anyway, with nothing for you to see. When you look down, though, you realise that something has changed. The carvings have warped into letters that you CAN read – in fact, they look as though they have been carved in your own handwriting.

That's somehow worse than seeing yourself peering down, but at least it's useful. Picking a place at random, you read aloud.

“The problem is one of blindness,” you read, “Sacred and profane alike, men have closed their eyes to the truth of the world. My fellows gazed to the skies and thought themselves profound, but all they achieved was to empty their minds. By staring into the sun, they burned away the questions that men must ask themselves. What of the forest dwellers? They cannot allow themselves the luxury of introspection, for they must always ward against the knives intended for their backs.”

Which makes sense, although it doesn't tell you what questions you should be asking. Shaking your head, you wander over to another towering piece of wall and read at random. “The throne yearns for a true monarch, offering the power of creation as a prize,” you murmur, “But the throne is the greatest lie of all – a distraction, meant to lead men astray and satisfy their base hunger. Their hunger for glory, for devotion, the hunger to feel as though THEY were chosen where all others failed. A lie, a curse, and a death sentence. Disaster will surely follow, the power will be snatched away, and the world will begin anew. Impurity and Dogma will resume their eternal struggle, and men will remain the pieces upon their playing board.”

Beneath this, you see a larger engraving – the image of a horned man lying dead, his chest split upon to reveal a newborn... thing. Malformed and eyeless, it nevertheless has the nubs of two small horns upon its brow. Impurity slain, only to birth a new version of itself into the world. As you reach out to trace your fingers across the engraving, you feel something in this place stir. Jolting around, you see a new figure standing opposite you – not Grace or Keziah of any other part of your crew, but a man you've only seen once, in a fleeting vision.

Ibn'ah himself. Clad in white robes from the waist down, he is bare to the chest and well-built. He might be a stargazer and a philosopher, but he still looks like he could wrestle you into the dirt if you gave him the opportunity.

So you don't even try. You just wait, unsure of what to expect from the apparition.

[2/3]

>>3110584
Looks like we were right to keep looking instead of going for the Throne. The Heart underneath Eishin's camp was a big clue.

>>3110584

“This world is cruel,” Ibn'ah announces at last, “More cruel, perhaps, than you or I can truly grasp.”

So you're starting things off on a cheerful note. That's... something. “What are you?” you ask bluntly, “A ghost? A memory?”

“I do not entirely know. I think... or at least, I think that I think,” the scholar answers, “In here, that may be enough. I know all that I once knew, and I know what YOU know, Milos of Vaandemere. I know that you have travelled far to reach this place, led by numerous guides already. I will be the next link in this great chain, if you let me. I see that much is unclear to you – as it was for me, for most of my life.” Practically drifting across the ground, Ibn'ah points to the carved wall. “The beings that you know as Dogma and Impurity – one cannot exist without the other,” he tells you, “For not even Dogma is perfect – within the complete system that he represents, there is the potential for impurity. The unclean one, too. He exists as the flaw within the system, but that demands a system to exist within. So long as one exists, the other will return.”

“But both could be destroyed,” you reply, “Right?”

“Yes... and with that act, the world would pass into a new age. An age of man, in which nothing lies beyond mortal grasp. A cold world, without magic or wonder,” Ibn'ah tells you, “Or neither could be slain. The throne could go empty, and the world would remain within an endless age of transition. This is the world that the one you call Eishin wanted. A world where the boundaries existed in a state of constant flux. Neither world is good or evil – they are what men make of them.”

“I refuse to believe that there are no other options. That the game is rigged, that all paths are against me,” you insist, staring straight into Ibn'ah's bleached eyes, “There has to be another way. You found it, didn't you? You found it, but you couldn't reach it for yourself.”

“I believe... that this world, this system, exists because of one force. When I stared into the sky for those long days, I saw that which exists outside of Dogma and Impurity. The beating heart of the world. I saw a future in which I – or a successor to my legacy – brought those two essential forces to the heart,” Ibn'ah whispers, his voice solemn, “And then I would throw myself upon the heart's mercy – to plead that both Dogma and Impurity would be granted eyes, granted wisdom. As they are now, they understand little. They are... children, ignorant of their place within this larger game.”

They're not the only ones who feel ignorant.

“The fruits of my labour are stored here,” Ibn'ah concludes, gesturing around him, “Walk. Read. Learn what you will, and ask what you wish.”

Looking around, you wonder at the size of this place. Are there any limits?

>Explore the archives and see what else is there to learn
>Ask Ibn'ah some questions... (Write in)
>Other

>>3110642
>Ask Ibn'ah some questions... (Write in)
"I found a literal heart underneath Nadir. Could that be the one you wish to introduce to Dogma and Impurity?

What do you think they'll do if they receive this clarity? I feel like they've known nothing but conflict with each other.

What are the mirrors and how did you manage to make something like this?"

>>3110642
>Ask Ibn'ah some questions... (Write in)

>"A man named Eishin gnawed on the roots of the Heart and absorbed a small portion of that power for himself. You believe having the gods do the same would give Dogma and Impurity the perspective they need?"

>>3110642
How'd you manage the see the Heart by studying the sky? It was below you.

I guess what I'm asking is how did stargazing give you all these revelations?

“I found the heart you saw – a literal heart, deep beneath Nadir,” you explain, closing your eyes and forming the image of the heart in your mind, “Could this be what you sought? What you wanted to bring Impurity and Dogma to?”

“Yes,” Ibn'ah states, nodding slowly, “Almost certainly. There is nothing else in this world that could represent the greater power that I sensed. What you saw as a heart is the embodied form of something far greater. In this world, it exists in that form. Outside of this world... even I cannot say.” Gesturing for you to follow him, Ibn'ah strolls through his legacy. Unable to think past the idea of the others watching you through a magnifying glass, you accompany the scholar as he walks. “You have your doubts,” he muses, “Do you not?”

“I think I missed a step,” you admit, “I don't see the link between gazing at the stars and learning of the heart's existence. How did you come to realise that there was something else there?”

“In my exile, I spent long hours gazing up into the night sky. It was believed, among my people, that out god's plans could be read there. A falsehood – meditative exercises intended to stifle thought and encourage passivity, that was what the stargazers practised. Still, I looked. Eventually, where once I saw stars, I later heard the beating of the heart. Following that beating heart, I was drawn into...” he pauses here, “You might call it the Nightlands, or any number of other names. A dream of race memory, leading back to the forest. There, I saw it with borrowed eyes.”

Just as you found yourself transported back – both in a drunken fugue and in a meditative trance – so too did Ibn'ah venture back. “Say that the heart is sympathetic, willing to grant eyes to both Dogma and Impurity. Just presume that happens,” you venture, “What do you think the gods will do? I feel as though they've known nothing but conflict with one another, I'm not sure that anything can change that.”

