>>918959

“First of all, I'd suggest lowering that rifle,” Wehrlain says slowly, as if he's in any position to be calling the shots, “The guards around these part are quite used to the sounds of my... ah, our experiments, but a gunshot is an entirely different matter. Shoot, and we'll have every thug on the island coming to investigate. I presume that's not something you'd care for.” Wehrlain gestures tightly as he speaks, those aimless little motions revealing a flickering fear – a very normal sort of fear, an expected thing when there's a gun pointed in his direction.

Fear or no fear, however, Wehrlain moves towards you, to the door you've just passed through. He starts to brush past you but you're quicker than the Scholar, lashing out like a striking snake and throwing him back against the wall. With the rifle weighing down one hand, you draw your knife with the other and hold the blade a meagre inch away from Wehrlain's throat. His eyes widen, flicking between the blade and the open door, and then he swallows hard.

“There's no need for that, Hunter, I was just getting the door. Civilised men, after all, close a door after they've come through it,” he tries for a smile and almost produces one, “Did you... did you think I was going to run? To escape?”

The thought, you reply, had crossed your mind.

“Well that's a fine thought!” Wehrlain laughs, “Where exactly do you think I would go? There are no ships here, no boats to leave with – perhaps you thought I might go running to the locals? The same locals who are here to keep us here? No, Hunter, this building isn't a prison – the whole island is a prison, and we're the ones locked up in it!”

Is he expecting sympathy? The way you see it, you tell Wehrlain harshly, a prison is exactly where he should be. He's not some blameless innocent, after all.

“What? Oh, of course,” the Scholar shrugs as best as he can, “Honestly, dwelling on the past like that is just a waste of time. We're all forward thinking men here, are we not?”

“Oh yes,” Brandr slurs, managing to convey both weariness and bitterness despite his broken speech, “Forward thinking. Very much so.”

With a grimace pulling your mouth into a hard, thin line, you glance across at ruined Brandr and slowly take the knife away from Wehrlain''s throat. Still keeping the blade pointed at him, the threat clear, you peer out through the ajar door at the night beyond. There's nothing, nothing out there that suggests an alarm has been raised. How long that may last, you cannot say. As you're closing the door, a scraping noise draws your attention back to Wehrlain. Chairs – he's dragging over a pair of plain wooden chairs.

“Well then,” he says as he sits, “I suppose we've got a lot of catching up to do.”

[2/3]

File: Wehrlain.jpg (94 KB, 507x700)

94 KB JPG

>>918960

“You see, my first thought was that Rast sent you here to clean house – maybe he thought we'd outlived our usefulness – but I knew that wasn't right,” Wehrlain leans back in his chair and watches you carefully, studying your face, “No, he's the sort of man who appreciates the personal touch, Rast. If there was killing to be done, he wouldn't give the job to someone else. That all leads me to believe one thing – you're not supposed to be here, are you?”

Ignoring Wehrlain's question, you settle the rifle across your lap with the barrel tilted towards him – a not so subtle reminder of who is in charge. You don't know anyone named Rast, you reply eventually, you've never met them.

“No? Well you can consider yourself lucky. A rather charmless man, I've found,” Wehrlain laughs lightly, “Your kind of man, now I think about it. Should you meet, you might get along rather well.”

For a moment, you weigh up your options, considering whether the satisfaction of shooting Wehrlain is worth raising the alarm. It's close, and the balance tips with every word that falls from the Scholar's mouth, but good sense prevails once again. Pushing the thoughts of violence out of your mind, you lean forwards slightly. You're here for information, you ask the pair, would they be willing to answer a few questions?

“If you wish,” Brandr nods jerkily, “I've no love for this place, or for its secrets.”

“Oh, why not?” Wehrlain agrees, “For old time's sake, if nothing else.”

Old time's sake, you think, of course. Nothing to do with the knife you had against his throat not so long ago.

>I'm looking for a noblewoman, Yvette Saive
>Tell me more about this Rast, and the people you're working for
>What kind of work are you doing here?
>How did you arrive here?
>I had some other questions... (Write in)
>Other

>>918961
>I'm looking for a noblewoman, Yvette Saive
>Tell me more about this Rast, and the people you're working for
>>What kind of work are you doing here?

>>918961
>What kind of work are you doing here?
Nothing good I take it.
>I'm looking for a noblewoman, Yvette Saive
>Tell me more about this Rast, and the people you're working for

>>918961
>What kind of work are you doing here?
>I'm looking for a noblewoman, Yvette Saive
>Tell me more about this Rast, and the people you're working for
These are the same people that funded your research last time Brandr?

>>918961
>Brandr, how long do you still have?
>I'm looking for a noblewoman, Yvette Saive
>How fast are the parasites adapting to the gas?

>>918984
Henryk doesn't know about the gas yet.

>>918998
.....right, looks like I really am out of it.

You're looking for a noblewoman, you begin simply, Yvette Saive. You've heard that she arrived here, is she-

“Still here? I'm afraid not. She's a flighty one, that's for sure. I only met her once, and I could tell that straight away. Not the type to stay in one place for very long,” Wehrlain smiles to himself, touching his chin as he thinks, “I wonder why that should be. Perhaps she has a good reason to keep running? It would need to be a very good reason, of course, to leave this... paradise behind.”

Always running, always seeking out a new hiding spot – it's almost as if Yvette knows that you're after her. Did she mention any reason for leaving, you press, anything about being followed?

“No, nothing like that. I rather suspect she was obeying orders. It's been a while since our, ah, benefactor has called this old place home. He didn't like the experiments, I think,” shrugging, as if he can't imagine why anyone would object to that sort of thing, Wehrlain continues, “These days, this manor is mainly for us Scholars. Oh, and Rast, but he often goes out on missions. Lucky for him.”

Considering the baleful effects of the Wehrlain engine – you've tasted that creeping madness yourself – you're not surprised that Yvette would avoid this place. Scholars, through some quirk of their blood, are somewhat less susceptible to its effect though, so they would be free to remain here. Is that the work you're doing, you press, working on his precious device?

“I'm aiming for miniaturisation,” the Scholar boasts, “Shrinking it down to the size of a backpack, so a single man can carry it with him. It's... challenging work. Getting enough power flowing through the smaller device tends to cause, well...”

“It blows up,” Brandr finishes, “And wastes dozens of hours of work.”

“You're still bitter about that?” Wehrlain shoots back, “Honestly, I thought you'd be more appreciative. It gives me more time to help with your pet project. Now that, that's a waste of time!”

The parasite, you guess, that's what Brandr has been working on. You've not seen it here, but you've got its scent. He was meddling with it before, back in the Free States, and now he's still meddling. These are the same people that funded him before, you continue, correct?

“I presume so,” the maimed Scholar nods jerkily, “They wanted me to continue my work, no limits or restrictions. Look where it got me.”

It's just about what he deserves, you think to yourself. Forcing back a dark scowl, you study his broken, twisted form. He looks like he could drop dead any minute – hell, he looks like he already has. Brandr, you ask, how long does he have left?

“Long enough,” he grunts.

[1/3]

>>919018

“You see, Brandr has made one successful discovery,” Wehrlain gloats, “He's perfected a drug to inhibit the parasite's growth. So long as he gets a regular supply, he's in no danger. Of course, it can't undo any damage that's already been done. Well, we can't have everything, can we?”

“I don't even know when I was infected, or how it happened. No visible symptoms, until I collapsed. Thought it was a seizure, until-” Brandr shudders.

“Until I got the chance to look inside that skull of his,” Wehrlain interrupts, “And what did I find, all curled up and cosy? A nest of hungry parasites, gnawing their way through all that precious meat. I got as many of them out as possible, but it was impossible to get them all. Hence the need for an inhibitor – if the remaining parasites wake up, I suspect they'll finish their meal.”

Parasites that have no visible symptoms, you mutter to yourself, a horrible thought. One grim realisation is followed by another – they didn't exterminate these new parasites, did they?

“It would have been a waste,” Brandr slurs, “We studied them. Bred them, studied their children. Fascinating. Loathsome, but fascinating. I think some got out once. Not sure how.”

“But we sorted that. Haber, one of the other Scholar here, was able to make a poison, a gas to wipe them out,” a chuckle breaks through Wehrlain's explanation, “Along with most of the local wildlife. Sacrifices must be made, I suppose.”

You could shoot both of these men down, here and now, and it would only make the world a better, safer place. Sighing, massaging your brow, you look back at Wehrlain. What can he tell you about this Rast, you asks, or the rest of the people he's working for?

“Rast is... very good at his job. A very dangerous man to cross. Not particularly imaginative, and he doesn't appreciate the finer points of scientific progress, but damn good at following orders. He's Ministry, I think, once upon a time at least. The locals are terrified of him,” Wehrlain laughs again, “He's got a blind eye, and he claimed that it lets him see into other worlds. Spirit worlds, or some such nonsense. Still, it keeps the more superstitious ones quiet. The less superstitious ones, on the other hand, he's got other methods.”

“Caught one of the guards drinking on the job once. Killed him, there and then,” Brandr gestures with one hand, the other lying limp and dead in his lap, “Stabbed him right through the eye.”

“Not really one for giving people second chances, Rast,” the other Scholar shakes his head sadly, “Dreadfully serious man. He's not here at the moment, though, so you can breathe easily. Not sure when he'll be back either – sometimes he vanishes for a day, sometimes for a few weeks at a time.”

[2/3]

>>919072

So if Rast is good at following orders, he must be getting those orders from someone else. Who, you ask, the same person that Yvette is following?

“The man in charge,” Wehrlain nods, “I'd give you a name if I could, but these people are rather obsessed with secrets, and remaining nameless. Even Rast only ever calls his employer “Sir”. On the one time I've seen them together, this Yvette didn't call him anything at all. All very coy, very careful. Some local nonsense, I believe.”

“Not local,” Brandr corrects him sharply, “That's our nonsense. There's a power in remaining nameless, and-”

“Oh, I don't care about that!” waving for Brandr to be quiet, Wehrlain continues, “In either case, these people have influence and resources, enough to sneak useful men like us out of the Free States. Their reasons... I'm less sure about that. If I had to make a guess, I'd say it was violent reform, tearing down the League and replacing it with something... else. Maybe putting the nobility back in complete control? Maybe getting rid of the nobility altogether, who knows?”

“Their leader still visits us regularly,” Brandr glares at Wehrlain, his single eye blazing with weary frustration, “Once a week, as regular as clockwork. We have to stop all experiments that day. More wasted time.”

“Really, there's not much to tell you. We're not exactly equal partners in this relationship,” Wehrlain's voice darkens, “I'd be happy with work WITH these people, but working FOR them... no, I don't like these arrangements at all. Better than being in a dungeon, I'll admit, but not by much. If you're really curious, you'd do well to search Rast's office. It's upstairs in the main building, you can't miss it. Go ahead, ransack the place. I don't care.”

You might well do that, you decide. As you're rising, however, Wehrlain clears his throat.

“There is one thing,” he begins, “How about we make a deal? I won't mention that you stopped by... if you don't mention anything about seeing us here when you head back north. This entire conversation never happened. A fair offer, wouldn't you say?”

>Fine with me. You can hide here forever, as far I'm concerned
>No chance. The Ministry deserves to know about fugitives like you
>Other

>>919121
>You just let the parasites spread. Again. In a completely new environment, to people who've never even heard of Red Eye.
>Would you even believe me if I said yes? I could just shoot both of you on my way out.

>>919121
>>Other
"You misunderstand your position. I'm going to need a reason to not kill you both right here and burn this place to the ground. I spared you Brandr and saved your life Wehrlain but I see that may have been a mistake. Your benefactors are using your new strain of parasite as a weapon to silence people. So much for wanting to cure Red Eye Brandr."

>>919121
Hi Moloch, how are you?

>Other

"When is your benefactor next due? What does he look like?"

>>919121
"Or I can do the world a favor and get rid of you both. I leave you here and you'll just keep making terrible things for these people. Seems you were right when you told me turning you in was pointless Brandr."

>>919139

>I'm feeling okay, pretty good. Taking a little more time than normal to write, though - I might be a little rusty after taking a few weeks off. Sorry if things are a little slower than normal!

read the beggining and liked the style, can someone give me a (mostly) spoiler free synopsis before I dive into the archives

>>919121
>>Other
kill them both
then somehow distroy this place

>>919158
MC is tasked by a goddess(?) to kill 12 fantastical beasts to make her whole again and in return is bestowed power (though at a cost). The quest is mostly about tracking and killing these beasts while exploring the world and society the MC lives in (bit of a mix between Bloodborne and Dishonored). In the middle of all this there is a conspiracy in the ruling government that could potentially threaten everyone's way of life.

Pausing, you turn back to Wehrlain and rest your rifle across one shoulder. His eyes flick towards the gun before returning to your face. There's a hint of uncertainty there, just slipping through his usual arrogance. Good – he should be uncertain. He doesn't seem to understand the position he's in, you tell Wehrlain firmly, he still seems to think he can give orders and make deals on his own terms. He's not offering you much – not enough to outweigh the costs of leaving them alive.

“You leave a body here, and everyone would know someone was here,” Wehrlain warns you, “You don't want to leave a trail, do you? You wouldn't-”

The only trail, you snarl, is the trail of dead bodies that they've left behind them. The parasite has spread because of them – because you let them live this long already – and it's spread quickly. It's a new world for it, a new environment for it to infest, and the people here don't know how to keep it from spreading. Does he have any idea of the damage he might have inflicted, you spit at Brandr, what happened to fighting against the parasite? What happened to finding a cure?

“A cure is no longer considered a priority,” Brandr replies flatly, “I don't even know if a cure is possible. The parasite adapts too quickly for that. I just study... no, not even that. I just watch them flourish.”

And it's definitely flourishing, you growl, his “benefactor” is using the parasite as a weapon – a tool to silence witnesses. If this is what happens when you let men like him live, why shouldn't you just put a bullet in his skull? You could do it on your way out, and leave while the guards are distracted – so why shouldn't you?

“Do it then,” Brandr shrugs, “I don't care. I'm half dead as it is. Finish the job if you want.”

“Let's not get too hasty!” Wehrlain steps between the two of you, “I'm sure we can come to some arrangement. There has to be something you want... right?”

Fine, you grunt, their benefactor. When is he next due to arrive?

“It'll be... let me thing. It'll be the day after tomorrow, if he's going by his usual schedule. Tomorrow, a number of additional guards will arrive to secure the manor. They'll search the place, checking for any dangers,” a thin, bloodless tongue slips out to moisten Wehrlain's lips, “I could hide you here somehow, I'm sure of it... provided I'm still alive, of course. A pair of dead bodies would be far less helpful. Anything out of the ordinary, and he'll go into hiding – he'll dig himself down so deeply you'll never find him, or this Yvette. I couldn't even guess where he normally hides. Only his closest allies would be able to tell you that.”

[1/2]

>>919187
kill 12 beats to make her whole again???

It's a trap guys! the colossi taught me this!

seems interesting, diving!

>>919235
You'd think it would be obvious, yet many anons try to waifu her.

>>919235
We are definitely wary but the whole situation is one big gamble really.

>>919244
The more I hear about her possibly being this 'Wild Child' the less I think of her as one.

>>919202

You look between the pair of them and consider this. It's not much – still barely enough to let them live, considering their crimes – but it presents an opportunity. A chance to meet this benefactor face to face. At that thought, a new question forms in your mind. He might not be able to give you a name, you ask Wehrlain, but can he give you this benefactor's face? What does he look like?

“He's northern, like you or me, but darker. As far as I'm aware, he's never left the southern colonies, and it shows. Dark hair, neat moustache and a...” Wehrlain touches a finger under his lower lip, just above the swell of his chin, “A little spot of beard, right here. Smartly dressed as well, like he doesn't notice the heat. You'd know him if you saw him, he's got a certain... air about him. Noble blood, even if IS a little thin.”

Of course, you muse, he's a Saive – a Dragon, just like Yvette.

“We make a good team, don't we?” Wehrlain continues, his wheedling voice cutting in before you can think too much, “I'm sure you can see the benefits of cooperation. If not... well, think on it for a while. We've got time to come to some arrangement, surely? There's no need for any... rash decision.”

Like slitting his throat and burning this place down, you suggest, that sort of rash decision?

“Exactly!” it's hard to know if the sheen of sweat on Wehrlain's forehead is from fear or the usual heat, “Exactly that sort of... silly, self-destructive nonsense. That's exactly the sort of senseless violence that I'm hoping to avoid.”

Shaking your head, you sigh sadly. It's no use, you tell the pair, you just don't have any guarantee that they'll hold up their end of the bargain. They might raise the alarm as soon as your back is turned, or lead you into some ambush. Any deal you might be able to make is just a gentleman's agreement, with nothing to back it up. On the other, killing them both would be doing the world a favour. It's a difficult position to be in.

“I'm sure,” Brandr sneers.

