>>2849539

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

“Come on now, up and out,” Carter growls, grabbing your bound wrists and practically dragging you out of the automotive, “Don't try anything stupid now, and we can handle this nice and politely.” Taking a brief moment to brush down your clothes, Carter spins you around and gives you a slight push forwards. Just ahead of you is a dismal looking cabin, isolated in the middle of a thin patch of forest. Judging by the stillness in the air, there's nobody else around for miles.

Whatever he drugged you with, some traces of it still linger in your system. Your head feels thick and murky, any rapid movement causing your vision to blur and grey out. When you reach out to Keziah with your thoughts, you can just barely sense her. Actually managing a conversation feels out of the question – for now, at least. Clenching your eyes shut for a moment, you force your thoughts into some kind of order and look back around at Carter.

“Listen, Carter, you're making a big mistake,” you tell him as you take a few slow steps towards the cabin, “If you're working for Eishin, then you must know that he wants me alive. If you-”

“I'm not working for that bastard!” Carter hisses, grabbing the back of your coat's collar and tugging hard enough to pop a seam, “He has something we need. Once we have that, we'll eliminate him. A lot of work has gone into this, too much work for it all to be ruined in the space of a single day. So what you're going to is...” He pauses here, one corner of his mouth abruptly turning downwards in a frustrated scowl.

He doesn't know. Whatever their plans had been, this hadn't been included. From here on out, he's making this up as he goes along.

-

The inside of the cabin is just as dismal as the outside, with just a few bits of worn out furniture filling out the empty space. A pair of rickety chairs sit in the centre of the room, and Carter shoves you down into one of them with enough force to chase consciousness away for a fleeting moment. When the grey haze lifts, your arms are tightly tied behind the chair and Carter sits opposite you.

Tentatively reaching out again, you feel test your connection with Keziah – stronger this time, but your attempts at communication slip through your fingers like water. Straining harder, you finally feel a firmer link... although the effort almost drives you back into unconsciousness. Heedless to your efforts, Carter leans forwards and taps you on the chest.

“Pass out if you like,” he tells you, “It'll make my job easier if you do.”

[2/3]

>>2849540

That hardens your resolve, bringing a hint of clarity back to your mind. “Your job,” you repeat, “Seems to me like your job is helping out Eishin.”

For a moment, you think that Carter is about to slap you. Then, he heaves a heavy sigh. “Tell me, Vaandemere. Do you know Marshal Eichmann? He was the man who planned and lead the Annexation War – for the good of the nation, of course, but also for his own personal gain. In claiming the Pastona Union for Iraklis, he elevated himself in parliament,” Carter lectures, his eyes boring into you, “This is exactly the kind of underhand scheming that we wish to put an end to. A wise, unchanging leader with no need to seize or cling onto power... it would be better for the nation, for everyone!”

“I'm sure,” you sneer, “But some would be better off than others, right?”

Another sigh, and Carter glances back towards the door. “I can see that I'm wasting my time here,” he laments, “I apologise for leaving you like this, but... I have other duties to attend to. You've left me with a lot of work to do, Vaandemere.”

The thought of being left here, tied to this damn chair, for some unknowable length of time sends a stab of panic through you. “I trusted you!” you spit, tugging at your bonds. They feel damn sturdy, like the chair itself would sooner break. It's not such a heavy chair, though, and you might still be able to stand. If you can stand, maybe you can still fight...

“I know,” Carter agrees, one corner of his mouth twisting in a grimace of regret, “And I took advantage of that.” Leaving it at that, he rises from his chair and starts for the door.

>Let Carter leave, then see if you can escape
>Keep Carter talking, and see if you can reach some compromise
>Attack now, try to disable Carter before he can leave
>Try and send word to Keziah, get her to speak with Hess on your behalf
>Other

>>2849541
>Keep him talking

You want to give someone Eishins power? Who? Yourself, so you can be the immortal, invincible king?

>>2849541
>>Keep Carter talking, and see if you can reach some compromise. Or buy time to regain some if our strength for a fight.
"So are you working with Faulker? You don't want me to blow his cover so he can learn how to gain Eishin's hypothetical immortality?"

>Try and send word to Keziah, get her to speak with Hess on your behalf. Also get Freddy in the air searching for us if possible.

Hopefully Carter hasn't talked to Hess yet. It's imperative we get the first word in.

>>2849541
>let carter leave

>>2849541
>Keep Carter talking, and see if you can reach some compromise

I’ve seen how the immortality Eishin has/ wants is. It’s useless to you. It’d keep you trapped in one little plot of land, and if you ever leave? Well poor it goes.

“Wait!” you snap, “Just... wait!” To your surprise, Carter pauses and turns back to you. Resting his broad, brutal hands on the back of his chair, he leans forwards and nods for you to continue. Blinking a few times to gather your wits, you spit out the first question to cross your mind. “You want to give someone Eishin's power, right?” you ask, “Who? You, so you can rule as some... undying king? Or are you doing this for Hess?”

“Me? No, not at all. Were I offered such a gift, I would refuse it – I'm not a leader. Consul Hess would be my choice, were it left up to me to decide. He is a noble man and a skilled leader, but he is considered too... unorthodox,” shaking his head, Carter studies you with a renewed interest, as if surprised by this line of questioning. “Chancellor Wellager has been chosen for this role,” he continues, “She has been groomed for leadership since a young age, and she has the support of the people. I am certain that the nation would be safe in her hands.”