“Would you continue to fight a man, knowing that nothing could ever come of it? Knowing that it was merely a cruel game set up by some outside power?” the scholar asks in response, “You are correct to doubt. I have, in truth, no guarantee that the gods will be bettered by this. Even with a gift of wisdom, they may be spiteful until the end of all days. I have no promises to give you, no guarantees of success. I have... hope.”

Hope. He's asking for a lot, and he's got nothing except hope to offer you in return. That's a hell of a risk... but you're not willing to rule anything out, not yet at least.

[1/2]

>>3110730
Oh forgot to ask

"I've heard that Dogma is currently 'broken'. Would it need to be restored for your plan to work?"

>>3110730

“Back in my world, the man you spoke of – Eishin – gnawed upon the roots of this heart. It granted him unnatural vitality, a body that would not die so long as he was standing upon the soil of his birth,” you point out, “Are you suggesting that Dogma and Impurity should be granted that power? Perhaps I'm mistaken, but that seems like it would just make things worse – worse for them, and worse for everyone.”

“No. I do not suggest this. Indeed, it could be a grave error to allow either god to feed upon the heart,” Ibn'ah laments, “No, in my vision of this future, I did not allow them to feed. I brought them to the heart and pleaded with it, with the greater power that it represents, for the twin gods to be granted wisdom. Wisdom, Milos of Vaandemere, not power.”

Are you really talking about the same thing? “It's a heart,” you stress, “I don't see how it can grant anything! Even the gift of life... it wasn't given, Eishin took it. You said yourself, you cannot guarantee that the heart would – or even could - do this.” Pausing, you wait for Ibn'ah to answer this. He merely nods, accepting your doubts and uncertainties. “In my world, Dogma is broken – perhaps because of the impurity you spoke of,” you continue, “Would he need to be “fixed” in order for your plan to work?”

“I believe that my plan would see him repaired. What you call broken, I call blind – the same flaw, given different names,” the scholar answers, “Impurity is broken in his own way, although it is less apparent. It is in his nature to be chaotic, as you well know.”

“All too well. Answer me this, then - these mirrors, what are they?” you ask, gesturing around you, “How do they create something like this?”

“You know them as the thousand year mirrors, do you not?” Ibn'ah answers, “They were devotional works, created through countless hours of meditative polishing. The purity of their construction creates a link with Dogma's power, granting them great and terrible power. This system we know reside in, it is a small-scale replica of Dogma's own domain – the loop in which his chosen souls are kept. In creating this space, I – or the Ibn'ah that existed in reality – wielded the power of a god for a few brilliant seconds, and then...”

“And then?” you press, prompting the apparition when it falls silent.

“And then disaster caught up, as it always must,” he concludes, “And Ibn'ah the Exile stepped out over the edge of his prison, giving himself to the void.”

That's a cheerful note to end on.

>I think I'm going to pause things here. Into the Skies will continue on Sunday, as I'm going to be away from the computer most of tomorrow. Might see about making up the hours later, we'll see what happens
>Thank you for your contributions today!

>>3110837
Thanks for running!

What the fuck.

>>3110837
Thanks for running.

Did we miss anything by getting to the archives? Thought we'd have more time.

>>3110837
Thanks for running!

Ibn'ah said the mirrors were created through countless hours of meditative polishing. If those hours were countable, and someone were to count them, what number would they arrive at?

>>3110853
No, we've not missed anything or committed to anything by visiting the archives now. There may be a sort of "point of no return" at some point, but I'll make sure to highlight that when it approaches just to make sure there are no loose ends

So my theory is that sicklebeasts are the world's chewtoys. They've suffered so much, it's more than one body should by all rights contain, and they're even able to affect people who don't specialize in supernatural empathy.

And they've weaponized it.

They prey on creatures capable of any amount of empathy, and flood them with so much CAWCAWCAW that they are stunned for hours, ready to be eaten.

If you resist, you have to beat back both the actual birds, and the phantom ones you think exist because your brain can't correlate the amount of suffering to the actual number of birds, and so it hallucinates more so the math checks out.

No daemons, no abrahad, just "normal" phenomena within the context of the setting.

>>3110837
Oh by the way. I missed it last session but happy Into the Skies anniversary.

First thread was December 1st last year.

File: Arah.jpg (334 KB, 1233x1752)

334 KB JPG

You've got to admit, Ibn'ah's legacy is not the most interesting place you could spend eternity in. There's a lot to read, certainly, but that's not going to last forever. When the last bit of writing has been committed to memory, what then? Running laps of the place, perhaps, but that's going to get boring after about... an hour. There isn't really much in the way of scenery here, not much to distract you from the monotony. Perhaps the most interesting thing in this place is the great image of Arah engraved into one vast slab of Abrahad stone.

“I saw her in a vision of an age long since forgotten,” Ibn'ah explains, glancing up at the image, “Sacred and profane, she existed between the twin gods. She was, I think, one of the first steps along my path – proof that there was another path.”

With that, the scholar retreats back a few paces. So far, Ibn'ah has been content to watch as you wander, although he's never far away to speak up when something catches your eye. Rather than seeming suspicious, as some might, he instead gives you the impression of a concerned parent. If you didn't know any better, you'd think that he was enjoying this chance to speak with a living being – to gain new insight from a world unknown to him.

“Disaster,” you read aloud, finally finding the information you were looking for, “For the power men seek is the power of creation in its entirety – the joy of birth and the grief of destruction, granting blessings and inflicting curses. No human can hold such power for long before being overwhelmed, before it slips its bonds and dethrones the fool who would call himself the true monarch.”

“As it was always meant to do,” Ibn'ah finishes for you, reciting the rest from memory, “The age of transition begins when a man claims the title of true monarch, and it ends upon his destruction. The divine power is both a lure, and a means to bring about a new world. A cruel trick, as I say.”

“You keep saying that, that the world is cruel,” you counter, “Yet you seemed to think that the heart will take pity on you, that it would heed your plea for mercy. More faith?”

“Yes,” he says simply, “Or if that answer does not please you, then you might consider it a gamble of sorts. If the heart was not willing to hear my plea and grant wisdom to the world, then... yes, I would have lost. I would not wish to live in a world governed according to those rules. Though it would surely have been a futile battle, I would have fought against the heart. Yet, I was denied even this – it was not my path to walk. I mapped out the way ahead, but it falls to another to walk the path. Are you that man?”

That remains to be seen.

[1/2]

>>3114711

Avoiding the immediate question, you ask Ibn'ah one of your own. “You talked about presenting Impurity and Dogma to the heart, to your greater power,” you ask, “But what if they don't want to play along? It seems to me like they might have other ideas.”