>Kill them quietly. They have nothing to offer you
>Keep them alive for now. They might yet prove useful
>Other

Fuck. This is a tough call.

>>919265
>>Kill them quietly. They have nothing to offer you

>>919265
>>Keep them alive for now. They might yet prove useful
I think a chance at meeting the benefactor is worth taking a risk and keeping them alive. Could always kill them after that.

>>919265
>Keep them alive for now. They might yet prove useful
Honestly I want to check out that dude's office before anything. It might have all the information we need.

>>919265
>Keep them alive for now. They might yet prove useful
Fucking hell
Lucky their "employer" is such a damned threat

>>919265
>kill them

>>919265
>Keep them alive for now. They might yet prove useful

>>919265
>Keep them alive for now. They might yet prove useful

But if they try anything... Well, we'll know.

>I'm going to close the vote now, and start on the next post. Looks like the Scholars get to live a little bit longer.
>Sorry that this is taking so long, your patience is appreciated

This isn't mercy, this is more like a stay of execution. So long as these bastards have a purpose to serve, you can't afford to give them the deaths they deserve. The decision leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, and the sly smile that blossoms onto Wehrlain's face when you take your hand away from the knife at your hip only makes it that much worse.

“I knew you were a reasonable man,” he nods slowly, “Now, I'm sure that-”

His words are cut sharply off as you grab the collar of his shirt and pull him close. Locking eyes with him, you give the Scholar a look that promises murder. No tricks, you snarl, and no treachery. If he tries anything, you'll know about it – you'll know, and he'll wish that he was safely locked away in a northern dungeon. Is that something he understands, you press, is that reasonable enough for him?

“Quite right,” Wehrlain manages, and you let him go. As soon as your grip loosens, he takes a hasty step back and gets to work smoothing out his clothes. It's all he can do to salvage a little dignity, the semblance of some control over the situation.

Brandr, you note, watched the whole affair without comment or even so much as a reaction. You've got to wonder about that, about how much of it is his newfound fatalism and how much is down to his sickness. Having a piece of his brain eaten away, that must have left him a changed man. The wheelchair, and the patch over one eye, are just physical markings – the real damage might well be hidden deep beneath the surface.

Fine, let it hide. You've got no desire to dig for it.

-

Wehrlain – almost sickeningly eager to please now – takes you upstairs to Rast's office. Brandr, for obvious reasons, doesn't come with you. You walk quietly, so as to avoid alerting any of the other Scholars that apparently share this manor. Wehrlain doesn't give you a precise guess of how many others might be here – the number can fluctuate, apparently.

“Sometimes, our benefactor will have use of someone's skills. He'll send Rast – or someone else, if Rast is on other duties – to take them to where they need to be. It's somewhat rare, however. For the most part, we're left to our own devices. It seems that our benefactor is content to let us pursue whatever research we wish. Odd, isn't it?” the Scholar raises a thin eyebrow, “He goes to all this trouble to bring us here, and then he just... sits back and lets us work. I suppose it's fine for him – we do the hard work, and he profits from it.”

Survival, it seems, has loosened Wehrlain's tongue. When he finally stops talking, his hushed voice fading out completely, you have to stifle a sigh of relief. It's the sight of Rast's office that silences Wehrlain, as if speaking in this place is enough to summon the menacing figure.

It's not just the natives that fear him, apparently.

[1/2]

>>919399
You cannot get a break with your internet in the winter huh?

>>919399

There's not much to see here. The bookshelves are fake – rows of hollow wooden blocks with a thin leather veneer to lend them the appearance of books – and the desk is uncluttered. No loose papers or unfurled maps here, unfortunately. There's an old, ornate shotgun mounted on the wall – a rich man's hunting piece, designed for blasting birds out of the air – but a cursory examination reveals that the weapon is as fake as the books. No firing pins, and the trigger is an unmoving piece. Disappointing – the gun would have made a fine trophy.

“Our employer had a real one,” Wehrlain offers, “He used to enjoy shooting the local birds, apparently. When he learned that we'd gassed the island, well... he wasn't particularly happy. In fact, I'd say he took it as a personal insult.”

Grunting vaguely, you go through the desk drawers one by one. The top drawer contains a pistol – a plain, unornamented piece – that is all too real. This one must have belonged to Rast, you decide aloud. Checking that the weapon is empty, you tuck it into the back of your trousers. No sense in leaving a weapon around for any wandering hands to stumble across, even if it is unloaded.

A few drawers down, you find a real prize – a journal, bound in faded red leather. The cover is unmarked, save for the word “journal” stamped into it. On the inside cover, however, you find the initials I.R.

“I didn't know Rast kept a journal,” Wehrlain remarks, a snide note creeping into his voice, “He never struck me as the type. Not enough action, I would have thought.”

Silencing him with a glare, you push the Scholar out of your mind and set to work skimming over the journal. It's all written in a tight, painfully precise script that makes it easy to read – no messy scrawls or florid letters here – but the wording is deliberately ambiguous. Through the context, however, you start to form a rough understanding. When Rast writes of “making a delivery”, he means bringing an individual from one island or location to the other. When he speaks of “resolving a dispute”, you presume that means a killing, or some other act of violence. It's not a code so much as a way to avoid making any incriminating records. Whatever Wehrlain things, Rast is clearly no fool.

Most of the journal follows that same pattern – deliveries and disputes, all very careful. A few pages before the end, however, the composure seems to crack. The first hint of a personality is when he complains of restless sleep. No dreams, Rast's journal states, and a constant buzzing headache.

Well, you recognise those symptoms fine enough. This must have been when Wehrlain arrived and started his experiments. Slowing down, you read the most recent entries carefully.

[2/3]

>>919483

I always thought it would be a blessing to have a dreamless sleep. What a fool I was. It doesn't feel right, sleeping without dreaming, and that just makes it harder to sleep. Newest guest claims that it's normal, and that he's never had any complaints before. Lying, of course.

-

Another new guest, and more trouble. This one is going to be a problem, I can feel it in my gut. She complains about everything – about the heat, about the conditions here, about the ill dreams she's been having. I promised her that the latter wouldn't be a problem, so long as she's under this roof. She didn't take much comfort from that. Fine – I'm not here to keep her comfortable.

At least she didn't come alone. A good sized crew arrived with her, and I won't complain about having some extra northerners to fill out the ranks. These locals are too unreliable, and loyalty is rare among them. Perhaps I can find a handful of good men in the crew, and the rest can be bought off. I'll need plenty of extra hands to keep things quiet. Our newest guest has left quite a trail behind her.

-

Another dispute that needs resolving, only this time it's down to E.E.S and his new pets. I don't understand his obsession with those things. A contamination is a contamination, it has no loyalty and it can't be controlled. No matter, his word is law – he wanted them released. Now, rumour is that they've spread beyond the target area. I'll need to clean everything, and that's no small undertaking. Fine – it won't be the first time I've wiped a town off the map.

At least our newest guest has left. Sharing one meal with her was bad enough. She's off to join E.E.S, and hopefully she'll stay there. The less I have to deal with her hysteria the better. I've got problems of my own. Maybe it's all these damn sleepless nights, but I've got an ill feeling in my gut. Something bad is coming, and I get the feeling that we're right in the centre of it.

If I could walk away from this, I would, but I'm not that lucky. Not while E.E.S has his hold over me. Hell, maybe this is exactly what I deserve – men like me don't get to settle down and play at being the decent father.

-

That last paragraph is crossed out, as if Rast had inked it into the paper and immediately regretted it – but not enough to tear out the entire page. None of the entries have dates penned in, or anything other than the stark accounts. When you flip through the blank pages, however, a photograph slips out from the back of the book. It shows a young woman, attractive enough, smiling shyly for the camera. On the back, the name “Isabella.”

[3/4]

>>919559

Rast's daughter – if that is who the picture shows – clearly has some southern blood in her. Even with the poor quality photograph, you can make out dark skin and hair. Hard to guess her age, but you'd say she was not long out of her teenage years. Her clothes look plain and practical, as if she was a servant or working some other menial job. It's hard to get much more of an impression from the small picture, but you still take a long look at it – until, that is, Wehrlain plucks the picture from your hands.

“Oh, I've seen her,” he remarks, “Our benefactor always travels with a retinue – servants, bodyguards, that sort of thing. She was one of them, although I was never quite sure what she did. I never saw her doing any sort of work, but she was never, ah... busy at night, if you understand my implication.”

Snatching back the photograph, you slip it back into the pages of the diary. This little act of voyeurism has left you feeling vaguely dirty, guilty of some ambiguous crime. It was easier, you consider, when you thought of Rast as some unseen enemy. He's a person now, with family and feelings.

Then you remember the words in his journal - “It won't be the first time I've wiped a town off the map” - and what little sympathy you felt for him withers away to nothing.

-

Slipping the journal back into the drawer you found it in, you lean back in Rast's chair – it's comfortable, perhaps the one real luxury in the entire office – and consider your options. The day after tomorrow, Wehrlain's benefactor – this E.E.S character – is due to arrive. Waiting for him here might be your best chance to “talk” with the man. There's Cid to consider, however. When you told him to wait, you weren't expecting to be here for long, a full day at most. The longer he hides out, the greater the risk of discovery grows, and that's before considering the new guards.

Once they arrive, the entire situation will change. Getting on or off this island – without some serious muscle backing you up, at least – will be that much harder. Sending Cid away would leave you without a way off the island, save for stealing a ship of your own. Not exactly an easy undertaking, especially if you've got an island full of guards to deal with.

You've got options. You just wish some of them were better.

>Send Cid away and wait until E.E.S arrives
>Wait for E.E.S to arrive, keep Cid here for an escape route
>Retreat back to New Odyss with Cid
>Ask Wehrlain or Brandr some questions... (Write in)
>Other

>>919694
>Wait for E.E.S to arrive, keep Cid here for an escape route

>>919694
>>Send Cid away and wait until E.E.S arrives
bring help

>>919694
>>Send Cid away and wait until E.E.S arrives
Have him find Camilla and tell her the situation. She can round up some manpower and arrive after E.E.S, encircle the island and make this old fashioned Ministry bust.

>>919694
>>Ask Wehrlain or Brandr some questions... (Write in)
Ask Wehrlain about his miniature machine and imply we might have some interest in it after this is over.

This is a lie. We are still going to kill him, but by doing this it gives him that slight glimmer of hope he can get out of this alive on our side instead of our deal here being a stay of execution (which it is). Otherwise he might take measures to sabotage us since he thinks he is better off with them than us.

>>919792
y would we toy with our food?

>>919825
I just gave my reason.

It's so he won't try tell guards or otherwise sabotage our intentions here because he thinks he can get out of this with us. Right now he is potentially just trying to placate us and buying time to think of a way to get one over on us cause he may think we are just going to kill him anyways after our business here is done. (He would be correct, but he doesn't need to think that.)

>>919792
This is clever, but I'm not sure I'd like Henryk to be someone who does things like that.

While sending Cid away does leave you without an easy route off his island, it does allow you to get a message back to Camilla. She can gather reinforcements – something Escher might be able to help with, perhaps – and move in to support you. With enough ships, she might be able to encircle the island and stop anyone from escaping. The thought of her swooping in to make a dramatic arrest, like something out of a radio play, brings a faint smile to your face. Maybe it won't work out quite so neatly in reality, but it's worth a shot.

There should be enough time to get back to the Navaja, pass on the message, and then return to the old manor. Easily enough time.

“You look pleased,” Wehrlain's voice drops low and cautious, as if anything that makes you happy is likely to make him very unhappy.

You've got a plan, you tell him vaguely, but that plan involves leaving him alone for a while. You can trust him not to do anything rash while you're gone, can't you? Otherwise, you add, you might have to do something rash in return. Something like-

“Yes yes, you've been quite descriptive already. Slitting throats and burning down buildings, all very menacing,” Wehrlain waves a dismissive hand at you, although the faint tremor that runs through him somewhat lessens the impact. “Really, we're complicit in this now,” the Scholar continues, “I've helped you enough that I'd be shot as a traitor as well, if I talked. Wouldn't that be a shame?”

A terrible shame, you agree, that portable machine of his might never get completed. Perhaps you've not been particularly appreciative of his work in the past, but the Wehrlain engine is important enough that it deserves to be perfected. Something for him to work on in future, you add carefully.

“In future...” Wehrlain ponders those words, a smile forming on his face as the implication becomes clear, “Ah yes, I see. I'm glad that you've come to see things that way. It's hard work, to be sure, but my latest theory is-”

Save the theories for Brandr, you tell him, for someone who might appreciate them. With that, you slip past the grinning Scholar and head for the exit. There's something vaguely sickening about how quickly he accepts praise, and how he believes it without a second thought. His arrogance is like a gaping hole in his armour, something that guides your strike straight into his heart.

He's still murmuring to himself as he hurries back to the makeshift laboratory, mumbling vague and esoteric terms to anyone who cares to listen. That should keep him busy for a while, you decide, busy enough that he won't have time to think about fucking you over.

A shame that none of it was true.

[1/2]

>>919836
he alrdy thinks his too impornet to be killed anyways
dead men tell you tales
he can and will tell on us if given t op to save his work

>>919843
I think he'd do it to Wehrlain. Hates his guts but also wouldn't underestimate a Snake blood that really wants to live.

>>919844
You know what's funny? We already had and have used portable Wehrlain machines.

Witchcraft totems.

File: Cid.png (239 KB, 400x616)

239 KB PNG

>>919844

Once you slip out of the old manor and back into the jungles, you feel a strange weight lifting from your chest. It doesn't completely ease off – you're still deep in hostile land, after all – but it's a relief nonetheless. Out here, with trees pressing in from all sides, you feel like the advantage is tilted back in your favour. It's enough of a relief that your mind can wander a little, roaming into what you'll tell Camilla.

It's possible, likely even, that Rast is going to purge the Boneyard of any witnesses – the “trail” that Yvette left behind her – and any trace of the parasites used for that same purpose. With Camilla focussing on keeping the infection contained, their paths might well end up crossing. She should be warned about him, if his dangerous reputation is anything to be believed. He's not likely to stop and ask any questions – he'll just see her as one more witness to wipe out.

-

Tracing your path back through the jungle, you pause a short way before reaching the Navaja and smell the air. A faint scent of engine oil and perfumed smoke colours the air, confirming that you're on the right track. Pushing through the last layer of broad ferns, you are met by a rifle barrel. Twisting around to point the gun at you, Cid is equally fast to jerk the weapon away. His eyes are rimmed with red, but they have the wild energy of some invigorating drug. A twist of paper, smouldering at one end, hangs from one corner of his mouth.

“Ah, my friend,” he says, taking the crude cigarette from his lips and stubbing it out, “I was starting to worry. Shall we be off, then? I'm sure you have many fine tales to share with me, but I would rather hear them with a backing tune. Say... the Navaja's engines?”

Sorry, you tell him, but you're not finished here. It's about time that he headed back to New Odyss, but you're not going with him.

“I see,” Cid shakes his head, “No, that would be a lie. You want me to leave you here, alone without any way back home. Your woman, sir, will be very sad if you never come back.”

You're coming back, you promise, but not yet. Like you said, you're not finished here. He needs to head back to New Odyss, and you want him to bring Camilla a message.

“I think I can do that,” nodding slowly, Cid sets aside his rifle, “This message, then. What do you want me to tell her?”

>I need her to gather some forces and meet me here in two days time
>She needs to watch out for a man named Rast. He's dangerous
>There are Ministry fugitives here, presumed dead back in the Free States
>Here's what I want you to tell her... (Write in)
>Other

>>920010

>I need her to gather some forces and meet me here in two days time
>She needs to watch out for a man named Rast. He's dangerous
>There are Ministry fugitives here, presumed dead back in the Free States
>That Isla Calvara is indeed crawling with REd eye like we though. Be warned.

>>920010
>>I need her to gather some forces and meet me here in two days time
"Apparently a few of the higher ups of this group is going to be arriving here. This may be our only opportunity to grab them."
>She needs to watch out for a man named Rast. He's dangerous
>New covert Red Eye strain confirmed.

>>920010
>>I need her to gather some forces and meet me here in two days time

>>920010
>I need her to gather some forces and meet me here in two days time
>She needs to watch out for a man named Rast. He's dangerous

>>920010
>I need her to gather some forces and meet me here in two days time
>She needs to watch out for a man named Rast. He's dangerous
>She can recognize Rast by his dead eye

You're going to need her to gather some forces together and meet you here, you tell Cid, but not straight away. It needs to be precise, in two days time – not a day earlier or a day later. You stress each word carefully, making sure that they're engraved upon Cid's sleep deprived mind. If Camilla arrived too soon, it would ruin everything – E.E.S is hardly going to show his face when there's a small army lurking nearby.

“Two days, I understand,” Cid nods quickly, offering you a smile that aims for reassuring but ends up manic, “I wonder, though – why will you be needing many men?”

