>>6052154

You hesitate, then glance aside to Sakhalin. He nods, like a collapsing mountain, and you reach out to open the first of the boxes. Even your natural restraint can't stop a soft gasp escaping your lips as you look down at the delicate silver wafers, each one carved with an intricate design. “These belonged to father,” you muse, “I remember...”

But you cut yourself short here, your caution returning. Sakhalin clears his throat carefully. “Forgive me,” he ventures, “But I was under the impression that divination was considered a womanly art.”

“It is,” you answer, feeling a trace of your old sneer returning at the tall man's mistake, “Father didn't use these for divination, not in any conventional sense. They were just a toy, nothing more – I remember watching him shuffle them as he thought to himself. That's all.”

Sakhalin nods, filing that little bit of information away in the dark recesses of his mind. He takes a slight step backwards as you open up the next box, revealing a large amulet set with a monstrous image. “And this,” he murmurs, “You know what this means, I assume.”

“The manticore is a symbol of the church,” you explain, “It was said to be a guardian to those who were pure of heart, despite an unbearably hideous face. I can't imagine why father would have a thing like this!”

It doesn't escape your notice that Sakhalin seems to let out a little sigh of relief as you close the box and hide the amulet once more, moving on to the final – and largest – box. Opening it up reveals a beautifully crafted sword, the blade engraved with images of crashing waves.

“I am told that it is of excellent make,” Sakhalin mentions, “Unfortunately, I am rather unfamiliar with modern swordsmanship.”

“That doesn't surprise me,” you jeer, “There's a certain artistry to it, a subtlety.”

“The first man I killed, I used the jawbone from an ox,” he counters, a thoughtful look passing across his features, “I was no older than you are now.”

“How... fascinating,” you murmur. Just which colonial hellhole did they find this one? “Regardless, you still haven't explained why you're here,” you continue, “Just to bring me these... trinkets?”

“Your father died with certain...” Sakhalin pauses, clearing his throat carefully, “Certain debts.”

“Debts...” you mutter, realisation dawning on you.

“The King, in his wisdom, has made an allowance,” the black man announces, untroubled by your announcement, “He will allow you one of these “trinkets” - an inheritance, of sorts.”

Realising the futility of any further argument, you look back to three boxes laid out before you. A meagre inheritance indeed.

>The tarot cards. A symbol of your father's restless thoughts
>The amulet. A potent icon of the church's authority
>The sword. A promise, or warning, of bloodshed

>>6052155
>The sword. A promise, or warning, of bloodshed
To earn anything in this world, sacrifices are to be made. And sacrifice of blood fits better than anything else.

>>6052155
>The tarot cards. A symbol of your father's restless thoughts

>>6052155
>The tarot cards. A symbol of your father's restless thoughts
Women aren't allowed to have anything, we're going to take divination from them.

>>6052155
>The sword. A promise, or warning, of bloodshed
To know your future is to be sentenced to it.

>>6052155
>The sword. A promise, or warning, of bloodshed
We're a noble cunt, might as well be a sword-noble-cunt. Let's remember to sell the protag's soul to the first pretty pagan goddess who asks.

>Okay, I'm going to close the vote here with sword as the winner. I've done some pre-writing so the next post should be up fairly quickly.
>Just a quick note for anyone new to my work - I've got a pretty unreliable internet connection, so my post ID might bounce around a bit.

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You cast a desolate eye across the table, bitterly considering your family's legacy. While never the largest or wealthiest family in the kingdom, it still pains you to see what you've been reduced to. Reaching out to the sword again, you delicately trace one finger down the edge of the blade until a bead of blood forms. Sakhalin moves forwards with a handkerchief, but you wave him away with a gesture.

“This one,” you tell him, “I've made my choice.”

Sakhalin looks at you with his mournful eyes, then nods. With the decision made, you start to put the items away one by one. As you're closing the wooden sword case, a thought strikes you. “Was there a dagger too?” you ask quietly, without looking around at your looming companion, “A dagger to go with the sword?”

“I don't believe so,” Sakhalin replies after a pause, “Should there have been?”

Of course, he's “rather unfamiliar” with such things. “If it was intended as a gift, a sword like this would be presented with a matching dagger. The sword is primarily used to deflect and defend, while the attacking is done with the dagger,” you explain patiently, “That is the modern style, after all.”

Sakhalin considers this for a long moment. “That seems impractical,” he decides at last.

“Well, it's for duelling. For showmanship,” you remark with a shrug, finally snapping the case closed, “...What now?”

“King Albrecht has called for a gathering of the noble families at week's end. You will, of course, be expected to attend,” the black man says slowly, as if the very idea depresses him, “I have been asked to escort you.”

A sneer starts to form on your lips. “To make sure I show up?”

“Forgive me, young Master Pale,” Sakhalin murmurs, his reply wiping the sneer from your lips, “But yes.”

-

Like a grim black shadow, Sakhalin follows you back to your quarters. You half expect him to invite himself in, but he doesn't go quite that far. Instead, as you're just starting to open the door and retreat into safety, he carefully clears his throat. “Forgive me,” he says quietly, “But I have one last thing for you.”

“Oh really?” you retort, “And will I be allowed to keep this, or will it be set against my father's debts too?”

Sakhalin just sighs before reaching into his deep pockets and producing a neatly folded slip of paper. You take it numbly, noticing the sign of the king's oracle stamped on the clean white paper. You look up and meet Sakhalin's eyes, but he just shakes his head. “I have not read it,” he says, answering your unspoken question, “This is meant for your eyes alone.”

[1/2]

>>6052177
Oh are you THE Moloch QM I've heard so much about?

>>6052155
This is Pact by wildbow isn't it? I recognized it immediately from the first few paragraphs. A quest based on one of my favorite fiction pieces? Sign me the fuck up

>The sword. A promise, or warning, of bloodshed
But swords don't have to be bloodshed. Is a machete not a type of sword, cutting the undergrowth to clear a path? Are scissors not twin swords stuck together to help divide things apart? Is a pen not a mighty sword itself? Come on

>>6052182

Without another word, you slink into your quarters and lock the door behind you. A curse forms on your lips as you fumble in the darkness, finally flicking the heavy brass switch. Grimacing at the smell of lightning that fills your room as the voltaic lights heat up, you toss the folded sheet of paper down on your desk and collapse into the nearby chair. As much as you try to ignore it, your gaze keeps getting drawn back to the paper. Finally, you unfold it and peer down at the few words written there.

“This is only the beginning.
More blood will be shed.
The girl walks in dark places.”

You study the prophecy for a long moment, reading and rereading each word until they are carved into your mind. They are, of course, mockingly ambiguous, but it's not hard to make a few guesses. The “girl” that it mentions must surely mean Gratia, but the “dark places”...

A sudden chill down your spine causes you to glance up and cast a suspicious glance around the room. For a moment, just a moment, you felt sure that you were being watched. A second later, the eerie silence is shattered by a loud knock from your door. Folding the paper and slipping it into your pocket, you reluctantly open the door to see a familiar, unwelcome face.

“Hello Bard,” the tanned, irritatingly handsome young man begins, “Fancy a bit of sport?”

“Daniel,” you reply slowly, “I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about.”

Daniel clicks his tongue in irritation. “That's because you spend too much time hiding here with all those old books,” he explains, “My sources tell me that some of the girls from the Distaff are going to be heading down into town tonight.”

“Yes, and?”

“And,” he stresses, “That means the local boys will start harassing them.”

“I don't see how this concerns us,” you point out, peering past Daniel to the other young man, no less familiar, lingering nervously behind him, “All three of us.”

“Because if anyone is going to harass the noble ladies, it should be us!” Daniel remarks with a grin, “Oh come on Isambard, it'll do you good to get out for a little bit of proper exercise.”

“Brawling in the street, you mean.”

“Well, call it what you like,” he replies indifferently, “So what do you say?”

You hesitate, the words of the prophecy echoing back at you – more blood will be shed. Now this...

>Fine, you win. I could certainly do with a distraction
>Do what you want, but leave me out of it
>I don't think this is a good idea. Someone could get hurt
>Other

>>6052184
>Fine, you win. I could certainly do with a distraction
I think this is a great idea. Someone could get hurt!

>>6052183
>I feel a little embarrassed to say "THE" Moloch, but yes, I assume so.
>I'm going to disappoint you though - I'm dimly aware of Pact, but I'mn not basing this quest on it. Any resemblences to persons or plots living or dead are purely coincidental and all that

>>6052184
>Fine, you win. I could certainly do with a distraction
Conflict will teach us. Victory will strengthen us. Triumph will leave the world at palm of our hand.

>>6052187
Hehehe
https://pactwebserial.wordpress.com/2013/12/17/bonds-1-1/
Glad to be on board

>>6052184
>Fine, you win. I could certainly do with a distraction
We and the boys going to town

>>6052187
And that's why I specified QM. I certainly doubt there's any real affiliation between you and the big guy , but I've heard of weirder shit

>>6052184
>Do what you want, but leave me out of it

>Closing the vote here and writing. We're going for a fight!

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You regard the two young men with a weary gaze. You're not sure if word of your father's death has already started to spread, and this is their way of taking your mind off it, or if this is all a tremendous coincidence. You're not sure which one would be better or worse either. The silence seems to draw out forever as you consider the proposal, Daniel's smug smile never wavering for a second while Jan, almost hiding behind him, fidgets nervously. You feel pulled in two directions, caught between the prophecy and the new sword.

“Fine, you win,” you decide at last, your answer causing Daniel's grin to grow that much wider. “I could certainly do with the distraction,” you add cautiously as he slaps you on the shoulder, watching his reaction.”

“Studies getting you down too, huh?” he replies casually, “Well, it's like I said. It'll do you good.”

So he doesn't know. Or he's pretending not to know. More likely the former, knowing Daniel. Grabbing your new sword and buckling it to your belt, you curtly nod for him to lead the way. As he takes off, you have a moment to consider your two... associates. Daniel, of the Teilhard family, is every inch the perfect young soldier – handsome, righteous and brave. You really ought to find each other intolerable, yet he seems to have made it his mission to befriend you.

Jan, of the Martense family, is another anomaly. He never seems particularly comfortable around you, or anyone else, yet he seems terribly fearful of the Solitude that his family is known for. He's inoffensive enough, you suppose, but soft. You highly doubt he'll be throwing any punches tonight.

“Now, you know how this works,” Daniel asks as you're leaving Coral House, “Don't you?”

“Of course I do,” you assure him, “We find the local boys, then spend a few moments on insulting each other. When that gets tiresome – which, I imagine, won't take very long at all – we have a nice civilised brawl.”

“You have such a way with words,” Jan murmurs, the faint smile on his face softening the sarcasm.

Pausing at the top of the hill, you look out across the town below and focus on the lights twinkling from the Distaff – the Coral House Young Ladies' College, to give it the proper name. Until that damn letter arrived, you had assumed that Gratia was safely cloistered within the school. But now...

“Keep up!” Daniel chides, gesturing frantically for you to hasten your steps. Shaking off the dark thoughts, you hurry after him.

-

“There they are,” Daniel mutters, pointing to a handful of gaudily dressed young men lingering on the street corner, “From a merchant family, I suppose.”

“New money,” Jan agrees, sadly shaking his head, “No taste at all.”

[1/2]

>>6052217

As Daniel swaggers down the darkened city streets, you focus on sizing up the small group of thugs. You only see two of them with weapons, one with a sword and the other with a short dagger. That last one worries you – he has a mean look in his eyes, an apparent willingness to use the weapon. They tense up as they notice you, one of them already starting to back away.

“Hello gentlemen!” Daniel hollers suddenly, his booming voice causing them to flinch, “Isn't this past your bedtime?”

“Aye, I'll go to bed!” the swordsman counters, “With your sister, I mean!”

Raucous laughter splits the night air as you make a mental note to hurt that one, and badly. The next few moments play out exactly as you expect, with the insults flying between your two groups. Daniel is in his element here, insulting everything from their manhoods to their lineages. You tune it out after a while, like the rumble of a distant steam engine, but eventually some jibe crosses the line and sends the thugs lunging forwards.

Suddenly, chaos. You spot Daniel drop the thug with the dagger in a single punch, flooring the man before he can even draw the weapon. A few of the other men fall upon the soldier with their bare fists, but you don't have the chance to help. Your gaze is fixed on the swordsman, allowing him the luxury of yanking his blade free before you plunge into the attack. He defends with some measure of skill, you'll give him that much, but that's all he can manage. With no hope of turning the tide, he edges backwards until his back is pressed against the stone wall behind him.

You bring your blade down for one last time, catching his sword – cheap, commonly made – and shattering the steel. He falls with a cry, clasping his bloodied hand to his chest as you touch the point of your sword to his throat. The sight, the smell, of blood seems to awaken something in you, something ancient and terrible, and you have to keep your hand from shaking as you turn to check on your companions.

Though dusty and bruised, Daniel is nevertheless victorious. The remaining thugs lie groaning at his feet, while Jan watches on in wonder. “Good work, Jan,” you sneer, “I can really see why you wanted to come along.”

“Well-” he begins, only for his eyes to flash wide with fear, “Watch out!”

But you're already turning, your blade leaping out like a striking serpent. A shudder runs up your arm as the blade finds flesh, the point buried deep in the man's shoulder. He groans with pain, a revolver slipping from his convulsive grip as you twist the blade.

“Pulling a gun, you little bastard?” you hiss, “I ought to cut your throat...”

“Hey Bard,” Daniel warns, his voice uncertain, “That's enough.”

Is it though?

>He drew a gun on you. You've got every right to end this man's life
>You'll let him live, but not without a good scar to remind him of his errors
>He's not worth dirtying your blade any further. You'll let him go
>Other

>>6052218
>You'll let him live, but not without a good scar to remind him of his errors
Nemesis acquired

>>6052218
>You'll let him live, but not without a good scar to remind him of his errors
I like how unlikeable our boy is already.

>>6052218
>You'll let him live, but not without a good scar to remind him of his errors
He comes back, our next scar will not be so surface level

You lean in, slowly pushing the tip of your blade deeper into the man's flesh as he squirms, caught like a bug on a pin. You'd have every right to end his life, right here and right now. There's a part of you, that terrible thing deep in the back of your mind, that wonders what it would be feel like. Maybe it would feel good, watching this plump, pampered maggot spill his blood out into the street. Maybe it wouldn't feel like anything at all.

“Isambard...” Jan whispers, touching your arm gently. You jerk around at his touch, ripping the blade free from the thug's shoulder. He wails, only for his voice to be cut off in a startled gasp as you whip the blade back around and score a long slash across his face. The surprise can only numb the pain for so long, and soon his cries start back with renewed strength.

He'll live. He wouldn't scream nearly so loud if he was dying. But he certainly won't think to make that mistake again.

Wiping your sword clean on a handkerchief, you turn and stalk away from the crying man. Daniel and Jan hurry after you, the latter seeming as if he might be sick at any moment. Nobody speaks for a long time, not until the wailing has faded to a distant echo. Then, and only then, is the silence broken.

“What a night!” Daniel laughs suddenly, “You've been holding out on us, Bard. I should've dragged you out long ago.”

“Perhaps it's better that you didn't,” you mutter, pausing and glancing back down at the town, “Aren't you forgetting something?”

Daniel thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “Can't think of anything,” he admits, “Care to remind me?”

“He means the girls,” Jan points out, “You were awfully keen on them before he left.”

“Oh, them,” he shrugs again, “Forget it. The skirts would've heard all that noise and run a mile. No point in chasing after them now – plenty of other chances, you know?”

Jan sighs in disappointment, his nausea apparently forgotten, and you lapse back into silence. A thought strikes you as you're walking back to the college – you might be leaving here soon, perhaps never to return. You're the head of the family now, even if you barely have a family to speak of. That comes with certain responsibilities. Just thinking about a return to the family estate, and all the unpleasant memories that it holds, sends a shudder through you.

It might not be so bad, you think to yourself, the whole damn place might be seized to pay back the debts. You might never have to see it again. As for what comes after that...

“Cheer up Bard!” Daniel remarks, interrupting your thoughts, “You're always so gloomy!”

“That's because I've got good reason to be gloomy,” you counter.

“Oh, you do?” he raises an eyebrow, “Why don't you tell me all about it?”

“Well, you see, I'm being harassed by these two young men...” you begin, a smirk forming on your lips.

[1/2]

>>6052252

The old familiar sign – Coral House Young Gentlemen's College – is there to greet you as you return home, or to what was once home. A few of the other students cast suspicious glances at you as you arrive, noting the bruises and scuffs on Daniel's face with neither surprise nor concern. This is just another normal night for him, it seems.

“I think I'll go to the chapel,” Jan says suddenly, nodding his head to the other end of the hall, “I like to say a few prayers before going to bed. It helps settle my thoughts.”

“Funny, I always preferred going to bed before saying my prayers,” Daniel retorts, “If I'm really lucky, I sleep late enough that I don't have to bother with the latter.”

“You're a heathen,” Jan sighs, polishing his glasses on a long sleeve. His eyes seem very small without the lenses, and ringed with dark shadows. If you had to guess, you'd say that his mind isn't nearly settled enough.

“Well, I suppose that I'm a very hungry heathen,” the soldier says with a yawn, “I ought to get a bite to eat before I turn in. Bard, feel like a snack?”

“I'll give the matter serious consideration,” you tell him, “And stop calling me Bard.”

“Oh fine. Isambard, snack?”

“Serious consideration,” you stress, patting the sword hanging at your hip, “I need to drop this off first, or the kitchen staff might get the wrong idea.”

The two young gentlemen give you a wave, then head off down their separate paths.

-

A slight tut of irritation escapes you as you look down at your sleeve, and the spatter of blood drying there. Stripping off the jacket, you throw it aside and sit back down at your writing desk. A thoroughly pointless diversion, although you have to admit that it satisfied some primal urge deep within you. Was it the violence, or just spending time with the other men?

Without thinking, you raise the bloodied jacket to your nose and sniff at the stain. It occurs to you, then, that the smell of blood always reminds you of Gratia.

Throwing the jacket aside in disgust, you pull fresh clothes out of your drawer and quickly dress. As you do, you recall Daniel's invitation. He must really be determined, trying to drag you out twice in one night.

>You'll join Daniel for that meal, and maybe see what he's up to
>You should join Jan in the chapel. Your spirit could use a little work after tonight
>You've had more than enough social time for one day. Better rest now and save your strength
>Other

>>6052257
>You've had more than enough social time for one day. Better rest now and save your strength
Not sure we'd feel up for a social meal after the day we've had

>>6052257
>You should join Jan in the chapel. Your spirit could use a little work after tonight
Meek are those who lack the thirst for righteousness. Perhaps we cannot be perfect, but in our atonement, much of spiritual strength can be acquired. And what Daniel has to offer to us, debauchery?

>>6052257
We're a sigma male alpha loner. We only go out when it's time for violence. Otherwise we brood menacingly in our room.

>>6052261
>You've had more than enough social time for one day. Better rest now and save your strength

>>6052257
>You should join Jan in the chapel. Your spirit could use a little work after tonight
Built up sentiments like these turns believers into relaying words to their gods. I think going to the chapel is worth a try first. MC isn't a mindless beast.

>>6052257
>You should join Jan in the chapel. Your spirit could use a little work after tonight

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Sitting back down at your desk, you slowly turn Daniel's offer over in your mind once more. Maybe you're being influenced by Jan's softness, but the thought of sitting across from the young soldier and eating a civilised meal with him turns your stomach. No matter how friendly he is, or tries to be, the distance between the two of you is just too vast. Sometimes, being with him is like trying to stare into the sun.