Ibn'ah gestures for you to follow him, and he leads you to an engraved section of wall. The image depicts a winged figure lying on the ground, their back split open to reveal a strange organ – like a heart, but with a single closed eye set deep in the centre. “This is what I would take with me,” Ibn'ah explains, “The seed that would, in time, blossom into the new Dogma. Destroy the god, take this seed from the remains, carry it with you when... if you travel to the heart. So long as Impurity lives, Dogma's seed can never be truly destroyed, and so long as Dogma lives...”

“Impurity's seed can't be destroyed either,” you finish, “So the two gods are vulnerable in the world of transition. Destroy their bodies, take the seeds, and go from there. Easy enough.” Less easy is the next question that comes to mind – how are you supposed to leave this place? As if plucking the thoughts from your mind, Ibn'ah holds out one hand to indicate a glowing doorway that forms in the air beside him.

“Have hope, Milos of Vaandemere,” he concludes as you approach the doorway, “So long as there is hope, the path ahead will continue.”

Then you're out, falling, and-

-

And the next thing you see is the sunlight peeking through cracks in the barn roof. Lying on your back with something soft under your head, you wait for your thoughts to catch up with the rest of you. Then, the soft scratching of a pen causes you to look up. Grace sits a few paces away, writing notes with a small frown on her face. “You're not going to believe what just happened to me,” you begin, idly noticing that she used her fine cape to cushion your head, “I saw... I spoke with...”

“I know,” she replies, “You were talking aloud – talking in two different voices. I'm just writing up a few last notes now. The others are... well, they're away. Needless to say, we're all still trying to make sense of what you said.” Sighing, Grace puts down her pen and presses lightly on her temples. “I believe Caliban and Freddy are still in disagreement about it – to put it mildly – and I last saw Keziah skulking about the edge of the forest. As for the others... the trading post has hot food and soft beds. Do I really need to say any more?”

Perhaps not. “How long was I out?” you ask, shaking off the last of your fugue.

“About twenty minutes,” Grace answers, “Not long at all, considering.”

Even so, this isn't the time to be lying about. You've got work to do...

>Gather your crew and secure a route back to Monotia
>Track down Freddy and Caliban, see what they're arguing about
>Find Keziah and get her take on things
>Join the others for a hot meal
>Other

>>3114712
I wonder how often Ibnah jacked off to that picture of Arah he made.

>Find Keziah and get her take on things
Arah's path is our best bet at a people who won't be so easily swept away by the world. For those already with mutations, she's the lead to follow.

>>3114712
>>Track down Freddy and Caliban, see what they're arguing about
Want to see what's up with this first

>>3114712
>>Track down Freddy and Caliban, see what they're arguing about

>>3114712
>Track down Freddy and Caliban

Easing stiffness out of your limbs, you look over to the crude device that served as your gateway into Ibn'ah's legacy. Someone, Grace perhaps, has covered it back up with the sheet. Lifting one corner, you see that everything is still intact and in place – although the light has faded from the glass vial. A faint and baseless unease stirs you as you borrow the magnifying lens again and peer at the vial. Of course, the inscriptions vanish under this inspection, but your eye is drawn to something else instead. Spreading across the vial are tiny cracks, minute flaws in the delicate glass. They weren't there before – you can say that without a single doubt in your mind.

There's no way of being certain, but a grim theory forms in your mind. Whether it's due to the crude device itself or the strain of a new consciousness entering into the closed system, the vial is starting to fail. How many more times could you use it before it failed completely?

And what would happen to Ibn'ah's consciousness if that were to happen?

Shuddering a little, you let the sheet fall back into place and turn to Grace. “You said that Freddy and Caliban were arguing,” you ask her, “Where did they go?”

“A little ways away, to the outskirts of the trading post,” she replies, waving a hand towards the east, “I think they wanted to avoid an audience. It looks rather bad to be bickering in front of strangers, don't you think?”

Well, that's too bad for them – they're going to get an audience of one. Nodding your thanks to her, you leave the barn and hurry in the direction she indicated. East leads you to a crude loading area, a number of broken crates lying about next to the scars in the grass left by heavy automotives. Freddy and Caliban are still here, glaring at each other. The heat seems to have gone out of their argument, although they look no less bitter for their lack of shouting. As he hears your footsteps, Caliban looks around at you.

“Oh good, you're here,” he snaps, “Maybe you can knock some sense into this stubborn fool. She's certainly not listening to ME.”

Freddy bites back a harsh reply, her jaw clenching with the effort. Briefly, you regret not checking on Keziah first – perhaps a little more time to cool off would have put both of the argumentative pair in better moods. Then again, maybe you've got a chance to smooth out the issue before they have a chance to form a grudge. One way or the other, you're here now. “Now just slow down there,” you warn Caliban, “Pretend that I just woke up from a long nap, and I'm not quite up to speed yet. What's this about?”

“What do you think?” the hunter sneers, “This foolishness of yours, this... plan, although I can scarcely call it that.”

“It's not foolish,” Freddy counters, her voice hard despite its hushed tone. Briefly meeting your eyes, she nods and continues to speak.

[1/2]

Well I'm already on Freddy's side.

>>3114750
Still good to see where Caliban's concerns are

>>3114743

“I think we should do it,” the Iraklin begins simply, “It goes against everything I was raised to believe – an Iraklin is supposed to act with discipline, following the established facts and proven methods – but still, I think it's the right thing to do.” Taking off her cap, she idly twists it in her hands as she thinks. It's not easy for her, putting words to these kind of thoughts, and you realise that Caliban is only keeping quiet because you're here. “It's the best course of action,” she finishes with a vague scowl, “For... everyone.”

“Or it could be a massive disaster,” Caliban counters, seizing the moment like a wolf pouncing upon a wounded animal, “We have nothing except faith – not even OUR faith, either! What if pleading with this heart does nothing? What if it does listen, but the Dogma and Impurity are only strengthened by this gift of wisdom? Ibn'ah assumes a lot, to think that a little bit of self-awareness will be enough to put an end to their squabbling. Life in the Deep Forest has taught me a lot of things, but one thing stands out – some people just LIKE to fight.”

“But other people – most people – are better than that,” Freddy snaps, “The people we've met, people on both sides of the conflict, they've had every reason to oppose one another, but they put aside those differences! The church, the military... they came together to fight Eishin. If men can do good, then surely the gods can-”

Caliban cuts her off with a scoff. “Men come together because they fear death. What does that mean to the gods? You heard the same thing that I did – they could spend the rest of eternity killing each other, but nothing will really change,” he grimaces, the scar on his face twisting his mouth into something truly horrible, “We kill them both, though...”

“Kill them both, and plunge the world into an age without wonder or mysticism,” you finish for him, “Is that your answer?”

“Do you really think we'd be that worse off?” Caliban spits, laughing humourlessly, “Less people like Ashtoret and Eishin, less of those damned statues trying to crush the life out of anything they deem “impure”... that doesn't sound so bad to me.”