Closing your eyes in a parody of deep thought, you reach out to Keziah again. This time, you feel a faint whisper of sensation from her end – the smell of stale beer and smoke, the taste of watered down wine on her tongue. Is she in a bar somewhere, now of all times? Grasping at her thoughts leaves your own mind reeling, your consciousness coming undone and fraying apart. Just as creeping fingers of grey start to close in around you, Carter reaches forwards and gives you a hard prod.

“Careful,” he warns you, “I don't want you dying on me.”

“Then maybe you shouldn't have drugged me,” you grunt, clawing your way back to reality, “You... damn it. You're working with Faulkner, right? That's why you don't want me to blow his cover.”

“That's right. If you hadn't mentioned his name...” tutting quietly to himself, Carter sits back down again, “We just need Eishin for a little longer. Once we have what we need, we can put an end to him. Until then, however, we need Faulkner to act as an intermediary. I have an offer for you to consider – I'll release you and allow you give your report, your “true” report, and you leave out any mention of Faulkner. What do you think?”

Another tentative tug at the witch's thoughts, and this time you feel Keziah respond with a wordless flush of curiosity. With no way of knowing how long the connection will last for, you launch straight into it. “Go to Hess,” you order her, pouring all your energy into those three words, “Tell him everything. Do it now. Be careful-”

The connection slips away, leaving you gasping. Lifting your head again, you look Carter in the eye. “It won't work,” you hiss, “This power... Eishin is lying to you. It won't work.”

Carter's eyes narrow, and he sits back down. “Tell me,” he demands.

[1/2]

>>2849574

Keep him talking, you think to yourself, stall him until Keziah can bring your message to Hess. “Maybe he can offer you eternal life,” you explain slowly, trying to ignore the headache gnawing away at your brain, “But it comes with conditions. You're trapped, confined to a plot of land. If you ever leave it... you lose everything.”

His frown deepening, Carter gestures for you to continue. “Give me details,” he demands, “How did you learn of this?”

“A... reliable source of ancient Nadir knowledge,” you tell him, wincing a little as you think of Dubois – not exactly your idea of a reliable source. “The power only lasts so long as you stand upon the soil of your birth,” you continue, “Or so they claim. Eishin must believe in it – he doesn't leave his territory if he can help it, does he?”

“That does seem to be the case,” Carter concedes slowly, “Chancellor Wellager was born in Iraklis, so that would be the “soil of her birth”, but... a leader should not be confined to their domain. If Eishin didn't tell us this, then what else...” Standing suddenly, he marches towards the door. “Thank you for your cooperation,” he tells you, “You've given me something to consider. In return, I hope you consider MY offer. Think on it – I'll return here soon, to hear your decision.”

“Carter!” you protest, struggling again against the firm ropes binding you, “Don't you-”

But it's no use. Squaring his shoulders, the bulky soldier walks out and slams the door shut behind him. A lock rattles, and then you hear the rumble of an engine fading out as he drives away. With one last failed attempt at thrashing yourself free, you slump back and let your eyes drift shut. A little rest to help gather your strength, that's what you need right now... and you can't exactly do much else, can you?

-

“Boss?” Keziah whispers, her words seeming to brush up against your ear, “Are you there?”

Opening your eyes, you look up and see nothing but the same dilapidated cabin. Still, you feel the phantom weight of the witch's hands on your shoulders, as if she was standing behind you and breathing into your ear. “It's done,” she continues, “We told Hess everything – about Faulkner, about Caldwell, about everything. Well, Caliban really did all of the talking, I just sat back and looked pretty. I'm lucky he was with me, though.”

“What happened?” you ask, not quite sure if you're thinking or speaking aloud.

“He got a bad feeling, I think. We were waiting for you to come back when he just sat up and dragged me off to a bar – the deepest, darkest cellar bar he could find,” Keziah explains, “I guess his instincts were right, huh?”

Nodding slowly, you feel a sense of relief. Maybe it was for the best that Caliban stayed back at the skiff.

[2/3]

>>2849616
Ok good job guys now come rescue us before Carter returns to mess us up after hearing the news got broken

Or have them tell Hess to have Carter arrested on sight.

>>2849616

“Now listen carefully,” you tell Keziah, “When Carter shows up, Hess needs to take him into custody immediately – Hess might not want to believe you, but Carter is working with Eishin and Faulkner. They're all in this together.”

“Slow down, boss, slow down,” she replies, “I'll make sure Hess takes this seriously – hell, I'll arrest Carter myself if I have to!” A warm rush of humour accompanies this, tinted with a hint of nervousness. “But what about you, boss, where are you?” Keziah continues, “Do you need help?”

“I'm in a cabin, out in the middle of nowhere. Can't be too far from the capital, but that's all I know,” you answer, “Oh right, and I'm tied to a chair so I can't exactly take a walk around and get my bearings. See if there's anything you can figure out on your end.”

“You don't ask for much, do you?” Keziah chuckles, “But hang on in there, and I'll see what I can do. Is there anything else you need, boss?”

You can think of a few things – a way to cut yourself free, and a drink that isn't drugged, but Keziah can't help you with those. Otherwise...

>I don't need anything else, just let me rest awhile
>Do you know where Freddy is?
>Ask Hess something for me... (Write in)
>There's something else, yes... (Write in)
>Other

>>2849660
>>Do you know where Freddy is?
I'm within driving distance so I should definitely be within skiff distance

>>2849660
>I don't need anything else at the moment, just let me rest a bit, ride out these drugs.