Because there's a group here that you're trying to catch, you tell him, and the higher ups – maybe the highest – will be here. This could be the perfect opportunity to grab them. It's not just them, either – there are some Ministry fugitives here, men who have escaped justice by playing dead.

“Bad business, that,” Cid's voice turns sagely, “Some of the locals, they think that pretending to be dead invites disaster – soon, you do not need to pretend. Perhaps this is the same thing?”

Perhaps so, you tell him with a thin smile, but that's not the only disaster that might be lying in wait. There's a man named Rast, a very dangerous man, and his path might cross with hers. She needs to watch out for him – she'll be able to recognise him by his eye, blind and dead. The locals might know about him, he's supposed to have a fearsome reputation among them.

“A dead eye. The locals have their folklore about that as well,” offering that grin again, Cid tilts his head to the side, “Ah, but I think you know this already. I must confess, I do not know this Rast you speak of. What else can you tell me?”

There is one thing, you begin, he has a...

You pause, a faint wave of revulsion rising up within you. That dirty feeling again, but somewhat stronger this time. This time, you know exactly why you feel so sick and guilty. Swallowing hard, you steel yourself and finish your message. He has a daughter, you tell Cid, named Isabella. If Camilla needs some kind of leverage over him...

“I see,” this time, Cid's nod is a slow and solemn thing, “I will tell her this, but I hope it is not needed. If that was all, I'll get going. I must confess, I will be happy to see New Odyss again.”

[1/2]

>>920170

One last thing, you tell him, you've heard that there's a new strain of the Red Eye parasite – one without visible symptoms. It's definitely spread to Isla Calvara, and it might yet spread further. Camilla should be able to contain it, but only if she knows about it.

“Yes, I understand!” forcing a smile – and that's probably the first time that talking about the Red Eye Sickness has ever lightened the mood – Cid throws out a rough salute, “I will tell her this as well, my friend. I'm sure she will be very happy to hear such good tidings from you.”

Enough with the sarcasm, you scold him, this is important.

“I know, I know. Two days, no more and no less,” waving his hands at you, Cid begins to strip the crude camouflage – drooping leaves and creeping vines – away from the Navaja. Pausing only to place a loving hand on the side of the ship, he climbs on board and checks the controls. “Stay safe, my friend,” he tells you, his head emerging from the cabin, “But, ah... I think perhaps I should save my breath.”

Maybe so, you agree. Before you can say anything else, the Navaja's engine growls into life and starts to crawl away through the swamp. Turning, you start the long walk back to the old manor.

>I think I'm going to pause things here for today. I'll pick things up tomorrow, briefly switching over to Camilla's side of things, and I'll stick around in case anyone has any questions or comments.
>Thanks to everyone who posted today. Sorry for some of the longer pauses!

>>920225
Thanks for running.

>>920225

Thanks for running Moloch

>>920225
I'm sure when Cid gets around to seeing those pyres, he'll have a very different opinion of the Red Eye Sickness.

>>920170
Camilla's not likely to hold Isabella hostage, but freeing her and whoever other servants there are could really break EES's hold on some of these guys.

Well as luck would have it Rast is the one Camilla captured at the end of last thread.

>>920904
>The red eye sickness-
>new strain, I know
>They're using this gas-
>Yup, wore the necessary equipment to deal with it
>There's this guy-
>Yes. This guy, right here.

>>920922
Yeah Camilla managed to have the tougher job this time around.

Henryk just had to threaten a couple of scientists and wait for backup. Which is Camilla.

>>921028
Camilla for the MC!

Camilla

The thing about Rast, your newest friend, is that he doesn't blink enough. It's a small thing to notice, but it's enough for you to take an immediately dislike to the man. There's something telling about him, when the fact that one of his eyes is blind, white and dead is the least disconcerting thing about his gaze. With eyes as flat as painted stones, there's something unmistakeably reptilian about his stare. Worse, it's unchanging – whether he was broken, bruised and splattered with blood as he is now, or dressed in a beautifully tailored suit, he would give you that exact same cold stare.

Basically, you don't like the guy. That's fine, though – you don't need to like him. In fact, not liking him might make certain things easier.

Certain things like, say, extracting particularly pertinent information from him.

-

Rast had slept away most of the journey back to New Odyss – or perhaps it might be more appropriate to say that he had passed out for that time – but the slight change in the engine as your ship slows had been enough to rouse him. There had been no momentary confusion or disorientation, he simply rose upright and took careful stock of his surroundings. Once that had finished, he settled down, met your gaze and held it for the last stretch of the journey. Not a challenging gaze or a studious one, just the unfeeling gaze of someone who needed to put his eyes somewhere.

That was probably the point at which you started to dislike him, come to think of it.

The rest of Bergmann's men give the prisoner occasional glances, all ranging between curiosity, fear and hatred. One of the men in particular, a southerner, shudders slightly whenever his gaze passes across Rast's white, dead eye. Some southern thing probably.

“We're here,” Bergmann announces, as he slowly guides the ship into New Odyss, “Get a hood on the prisoner, I don't want anyone seeing his face.”

Those cold reptile eyes, holding your gaze for the last few seconds before the hood is pulled over his face.

-

It's strange how little attention this draws, dragging a hooded prisoner through the streets of New Odyss. Perhaps it's a common enough occurrence here, or perhaps the locals know better than to stare. Either way, nobody attempts to stop you or ask any difficult questions. For his part, Rast never even so much as struggles, let alone mounting a desperate escape attempt. Even if he did try to run, he wouldn't get very far – maybe the beating Skinner's men gave him did more damage than you thought, because every step he takes is a dragging, pained motion. By the time the local prison – a dreary place on the outskirts of town – is approaching, he's practically being carried by his Ministry escorts.

“Send for the doctor,” Bergmann orders, his voice thick with disgust.

[1/2]

File: Doctor Levi.jpg (35 KB, 484x712)

35 KB JPG

>>923772

“The good news is, he's still alive,” Levi – Doctor Levi, as he'd have people believe – says with an indifferent shrug, “It looks bad, I know, but most of the damage is cosmetic. A few broken ribs, fractured cheekbone, and an arm that was damn close to being dislocated, but nothing that would be too lethal if left alone.”

Not too lethal, you repeat slowly, just a little bit lethal then?

“Need I remind you, this isn't my precise area of expertise,” Levi snaps back, “I think you're expecting a little too much from me. I've patched him up, he's not about to drop down dead, what more do you want?”

Information, you reply bluntly, is he able to talk?

“They didn't cut out his tongue, at least. If you're asking if he can talk right now, the answer is no – I gave him a sedative, something to knock him out for a while. He needs to get some strength back,” Levi meets your gaze, “I know, I know – you're about to accuse me of assisting an enemy. Perhaps you're even going to question my loyalty. Before you start, I'd just like to point something out – this guy is tough, you won't get anywhere if you try beating the answers out of him. Maybe, just maybe, you can win him over with a little kindness. Show him the benefits of playing along. Taking care of his injuries and allowing him some rest is a good start to that.”

Well, he's got a point there. Rast is a real professional, not some low level thug that'll spill his guts at the sight of a raised fist. You've got enough time to ease the answers out of him, if need be.

One way or another, you'll get your information.

-

“Turns my stomach, seeing him sleeping peacefully after everything his people have done,” Bergmann rumbles, glaring through the cell door at Rast. Slamming the viewing slit shut, he turns his glare upon you and Levi. “Should have left him with Skinner,” the looming southerner continues, “It's all he deserves.”

Bergmann, needless to say, is still in a foul mood.

“I need to report this to the governor. Borghild, I'm leaving you in charge here,” he starts for the exit, but then pauses, “You know, he was in a pretty bad shape when he was brought in. I don't think anyone would be surprised if he died of his injuries. Something to keep in mind.”

“Oh good, so much for kindness,” Levi sighs once Bergmann has left the prison, “Fine, whatever. Is there anything you want me to take care before our guest wakes up?”

>Have you spoken with those radio contacts of yours? You said they were expecting a report
>Is there any kind of drug you can make that could loosen his tongue?
>There was something... (Write in)
>Other

>>923775
>Have you spoken with those radio contacts of yours? You said they were expecting a report
>Is there any kind of drug you can make that could loosen his tongue?
Like you said, this guy is too resilient for normal methods

>>923775
>Have you spoken with those radio contacts of yours? You said they were expecting a report
>Is there any kind of drug you can make that could loosen his tongue?

>>923775
>>Have you spoken with those radio contacts of yours? You said they were expecting a report
>>Is there any kind of drug you can make that could loosen his tongue?
Oh hey actually got here somewhat in time today.

>>923775
>Have you spoken with those radio contacts of yours? You said they were expecting a report
>Is there any kind of drug you can make that could loosen his tongue?

You have to agree with Levi when he said that Rast was too resilient for any normal interrogation methods, but that leaves you with less conventional areas to explore. With his knowledge of drugs and chemicals, you ask carefully, does he know of anything that might loosen the prisoner's tongue?

“That's an interesting subject, actually. There are some things I could try, but they might not be what you think. I don't know of any drug that would compel him to tell the truth,” Levi pauses, his lips twisting into a bitter grimace, “Although I dare say that you wouldn't need to worry about sifting truth from lies. No, what you're looking for is just something to get him talking in the first place, isn't it?”

That's what you said, you agree, just something to loosen his tongue. Once you've got a crack in his defences, you can do the rest yourself.

“Then yes, I think I can help you. Anything that stops him from thinking too hard would do the job. If he's confused, he'll likely say the first thing that comes to mind, without deception or misdirection. Likewise, he won't be able to stop himself from talking – mainly, I should say, because he won't realise he's speaking aloud,” with his grimace softening to a self-satisfied grin, Levi glances across at the cell door, “I should warn you though, he might not make much sense. If he tells you ten things, maybe one of them will be useful. Still, better to have more than you need, right?”

True enough, you reply, there's no way of knowing what might be useful later. Speaking of that, you were wondering about another source of potentially useful information. These radio contacts of his, you continue, has he been in contact with them? Before you split up and went your separate ways, he mentioned that they would be expecting a report.

“They called me, not ten minutes after I got back home,” laughing nervously, Levi looks around the empty room, “That's the sort of thing that makes a man suspicious. Pure coincidence, or did they know I'd been away? Of course, they'd never deign to tell ME that – these people, they like to keep you guessing, keep you from knowing too much. Mind games, I'm sure that's all they are. Definitely.”

So what did he tell them?

“I told them that everything was normal, entirely under control. No sign of any trouble – it's what they like to hear, after all,” chewing his lower lip for a moment, Levi shakes his head, “Frankly, I didn't want to risk spinning some fanciful tale, just in case someone was able to prove it to be false. If I play dumb, and they call me out on it later, I can just tell them that I was kept in the dark. I'd rather they question my intelligence, rather than my loyalty.”

Questions could be asked about both of those, you think to yourself.

[1/2]

>>923841

“Regardless, they did seem a little different over the radio,” Levi continues, tapping a slender finger against his chin, “Not quite nervous, but certainly more harried than I'm used to hearing. They must be busy over there, wherever they are. I wonder what could be keeping them so distracted.”

You could probably guess about that – the same matters of containment that you were busy with. Levi is right about one thing, they'd want to hear that everything was normal here in New Odyss. Anything that gave them one less thing to worry about would come as welcome news. Still, you ask, does he think they believed him?

“I'll have you know that I'm quite a good liar,” Levi snaps back, his pride wounded.

Plenty of practice, you shoot back, right?

“If that's what what you want to call it, fine,” with a breezy shrug, he dismisses the matter, “Do I think they believed me? It's impossible to know for certain, but I think they did. You didn't leave any witnesses alive to contradict my story, did you?”

You think of the three survivors, one of whom is sleeping in a prison cell not so far from you. The others... you don't want to think too hard about their fate, back at the Boneyard. Suffice to say, they won't be running back to their masters.

“Well there you go then,” Levi offers a mocking shrug, “It's fine – for now, at least. I imagine it'll be somewhat less fine when their soldiers don't come back, but... well, that's a problem for another day. Now then, I need to back to my quarters to work on that drug of yours, so I'll take my leave. Good day.” With one last bow, just as mocking as the shrug that came before it, Levi turns to leave, following in Bergmann's footsteps.

Sighing faintly to yourself, you draw back the viewing slit and peer through. In a deep, drugged sleep, Rast looks just barely alive – the slow rise and fall of his chest the only sign of vitality that can be seen. Watching him for a moment longer, you slide the window closed and leave the prison tower.

-

Taking the road at your own pace, you head into New Odyss and let the milling crowds close in around you. There's a comfort here, being surrounded by generally healthy people – healthy in both body and mind. The Red Eye Sickness and Skinner's savagery both feel very far away now, a distant concern at best. Maybe you're deluding yourself, but that's fine – you've earned a few hours of peace and quiet.

Without quite thinking about it, your wandering takes you to the Lucky Two Fingers, and the familiar sounds of Escher's little community. Well, you think aloud, there are worse places to kill time than a bar.

No harm in checking in, either, and getting a feel for the local mood.

[2/3]

>>923895

Escher himself is nowhere to be seen when you arrive at the bar, with a familiarly maimed woman behind it. Lu offers you a crooked smile as you sit down and call for a drink, delivering it with practised ease.

“Long day,” she offers as you throw back the burning spirit.

Yeah, you agree, that's one way of putting it. Is Escher about?

“He's... with a client. Doing some business,” Lu nods slightly towards the closed door behind the bar. The background hum of conversation fades for a moment, and you hear a faint groan of pain creeping out from behind that sealed door. “Bad business,” the bartender adds. Glancing up above the bar you notice that the cleaver, the usual decoration, is missing.

Bad business, you agree.

-

“Ah!”

The soft cry, a faintly victorious gasp of relief, causes you to turn around. Cid, Escher's errand boy, is hurrying towards you. He might be relieved, but the sight of him – alone – is enough to turn your blood to ice. Before he can get a word in, you grab his wrist and look him hard in the eyes. What happened out there, you hiss, where's Henryk?

“Ah, not so tight,” the man offers you a shaky smile as he extracts his arm from your grip, “He is fine, perfectly safe, but he is very busy. He sent me back with a message for you. Very important, he tells me. First of all, you need to be careful – he tells me that the parasite is on Isla Calvara, and it cannot be seen like normal. I... must confess, I'm not sure I understand all of that, but that is what he wanted you to know. The parasite is on Isla Calvara.”

Well, you've got to laugh really. Sitting back down heavily, you laugh until the wounds in your back flare up in pain and the breath catches in your raw throat. Even then, your coughs are still tinted with humour. Lu stares at you with open confusion, frozen partway through polishing a glass. Thanks Henryk, you think to yourself, great information. Well, no matter – at least you're both aware of the problem. One less thing to catch up with when he gets back.

“What is...” Cid's smile falters, growing stiff and uncertain.

It doesn't matter, you tell him as you get your breath back, was that everything he wanted you to know?

“There was more. A lot more,” Cid sits next to you, waiting until Lu has ambled away before lowering his voice and continuing, “You are looking for some people, yes? Your friend, he knows where to catch them, but he needs your help to close the noose. Listen very closely, I will tell you what he needs you to do...”

>Sorry, but I'm going to need to take a short pause here. I hope it shouldn't be too long.

>>923942
>the sight of him – alone – is enough to turn your blood to ice

Awwwwww.

This arc is cursed.

>I'm sorry about this, but I don't think I can finish this section off today after all. I'll pause things here and continue tomorrow. Hopefully I'll have a better run then

>>924181
Hope you feel better soon Moloch.

With the air of a growing conspiracy, you and Cid discuss what Henryk has learned. A regular gathering, a meeting held in secret with the highest members of your nameless enemies in attendance. Not just their leaders either, but a number of fugitives – valuable men spirited away from the Free States. You greet that revelation with a scowl. Yvette, it seems, isn't the only one running from League justice. No matter – she can't run forever, and neither can any of her fellow fugitives. With this information, you've got a damn good shot at catching the whole lot of them in one single swoop.

All you'll need to do is gather some extra forces. Fortunately for you, you know exactly where to turn. Skinner, with his fanatical followers and his burning urge for revenge, would only be too eager to sweep in and claim the island – and almost everyone on it – for himself.

Although if Skinner had his way, you think, there might not be anyone alive to face justice.

-

“Ah yes, there was one last thing,” Cid nods quickly, as if congratulating himself for remembering, “Your friend, he wished to warn you about a dangerous man. This man, he is a killer. You should be careful. His name is... Rast, I think. Yes, definitely.”

Rast, you repeat quietly, his name is Rast.

“Yes. Ah, but perhaps he will not introduce himself,” frowning, Cid points at his dark eyes, “His eye, you see, is white and blind. That will give you something to recognise him by, yes? Ah, unless he cares to wear dark glasses, but-”

Once again, you cut Cid off with a hearty laugh. You've met Rast already, you assure him once your laughter has subsided, although you're yet to get properly acquainted. There's plenty of time for that, however – Rast isn't going anywhere.