“There could be consequences. Airship engines might fail, for one thing,” Freddy points out, “Did you think about that?” Caliban just shrugs harshly to this, and the Iraklin continues. “It IS a risk, yes,” she concedes, “But I don't think we should write it off as mere foolishness.”

“Everything we lost to get here...” Caliban mutters to himself, anger darkening his eyes, “And THIS is what we got.”

>Freddy, I think you're right. We need to have faith in Ibn'ah
>Caliban, I think you're right. We shouldn't put too much trust in Ibn'ah
>I think... (Write in)
>Other

>>3114760
>"It's worth a shot. You might not think we'd be worse off with both gods dead, but we certainly wouldn't be any better off. Trying to grant the gods wisdom gives us that chance."

>>3114760
>Ibnah gave us a big hint: that this heart thing has the power to change the system
>But whose to say we can't try our own methods to talk to the heart? Maybe witchcraft, or those wyrm mindtalking, or some good old technology, for once!

>>3114760
>I think... (Write in)
"Both plans are valid in trying to fix this bullshit cycle. I personally think we should try to make them see reason. That said Caliban, I understand the risk we are taking and killing them is an alternative in case they don't play ball.

So I think we should take steps to mitigate that risk by bringing some friends. People that are proof of both Impurity and Dogma working together to help talks, but also aren't slouches in a fight. I want to find Arah or her descendants and see if they can help us."

“I think it's worth a shot. I definitely do,” you begin, causing Caliban to jolt back around with an accusatory look in his eyes. Holding up a hand to silence him, you continue. “But that doesn't mean that I'm ruling out any alternatives just yet. I still think we should make plans for things going wrong,” you tell him, “You might not think we'd be worse off without the gods, but we wouldn't be much better off either. Better for them to live and be wise, and if pleading with this heart can achieve that...”

“And if it can't?” Caliban interrupts, “Are you willing to bet your life, our lives... hell, maybe everyone's damn life on this?”

“No. That's why I said to plan for an alternative. If this doesn't work then yes, perhaps the gods should be destroyed. If that's what it takes to break this endless cycle, then I'm willing to accept that,” you press, “Ibn'ah has given us a hint, something to work with. He believes that the heart is the only thing that can change this system, but maybe we can find our own method of communing with it. Witchcraft, prayer, or just technology – Ibn'ah doesn't know what modern men are capable of!”

Freddy frowns at this, considering your words. “I'm not sure what else we could do,” she admits, “Technology... I'm no expert, but there's nothing about the natural laws that can even begin to explain the heart, let alone work with it. Not even the greatest of natural philosophers...”

“Perhaps we could track down Arah's descendants. She was both sacred and profane, proof that a middle ground can be found. The heart might be swayed by that,” you muse, “But I want to get every bit of help we can get. Everything we can do to tilt the odds in our favour, I'm willing to try it.”

Almost reluctantly, Caliban nods to this. “When did I surround myself with sentimental fools?” he murmurs, “Captain, let me say this – I don't think this will work. I think you're both putting your faith in a hollow hope.” He pauses here, and you gesture for Freddy to let him finish. “But you're not betting it all on this. That's good, I can work with that. So long as you keep that in mind, and you know exactly what you're risking, I'll be right there by your side,” he concludes, “How else will I be able to gloat when it all goes wrong?”

“Thank you for that vote of confidence,” you sigh, “Do I get to gloat if this DOES work?”

“Well...” Caliban grunts, “I'll think about it.”

-

When you leave the pair to it, they don't immediately launch back into their argument – that's a good sign, you think. Not looking each other in the eye, they slink back to the trading post and the promise of comfort that it offers. You'll join them in a little, but you want to check on Keziah first. Crossing over to the edge of the forest, you creep into the sparse woods and listen. Somewhere not too far away, you hear the sound of humming. Definitely Keziah – it isn't quite in tune.

[1/2]

>>3114863

When you find her, Keziah is scratching a pattern in the loose soil with the tip of her finger, humming distractedly to herself all the while. Pausing a moment, you spot a small twig lying in the undergrowth and deliberately step on it, allowing the faint crack to stir the forest. Looking up, Keziah scans the forest with widened eyes before calling out. “Someone there?” she asks quietly, unwilling to properly raise her voice.

“Just me,” you announce, stepping out from the trees and raising a hand in greeting, “Grace told me that you heard everything.”

“Aye, that's right,” Keziah agrees, hesitating before nodding towards the partially erased summoning circle drawn in the dirt, “I told my mother. I don't even know why, I just thought... she'd know what to do. Or she'd act like she did, at least.”

Considering this in silence, you sit down opposite Keziah. Drawn alongside the summoning circle are crude caricatures of wide mouths swallowing stick figures. Grimacing a little at the childish drawings, you look back up and meet her inhuman eyes. “And?” you ask simply, “What did she say?”

This, Keziah answers with a laugh. “She told me that I was lucky to have so many trustworthy companions around me,” she replies, “Because deciding the future of the world wasn't going to be as easy as fixing an engine.” You wince at this, but Keziah waves away your frown. “Ach, dinnae take it too seriously. I didnae,” she assures you, her phony accent unconsciously slipping into her words, “Even if she's right, that doesnae change anythin'. I reckon we can do it, and that's all there is to it. YOU can do it.” She stresses these last words with a series of pokes to your chest, her finger jabbing at you like a sicklebeak.

That's something you're not happy to think about. “Hey, you two!” Gunny shouts from outside the forest, “There's a truck here, the driver says he can give us a ride back to Monotia. You coming?”

“Just a minute!” you call back, rising and dusting yourself off. Keziah grunts in a rather unladylike manner as you haul her to her feet, and then she carefully scrubs out the last of her doodles with one foot. “I'm surprised though,” you wonder aloud, politely ignoring Keziah's little act of self-editing, “I would have thought Maeve might say a little more than that. Was she surprised, at least?”

“She isnae the sort to admit it if she was,” Keziah sighs, “It must be all kinds of annoyin' for her, me knowin' something that she didnae. So hey, at least there's one bright side to all of this!”

Laughing at this, you lead the witch back to the trading post. When you arrive, your crew are helping to unload the last few boxes from the truck. Well, most of them are watching – once again, it's Masque who does most of the heavy lifting.

[2/3]

>>3114932

Rattling with every bump in the road that it hits, the heavy automotive speeds back towards Monotia. While Freddy was smoothing over the last of the details with the driver – he almost reconsidered his offer of a lift when he saw Keziah's eyes – you deliver Ualan's letter to the head of the trading post. A shrewd looking man with a face not too unlike the boar you unleashed on Yoku's men, he read the letter in silence and then nodded once. That had been all the reaction you could coax out of him.

Rude, but it certainly beat a long conversation – he smelled about as good as the boar as well.

While the roar of the truck makes sleep an impossibility, you can at least talk without the driver overhearing. “Is this, ah, safe?” Blessings calls over, groaning as the truck hits an especially bad ditch.