You consider joining up with Jan instead, although the thought of seeking a bit of spiritual healing brings a sneer to your lips. The Godhead certainly doesn't seem to have much in the way of good fortune set aside for you, and you hardly think a few prayers are going to change that. You wince, then, as you realise just how much you sound like your father. You can practically hear one of his bitter rants now.

That's what makes up your mind, the change of plans so sudden that it nearly leaves you light-headed. Checking the last of your clothing for any bloodstains you might have missed before, you quickly make your way towards the chapel.

-

It's quiet here, as you might expect from the late hour. Jan is the only one here, pacing slowly from one end of the room to another. Occasionally he stops at one of the seven statues that line the far wall, gazing up at them in silent awe. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the statue of Insight, the Emanation long associated with your family. The statue is far grander than any of the icons you had back home, the marble figure carved with meticulous care.

“The artistry is good, of course, but I never quite understood the style,” you announce, your echoing voice nearly causing Jan to faint, “They just look like people. They hardly inspire awe.”

“Isambard, keep your voice down!” Jan hisses, hurriedly adjusting his glasses, “They're supposed to be, um, relatable. The Emanations are-”

“The Emanations are the bridge between man and the Godhead,” you finish for him, “Who is so vast and grand that man cannot HOPE to comprehend Him.”

Jan frowns at you for a long moment. “Isambard,” he says slowly, “Are you mocking me?”

“Of course I am,” you assure him, “But it's nothing personal. I'll mock anyone.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn't,” the young man says with a pout, “Anyway, why are you here?”

You don't answer that question straight away, instead moving to the central statue – the Godhead itself. Here, the attempt at being “relatable” is discarded completely. The Godhead is depicted as a great featureless monolith, impassive and imposing. A man could spend his whole life praying at an altar like this, and it wouldn't change a thing.

“I thought I'd check up on you,” you tell Jan at last, “I do hope you're not too shaken up after tonight.”

“...Very good,” Jan says with a shaky laugh, “You actually sounded concerned there.”

“I've been practising.”

[1/2]

>>6052298

With a sigh, Jan sits down in one of the pews. “I'm not actually praying,” he tells you, his tone vaguely defensive, “I just like coming here before going to sleep. It takes my mind off things.”

“You said,” you remind him, sitting down at the opposite end of the pew, “Maybe that's the reason why I came here too.”

“Family trouble?” the young man asks, his question causing you to look sharply around. “I mean, I just know what it's like,” he adds hastily, holding up your hands, “My whole family are... well, they're a bit of a mess.”

And yours might be dead, so who has it worse?

“Anyway, I won't pry,” Jan continues, seeing something in your expression that he doesn't like. With a thankful nod, you turn back to the row of statues. Maybe it's the stillness or the silence, but you do feel some of your unease fading away. The impassive presence of the Godhead is vaguely comforting – a vast presence that is nevertheless beyond judgement.

But eventually, the silence grows uncomfortable. Like a rare medicine, too much of it becomes a poison. “Solitude,” you remark, pointing to one of the statues on the far end, “That's yours, isn't it?”

“Well, not mine personally. In fact, I don't...” Jan hesitates, clears his throat then continues awkwardly, “But yes, my family has been associated with the Solitude for generations.”

“Your messed up family.”

“Yes, that one,” he agrees with a nod, “And you've got the Insight, of course. I can see it in your eyes.”

“You can also see it in the family histories,” you point out, “Which are a matter of public record – and, in fact, the curriculum here.”

Jan just shakes his head with a sad smile, lapsing back into silence for a while. “I suppose I shouldn't stay too late,” he says at last, “Or I'll be sleeping all day tomorrow. It was good talking with you, Isambard, so...”

His voice trails off here, leaving his words open-ended. An invitation, perhaps. Perhaps it's the strange stillness of the chapel swaying you, but you feel a sudden urge to confess to him – to share the dire news of your family.

>Tell him. You can trust Jan to keep it in confidence
>Say nothing. Your secrets should remain your own
>Other

>>6052309
>Tell him. You can trust Jan to keep it in confidence
A bit of a coward who'll give it up when pressed, but why not be open?

>>6052309
>Tell him. You can trust Jan to keep it in confidence
I honestly think is better to confess to one of the statues or god, but he isn't much of a believer yet. Jan is a better option, and his family circumstances resonate slightly with his. He might get some "Insight" through it.

>>6052309
>Say nothing. Your secrets should remain your own
Jan doesn't seem like a good secret keeper

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“Jan,” you say quietly as the young man is rising to his feet. He pauses, glancing back to you with an unspoken question in his eyes. It's too late to turn back now, you realise, and take the only path left open to you – to press on ahead. “My father died recently,” you continue, silently amazed at how bland and flat those words sound. You could be passing comment on a mildly interesting piece of trivia, and nothing more.

Flat and bland as they may be, your words have an undeniable impact on Jan. So much, in fact, that it's almost comical. His eyes swell wide and white, while his lips flap like a beached fish. “Shit,” he blurts out at last, immediately covering his gaping mouth with his hands and flushing red. “I mean, that's... are you okay?” he adds quickly, “Are you... was it... Is there anything I can do?”

“Not really. I don't think there's anything that anyone can do,” you pause, “Considering that he's dead.”

Jan frowns a little at this, at the flippant tone in your voice. “I'm sorry,” he says after a while, “Here I am, yapping about my own family while you... I'm sorry.”

“There's no need. I feel... fine,” you assure him, turning to look up at the Godhead monolith, “But I felt like I needed to tell someone, anyone, or it was going to get me in some real trouble.”

He nods wordlessly, no doubt thinking of the earlier brawl.

“Of course, I'm telling you this in confidence,” you continue, “This isn't just some common gossip.”

“Of course, of course,” he promises, adjusting his glasses, “Um, if you don't mind me asking. Do you... know-”

“I know nothing,” you cut him off, “Not yet, at least. But I hope to get some answers one way or the other.”

“I hope you do,” Jan says softly, more talking to himself than to you, “...Not knowing is the hardest part.”

-

Week's end comes all too quickly, and with it the foreboding sense of arrival. But some of the dark clouds have seemed to lift from your thoughts. Maybe sharing your secret with Jan was more valuable than you thought. It's easier to look your fellow students in the eye and keep up the act, and your terrible thoughts have shown no sign of resurfacing since then.

Wearing your very best uniform, you descend to the main hall and spot the dark phantom that is Sakhalin standing perfectly still by the entrance. He doesn't seem to have changed a bit since you last saw him, no more than you might expect a statue to change. You stand watching him for a long moment, while he pretends not to notice you.

“Bard!” Daniel calls out, waving for you to join him by one of the side passages. When you shake your head, he frowns and hurries over to join you instead. “Not coming to class today?” he asks, “Because I've got class, and I really need someone to help me stay awake.”

“Try that famous iron Teilhard will,” you suggest, nodding to where Sakhalin waits, “I seem to have another appointment.”

[1/2]

>>6052324

“Hell,” Daniel mutters, looking over at Sakhalin again, “You're not in trouble, are you?”

“No more or less than normal,” you reply drily, “But I might need to go away for a while. Family business.”

Daniel considers this for a moment. “I'd ask you for an explanation, but I know you won't give me one,” he says with a chuckle, “Or you'd tell me something so cryptic and ominous that it might as well be a foreign language. Go on then, don't let me keep you. But hey, would you do one thing for me?”

“I promise nothing.”

Daniel laughs, slapping your arm so hard that it nearly unbalances you. “Keep in touch! Write to us now and again, will you?” he insists, “I'm sure Jan is desperately keen to hear about some of this mystery business, just as much as I am.”

“I promise nothing,” you repeat. But there's a slight smile – not a smirk or a sneer, a smile – on your face as you say this.

>I'm going to pause things here for today, I think. I'll be intending to continue this tomorrow, starting at the same approximate time and running for a few hours again.
>Thank you to everyone who posted, showed an interest or just read along. I hope this is going to be a good project for everyone

>>6052326
Thanks for running! Excited to have you back!

>>6052326
What a bro. Seeya, anon.

>>6052326
Happy to have you back! As with PotE, I'll participate when I can, but you run your sessions at the worst time for me, lol.

File: CrimeofCrimes.png (494 KB, 1000x500)

494 KB PNG

Horses, real horses, don't like the land around the old capital. Pilgrims arriving at the ancient, deserted city used to travel on foot, or held aloft on plush palanquins. Fortunately, you don't have to face such an indignity. First taking the train northwards from Coral House, as far northwards as the rail lines go, you then moved over to an automatic carriage.

There's something eerie about watching the gleaming metal horse march silently through the thick grey dust coating the landscape, to say nothing about the faint hum of voltaic power that keeps it moving. But still, no matter how uncanny it might be, it's still infinitely preferable to slogging through the dust on foot. You'd hate to get your best boots dirty, after all.

“So,” you begin, glancing aside at Sakhalin, “What happens now?”

“Now,” he replies slowly, “We wait until our arrival at the old capital.”

If you didn't know any better, you'd say that he was mocking you. “And after that?” you press, without even bothering to hide your irritation, “Why exactly am I being summoned here?”

“As the new head of the Pale family, you are expected to attend a gathering of the families,” Sakhalin explains, “But that aside, the King is expecting to see you personally. It is regarding your father, as I'm sure you can guess. I will not say any more on the matter – I will leave it to my liege to give you the full and proper explanation. It would not be right for me to speak on his behalf.”

With a frown, you turn aside and watch the landscape passing by outside the carriage window. There isn't a single hint of life out there, with nothing but rolling hills of dust for as far as the eye can see. There's a theory that the land grows to resemble to men who live upon it and the deeds carried out there. Looking out at the old capital, and the grim history that swirls around it, you can well believe that theory. No wonder that the king only ventures up here for the most special of occasions.

You'll be seeing this place in your nightmares later, you're sure.

-

Day and night blend together, time seeming to slip by without notice until a bright full moon is suddenly hanging high in the night sky. You lean out the carriage window and let the silver moonlight pour over your face. The full moon, the symbol of your family, has always stirred strange feelings within your heard – a confused mix of awe and dread, a fear of something unspoken that is yet to come.

Sakhalin doesn't say anything, simply watching your restless motions in silence. More and more, you start to draw unflattering comparisons between him and the mechanical steed pulling the carriage onwards. The ability to form connections is a gift of Insight, yet sometimes it feels more like a curse – unstable foundations upon which your thoughts are built.

As if sensing your thoughts, Sakhalin turns and gives you a mournful stare.

[1/2]

>>6052781

“Young Master Pale,” Sakhalin says at last, his voice as low and sorrowful as ever, “Representatives of all the major families, and a great many of their vassals, will be in attendance.”

“Yes, I assumed as much,” you reply. You assume he's going to make some kind of point here, but you can't imagine what.

“House Tomoe will be sending a representative,” he continues, pronouncing the name with some distaste.

You pause, considering this detail for some time. It's strange to imagine a representative of House Tomoe, the house of devils and rebels, attending a formal event such as this. Were they given an invitation, you wonder, or have they simply decided to show up regardless? At least it'll mean that you won't be the least popular person there, you suppose. Silver linings and all that.

“Will that be a problem?” Sakhalin asks bluntly.

“For me? No. No problem,” you tell him, shaking your head, “They might even liven things up a little.”

Sakhalin lets out a quiet grunt of irritation, which may very well be a massive outpouring of emotion by his standards. He lets things drop after that, though, leaving you to ponder his words. You've never actually met a member of House Tomoe before, for obvious reasons, but their reputation precedes them.

-

The blocky shapes of abandoned buildings rises out of the dust ahead of you, announcing the end of your long journey. The old capital used to be a bustling city, but that was generations ago. Now, it looks more like a gutted corpse than anything else.

“Excuse me, Young Master Pale,” Sakhalin begins carefully, his voice drawing your gaze away from the scenery, “There is a question which I wished to ask you.”

You gesture for him to speak, but he holds his silence for a long moment as if struggling to find the right words.

“Your father,” he asks at last, “Were you... close?”

>[Truth] I don't think anyone was close to that man
>[Lie] Of course we were close. I was his son, after all
>[Evade] He's dead. What difference does that make now?
>Other

>>6052782
>[Evade] He's dead. What difference does that make now?
We don't know how he died yet, right? Or why we're being summoned? Admit nothing. Sakhalin is a glowie, after all. A federali. A narc.

>>6052782
>[Evade] He's dead. What difference does that make now?

>>6052782
>Evade
Do we know which Emanation house Tomoe specializes in?

>>6052782
>[Evade] Some say that closeness to others is an illusion. In my experience this is true. Knowing and showing your own true self is near impossible, how can you expect to know others well enough to become close?

You meet Sakhalin's eyes for a long moment, silent save for the slow crunching sound of the carriage wheels. You're not so naïve as to take this as a simple, innocent question. With so much about your father's death that you still don't know, you're reluctant to show your hand quite so soon.

“He's dead,” you reply eventually, your voice low and even, “What difference does that make now?”

“For him? No difference,” Sakhalin says, shaking his head, “But if you were close, perhaps you could help us understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Master Pale. His state of mind. His... motives,” the black man pauses, a rare moment of uncertainty, “I have tried to understand what kind of man he was, but I cannot. I have spoken with many people, and none of them could help me either. This is... frustrating to me.”

Frustrating. You can't help but laugh at this, a sharp laugh that goes on so long that your chest is aching by the end of it. “If you think that's frustrating,” you remark bitterly, “Then try and imagine growing up with him.”

“Hm,” Sakhalin murmurs, but he says nothing more. The rest of the journey is passed in uneasy silence.

-

Your carriage is just one of many when you arrive, so much so that you wonder if you might be running late. A sideways glance at Sakhalin confirms it, as he checks his pocket watch and scowls slightly. Without a word, he ushers you towards the palace entrance. You're sure that the palace was a grand building once, perhaps when it was first built, but now it has only a trace of faded grandeur left. There's none of the pompous decoration that you had been expecting, no flag or banners flying, hardly any sign of luxury at all. The noble carriages are the only exception, gold-trimmed and ornamented. Looking between them, it's like comparing a crude charcoal sketch with a luscious oil painting.

You wince as a robed attendant calls out your name as you enter the palace hall, but the mass of bodies within barely seems to react. A few eyes turn your way, only to hastily look away. From that moment on, you're invisible to them.

“I must attend to some duties,” Sakhalin warns as he scans the crowd with his dark eyes. With a final nod of farewell, as if reaching some unspoken decision, he slips away and vanishes into the crowd – no small feat for a man of his stature.

Alone once more, you cast a long glance around the hall and the crowds that fill it. Everywhere you look, you see men in ornate uniforms and women in stately dresses, all so perfectly clean that you can't help but fret over the fine grey dust still clinging to the soles of your boots. Just how THEY managed to stay clean is, and will remain, a mystery.

[1/2]

>>6052803
>The Tomoe are associated with Calamity

>>6052808

“I say, is that you Isambard?” a voice calls out suddenly, and you turn to find your hand being shaken by an unfamiliar face. The man is thin, almost painfully so, with thinning grey hair and watery eyes. Even as he convulsively shakes your hand, his eyes flick nervously from side to side. “Ah, forgive me. Forgive me,” he continues, “My name is Dunblane, I am... I was a friend of your father.”

You doubt that very much. An associate, maybe, but not a friend.

“My god, it's been years since I saw you. You were just a little lad, you and...” his voice trails off here, and he awkwardly clears his throat, “Well, ah, that was a long time ago. I won't be offended if you don't remember me.”

“I don't,” you tell him, “But you can be offended if you like. I doesn't make much difference to me.”

Dunblane chokes out a nervous laugh. “Well, when I saw you come in I just wanted to introduce myself,” he explains, continuing as if you hadn't said a word, “I've been wanting to talk with you, actually. About... your father. The King wished to speak with you, did he not?”

“So I'm told,” you reply cautiously. Either this meeting wasn't as secretive as you thought, or the security here has more holes than a chainmail vest.

“We'll meet up afterwards,” Dunblane decides, nodding to himself. He looks as if he's about to say something more, only to turn and flee into the crowds. Muttering a curse under your breath, you start after him only for the sharp click of boot heels against stone to snatch your attention away.

There is no cry from the attendant as the girl enters the palace hall, no pompous introduction or praise. Yet the silence draws more attention than your entrance ever did, a whole sea of eyes turning to stare at the new arrival in mingled fascination and disgust. For reasons of your own, you can't take your eyes off of her either. Her hair is a vivid red, as are her eyes. She wears a strange black dress of foreign style and carries a ceremonial staff tipped with gold. Just for a brief moment as she looks around the hall, your eyes meet. It's like reaching out and touching a block of ice, or perhaps plunging your hand into a blazing fire. Then she looks away, and the moment is over.

With what seems like a dismissal, the girl moves away through the crowd. Heads turn and conversations falter wherever she goes, only to surge back with desperate vitality as soon as she leaves. Losing sight of her is a relief, and yet you feel a violent urge to find her once more.

>You've got time to kill. Mingle a little, see what gossip you can gather
>You need to find Dunblane again. This conversation won't wait
>You'll see if you can find that red haired girl. You've got to find her
>Other

>>6052810
>You'll see if you can find that red haired girl. You've got to find her

>>6052810
>Chase the redhead

>>6052810
>You've got time to kill. Mingle a little, see what gossip you can gather
We don't chase. We brood, and wait, until it's time to strike!
Come on, anons, let's not be so predictable

>>6052810
>You've got time to kill. Mingle a little, see what gossip you can gather
Resist

>>6052810

>You've got time to kill. Mingle a little, see what gossip you can gather

>I'm going to close the vote here, get a snack to eat, then finish the next post. Shouldn't be too long, I hope.
>Remember: don't trust redheads, don't trust women, and do NOT trust redheaded women

>>6052851
The only time we could even come close to trusting one is if we're thrusting one instead, whichever meaning of the word you wish to go with.

Before you've even made the decision, you're already starting to follow after the red haired girl. She's not that far ahead of you, but you can't quite seem to close the distance as she weaves her way through the crowd. Every time that you think you might have lost her completely, you catch a fleeting glimpse of red hair or a trailing black sleeve and the chase is on once more. She never looks back, never gives any sign of noticing you, but you know that that's just part of her game.


And that realisation is what breaks you out of your trance. You saw how the other guests were mindlessly drawn to her, like moths drawn to a flame, and you hadn't been any better. Chiding yourself for your lapse in judgement, you slow your pace and look around you, looking for anything but HER to focus on.

A plump nobleman – from a minor family, judging by his overly gaudy outfit – gives you a friendly nod of greeting. Taking the opportunity where it's offered, you slink a little closer to join his little group for a moment. “It's really terrible now, down in Portsmaw,” one of his companions is saying, “Every time I look out my window, I see those nasty slums on the outskirts of town. I don't dare go out at night.”

“The Galseans?”

“Oh yes, of course,” he continues, nodding eagerly, “Oh, I know it's not their fault. They came here with nothing, after all, and they can hardly be expected to have manners. But still... and the theft!”

You dimly remember the first waves of Galsean refugees arriving five or so years ago, fleeing bloody war in their home islands. The problem has only gotten worse since then, apparently. You've never really thought about them before, but the nobleman's excited tone strikes a bad chord in you. Murmuring an excuse, you slip away from the group and move on in search of more pleasant conversation. Spotting a tall man with the Teilhard family insignia on his uniform, you ease a little closer and listen.

“I've known this was coming for some time, of course,” he drawls, “I don't know if you had a chance to see him lately, but old Pale was in terrible shape. I had the misfortune to run into him in the capital a few months back, and he practically begged me for a chance to visit the family library. He looked like a man possessed!”

“No!”