>>2849660
>>There's something else, yes... (Write in)
Did we also tell Caldwell's boss? (I forget his name)

>>2849660
>Tell Hess Carter will accuse us of being a changeling sent to spread misinformation
This should make Hess believe Keziah.

>>2849698
Remember Carter seems to be entertaining this 'deal' with us where we leave Faulker out so he might not initially use the changeling line.

Though his tune might change when he learns we have already given the name.

“Keziah, listen, do you know where Freddy is right now?” you ask, “If Carter drove me out here, then I'm easily within skiff range. Maybe she can get me out of here.”

You feel Keziah pouting a little as you ask after the pilot, but she quickly gives you her answer. “When Caliban dragged me away, she stayed with the skiff – I don't think she really “got” what was going on. Said that we could go out drinking if we wanted, but she was going to wait for you,” the witch explains, “We've not been in contact with her since then. Oh, but doesn't Hess have a radio? I'll see if I can call the Eliza.”

Closing your eyes, you let yourself drift for a while. Talking like this makes your skull feel two sizes too small, but it's better than being completely out of contact. Once Freddy is on her way, you'll be able to relax a little and-

“No answer,” Keziah reports glumly, “The Eliza isn't picking up. You think something bad might have...”

Carter. Did he send some of his people after the Eliza, to make sure that there were no loose ends? If so, that would explain the bad feeling Caliban had sensed. If Freddy is in trouble, you'll beat the answers out of Carter himself... just as soon as you're free. Gathering up your thoughts, you focus on giving Keziah an answer. “Just hold on for now. Keep trying the radio and report back if you hear from her. If not...” you leave that thought unfinished, “Listen, Carter is going to claim that a changeling was spreading false information. Tell Hess that, and it should help him believe you. Can you do that?”

“Oh aye, definitely. So when Carter gives that excuse...” you feel a warm sense of satisfaction from Keziah, “I'll tell him now.”

“Is there anyone else with Hess?” you ask as an afterthought, “A man named Gehrard?”

“Iraklin, scar on his face?” the witch asks, “Aye, he's here. He's been listening a lot and saying hardly anything. He's up to something, that one, but... I dunno, he seems okay to me. I think I'd trust him.”

You trusted Carter, and look where you are now. Frowning a little, you shake your head. “Just keep trying the radio and let me know if anything changes,” you conclude, “I need to get some rest, get the last of these drugs out of my system.”

“Drugs?” Keziah yelps, “Boss, are you... uh, I'll ask you later. You make sure to get some rest, okay?” The faint weight of her touch lifts from your shoulders, and then the witch is gone.

-


It's hard to say how much time has passed since you were first brought out here – you've been drifting in and out of sleep ever since speaking with Keziah, and there's no clock in sight. All you have to measure the passing of time is the sunlight creeping across the dusty floor. Your aching mind slowly recovers, and so when you hear a distant rumble of an engine, you feel fairly sure that you're not imagining it.

[1/2]

>>2849722

Looking up at the door, you watch as someone rattles the handle. Finding it locked, they pause for a moment before explosively kicking the door open. What you hope to be your rescuer is an Iraklin soldier, perfectly anonymous with his dark uniform and bland features. He keeps his pistol holstered as he approaches you, though, so you tentatively allow yourself to relax. “Vaandemere?” he asks as he draws his knife and starts to roughly hack though the rope binding your wrists.

“That's me,” you tell him, “Unless you're looking for some other guy tied up in the middle of nowhere.”

The joke flies right over his head. “No, just you,” he answers, “There's an automotive waiting outside. Can you stand?”

“I sure hope so,” you mutter to yourself. First impressions matter, and falling flat on your face would just be embarrassing.

-

As he drives you back to the capital, the soldier explains the current situation – Carter returned not long after you passed out, giving Hess the changeling story he had prepared. Upon hearing that, Hess made sure that his aide would be kept “occupied” - a prisoner in all but name, essentially. Freddy remains unaccounted for, but Caliban is out looking for her now. If anyone can track her down, it'll be him.

Judging by the number of soldiers lurking around Hess' office, the situation remains a tense one. After patting you down for any weapons you had hidden away – your main weapons, you assume, are still safe wherever Carter left them – the soldier shows you though to see Hess and Gehrard. Immediately, you sense an awkward stiffness hanging in the air. Thick curtains are drawn to shut out the morning sun, and an open bottle of brandy sits half-finished beside Hess.

“Vaandemere. I'm told that you're a shapeshifter, here to spread harmful misinformation and damage the Iraklin nation,” the consul grunts, his usual charm utterly absent, “Is that true?”

“No sir, I'm as human as you are,” you reply, “And I think you know that perfectly well.”

“I'm not sure what to think any more. Apparently my aide has been working with our enemies for... how long now? I don't think we've established that yet,” Hess sighs, “All this time, I've been trusting Carter with my life and wellbeing. He hasn't ever disappointed or failed me. Now, I'm to believe that he's an enemy of the state? These things have a way of putting a man off-balance, Vaandemere, to say nothing about this business with Faulkner.”

“The man is a hero,” Gehrard agrees quietly, his voice hard and clear, “More importantly than that, though, he's the one who has provided us with much of our information on Nadir. If what you claim is correct, we have a lot of work ahead of us. I almost wish that Carter was correct, and this is all a ruse meant to distract us.”