“He is here?” Cid raises an eyebrow, “Ah, well, that... that makes things more simple, yes? And to think, your friend, he was worried about you!”

You can't take all the credit, you admit, but that's just splitting hairs. Did Henryk say anything else about Rast, you ask, anything that you might be able to use? If you're going to get some good information out of him, you're going to need all the leverage you can get.

“Leverage,” Cid repeats, swallowing heavily, “There was... yes, there was one thing. He has a girl, a daughter. Isabella. It is not my place to say this, I know, but it is no small thing to threaten a man's child. Perhaps it would get you what you want at the time, but it makes you an enemy for life – a bitter enemy. Not a thing to do lightly.”

Considering Cid's words, you slip a cigarette between your lips and light it. Rast might have a long list of crimes to answer for, but his child shouldn't have to suffer for his sins. There are some lines that you're not prepared to cross.

Still, he doesn't know that.

[1/3]

>>924893

“Most of this is made up from herbal extractions, the same sorts of things that give the local mazka that special kick,” Levi explains, his voice pitched low and furtive, as he holds up a heavy syringe, “Only rather more concentrated. I can guarantee you this, our friend here has never experienced anything quite like it.”

Okay, you say slowly, but will it kill him? No matter what Bergmann implied, you'd rather not end this little affair with a dead body on your hands.

“I'm... almost entirely sure that he'll survive,” the sly doctor assures you, “Even with his injuries, I don't think you need to worry about him dropping dead. I wager he's got the constitution of a bull... just like you.”

Scowling at him, you brush past Levi and peer into Rast's cell. He's awake now, sitting upright with his hands – wrists tightly bound – folded neatly in his lap. When you look through, he glances around to meet your gaze. The dried blood has been washed away, and his bruises have already started to pale, but it's as you suspected – those are the only changes. His eyes are just as flat as ever.

“Well then,” Levi clears his throat lightly, “Shall we get this show on the road?”

Still holding Rast's gaze, you nod slowly.

-

With the reluctance of a man headed to the gallows, Levi enters the cell and tilts Rast's head to the side. The prisoner offers no resistance, although his lips tighten slightly as the needle sinks into his neck. Pulling the syringe free, Levi hesitates just long enough to wipe away a drop of blood from Rast's neck before scurrying back out and closing the cell door behind him.

“Just wait a moment,” he murmurs to you, “I rather suspect you'll know when it's started to take effect.”

He's not wrong. It takes a few moments, but soon Rast's icy composure is starting to melt away before your very eyes. He shifts and fidgets, nervous tics causing the muscles in his face to crawl and contort. Occasionally he mutters something to himself, and more than once he twists his body around as if dodging some phantom blow. Shuffling awkwardly, the bindings around both wrists and ankles holding him back, Rast worms his way into the corner of the room, flattening himself against the walls as if trying to pass through them to freedom.

“Well,” Levi remarks, “It definitely worked.”

[2/3]

>>924899

The cell door squeals as it closes behind you, the noise causing Rast to flinch back. It's strange, seeing him jerk away from you like that. You thought it might be a relief, to see him brought low, but it doesn't feel that way. Rather than making him seem more human, it's given him the opposite effect entirely – as if some demon had found its way into his skin. Grimacing, you shake off the foolish notion and focus. Too much time around superstitious southerners, you tell yourself, too many stories about spirits and mysticism.

Still, you can't deny that his blind eye doesn't look quite so dead now, shining as if a silver coin had been pressed into his skull. It's only a small consolation that other eye is equally alive, wide and wild and vital.

Outside, the lock slams back into place and Rast flinches again. This time, however, he recovers quickly and turns back to face you.

“Here to take me, are you?” he spits, “Here to drag me back to whatever hell you came from?”

Hallucinations, you assume, another effect of Levi's potion. You couldn't even begin to guess what he's seeing, but you're not about to throw away another little advantage. Maybe he'll feel compelled to confess his sins, spilling out every one of his grim secrets. That would certainly make your job easier.

“What do you WANT?” Rast snarls, the low light glinting off his dead eye, “Answer me, damn you!”

>I want to know what you've done. You know what I'm talking about
>Let's talk about Isabella. She's your daughter, isn't she?
>You're just following orders, but who gave you those orders? Tell me, and it'll be easier for you
>I'll tell you what I want... (Write in)
>Other

>>924903
>>I want to know what you've done. You know what I'm talking about

>>924899
>Rast worms his way into the corner of the room
This is some hardcore shit, fucking hell.

>>924903
>>I want to know what you've done. You know what I'm talking about
Definitely this. Play to the delusions and let him spill all the beans. We should ave the daughter for the very last or maybe even when he's sober.

>>924903
>I want to know what you've done. You know what I'm talking about

Which segues into

>You're just following orders, but who gave you those orders? Tell me, and it'll be easier for you

If he starts walling up then use
>Let's talk about Isabella. She's your daughter, isn't she?

>>924903
> Your boss is supposed to be checking up his pet scholars today. I wonder what is going to happen to Isabella when he finds you missing? If you tell us where to find him we might just be able to assure her safety.

>>924903
>I want to know what you've done. You know what I'm talking about

You want to know what he's done, you snap, everything – every miserable deed and crime. He knows exactly what you're talking about, you press, it's written across his face as plain as day.

“Damn witch,” he sneers, “You want me to plead? To make my excuses? Curse you, I've known this was coming for years!” Drawing strength from his madness, Rast slams his wrists down against the metal bed frame, his cuffs clattering against it like an ill-tuned bell. “You want to know what I've done? I've done what needed to be done, and I won't deny it – everything I've done, I'd do again in a heartbeat. I have nothing – nothing! - to apologise for!”

Of course, you hiss, everything he's done is right and justified. The dead men left in his wake would say the exact same thing.

“And the men who're still alive because of me – not that they'd ever know that – would agree,” Rast snarls, baring his teeth like a rabid beast, “They were infected, every damn one of them! Sitting there, stewing in that tainted air, I had no choice – no choice but to burn it all! They called it a massacre, called it murder, but they all knew the same thing. It was necessary, you hear me? More, dozens, hundreds more, would have died if not for me! I bloodied my hands for the League, and it branded me as a monster for it. To hell with it!”

His words hit you like a slap in the face, but you force yourself to stand firm in them, resisting them like someone fighting against a cutting wind. His crimes were all for a greater good, you accuse, even Isla Calvara?

“I was not the one to unleash that blight!” he snaps, shaking his head with a feverish fury, “No, no you cannot tar me with that crime, I will NOT accept that! I was... I was ordered to clean it, to wipe away HIS crime. Drag him away with you, you damn vulture!”

Orders, you spit, he was just following orders – that's an excuse as old as history itself. What happened to not making any excuses? At your fresh accusation, Rast's eyes widen that little bit more, stretching wider than you ever thought possible. His eyes bulge and his lips move, but he can't speak. Before he can find his tongue, however, you press ahead with cold intensity. But maybe he's right, you suggest, maybe some of these crimes deserve to be placed at the feet of another man. The man who gave him these poison orders – if he tells you his name, perhaps you'll show him mercy.

“Mercy! I spit on your mercy! I'll give you his name out of spite alone,” Rast's lips curl up in a sickly grin, pronouncing every word with deadly bile, “Ellis Ellington Saive, the cancer at the heart of all of this. Ellis Ellington Saive. Ellis Ellington Saive. Ellis...”

His voice trails off, repeating that name over and over again as his head dips low, the dying off entirely.

[1/?]

>>925078
what the FUCK did Levi inject him with?

>>925078
Drugged up Rast is cool. He doesn't afraid of anything.

>>925078
Seems like he was dude that had to do the dirty work for the Ministry during an infection and was vilified for it. Probably made him seek employment elsewhere which led him to this group, doing their dirty work.

Tough break.

>>925078

Dead? Levi said that it was unlikely, but...

Grimacing, cursing the doctor – it won't be the first time one of his concoctions has killed a man, after all – you creep closer to Rast and touch your fingers to his throat, searching for a pulse. His skin is cold, clammy with a layer of sweat, and you don't feel anything. No pulse, you mutter, no damn pul-

His hands snap up, closing around your wrist as his head jerks back up. His eyes, still inhumanly wide, lock onto yours. His grip tightens, sending a shuddering pain up your arm, but still you feel no pulse in his neck.

“Take him instead,” Rast whispers, spittle shining on his teeth as he forces the words out, “Take that bastard. Make. Him. Suffer.” As that last word boils out of him, his eyes lose some of their terrible lustre and roll back in his head. His grip loosens, his hands falling away from his wrists, and you take a hasty step back. There's no need, there's no fight left in him. Rast slumps back into his corner and grows still once more.

No, not still – his chest slowly rises and falls. He's breathing, he's still alive after all. For one brief moment there, though... no pulse. You're certain of that, and you'll hold that certainty until the day you die. He had no damn pulse.

No damn pulse.

-

“I'm sorry...” Rast mumbles after a short while, the words slurred as he sighs them out, “I'm sorry, Belle...”

Slowly – you still remember that sudden outburst – you move back to the bed and sit down. More than ever right now, you hunger for a cigarette, but you can't risk breaking the illusion. Avenging spirits, after all, are hardly likely to light up halfway through an apparition. That name that slipped from him – Belle – could only be his daughter. Swallowing a wave of revulsion and steeling you nerve, you speak up once more. You'd like to talk about Isabella, you begin softly, she's his daughter isn't she?

Jerkily, Rast nods. He doesn't look around at you, and you're glad for that. You don't want to meet his eyes for this part – just looking at his slack, numb face is bad enough. He'd leave her all alone if he died, you continue slowly, all alone in a harsh land. Not a very good fate for her, is it?

“He has her,” Rast murmurs, his fingers slowly flexing, “I tried to keep her hidden, to keep her from knowing what I am... I tried my best, damn it!” He looks up, around, and now – for the first time – you see a raw pain in his eyes, those eyes you so wanted to avoid. Now that they've touched yours, however, you don't dare look away.

He tried his best, you tell him simply, and it wasn't enough – but perhaps it's not too late for her.

The hope you see there, in his eyes, cuts you like a knife.

[2/?]

>>925184
>The hope you see there, in his eyes, cuts you like a knife.
oooh, I felt that

File: Colonies Map (Updated 2).png (161 KB, 996x634)

161 KB PNG

>>925184

Ellis Ellington Saive, you murmur, he's meeting with his fellow sinners soon enough. A gathering, with every man there as guilty as their leader. He belongs among them, you tell Rast, doesn't he?

“Yes,” Rast nods, more firmly this time, “I share their crimes. I am his... his right hand. I belong there, among the guilty. I admit this, but-”

But he won't be there, you press, and what would happen to Isabella because of that absence?

“No... no, I... No!” hope dies as his face twists into a horrified mask, Rast forces himself to stand, “No, I cannot stay here! Kill me, drag my soul to the lowest pits if you must, but not yet, not yet! If I must die, so be it, but I must be there to see her to safety!” The bindings around his ankles bite deep, and Rast tumbles down against the wall, dashing his face against the stone as he falls. Lying face down, he lets out a long, low groan of wordless anguish.

It's a good thing that his eyes are fixed on the floor. He doesn't see your features contorting into a misery of your own. Dragging yourself back to composure, you reach down and turn Rast over. Blood seeps from a split lip, some of his older wounds open once again, but he doesn't seem to notice the pain.

“I must go to her,” he whispers, pink stains marking his teeth, “I must!”

If he tells you where to find Saive, you reply, you'll be the one to go to her. If it is within your power to bring Isabella to safety, then it will be so – but only if you can find his master.

“Isabella will be at his side. A servant... a hostage, a chain around my throat,” Rast swallows hard, “He will go to his ancestral home. The island, the manor... Isla Saiva...”

You're losing him, he's growing delirious. Shaking him lightly by the shoulder, you try to coax more out of him. Before then, you press, before he leaves for Isla Saiva – where will he be?

“Nomann, Isla Nomann. Deep, hidden away. The temple...” he coughs, a thin mist of blood spraying from his broken mouth, “Map. Bring me a map...” Rising, you hurry across to the door and peer through the viewing window. Levi is there, sweating and staring, and you have to repeat your hissed command twice before he snaps back to reality and brings you a folded map, passing it through the window. Laying the map out before him, Rast touches a bloodied fingertip to the island.

“There,” he mumbles, “Belle...”

And then he's gone again, slipping back into an unconscious haze.

>Alright, I'm going to pause things here briefly. I'll pick up again in about nine hours time.
>Thanks to everyone who contributed, sorry for the late session!

>>925184
I think Rast deserve an honorary place in the Book of Petra's most suffering.

>>925317
Ramping up to a finish now.

How much of these plot threads will carry on when we get back to the north?

>>925317
Shit, what a bucketload of info. Levi earned his props. Thanks for running Moloch, since I don't think I've said it yet.

>>925317
Thanks for running. Totally called their main base being on Isla Nomann last session.

>9 hours til next session.
Shit I'll probably be asleep for that. Europe and Asia players on point.

Even though he will want to we cannot bring Rast to the Isla Saiva fight. Isabella will just be used as leverage to turn him against us. Though I'm not sure if EES is the kind of guy that'll just kill her if he thinks Rast died at the Boneyard.

I dunno, we need to grill Rast more about EES's temperament. Maybe once he is sober.

>>925403
Broken arms and ribs and nearly dislocated shoulder, he's not in fighting form either way.

If we are going to a temple I hope we get to meet Artemis again, it's been way too long.

>>925352
When we get back our kind neighbourhood witch had been burned at the stake and our pet runaway is skulking around to murder everyone responsible.

The first thing you do after leaving Rast's cell is to ask-

Well, no. The first thing you do after leaving Rast's cell is to light up a cigarette, burning it half to ash in a single hungry breath as you lean back against the cell door. The heavy smoke burns you from the inside out, steadying your nerves and settling your racing heartbeat. The second thing you do after leaving the cell is to ask Levi a question. A simple question, as blunt as it needs to be – just what the hell was in that syringe?

“Like I told you before, herbal extracts, locally procured, in a highly concentrated form. I must admit, however, that even I'm surprised at how effective it was,” shaking out a delicate handkerchief, Levi dabs at his brow, “I wonder – perhaps your friend in there was less stable than we thought. All that ranting and raving about... well, about all sorts of things – I've never heard anything like it! I suppose we can mark this down as a successful experiment, at least.” Levi chuckles nervously, folding and unfolding the damp cloth. “It certainly got him talking, after all,” he adds, “Although I can't exactly tell you how much of that was nonsense or not.”

Leaving Levi to ramble on, more to himself than to anyone else, you quietly slide open the viewing window and look inside. Rast is sleeping where you left him, laid out on the thin bed, and the sight of his slow breathing offers you a faint flicker of comfort. Of course he's still alive – what else had you been expecting?

“Mind you, he'll feel terrible when he wakes up,” Levi adds, “It'll probably be the worst hangover he's ever had.”

A hangover, you murmur, is going to be the least of his worries.

-

In the end, throwing Levi out of the prison tower is the only way you can get a little peace and quiet, a little room to think about your next move. Originally, your plan had been a simple one – gather some men, with Skinner's help if needed, and catch your prey on Isla Saiva. Now, however, you've got another possibility to consider – striking early, and catching him in his nest. Too much time around Henryk, you think to yourself with a wry smile, you're starting to think like a Hunter.

Spreading your map out, you carefully mark out the location that Rast pointed to, replacing the smear of blood with more permanent ink. It's not a very convenient location, deep in what you can only assume is a thick and primal jungle. Getting there won't be particularly easy, but Saive might not expect someone to hit him from that angle. Maybe – maybe he's careful, or paranoid, enough to expect an attack from any angle.

You'll just have to be more careful, and plan your next move accordingly.

>Stick with the original plan – gather additional forces and hit Isla Saiva
>Move in early and hit Isla Nomann
>Other details/alterations (Write in)
>Other

>>928530
>Stick with the original plan – gather additional forces and hit Isla Saiva

Saiva is smaller and it'll be easier to stop people from escaping. Anyone slips the net at Nomann we will never be able to find them.

>>928530
>>Stick with the original plan – gather additional forces and hit Isla Saiva

>>928544
Just noting that I vote this because we need Henryk's skills if we want a decent chance at successfully netting an enemy on his home turf in unknown and hostile terrain.

>>928530
>Stick with the original plan – gather additional forces and hit Isla Saiva

>>928530
>>Stick with the original plan – gather additional forces and hit Isla Saiva
Henryk may want to see this 'temple' without enemies to worry about.

Taking a stick of charcoal from the desk, you scratch out a dark circle around Isla Saiva. In your mind, you picture a fence being raised, a grand wall trapping and imprisoning anyone within it. It's not a real wall, of course, but it's good enough for you. So long as you've got enough men and enough ships under your command, you'll be able to intercept anyone trying to flee the island. It's your best shot of catching Ellis Saive, and linking back up with Henryk.