“Perhaps he was sick,” the Teilhard man muses, “But that's no excuse.”

“I had a letter from him,” a well-dressed lady recalls, “Quite unsolicited, I should add. He wanted a chance to study some of my family heirlooms. Well!”

“You wouldn't want to leave him alone with them,” another lady remarks with a shrill titter, “You might never have gotten them back!”

A dull pain causes your gaze to drop down to your clenched fists. Slowly easing them open, you see dark crescents of blood welling in your palms from where your nails dug deep.

[1]

>>6052867

Wherever you go, you hear hushed whispers – vicious gossip, more often than not concerning your father. Putting the pieces together, you're left with an unflattering portrait of the man. He seems to have spent his last weeks and months in a desperate search – for funding, for knowledge, for... something. Something that he wasn't able to find, apparently. The cumulative effect of so much venom quickly starts to wear on you, and you slink to the far end of the room where you might better block out the dull rumble of voices.

“I have no love for occasions such as these,” Sakhalin says suddenly from beside you, his silent approach causing you to flinch around in alarm. “King Albrecht says that I should have been born a Martense,” he continues, “He says that Solitude comes naturally to me. Are you ready to speak with him?”

“As ready as I'll ever be,” you confirm, allowing Sakhalin to lead you out through a discrete side door with some relief. The fact that you're about to casually meet the King hasn't quite sunk in yet. Even when you're escorted into a small office and sitting down opposite the monarch, it doesn't quite seem real. King Albrecht doesn't seem to notice you at first, his steely gaze fixed on a point slightly above your left shoulder.

“In the days to come, you'll hear many things said about your father,” he begins suddenly, “Most of them, I fear, will be unpleasant.”

“Yes,” you reply, your mouth suddenly dry, “I've noticed that.”

King Albrecht looks around, as if finally noticing you for the first time. “Despite this,” he continues, “I want you to know that your father was always a loyal and valued servant to me.”

These words seem to tumble into some deep darkness within you, like a stone falling into an infinitely deep well. When they finally sink in, you're left with a vague uncertainty. Just... how are you supposed to feel about that?

>[Polite] Thank you. I appreciate your kind words
>[Rude] I'm sure that was of great comfort to him when he died
>[Curious] What do you mean, he was a valued servant?
>Other

>>6052872
>[Curious] What do you mean, he was a valued servant?
I want to know more. Urge to spite father's legacy by associating with Tomoe intensifies

>>6052872
>[Curious] What do you mean, he was a valued servant?
I am suspicious, but politeness is key, lest we become a fallen house and lose the king's favor. it's only of the only assets we have left.

>>6052872
>Polite
Don’t mouth off to the king

File: King Albrecht.jpg (281 KB, 1024x1024)

281 KB JPG

Somewhere deep within the palace, a clock ticks away the seconds as you think about the King's words. They seemed deliberate, carefully chosen. Not a friend, an associate, or even a subject – a servant. It's almost seems like it was meant to needle your pride, but the King's calm, even tone dismisses such a thought.

“What exactly do you mean, he was a valued servant?” you ask, “A servant to the nation, or...”

“Tell me,” King Albrecht replies, “How much do you know about your family history?”

There's a small, spiteful part of you that wants to ask him a question in return, since you're apparently doing this game, but you bite your tongue. “I know that my grandfather died young, and left a terrible mess behind. I know that my father had to step in and pick up the pieces,” you recall, “He was young too, probably not much older than I am now.”

The King nods. “The whole nation was in a terrible mess in those days. The Lliogor migration had only just been beaten back, I had only just taken the throne. The nation was crying out for renewal, and your father helped deliver it,” he explains, “Without his dedication, his diligence, the nation as a whole may not have risen up once more.”

It's hard, almost impossible, to tally up these two versions of your father – a devoted servant, a hero of the nation, and an embittered old husk. He never mentioned any of this to you when you were growing up.

“But I am perhaps not the best person to tell you this story, and we're getting distracted,” King Albrecht shakes his head, “I shall be blunt. I would like you to investigate your father's death.”

“That's going to be difficult,” you tell him slowly, holding back the sudden rush of contempt you feel, “Considering that nobody has told me a damn thing about it. Can I see the body, at least?”

“Unfortunately, that won't be possible.”

A long pause.

“Do you... actually have the body?” you ask carefully, even though your fists are clenched deathly tight again, “Do you even know, are you absolutely certain, that he's dead?”

“We are certain, yes. The royal oracles – every single one – agrees on this,” the King explains, “But his body is currently far beyond our reach – it lies deep within the Demesne.”

“...Ah,” you murmur, “That, naturally, is going to complicate things.”

The Demesne is holy ground, a place of strange pilgrimage that stretches out far beneath the old capital. Suddenly, you realise just why you were summoned here. But the Demesne is said to be sealed to all but those chosen by the Emanations, by their own divine will. How could your father have...

“Young Master Pale. Isambard,” King Albrecht says quietly, “Blood has been spilled in a sacred place. I'm sure you realise how serious this is.”

Numbly, you nod. It still hasn't quite sunk in yet.

[1/2]

>>6052900

“I need to know why your father was in the Demesne,” he continues, “If we know that, it may cast some light upon why he was killed – and who it was that killed him. That's why I want you to be the one to investigate. I had hoped that you might have... that you might know something.”

“You wanted to know if I had some Insight,” you finish for him, looking the King in the eye. He tilts his head slightly, one corner of his mouth twitching in the slightest hint of a smile. “I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I can't tell you anything either,” you add, “I don't think I can help you. Surely, you have other people better suited to such tasks?”

“I've found that the King's seal closes as many doors as it opens. I have my suspicions that your father dealt with many people who would not... cooperate with any official investigation,” King Albrecht explains, “But you may have a better chance.”

You shudder to imagine the kind of people he might be talking about, the kind of people who might make the Tomoe look civilised.

“You don't need to give me an answer immediately, but I'm willing to offer you a deal,” he says, leaning forwards and tenting his hands in front of him. “Currently, your family estate has been passed to the crown. I can give you full access to it, and everything that your father left behind. I can provide you with a stipend to cover your living expenses,” he pauses, “And I can grant you access to the Demesne itself.”

You lean back, away from his smouldering gaze. “You've got no guarantee that I'll be successful,” you warn, “You could be wasting your time, and – more importantly – your money.”

“That's an investment that I'm willing to make,” King Albrecht assures you, “See the Demesne first, before you make any decisions. I can have Marius show you the way.”

“Of course, sir,” Sakhalin says from behind you, nearly causing you to jump out of your seat. Just when did he come in?

“Shall we begin?”

>Yes. Yes, show the way
>I have some questions here first... (Write in)
>Other

>>6052906
>Yes
We definitely have questions but it doesn’t seem like he has answers

>>6052906
>Yes. Yes, show the way

>>6052906

>Yes. Yes, show the way

“Your Royal Highness, I beg you - was my father an honorable man, in your eyes? Was his obsession justified?”

Also fuck yeah, I caught a Moloch quest live!

>>6052912
+1

>>6052906

“There is one thing I need to ask,” you say carefully, gesturing for Sakhalin to wait. “Your Majesty, I have to know – in your eyes, was my father an honourable man?” you ask, forcing down a sudden spasm of nerves, “He had his obsessions. Were they justified?”

King Albrecht takes a long time to answer this. “Yes,” he says at last, “I believe that your father was honourable. When I asked him to give his word, he would give it and keep his vows. Whatever service I asked of him, he would do it to the fullest of his ability. In that regard, he would be seen as an honourable man.”

“In... that regard?”

“When he did these things for me, I never knew if he was acting as his honour compelled him or if he had some... other motive,” the King shakes his head, “Whatever was in his heart, he kept it well hidden. And that secrecy, perhaps, is what destroyed him.”

Considering these words, you feel a slow sense of hopelessness creep over to smother you. There are so many more questions that you might ask, but you doubt that they have answers. They all boil down to a single word – WHY – that you feel like screaming into the void.

“Young Master Pale?” Sakhalin asks gently.

“Yes,” you murmur, numbly nodding your head, “Lead the way.”

-

Nervously adjusting your sword as you leave with your guide, you try and think back to everything else you know about the Demesne. A place for men to prove their faith, to refine their souls and reach a higher truth. Or, depending on who you ask, an abyss that draws in men and swallows them without a trace. Either way, it's something not entirely of this world.

Suddenly, you're afraid.

When Sakhalin stops suddenly, you take a few more paces before your thoughts snap back to reality and you turn back. He stands in front of a faded red tapestry, the cloth hanging low and bunching up on the worn stone below. You've been walking past such tapestries for a while now without giving them a second glance, so why stop here? It looks, for all appearances, like a perfectly normal corridor.

“This is it,” your guide says, reaching down and brushing the tapestry aside to reveal the perfectly bland, anonymous corridor beyond.

“This is it?” you repeat, “The Demesne?”

“Yes.”

“But...” you pause, “I thought it's supposed to be sealed?”

“Evidently not.”

You stare into the corridor for a long moment. It still looks completely normal, so normal that it starts to take on an eerie feeling the longer you look at it. Slowly, tentatively, you step over the threshold and look around once more. It still looks normal, and it still feels normal. But when you look back, you see that Sakhalin hasn't followed you. He lingers at the threshold, gazing into the corridor with a kind of animalistic fear. Not even a command from the King himself could force that man to follow you into the Demesne.

You're on your own from here.

[1]

>>6052931

You walk slowly through the corridor, casting your gaze left and right to catch any fleeting detail that might escape a careless eye. Though you see no sources of light, the corridor is still far from dark – it has the slight gloom of age, like sunlight through a dusty window, but that's all. There's no smell at all either, and not even a breath of wind. After a few dozen paces you come to a corner and creep around it, following the next path until it turns once again. Now turned completely around and heading back the way you first came, you glance back in confusion.

It's only once you've been walking for perhaps ten more minutes that you realise just how far you've come. Walking this far, you should have emerged back out into the original palace corridor – the corridor back in the “normal” world. Yet here you are, still within the sacred space.

A sense of disorientation crashes down upon you, sending you reeling into the wall for support. Bracing yourself against the cold stone, you take a few long gasps of air until the dizziness passes. Until now, you could still convince yourself that this really was just a normal corridor, and this was all just some cruel joke. But now, but this...

Just how far does it go?

-

What follows could not, credibly, be called “exploration”. You wander down empty hallways, the passage sometimes widening out into great empty rooms and sometimes shrinking down into narrow, twisting passages. Once, and only once, you come to a branching path. Picking one of the paths at random, you creep a short distance before coming to a dead end. The wall blocking your path is not completely blank, however – a faint web of black lines, like ink, sketch out a symbol. You recognise the full moon, the emblem of Insight and your own family crest.

Leaning forwards, pressing your forehead against the stone, you try to imagine your father coming here but the images in your mind remain formless. It's like reaching out and trying to grab smoke. Abandoning your efforts, you return to the main path and take a careful look around. As far as your best efforts can tell, there's no change – that, at least, is a small measure of relief.

Hope briefly flares into life as you spot a staircase leading down at the end of the main path, but this too is soon crushed. The stairs lead down to another blank wall, although the design scrawled upon it is different – you don't recognise any of the Emanations depicted there. When you touch the symbol, however, you feel a faint murmur in the depths of your mind. It's faint at first, but gradually you make out the words.

“Attain the third Lesson...”

[2/3]

File: TwentyLessons.png (933 KB, 800x1200)

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>>6052954

The walk back to the “real” palace gives you plenty of time to think over the cryptic message. Perhaps the TRUE Demesne really is sealed, and this is the first step to overcoming the seal. From what you already know about the Demesne, it's not that far of a stretch to assume that the “Lesson” it speaks of is referring to the Twenty Lessons. It's not the Demesne itself that refines the spirit, but the process of traversing it demands that men hone their will.

If your father really did venture deeper into the Demesne, that means he must have undertaken that great work. And if you want to retrace his steps, that means you'll need to do the same. Just thinking about how deep he might have gotten is enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“You have returned,” Sakhalin says as you finally arrive back at the entrance. Maybe it's your imagination, but he sounds faintly relieved to see you once again. Without another word, he turns and starts to lead you back to King Albrecht. You follow, although you feel fatigue dragging at your steps. Before too long, Sakhalin has drawn ahead of you. As you're slogging behind him, a figure appears from the corridor ahead – a familiar, red-haired figure.

You see the girl's eyes narrow slightly as she notices you, although she doesn't slow her pace. With her face masked by a delicate scowl, she sweeps past you in the narrow hallway – and as she does, you hear her whisper.

“Someone is going to die tonight.”

You turn in alarm but she's already vanished off down the corridor behind you, quick enough that your weary body has no hope of catching up with her.

>I think I'm going to pause things here for today. I'll be updating again tomorrow, starting from the same rough time
>Thank you to everyone reading along today!

>>6052957
Thanks for running!

Surprised house Tomoe still exists if they're openly aligned with Calamity.

>>6052959
Calamity is an Emanation of the Godhead, after a fashion, right? Maybe destroying them is sacrilege.

>>6052957
Thanks for running, QM!

>>6052957
Pretty interesting stuff so far

>>6052957

Well done as always Moloch

>>6052957
The crashing waves motif, what does it mean? Looking forward to what you're cooking up

>>6053332
The Emanations? Waves of self released from the Godhead?

File: Isambard Pale.jpg (333 KB, 1024x1024)

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That night you dream of the great sea of dust that surrounds the old capital, seeing the dust of ages pile higher and higher until all traces of the palace are hidden from view. The finest works of men can be wiped out just as easily as the most trivial, and the Godhead's universe would keep on turning regardless. If mankind could pass in the blink of an eye, what does that say about individual men?

Men die all the time. They die futile, pointless deaths and they die glorious deaths, but they meet the same end regardless. If that's the case, why go to so much trouble over the death of a single man, even if he WAS your father? All that effort will be lost too, when-

-

You are woken by a scream.

That word does nothing to properly describe the true depths of horror, of anguish, captured within that cry. It goes beyond humanity, any trace of higher thought stripped away by the soul-blasting terror that prompted it. It seems impossible that such a scream could be matched, and yet a second cry rings out – longer this time, drawn out until it ends in the rasping gasp of a failing throat. It stays with you for a long time after silence has fallen, that scream.

But still, the fact remains – you are woken by a scream.

Clawing your sheets aside, you lurch out of bed and grab for your sheathed sword. Barging out through your bedroom door and into the palace corridor, you buckle the sword in place and stare towards the source of that terrible scream. You can already hear a babble of voices coming from around the corner, followed by a dull bang. When you round the corner, you see that Sakhalin is already hammering at the locked bedroom door. A crowd has gathered, pallid faces staring on in helpless confusion.

Another crash, louder this time, as Sakhalin throws his shoulder at the locked door. It buckles and shakes, but stands firm. Drawing back for a second attempt, the dark man notices you and curtly gestures for your help. A thrill of fear stabs through you as you approach, but you take your place beside him regardless. With your combined strength, the door bursts open to reveal...

Carnage. Butchery. Slaughter. Like the scream before it, the words don't capture the true essence of it.

There was a man here, once. A man who lived and breathed, and then screamed. But what is here now could not be called a man, even in the most charitable interpretation. The body has been shredded, torn apart into bloody rags and cast about in wild abandon. Every inch of the room is spattered with blood and eviscerated flesh, even the ceiling. As you watch, a tattered ribbon of meat slowly peels free from the ceiling and tumbles to the ground with a wet splat.

Outside, someone vomits loudly.

[1/2]

>>6053494

You stare at the shattered ruin of a man for what seems like an eternity, the low moans and groans of the bystanders fading into a dull hum of background noise. Sakhalin is whispering something to one of the palace guards, sending the man scurrying away with some vital orders. You barely notice, the whole world dropping away as you notice something amidst the gruesome mess. Looking down at part of the meat, you see a tuft of grey hair.

“Who...” you rasp, “Whose room was this?”

Sakhalin mutters something to another one of the palace guards. “Master Dunblane,” he answer simply, “This was Master Dunblane's room.”

So much for that “talk” he had insisted upon. That's two men now you've taken their secrets to the grave. Quashing a wave of frustration, you turn to leave only to lock eyes with a familiar face – the redhead again, standing out in the corridor with a blank look on her face. Not the shock of an unexpected atrocity, nor the satisfaction of a plan well-executed, her expression is simply... blank.

Slowly, the girl turns and starts to walk away. You start to follow her, but your way is blocked by as the palace guard returns – and he's not alone.

“The oracle, sir,” he announces, gesturing to the porcelain doll of the girl with him. Her eyes are wide, the most vivid blue that you've ever seen, and locked on the bloody scene before her. She swallows nervously, tugging at the neck of her white gown, but holds firm.

“Everyone, leave!” Sakhalin shouts, his booming voice chasing away the last of the lingering bystanders. You move to obey his order, but he takes your arm in a gentle grip. “Not you,” he murmurs, “You should stay. This concerns you, does it not?”

You look back at what remains of Master Dunblane, then back out to where the red-haired girl had been watching. Suddenly, this all feels like too much to handle.

>You'll stay. This might be the important for your investigation
>Leave. If you hurry, you might be able to catch up with the red-haired girl
>You need to get out of here. Just out. It doesn't matter where.
>Other

>>6053496
>Leave. If you hurry, you might be able to catch up with the red-haired girl
Should have chased her the first time desu baka

>>6053496
>You'll stay. This might be the important for your investigation

>>6053496
>Leave. If you hurry, you might be able to catch up with the red-haired girl
Why is she here?

The sight and smell of blood is very rapidly becoming overwhelming. Closing your eyes and taking a few deep breaths in through your mouth, you try to direct your focus elsewhere. You can hear the oracle girl breathing too, the rapid gasps of a barely restrained panic, and the distant screech of a night owl. But no matter how much you try, your attention is always drawn back to the smell of blood.

“I will be waiting outside, Miss Legrasse,” Sakhalin says quietly, his voice jolting you back to reality. The oracle gives him a slight nod, carefully kneeling down to examine some of the shredded flesh. You can't help but watch her for a while, your curiosity about the oracle's art outweighing your revulsion at the bloody scene. As the receivers of the Emanations' wisdom, oracles are granted knowledge of the past, present and future. If the Emanations see fit, she might be able to learn what happened here.

Which means, at best, your presence is useless here. At worst, you might be distracting her from her important work. There's another lead you could be following up on, something that she can't do.

The red-haired girl. She knew this was going to happen. She KNEW.

“Young Master Pale!” Sakhalin calls as you hurry from the bloodied room, but you ignore his hail. Instead, you hasten down the corridors in search of the red-haired girl. A few of the lingering guests, scattered by Sakhalin's rebuke but not driven far away, are able to point you in the right directions until, finally, one of them gestures towards a sealed bedroom door.

Marching up to the door, you reach out to the doorknob before pausing, hesitating. You're hardly dressed to be barging into a woman's bedchambers, even at a time like this...

Feeling vaguely foolish, you knock heavily at the door and wait. “It's open,” the reply comes eventually, the muffled voice familiar even through the door. The girl is sitting at her desk with an open book, too engrossed in her reading to even look around at you. You close the door behind you, perhaps harder than you really needed to, but she doesn't flinch at the loud bang.

“You knew this was going to happen,” you begin, “Didn't you?”

“I knew something was going to happen,” she replies, “Not this exact scenario. Sit down, then we can talk properly. Sit.”

You pause again, looking around the room. “Sit where, exactly?” you ask, gesturing to the room. There's only one chair, and she's sitting in it.

“Sit on the bed then,” the girl counters, finally looking around at you with a smirk. “What, are you afraid that I'll pounce on you? Maybe pin you down and ravish you?” she remarks, looking you up and down, “It would be fun, I'll admit, but I'm not in the mood right now. Let's not get distracted... yet.”