“Don't worry so much,” Freddy replies, “This is Iraklin surplus, an old model but as reliable as anything you can find. It was made to roll through worse terrain than this!” When it jolts again, swerving this time and almost tumbling over, the Iraklin bites back a curse. “But I'd still take an airship any day,” she concedes.

“Maybe not storm conditions, though,” Caliban sneers, leaning forwards to you and fixing you with a firm look, “Okay captain, what's our next move? You're the one making grand plans, so where are we going to start?”

You're actually glad when the next bump in the road forces Caliban to break eye contact with you – having him glaring at you like that doesn't exactly help you think. “Getting the final key fragment is one thing,” you begin, “Unsealing the treasure vault will kick things into motion – once we do that, there's no going back. Does everyone understand that? When we head up to the top of the mountain, there's no going back.”

“So make sure to use the bathroom before we set out!” Grace adds, causing a few of you to laugh. Caliban isn't among them, though.

“So that's it, is it?” he asks you, “Grab the key fragment and see what happens. Was there anything else you had planned?”

“Hey, come on, dinnae make it sound like so threatening!” Keziah complains, “We've got time yet!” Pouting, she looks around at the others, meeting eyes here and there before moving on. “We're ALL goin' to think about this, and we'll tell you if we get any ideas, right?” she presses, a number of nods answering her, “But for now, what's our next move?”

>I want to focus on the final key fragment for now
>I've got something else I want to try... (Write in)
>Other

>>3114986
>Let's see if we can't track down Arah's descendants. At the very least I'd like to visit the Heart again, see if it can be understood.

>>3114986
>I've got something else I want to try... (Write in)
"I want to see if we can find records or reportings of anymore wyrm sightings recently."

Of course we still have to deal with the problem of communication so they don't blow our minds up like they have in the past. Arah did it well in Dogma's zone but that might've been his influence? Might give us an idea on where to start though.

>>3114986
>Write in
Looks like it's time to try and befriend the Masters of the sky. Communication might be an issue as an anon already said so we'll have to work on that too.

This might be a long process so I guess we can get the last key in the meantime if things stall out at all.

“I have a couple of ideas I want to follow up on,” you tell Caliban, watching out of the corner of your eye as Grace starts to jot down some notes. “First of all, I want to follow up on Arah and her descendants. That means starting with wyrm sightings, both past and present. Any scrap of information on communicating with wyrms, I want it dug up,” you continue, “When we get back to Monotia, I'll try meeting with the other Free Captains. If anyone has gossip, they'll be the ones.”

“I'll check the archives at the palace as well,” Grace adds, “There might be some record about wyrm sightings there. If anything was written down, it's likely to be there. The rest of Nadir...”

“Not exactly a fan of writing things down,” you agree with a brisk nod, “And I want to visit the heart itself again, to see if we can get anything out of it. I don't know if we can communicate with it as it is NOW, but it's worth checking. Is everyone clear with that?”

“About as clear as mud, but that's about normal,” Gunny tells you cheerfully, “What if we come up against a wall?”

“Then we can go back to the key fragments,” you decide with a shrug, “We might find a new lead along the way. You never know what might get shaken loose.”

-

It's a long road back to Monotia, and the sun is already starting to set by the time your automotive pulls in to the outskirts of the city. Stepping out and massaging your aching back, you take a deep breath and savour the scents of the city. Diesel fumes from the automotives, fresh blood from a nearby slaughterhouse, the indescribable scent of countless humans living shoulder to shoulder with one another... it's quite something. Blessings coughs, covering his mouth with a handkerchief, and Branwen laughs at the sight. Not a cruel laugh, but childish and somehow innocent.

“I wonder if the palace district is still locked down after dark,” Grace wonders aloud, giving the Nadir girl a brief but sour look, “Perhaps best if we leave it until morning. I rather could do with a change of clothes, in either case, and I miss the ship. I miss... home.”

“So do I,” you agree, “Nothing quite like sleeping in your own bed...”

“Sleeping is the least interesting thing we could be doing in bed,” Keziah teases you silently, her thoughts nudging up against your own. “I wonder how Sandoval is doin',” she says aloud, her expression hinting at nothing at all out of the ordinary, “You reckon she's awake, boss? Maybe she can help us. I dinnae ken how though, maybe the church has a record of wyrm sightings? She sure does owe us one, though, so...”

“One thing at a time,” you warn her. Sticking her tongue out at you, Keziah replies with the mental image of one very specific thing.

[1/2]

>>3115081

When you arrive back at the aerodrome and board the Spirit of Helena, you split up and all head back to your stations. Keziah heads to the engine room to get the airship's mechanical heart beating again, Gunny allows Branwen to lead him down to the weapon's deck, Freddy pauses in the cargo hold to check the Eliza over, and the others... well, you can't keep track of everyone, can you?

Especially not when you have other business to attend to, certainly. Heading straight to the infirmary, you knock lightly on the door and peer inside. Doctor Barnum is there, sitting and reading silently despite the late hour. He never seems to sleep - a little fact that you feel strangely easy to accept, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Captain. I was not aware that you had returned,” Barnum begins, marking his place with a scrap of paper and setting his book aside. Before he says anything else, he touches a finger to his lips and points to the infirmary bed. Sandoval sleeps there, her expression pinched with the strain of some unpleasant dream. “Recovering well. In fact, I would say that she was ready to get up and about some time ago,” the doctor continues, his hushed voice barely reaching you, “However, I have not told her as much. It was better, I thought, to keep her here until you returned.”

A sly trick to play. Sitting down opposite Barnum, you feel your eyes drawn to the scar on his throat before you look back up. “Good work,” you tell him simply, “With keeping her alive, I mean.”

“I have excellent equipment here,” he replies, gesturing around him, “I should be thanking you. I enjoyed the opportunity to truly test my medical skills. The patient was almost shot in the heart – it took a great deal of care to repair the damage.” Perhaps roused by your voices, hushed as they were, Sandoval lets out a soft grunt and shifts onto her side before the last vestiges of sleep finally lose their grip on her. “Excuse me,” Barnum murmurs, rising to leave, “I must attend to some other business.”

In other words, you can talk in private. Nodding your thanks, you wait until Sandoval opens her eyes before starting to pour her a glass of water. “So I've been fit and healthy for days,” she croaks, “I told that doctor of yours, but he told me otherwise. I knew I should have asked for a second opinion.” Accepting the glass of water you offer, she sips and rubs her throat. “In my line of work, you learn to become a light sleeper,” she continues, “You thought you were being quiet, didn't you?”

“Well-” you begin, only for Sandoval to cut you off with a flippant gesture.

“You might as well have marched in here firing a pistol in the air,” she grunts, “But I suppose I should thank you. Glad to see again, by the way – I've been terribly bored here.”