If the worst comes to the worst, and you have to chase him into the wilds of Isla Nomann, you don't want to go without him. Henryk knows that kind of land, overgrown jungles and ancient wilderness, better than you'll ever know them, and his tracking skills put yours to shame. Without him to serve as a guide, your job would be that much harder.

It'll settle your deal with Skinner, as well – he wanted the chance to even the score, to get his revenge on the men who attack the Boneyard. This way, you can slam the two forces together and watch the carnage unfold. No matter who wins, it'll give you the perfect cover to achieve your own ends.

Dropping the stick of charcoal, you return to Rast's cell and take another look through the window. It's become compulsive, checking on him like this, and you have to force yourself to slam the window shut again. You'll take him with you when you leave. If he's woken up by then, he might be able to tell you a little more about what you might be running into. The possibility of rescuing his daughter might well be the key to his cooperation.

But that's getting ahead of yourself – first, you've got to gather those reinforcements.

-

“So this is Rast,” Cid says quietly as helps you lift the comatose man up onto your shoulder. Supporting him between the two of you, you start to carry him to the Navaja. “I expected something else, something more, ah...” pausing, Cid shifts his share of the burden, “More fearsome. This man, you see, he seems to me like a tired old man. Very tired, very old.”

He's had a hard life, you reply vaguely, the sort of life that makes a man seem older than his years.

“Ah, I see,” nodding, Cid sets Rast down and reaches out, lifting the man's slack eyelids. Looking into the mismatched eyes, Cid shudders. “They say that the blind see into other worlds than this one,” he explains softly, “This man, he would see both worlds – a terrible thing. Of course, that is all superstitious talk, not the sort of thing that a clever northerner would ever believe.”

Maybe, you murmur, but some of the things he said...

“Men say many things. They drink mazka and talk of spirits and gods. They drink other things, and they boast of the women they have taken to bed,” he shrugs, “Both things, I would not be too quick to believe.”

Wise words.

[1/?]

>>928530
>Stick with the original plan – gather additional forces and hit Isla Saiva

>>928580

Maybe it's the sea air, but Rast wakes up before you're halfway to the Boneyard. He wakes quietly, his eyes flicking open and scanning his surroundings with the same calm curiosity as last time. At your murmured command, Cid cuts the Navaja's speed, quietening the engines down to a low snarl. Sitting opposite Rast, you meet his eyes and study them for a moment. They're not the wild eyes of a madman, but neither are they the cold stones of his normal stare – rather, there are shades of both.

That drug, you wonder, could it have lasting effects? In the years to come – assuming his life lasts that long, of course – will he be woken by nightmarish visions and recollections? Maybe it'll serve as a reminder, encouraging him to live a virtuous life. Maybe he'll write it off as a hallucination, sinking back into the mire of his old ways. It's his life – his choice.

How is he feeling, you ask, hungover?

“I'm not entirely sure if I'm alive or not,” he replies simply, “I'm not even sure if I want to be alive or not. Dead would be less painful. I remember...” Falling silent, Rast rubs his brow slowly, massaging the darkened, bruised flesh. “I talked, didn't I?”

He talked, you confirm, very much so.

“I see,” leaning back, Rast narrows his eyes to thin slits, weighing up his options like a merchant studying his profits, “But apparently not enough, otherwise you would have killed me already – unless, that is, you're planning to hand me over to the savages, let them do the dirty work. I don't think you are, though. You don't seem like the type. You'd do it yourself.” He nods firmly. “I can respect that.”

It wouldn't be your first execution, you assure him. He was half right, though – you ARE going to the Boneyard, but you're not handing him over to Skinner's men. You're heading to Isla Saiva after that, to catch his boss... and maybe to rescue Isabella.

As that name hangs in the air between you, Rast's eyes widen, his lips parting in a silent curse. At long last, you see a flash of humanity in his eyes – anger, suspicion and a sudden hungry desire passing across his face in quick succession. There's an opportunity here, and he can sense it. “Well then,” he says quietly, just barely audible over the engine, “You have done your research. I suppose congratulations are in order. Fine, let's get down to business – what do you want from me?”

Some assurance that you can trust him, you suggest, that would be a good start.

“Isabella is the only thing keeping me from cutting Ellis' throat myself,” Rast tells you simply, “I'll do anything, if it means getting her back. Is that good enough for you?”

Good enough, you decide, now here's what you want from him...

>I want to know about Ellis' defences. Will he be heavily guarded?
>Will Ellis have a woman with him when he visits Isla Saiva?
>There's a temple on Isla Nomann, isn't there? Tell me about it
>Other

>>928647
>>I want to know about Ellis' defences. Will he be heavily guarded?
"I was told this was just a routine visit of some sort."
>Will Ellis have Yvette with him when he visits Isla Saiva?
>There's a temple on Isla Nomann, isn't there? Tell me about it
"With all the superstition around here Nomann is a pretty good place for a base you don't want anyone to know about."

>>928647
>>Will Ellis have a woman with him when he visits Isla Saiva?

>>928647
"Your willingness to do 'anything' is why you're in this situation in the first place, and why countless people are dead by your hands. Do what I ask of you and nothing more, none of this "anything" business."

>I want to know about Ellis' defences. Will he be heavily guarded?
What kind of man is he, what is it that makes him capable of running such a big shadow organization with the kind of influence it has? Are his guards loyal or hostages like you?
>Will Ellis have a woman with him when he visits Isla Saiva?
He may have a new guest, a Saiva like him and she is a wanted fugitive dead or alive.
>There's a temple on Isla Nomann, isn't there? Tell me about it
Layout, have they built fortifications? Are they excavating or simply using it as a base? Ways in and out and the land around it.

>>928647
>I want to know about Ellis' defences. Will he be heavily guarded?
>Will Ellis have a woman with him when he visits Isla Saiva?
>There's a temple on Isla Nomann, isn't there? Tell me about it

And also:

>What's the procedure in case something goes wrong during a visit on Isla Saiva? Will Ellis run? To where?

His willingness to do anything is what got him into this position in the first place, you caution, and it's why countless men are dead. People capable of anything are dangerous – you'd rather deal with principled men. That's not always an option, so you'll settle for the next best thing. You want him to do exactly what you say, and nothing else.

“If that's how you want it,” Rast meets your eyes and nods slightly.

You'll know if he's lying, you caution.

“And I'll know the same,” he retorts, “It seems that we share the same blood. Very well then – I'll let you decide how we approach this. Where do you want to start?”

You want to know about Ellis' defences, you begin, will they be a significant obstacle? You were under the impression that his visit to Isla Saiva is a routine matter – does that mean he's likely to have gotten complacent?

“It IS a routine visit – he likes to meet up with his guests and play the host while they brief him on their progress – but he's not likely to have let down his guard. He's a cautious man, with secrecy being one of his many obsessions. The island will be heavily guarded, and the manor doubly so. However, his closest guards have orders to be discrete – it's not gentlemanly to travel with an armed guard, apparently.” Rast's brow dips in a low scowl, as if matters of etiquette are the lowest concerns in the world. “He mainly travels with a mixed group of servants, with...” hesitating for a second, Rast's voice grows slightly rougher, “Isabella is included, and I know that at least one of the other servants is a highly trained fighter. Which one, I don't know.”

An obsessive man, you muse, is that all he can tell you about Ellis? What kind of man is he, that he can pull strings and rule over such a large organisation in secret?

“If he has one source of power, it's his connections. He has allies, powerful ones, back in the Free States – men who share his aims. They provide him with resources, they bury any evidence that reaches them, and they send useful men to the colonies,” Rast offers a bitter smirk, “Old men, deluded enough to believe that they can change the world. They're as sterile and stagnant as the League they hope to replace. Useful idiots.”

Is that what all this is about, you ask, about replacing the League with something new?

“A fantasy,” Rast sneers, “An impossible goal. Let them believe it, if it gives them comfort. Ask Ellis himself, if you want to hear it from someone who believes. I dare say that he's one of the only men who really believes his own crap.”

[1/?]

>>928730

Then most of the guards aren't here out of loyalty or devotion, you guess, then what? Is it the money, or are they being blackmailed as well?

“Money, for the most part. As I said, these people have limitless funds,” a dark laugh cuts through, “The blackmail... they save that for the important ones, men like the Scholars. Money is a weak way to control a man – your enemies can always make a better offer – but once you've learned a man's secrets, his weaknesses, you own him.”

But it makes that man an enemy for life, you reply, or so you've heard. It's no way to win real loyalty.

“Of course. Look where we are now,” Rast spreads his hands wide, “How quickly loyalties can shift. Ellis should pick his next underling carefully – if he ever gets the chance.”

He may already have a new ally, you tell him, a Saive like him and a fugitive from League justice. Is she likely to be at his side when he visits this manor?

“Her,” Rast spits the word out, “Yes, I know her. A mewling waste, ill-suited to anything other than a life of luxury. If Ellis is planning to put her to work in any practical sense, I fear he'll be bitterly disappointed. She'll be there, clinging to his side like a child seeking comfort. You can be certain of that.”

Not exactly a ringing endorsement of Yvette's skills, but it's just what you wanted to hear. When you close the noose, her neck will be soundly within it.

“You say she's a fugitive?” the man asks, “What did she do, to send her fleeing south with the hounds nipping at her heels?”

Several counts of murder, you tell him before adding an additional crime, and one charge of reckless sailing. Her vessel was going too fast in a busy port.

“Dangerous,” Rast offers a cold smile, “Someone could get hurt. Is it still a fine for that?”

It's certainly going to cost her, you promise, one way or another.

-

The conversation falters for a while, only picking up after you remember something he said in his frenzy. He mentioned a temple, you tell Rast, you'd like to hear a little more about it. Is it well fortified, or does Ellis rely on secrecy to protect it from anyone who might seek him out?

“That old ruin? It's not much of a fortress, and it won't ever be – it's too deep in the jungle to do any serious building. No, he mainly uses it because the ill reputation the place has – bad history, or so the locals say. Blood sacrifice, wrathful spirits...” a hint of condescending humour creeps into Rast's voice, “The usual sorts of thing. Of course, we do our best to encourage that sort of talk. It's as good as a fortress wall for keeping unwanted eyes away from us. Lock a door, and people will want to see what's behind it. If they fear what they think is hiding behind it, however...”

They'll try damn hard to stay away, you finish, clever.

[2/?]

>>928772

Is that the only reason he chose that place, you ask, for the secrecy?

“I think it interests him, although he'd never admit it,” Rast's eyes drop to your lips as you put a cigarette between them, “Give me one of those, will you? Good. No, Ellis plays at being a fine northern gentleman, but there's something about that place – the ancient blood and filth – that keeps drawing him back to it. Nobility – every damn one them has a bit of sickness within their heart. I've seen it more than I care to remember, and it's nothing special, nothing worth the kind of care he lavishes upon it.”

What's it like inside, you press, what's the land around it like?

“Planning to take it for yourself, are you? It's simple enough – those old savages weren't geniuses when it came to construction. It looks impressive from the outside, like a squared off pyramid, but inside...” snorting derisively, Rast shakes his head and takes a draw on his cigarette, “It's a box, that's it. A box, and a deep pit. No way of guessing how many bones are lying down there, old and forgotten. The land itself, it's thick jungle with only the most meagre trail and a ring of swampland around it. Not what you'd call scenic. One entrance, small and narrow. I imagine it would be easy enough to block up, to seal the whole place.”

He sounds like he's imagined that a lot, you think to yourself, probably sealing it up with Ellis inside. One entrance, though – that would make it hard to attack, forcing any invaders to come in piecemeal. If Ellis fled back there, it might be difficult to dig him out. Is there a protocol in place for if something goes wrong on Isla Saiva, you ask, a plan for his retreat?

“Exactly the plan you're probably thinking of. He'll fall back to his ship, with the guards buying him as much time as possible, and then he'll scurry back to his temple,” Rast crushes the cigarette, dusting ash from his crumpled, bloodied clothes, “We've practised it enough, but we've never had to use that plan in real emergency conditions.”

What if his escape was cut off, if he couldn't leave the island?

“Then he'd probably dig in there, the manor, and fight to the last,” a frown touches Rast's face, “Truth be told, we never prepared a plan for that kind of attack. If we were attacked by an army large enough to cut off completely, it was always going to be the end. Ellis, though... I'm not how he'd react. Some men can face death with dignity, and some can't. I couldn't tell you which one Ellis was.”

Then maybe he'll get the chance to find out, you tell him.

[3/4]

>>928840

Skinner certainly knows how to make a fine display. As Cid guides the Navaja into the Boneyard, the entrance is flanked by two great hulks, rusting skeletons of dead ships. The bodies of Rast's men are strung up to either side of you, hanging from crude metal gallows and swaying with the slightest touch of wind. The bodies are in poor shape, eaten away by rapid decay and stripped for vile, fleshy trophies.

One of the gallows has been left empty, and you don't need to think too hard about why that is. Rast, to his credit, looks up at the grim sight with neither fear nor revulsion. Either he trusts that you're not about to abandon him here, or he's accepted his fate – facing death with the same dignity that he mentioned before.

It's easier to put on a stoic front, you consider, now that he isn't drugged out of his mind.

-

In the shadows of those grand, decaying ships, Skinner has gathered a fleet of smaller vessels, crewed with the small army of his fanatical followers. They watch you as the Navaja slows to a halt, stopping in the dead centre. Emerging from the Majestic – not yet fit to be counted alongside those other dead vessels – Skinner approaches. A horror in old scars and warpaint, the southern giant steps, uninvited, onto the Navaja. Judging by the strangled sound that Cid fights back, you assume that this is some hideous breach of protocol.

“Snow-blood,” Skinner rumbles, “Are you here to return my prize, or do you have a better one to offer me?”

You've got a better one, you promise him, you can give him the best prize of all.

And Skinner, with a face deserving of a place among Rast's nightmare visions, throws back his head and laughs. He laughs long and he laughs hard, his voice filling the Navaja and seeping out into the rest of the Boneyard. His voice is answered by a growing rumble – the sound of countless men slowly stamping their feet in response. Harsher, more primal than screaming or cheering, that stamping sound sets your heart thundering within your chest.

And so, you went to war.

>Right, I think I'm going to end things here for today. I'll continue this tomorrow, switching back to Henryk's perspective, and I'll stick around in case anyone has any questions or comments
>Thanks to everyone who contributed today!

>>928969
Thanks for running.

>>928969
Thanks for running!

>Henryk expects Camilla to round up some Ministry personnel
>She turns up with an army of murderous madmen painted in blood
>Henryk's face when

>>928969
Good stuff again today, thanks for running

>>928994
>Riding on the Majestic

>>928969
Speaking of which could the Ministry forces down here or Skinner arm the Majestic for this fight?

>>929013

They don't really have any serious armaments for it - not the kind of artillery is was originally built to carry - so it wouldn't be all that useful as a battleship. It could attract a lot of attention, and carry a great deal of men, but that's about as much as it could do I'm afraid

>>929079
Any chance of convincing Esther to commit some of his men? He of all people should want to get rid of the Saive and all the problems they cause.

>>929222

There would be time enough to arrange for something like that, yes. Escher doesn't have the ability to commit large numbers of soldiers on short notice, but he would be able to equip Skinner's men with better weapons. I'll sort that off-screen, but it'll be involved.

>>929306
Any way we can get Skinner to order his men to not kill (or otherwise assault) non-combatants in this fight? I don't want Isabella dying to a madman with an axe that doesn't no any better.

>>929315

Skinner has his men on quite a tight leash, so his men won't assault anyone they're ordered to leave alone. When the time to attack comes, they'll be under orders to focus on the hostile soldiers.

It's not out of kindness or compassion - there's just no real profit in slaughtering random servants.

>>929079
Speaking of that, Rast might know what happened to canons, where they where send.

Of no use immediately, of course, but it might help find the rest of the conspiracy.

>>929393
Just saying.

Could we get Escher and the Governor to take over the Boneyard and kill Skinner after this battle? His forces will be weakened and all that.

>>931705
Can't order them but we can put the idea in their heads.

Also depends how fucked up Skinner's forces get.

Henryk

When the time comes to take his medicine, Brandr puts up a token, indecisive resistance. His are the protests of a man who wishes for death, only for his yearning to be opposed by an equal fear. Complaining weakly, he swats at Wehrlain as the other Scholar circles around him, a heavy syringe held high. With a macabre kind of fascination, you watch the needle sinking into the back of Brandr's neck, piercing the sickly, bruised flesh. As the pale yellow solution vanishes into Brandr's veins, his struggles – if they really deserved to be called as much – stop completely.

“There's a mild sedative mixed in,” Wehrlain pats the maimed Scholar on the head, like a doting parent comforting their ailing child, “It's so much easier that way. Well, anyway, he's safe to live another day. A day and a half, to be more precise – the suppressant takes approximately thirty hours to wear off. It used to be longer, apparently. It's just going to keep getting less and less effective as time goes on. I suggested a constant drip, but...”