[1/2]

>>6053496
>You'll stay. This might be the important for your investigation

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>>6053525
Crap, too late.

>>6053523
>It would be fun, I'll admit, but...
>Let's not get distarcted... yet

>>6053523

Folding your arms, you lean back against the door and wait for her to make the next move. After a long silence, she sighs and puts her book aside. “Fine. Be stubborn,” she says at last, “I suppose I should be civil and introduce myself, at least. Juno Tomoe.”

“Isambard Pale,” you reply. Traditionally, this is the time when you would bow and kiss her hand, but that's not going to happen. “So you knew “something” was going to happen,” you continue, trying to get your interrogation back on track, “How?”

“The same way that anyone in this place knows anything,” Juno answers with a slight hint of a shrug, “A little God told me. I'm an oracle, Master Pale. Not the best in the business, I'll admit, but I'm working on it.”

You glare her down, weighing up her words. You never imagined that a servant of Calamity could be an oracle, but your intuition tells you that she's telling the truth.

“When I received the invitation, I asked the Emanations for a clue as to what waited me here,” she continues, idly tracing out a meaningless pattern on the desk with her finger, “Blood and terror, they told me. I'd say that's accurate enough, if a little vague.”

“So you really DID get an invitation...” you muse, thinking aloud to yourself. Your words cause Juno to laugh suddenly, as if this is the first thing to surprise her so far.

“Really? That's what got your attention?” she remarks, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, we got an invitation. Whatever else we are, the Tomoe are still one of the great houses. Protocol demanded that we receive an invitation, just the same as everyone else. Now, I'm assuming you didn't actually come here to ask about my social schedule, so maybe we can get this over with and then I can get back to my reading.”

While you can think of a few more trivial questions to waste her time with, you decide to shelve those for now. “Blood and terror,” you repeat, “Was that all that you were told?”

“Nothing else,” Juno answers, smirking once more, “I suppose the Emanations didn't want to spoil the surprise.”

You'd like to think that you've got a pretty strong stomach for casual blasphemy, but you're rapidly losing patience with this girl. She might not be lying, so far as you can tell, but she's certainly not telling you the whole truth either. But the hard part will be getting her to tell you the rest, and preferably with a minimum of mockery.

>You knew something bad was going to happen, but you didn't warn anyone. Why?
>You don't seem particularly concerned about any of this
>Do you know what could have killed a man like that?
>I have a question for you... (Write in)
>Other

>>6053551
>You don't seem particularly concerned about any of this
>How do you know that blood and terror isn't coming for you next?

>>6053551
>You knew something bad was going to happen, but you didn't warn anyone. Why?
>You don't seem particularly concerned about any of this

>>6053554
+1
One reason must be she knows who or what caused this, and that she is not next in line on the chopping block. Or that she's just too cocky and overconfident that whatever did this will not be able to reach her at all due to her skill or Calamity autism. Or that she knows the reason why this happened, and that she isn't involved or related so she has no cause for concern.

>>6053551
>>6053554
+1

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“You don't seem particularly concerned about all this,” you point out, gesturing vaguely back to the scene of the massacre, “How do you know that all this “blood and terror” isn't going to be coming for you next?”

“I don't, of course. I very well knew that there was a chance that it was MY blood and MY terror that the Emanations were talking about,” Juno answers, rising from her seat and stretching. “As far as I'm concerned, our family history is nothing BUT blood and terror. It's a legacy that I live with every single day,” she continues, “If that's my fate, then so be it. We're all acting in accordance with the natural order, isn't that what they say?”

“I thought your kind were supposed to fight against the natural order,” you point out, “Not play along like good little sheep.”

She laughs again, savouring your words – or perhaps the distaste in them. “Maybe I'm the black sheep of the Tomoe family, the disobedient child who rebels in the only way she can,” she taunts, reaching out to place a hand on your chest as if feeling for your heartbeat, “Or maybe I'm just lulling you all into a false sense of security. You'll never know for sure.”

“Or perhaps I don't care to know,” you reply curtly, turning away from her, “Goodnight, Miss Tomoe.”

“Isambard,” Juno calls out, her voice causing you to hesitate as you reach for the door. “Pay us a visit sometime, will you?” she offers, “You can consider this an invitation, since you're so concerned about those. We would welcome the pleasure of your company.”

You consider this poisonous invitation for what seems like a long moment, then let yourself out.

-

You stop by Dunblane's room on the way back to your own chambers, but the door is sealed tight by the time you arrive. The guard posted outside the door raises a hand to stop you, then produces a small package. “Master Pale, I'm afraid I can't let you in. The King has ordered this room sealed,” he explains, “But I was asked to give you these – Master Dunblane's personal effects.”

“I see,” you answer, taking the small bag. He packed light, it seems. Not even a change of clothes. Nodding your thanks to the guard, you take the parcel back to your room and spread the contents out on the desk. You doubt that you're going to get any more sleep tonight, so you might as well do something productive with your time.

What immediately strikes you is the sheer number of holy icons Dunblane had been carrying with him – icons of all the Emanations, along with a talisman that you don't recognise. It has an archaic, even primitive, look to it, like a knot of steel with jagged points. Running your fingers across it, it feels sharp enough to draw blood.

Certainly not the sort of thing that you'd expect a respectable gentleman to be carrying.

[1/2]

>>6053572
Could this be a Calamity talisman? He has all the Emanations' icons here already. Perhaps he saw fit to include Calamity in their number despite the negativity and bane that it carries? Is Calamity even directly from the Godhead, or is it from an unknown source outside it? We may never know...

>>6053583
According to the pic in
>>6052298
no one knows the origin of Calamity, but they do know it didn't come from the Godhead. Part of why House Tomoe's continued existence was surprising. I wonder if any other houses are aligned with Calamity.

>>6053572

When you first met him, Dunblane had seemed uneasy. Now you find that he was carrying a wide variety of holy icons, even including a fairly dubious specimen. Obvious conclusion – he was afraid, deathly afraid. You don't have any solid evidence linking this latest crime with your father's death, but it seems like too much of a coincidence for them to be completely unrelated.

So. First your father dies, under unclear circumstances, in the furthest reaches of the Demesne, and then one of his old associates was killed by some terrible force. What next? You'd have to reach out to as many of his old contacts that you can find and warn them, but that could be a daunting task. Even if you can find them all, what would you warn them about? And how could they defend against a force like the one that killed, butchered, Dunblane?

Insight teaches men to look at life as if it was an unanswered question, but you'd much prefer some explanations. They're not just going to fall into your lap, though, so you'd better get back to work.

-

Morning, such as it is in the desolate land surrounding the old capital. The dim, distant sun has a colour like milk, and there's no warmth at all to be felt there. You'll be leaving this place soon, and you'll be glad to see the back of it.

“Young Master Pale,” King Albrecht begins as you sit down opposite him, “I wanted to offer you my condolences. I understand that you knew Master Dunblane.”

“Hardly. Aside from a mostly forgotten meeting when I was a child, yesterday was the first time we ever spoke,” you correct him, “It was really my father who knew him, and that's what concerns me.”

King Albrecht knew your father too, you think to yourself. You don't say it aloud, because there's no need to – the King already has a weary look of unease in his eyes.

“All the more reason to get to the bottom of this,” he says, masking his fear with a firm, authoritative nod, “Have you thought about my proposal?”

The investigation. Truth be told, it feels like you've already started – you've gone too far to turn back now. “I'll warn you again, I can't promise anything,” you tell the monarch, “But yes, I'll do it.”

“Excellent,” King Albrecht nods again, a glint of relief flashing through his eyes, “I'm content to let you conduct this investigation as you see fit, with one exception.” Pausing, he raps his knuckles on the polished wooden desk, A moment later, the door opens to reveal the oracle girl from last night. “I'd like Miss Legrasse to accompany you,” King Albrecht explains, “You may very well require the skills of an oracle.”

And he may very well require the skills of a spy.

>[Accept] I'll be glad of any help she can offer
>[Refuse] I'll work better on my own, your majesty
>Other

>>6053589
Technically, it only says nobody knows WHERE Calamity came from, but that it isn't subject to the laws which govern the rest of things. IN keeping with the general vibe of the faith and the Godhead as unknowable, I could see the Godhead either having a 'dark' aspect to itself that birthed Calamity, or creating a 'Satan' figure as part of a grander plan.

>>6053589
Intriguing. Maybe there's some outer god reveal later? Maybe one of the Emanations is responsible for Calamity existing, with or without the Godhead's permission? Maybe the Godhead deliberately set things up for it to exist without Calamity being directly from it?

>>6053592
Yeah, this

>>6053591
Do we go Calamity redhead who propositioned first? Or do we go the doll-like oracle girl? Or perhaps there might be a third option later?

>>6053591
>Other
Ask what she can do, and if it isn't rather dangerous to send a little girl into the danger we're delving into. Can she defend herself? Her skills are no doubt useful, but not if she gets killed immediately by whatever-this-is.

>>6053594
+1
A delayed answer is not a bad idea here

>>6053591
>>Other
>Allow her assistance when he feels he needs it, but move alone meanwhile.
Having her always nearby can bring problems. Plus she's an outsider.

Also, why mc isn't afraid at all? Two people close to him died already. Does he believe he has plot armor? xD

>>6053597
>Also, why mc isn't afraid at all?
A good point. perhaps he hasn't realized (but might now), that if the King is in danger because he knew his father... Well, Bard ALSO knew his father, didn't he?

>>6053591
>>6053594
+1

>>6053597
>Why mc isn't afraid at all?
The Young Master Pale is far too important for some demonic force to eviscerate in his sleep!

>>6053597
He hasn't realized it yet. Or he's distracting himself. Or it's cope.

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>>6053598
>>6053599
>>6053601
>3 replies and nobody is supporting my choice
But yeah, it could be it hasn't sunk him yet, or narrator just forgot xD tho it isn't too late to incorporate it slowly in his common daily interactions

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“Miss Legrasse-” you begin, but the girl is quick to interrupt.

“There's no need to be so formal,” she says hastily, each word tumbling over one another, “Elspeth is fine. Actually, just Elle is even better. Just Elle is fine. I don't actually-”

King Albrecht clears his throat, striking the oracle mute in an instant. “...Miss Legrasse,” you repeat, studying her with a frown, “I'd like to know a little bit more about you before I take you into my service. Aside from your oracle training, what kind of skills do you bring to the table?”

“Well... aside from my oracle training?” Elle bites her lip as she thinks, “I'm very good at taking notes. If you ever need to interview someone, I can make sure it's all written down nice and neatly. I'm very well read, and... my family name carries some weight in polite society.”

You glance sideways to King Albrecht, who's doing a very admirable job of holding back a sigh, then look back to Elle. “My work could very well involve danger. It may not be suitable for a girl like you,” you tell her, a cold formality creeping into your voice, “Do you know how to defend yourself?”

“Ah, well, I sort of assumed that would be... your job,” she mumbles, a blush spreading across her cheeks, “Of course, I'm eager to learn but...”

“Perhaps it would be best if I start my work alone,” you offer, carefully choosing your words, “And call upon the services of an oracle when I need them. If I am to conduct this investigation with discretion, it might be better if I was not seen working directly with a royal oracle.”

Elle's face falls, but King Albrecht nods slowly. “I can see your logic, Master Pale,” he muses, “However, I would still ask that you allow Miss Legrasse a chance to see your family's estate. I have no reason to doubt your own instincts, but there may be clues that only an oracle can uncover – or threats can only an oracle might foresee.”

“Threats like whatever killed Master Dunblane, you mean?”

“Perhaps so,” he warns, “While there is still much that we don't know, I cannot deny that you may also be a target of this... killer.”

“I'm not afraid,” you insist, summoning up a humourless smirk, “If some force really is killing people who were familiar with my father, I should be safe enough.”

“Please, Isambard. Take this seriously,” King Albrecht shakes his head as if dismissing the ugly topic, then moves on, “That aside, I'm told that your father left behind a significant amount of correspondence. An extra pair of hands may make your job far easier.”

A crazy idea starts to take shape in your thoughts. If you really do need the service of an oracle...

>You'll bring Elspeth Legrasse. She could be a useful assistant at least
>You'll ask Juno Tomoe. She could help with the more... unsavoury business
>You'll keep the oracles on stand-by, but go on alone

>Sorry for the extra vote, I just want to be exactly sure on how to proceed

>>6053620
>You'll bring Elspeth Legrasse. She could be a useful assistant at least
>You'll ask Juno Tomoe. She could help with the more... unsavoury business
Elspeth seems like a better waifu candidate to me and useful scribe and scholar. Tomoe comes from a family of killers and has already received a semi-divine forewarning before, though, and we should keep an eye on her.

If we can't drag her along if we bring Elspeth, though...
>Elspeth, if we can only pick one

>>6053620
>You'll bring Elspeth Legrasse. She could be a useful assistant at least
I do not trust girls the author tells me I "have an urge to follow".

>>6053620
>You'll bring Elspeth Legrasse. She could be a useful assistant at least
>You'll ask Juno Tomoe. She could help with the more... unsavoury business
Both. Setting aside the humor available from making this precious thing interact with the temptress, having two oracles means we're twice as likely to be forewarned, right? Two oracles also means we can afford to lose one. It's a foolproof plan!

>>6053620
>You'll ask Juno Tomoe. She could help with the more... unsavoury business
I love evil women

>>6053620
>You'll bring Elspeth Legrasse. She could be a useful assistant at least
I would go with this. Never forget he's the king. Technically it would be most disrespectful to deny him twice. Plus, he's kinda suggestion for a momentary assistance, so we can use initial help and then send her off later for confort.

“You've made your point,” you decide, nodding to King Albrecht, “Your assistance is appreciated. Miss Legrasse, you're welcome to come with me... if you still wish to.”

“I do!” she insists, her eyes sparkling with sudden excitement, “I mean, ah, I would be honoured to serve as your oracle, Master Pale.”

You just knew that she was going to make this weird. “Even knowing that it might be dangerous?”

“Even so,” Elle answers, taking a deep breath, “If you're willing to face this danger yourself, the least I can do is make sure that you're not facing it alone.”

“Thank you, Master Pale,” King Albrecht says with a faint sigh of relief, “I will sleep more soundly, knowing that you have a reliable servant by your side. From this moment on, use her talents as you deem appropriate. And please, inform me should you make significant progress. While we may need to act with discretion, I will support you however I can.”

So the decision is made. You've secured the services of an oracle, and – as a bonus – you feel fairly certain that she won't be tempted to slit your throat in the middle of the night. Even so, you feel the mad temptation to see just how far you can push your luck.

-

“Can I ask you something?” Elle asks as you're walking back towards your bedchambers, “Are you... really not afraid?”

“I don't even know what I'm supposed to be afraid of yet,” you answer with a shrug, “Two men are dead, but I don't know who – or what – killed them. I don't see a threat, I see a mystery to be solved.”

“That's...” she hesitates, “That's pretty weird.”

You leave this comment hanging unanswered, gesturing for Elle to wait as you fetch the strange talisman from Dunblane's belongings. “One last thing I need to do before we leave,” you tell her, already moving off in the direction of Juno's quarters, “Just a small errand.”

“Wait!” the young oracle yelps, “Don't walk so quickly!”

She's just catching up with you as you arrive, roughly banging your fist against Juno's door. She opens it after a long pause, staring out at you with her bleary red eyes. “Good morning,” you begin, feeling some petty satisfaction from having woken her up, “I need your expert opinion.”

“Sorry, but you can't afford it,” she replies, “I can offer you a lazy amateur opinion. Take it or leave it.”

“Good enough,” you say, holding out the gnarled talisman, “Do you know what this is?”

The sleepy look vanishes from Juno's eyes in an instant as she takes the talisman and delicately runs her fingers across the steel. “It's nothing to do with us, if that's what you're asking,” she answers, “Nothing to do with the Calamity. Where did you get this?”

“You're the oracle, you tell me,” you taunt, grinning to yourself as Juno's eyes narrow with anger.

“That's not...” Elle protests, “It doesn't work that way!”

[1]

>>6053678
>“Sorry, but you can't afford it,” she replies, “I can offer you a lazy amateur opinion. Take it or leave it.”
Mouthy. I like it

>>6053695
We did just wake her up and immediately make demands, she's justifiably grumpy.

>>6053700
Yeah, mc is pretty arrogant/bratty. Not that I hate it, but soon enough will be correction.

>>6053678

With a slow, contemptuous gesture, Juno tips her hand over and drops the talisman to the ground. As you stoop to pick it up, she brushes past you and starts to circle Elle like a predatory bird. Elle freezes, her eyes widening with fear as Juno places her hands on the smaller girl's shoulders. “What's this?” she asks, giving you a dark look from behind Elle, “Have you found yourself a friend?”

“An assistant,” you reply coolly, “And I'll have to ask you to unhand her. She frightens easily, and I still need her to work.”

“Hmm...” Juno murmurs, trailing one hand up Elle's neck as a tiny whimper slips from the girl's lips, “She's fragile. She'll break easily.”

“And you'd be a much better “assistant”. Is that what you're saying?”

Juno stares daggers at you for what seems like an eternity, although a satisfied smile dances around her lips. Then, with a sudden shove, she pushes Elle forwards into your arms. You catch the oracle before she can fell, noticing with mingled alarm and amusement just how badly she's shaking.

“I'm so sorry,” Juno says, her voice dripping with scorn, “But my social schedule has suddenly become very busy. I simply couldn't spare the time.”

Having made her point, Juno brushes past you and closes her bedroom door with a loud slam. This is where a sensible man would leave things, but you're not done yet. “That invitation is still good, right?” you ask loudly, knocking on the door once more, “Right?”

There is a long pause, then the door opens a crack – just wide enough for you to see Juno's sharp eye. “You're an ass,” she spits, “But yes. The invitation is still good.”

And then the door slams shut again, with perhaps a little more force this time.

That went about as well as you could have hoped.

>I'm going to take a pause here for today. I'll be continuing tomorrow, starting from the usual sort of time
>Thanks to everyone who's followed along so far!

>>6053709
Woah Monday run? Also yeah we are an ass, surprised she didn't take back the invite.
Thanks for running!

>>6053709
seeya

>>6053709
>Push our luck
>Get rejected
Strangely, I prefer this outcome to her accepting. I'd love to make overreaching a feature of Isambard's character.

>>6053737
>overreaches and fails the entire fucking quest over
>but still progresses on the plot and on himself
>eventually overreaches all the way to the Godhead himself
>he succeeds
>but Godhead himself tells Isambard to fuck off

>>6053737
>Get rejected
Did we? She's mad, maybe a bit jealous, but...
>“You're an ass,” she spits, “But yes. The invitation is still good.”
...we still have a standing invitation to her quarters. if she won't tag along to our estate, she's still an ally, and maybe more.

Elle's my preference, anyway. I'm just saying.

>>6053780
She said that even after shoving Elle into Bard's arms. I think with that and on top of her reaction to Elle, that there might be more here than we're seeing if you catch my drift

>>6053784
>Tales of Thulzar flashbacks

>>6053786
Context please?

>>6053780
>invitation to her quarters
Considering she said "visit us" I think she meant House Tomoe. And since she calls us an ass but doesn't retract the invitation I assume it wasn't based on any kind of attraction, but rather on political expedience.

>>6053788
In Tales from Thulzar, the QM introduced a demure girl and a tomboyish one, and later in a thread that got pulled for being quite literal porn revealed that the tomboy had some, uh, very specific fetishistic fantasies about humiliating her romantic rival.