“No such luck,” Hess mutters, pouring himself a fresh glass.

[2/3]

It's not quite as simple as that anymore. We should give these two the updated information we got from Carter.

>>2849792
I wonder if Wellager was aware of this, or if they were going to try and sneak godroot into her food.

>>2849778

You spend what seems like a long hour explaining – often repeatedly – the situation to Hess and Gehrard, answering their questions as best you can. As your story goes from Eishin and Nadir to a conspiracy among the Iraklin leadership, you see doubt creeping into their eyes. In the end, though, it's Caldwell's name that sways it in your favour.

“Elias Caldwell is one of my very best assets – I consider him to be beyond reproach. If he's the one making these claims, then I believe them,” Gehrard decides, “At the very least, they cast enough doubt on Faulkner for him to be considered a security risk. Therefore, I must insist that he is excluded from any further discussion of the Nadir situation. Do you understand me, Consul?” Hess waves a vague hand at Gehrard, and the administrator turns to you. “Now, we move the other matter – that of Carter and his associates,” he continues, “He told you all of this himself?”

“He did, yes,” you agree, “It sounds incredible, I know, but... I think I believe him.”

“This implicates the chancellor herself. We need to tread very carefully,” Gehrard muses, “Consul, I'm going to send for your aide. I want to question him directly.” Reaching into his coat, he produces a small automatic pistol and passes it over to you. “Captain Vaandemere, with your agreement, I'd like you to provide security,” he explains, “Carter still has his sidearm – we did not wish to reveal our hand to him, and disarming him certainly would have given the game away. So, I would like you to guard him. The fewer people who know about this the better, I think. What do you say?”

>I've risked enough for this. I'm sorry, but no
>Certainly. I'll make sure that he behaves himself
>I want to speak with him alone. If you listen in, he might let something slip
>I had questions for you... (Write in)
>Other

>>2849819
Wait wouldn't Milos being there give the game away? Unless I'm missing something.

>>2849819
>Sir, I'm more than willing to do this, but he left me drugged and tied to a chair in a shed. Plus according to what he told you, I'm a changeling on a mission of subversion. Wouldn't having me assume this role be more revealing than confiscating his weapon?

I might be missing something, but why not have him disarmed before coming in for the interrogation? Tell him Gehrard is here to question him about his changeling claims based on prior dealings with us, and therefore they're implementing additional security measures.

may be heavily overthinking an excuse to have us in the room for the questioning

>>2849830
>Fuck, that's right. Put that down to brain problems on my part. Let's assume that there's an adjacent office that we'd be waiting in, ready to move in at the first sound of trouble. It's kind of a fumble, but you gotta do what you gotta do.

>>2849849
>>2849819
I'll vote for the adjacent room plan then.

>>2849849
Or this could work. Hope Iraklin has their one way mirror technology.

>>2849819
>>2849849
This

And
>Other
My skiff pilot has gone missing. I don't know if Carter is involved but would it be possible to see if you could find out for me?

“I'm more than happy to help you with this,” you agree, “But there's one flaw in your plan. If Carter sees me here, won't that give the game away far more than any request for his weapon? He'll still be pretending that I'm not... who I say I am, so he wouldn't exactly be willing to sit down and talk quietly when I'm around.”

Hess and Gehrard trade a brief look. “Very true,” Hess concedes, grimacing at the embarrassment of missing such a simple point, “The side office, then?”

“I was just about to suggest that,” Gehrard lies, “It's the next room over. Officially, it's a storage closet, but I think you'll find that it's something... more than that. You'll be close enough to intervene if Carter tries to do anything foolish, but your presence won't give the game away.”

“That works for me, then,” you agree with a shrug, “I still think you should disarm him, though. I'm sure you can think of some excuse or another – a courtesy, due to your guest?” Nodding to Gehrard as you say this, you rise and allow Hess to escort you out. He leads you a few feet down the corridor and opens an innocuous looking door. Along with a few shelves filled with paper, ink and other administrative supplies, you see a chair and desk... positioned in front of a small hole in the wall. “A peephole?” you ask, looking around at Hess.

“For spying on important meetings,” the consul tells you simply, “I like to have someone observing and taking notes. Just a precaution, you understand?”

At this point, nothing would surprise you. Sitting down at the desk, you peer through the small hole. It looks out from behind the consul's desk, and you can just barely see glass either side of it. “The liquor cabinet?” you guess, and Hess nods. “Easy enough to hide, I guess,” you mutter, “And you have an excuse for uncovering it whenever you have a guest. You've thought this one out.”

“All part of the job,” Hess chuckle briefly, his humour soon dying, “Gehrard should have sent for Carter by now. We ought to get ready.”

“There's one last thing,” you add, “My skiff pilot ha gone missing. I don't know if Carter is responsible, but could you look into the matter?”

“Certainly. I'll be sure to ask Carter about her,” the consul hesitates for a moment, “I hope this is all a misunderstanding. I dearly wish that..” Trailing off here, he turns and tensely marches out.

-

Watching through the peephole, you see Hess sitting back down at his desk. Gehrard sits stiffly nearby, his expression set in a blank mask. When there is a brisk knock at the door, both men wince briefly before recovering their composure. “Come in,” Hess calls out, and his aide marches in.

He seems utterly at ease, as if this was just another day at the office for him. Secretly, you can't help but be impressed.