[2/3]

>>3115150

“To tell you the truth, there was something comforting about being stuck in bed. It gave me an excuse not to do anything – I was “resting”, you see, so I couldn't tire myself out. Now that I've got a clean bill of health, I'm going to have to figure out what to do,” Sandoval continues, awkwardly sitting up in bed and stretching, “Tough call. I'm almost tempted to catch the first flight back to Sol Carthul and get straight back to work, just to see what he does.”

“He?” you ask, raising a curious eyebrow.

“There's no point in being coy about it now, is there?” she sighs. “Bishop Worthington. I've been thinking about it, and I'm certain that he was the one behind all of this. There aren't that many other people with the pull to send a team of assassins after me. He's smart, too – he wouldn't have left anything that could lead back to him. I've got my hunch, but nothing solid to pin on him.”

Worthington. First the Pierrot Project and now this – he's got his fingers in a lot of murky business, that one. “So what now?” you ask her, “Where does that leave things?”

“Tangled and complicated, mainly. I've been putting things together in my head – I guess all this spare time was good for something,” Sandoval winces, briefly touching her side before launching into a flurry of rapid, clipped words. “Worthington wanted me dead because I know about his plan to get the Bell of Avici from D'aubigny. I don't think he'll be able to make another covert attempt at getting it – not while I'm keeping an eye on things - and acting in the open isn't his style. So, we're safe on that front,” she explains, “I'd like to think that he wouldn't be so crass as to make another attempt on my life if I return to Carthul, but I can't be certain of that. Accidents happen, after all.”

It's strange to hear her speaking so casually about the prospect of her own assassination. “Your scruffy young man asked me if I had any other places to go, any friends outside of the church, but I don't have many options there,” she continues, “Light help me, I'd have to ask Hess for help. I'm sure he'd be willing, and I'd definitely be safe there, but...”

She trails off here, and you see a sudden glimpse of weakness through her armour. Beneath her casual façade, there's a fear there – an uncertainty, so great as to leave her nearly paralysed. Silence falls between you, and the churchwoman looks away.

>Say nothing, and let her make her own mind up
>Suggest that she returns to Carthul. You could use a friend inside the chuch
>Suggest that she asks Hess for help. Her safety is more important
>Other

>>3115312
>Other
"Well why don't we go talk directly to the Hierophant about this? I can finally use that excuse to go give a second opinion on his speeches he gave me all that time ago.

Unless of course you think he is compromised too?"

>>3115312
>Suggest she go to Hess

For friends in the church we already have our homegirl Rhea

>>3115331
Rhea's a bit of a wild card imho.

>>3115330
>>3115312
You think that's enough to get a private audience? I don't mind trying, we can disguise her as one of our crew and what not, but if she doesn't want to try that then she should go to Hess.

>>3115312
Supporting >>3115330

Hess will just use her in his political games. She'll also be considered a traitor, any perspective of returning home will be closed to her, and Worthington will be able to deflect any accusations as Iraklin propaganda.

“I'm curious about something,” you ask slowly, “Why don't you try taking this directly to the Hierophant? He seems like a reasonable sort, and he can surely protect you from any recrimination.”

“I've considered it,” Sandoval muses, “But without any evidence, I'm hesitant to approach him. Were I to make any accusations, Worthington could likely turn them around and make ME look like the enemy. Even if he doesn't have any evidence, it would simply muddy the waters.” Rubbing her brow, she seems to think of something else – something she won't say aloud. Curious at her reaction, you give her a small nudge.

“Do you think he's compromised as well?” you wonder, the simple question causing her eyes to widen.

“No!” she stresses, “No, I'm certain of it. If Worthington already had Hierophant Milleux under his thumb, he wouldn't have needed to do any of this. My worry is... I'm going to trust you to keep this secret. Don't disappoint me, Vaandemere.” Drawing in a deep breath, Sandoval spreads her hands wide. “Milleux is young, and he's not afraid to make bold moves. We both know this,” she states, “I'm concerned that if Milleux suspected treachery within the church, he might do something drastic. I don't think he would, but I can't be certain – and so long as there is a risk of further destabilising the church, I cannot allow myself to act.”

She says this, but her heart doesn't seem in it. Her real motive, you suspect, is more simple – she's afraid, perhaps afraid of being found out by Worthington or perhaps just afraid of the city itself. “I've been thinking of paying the Hierophant a visit for some time now,” you suggest, “I offered to give him an opinion on some of his speeches. I could take you with me, in disguise if need be. Worthington wouldn't suspect a thing.”

Sandoval involuntarily smiles at this, your suggestion taking her by surprise. “A disguise?” she repeats, “I always thought I'd look dashing with a false beard...”

Not quite what you had in mind, but if that's what she wants... so be it. “So what do you say?” you conclude, “If you still want to run and hide away with Hess, then I can give you a ride back up to Azimuth, but-”

“No. I'll do it,” she interrupts, “I never did like staying on the defensive for too long. It's time to turn the tables and see what I can do. Still, there's one thing I'm concerned about – do you really think you can secure a private appointment with the Hierophant?”

“You know, I think I might be able to arrange something,” you reply with a smile, “I've got a trick up my sleeve...”

Raising a curious eyebrow, Sandoval lies back in bed. “Always so full of surprises...” she murmurs to herself.

[1/2]

>>3115429

Your “trick” will have to wait until morning, which leaves you with some time on your hands. Next up on the agenda – crawling the bars for rumours about wyrm activity. With the rest of your crew busy settling in, you decide to bring Dwight along with you. He's got a good way with people, Dwight, a way of putting them at ease. Plus, you'd like to hear about anything that happened while you were away. Knowing Monotia, there's always something interesting going on somewhere.

“Noisy bunch, these locals. I think it was last night, or maybe the night before, they woke me up with all their drums. I took a stroll outside, and it looked like they were parading this bull through the streets. I followed them for a while, and eventually they brought it into the market and cut the thing's throat,” Dwight mutters as you walk from one bar to the next, “Just let the blood drain out. Hell of a mess, you know?”

“It's traditional. A sacrifice, I guess,” you reply vaguely, a dim memory of seeing the same thing surfacing in your mind, “It might have been a proper rite once, but not these days.”

“Just seemed like an excuse to drink and party to me,” Dwight yawns, lighting a new cigarette, “But then, when do these guys need an excuse?”

Good point.

-

In the end, you find interesting conversation in an unexpected place. After passing through about half a dozen bars to no success, Dwight stopped outside a Carthul-style teahouse. “I'm thirsty too, chief,” he decides, “Let's stop here for a little.”

You've been pacing yourself, but several mugs of ale have left you with a pleasant numbness and arguing just seems like too much effort. Entering the teahouse, you spot a group of grumpy travellers crowded around a large table. Pilgrims, you assume, judging by the numerous icons of faith they carry. You spot several different saints, mostly Saint Alma but several more that you don't recognise. Before you can study them further, Dwight helps himself to a seat at their table.