>>6053818
The first thing she did when we met her was make sex jokes and flirt with us so if she's not attracted to us she's at least pretending she is to mess with or manipulate us.

>>6053836
Very funny. As for waifu options here, I have no clue who to go with. Still too early for me to make that call for my own voting. I do say that if we ever go into Juno's room again and the time is right, our boy Bard should go straight for her bed and lay on it. When she questions him, he reminds her of what she offered the first time they met. Then we go from there. What do you think?

>>6053898
We'll see. I lean Elle at this early hour, personally.

>>6053414
Maybe, but it's a reoccurring theme in Molochs quests. Maybe just an image that he likes, or something more...

Been a while since a moloch quest.

Two men dead, and MC sounds more down bad than he is down for this investigation.

It sounds like both men were searching for holy artifacts to supplement their divine ability. Maybe their progress on the Path fell short, or the threat is something that needs ALL emanations to properly resist.

We might need a ragtag group of heroes, and this ass of an MC is going to make that a challenge.

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With the grim and silent Sakhalin serving as your escort, you return to the waiting carriages outside the old palace. When he reaches your carriage, he reaches out to get the door and then hesitates. “Young Master Pale,” he begins, “And Young Miss Legrasse, of course.”

“Yes, Marius?” Elle asks, giving him a curious look, “Is there something wrong?”

“I wish you the very best of luck,” he says at last, “I fear that your investigation may lead you into dark places, but you can still prevail. I ask only that you honour the King, and the Godhead.”

“Of course,” she assures him, bowing her head. You mirror her gesture, murmuring something appropriately pious. Thus satisfied, Sakhalin opens the carriage door and ushers you both inside.

You're going home.

-

“Master Pale? Um, Isambard?” Elle asks, raising her voice above the rattle of the carriage's wheels, “About what happened back there. With that... Tomoe girl...”

“Things got a little out of hand. I shouldn't have let it happen,” you concede with a slight sigh, “I apologise.”

“No, I mean, it wasn't your fault,” she lies, “And what you said, about me just being an assistant... well, I know that you had to say that. Let's not talk about it, okay? Let's put it all behind us.”

You nod, tactfully opting not to point out that she's the one who mentioned it first. When she takes a weighty book from her bag and settles back to read, you allow yourself to relax and focus on watching the scenery grind by. Hours pass, and a dark stain slowly gathers on the horizon. You can't hear the thunder from this distance, but you see the occasional flash of lightning rip through the clouds.

“That's a nasty storm,” Elle murmurs, “I hope it doesn't pass over us.”

“It won't,” you assure her, “Those are the Tomoe lands over there. They always get storms like that, but they never stray very far.”

Elle shudders a little at the mention of the Tomoe family, but goes back to her book for a long while. “How long has it been?” she asks casually, “Since you were last home, I mean.”

“I'm not quite sure,” you reply, pretending as if you don't know exactly how long it's been, “It must be about ten years or so.”

“Oh,” she pauses, “That's... tough.”

“Wasn't it the same for you, though?”

She thinks for a moment. “Not so much,” she answers eventually, “I spent a few years at Coral House, but I still visited home often enough. Even when I couldn't get time away from the college, we could always send letters back and forth. You could've-”

“That wasn't an option,” you interrupt. Elle starts to reply, then notices the cold look in your eyes and thinks better of it.

The next few hours of your journey pass in a brittle silence.

[1/3]

>>6054307

You can tell when you're close to home by the sound of a light rain pattering against the carriage window. When you open your eyes, a sea of rolling hills and waving grass stretches out before you. The estate approaches slowly from the distance, a distended chimera of a building, with the great lead disc of Lake Hali spreading out beside it. It's an unlovely sight, and no amount of familial pride can put a gloss on it.

“Wow...” Elle murmurs, leaning out the open window for a better look, “It looks so old!”

“That's probably because it's very old,” you remark, fighting the urge to roll your eyes, “Parts of it date back to before the Unification Wars.”

“Really?” she wonders, vague doubt in her voice

With a sigh, you squeeze in beside Elle and stick your head out the carriage window. “There, you see?” you ask, pointing towards the distant manor, “Those bits with the white stone. They were here when my ancestors first settled here, and the rest of the manor was built around them.”

Elle lets out a soft gasp of amazement, her voice hushed that you feel her body tremble rather than hearing the words aloud. Suddenly reminded of just how close your bodies are, you draw back into the carriage and brush the raindrops from your hair.

The rain still falls as the carriage pulls up to the estate, only halting when you hastily pull a discrete lever. There's a light burning inside, not the hard glare of a voltaic but the softer glow of an old-fashioned gas lantern. It's just like you remember it, everything except for a jarringly modern telegraph wire trailing into the side of the manor. You can't even imagine how inconvenient it must have been, running a wire all the way from the closest city.

Marching up to the front door, you hesitate for one brief, final moment before knocking heavily. Then you wait, listening to the dull thud of footsteps getting closer and closer from the other side of the door. When it opens, you're met by a face straight from your childhood memories.

“Isambard!” he cries, immediately pulling you into a tight hug.

“Hello Alex,” you manage, awkwardly patting him on the arm in the futile hopes that he'll release you.

“I'm here too!” Elle chirps, and it's her voice that finally causes Alex to loosen his grip on you. He steps back to examine her, a twinkle of happiness glinting in his eyes.

“Alex, this is Miss Legrasse,” you say, wriggling out of his grasp, “And Elle, this is Master Seidel. He's an old friend of the family.”

And for once, you actually mean it.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Master Seidel,” she tells him demurely, only for her voice to slip an octave lower as he takes her hand, “Your wife would be proud of the man you've become.”

To his credit, Alex recovers quickly. “You're an oracle,” he states, casting you a sideways glance, “That's... I see. Come in, both of you. Let's get you out of this rain.”

[2/3]

>>6054308

“I suppose I should be welcoming you home, Isambard, but it probably doesn't feel like it,” Alex explains as you amble into the empty entrance hall, “Truth be told, I don't like being here much myself. It's too quiet these days. But, I've been asked to look after things for a while and you don't refuse a direct request from the King, do you?”

Certainly not, as you've recently come to learn.

“You must've had a long journey here,” he continues, “Tell you what. Go and get some rest, and I'll fix you something to eat. We can sit down, have a decent meal, then catch up. There's... obviously a lot that we need to talk about.”

“If you need any help preparing the meal, I'm happy to chip in,” Elle offers, “I'm pretty good in the kitchen, you know.”

“You will do no such thing,” Alex scolds, “You've only just arrived, I won't have you working so soon. God knows, you've probably got enough work on your plate already.”

So Alex knows about your investigation already. You can imagine King Albrecht setting up all the pieces, then just waiting for you to arrive on the board.

“So go and get some rest,” he continues, “Or... I don't know, have a walk around the grounds. Just take a break while you still can. Please.”

>You can't rest. You need to start work on sorting through father's papers
>A break might be good. You can take the time to show Elle around the estate
>He's right about taking a break. You need some time alone to settle in
>Other

>>6054309
>A break might be good. You can take the time to show Elle around the estate
Surely some good memories are here too. And we're certainly not going to drag this girl we only met a few hours ago into Bard's bedroom, so that's out

>>6054309
>A break might be good. You can take the time to show Elle around the estate

How does the King know that Bard's dad is dead if there's no corpse?
How does the King know that Bard's dad died in the Demesne if nobody can enter that far in?
If Bard's dad died in the Demesne, then whoever the culprit was must be already that far in the Lessons to have such access, right? The culprit must also know the exact location of the Demesne entrance in the old capital castle, in addition to the precise path leading all the way to Bard's dad to kill him then exit back out of the maze?
How did Bard's dad get to the old capital and enter the Demesne without any record or sighting of him having left wherever he was located, nor any trip preparation, nor any escort, nor any horses or carriage he used to make said trip there?

As he so often is, Alex is right – a break might be a good thing for you right now. After being cooped up in a cramped carriage for so long, the chance to stretch your legs seems too good to pass up. Besides, you could use this time to show Elle around the estate. The last thing you need is for her to take a wrong turn and get lost forever.

Exaggeration, perhaps, but not by much.

“Want to take a walk with me?” you ask Elle, who is nodding her agreement before you've even finished your question. She falls in behind you as you start brief tour of the estate's ground floor. The kitchen, the servant's quarters, even a small ballroom... everywhere you go, you see signs of your father's debts in the empty rooms – blank spots on walls where portraits have been removed, rooms devoid of furniture, even gutted bookshelves.

“This place is so big,” Elle murmurs as you lead her up the main staircase, “Where were your chambers?”

“They were in the west wing,” you answer, pointing towards a corridor branching off from the upper floor.

“Can I see?”

You stop dead in your tracks, so abruptly that Elle walks straight into your back. “There's no reason to,” you tell her after a long silence, “There's nothing there now.”

“I'm the same, really. When I was back at home, my mother didn't want me having any distractions in my room. It was so boring!” the oracle recalls, wandering across to a great window looking out across the lake. “Wow...” she breathes, gazing at the still waters, “It's really beautiful here. It seems like the lake goes on forever.”

“I remember...” you pause, hesitate, then plunge on ahead, “I remember sitting here with Gratia, looking out at the lake when it was covered in the morning mist. It felt like the whole world had vanished, and we were the only ones left. We'd sit there for hours, sometimes all day if the mist stayed.”

Elle listens, her eyes closed as she pictures the scene in her mind. It's only when you fall silent that she opens her vivid blue eyes once more. “Go on, tell me about her,” she urges, “You sounded... really happy just then.”

Your guard goes up on instinct, but you force yourself to speak. “We were always close,” you recall, “Inseparable, really. Growing up, we would speak to one another before talking to anyone else, speaking in a language shared between us alone. Then, as we got older, we'd spend our days wandering through the estate, all these empty rooms, telling each other stories. And then...”

“And then?”

“And then, the day that we turned twelve, my father had us separated,” you say, your voice dropping low, “I was confined to the west wing, she to the east. I screamed, I fought. I starved myself in protest, but nothing worked. He wouldn't be swayed. After that, I never saw her again.”

[1]

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>>6054327

Elle stares at you in horror for a long moment, her lips forming silent words. “I'm sorry, what?” she manages at last, “Your father locked you both up? For... for how long?”

“It wasn't long. A few months, perhaps,” you shake your head, “We didn't make it easy on him. For a few days, we managed to sneak messages to one another – one of the servants helped us. But when my father found out, he had her dismissed. Not long after that, he had us both sent away. I went to Coral House, and Gratia went to the Distaff. At first, I held out hope that some day, I would see her in town but... I never did.”

“I wonder if I met her at all...” Elle thinks aloud to herself, “Um, what did she look like?”

“Like me. Silver hair, she always wore it long, and silver eyes. She was always slender... delicate,” you recall, surprised at just how painful it is to picture her face in your mind, “That was a long time ago, but she wouldn't have changed. I know she wouldn't.”

Elle tilts her head slightly, studying your own features with curious eyes. “I'm sorry for asking you this,” she pauses awkwardly, “Were you... twins?”

Even as she asks this question, you can see that she already knows the answer. “A bad omen from the moment we were born,” you say with a humourless laugh, “I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that things turned out the way they did.”

Elle first puts her hand on your shoulder, then her arms around you in a cautious, chaste embrace. “You're not a curse,” she whispers, “Omens don't decide our fate.”

“Funny thing for an oracle to say, isn't it?” you murmur back. Elle laughs silently, the tremor running through her body as she pulls back from you. Tears shimmer in her eyes as she looks up at your face, only to hastily turn away and dab her eyes with a handkerchief.

“I think...” she stammers, “I think we should go and see if Master Seidel needs any help in the kitchen, don't you?”

>That sounds like an excellent idea. Let's go
>There's something I have to say first... (Write in)
>Other

>>6054341
>That sounds like an excellent idea. Let's go
Damn twins have it rough
Rougher than the Tomoe even

>>6054320
Answers to the first 2 are that all the oracles the King has consulted agree that he's dead and that's where he died, or so we're told.

>If Bard's dad died in the Demesne, then whoever the culprit was must be already that far in the Lessons to have such access, right? The culprit must also know the exact location of the Demesne entrance in the old capital castle, in addition to the precise path leading all the way to Bard's dad to kill him then exit back out of the maze?
Not necessarily, maybe it was a slow acting poison, or some curse.

How did Bard's dad get to the old capital and enter the Demesne without any record or sighting of him having left wherever he was located, nor any trip preparation, nor any escort, nor any horses or carriage he used to make said trip there?
I dunno about this one, maybe something to look into.

>>6054342
I wonder if the oracles could be fooled somehow. Spoofing fate itself? Could the Godhead have lied to the oracles himself?
>slow-acting poison
>curse
We cannot check for either because the body is currently inaccessible. And could the culprit have known that Master Pale was headed for the Demesne, setting this mystery up themselves?
>something to look into
Yeah, he had to get to the old capital and physically enter the Demesne himself. That means traces, records, who knows what kind of evidence.

>>6054341
>That sounds like an excellent idea. Let's go
There's time to explore these halls later

>>6054341
>Were you the one who sent the first oracle I received?
>I'm somewhat curious what counts as Dark Places in this land, far too many suspects.

>>6054352
+1 these questions

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“There's something else I need to ask you first,” you tell Elle, her eyes widening slightly at your words, “Don't worry. It's nothing to be afraid of. I just need to know. Were you the one who received this prophecy?”

You pass Elle the slip of paper, the warning of blood and darkness. She takes it tentatively, and nods without reading it. “I did,” she answers, “That was why King Albrecht wished for me to, um, meet with you. To see if I would be given any further revelations.”

“And... have you?”

“No,” she pauses, “Not yet.”

“Then, can you tell me what these “Dark Places” might be?” you press, “I fear there may be far too many possibilities in this land.”

Elle closes her eyes and thinks back. “I felt a darkness when I received those words, the reek of Calamity and... and something else. Something older, I think,” she recalls, her voice dropping to a whisper, “These “Dark Places” are not... an actual place, I think.”

“You think that Gratia is falling into Calamity's grasp?”

Elle's brow wrinkles with a frown as she shakes her head, although she seems hesitant, unsure. “I don't know,” she pleads, “I don't even know, for certain, if she was the one. There's still so much that I don't know.”

She seems so small and lost, speaking those words, that your anger is washed clean away. Without another word, you carefully take Elle's hand and lead her down the stairs.

-

“Um...” Elle murmurs, breaking her silence as you approach the dining room, “You and Master Seidel seem close, if you don't mind me saying.”

“He's practically an uncle to me,” you answer, pausing slightly as the smell of a freshly cooked meal reaches you, “I suppose you could say that he was my father's right hand man, so naturally he was often around. I'm... glad to see that he's still here.”

“Mm. If anyone can give us some insight into your father's actions-” Elle cuts herself short with a yelp, “Oh. I'm sorry, I should leave the investigation to you, shouldn't I?”

You wave away her concern with a gesture, knocking loudly on the dining room door as you enter. You hear Alex shout indistinct something from the kitchen, and he emerges a moment later with a steaming pot of food. “I was just saying, it's nothing fancy. Just a few leftovers that I threw together,” he explains, spooning out a portion of stew into a bowl and passing it across to you, “But it'll do you a world of good. You always were too skinny, Isambard.”

This, you answer with an embarrassed scowl. He's doing this on purpose. You're sure of it.

[1]

>>6054375

“So, you've only just met?” Alex says as he pushes aside his empty bowl, “That makes sense, Miss Legrasse. You don't look like you want to strangle the lad just yet. Give it time.”

“Oh, don't be like that,” Elle giggles, “Isambard has been a perfect gentleman.”

“I haven't, but I appreciate you lying for me,” you point out, “Thank you for the meal, Alex, but there's something I need to discuss with you. Something important. Have you... heard about Dunblane yet?”

“Master Dunblane?” Alex's brow furrows, “Now that you mention it, I thought he might have returned with you.”

“He's dead, Alex.”

Alex goes very still, all except one hand – it clenches into a fist, tight enough that his whole arm trembles. “How?” he asks eventually, his voice low and dry, “Was it... natural?”

Only so far as it's natural to die after being torn to pieces, you think privately to yourself.

“It definitely wasn't,” you say aloud, “It was... violent. He was alone, in a completely locked room, and something still managed to kill him. In all likelihood, this is connected with my father's dead.”

“And you're saying I might be next?”

“No,” you shake your head, “I'm saying that you might be on the list.”

“Is there a list?”

“I don't know yet,” a scowl passes across your face as you think about just how little you know. “But you should be careful. If you're still in contact with any of my father's old contacts, you should warn them too,” you continue, “Any of them could be a potential target too.”

Alex reaches across the table and puts a heavy hand on your shoulder. “You could be a target too,” he points out, “You know that, don't you?”

“Of course I know that,” you reply, fighting down the urge to snap and shake off his hand, “But I'm not worried about me. I can handle myself well enough.” Sighing and shaking his head, Alex draws back his hand and your scowl twists into a grimace, regret needling your heart. “I'm sorry,” you continue, “What I mean is, I can't afford to be worried. I've still got a job to do.”

“And I'll be here to help you, any way that I can,” the older man says firmly, “I owe your father that much.”

“Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary?” Elle asks, looking up from her half-eaten meal, “Since... you know.”

“It feels like it's rained non-stop since I heard about, well, what happened to Gideon, but that's not so strange for these parts. That aside, no. It's all been normal. Of course, I've been so busy that I hardly had time to notice what's going on outside the estate,” Alex lets out a humourless laugh, “I was always clearing up after that man. Why change the habit of a lifetime?”

[2]

>>6054396

“Maybe you can help clear up a few things for me too,” you ask the older man, leaning across the table, “You helped my father stay organised, so you might know. We believe that he was exploring the Demesne, and that means he would have needed access to the old capital. Did he venture there often?”

Alex purses his lips. “Gideon travelled a lot, towards the end. Sometimes he'd tell me where he was going, sometimes not. I suppose he could have been visiting the old capital, although he never said as much,” a pause, “He was keeping a lot of secrets, then. Even from me. As for having access... I'm really not sure.”

“He...” Elle starts, only to hesitate for a moment, “He could have had access. It's not supposed to be public knowledge, but certain people are allowed access. It's the church that decides, technically. I've heard that they give you a mark to show that you've got permission. An amulet, they said.”

“They?” you ask, “And these amulets. Do they have the image of a manticore on them?

“Some of the older oracles,” she explains with a shrug, “They tend to, well, gossip. Maybe a little more than they should. And yes, that sounds about right. The oracle I was speaking with just said that it was an image of a hideous beast, but what else could it be?”

Closing your eyes, you picture the amulet sitting in its little wooden box at the college. You can imagine your father taking it off and leaving it for you before going off on his final journey. Leaving it for you so, what, so you could follow in his footsteps?

Leaning back in your chair and rubbing your aching temples, you try to think of your next move.

>Alex, I found this talisman in Master Dunblane's belongings. Do you know what it is?
>Alex, Where else was my father travelling to?
>Elle. King Albrecht said the royal oracles saw my father's dead. Did you see it too?
>I've got some more questions... (Write in)
>Other

>>6054399
>Elle. King Albrecht said the royal oracles saw my father's dead. Did you see it too?
>Alex, I found this talisman in Master Dunblane's belongings. Do you know what it is?
Older than Calamity
The proto Calamity
Calamity's dad
Calamity 0.1
Calamity in beta testing

>>6054403
Or perhaps the godhead was not so Solitary at all, and the Calamity is an Emanation from an Other.

>>6054399
>Alex, I found this talisman in Master Dunblane's belongings. Do you know what it is?
>Do you know what my father spent money on? Did he purchase a lot of religious artifacts, or information?

>>6054399
>Alex, I found this talisman in Master Dunblane's belongings. Do you know what it is?