But it would just be delaying the inevitable, you finish, it's only ever going to get worse.

“Really, I don't know why we should be surprised about it,” Wehrlain lets out an unusally whimsical sigh, reaching out and tracing his fingers across some technical diagrams. “What I mean to say is, neither of us is getting younger. Even without the parasite or violent death, or some other sickness, we're in no position to live forever. We all have to die sometime. I just want to leave something behind, something that will let my name live on for generations to come.”

The Wehrlain engine – it's annoying and dangerous to anyone who spends too long around it. The perfect way for him to be remembered, in other words.

“How nice of you to say so!” the Scholar laughs, “Yes, well. Most men would simply sire an heir, a son to carry on their name, but I'd like to think that my contribution to history will be rather more useful than that. Men might falter and fail, but machines are far more reliable.”

Except when they DO fail, you point out, they tend to explode. That's not something that can be said for men.

Wehrlain frowns at you, giving you the sour look of a teacher outwitted by their student, before sweeping your point away with a gesture. “A minor problem,” he decides, “One last hurdle for
future generations to overcome, that's all it is.”

Uncommonly pessimistic, as if his usual arrogance has fallen away to reveal a new face. The Wehrlain you know, you mention, would be gloating about how the next experiment will be perfect – what's changed?

“Perhaps I am being fatalistic,” Wehrlain admits, before waving a hand at Brandr's crippled form, “But can you really blame me, considering the kind of company I keep?”

He might have a point there.

[1/3]

>>932384

In the end, it was almost laughably easy to avoid the newly arrived guards, so much so that it almost seemed like a game. Other than a cursory search of the laboratory, they stayed as far away from it as possible. Wehrlain might have had something to do with that, with the way he stressed – loudly and repeatedly – how safe it was. The chemical spill, he claimed, was cleaned up days ago! Really, he'd claimed, the fumes hadn't been THAT poisonous!

Little wonder that the hapless soldiers couldn't leave quick enough. After that, it had been a simple matter of keeping your distance, or blending in with the rest of the captive Scholars. Without the rifle over your shoulder, you're no more suspicious than any of the other sullen, slouched prisoners. At one point you even shared a meal with some of them, sitting in the dining room and listening to Wehrlain pointing out various men. Represented here are specialists in chemicals, weaponry and even a nobleman – albeit one from a spectacularly minor family.

“He's a bastard. Not literally, I should say, but I rather dislike the man,” Wehrlain gives the young nobleman a vile look, “Some of the things he knows are beyond value, and he just won't share any of them. I suppose that's what makes them so valuable, but still. Terribly rude of him.”

Secrets beyond value, you scoff, tawdry gossip or his dismal family history. You've heard enough noble sob stories already.

“You misunderstand me,” Wehrlain shakes his head, “Although I will admit, having some fresh gossip does liven the place up a little. Nevertheless, those aren't the secrets I'm after – if you believe the rumours, he knows more about auspicious blood than any Scholar you're likely to meet. If only they didn't guard their secrets so jealously – think of what we might learn, what we might achieve! Why, we could do away with the nobility altogether!”

Which is probably why they keep their secrets to themselves, you point out. As the conversation lapses, you think back to your youth. The first time you'd ever met a noble had been when they came to take a sample of your blood, taking it away to study it and weigh its value. The Wolf's Blood they found there decided the course of your life.

“Well, no matter. I can wait. We've managed to piece together some small scraps of knowledge over the years. In time, we'll know everything they do – perhaps even more,” a hungry light flickers in Wehrlain's eyes, “In the future, we Scholars of the College will be the ones to steer mankind's destiny.”

Now there's a terrifying thought.

[2/3]

File: Saive Manor.png (93 KB, 562x843)

93 KB PNG

>>932386

Night falls, but you can't sleep, can't put your mind to rest. Your body hums with tension, hot blood coursing through your veins with every pounding beat of your heart. This is it, your instints are crying out, this farce is finally coming to an end. In the morning, your quarry will be close. If everything goes to plan, and Camilla comes through, there will be nowhere to run. But that all comes later – for now, you've got the long hours of the night to kill.

Idly searching the laboratory, you find a map of the manor and spend some time studying it, committing it to memory. It's not a complicated building, no mazes of corridors or blind corners to worry about, but you don't want to make a single mistake when the time comes. A single moment of hesitation, a single wrong turn, could spell disaster. So you study the map, engraving its image into your mind until you can picture every room and length of corridor. When you're done, a dull light draws your eye.

Silhouetted against the flickering light of a hissing gas lantern, Brandr works away with careful motions. Glass rattles and liquid sloshes as the crippled Scholar holds a vial up to the light, gazing at the clear liquid within.

Another suppressant, you ask quietly, a new lease on life?

“Quite the opposite,” Brandr grunts, “A poison, one of Haber's failed prototypes. Never could get it to vaporise properly. Lethal enough in this form – quick, painless... a better end than anything else I could hope for.” He sets the vial down and pulls out an empty syringe, letting the light of the gas lantern glint off the metal needle. In the near perfect silence that follows, the only sound is the gas lantern, hissing away in the background.

So what's stopping him, you reply eventually, some lingering hope?

“Weakness,” he corrects you, “Plain and simple. I've been here before, dozens of time, but I've never taken that last step. Maybe one day.”

>Do you regret what you've done?
>If you want to die so badly, I'd happily help you
>No, you should live. You don't deserve the easy way out
>Other

>>932390
>Do you regret what you've done?
"Nethe is dead by the way. Her husband infected her before he died."
>If you want to die so badly, I'd happily help you
Just wait one more day.

>>932390
>Do you regret what you've done?

>>932390
does Brandr already know about how we had to put down Haber's wife?

>Wehrlain talked about leaving something behind. What did you set out to leave for the future? What about now?

>>932398
>Do you regret what you've done?
>Just wait one more day.
This. Would be a damn shame to raise suspicion because he offed himself before we could finish our business.

>>932390
>Other

We should also ask what he hopes to leave behind, and if he has anything that might help us in our fight against EES and his men.

>>932390
If it is any consolation, everyone who knows what you've done will never tell a soul or are already dead.

You spoke with Wehrlain earlier, you tell the crippled man, he talked about leaving something for the next generation. In his case, Wehrlain has his invention, the device that shares his name, but what about Brandr? What does he hope to leave behind?

“I've made my mark already,” Brandr's voice thickens with disgust, with loathing, “Maybe I'll be forgotten – I hope I am – but my work has left a scar on the world. Lives lost, ruined... that's what I'll leave behind. I'm not foolish enough to hope for anything better than that.”

And yet he kept doing his work, you muse, even knowing the harm it would cause. That hardly seems like the action of a remorseful man – does he regret what he's done, the damage he's caused?

“Regret...” tasting the word, Brandr thinks to himself for a moment, “It's easy to pretend, here. Never seeing the damage with my own eyes. Never knowing the names of the people I've killed. It's hard to regret that kind of-”

What about Nethe, you snap, infected by her husband – did he know, even suspect, that she was in danger?

“Nethe...” his voice lowers, faltering, and the hand holding the syringe trembles, “She was... did she suffer? Was it quick?”

For a moment, you smell the rank stench of sewer waters and tainted blood, hearing the phantom echo of a gunshot in the back of your mind. Nethe suffered, you spit, even if she was spared the final indignity of birthing her inhuman children. She suffered because of his work, just like all the others – nameless, faceless men and women. Whether he likes it or not, whether he's seen the results with his own eyes or not, his work will live on long after he dies. If there is one consolation, it's that his wish may well be granted – anyone who could blame him for it is dead, or will be dead. A small mercy, perhaps.

“More than I deserve,” Brandr mumbles, his grip on the syringe growing slack and loose. Before it can fall from his fingers, you reach out and pluck it away from him.

If he wants to die so badly, you whisper, you'd be happy to help him – but not yet. One more day of life, that's all you ask of him. You've got your own plans here, and you don't want his death to get in the way of things. When the time comes, however, you'll be there to send him on his way. You can promise him that. Maybe he's right, maybe it IS more than he deserves... but the people of the world don't deserve to have him live much longer.

“Thank you,” the Scholar replies stiffly, speaking slowly and forcing the words out, “I...”

You're not looking for thanks. If he wants to do anything for you, you add, he can tell you anything he knows about his benefactor. That can be his way of making amends.

[1/2]

>>932442

“The parasite fascinates him. It's an obsession,” Brandr's face twists with revulsion, at his own hypocrisy as much as anything else, “He says that men should admire it – the unstoppable will to live, to change and adapt to overcome any obstacle. It's not a weapon to him, it's... it's a...”

It's a way of life, you finish with a bitter laugh. The perversity of it all disgusts you, welling up inside you like bile. Brandr has his own sins to bear, but this man – facilitating all of this because of a twisted obsession, a vile admiration – is almost infinitely worse. The thought that you'll see him answer for his crimes soon enough is a small consolation, placating you and cooling your temper.

Nodding to yourself, you set down the syringe and turn away from Brandr. One more day, you promise him, he should make the most of it.

Settling back down into your makeshift bed, tucked away in a corner of the laboratory, you close your eyes and slow your breathing. This time, it's easy to sleep.

-

When your eyes snap open, you're not quite sure what it was that woke you until a second rattle of gunfire rings out from the distance. Pulling yourself upright, your hand drops down to the knife at your hip – it's hot, like a bar of iron plucked from the forge. Yvette is here, and close. Glancing around the laboratory, you take stock of the situation. Brandr sits slumped in his wheelchair, looking entirely unsurprised by the sounds of gunfire, while Wehrlain paces tersely back and forth.

Seeing you rise, Wehrlain turns to you and starts to blurt out something – an order, perhaps demanding an explanation – before the door banging open cuts him off. Flattening yourself out of sight, hidden behind a stack of shelves, you see a uniformed soldier enter.

“Stay here!” the soldier barks, “The situation is under control, but I need you to stay here. I'll send some men to guard you shortly, as soon as-” a distant, but less distant than before, explosion cuts him off.

“I demand to know what's going on!” Werhlain snaps, taking advantage of the pause “I refuse to be treated like some common servant – where is your master? I want to speak with him, right away!”

“We're keeping him in the meeting room, under strict protection,” the soldier looks back, glancing out into the main hall, “Just keep your fucking head down, I'll send men as soon as I can!”

“Don't just run out, don't you dare run-” Wehrlain protests as the soldier flees. Throwing his hands up in disgust, the indignant Scholar turns to you, “You, Hunter, this is your doing, isn't it? You planned this, prepared for it... well, you'd better have planned a way of keeping me safe, I don't trust these soldiers to do their jobs properly!”

>Sorry Wehrlain, but neither of you are leaving here alive
>Just keep your head down, like you were told. You'll be safe enough here
>Start running. Maybe you'll get lucky
>Other

>>932486
>>Just keep your head down, like you were told. You'll be safe enough here
Unless we want him dead now? Should we even try to hand them over to Camilla?

>>932486
Fuck it. Dude is guilty of breeding a fucking parasite that was used to kill an entire village cause he thought it was 'fascinating'

>Sorry Wehrlain, but neither of you are leaving here alive
"I need to correct my mistake."

Except don't say this until the knife is already in him.

Then go get the poison syringe and dose Brandr like we promised.

>>932486
>Sorry Wehrlain, but neither of you are leaving here alive

>>932486
>>Just keep your head down, like you were told. You'll be safe enough here

>>932486
>Just keep your head down, like you were told. You'll be safe enough here

Brandr can die but I'd like to keep Wehrlain around to hand over to the authorities.

>>932504
This.>>932486

Been too long.

>>932486
>Just keep your head down, like you were told. You'll be safe enough here

We don't even know it's really Camilla. We can always kill Werhlain later.

>Alright, I'm just going to close the vote now and start writing the next post. Looks like we're letting Wehrlain live a little longer. Sorry for the wait

>>932568
Curse you Wehrlain, and other Anons logical thinking. I will have you dead yet!

>>932575
It should be fine. Both options had merit. My one worry is that history might repeat itself and he'll get spirited away by this splinter group again if we go through proper channels, but I'm sure Camilla will be smart about it.

Just stay here and keep his head down, you tell Wehrlain, just like he was told. He'll be safe enough here, so long as he doesn't try anything foolish.

“What?” Wehrlain's voice is strained, disbelieving and incredulous. Amazingly, he laughs – he can't bring himself to face the facts, to face reality. “Here, safe? This is not the time for humour, and I don't appreciate-”

Another explosion, close enough to be almost deafening, rips through the manor, causing you both to flinch back away from the main hall. A fresh wave of gunfire follows it, followed by screams and yelled orders. In the space of a single moment, the situation has gone from “under control” to complete panic, disorder spreading like wildfire as the fighting spills over into the manor itself.

“Damn it, I'm not a fighter. I won't a minute if they come in here!” as the gunfire continues to rise and fall outside, Wehrlain looks around for a convenient hiding place, anything that could put a solid wall between him and any bullets that might come his way. Without a backwards glance, without even seeing if Brandr is following him, the Scholar flees to the rear of the laboratory.

“Well then,” Brandr says heavily, watching his fellow Scholar leave, “This is it.”

This is it, you agree. As he watched you with an indifferent eye, you fill up the syringe with the poison. He chuckles slightly as you finish, his laugher forced and haggard as he tries to hide his fear. What, you ask, what's so funny?

“It's very potent,” he tells you, nodding at the syringe, “That's more than enough.”

Well, you murmur as you tilt his head to the side, you like to make sure. Then, without neither hesitation nor ceremony, you sink the needle into his neck and press down on the plunger. Closing his eyes, Brandr lets out a long, slow sigh.

He doesn't take another breath.

-

Before you leave him behind, you press the syringe into Brandr's good hand, gently closing his fingers around it. Convincing enough, you decide, a suicide to all but the most suspicious eye. Whatever else you could say about the man, and there are a great number of sins to lay at his feet, Brandr was finally able to face death with dignity. That's certainly more than you could say for Wehrlain, cowering in the back of the laboratory. Death hasn't even come for him yet, and he's still fleeing from it.

Let him run and hide, you think as you step out into the main hall, he can't run from it forever. Nobody can run forever.

And then, as you're swept up in the chaos consuming the main hall, all thoughts of the surviving Scholar are banished from your mind.

[1/2]

>>932615

The manor's entrance, the old front door, simply doesn't exist any more. Blown wide open, along with a sizeable portion of the wall itself, there is nothing to stop the wave of savages from flooding in. As unstoppable as the tides, the invading army – a riotous mix of painted bodies, whooping cheers and hungry knives – sweeps away the uniformed soldiers. There's nothing you can do but stop and stare, transfixed by the display of violence.

You've seen this kind of frenzied bloodshed before, but never in human beings. Starved beasts fight like this, falling upon the wounded and tearing them apart with fangs and claws, but not men.

Fires burn here and there, either an accidental result of the explosions or the malicious work of the ravaging army, and the light they casts casts a hellish mood over the scene. Above the screaming, above the faltering gunfire, you hear a voice shouting your name.

“Henryk!” Camilla cries, leaning over the upstairs balcony, “Up here, come on!”

The meeting room, of course – that's where their leader was supposed to have fled to. Yvette will be there, she has to be there. The burning blade in your hand tells you that, screaming out what your instincts are whispering. Running past knots of painted barbarians, men holding aloft bloodied trophies, you take the stairs two at a time. Nearly tripping over a body sprawled out across the top step, you arrive at Camilla's side.

“Damn good to see you,” she says quickly, “Saive is here, just up ahead!”

Nodding, you draw your pistol and press ahead, shouldering your way through the door.

-

In the space of what could only be a matter of seconds, not even a full minute, your attention is pulled from one thing to another, hungrily taking in every detail you can get. The room itself is dimly lit, somehow managing to preserve a discrete and dignified air despite the carnage outside. Candles flicker in tame imitation of the fires raging in the main hall, while the smell of cigar smoke tickles your nose.

Sitting languid in a high backed chair – the kind of chair that wishes it could be a throne – a tanned gentleman gazes at you with a mix of resentment and stubborn pride. Behind him, as if he could shield them all, a motley collection of servants and aides shy away. You see a suited secretary, a familiar looking woman in plain garb – Isabella, you realise – and someone that could only be a personal chef. Only a chef would wear a hat that ridiculous.

And there, nestled amidst the staff and servants, you see her. Yvette Saive.

Your prey.

[2/3]

File: I'm the cook.webm (517 KB, 442x200)

517 KB WEBM

>>932654
Shit. We gotta take out that Chef. It's the other killer that was mentioned.

>>932658
probably, yeah. But Henryk don't know that. he didn't Talk to Rast

>>932662
Camilla is a) there with him, and b) a crack shot.