“Evening gents,” he begins, bowing his head slightly, “You came here for the chapel too, right? When I heard what happened, my heart just sank...”

As if they had been waiting all night for a sympathetic ear, the pilgrims – mostly older men going on one last adventure – immediately assail Dwight with a chorus of complaints and outraged comments. Reeling, you let most of the words wash over you without really listening in, but then something jumps out at you. “It's been one disappointment after another,” a bearded man complains in his hoarse voice, “We couldn't even get CLOSE to the Mountain of Faith. I hear the church had to evacuate the pilgrims there.”

“Why?” you blurt out, leaning forwards. Wide, alarmed eyes stare back at you, stunned by your uncouth reply, and you nearly curse your own foolishness aloud. Too much ale again...

[2/3]

>>3115504

Before the atmosphere can grow TOO awkward, Dwight leans back in his chair. “There's gotta be a good reason though, right?” he asks, causing the pilgrims to glance back around at him as he raises his hand to order more herbal tea for everyone, “I mean, it must be a lot of work to get those people down. The church wouldn't do that if there wasn't a real need, and they wouldn't want to put the pilgrims at risk.”

Nodding slowly, accepting his words, the pilgrims mutter amongst themselves for a moment. “If what we heard was true, then there was a terrible devil sighted there, flying around the Mountain of Faith,” the hoarse man admits after a while, “Bigger than an airship, or so it was said, and wherever it flew it brought the storms. Obviously, we couldn't risk flying close enough to see for ourselves. Oh, let the Light protect those brave pilots, and the pilgrims too.”

“Light protect them,” the other pilgrims intone. Dwight kicks you beneath the table, and you hear yourself mumble those solemn words. A flying devil that brings the storms with it...

Wyrm. It has to be.

>I'm going to pause things here for today. I'm going to try and continue this tomorrow, but if that doesn't prove possible then I'll continue next Friday as normal
>Thank you for your contributions today!

>>3115528
Thanks for running!
When will we find out Dwight is a plant from a secret society?

>>3115528
Thanks for running.

What trick are we referring to? The mirror? Or is this a surprise?

>>3115573
Well, it's not much of a secret - the Hierophant should be informed about a village of Nadir converts being destroyed, shouldn't he?
>>3115546
I think we're safe on that regard, being part of a secret society is too much like hard work for Dwight!

>>3115528
Thanks for running!

I can't not think of a pair of wailing baby gods being carried around by Milos to the Heart now.

>>3115528
once again, Milos showing his trademark specialty of......delegating.

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

155 KB JPG

The stale taste of ale still clings to the inside of your mouth, and the smell of perfumed oils – along with the hint of sweat they mask – cause your stomach to roll and lurch. The group of pilgrims couldn't tell you much more about the wyrm sighting, no matter how much you pushed them, but you did tease a vague lead out of them. Some of the hermits evacuated from the Mountain of Faith, one of the men mumbled, might have gone to the capital so they could speak about their experiences on the Mountain. If you can track one of them down, you might be able to get a few more scraps of information.

But that's a matter for another time. Right now, you've got the source of that perfumed stench to deal with. Sitting opposite you, Deacon Soteria looks just as uncomfortable as you feel, and perhaps more so. “Destroyed?” he repeats, for the third or fourth time, “The entire settlement, destroyed?”

“Regrettably so,” you tell him, “There was nothing left but ruins when we arrived. No survivors.”

“And... pray, my friend, do not think me callous when I ask this, but did you find any...” Soteria licks his lips as he thinks, “Did you find any relics left behind? Any items that the church might reclaim in order to, ah, to properly honour the martyrs?”

Slowly, you shake your head. Whether he knows about the thousand year mirror specifically, or if he's just looking for some faint silver lining to this disaster, you know that nothing good could come of admitting what you took from the ruins. The church, of course, would want to take it from you. They might even offer compensation, but nothing they could offer you is worth more than the mirror itself. “I'm afraid the village was completely ransacked,” you say at last, hoping to prod Soteria into action, “A tragedy.”

“Yes, yes, er...” the deacon nods sluggishly, “Someone ought to be informed. This news needs to be passed higher up, but...”

“Straight to the very highest levels,” Grace agrees, her coy voice slipping in like a knife. To judge by her narrowed eyes and slight smile, you'd have to say that she was enjoying this. At the sound of her words, Soteria lets out a soft whine of dismay. “Straight to the Hierophant, I'd say,” she continues, twisting the knife with relish, “As you well know, any incidents that take place outside of Carthul's main territory must be brought straight to his office.”

You hate to assume the worst, but you get the feeling that she isn't being quite honest here. Still, it gets the desired reaction. “Yes, of course, the Hierophant must be informed. I shall write him a letter at once,” Soteria laments, mopping sweat from his brow with a crisp white handkerchief, “I shall require a courier, and... perhaps I could beg a favour of you?”

And just like that, you've got your appointment with the Hierophant.

[1/2]

>>3116968

“You know, you really didn't need to go so hard on him,” you murmur to Grace as you're leaving the deacon's office and returning to the palace entrance, “He looked like he was going to throw up. What would have happened then, huh? I could have gotten dirty!” Grace smiles softly at this, accepting your scolding without comment. “I guess he was just desperate to have someone else deliver the bad news,” you add, thinking aloud to yourself, “Strange man.”

“He's weak,” Grace muses, “And he's in over his head. I can't imagine how he got into a position like this. It certainly wasn't for his merit, that's for sure. Now, all he can do is try and salvage some-” A guard appears from around the corner, and Grace instantly falls silent. After the armoured man disappears behind you, she continues. “Father told me once that men like Soteria are a gift. Easy to use, easy to profit from, and rarely cunning enough to retaliate,” she continues, “I never really took those words to heart until recently.”

Hiding a grimace, you wonder if Salazar saw Blessings in that same way. Certainly, he was all too willing to use the boy – not even for his benefit, but for yours.

-

Back in the palace atrium, you find a quiet alcove on the upper level and wait, looking down at the assorted courtiers milling about. Most of them, as you understand it, don't actually have any duties – they simply pad out the numbers, filling King Roegar's desire for a large and fawning retinue. Parasites, in other words, here to feed on another man that Salazar might consider an easy mark.

Cynicism comes easily when you have a hangover, you've found.

A few moments more, and you spot a clerk hurrying out into the atrium with a wooden scroll case, looking about for any sign of you. Calling down, you wave up the young man and smile faintly as he scurries up to deliver his message. While most of Roegar's followers are doing nothing, a small number of them seem seriously overworked. Not what you'd call an efficient system. “For you, sir,” the clerk pants, “To be delivered to Hierophant Milleux!”