>>6054406
+1

“King Albrecht said that the royal oracles saw my father's death,” you say slowly, “Elle. Did you see it too?”

Elle's face turns pale, a soft gasp escaping her lips before she composes herself. “I did, but only dimly,” she answers, “The other oracles saw it far better than I.”

“Well they're not here, are they?” you point out, “Dim or not, tell me what you saw.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Elle closes her eyes and thinks back. “I see him lying on a stone floor. Blood is pooling in the cracks in the tiles, but not much. I don't see any wounds,” she shudders, her voice growing deep and ragged as she continues, “They must be on his back. I know this, even without looking. I know that he was struck from behind. I look into his face, and he seems... calm.”

With this last word, her voice trails off to nothing. After a moment, she opens her eyes and looks to you. “It was clearer that time,” she murmurs, “I think... it helped that you were here.”

Nobody says a thing for a long moment, then Alex finally lets out a low sigh. “Struck from behind,” he muses, “Not a good death.”

You take a drink of water, trying to chase the image of Elle's description away from your thoughts. As you shift in your seat, though, you feel something jab into your thigh – Dunblane's strange talisman. Taking it out of your pocket, you hold it out to Alex. “I found this in Dunblane's belongings,” you explain, “Do you recognise it at all?”

Alex studies the talisman for a moment before snapping his fingers. “No!” he declares triumphantly.

“No?”

“No, but I think I can find out. Wait here,” he insists, getting up from the table and hurrying away. He's gone for a good five minutes, more than enough for you to share a dubious look with Elle. When he returns, he has a thin stack of papers clutched in his hand. “This is something your father was working on. Another one of his half-finished projects. It's a study of Galsean culture,” the older man explains, passing the pages to you, “He said that he was going to publish it once he was done, raise a little extra money, but of course...”

“It didn't get done,” you finish for him, flicking through the pages until you find a crude sketch not entirely unlike the talisman. “Galsean religious icon,” you read aloud, “Possible fertility deity, more research needed.”

A pause.

“It doesn't look like a fertility deity to me,” Elle offers shyly, “I thought they'd have more... um... you know?”

“That part is all speculative,” Alex reminds her, “You'd need to ask a Galsean to know for sure, and good luck getting THEM to talk about their pagan gods. I wonder how Master Dunblane got hold of such a thing...”

[1]

>>6054406

Support. Maybe dear old Dad was assassinated by the Church when his research started to reveal some uncomfortable truths about the Emanations and Godhead? Silencing a heretical voice seems like a pretty good motive to me…

>>6054424

“Maybe he bought it,” you suggest, “Or maybe my father bought it for him. The money had to go somewhere, after all – knowledge, religious icons, anything like that. Do you know where it all went?”

“Most of it, I'm sorry to say, went on that damn pet project of his,” Alex answers, wincing a little.

“That...” you swallow hard, clenching your fists under the table, “Not that stupid observatory?”

“Sorry, I'm confused,” Elle asks, “What are we talking about?”

You and Alex both start to answer at once, only to fall silent as you talk over each other. You slump back in your chair and gesture for him to speak. You're suddenly too angry to trust your mouth. “Well. A little context – the Pale family has always been associated with the stars and the night sky, just as they've been associated with Insight. Master Pale, Gideon, got it into his head to construct the greatest observatory that the world has ever seen,” he explains, “Not just a tool to study the stars, but a great temple to Insight itself.”

“He had some plans drawn up, but that was as far as it went,” you add, “At least, while I was at home.”

“Not long after you left-”

“After I was sent away.”

“Not long after you were sent away, the real work began,” Alex continues, “And, of course, it all went horribly wrong. The budget spiralled out of control, and he kept making changes to the lenses, the exact construction of the telescope, whatever. And, of course, he was travelling all over the Kingdom while this was going on, throwing money at God knows what. The family wasn't in a good place to begin with, but this was a disaster - and do you know what the worst part is?”

“I'm sure you're about to tell me.”

“It wasn't even finished,” Alex laughs bitterly, “He got the telescope built, although God knows if it was built to his satisfaction, but that's when the money ran out. I suppose the church took possession of it now, for all the good it'll do them.”

“Why... would he go to such lengths?” Elle asks, her wide eyes darting between you and Alex, “Unless it was for the Demesne? If he believed this observatory would bolster his connection with Insight, he might have been relying on it to venture deeper into the Demesne. Maybe all the way to the bottom.”

“Now, I'm not a scholar like you two,” Alex says, “So maybe you could explain it to me. Why would Gideon want to reach the bottom of the Demesne? What's down there?”

You trade a glance with Elle. “Well, it depends on which story you believe,” she offers, “But some say... God. Those who reach the bottom of the Demesne can stand before the face of God.”

>It's a little early, but I'm going to pause things here. I've got some time off booked, so I'll be running again on Friday
>Thank you for everyone who read along today!

>>6054447
Thanks for running!

Weird how Elle used God and not The Godhead there at the end, we've only seen the shorter term in less formal lines and this didn't seem like one of those.

Also I didn't say this before but the Demesne is horrifying, like someplace you could get lost forever. It would also appear that dad didn't die to poison or curse, so >>6054320 was right in that his killer also had access and some depth in the Lessons. That, or hostile entities could lurk deep within the Demesne itself.

>>6054461

I still think it’s a good bet that the religious authorities had Dad murdered,

Interesting. Neat quest, looking forward to what comes next!

>>6054461
Either a very focused stab to the heart, or an entity that kills you from the inside

>>6054447
Spooky... Thanks for running!

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Elle's words, spoken with a kind of hushed awe, hang in the air for what seems like an eternity. “First of all, that's impossible,” you reply at last, when it becomes clear that nobody else is going to speak, “And second of all, even if it wasn't, it wouldn't make any sense. My father had no love for the Godhead.”

“But you said it yourself, you never really knew your father,” Elle insists, turning to Alex, “Master Seidel, um, was Master Pale ever a faithful man? In his youth, perhaps?”

“Quite the opposite,” Alex shakes his head, “When we were young, Gideon was... well, I suppose he was what you'd call a decadent these days. A libertine. I remember spending long nights with him and his circle, back in our student days. He'd drink, write poetry and happily blaspheme to any who would listen. There were always women, and sometimes...”

But he cuts himself short here, to your vague disappointment. This is a side of your father that you never saw, never even imagined.

“Well, it's not proper to speak of such things. Especially in polite company,” Alex concludes, nodding respectfully to Elle, “And we're getting distracted. Gideon only really straightened out when his father died, and he was forced to assume the mantle of responsibility.”

“And that was when he worked with King Albrecht,” you recall.

Alex's brow furrows at this, and he doesn't reply straight away. “That's another long story,” he says at last, “And we'll be talking all night if we get into that particular subject.”

“Then perhaps you could give us the short version,” you suggest with a frown. Unless you're very much mistaken, he seems somewhat reluctant to talk about it – and you're sure that you're not mistaken.

“The short version. Hmm. Well, he was sent to work overseas. Colonial work,” Alex pauses, carefully phrasing his next words with a grimace, “Resource extraction.”

Resource extraction – it's fascinating, the kind of strange alchemy that can turn two perfectly innocent words into something horrible.

“I should make a start on cleaning up,” Alex continues, lurching to his feet and hastily gathering up the dishes, “I'll have to see about bringing in some of my staff to help around the estate. Until I can get that arranged... well, you two go on, I'll take care of things here. God knows, I've washed enough dishes in my time.”

-

“Before we get started,” Elle asks, as you're leaving the dining room, “I was hoping to send a telegram, if that's okay with you.”

“That all depends on who you're sending it to,” you reply, only to wave away the look of sudden concern that descends upon her face, “I'm only joking. Do what you've got to do.”

“Thank you,” she replies, “I just want to send a quick message home and ask them to send some of my things over. Some extra clothes, a few of my books...”

[1/2]

>>6056978

She's still reciting her list of demands as you shoo her away in the direction of the telegraph station, secluded in a little spare room near the front door. You've always been a little suspicious of such things, but you can't deny that they save time. Leaving Elle to her business, you take a moment to brace yourself before heading to your father's study.

Nestled in the deepest, oldest part of the estate, the study feels wholly disconnected from the outside world. The windowless chamber is large, but filled with so much clutter that it feels claustrophobic regardless. There is a desk, but you can barely see it under the avalanche of papers covering it. Three of the four walls are covered with shelves bulging with books, while the final wall is adorned with a vast map. Just looking at the map, and the dozens of cramped, spidery annotations scatted across it, is enough to give you a headache.

Clearing some space at the desk, you start the long, slow process of sorting through the stacks of papers that your father left behind.

-

Time slips away as you work, and it's only the sound of Elle arriving that breaks your trance. “Sorry,” she explains, her voice tense, “I got lost.”

“Understandable,” you reply, setting aside the letter you had just finished reading, “I trust everything is taken care of?”

“Well, my family aren't exactly happy about...” her voice trails off, “Yes. Yes, it's all in hand. I shan't need to worry about running out of clean undergarments.”

You're not quite sure what kind of expression you must've made at this, but it's enough to make Elle giggle. “Anyway,” you warn, recovering your wits and glaring at her, “I've been looking at some of these letters, to see what they could tell us about my father's activities. He was often writing down to Portsmaw.”

“We know he was researching the Galseans,” Elle agrees with a nod, “They've got a big camp in Portsmaw.”

“Also,” you continue, “It seems as though he was visiting a local doctor quite frequently.”

“I wonder if he was ill...” she thinks on this for a moment, “Any other leads?”

“I've still got a lot of paper to slog to,” you point out with a frown, “I did hear that he was trying to get access to the Teilhard family archives though.”

Elle shakes her head. “I've heard that the Teilhard family can be very protective,” she recalls, “I can't imagine he had much success. We might be the same.”

“Maybe. But I've got a friend who might be able to help with that,” you muse, thinking about Daniel, “So that gives us three leads to start with. I think...”

>The doctor is closest. We could scratch that off the list fairly quickly
>The Galsean camp in Portsmaw could be important. We'll start there
>I'll contact my friend, see if he can get us into the Teilhard archives
>I've got other ideas... (Write in)
>Other

>>6056979
Where was Dunblane from? Was his territory near the Galsean camp?

>>6056979
>The doctor is closest. We could scratch that off the list fairly quickly
A lot of ground to cover. Let's start closest at hand and work our way outwards.

>>6056979
>The Galsean camp in Portsmaw could be important. We'll start there.

>>6056985
>Dunblane was a minor noble, aligned with the Pale family. So his land would nearby. Portsmaw and the Galsean camp would be further south
>I'm trying to work up a rough map for the setting, but I'm not totally satisfied with it. More work needed

>>6056979
>Doctor first, seems quick and easy

>>6056979
>The doctor is closest. We could scratch that off the list fairly quickly

“I think we should start with the doctor,” you decide, “They're closest. If we head out first thing tomorrow morning, we should be back home by the afternoon at the latest. Even if it's a false trail, we can scratch it off the list and move on.”

“I see. Then we'll do that,” Elle agrees, nodding to herself, “If we are going to get an early start, though, we shouldn't stay up too late.”

She says this with a pointed look at the masses of paper still littering the office. Looking around once more, you suddenly feel the oppressive weight of the windowless room crash down upon you. It's always been here, but you were able to tune it out until now. No longer.

You need some fresh air.

-

Morning comes all too soon. You weren't sure how well you'd be able to sleep here, back in your old home, but the exhaustion of the day left you with little choice. One minute you were listening to the wind rustling through the trees outside, the next you were waking up to the morning sun. A light breakfast is waiting for you when you go downstairs, although Alex is nowhere to be seen.

“Master Seidel went out to buy some supplies,” Elle explains, looking around from the arduous task of brushing her unruly hair, “He wanted to wake you, but I told him not to. He did give me a message, though... um, we want to speak with a Doctor Burke, in Castaigne. Is that nearby?”

“Reasonably so.”

Elle doesn't look convinced by this, but falls in after you once you've finished with breakfast. A low mist still clings to the ground outside as you leave the estate, smothering the land with grey and dulling all sound. Elle shivers, looking between the lake on one side of the estate and the overgrown forest on the other. “I could hear those trees last night,” she murmurs, “They scared me a little, if I'm honest. I kept thinking of something trying to get in through my window.”

“I never liked that forest,” you muse, “I was always told to stay out of it.”

“And...” Elle pauses, a playful smile perking up her lips, “You always did what you were told, right?”

“When it concerned the forest, always,” you pause, reconsider your words, “Almost always. One time, I...”

Elle waits patiently as your words trail off, but you just shake your head and move on. You've still got a fair hike before you reach Castaigne.

-

The largest city, such as it is, in the Pale family territory, Castaigne feels like a bustling metropolis compared with the silence and stillness of the estate. A marketplace dominates the whole city, littered with a few dozen craftsmen displaying and selling their goods. It would have been so much busier, back during the peak of your family's power, but those days are long over.

[1]

>>6057006
>One time, I..
....brought napalm into the forest to show them whatfor

>>6057006

You find the doctor's surgery easily enough, and enter into a barren waiting room. No assistant at the front desk, but the doctor herself peeks out of her office at the sound of your arrival. She stares at you for a moment before pushing the door open. “Good lord,” she remarks, still staring at you, “Young Master Pale?”

“Yes?” you answer cautiously, before a dim and distant memory stirs, “You were Doctor Stirner's assistant, weren't you?”

“You're living in the past, son. Stirner has been dead for nearly six years. I've running the shop now,” she says with a laugh, “I'm surprised you remember me. I only saw you, oh... once? And that was when you were half crazy with a fever.”

“As much as I'd love to reminisce, that's not why we're here,” you insist, scowling at the unwelcome memory, “We'd like to ask you a few questions about my father. Doctor Burke, can you make time?”

“Miranda, please,” the doctor replies, gesturing back out at the empty waiting room, “And I've got all the time in the world.”

-

“So, you want to know why Gideon was coming to see me,” Miranda concludes with a sigh, leaning back against her desk and lighting a cigarette, “Two reasons, really. Usually, he wanted laudanum.”

“Laudanum,” you repeat.

“Yep. I'd go so far as to say that he was my best customer,” she explains with a bitter, humourless smile, “He'd usually make all the proper excuses, about this pain or that, but I think he was just trying to salvage some pride. Sorry, I probably sound like a massive bitch but I figured you'd appreciate some straight answers.”

You give her a slight nod, not quite a full-throated agreement but not a denial either.

“The last time I saw him, though, he wasn't after the medication. Well, not JUST after the medication. He had all sorts of questions for me,” Miranda takes a hard draw on her cigarette, “Questions about poison.”

“Poison?” Elle yelps, looking up from her notebook. “Um, sorry...” she adds, looking back down with red cheeks.

“Yes, poison. This conversation is going to last a whole lot longer if you keep repeating everything I saw,” the doctor crushes out her cigarette and immediately lights a new one, “Specifically, he wanted to know about measuring out non-lethal doses of various poisons, and the sort of affects the might have on the body.”

“I didn't tell him, of course,” she adds after a moment, “You're a smart boy, Isambard. You can figure out why.”

“If you know how much is a non-lethal dose, you can very easily work up a lethal dose,” you answer, “Are you suggesting my father was trying to poison someone?”

“Well, I certainly don't know. I asked him why he wanted to know, but he wouldn't tell me,” Miranda says with a scowl, “He wouldn't even try to come up with a convincing excuse, just straight up ignored me. Well, after that, I sent him away with a scolding.”

[2/3]

>>6056979
>You've always been a little suspicious of such things
Our Isembard Pale HATES industrialization for KILLING his family wealth and renown, but he cannot escape its importance

>>6057021

“Isambard, can I have a word with you?” Elle whispers, “Outside?”

“You kids run along,” Miranda assure you, marching across the room to open a window and let out the thick plumes of smoke that had been gathering, “I'll be here. God know, I don't have anywhere else to be.”

Nodding your thanks, you let Elle lead you back into the waiting room. She fidgets and fumbles with her notebook for a moment as she thinks, then looks up as if reaching some conclusion. “I really shouldn't be telling you this. It's... kind of a trade secret,” she begins, “But... some oracles use certain kinds of poison. In small careful doses they purify the body and assist with receiving the Emanations' guidance.”

“That wouldn't help him though, unless-” you pause, “Gratia?”

“Did she ever show any sign of potential?” Elle insists, keeping her voice low, “Anything at all?”

“I would have known,” you state bluntly, “I knew her as well as I knew my own body.”

“Sometimes the potential manifests late, when you're much older than the norm. It's possible...” she hesitates, then shrugs, “I don't know for sure, but it's definitely possible. That's all I'm saying.”

You consider this for a moment, but you're not sure what to make of the new possibility just yet. It raises one new possibility, though. Marching back into Doctor Burke's office, and nearly choking on the smell of smoke, you launch straight into your next question. “When you last saw my father, did he have a girl with him?” you ask quickly, “She would've had silver hair, and-”

“Your sister, you mean?” the doctor interrupts, flashing you a cynical smile, “No, he was alone.”

A pause. You should've expected that she'd recognise Gratia, even from the vaguest of descriptions. Maybe something of your dismay shows on your face, because Miranda drops her callous act for a second.

“Look son, I'm sorry. I don't know what's going on exactly, but I know it's nothing good. I know there were royal staff crawling over the estate a few days back, and that's never a good sign,” she says with a sigh, “I'd help you if I could, but there's only so much that a small town doctor like me can do.”

>My father is dead and my sister is missing. That's what's “going on”
>When you last saw him, how did my father seem? Was he ill?
>How easily could my father have gotten hold of some poison?
>I have some other questions for you... (Write in)
>Other

>>6057031
>When you last saw him, how did my father seem? Was he ill?
Don't think we should leak info, and Elle could probably answer that poison question since oracles apparently do it regularly

>>6057034
+1

>>6057031
>Well I think you can guess my father got into some trouble, and I have the unenviable task of figuring out exactly what.
>Did these poisons have the side effect of focusing the mind? Sharpening the senses?
>When WAS the last time you saw Gratia?
>Did my father ever take Dunblane here?

>>6057051
+1 these too; my original vote is >>6057036

File: MIranda Burke.jpg (327 KB, 1024x1024)

327 KB JPG

You take a moment to choose your next words carefully. Rumours might be flying around, but that's no reason to casually confirm them. The truth will get out eventually, you're sure of that, but you don't see any reason to hasten it. “When you last saw him, how did my father seem?” you ask, quietly impressed at how mild, how disinterested, your voice sounds, “Was he ill?”

“How was he..?” Miranda wonders to herself, “Now, that's a harder question to answer than you might think. Whenever I thought I had an idea of his mood, his mindset, he was showing me something else. He seemed desperate, I suppose, if you absolutely MUST sum it up in a single word. Desperate, but somehow at peace with himself as well. As if he'd finally reached some terrible decision.”

And then, you presume, he was dead not long after that meeting. Maybe he already knew what was coming, and he'd accepted his fate. “Was he always alone when he came here?” you ask next, “Did he ever come with Master Dunblane?”

“There was one time when they both came on the same day, but that seemed to be a coincidence. Not a very happy one, either – they could barely look at each other in the waiting room,” Miranda frowns suddenly, “And if you're about to ask me about Master Dunblane's confidential records...”

“I am, actually,” you tell her, “It could be important. My father... got himself into some trouble, and I've got the unenviable task of picking up the pieces. Master Dunblane might be involved too, so... tell me. Please.”

The doctor stares at you for a long moment, then heaves a heavy sigh. “If this comes back on me, I'm going to send you a very angry letter,” she warns, “But Master Dunblane often came to me with sleep complaints. He claimed to be suffering from terrible nightmares, and hoped I'd be able to make them go away.”