[1/2]

>>2849896

“Consul, administrator,” Carter asks, nodding to Hess and Gehrard in turn, “I'm afraid that I haven't finished writing my report yet. Was there something you needed?”

“I wanted to give you an update. We've not managed to locate Vaandemere yet,” Hess explains, “Tell me again – this creature you mentioned. Exactly what happened with it?”

“At the time, I still believed that it was Vaandemere. After calling you on the radio, it expressed suspicions that this office was somehow unsafe and asked me to escort it to a safe location. I took the automotive, planning to drive it out to the number two safehouse. On the way, however, it made a mistake – I made a remark about your estate, and it couldn't understand me. Realising that it had blown its cover, it attacked me,” Carter explains calmly, “I was able to destroy it, and I returned here as quickly as I could.”

Safehouse number two – is that the shack he used? It's not exactly what you would call “safe”, but...

“Very brave of you, son,” Gehrard remarks drily, “Would you mind if I took a look at your sidearm?” This request causes Carter to tense up, his expression darkening for the first time since he entered the office. After a brief hesitation, he draws his pistol and hands it across to Gehrard. Taking it, the administrator looks it over quickly before smelling it. “This hasn't been fired recently,” he muses, “Did you shoot this creature?”

A pause. “No,” Carter replies eventually, “I broke its neck.”

Which wouldn't actually kill a changeling – but he doesn't seem to know that. He gives his gun a long and pointed look, but Gehrard makes no move to return it. Hess speaks up next, changing the subject completely. “Vaandemere – or rather, the creature posing as Vaandemere – would have flown here, yes?” the consul asks, “Do you know where the pilot is?”

“Yes sir, she's in custody now. When I discovered the creature, I thought it best to take all precautions. I had some of our own men apprehend her, rather than relying on the regular security forces, as the matter required some... discretion,” Carter explains, “I believe there were two others, but they remain unaccounted for. I have men looking for them now.”

“They won't find us,” Keziah thinks to you, “After all, they won't be looking in the consul's spare bedroom. It's really comfy here!”

As glad as you are to know where she is, you can't spare the time to banter with Keziah now. Gently closing her out of your mind, you return your attention to cautious interrogation. All three of the men have fallen silent, and the stillness draws out for a moment longer.

“You see, this isn't the first time that I've heard ill rumours about Faulkner,” Gehrard suggests quietly, breaking the silence, “In fact, I've heard a great many ill rumours.” Leaving these words hanging in the air, the administrator turns and places the pistol down on Hess' desk.

[2/3[

>>2849938

Carter's eyes follow the pistol, settling on it as Gehrard very deliberately leaves it unguarded. It's a hell of a risky move, but you think you know what he's trying to do. “I imagine that you hear a great many things in your line of work,” Carter replies slowly, “Your real job, I expect, is to sort the truth from the falsehoods.” He shifts his weight slightly, making a tiny adjustment to his footing, and alarm bells start to ring in your head. He's preparing to make his move. Rising from the desk, you slip out of the side office and approach the main room.

“I've heard ill rumours about Faulkner,” Gehrard continues, his voice muffled by the wooden door. Reaching out for the handle, you fumble out the small automatic pistol and brace yourself. “I've heard rumours about Chancellor Wellager, as well...” the administrator thinks aloud, “And about you, Carter. The three of you seem to be-”

A sudden crash cuts him off, and you waste no time in flinging the door open. Chaos greets you, with all three men hastily making their move, but your eye finds Carter. He has the pistol in his hand, bringing it up not to shoot either of his interrogators but to aim it at his own temple. In a few seconds, all the secrets he knows are about to be splattered across the far wall. Dropping your own gun, you lunge for Carter.

>Calling for a dice roll, 2D6 aiming to beat 9-10 for a partial success and 11+ for a full success. I'll take the highest of the first three rolls.

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

>>2849975

>>2849975
Well no real reason to roll anymore, is there?

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

37 KB JPG

>>2849983

Rolled 5, 5 = 10 (2d6)

>>2849975
Damn, he's quite committed to the cause. Another anon saved us already too.

>>2849986
For fun! Also it's not a plus one roll.

Rolled 1, 6 = 7 (2d6)

>>2849990
Well ok

As you lunge for Carter, you let out a cry of protest. The sound of your voice – the sheer unexpectedness of it – causes him to hesitate for a fraction of a second, exactly as long as you need. Grabbing his wrist, you pull his hand back and away as his finger starts to tighten on the trigger. When the gun finally fires, you have the barrel pointed harmlessly up towards the ceiling. Dust rains down on you, but that's the worst of it.

“You!” Carter blurts out, his eyes widening as he meets your gaze.

“Your knots need some work,” you reply, pivoting your body around and throwing the larger man to the ground, hooking your leg behind his just to make sure that he falls. He lands hard, the pistol spilling out of his grip and bouncing away beneath an empty chair. Dropping down, you plant your knee in the small of Carter's back and pin him down, feeling him struggle for a few futile seconds before he gives up and lets his body grow slack.

“I suppose that settles that,” Gehrard remarks drily, reaching under the chair and fishing out the pistol, “Hardly the act of an innocent man. A little drastic, don't you think?”

“An Iraklin must be prepared to die at a moment's notice, if that is what the nation demands,” Carter breathes, his voice hollow, “One day, you'll understand why I'm doing this.” Saying this, he slumps down and falls silent.