File: Chaotic Neutral.png (785 KB, 600x1724)

785 KB PNG

>>932662
Also I'm joking. Because there is the suited secretary and I'm pretty sure Rast said the other person was a woman.

Really we should kill them all to be safe.

Unless you think this dude blackmailed someone into being his Chef or Secretary.

Which I'm not ruling out, just saying they *probably* still deserve to die anyways.

>>932666
skinner will want the big man for himslf so just kill the girl we came here for im sure the fighter will revile hemslfs when we go to attck,
also what are we going to take away from yvette? a lock of her hair?

>>932667
Her sword!

>>932672
>>932667
Nothing too human-like. The sword might be a good idea but I think it was easily identified as hers? We'll just see when it comes time. We still have a chance at bringing her back alive, just a very small one.

>>932673
Honestly the Majestic combined with some trinket on her, probably her pistol, will be enough to convince Loch. Besides he can tell if we are lying or telling the truth anyways due to his blood.

>>932678
Wasn't thinking about Loch, the sword would be good for him though, just thinking about our personal collection.

>>932685
Oh. Technically we don't *need* a trophy, but yeah I agree, nothing human-like. A sword or pistol will work just fine.

>>932689
We don't, but we've taken one from every beast we've hunted right? No reason to stop now.

>>932689
>>932692

umm wasnt part of hunting them we had to take something from them as well as killing them?
mybe her gun give it to the girl

>>932695
Nope, just old tradition. Artemis said we don't need to do it. Hell we don't even have to kill the beasts ourselves, just so long as they are dead before the rest of the souls escape Nihilo.

File: Ellis Saive.jpg (56 KB, 616x970)

56 KB JPG

>>932654


“Nobody move!” Camilla yells as you both step further into the room, keeping her pistol pointed at the gathering, “You're all under arrest, on charges of sedition, criminal conspiracy, murder, and-”

“You have no authority here,” the tanned man says, the simple calm of his voice silencing Camilla as surely as a slap in the face, “My name is Ellis Ellington Saive, and I no longer recognise League justice. Leave us, and take your mongrel army with you.”

He's got guts, you'll give him that. Either that, or he's seriously delusional. An incredulous silence falls across the scene for a moment, before Yvette finally lets out a strangled cry. Perhaps she was reeling from your sudden entrance, perhaps you were the last person she had been expecting to see here. Whatever her reasons, it took her this long to recognise you – but now that she has, she can't stop herself from crying out.

“That one, he's an assassin!” she shrieks, pointing an accusing finger straight at you, “Kill him, kill them both!”

As if her cry had been what everyone had been waiting for, the stillness shatters. Isabella screams, falling back and getting as low as possible. The chef follows suit, dropping low and covering his face with both hands, as the secretary – a thin blade of a man – throws out a hand and lunges forwards. Something cuts the air between you and Camilla as you twist around to bring up your pistol. A throwing knife, you belatedly realise, a throwing knife that passed within inches of your head.

By the time that information has sunk in, the hidden bodyguard is already dead, shot down by you and Camilla, but the distraction is enough. Footsteps clatter as Yvette barges past you and out onto the balcony. Cursing aloud, you turn after her.

“Go!” Camilla yells, “I've got this, go after her!”

Even before the words have left her mouth, you're chasing after Yvette. She's fast, damn fast – already on the stairs by the time you've made it out of the meeting room. As you start to chase after her, she turns and fires her pistol, the shot bursting against the wooden doorway. It was a crude and poorly aimed shot, but it forced you to flinch, winning her a few more precious seconds.

Snarling, you leap at the balcony, touching off the balustrade as you plunge down towards her, blade drawn and ready. With a single jump, you finish this last meagre stretch of the long, long chase that led you here.

>Calling for a Physical Combat roll, that's 1D100+20, aiming to beat 70/90/110. I'll take the highest of the first three results!

Rolled 37 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>932704
Oh boy here goes.

Rolled 60 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>932704

Rolled 98 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>932704
'beast mode' please.

File: 1219155769516.jpg (6 KB, 239x239)

6 KB JPG

>>932710

>>932710
Jesus Anon, ya nailed her. I was kinda hoping we could hit the 90 DC so we could still fight her, hope she didn't just get one shot.

>>932710
Fuck man that's some Assassin's Creed shit right there.

>>932713
It's the second half of the twins, this'll just lower DC for the rest of the fight most likely

>>932723
Unless the other Saive is another of our beasts

File: Yvette Saive.jpg (427 KB, 700x900)

427 KB JPG

Still quick, moving with the desperate speed one fighting for their life, Yvette just barely has time to draw her sword before you crash down on her. Together, in a tangle of limbs, you tumble down the rest of the stairs and sprawl out into the tiled floor of the main hall. When the world has returned to stillness, you find her pinned beneath you, your weight bearing down on her. Even so, she struggles like a furious cat, raking her nails across your face as she tries to push you back. Thrashing wildly, her boots scrape against the floor tiles as she kicks at nothing.

Grunting, ignoring the pain that shoots through your cheek as she claws at you, you drive the birthing blade into her chest. Over and over again, you thrust the blade into her flesh, hot blood splattering out against you. Every hurdle you've faced coming here, every setback and frustration, every difficulty and delay, comes pouring out of you as you ravish her. She cries out over and over again as the blade pierces her, her voice growing weaker with every wordless scream. At some point, her struggles slow and then stop completely, her arms falling limply at her sides and her wildly kicking feet growing still.

Only then do you stop yourself, the breath rasping in your throat as you pull away from her. Sweat, tainted with the acid scent of terror, wars with the copper stink of fresh blood for your attention, and all you can hear is your own thundering heartbeat. Leaning back, still straddling her, you reach out a hand and touch her throat. No pulse, but... you're not surprised, considering your unrestrained attack. As you're checking for any unlikely signs of life, your eyes fall upon a necklace – the Saive family crest, crafted in delicate gold. With a sudden violent tug, you rip the necklace away. It's proof, evidence that your pursuit was a successful one. If the necklace itself isn't enough to convince Loch, perhaps the blood settling into the deepest recesses will be more persuasive.

Your blade makes a slick, wet sound as you pull it from her flesh. Shaking drops of blood from the blade, you rise to your feet and start to stagger back to the stairs. Camilla should have the others under control by now, and-

“That doesn't... belong... to you...” a voice, an ancient thing pulled from a nightmare, gurgles out. Metal scrapes against stone as Yvette somehow rises, her sword held in a loose grip. She trembles with the inhuman effort of staying upright, and just lifting the sword almost finishes her.

She's dead, you breathe, she should be dead.

“Not yet,” she hisses, “I'm not... finished... yet.”

Impossibly, fighting every inch of the way, she brings the sword up into a formal duelling stance, pointing the blade towards you with an agonised flourish.

>Physical Combat check, 1D100+20, aiming to beat 80/100. Best of the first three

Rolled 35 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>932799
This is good, this is nice.

Rolled 28 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>932799

Rolled 75 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>932799

>>932807
Huh, almost thought we were finally gonna fail a combat roll.

>>932807
>>932799
Good roll. I almost don't want to use the +20 but there is no real reason not to since we have the extra one from the blade and it can only be used on her...

Might as well use it I guess.

>>932810
True, let's put the phantom to rest.

>>932799
We can't just . . . avoid her while she bleeds out?

>>932816
Pretty sure that she's being possessed by her ancestral Knight. Yvette is dead as a doornail.

Even knowing what you know about the nobility, and the powers of their blood, you still struggle to believe what you're seeing. Despite the fact that most of her auspicious blood is pouring out of her, Yvette actually seems to be getting stronger, each step she takes more fluid and easy than the last. What started as an ungainly lurch, the pace of a man dragging himself into his own grave, transforms into a precise, practised grace. You circle each other for a moment, each of you thinking your own thoughts. Yours are simple – searching for some explanation – but hers... you're not even sure if Yvette's mind is still anything you'd recognise as human.

You keep waiting for her to fall, for the last drop of blood to leave her body, but that possibility seems to grow less and less likely with each passing moment. It's no use – you'll have to finish her properly. Accepting that thought, you feel your mind growing cold and hard, drawing strength the blade in your hand and focusing on the task ahead of you.

>Focus remaining: 1

With a sudden clatter of boot heels against stone, Yvette – or the thing that wears her skin – launches into an attack. Jabbing at you with the tip of her sword, her blows come in lightning quick succession, both high and low. Leaping back out of her reach, you watch the point of her sword raking through the air where your eyes had been a moment before, cutting only air.

“You move quick... for a human...” she rasps, blood shining on her teeth, “Good... this is good...” Still hissing that last word, she throws herself into another attack. This time, you meet her charge with one of your own. Tackling her with your open hand, you grab a fistful of her tailor coat and pull forwards, tipping her off balance even as you step around the sword. She starts to fall, and you drive your blade into the back of her neck as soon as her guard is open.

She doesn't cry out, but something within her changes as your attack strikes home. Like a puppet with its strings cut, her body looses the tight control she had so briefly regained over it. With the last of her unnatural strength, she rasps out one single word. “Tsorig...” she gargles, barely able to pronounce the word through the torn throat.

Then, as she is human once more, death swoops in to claim what its rightful prize.

>I'm planning to run a little more today, but I'm going to pause here for a little bit. No more than an hour, I hope.

File: Camilla.jpg (133 KB, 692x900)

133 KB JPG

>>932852

As you're leaning down to pull the knife out of Yvette's neck, wrenching it free from bone and gristle, something catches your eye – a scrap of white cloth, miraculously pristine considering. A silk handkerchief, with her initials sewn in with gold thread. An old thing, by the slightly faded look of it, perhaps given to her as a child. It reminds you of the Saive manor back in Thar Dreyse – the stubborn pride of a family clinging to luxury they can no longer afford. More than the gold necklace, this scrap of silk seems like the perfect trophy.

Folding it up and slipping the handkerchief deep into your pocket, you feel the faint prickle of eyes upon your back. Slowly turning a full circle, you see dozens of painted savages staring at you in mute fascination. If the sight of a woman moving and fighting beyond the point of death disturbed them, they show no sign of it – rather, they seem to have accepted it as if it had been a common scuffle, a common sight in the colonies.

Maybe it is a common sight, in this land of spirits and superstition.

-

“Oh hell!” Camilla blurts out, her eyes wide and horrified, “Henryk, are you... That... that's not your blood, is it?”

Some of it might be yours, you reply, it's hard to keep track.

“I see,” swallowing hard, she nods slowly, “I presume Yvette won't be coming back with us to stand trial?”

She tried to run, you tell her with a faint shrug, you stopped her. She fought, but you fought back harder. That's about all there is to say about it. Shrugging again, you glance across to the other Saive. He's still sitting in his “throne”, but this time his hands are bound, and one eye is darkened by a lurid bruise. Judging by the hazy, unfocused look in his eyes, he's drifting in and out of consciousness.

“Turns out he can't just ignore all forms of League justice,” Camilla explains with a faint smirk, “He tried to walk right out, like I wasn't even here. He didn't get very far either. Well, anyway - sorry about letting Yvette get past me. I knew that he had a disguised bodyguard, but I thought it was the chef. I wasn't expecting it to be his secretary.”

The chef, you repeat, not the sinister looking man in the suit?

“I thought that was too obvious,” shaking her head, Camilla smiles faintly, “Next time, I'll be more careful.”

-

Thunderous footsteps, like the rumble of an approaching army, cause you to turn. Skinner, looming and huge, stands in the doorway with a bloodied machete resting lightly on his shoulder. His chest is bare, daubed with looping scrawls of white paint, but there isn't a single open wound visible. It's as if the blades and bullets were too intimidated to come near him, his brutal courage warding off any danger.

“So here he is,” Skinner rumbles, “My prize.”

[1/2]

>>933037

Swaggering into the meeting room, as if he had an engraved invitation in his hand rather than a machete, Skinner walks right up to Ellis and lifts the nobleman's head up. Studying his “prize” for a moment, he lets Ellis' head droop back down and turns to you. “He is weak,” Skinner decides, “Was he really the one that tried to claim my land and kill my men?”

“Apparently so,” Camilla says with a shrug, “But he's certainly not much of a fighter. Folded at the first punch, in fact.”

“Weak,” the southern giant repeats, disgust colouring his voice, “I could take his head for everyone to see, but who would be cowed by such a display? I have no need to intimidate whelps and bastards. You can keep him – but only if you take him far away from this place. Take him away and throw him into the deepest, darkest pit you can find. Let him wither away to nothing, let him be forgotten.”

“I think we've got some fairly deep, dark dungeons back up north,” Camilla says, nodding to herself, “He'll be right at home, with the rest of the scum and the filth.”

“No...” Ellis shakes his head, forcing his eyes open, “No, you will NOT throw me in a cell, as if I was some common street thug. I am a gentleman, a member of the nobility – I am a Saive!”

You've seen the Saive family record, you tell him with a cold smile, and his name sure as hell wasn't on it.

He's not a Saive – he's nothing.

>I think I'll pause things here for tonight. I'll continue this tomorrow, and I'll stick around for a while in case anyone has any comments or questions
>Thanks to everyone who posted today!

>>933195
Thanks for running, Moloch!

>>933195
>He's not a Saive – he's nothing.
Huh, didn't expect that. Someone's going to get interrogated.

Thanks for running. We going to the Temple next or is there nothing really interesting there?

File: Working class scum.jpg (39 KB, 680x516)

39 KB JPG

>>933195
>You've seen the Saive family record, you tell him with a cold smile, and his name sure as hell wasn't on it.
>He's not a Saive – he's nothing.

Henryk better look at him like that.
Your blood isn't even worthy to be Bull or Wolf, how plebeian can you be?

File: Bitch Nigga.jpg (56 KB, 625x351)

56 KB JPG

>>933195
>I'm not beholden to the laws of your country! I don't recognize them!
>Wait, I'm a member of the nobility only recognized by your country!
Not the shiniest fork in the set, is he?

>>933227

I have a certain amount of material planned for the temple, so we'll get the chance to visit it next time.

>>933243

The amusing thing is, his blood isn't worth a damn - after a few generations of breeding with the common folk, this branch of the Saive family barely has a trace of Dragon's Blood.

>>933248

He's got a very high opinion of himself, that's for sure. He's the sort of guy who was raised without anyone ever saying "no" to him, so this kind of defeat is pretty alien to him. As you might expect, he's not handling it very well!

File: laughing guys.gif (3.38 MB, 700x285)

3.38 MB GIF

>>933271
>Henryk and Camilla everytime they trigger his "My blood is noble" response.
I feel they deserve to be little shits for all the hardship they endured.

I would love a What-If of Liz actually making it South and not getting on the wong ship.

>>933322
I bet Lize is going to get a kick out of that when we tell her.

>We were gearing up for a badass ringleader and Camilla just punches him in the face.

>>933418
We should totally take a shower with Camilla once we're back in town.

>>933436
Lewd

>>933271
Also, just a bit of feedback/whatever this would be called
I really like the juxtaposition between Camilla's relationship with Henryk and Artemis', since they were really similar with Henryk being a stand-in and replaceable respectively, but since Camilla's relationship has gone past that point and the only thing about Henryk that isn't replaceable to Artemis is his progress and it'll always be that way it makes it hard to like Artemis more than Camilla.
I suppose that could be the point though, it fits with the messages in the quest so far. Even if Artemis is more "human" than the more natural "forces of nature that randomly impregnate women and would probably do the same to men if they could" gods she's still wildly different from a squishy mortal. And I can't imagine centuries alone in an empty wasteland constantly remembering and forgetting the vast majority of her memories unhinging her mentally can help.
I'm also suspicious Artemis' hunter, so Henryk, is going to end up being the 12th Beast and Artemis is just conveniently forgetting to tell him that part and that makes it really hard to like her.
In any case, I can't wait to see how this all turns out, even if I'm wrong.

>>933436
We need to remind her she wanted to talk about her and Henryk's relationship something totally not important on the boat.
Camilla a best.
Eat your heart out Artemis.

>>933476
The obvious route this could take is that Artemis is in fact the Nameless God's Wild Child he poured everything into. Looking for purpose, etc, etc she killed and hunted until either the Knights got fed up with her shit or thought they were the real children of the Nameless God and killed her.

Assuming everything the old lady in the orphanage told us was true/this interpretation is correct. But if it is true and she isn't super bloodthirsty crazy person when we collect all 12 souls I think she just needs people to ground her. Give her a purpose and place, etc.

All assumptions though, I have no idea how this is going to go down. We still got our own blood's ticking clock to deal with as well.

File: Spoiler Image (640 KB, 750x800)

640 KB PNG

>>933534
You can trust Artemis.

File: 1468651134081.jpg (336 KB, 1150x950)

336 KB JPG

>>933637

>>933476
>hard to like Artemis more than Camilla
I still like Artemis a lot but these past threads have warmed me up to Camilla. She kicked major butt this time and made it kind of hard to keep hating her. Lize is still best girl though. Training up the daughteru to kick butt like Camilla has has been my goal since the early threads.