“And...” Elle asks, breaking her silence, “Could you?”

“I told him to talk to a priest,” Miranda remarks dryly, “I know my limits. Aside from that, I offered Laudanum as well but he wouldn't take it. Maybe he knew it wouldn't work. Eventually, he stopped coming.”

“And what about Gratia?” you ask, before the conversation can get even more off-track, “When WAS the last time you saw her?”

“Would've been the same time I saw you. You both came down with that wicked fever. Your father really thought you might die, you know. Even with everything that happened afterwards, I never saw him more frightened than he was on that day,” the doctor shrugs, “And then I heard that he packed you both off to Coral House. Figure that one out.”

You've spent the last ten years trying to do just that, and you're no farther forwards.

[1]

>>6057060

“These poisons he was asking you about,” you recall, “Did any of them have... beneficial side-effects? Like sharpening the mind or honing the senses?”

“Most poisons can have SOME benefits when taken in small doses. That's just medicine, you know? But he was mostly asking about... shoot, I made a list,” Miranda pauses to rummage through her desk drawer, “Just in case the magistrates came knowing. You know how it is – I'm just covering my tail. Ah, here we go. Monk's hood, wolfsbane, hemlock... all nasty stuff.”

You glance aside, and although Elle's gaze never leaves her notebook she gives you a slight shake of her head. Nothing that an oracle would use, you assume.

“Thank you, doctor,” you conclude with a heavy, inward sigh as you turn to leave, “In the best possible way, I hope I never have to come see you again.”

“It's mutual,” Doctor Burke concludes, with a wave and a crooked smile, “See you around, Young Master Pale.”

-

“Are you okay?” Elle asks as you're walking back through the streets of Castaigne, “You're awfully quiet.”

“Just thinking,” you reply, glancing about to make sure that you're not being overheard, “What kind of poisons would you oracles use?”

“Well, I wouldn't... ahem,” she pauses to think, then starts listing them off on her fingers, “There's Rooker's lotus, sun's warning, manticore bile – that one isn't as disgusting as it sounds – and... um, I think that might be it. Oh, and there's green dagger root but that one is SUPER rare. I don't even know where it grows.”

Quite the list. “How easily would someone get their hands on any of those?” you ask next.

“Unless they were an oracle themselves, pretty hard. The Silvera family are the only ones allowed to grow those plants, and they keep a careful watch on them,” Elle shakes her head, “If you just wanted a poison to, you know, kill someone there are far easier options. Besides, it sounds like your father wasn't looking for any of them. Are you still thinking about Gratia?”

“It would make sense,” you admit, “If she really was an oracle, I mean. That would explain why my father would have taken her with him... because he had a use for her.”

“Hey, come now. Don't be so gloomy,” Elle stresses, reaching down and taking your hand, “That's not going to help anyone, now is it?”

“Maybe I don't want to help anyone,” you shoot back, “Maybe I want to sulk.”

For a moment, just a moment, Elle takes your words at face value. Then he lets out a relieved laugh and slaps you lightly on the arm. “Well then, Master Pale,” she says, stressing the formality, “When you're finished sulking, what would you like to do?”

>Let's go back to the estate, see if we can dig up any new leads
>We can catch a train to Portsmaw from here, check the Galsean lead
>The Teilhard family is our best lead. I'll get in touch with my friend
>Other

>>6057077
>The Teilhard family is our best lead. I'll get in touch with my friend
Dang dad, you couldn't have left a will or something

>>6057077
>The Teilhard family is our best lead. I'll get in touch with my friend

“I think the Teilhard family might be our next best lead,” you tell the oracle, “I know my father was pushing hard to get access to their archives, so there must've been something there he was interested in. He never got what he was looking for, but...”

“If we know what he was looking for, it might help us figure out why he wanted it,” Elle finishes for you, “Okay, so we've got our next destination! Now we just need to figure out how to get in. That, um, that might be the problem.”

“Fortunately for you, I've already got a plan for that. I'm playing this game six moves ahead,” you remark with a bold smirk, “I'll need to get in contact with an old, ah, associate from the college. If I call in a few favours, we're sure to get the help we need.”

Does Daniel actually owe you any favours? You can't quite remember. Still, there's a good chance that he won't remember either – you'll just lie and say he does. It's always worked in the past.

Maybe it's something to do with your triumphant grin, but Elle doesn't say much on the way back to the estate.

-

Punching your message out on the telegraph machine is a slow, methodical processes – embarrassingly so, in fact- but eventually the message is off and away to Coral House. Hoping for a swift response, you go for a quick snack before heading upstairs to sit by the main window. Watching the mist roll of the surface of Lake Hali, you feel your fatigue wash away. At some point, and you don't notice exactly when, Elle joins you by the window.

“No sign of your luggage arriving,” you point out, purely for the sake of something to say.

“Mm, yes. It's fine though,” Elle replies, her dress whispering softly as she shrugs her shoulders, “It's probably just someone in the family making things difficult.”

“You don't get along with your family.” It's not a question.

Elle shrugs again. “I really mustn't complain,” she says at last, “There's no serious problems to speak of. No ancient feuds or terrible secrets. We just don't see eye to eye.”

There's more to it than she's letting on, of course – you don't the advantage of your Insight to know that – but you leave it be. You've got more than enough secrets of your own, you're not going to try and dig up hers. Not without a good reason, at least.

Downstairs, a bell chimes to announce the arrival of a telegram. Ripping off the flimsy sheet of paper, you read the words as Daniel typed them out. “Sounds good mising you already old boy. Meet for lunch at town tomorrow if good for you. Same br as always.”

“He types like he was dropped on his head as a child, but that's about what I was expecting,” you sigh aloud, “At least he's willing to meet up, so let's not be too demanding. What are a few stray letters between friends?”

Or associates, as the case may be.

[1/2]

>>6057105

You take the late train from Castaigne, arriving at the twin fortresses that make up Coral House. Disembarking at the station, you catch yourself staring across at the Distaff as you always do. How many times did you stare at that place, indulging in the ludicrous fantasy of sneaking inside to see Gratia once again? And what of her, did she also spend long hours gazing at your prison and dreaming about you?

“The same... I'm assuming that means “bar”... as always,” Elle thinks aloud, “Which bar would that be, exactly?”

“The same one we always went to, clearly.”

“Yes, but-” she cuts herself short, slapping you lightly on the arm, “Fine. I'll just follow behind you like a good little assistant.”

“Now you're getting the hang of things,” you tell her, smirking a little at the pout on her face, “It's not far. I do hope we don't get there too early – I somewhat doubt he'll be as prompt as I'd like.”

But your guess would have been incorrect – when you arrive at the Chymist, which is really more of a restaurant than a bar, Daniel and Jan are both waiting for you. They both rise as they spot you, offering formal bows as you sit. “Miss Legrasse, these are my colleagues. Daniel Teilhard and Jan Martense.”

“Good day to you both,” Elle replies, although she can't help but smile a little to herself, “Dan and Jan?”

“Please, by all means pretend that you're the first person to make that joke,” Daniel says with a laugh, “You won't be, but there's no harm in pretending. Regardless, Miss Legrasse, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Oh, and just blink twice if this gargoyle has you here against your will. I'll be all too happy to swoop in and rescue you.”

“Just try not to make a scene if you do,” Jan adds with a theatrical sigh, “I don't want to get thrown out before we have our lunch. I'm starving!”

“Business first,” you announce, leaning forwards and looking Daniel in those eyes, “I've got to call in some of those favours you owe me.”

“I don't remember...” a frown distorts Daniel's annoyingly handsome face for a moment before he waves the thoughts away, “Oh whatever, you've got a better memory for these things than I do. What do you need?”

“The Teilhard family archives. I'd like... I need a chance to examine them,” you tell him simply, “That shouldn't be too hard, right?”

As if by magic, the frown reappears. “I suppose I HAVE been meaning to go home for a bit...” Daniel mutters, “Tell you what. Come with me, and I can talk it over with the family. If they agree, great. If not, you can call it a holiday. It's a win-win situation!”

If you had just one tenth of his optimism, you'd be unstoppable.

>I'm going to pause things here for today and start some forward planning. Next session will be tomorrow, same approximate start time
>Thanks for reading!

>>6057114
>“Business first,” you announce, leaning forwards and looking Daniel in those eyes, “I've got to call in some of those favours you owe me.”
>“I don't remember...” a frown distorts Daniel's annoyingly handsome face for a moment before he waves the thoughts away, “Oh whatever, you've got a better memory for these things than I do. What do you need?”
All according to keikaku
Thanks for running!

Just as we think dad was stabbed from behind the doctor brings us back to poisons. Maybe it was a poison that makes your heart explode out of your back. You never know!

>>6057119
Or maybe someone he poisoned stabbed him in the back, completely destroying living memory of Father's dangerous research...

>>6057114
There's the possibility that he signed on with some very not cool things to keep the twins alive.

Meeting with Gratia will probably be a very impactful event.

>>6057119
Could be dad faked his death with non-lethal poisons. No better cover than a dead man.

>>6057278
Then how come the oracles all saw him dead?

>>6057278
If he was faking his death I think he'd leave behind more evidence of it, as is we only know he's dead because of oracles.

>>6057278
>>6057119
>>6057122
Maybe he was making bootleg versions of the semi-secret oracle poison-mixes for Gratia, to approximate an oracle's powers, or some alternative form of ESP?

>>6057278
>>6057331
The closest version of that would be to poison the body enough that it looks like a completely different body to oracle-vision.

So the poison becomes a supernatural stealth than a physical one.

>>6057283
>>6057290
Not necessarily. Going off what's already been said we have:

>We are certain, yes. The royal oracles – every single one – agrees on this,
and
>“I see him lying on a stone floor. Blood is pooling in the cracks in the tiles, but not much. I don't see any wounds,
>They must be on his back. I know this, even without looking. I know that he was struck from behind. I look into his face, and he seems... calm.

Which initially appears like he's been knocked on the head from behind and killed, but there's not much blood and no wounds. Couple that with him researching non-lethal doses of poison and what that might do I think it sounds plausible.

>>6057342
She seems pretty sure he was struck from behind though, where does that come in? Or do you think she's just wrong?

>>6057344
They GUESS he was struck from behind, based on how the blood is flowing and how he's fallen.

But even with being near MC, that's as far as they got. It's still possible there is some deception at play, although to what end is still a huge mystery. The father doesn't seem like someone who would entrust MC with anything.

File: House Teilhard.png (1 MB, 800x1200)

1 MB PNG

Comparing the Teilhard family lands with your own dismal little fiefdom is like comparing night and day. The sun here shines bright and brilliant, casting a warm light across seas of gently waving wheat. Riding through this idyllic landscape in a slow, open-topped carriage feels like a dream, the peace broken only by the occasional thunder of rifle fire. There's always gunfire here, you gather, as new cohorts of young men and women undergo their mandatory training.

With his uniform jacket stripped off and his shirt sleeves rolled up, Daniel looks more like a satisfied farmer than a young noble officer. You, on the other hand, are withering beneath the brutal sunshine. Elle, sitting beside you, is taking cover beneath a dainty parasol and you feel tempted to join her, no matter how damaging it might be to your masculinity. Your one consolation is that Jan seems to be suffering even more than you are.

“So, Miss Legrasse, you were saying that you grew up around here?” Dan calls out, raising his voice over the clatter of the carriage wheels.

“Not quite here, but we're very close,” Elle replies, “My family is a vassal to House Silvera.”

“Basically the same thing,” you scoff, thinking of the heritage shared between the two families.

“I'll let you off with that one, but don't let anyone else in the family hear you say that!” Daniel agrees with a laugh, “So, Bard, why exactly do you need to check the archives? I don't think you've actually mentioned.”

Elle glances nervously aside to you, but you just give Daniel a careless, casual shrug. “I heard a rumour that the Teilhard family archives hold the secret to eternal young and, more importantly, eternal virility,” you drawl, “I don't quite believe it myself, but I just have to try and see it with my own eyes.”

“Bard, my man, you're talking nonsense,” he replies, leaning forwards and giving you a good-natured punch on the arm, “There's no secret. It's just good Teilhard blood, raised on good Teilhard soil!”

By the time he's finished laughing, he's forgotten all about his original question.

-

Siegfried House, the ancestral home of House Teilhard, is half sprawling estate and half fortress. House Teilhard is a large family, far larger than House Pale has ever been, and their home is sized to match. Uniformed servants bow as Daniel leads you into the main hall, a swagger in his step. Passing through the entrance hall is like looking back through the generations, oil paintings of previous ancestors glaring down from their lofty perches. With so many medals and commendations on display, a lesser man might be made to feel quite insignificant. You barely pay them any attention, no different to how you might ignore the whining of a pauper.

[1/2]

>>6057561

Davidian Teilhard, the family's chosen representative on this occasion, doesn't look much like his son. His hair is dark, swept back from a face with deeply hooded eyes and a hawkish nose. It's a face that seems capable of great cruelty, if worn by one more villainous, but here its strengths are bent towards more virtuous goals.

“Welcome to Siegfried House,” he begins, rising from his seat and offering you a formal bow, “Young Master Pale, Daniel has often mentioned you in his letters. He tells me that you're a man of honour and a good friend to him.”

You couldn't possibly understand where he got that impression, but you're not about to deny it either. “He flatters me,” you answer, retuning the bow, “I merely consider it a privilege to stand by his side.”

“Hmm,” Master Teilhard muses, a hint of knowing cynicism flashing across his eyes, “Well, enough flattery – for both sides. Though it may be terribly rude of me, I must ask. What task could bring the heir to House Teilhard and a vassal of House Silvera together in common purpose?”

“I consider myself to be a pragmatist, Master Teilhard. I'll work with whoever I deem necessary,” you answer, “It is true that we come from very different circles, but I see that as an advantage. A different perspective can only offer benefits.”

“Within reason, of course,” the older man points out, “And this task – which you so diligently avoided revealing – has brought you here, seeking out our family archives. May I ask why?”

You were able to bluff Daniel off with a joke, but that won't work nearly so well here. Your best bet is to tell the truth – or a distorted version of it, at least. “I understand that my father was also seeking access to your archives,” you reply plainly, “I wished to see why, to find out what he was looking for.”

With a low growl of thought, Master Teilhard sits back in his chair. “Then you will also know that I denied your father access,” he points out, “I did not trust his intentions. Why should I treat you any differently?”

“Because I am not your father,” you state, and you don't have to fake the sense of defiant pride in your voice, “Your son has already vouched for me, as a man of honour, and I hope that you can see in me what he sees too.”

Master Teilhard considers this for a long moment, casually stroking a long scar on his face. “Let me ask you this,” he says eventually, “Are you here, acting on your father's behalf?”

You hesitate for a moment. From the way he speaks, he doesn't seem to know about your father's death. Even the rumours don't seem to have reached his ears as yet.

>[Truth] My father is dead. I'm following in his footsteps
>[Half-truth] No, my father knows nothing of this. I'm acting on my own
>[Lie] Yes. My father has respectfully sent me to act in his stead
>Other

>>6057356
Maybe - when she said she KNEW he was struck from behind I interpreted that as oracle knowledge, the same way she could see his body, rather than just a guess

>>6057563
>Truth
We did already tell Jan now that I think about it

>>6057563
>[Truth] My father is dead. I'm following in his footsteps
it's fine for the heads to know, and I find it doubtful that anyone would try to prey on MC's house if they didn't before.

Master Teilhard's ignorance might be something you can use to your advantage. Springing the truth on him might unsettle him, perhaps even shake him into slipping up. You're not optimistic enough to expect sympathy from the man, but if he's willing to hear you out then that'll be enough for you.

“My father is dead,” you announce, causing Daniel's head to jerk around in shock. “I'm here following in his footsteps,” you continue, “I hope that I might be able to understand him a little better that way.”

The old soldier is silent for a moment, his fingers pausing against the ragged scar on his face. “Dead,” he repeats eventually, “I see... and yet, you still wish to follow his path?”

“Ideally, without the “dying” part,” you say dryly. Master Teilhard lets out a short laugh at this, rising from his seat and pacing the length of the office as he thinks. You're conscious of Daniel's staring eyes fixed on you, but you ignore him for now.

“I know what your father was looking for,” Master Teilhard says at last, “There is a very old book in our archives, written by one of our long-departed oracles. I believe it is called “The Tale of the Hind”. A work of pagan superstition, if I can be frank. I do not know why an educated, modern gentleman would want to read such a thing. Were it not written by one of our revered ancestors, I would have had it burned long ago.”

“I'm certainly very glad that you didn't,” you tell him, “My father may have believed that the book held a Lesson.”

He raises an eyebrow in polite surprise. “Is that so?” he muses, “Then, the book must hold some value. So if I was to allow you to read it, I would be justified in asking for something in return – wouldn't I?”

It's a fight to keep the bland, calm smile on your face, but you somehow manage it. “That would be your right, Master Teilhard,” you reply quietly, swallowing down a pang of angry pride, “But I fear that I have little to offer you in return, my family's fortunes being what they are.”

“Then I shall make it easy on you,” Master Teilhard decides, “I would ask you to check on one of my vassals in the west, at Fort Venger. There is a distant relative of ours there, a cousin of the family. She has not written to us in some time, which I find curious. Pay them a visit and see if they require any assistance, and I shall grant you your request.”

Elle winces softly beside you. Asking you to undertake a menial errand like this isn't quite an overt insult, but it's very much a snub. “I can't agree to something like this without knowing the full picture,” you point out, “Can you tell me about these vassals?”

“The Venger family are, to be frank, unremarkable,” he states bluntly, “They have guarded the western border for generations, but it's a role that allows few opportunities for glory. They've never given House Teilhard cause for trouble either, however.”

[1/2]

>>6057579

“Mm,” you murmur, “And the girl?”

“Ariel Teilhard. Her father sent her to live on the frontier in the hopes that it might tougher her up. Hopes, I understand, that are yet to bear fruit,” the old soldier dismisses the subject with a wave of his hand, “An intelligent girl, I'm told, but her family have little love for her. Still, if she has come to some harm in the mountains then the Vengers have a duty to report it.”

“I certainly hope she's okay,” Daniel mutters to himself. Master Teilhard spares him a passing glance, but leaves the comment unanswered.

“This is what I am asking you,” he tells you directly, “If you do this task for me, I shall open our archives to you. This is more than a fair trade, given what you've told me about this book.”

You and your big mouth. Still, ignominious as it may be, it sounds like a simple enough errand.

>Very well. I'll do this errand for you
>This errand is beneath me. I'll have to decline
>I have some questions about your request... (Write in)
>Other

>>6057580
>Very well

>>6057580
>pressure him to also share more details on the father's visit after the errand.
>How he pinpointed that particular book, his condition at the time, whether he was carrying anything on his person, etc.

>>6057592
Supporting

“Very well, I'll do this errand for you,” you decide with a sigh, “But when I return, I'd like to continue this discussion. If there's anything else you might be able to tell me about my father, I want to hear it.”

“Naturally,” Master Teilhard agrees, giving you a firm nod, “I shall see to it personally upon your return. Daniel, I want you to accompany Young Master Pale. You still remember the route to Fort Venger?”

“Absolutely,” the younger man agrees, “If we take horses, we should be able to arrive by the early evening and be back here by the following day. Nice and easy.”

“I think I might pass on this one,” Jan says, breaking his long silence, “You really don't need me tagging along and getting in the way. Besides, I hate horses.”

He really does. You remember riding classes from Coral House, when a horse nearly bit his fingers off. That's not the sort of thing that you forget in a hurry.