“Carter,” Hess murmurs, “You damn fool...”

-

Once the situation has calmed down a little, Gehrard shows you through to the consul's spare bedroom, where Keziah waits. You're barely inside the room before she slams into you, hugging you tightly and refusing to let go. Awkwardly patting her on the back, you glance behind you and give Gehrard an apologetic smile. He nods firmly, without expression, then turns to leave you to it.

“I heard the gunshot,” Keziah stammers, “And I didnae ken if...”

“Just one gunshot? It would take more than that to give me anything to worry about,” you boast, before sitting her down on the bed and explaining the situation. Carter, still refusing to speak, is currently residing in a dingy little basement cell that – for some reason – the consul's office has. A converted cellar, apparently, although that doesn't explain why the consul might need such a room. Some things, you decide, are better off left unknown. His little suicide attempt seems to be the proof that Hess and Gehrard wanted, leaving them in no doubt that your story is true.

“I cannae understand why he did it,” the witch muses, “Surely there had to be a better way of...”

“His back was against the wall, and I think he knew that. From the very start, he was making this up as he went along – not so good at improvising, your average Iraklin,” you reply with a vague shrug, “When Gehrard hinted at some greater knowledge, he must have seen it as the end of the road. Better to die quickly than to live and potentially betray your superiors.”

[1/2]

>>2850058
Forgot how far Freddy has come

>>2850058

A few hours pass, and you make good use of both the time and the consul's spare bedroom. Sleeping in a proper bed is exactly what you needed to ease the stiffness out of your muscles and set you up for the remains of the day. It might just be a spare room, somewhere for the consul to sleep if his duties prevented him from returning to his home estate, but it's certainly more comfortable than a wooden chair. Leaving Keziah to doze for a while longer, you venture downstairs.

There, you find Caliban and Freddy sitting and quietly talking. At least Hess smoothed things over with his security while you were asleep, getting Freddy out of their clutches. She rises to greet you, grimacing and briefly touching her side before hiding any hint of discomfort. “Captain,” she begins crisply, “We've been appraised of the situation. What a mess...”

“Actually, they've told us nothing official,” Caliban explains, “But I'm very good at eavesdropping on these people. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that they were letting me listen in. Your boy Carter doesn't seem to be talking much, but I don't expect that'll last. They'll find some way of making him talk, mark my words.”

“A lengthy investigation will only harm the nation in the long term. If he speaks up now, he'll make things better for everyone,” Freddy adds, her voice taut with displeasure, “He'll come to see things rationally. He HAS to. If not-”

“Captain Vaandemere!” Consul Hess announces from above you. Turning, you see him standing at the top of the stairs, his usual charm and swagger returned in full force. Gesturing for the others to wait, you approach the consul and nod a greeting. Hess lowers his voice as you reach him, taking your arm and leading you a few paces away. “Carter remains stubbornly silent. I'm going to speak with him later, see if he might be more willing to open up to a friendly face. I'm not hopeful, though...” frowning, he lets a hint of his earlier regret shine through before forcing a smile, “In either case, I have a task for you. Here – Gehrard and I have been busy preparing this letter. I'd like you to bring it to the Carths.”

Taking the sealed document pouch he offers you, you tuck it under one arm. It's neither heavy nor thick, so you assume it doesn't hold much. “A proposed truce, to deal with our friend in Nadir?” you guess, leading Hess to nod.

“There's another thing,” Hess continues, “That item in Odyssey Point that you were looking for... we might be willing to give it to you. Of course, it will take us some time to dig it out of the archives and sign all the paperwork. I imagine that all the procedures will be finished... oh, shortly after we launch our attack on Eishin's camp.”

Of course.

>Head back to the Spirit of Helena
>Ask to visit Carter
>Ask Hess and Gehrard some questions... (Write in)
>Other

>>2850116
>Head back to the Spirit of Helena
I believe we're done here.

>>2850116
>>Head back to the Spirit of Helena

>>2850116
>Warn them about the smoke daemon so Carth brings their priest squads with the Abrahad bling.

>Ask to speak with Carter
The power Eishin has wouldn't be a good fit for an Iraklin ruler. Or anyone. Not only does it twist and corrupt them physically, there's no guarantee that the right leadership now will be the right leadership in several centuries. With that in mind, and knowing that we're going ahead with this attack with or without whatever help he could give us, he should cooperate as soon as possible for the good of the nation.

>>2850165
>>2850116
Seconding

>Other
"You alright Freddy? Nothing broken?"

“Well, good luck with all that... paperwork,” you reply with a crooked smile, “I think that settles things here. I'm heading back to my ship, then I'll bring this letter of yours to the Carths. Are you looking for anyone in particular?”

“That's a good point, and I have to thank you for reminding me. This business with Carter, you know...” Hess clears his throat, “Find a provost, a woman named Sandoval. You should be able to find her in Sol Carthul, probably in the heart of the city. I don't have a more exact location for you – ask around, I'm sure you'll find someone who knows where to find her. Provost Sandoval – you can remember that, can't you?”

It's not like you don't have enough names to try and keep straight in your head already. “Provost Sandoval. I understand,” you assure him, “She's trustworthy?”

“As much as any Carth, I suppose,” Hess muses, “We have an agreement. Tell her that I sent you, and I'm sure she'll do her best to accommodate you.”