>>933476
Camillafags are the worst.

Go Goddess or Go Home.

>>933534
I would be fine dying if we were the last beast so long as it meant the end of beast blood fucking everyone up.

It's just the same choice as always, die as a man or "die" as a man and have out body live on as a beast.

I don't plan for happy endings in Molochs quests.

>>935253
>I don't plan for happy endings in Molochs quests.

That's because you have to work for them. They don't get handed to you. London and SGQ were similar.

>>935253
We managed to get a happy ending in Moloch's last quest.

>>935272
All the Anons have to work together for it, you mean.

>>935828
Looking forward to the fight Artemis or waifu Artemis vote that ends up being a tie.

There's something different about Camilla, and it takes you a while to realise what it is. All the time she's talking to you, giving you a curt account of what she found on Isla Calvara, your mind keeps drifting, searching for that elusive something. Finally, when her story has come to an end, you can put your finger on it. Her voice is different – a little rougher, a little more husky than you remember it.

“That's the bit that caught your attention?” she asks, letting out an exasperated. Lighting up a cigarette, she thoughtfully rubs her throat. “Like I said, they used gas on Isla Calvara. My suit got torn, and I was exposed to some of it. Burned my throat pretty badly. I'm not sure if it'll heal or not – maybe I'll be speaking like this for the rest of my life.”

There are worse injuries to suffer, you reply with a shrug, and you've got to admit - it suits her pretty well.

“That's sweet,” Camilla winces faintly, although the corners of her lips lift in a slight smile, “You really know how to give someone a compliment, don't you?”

And she really knows how to accept one.

“Well...” just for the sake of having something to do with her hands, Camilla leans over and crushes her cigarette, stubbing it out in a fine porcelain dish. Fiddling with the next cigarette, not yet lighting it, she clears her throat carefully before continuing. “Anyway, that's not important now. I can breath fine enough, so I'm fit for duty – that's all you need to concern yourself with,” nodding firmly, she meets your eyes and smiles, “Oh yes, I did want to thank you for the warning. It was very... timely.”

It came entirely too late, you remark with a wry smile, didn't I?

“Well, yes,” shrugging, Camilla waves the issue away with her unlit cigarette, “But that's not to say it wasn't useful – it made dealing with Rast a good deal easier.”

So she really crossed paths with him, you muse, you've heard some pretty nasty rumours. What was he like, you ask, was he as dangerous as you were expecting?

“Why don't you find out for yourself?” she asks, “He's with Cid, back at the Navaja.”

-

As you start to head back to the Navaja, Camilla explains how she and Rast crossed paths, and what she came to learn from him. Apparently, it took a dozen of Skinner's men to bring him down, and more than half of those men lay dead by the end of it all. Taken back to New Odyss as a prisoner, he had drugged and left to spill his secrets. Camilla's voice grows more hesitant as she describes his raving, and you can easily understand why.

Some of the things he suggested, vultures that dragged souls to their grim destination... well, you've heard THAT sort of thing before.

[1/3]

>>936108

Passing through the main hall on your way back, you pause to check on the prisoners. The Scholars, and a fair number of servants, are huddled in a loose group, watched by Skinner's men. You're glad to see that only a small number of the Scholars died in the attack, cut down by Skinner's men when they tried to resist. A damn fool thing to do – when the attack hit, it had done so with unstoppable force. What could a few Scholars have achieved, when the professionals, trained soldiers, had been swept aside? They must have known it was suicide, but they had tried to fight regardless. Brave, you can't deny that, but utterly senseless.

“I'm still not entirely sure what to do with them,” Camilla murmurs to you, “Bring them back up north, I suppose. No matter what we might think of them, they're useful men. Some of the best in their fields, in fact. In a proper environment, where they can be monitored and controlled, they're invaluable. Left to do whatever they want, without regulation...”

She trails off here, and you know that she's thinking about the Orphanage, the crimes committed there. What happened back then wasn't all that different from what happened in your time – nothing really changes, you think to yourself.

“Hey,” bringing you back to reality with the sound of her voice, Camilla approaches one of the prisoners. “You there,” she asks, “Are you Isabella?” The question hangs in the air as the young woman glances between you and Camilla, looking as if her world was about to end. Every time her eyes flick in your direction, she hastily looks away. Considering the dark stains clinging to your clothes, completely covering up the original colour in some places, you don't really blame her from flinching away. Finally, she nods.

“Good,” Camilla mirrors her nod, “Come with us.”

-

A group of Skinner's men are building a grand funeral pyre as you them by, smashing fine furniture into shapeless lumps of firewood. Before your very eyes, a table that might have cost a small fortune back in the Free States is broken apart and thrown onto the pile. A short distance away, already crawling with black flies, bodies of the fallen are lined up. Shuddering at the sight, Isabella looks away and quickens her pace.

Without the need to stay safe and out of sight, the Navaja was able to settle close to the manor, and so the trip back the boat is a short one. At the sight of the ship – or rather, one of the men waiting by it – Isabella lets out a sharp gasp and pushes past you, running to join her father. Cid, standing next to Rast with a rifle held low, turns to give you a bemused shrug.

Come on, you murmur to Camilla, best to give them some time alone.

[2/3]

>>936115

After what seems like a long time, Rast is finally able to separate himself from his daughter, leaving her in Cid's care as he lurches across to speak with you. Up close, you're not sure what to make of him – if not for his mismatched eyes, he could blend into a crowd of regular men, clerks or warehouse workers. Still, once you meet his gaze you know that he could never be mistaken for a common man. Mere seconds after a joyous reunion, his eyes have sunk back down into a cold murk.

Killer's eyes, you think to yourself, although you're in no position to judge him for that.

“You seem to be quite thorough,” he says, looking calmly between you and Camilla, “I can appreciate that. Regardless, I'm here with a matter of business – a deal, if you're interested.”

He certainly doesn't waste any time. What kind of deal, you ask, what is he offering? More importantly, what does he want in return?

“I can lead you to Ellis' home, his private sanctuary – the temple that I mentioned,” he nods to Camilla as he adds that last part, “Ellis is likely to have left some of his belongings there – journals, ledgers... evidence of his wider organisation. It's well hidden, and there will still be a number of soldiers standing guard. They'll stand down at my order, however.”

That's half of it, you press, what would he ask as payment?

“I want to remain here, in the south. Don't mention my name back in the Free States,” he meets your gaze, holding it for a moment, “If anyone asks, you can tell them I'm dead, tell them I died in this attack. Let them forget that I ever existed.”

>Fine. That's a fair offer
>Not after what you've done. You don't get to walk away
>Other

>>936118
>>Other
"Camilla? I think it's a decent deal, but you've been the one talking to him."

Truth is Henryk doesn't really know jack about Rast, only what he saw in the journal. Camilla actually knows his circumstances and past better so it outta be her call.

>>936118
>>Fine. That's a fair offer
He a useful man and I kind of want him to chill with his daughter but I feel like just letting him get away isn't a cool thing to do. Camilla especially might have an issue with it. Ideally, we would accept the deal and the go back on it but shooting him after he helps us out and just wants to lay low feels wrong. Fucking hell.

>>936118
>That's fine with me.
>But what are you going to do about Skinner? Is he REALLY going to let you off, after we leave? In a way, he represents some things you DO have to answer for.

>>936135
Pretty sure Skinner didn't give a shit about Rast the moment we gave him the bigger target.

>>936134
His circumstances have always been kind of bullshit. Ordered by the Ministry one time and his daughter held hostage the next. Not saying that wipes the responsibility away, but it gives perspective.

>>936152
I think Skinner just kind of forgot about Rast. Since his bigger target was a wimp, it would make sense to make a scene by killing Rast, the guy that actually fucked people up. Lets not mention that though, I personally want the guy to just lay low. Henryk doesn't seem like he'd care either way so maybe you're on to something by asking Camilla what she thinks.

>>936118
>>Fine. That's a fair offer
but you be under someones supervisors mybe the the local gang boss we are frineds with?

>>936161
In a sense that's just giving him another boss to may blackmail him into doing more dirty work.

The dude just wants to disappear and live his life with his daughter. Of that I am pretty damn sure.

>>936118
>>Fine. That's a fair offer at least to me it is. Camilla?

>>936118
> He doesn't get to walk free. Isabella does, and she can be set up back north.

> Rast gets to be set up underneath the Governor here. His job will be to watch for men like him and to not do the shit he did before.

> He can't atone for what he did by dying, he has to work to make it right.

Camilla should be the one to determine this, not Henryk.

>>936132
This.

Plus, she's the closest thing to an official we have on hand.

>>936164
Governor needs good men who are trustworthy.

Also keeping him there keeps him out of the Skinner/Escher conflict and gives him some protection as an "outsider" slash official who doesn't have to play by the rules of escalation.

Also he can run counter intelligence.

Finally he has the chance to actually be a good man and get some redemption instead of just being a thug again.

>>936164
i know but his not that bad ad i dont think we could live a normal life even if he tried.
i also dont like leaving him UN attended to do as he plases.
i mean the govenor could also be a could boss i guse

>>936172
Is governor even going to be around for long? Seems like he's a druggy through and through. Just letting the guy bail and fuck off to some random island is fine.

>>936175
That's why we have decent staff under him. We still have to deal with the Physician as well.

Honestly, could be the easiest solution. I personally don't feel good just letting Mr. "Not the first town I wiped off the map" go.

Besides, if we have a Bull working with the Captain they should be able to compensate for the Governor - who we probably can't get rid of without blowing our whole "under cover" shtick anyways.

And we can give his daughter a better life in the North under protection instead of making her live as a fugitive in the south.

>>936175
>>936179
Reminder that Rast has Bull blood. And a new Governor could be worse than an ineffective one that at least doesn't stir up trouble and start shit.

>>936173
He has a decent Captain. And we have leverage on the Physician.

>>936179
>making her live as a fugitive in the south.
Whoa what? Has she done anything other than tag along? She should be fine down south and I think they'd both fight to stay near each other. Bad idea to split them up right after they finally meet up again. If he does go with Governor, she can be a secretary or something.

>>936179
Well if Rast does end up working for the Gov his daughter can stay in the South as well if she wants cause she won't be a fugitive then. At least then they stay together.

>>936186
>>936188
I mean, yeah we should give her the option. South seems like a kind of shitty place to live as opposed to the Empire, especially regarding employment and marriage prospects. Also keeps people from trying to use her as leverage against Rast.

But if she wants to stay whatever.

I suppose we could play up his contributions and get him folded back into the ministry.

>>936196
>giving Mr. "Not the first town I wiped off the map" over to the league
Anon please what are you trying to do? Just toss him at Skinner if ya want.

>>936200
> Build up our own power base within the League from the ashes of the conspiracy

Worked with Nazis and Unit 731 Japs after the war. Ended up with NASA. We could go to the moon bro. The moon in the North.

>>936205
>ashes of the conspiracy
We haven't done shit about that though. Unless we find a jackpot and a list of big bad names in the temple. I do fancy the idea of Rast somehow building NASA and going to the moon, had a good laugh with that.

That's not an offer you can just agree to, you point out, without knowing what kind of man you're dealing with. You've known him for nothing more than a few scant moments, that's not enough to build a working relationship on. So, you say as you look to Camilla, what does she think about it? She's worked with him more than you have, what does she think about it?

“I think...” she pauses, rare uncertainty touching her features for a second, “I think it's a fair trade, but I need to ask – say you do get to walk free, what would you do? Are you telling me that you're just going to settle down and be a family man?”

“Maybe I would,” a faint flicker of humour flashes through Rast's eyes, “True, I'll need to find some kind of employment eventually, but that's not difficult. There will always be people who need a man of my talents.”

True enough, you agree, you're fairly sure that Escher could find a use for him. Maybe not a legal use, but a use nonetheless. If he'd rather stay on the good side of the law, however, you'd be willing to bet that the Ministry would be willing to employ him.

“They do need experienced men,” Camilla nods, “And it would give you the chance to do some good – repair some of the damage that has been done. If nothing else, it'll keep you out of trouble.”

“The Ministry...” Rast touches his face, at the old scars around his blind eye, “I never thought I'd find myself working for THEM again. Still...” He glances back at the Navaja, watching Isabella for a moment. “There's something to be said for stable work,” he continues, “Maybe I could even be a respectable man once again.”

Careful, you warn him, better to take things one step at a time. There's Skinner to consider as well – they're hardly close friends, and these southerners take their grudges very seriously. Working at the Ministry, he'd have an element of protection if Skinner ever came back for him. Even if he isn't afraid for his own life, you add as you nod slightly towards Isabella, he's got more to worry about than just himself now.

“That is a very good point,” Rast nods, his lips drawing into a thin line, “Very well. I can't promise that the Ministry will accept me, but I'll see what they have to say. Assuming, of course that you're happy with this?”

“It's good enough for me,” Camilla agrees, “I think you'll be able to find a place here. Henryk, what do you say?”

You consider the deal for a moment longer before holding out a hand. It's a fair trade, you tell Rast, you're happy to accept it.

“Well then,” the old soldier smiles, “Let's get a move on.”

[1/2]

>>936205
>>936200
This is a joke BTW. It's just that having him work for Escher seems to me like it'll just cause conflict with Skinner as opposed to letting him keep his head down as Random Guardsman for the Governor with the Captain knowing who he is, and working with him to keep an eye on the Physician and other potential spies.

>>936211
The Moon in the north is easy to get to. Difficult to leave however.

>I just want to give you all an advance warning. My power went out, so I'm currently running on battery power. I may need to finish early today, unless the power comes back. Hopefully, it won't come to that, but the possibility is there

>>936227
Run to your village's Starbucks!

>>936239
Fastest way to get all your information stolen, guaranteed!

File: Isla Nomann.jpg (386 KB, 1185x756)

386 KB JPG

>>936213

“It is good to see you again, my friend!” Cid calls, raising his voice over the sound of his ship's finely honed engines. Between you, Camilla, Rast and Cid himself, the Navaja feels positively crowded, but that doesn't seem to have hindered the vessel's speed at all. Compared with the last time you rode aboard the Navaja, a grim approach under the cover of darkness, this feels almost joyous. The sun beats down from above, and the spraying water sparkles to either side of the ship.

But you can never get too complacent, not while you're powering towards Isla Nomann. Like a filthy blot on an otherwise picturesque landscape, the island seems to have gathered pestilence around itself like a rotting shroud. Just looking at it, you feel like thick clouds have swept in to blot out the sun.

“We'll need to leave this ship on the shore,” Rast calls, lurching over to join you and Cid, “We travel overland, and then we'll hit the swamp. We'll find transportation hidden there – a ship we can use.”

“Ah, a ship of your own?” Cid grins, showing off gleaming white teeth, “Like this one, yes?”

“Something like that, yes,” Rast replies, a humourless smile lifting one corner of his mouth.

-

Cid grumbles softly to himself as he rows through the thick swamp, his complaints obvious to you even through his foreign tongue. Rast's “ship” turned out to be a crude canoe, hidden under a tangle of bushes. With only muscle power to propel it forwards, the journey is a slow one – even though it's a mercifully short distance, the time draws out. In the distance, insects scream and birds cry out to each other. Flies circle your canoe like vultures, and the air in your lungs feels sickly. Vast trees loom around you, while ancient idols rise up out of the mire.

“Those... things, those totems,” Camilla waves her hand at one of them, “Who made them? Why did they make them?”

“Who could say?” Cid shrugs, “Here, we do not ask such questions. They are here – for most of us, that is all we ever need to know.”

But there must be stories, you ask, what do the people say about them?

“Ah, that is different – few facts, but many stories. That is the way here,” nodding to himself, Cid grunts and drags the long oar through the swamp, “Some people, they say that spirits sleep within them. By carving a totem, a little copy, you might borrow a tiny fragment of that spirit's power... provided you pay its price, of course.”

Of course, you murmur, there's always a price.

“We're close,” Rast announces, pointing ahead of him, “The temple is just up ahead. We'll hit dry land soon enough.”

The language might not be a familiar one, but there's no mistaking the relief in Cid's reply.

[2/3]

>Update: I've got power back, but the next post is taking longer than expected to write. I'll have it up as soon as possible, but I'm not sure how long that might be.
>Thanks for your patience

>>936286
Did we just went off and left Wehrlain flapping in the wind waiting for the all clear?

That's kinda a dickish move.
Not that he doesn't deserve it and a dozen more.

Either his internet got him again or this post is just that much a bitch.

Remember Moloch you don't have to fill out all 3000 characters.

>>936425

>Ah, I forgot to specify that. Wehrlain was found and caught, he's being kept with the rest of the prisoners.

>>936455

>Just writer's block, I'm afraid. I'm having trouble to get this next bit flow properly.

>>936464
You might have to make some sacrifices for the sake of pacing.

If you give us some prompts we can help guide the structure here if that's part of the issue.