“I think... I should stay behind as well,” Elle adds hesitantly, “Maybe I'm still tired out from the journey here, but I don't feel very well. I don't want to push myself too hard.”

You study her for a long moment. True enough, she looks slightly paler than normal. “Very well,” you tell her, “We should be back soon enough.”

As you're getting ready to leave with Daniel, though, the young oracle speaks up once more. “Red and white,” she says suddenly, in the deep, hollow voice that you've come to associate with her strange powers.

“Red and white?”

“Red and white,” she repeats, “No, I don't know what it means either. But it's probably important somehow. Just... keep your eyes open, okay?”

“Always,” you promise.

-

Heading west from Siegfried House on horseback, you keep your eyes open for anything that might fit with Elle's vague prophecy. Daniel rides ahead of you in a silence that is uncommon for him. Just as you're about to give him a verbal prod, he glances around at you. “I hope Ariel is doing okay,” he begins, “Someone should've checked on her before now.”

“I'm sure everyone has just been very busy,” you reply, fighting the urge to roll your eyes, “Do you know her?”

“That's... hard to say. We've never actually met, but I've read some of her letters,” Daniel admits, “I feel sorry for her, you know? She was a frail, sickly child, so she can't be a fighter. She's not very good with people, so she'll never be a family diplomat, and she's yet so show the slightest hint of potential as an oracle. As far as the family is concerned, she's got nothing to offer.”

Spurned by her family, with no place in the world to call her own... it's easy to see why Daniel might feel sorry for her – and equally easy to see why her parents might have banished her far away.

“Well, I don't know. Maybe she just hasn't felt the need to write lately,” Daniel adds with a shrug, “We might all be getting worked up about nothing.”

[1]

>>6057610

You ride along for a few hours more, entering the merciful shade of a small forest clinging persistently to the base of the western mountains. Beyond that border lies neighbouring Rhyl, and you have a sudden pang of unease. What if they attacked the fort? It's true, relations between your two nations have been peaceful for several years now, but Rhyl has been unstable of late. Peace can be broken in an instant.

“Hey there,” Daniel calls out, pointing off into the trees, “Bard, what do you make of that?”

“I told you not to call me-” you begin, only to fall silent as a flash of white catches your eye. A birch tree with brilliant white bark, the leaves reddened as if autumn has come early. “Red and white,” you think aloud to yourself, dismounting and wading into the undergrowth. Daniel crashes along behind you, his cursing and clumsy steps almost drowning out the low buzz of the flies circling nearby.

Circling the strange tree for a moment, you spot a dark shape half-hidden by the long grass. A large bird of some kind, transfixed by an arrow and eaten up by the first stages of decay. Daniel curses again at the sight of it, waving away the flies that stir up from the disturbed corpse. “That's Ariel's hawk,” he says suddenly, “She... she trained it to carry letters back and forth. Smartest bird I ever saw.”

“Not smart enough,” You murmur as lean a little closer and search for any sign of a discarded letter. If the bird really was carrying a message when it was shot from the sky, someone has taken it since. “Stay on your guard,” you tell Daniel, “I think this is more serious than we thought.”

“It could've been an accident, you know,” he replies, although he doesn't even sound convinced by his own words, “A local hunter, a poacher even...”

“Maybe so,” you mutter, “But even so, don't let down your guard.”

-

Before arriving at Fort Venger properly, you come to a small peasant village nestled into the low hills. There doesn't seem to be anything remarkable about the settlement, just the usual sort of hamlet that clings to noble estates like a parasite, but you dismount your horse regardless and approach a small knot of the dull-eyed locals.

“You there,” you call out, “Do you serve Fort Venger?”

“Yes sir,” the first man replies sullenly, “My wife does some of the cleaning, and I do a bit of handiwork from time to time.”

“And is everything well at Fort Venger? Have you heard anything out of the ordinary?”

“Well enough, sir,” he answers, “The wife mentioned one more bed to make. I figure they must have a guest staying, though she hasn't seen anyone new Maybe just someone right private, I'd say.”

That's almost a lead, you suppose, which is already more than you expected.

>You're wasting time here. You'd best hurry to Fort Venger itself
>You've got a few more questions for the locals... (Write in)
>Other

>>6057631
>proceed to the fort

>>6057631
>ask about Ariel. She's either someone who keeps to herself, or someone who's mingled with the peasants, and recent events might've made a change in either situation.
>ask if they've done a lot more hunting or traveling lately, excuses to brandish weapons or carry things in or out.

“There's a noble lady staying at Fort Venger. Ariel Teilhard,” you tell the peasant, “Do you ever see her around here?”

“Not around here,” he replies slowly, “Not in town.”

“What about further out?” you continue, with admirable patience, “Does she ever, say, take a stroll in the forest?”

“I haven't seen the little miss in years,” an older woman adds, butting into the conversation, “I remember when she first came here, all the way back when. She was all swaddled up in a heavy cloak, and had a servant hurrying her along to the fort. Then the servant came back alone, and that was the last I ever saw of her.”

The more you hear about her, the more sinister this all seems. Even her letters are starting to seem suspicious now. Handwriting can be forged, after all...

“What's the hunting like around here?” you ask suddenly, “It seems like a good season, for hunting or just for travelling.”

The peasants stare at you with dull, unthinking eyes. “We're not supposed to hunt here,” one says finally, “But Master Venger sometimes comes to hunt game.”

“With a bow, say?”

“With a rifle, sir,” the peasant says, shaking his head, “He's not a very good shot though. Comes home empty-handed more often than not.”

“But other than Master Venger, would anyone else carry weapons around here?”

“Not really, no. Maybe a knife for tool use,” he shakes his head again, “Not much need for weapons here, I suppose.”

It's clear that you're not going to get much useful information out of these dullards. With a firm nod to Daniel, you move on.

-

Leaving your horses with the locals, and quietly hoping that the beasts don't end up as someone's supper, you make the final approach to Fort Venger on foot. The fort is larger than you were expecting, more like a fortified manor planted high up in the mountains. The most prominent feature is the tower rising high above the rest of the manor, no doubt used as a lookout post in more hostile times.

The front door swings ajar as you approach, and a tall man casually steps out – as casual as he can be with a military rifle held at low rest, at least. When he spots Daniel, though, he slings the rifle and grins broadly. “Young Master Teilhard!” he calls out, “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Oh, just checking in!” Daniel calls back, before muttering to you, “Bruce Venger, head of the family.”

“The famous marksman,” you sneer back, then raising your voice and waving to the man, “Good day, friend!”

Marching across, Venger shakes your hand with a firm – a little too firm – grip. “We don't often get visitors here,” he remarks, “I'll have to get a spare room made up. Don't worry though, there's plenty of room. And you've come just in time for dinner!”

With that, he ushers you inside. When the heavy door slams shut behind you, though, you can't help but feel a pang of unease.

[1]

>>6057658

Master Venger gives you a brief tour, at least of the lower level of the manor. When he notices you glancing at an ancient, faded banner hanging on the dining room wall, he lets out a laugh. “That's an old family heirloom,” he explains, without waiting for you to ask, “My ancestor carried that standard into battle during the Unification Wars. It's seen a lot of honourable fighting in its time.”

And now it hangs on the wall in a dismal little border fort, waiting for a war that might never come. It's not even a particularly nice banner, a muddy brown background colour with a tower artlessly sewn into it with white thread. When Master Venger's brow dips in a frown, though, you feel the sudden need to say something nice about it.

“You do your ancestors proud by carrying the banner still,” you offer. Your words sound insincere, even to you, but Master Venger accepts them with a hearty grin. “Master Venger, while we are naturally delighted to share your hospitality, we came here for a reason,” you continue, before he can launch into his entire family history, “May we speak with Miss Teilhard?”

It's impressive, really, how fast a smile can vanish. “Miss Teilhard is... not able to talk right now,” Venger manages to say, tugging nervously at his collar, “That is to say, she is... unwell.”

“Then perhaps sending her home to see the family physician would be a good idea, no?” you suggest, glancing around at Daniel with a scowl, “Isn't that right, Master Teilhard?”

“Yes yes, absolutely,” he yelps, snapping back to attention, “Just how ill are we talking here?”

Venger's face squirms with discomfort. “I fear that a physician would do her no good,” he says awkwardly, “I fear that Miss Teilhard's nerves have failed her. Perhaps it was the isolation here – it can be difficult for some, especially someone as sensitive as she is. Until we started keeping her indoors, she would wander for hours and hours on end.”

“You're keeping her locked up?” Daniel demands, his face darkening.

“You must understand how dangerous it was,” Venger insists, “She wouldn't look where she was going. It was like she was in a whole other world. We had to do it, for her own safety. Now, she sleeps most of the day.”

Daniel's expression softens a little, but remains troubled. “I see,” he murmurs, “But you haven't told my father about this.”

“It is... a difficult subject,” Venger admits, “I agree, he must be told, but I do not wish to bring further disgrace to her family either. I confess, I have held my silence in the hopes that she will come to her senses. But with each day that passes...”

His voice trails off here, disturbed by a faint, echoing wail that drifts through the manor.

“The sound of the door must've woken her,” Venger says sadly, “When she doesn't sleep, she cries.”

[2/3]

>>6057668

“Please, Young Master Teilhard, do not think that I've been idle here,” Venger continues quickly, as soon the eerie crying has faded away, “I'm doing what little I can. I have invited a specialist here, a man who might be able to ease Miss Teilhard's suffering. He has only arrived recently, however, and he has warned that his work can be slow.”

“And, am I correct to assume that Miss Teilhard is now confined to that wonderful tower we saw from outside?” you ask, frowning to yourself.

“I know it must seem cruel, but I have my own family to consider,” Venger whines, “You heard her just now. It's an impossible position for all of us, but-”

You halt his complaints with a gesture. You don't actually care that much about the morality of it, you just wanted to confirm where he was keeping her. “Excuse us, please,” you ask Master Venger, practically dragging Daniel a few paces away so you can talk in private. “So?” you hiss, “What do you think?”

“From the letters she wrote, Ariel never struck me as... unstable,” Daniel replies with a cautious shrug, “But God, Bard, I'm not a doctor! I suppose father just wanted us to find out why she wasn't writing. We've done our job... haven't we?”

Maybe. Or maybe not.

>This is pointless. You've held up your side of the bargain, time to go back
>Maybe you can have a look around the manor, see what you can find
>You should try and speak with some of the servants, see if they know anything
>This nerve specialist must know something. You should find him and have a word
>You've got some questions for Venger... (Write in)
>Other

>>6057681
>This nerve specialist must know something. You should find him and have a word
Young Master Pale should leave, but destroying this Venger fellow seems fun

>>6057681
>This nerve specialist must know something. You should find him and have a word
A doctor who specializes in uncommon nervous disorders that make one prone to strange, perilous journeys? Sounds like his insights could be useful to our main quest, hm?

“I want to have a word with this nerve specialist,” you mutter to Daniel, “See what he has to say for himself. I'm sure he knows something about what's really going on here.”

“You... don't think Venger is telling the truth?” Daniel whispers, his eyes widening.

“Do you?” you shoot back. Daniel might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but even so...

“I don't know,” he admits fearfully, “If he IS lying, then what? What for?”

“That's what I want to find out,” you growl. Maybe you're taking this too personally, but the thought of a girl being locked up like this is hitting a little too close to home. With that you march back to Venger, pausing just long enough to paste a harmless smile on your face. “Master Venger, I hoped that I might speak with this specialist of yours,” you tell him, “I'm sure that he's very busy, of course, but I'll try not to take up too much of his time.”

“Why-” Venger begins, only to conjure up a passable imitation of your own placid smile, “I'm sure he can spare the time for a conversation. When he's not with Miss Teilhard, he's usually outside in the grounds. Hauberk is his name, Master Hauberk. I'm sure you'll be able to find him easily enough.”

“Thank you,” you stress, sarcasm dripping from your words.

-

True enough, you find Master Hauberk in the fort grounds. He sits atop a boulder and writes notes in a battered black notebook, quickly pocketing it as soon as he hears your boots crunching on the loose pebbles underfoot. A sharp comparison with the larger Master Venger, a real bear of a man, the specialist has slender, angular features and gleaming black eyes. You dislike him immediately.

“Master Hauberk, is it?” you call out, raising one hand in an indifferent salute.

“Yes?” he replies in a thin, reedy voice, “And you are?”

“Master Pale. A friend of the Teilhard family,” you answer, crossing your arm and waiting for him to climb down from the boulder. He makes no move to do so, apparently quite content to look down upon you for the whole of the interview. “I understand you're looking after Miss Teilhard,” you continue, pushing your irritation aside, “A very unfortunate case, from what Master Venger has told me.”

“A fairly standard neurosis, although obviously worsened by feminine hysteria,” Hauberk purrs, the words rolling smoothly off his tongue, “I suspect the root cause are abandonment issues. Her parents are so, so cruel.”

“I see,” a pause, “You're quite comfortable discussing a confidential case with a perfect stranger, aren't you?”

“I see no harm in it,” the specialist remarks, his thin lips curling into a smirk, “This is all between friends, is it not? This conversation doesn't have to go any further than us two.”

You could just climb up onto that boulder and give him a good shove. It would look like he slipped while climbing down. Nobody would have to know...

[1]

>>6057724

“Very well then,” you tell the specialist through gritted teeth, “Between friends, can you tell me what kind of treatment you've been giving Miss Teilhard?”

“Oh, I'd hardly call it treatment,” Hauberk says with a dismissive gesture, “We talk, or at least I try to talk to her and sometimes she talks back. She has the most frightful delusions sometimes, claiming that her family is punishing her for some... well, I don't know yet. Some imagined sin. Her thoughts tend towards the introspective, which can be a terribly disruptive thing for the feminine mind. Ah, but if I might ask... How did you know that she was ill?”

“Well, Master Venger told me,” you answer with a curt gesture back towards the manor, “But we came here because she stopped writing letters. Master Teilhard has been quite worried about her.”

Something of an embellishment, but Hauberk doesn't need to know.

“Ah yes,” he murmurs regretfully, “We had to stop her from writing. Some of the things she wanted to send home were... objectionable. All sorts of vile accusations. It only would have made Master Teilhard more upset were he to have read them.”

A slow, cold silence falls between the two of you. A horrible feeling crawls down your spine, like reaching out your hand only for it to plunge into quivering viscera. “You... stopped her from writing letters,” you say slowly.

“We took away her pens and paper,” Hauberk explains, as if he was talking to an idiot, “What did you think I meant?”

He's taunting you, and he's not even trying to hide it. As much as you want to hurl accusations at him, you're not sure how to do it without looking like a madman. You're not even sure of what you're accusing him of yet. The murder of a pet hawk?

>That will be all, Master Hauberk
>We've still got more to talk about... (Write in)
>Other

>>6057734
>We've still got more to talk about...
If it's for her... "nerves", have you considered medication of any kind to settle her?

>>6057743
+1

>>6057734
>”I think Master Teilhard would prefer to get letters no matter the contents.”

>>6057761
+1 this too

“I understand that Miss Teilhard's problem is a nervous condition,” you ask the specialist, “If that's the case, have you considered medication? If you really want what's best, it might be worth considering.”

“Spoken like a true expert. You must have some knowledge of these things yourself, hmm? It's okay, I'm not casting judgement. We must be open and honest about these things,” Hauberk replies in his oily voice, “I prefer to use medication as a weapon of last resort. All too often, I find that it just replaces one problem with another. Medication may calm her damaged nerves, yes, but it may also numb her completely. I hoped to ease her suffering with more... gentle means.”

Which sounds reasonable enough, yet the idea sends a thrill of revulsion running through you. He speaks, but without saying anything of value. He's just mouthing empty platitudes, the kind of politeness that he's expected to say.

Maybe you're projecting.

“That will be all, Master Hauberk,” you conclude stiffly, “I believe the Venger family are preparing dinner. It wouldn't do for us to miss it.”

-

With dark thoughts on your mind, you march back into the manor and nearly run straight into a pack of servants as they scurry past. They flee, squealing apologies in their wake, and you continue on with a scowl. It looks like Master Venger is preparing a feast – or what passes for one here – for you and Daniel. It's perfectly normal, expected even, for the petty nobility to throw elaborate dinners at the slightest opportunity, but you hardly feel in the mood for it.

“You look happy,” Daniel remarks as you sit down beside him at the dinner table. “I had a wander while you were gone,” he adds in a low murmur, “Awful lot of locked doors around here. One in the guest rooms, which I assume is for their doctor friend.”

“I don't think he's a doctor.”

“Whatever,” Daniel shakes his head, “I even tried the tower, but Venger's wife was at the door. She wouldn't let me speak with Ariel – said I should “let her rest”, the witch. Wait, that's her now.”

His voice drops to silence as a woman hurries in, making some last minute adjustments to her gaudy outfit. She's plump and pretty, you suppose, with the sort of golden hair that is common amongst the Teilhard families, but like everything else with this place, you're left with a bad taste in her mouth. With her fleshy body squeezed tight into a silk dress and bodice, she resembles a maggot in some loathsome way.

[1/2]

>>6057769

“Ah, I'm so pleased to meet you. Young Master Pale, isn't it?” she says breathlessly, offering out her hand to you, “Constance Venger. I'm terribly sorry, but I can't stay to chat long. A pleasure, though. A real pleasure.”

You take her hand and kiss it, as customer demands, although the clammy feel of her flesh makes your skin crawl. “I hope you'll stay and enjoy our hospitality,” she continues, “I must be off now. I don't like to leave the kitchen staff without supervision for too long. Oh, I just know that they'll ruin the roast!”

As soon as Constance hurries off, you lean over to Daniel. “If we can get everyone gathered here for dinner, that might be our chance,” you whisper to him, “I'll try and slip away. You keep them all distracted.”

“Slip away?” Daniel murmurs, trying to mask his surprise, “Where, the tower?”

“Maybe. I haven't thought that far ahead yet,” you reply, “Maybe search that snake's room, see if he left any incriminating evidence lying around.”

“Evidence of what, though?” the young soldier hisses, only to silence himself as a servant arrives to pour rich, dark wine into his goblet. “I don't know about this,” he murmurs, “If they catch you in the act, it'll...”

“It'll WHAT, Daniel?” you hiss, angered by the sudden display of timidity, “I'll ruffle some polite feathers? I think you'll find that I don't give a damn.”

Daniel holds his hands up to mollify you. “Okay, okay, you've made your point. Honestly, Bard, you don't have to be so...” he pauses, silenced by the foul look on your face, “I'll try and keep them distracted as long as possible. Just... please try not to cause too much trouble? These are still my father's vassals, after all.”

You mutter something vaguely reassuring as the first few servants arrive carrying heavy plates of foot, with the Venger family – and Master Hauberk – filing in a moment later.

>Slipping away is too risky. Stay at the table and wait for a better moment
>Slip away when you get the chance, head straight for the tower
>Slip away when possible, try to search Master Hauberk's room
>Other

>>6057773
>Slip away when possible, try to search Master Hauberk's room
If any of these "people" have brains they'll have posted a watch on the tower.

>>6057773
This place has quite the loathsome air to it. Everybody we've come across is of a subtly unsettling nature from countenance to manners. It must be getting to Dan too.
>Slip away when possible, try to search Master Hauberk's room
This quack doctor needs to be executed

>>6057778
Actually Daniel is being way more meek and restrained here. Where's his bravado? Where's the Teilhard vigor? You better be ready to take up arms and enact righteous justice, when we find out the exact nature of the horrors these foul deceivers have been inevitably inflicting onto the sick girl they locked up in their tower.

>>6057773
>Slip away when you get the chance, head straight for the tower
If they had guards posted here, would Constance Venger have been there herself to stop Daniel?