Bowing hastily, he turns and hurries away with a swish of robes. Once you're alone again, Grace peers at the scroll case. “Oh bother, it's sealed,” she laments, running her fingers around the wax cap, “I was hoping to read this vaunted report – it would be nice to know what the deacon is saying about us. It might not be impossible to seal it back up again, mind you...”

She does have a point there. There is an insignia stamped into the wax, but it's a generic church sunburst instead of anything personalised. This is Monotia – there must be counterfeit seals floating about on the black market, for those willing to test their luck.

“Well?” Grace whispers, mischief glinting in her eyes, “What do you think, captain?”

>Break the seal and read Soteria's report
>Leave the seal intact
>Other

>>3116970
>Leave the seal intact
"While getting to see some gossip about us sounds tempting I don't think my relationship with the Hierophant is good enough to start opening his mail without him caring."

>>3116970
>>Leave the seal intact
He'd know. Somehow they always do.

“Best leave it,” you caution Grace, “The Hierophant and I... I don't think we're close enough for me to be opening his mail. I'll admit, I'd like to read what they're saying about us as well, but it's not worth the risk. They'd know. Even with a perfect imitation, they'd find out one way or another. Better to stay honest and avoid the whole issue.”

“You're no fun,” Grace sighs, although she doesn't press the point, “The archives, then? I could use a little help with that, actually, with carrying some heavy books and...”

“Getting them down from the high shelves?” you suggest lightly, looking down at the smaller girl. Grace pouts at this, but she can't quite bring herself to deny it. “But yes, we can give the archives a quick look while we're here,” you continue, frowning briefly as you correct yourself, “I hope it's quick, at least. They can't have that many books stored here, can they?”

Can they?

-

Apparently, they can. When you saw the extent of the palace archives, you send a quick nudge to Keziah and asked her for help. The more pairs of eyes you have working on this, the less time it should take. Besides, she's Nadir – it'll be good to get her perspective on whatever you find here. Grace takes a moment to consult a list posted at the entrance to the archives before pointing you in the right direction, sending you off in search of several tomes before scurrying off to fetch some of her own.

It doesn't take long for you to realise that the archives are not in the best of shape – infrequent usage and indifferent care has led to the dust piling up, and the air has an unmistakable scent of decay. From somewhere deeper in the palace, you can hear water dripping from the stonework. Not a good sign, and you shudder to imagine the knowledge that might be lost to the poor conditions. Especially bad, you think to yourself, if it's the knowledge you're looking for that is lost...

Fortunately, the first set of books you're looking for are in an acceptable condition. New books of old folklore, clearly intended for foreigners to read. The study of Nadir culture had quite a burst of popularity a few years back, as you recall, and these books are a relic of that brief period. An entry point, a place to start further investigations. One of the books DOES have a picture of something like a wyrm on the cover, though, so you're off to a good start.

Tucking the scroll case under one arm, you drop the book back onto the pile and start back to Grace. As you're walking back, something occurs to you – the archives are utterly empty, without even so much as a single assistant to keep an eye on things.

Creepy.

[1/2]

>>3116993

For three long hours, you slog through piles of books on folklore and history, although the difference between the two becomes increasingly blurred as you search further back in time. Every time you come across a reference to a wyrm, or even something that might be a wyrm, you stop to scratch down a quick note, but you have little hope of finding anything useful. Even if there is a grain of truth to the old stories, they don't seem to lead anywhere. Worse, you soon find yourself reading the same stories over and over again, only with tiny variations in the details.

“This claims that the hero Callagh dreamed of a wyrm before he slew six dozen men at Redwater Bridge,” you mutter, holding up first one book and then another, “Or eight dozen men, according to this book. Neither books mentions where Redwater Bridge even IS. I don't know, maybe we're wasting our time here.”

“The one consistent thread is that wyrms are connected with significant acts – acts of destiny, according to one theory I read,” Grace sighs, “Good or bad, the appearance of a wyrm tends to herald important events. I tried looking for any references to this Arah girl, but she's a dead end.” Lightly pressing her fingers against her eyelids, Grace lets out a low groan of frustration.

“Maybe Ibn'ah knew something more about her,” you think aloud, only for your voice to trail off. There's no way of asking him without entering his legacy again, and if that really does risk damaging the delicate device, then...

Sitting bolt upright, Grace snaps her fingers. “Ibn'ah, of course!” she hisses, “We've been coming at this from the wrong direction. Of course we can't find any mention of Arah here – she went to the Mountain, did she not? Then if there is a record of her life, it would be in Zenith!” Rising from the desk, the young scholar begins to pace back and forth. “The ancient people kept very good records of their families – lines of inheritance, proof of “pure” bloodlines, that kind of thing...” she continues, “As an exile, Ibn'ah's name was struck from the records, but Arah's name might still be there. We might be able to learn a little more about her there. I hate to be inconvenient, captain, but I may need to visit Saint Alma's again.”

So this wasn't a complete dead loss after all. Just as you're rising to leave, you look around to see Keziah arriving with Blessings trailing behind her. “Hey boss!” she calls out, waving to you, “You needed a hand with something?”

“Actually, we were just finishing up,” you reply, “You sure took your time getting here.”

“I told you not to get distracted with shopping!” Blessings tells Keziah, trying very hard to look authoritative. Keziah just waves away his attempt at scolding, taking a book from the pile and flipping through it.

>I'm sorry about this, but I've hit a bad block. Going to pause for an hour or so and see if I can get back on track

>>3116993
>the archives are utterly empty, without even so much as a single assistant to keep an eye on things.

Monotia doesn't strike as a place that does any of that 'reading shit'

>>3117064

When you arrive back at the Spirit of Helena, you find Caliban talking quietly with a masked figure. Your initial confusion soon passes when the figure lowers their mask to reveal Sandoval's smirking face. “Didn't recognise me, did you?” she chuckles, “Then we did a good job. Your man here went round the markets, picking out some things for me to wear. He's got a sharp eye, this one.”

She certainly doesn't look like a churchwoman. A Nadir shawl, embroidered with rampaging beasts, hides her face while a set of baggy overalls cover up any hint of a feminine form. With a pair of heeled riding boots giving her a few extra inches of height and a cloak slung over one shoulder, she looks more like an ill-fortuned mercenary than anything else, the kind of hired gun who has to use whatever they can find.

“Got a good deal on the whole set,” Caliban adds, slapping Sandoval on the back, “We did have to sew up a few bullet holes, though...”

You can find all sorts of thing in the Monotia markets.

>Yeah, things just aren't working out today. I'm just going to close things here and hopefully continue on Friday. If that isn't possible, then I'll see when I can pick things up again
>I apologise for the non-session today

>>3117159
Thanks for running!

>>3117159
Thanks for running!


Where did Caliban hone his skills of thrift store shopping?

>>3117159
Thanks for running!

I apologize if the whole Arah thing is out of left field and throwing you off.