Nodding, you file the name away for later use. “While we're talking about the Carths, I wanted to raise another point. Down in the Deep Forest, Eishin has a powerful daemon under his command – a creature of hungry smoke, capable of stripping flesh from bone in a matter of seconds. I've found no weapon that can harm it, but certain... religious items may be able to ward it off. I suggest raising this with your contacts in Carthul,” you explain, patting the document pouch, “And... would you give Carter a message for me?”

“Why not give it to him yourself? Perhaps you'll be able to get him to talk,” Hess suggests, “Are you really in such a hurry to leave?”

Considering the offer for a moment, you give the consul a nod. Before allowing him to escort you down to the... the cellar, you give the document pouch to Freddy. “Are you okay?” you murmur to her, “Nothing broken?”

“It's not like that,” she replies awkwardly, “The cell they had me in, the bed was terrible. I slept badly, that's all. Just a bit of stiffness.”

She's a terrible liar.

-

Carter looks well, for a man chained up in what amounts to a dungeon. His captors must have stuck to questions for the time being, saving the tougher stuff for later. One last privilege of his position, you muse, you suspect that a common anarchist wouldn't warrant such kindly treatment. The stone cell is bare save for two chairs sitting opposite a stamped metal table. A heavy iron ring decorates the middle of the table, a chain running through it to connect with the manacles around Carter's wrists. Compared with the makeshift prison he held you in...

“There's nothing wrong with my knots,” Carter begins, a tiny hint of a smile playing around one corner of his mouth, “So just how did you get out?”

“Maybe I'll tell you,” you reply, “If you answer some of my questions.”

[1/2]

>>2850207

The smile drops from Carter's face. “You know that can't happen,” he chides, “Just because I didn't die, that doesn't mean I'm going to spill everything.”

“Shame,” you sigh, sitting and making yourself as comfortable as possible, “It's really quite an interesting little tale. You might not even believe it.” Looking Carter in the eye for a moment, you shake your head. “But no, I'm not here to question you. I figure that you've already been asked more questions than you can stomach. I'm just here to tell you something,” you continue, “I think this whole scheme is a mistake. This power that Eishin has, it wouldn't suit an Iraklin ruler. It wouldn't suit any decent man. It's a power that twists and corrupts anyone who partakes in it. Look at Eishin, is he the kind of example you want to follow?”

“Power can be used for good and for ill,” Carter replies wearily.

Waving away this, you continue. “Who says that today's ruler would be the right ruler for tomorrow? Or for the next century? Leadership needs to change with the times, or it'll drag the whole nation down with it,” you tell him, “Things are going to change, Carter, one way or another. There's going to be collateral damage, and your nation is going to suffer for it. The only people who're going to benefit from this are your enemies – the enemies of your nation. Why not spare everyone the trouble and tell Hess what you know?”

Carter simply closes his eyes and shakes his head, leaning as far back as his manacles will allow. Grimacing, you rise from the desk and start for the door. Just as you're reaching for the door handle, though, the defeated man speaks. “Chancellor Wellager doesn't know yet,” he announces, “She remains uninvolved... innocent. That's all I'm willing to tell you.”

Pausing for a moment, you give him a firm nod. “Thank you, Carter,” you conclude, letting yourself out.

>Okay, I'm going to pause things here for today. I'll continue this tomorrow, starting at the same usual time
>Thank you for your contributions today!

>>2850250
Thanks for running!

Does Carth have priest squads with Abrahad bling?

>>2850250
Thanks for running!

>>2850263

Not full squads, but they do certainly have "specialists" who handle various sorts of things. A tool for every occasion and all that!

>>2850263
They have a frikkin ship with abrahad bling!

>>2850312
Ok good, we'll be able to put boots on the ground instead of getting scared off by Ol Smokey.

>>2850330
>inb4 Gorgon got fused with Smokey and is immune to it's original weaknesses somehow.

>>2850364
There's no immunity to the power of God.

except the one I pray we're going to get

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

1.49 MB PNG

“Hashanah An-Nahl, whose sweetness drives men to destruction,” Maeve purrs, running her hand across the stone tablet, “What dark corner of the land gave up this secret, Milos Vaandemere?”

You're not entirely sure how she got her hands on that. “Oh, you know, over in the east,” you reply vaguely, gesturing back towards where your ship waits. After taking the Eliza back down to Sybile, paying Maeve a brief visit had only seemed polite – after all, her daemon had done an impeccable job of leading you to Eishin's camp, so thanks seemed in order. When you arrived, however, you found the witch lovingly caressing the carven stone slab you found beneath Saint Nuada's tomb.

“The girl brought it to me,” Maeve explains at last, “She dearly wished to know what wisdom it contained. I would be careful with that one, Milos Vaandemere, I suspect that our ways hold a dire fascination to her. She would not be the first upstanding citizen to be led astray by the secrets of Nadir.”

“What, Grace? No way...” you mutter, shaking your head at the possibility. On second thoughts, though, it might not be so unbelievable. She's not the same girl you once met in Saint Alma's Academy, stiff and formal to the point of lack emotion entirely. She's changed – you all have, in your own ways. Seeing that what was supposed to be a brief visit has turned into something more, you sit down opposite Maeve and gesture to the stone slab. “So this daemon, Hashanah...” you ask, “What does it do?”

“The name, I believe, should tell you – it destroys men,” the witch answers simply, “But you did not wish to hear such a prosaic explanation, I am sure. The daemon Hashanah An-Nahl is a tempter, a seducer who grants visions of the heart's innermost desires. Only the strongest of men have the will to turn away from an illusion of their most desired treasure, but to remain within the illusion is certain death – the daemon Hashanah An-Nahl draws strength from dreams, draining men of their vitality until naught is left but a husk.”

Her explanation hangs in the air for a cold moment. “Oh,” you reply at last, “So we probably shouldn't call it up.”

“Perhaps not,” Maeve agrees, “Unless... tell me, Milos Vaandemere, what have you learned of King Eishin?” If she's suggesting what you think she's suggesting, then... maybe you DO have a use for this daemon. Noticing your hesitation, Maeve smiles coyly. “You may speak freely here,” she promises you, “I have sanctified this ground, proofing it against any of Eishin's daemons – any daemons at all, in fact, save for those sent by Madame Lamia or my own daughter. An inconvenience, to be true, but a necessary one.”

Letting out a sigh of relief, you slump back a little. “Eishin,” you begin, “There is to be an attack...”

[1/2]

>>2851914

When you've finished telling Maeve about the rough plans to attack Eishin's territory, she clasps her hands together and lets out an uncharacteristic peal of laughter. “So this is where Eishin's schemes have led him – a great many paths are converging, it seems,” the witch announces, “But this attack... he will retaliate, of course.”

“His Mavens will call up daemons of their own,” you agree, “I was warned about this.”

“Their foresight is formidable – Eishin may learn of this danger long before your attack finds him,” she muses, “But... if there was to be a second prong to this attack, another attempt upon his life, then the predictions would become unclear, unfocused. Milos Vaandemere, this stone, and the wisdom it bears, is yours by right. I ask you this... will you give it to me, that I might unleash the daemon Hashanah An-Nahl upon your enemies?”

Her offer leaves a vile taste in your mouth, bitter and metallic. You've long since accepted the use of daemons – indeed, it was easier to accept than you had ever imagined – but this feels different. Sending an inhuman assassin after someone, even someone you could consider an enemy... it feels like a grave step to take. “I don't...” you begin, your words trailing off. You just came here to give the witch your thanks, you hadn't been prepared for any of this. Sensing this, Maeve draws back and gives you a soothing smile.

“When the time is right, of course,” she assures you, “And you are right to have reservations. The daemon Hashanah An-Nahl is very old and very powerful. Once it has been called up, there is only so much that I can do to bind it. In time, we may learn that we have simply traded one enemy for another.”

“But to deal with Eishin...” you wonder aloud, “Is there no other way?”

“No other spirit that I could call up would be able to challenge him,” Maeve confirms, dismissively brushing her hands across the stone tablet, “He would simply sweep them away like so much dust.”

So that's that. You just came here to be polite, but now...

>Grant Maeve the use of the daemon. You need every weapon you can get to use against Eishin
>Refuse the use of the daemon. It's too dangerous to unleash that kind of spirit
>Other

>>2851916
>Refuse the use of the daemon. It's too dangerous to unleash that kind of spirit
Yeah if she can't bind it permanently that thing could be even worse than Eishin. We'll just have to find another away to make their predictions unclear.

>>2851916
>>Refuse the use of the daemon. It's too dangerous to unleash that kind of spirit

>>2851916
Would launching a missile into the middle of their camp count as a 'attack on his life'?

Or maybe we can poison the Mavens to put them out of commission for awhile? Or better yet make their powers of foresight unreliable for a time. We know where they are.

>>2851916
>NOPE
We don't need more ancient evils and mindfuckery, thanks.

“No, we can't use it. Not if you don't think it can be bound,” you tell Maeve, placing a hand over the stone tablet and covering some of the inscriptions, “We'll find some other way to distract Eishin, but not like this.”

“I understand. A man must know his limitations,” Maeve nods gracefully, seemingly taking your refusal in stride, “To call up that which they could not fully control... that was the fate of those ancient witches, when they summoned that hungry phantom. One monster, I think, is enough.”

“Yet you still offered to summon it up for me,” you point out, “Was this a test?” Smiling modestly, Maeve offers you no answer to this. “Would you have called it up if I asked?” you press, “Come on, don't-”

“I would have called the spirit up, yes,” the witch confirms, “And the consequences would have been yours to bear. I see that this is a burden that you are unwilling to bear.”

“You said it yourself, one monster is enough for this world,” you grunt, leaning back in your chair, “Say we got to Eishin's witches, his Mavens, and we took them out – that would close his eyes for good, wouldn't it? I know where to find them, and getting rid of them would prevent them from aiding in Eishin's defence. Would that be sufficient?”

“I cannot truly say how far their foresight reaches, but perhaps that would be so. Without their powers, Eishin would be gravely diminished,” Maeve taps a finger to her lips as she thinks, “Perhaps that would be sufficient.” When she says nothing more, you take that as your cue to leave. Heaving the stone slab up and tucking it under one arm, you open your mouth to say your goodbyes. Before you can say anything, however, Maeve speaks up once again.

“There is something else. The man who sought out Madame Lamia's wisdom all those years ago,” she muses, “He fancied himself a poet, as I recall. Not the most common path for a man of Nadir to walk. Do you, by chance, know any poets?”

You don't have to think very long about this. “Can't say that I do,” you admit, “Too bad.”

“Too bad indeed,” the witch murmurs, touching one long finger to her temple and looking away from you. This time, when you turn to leave, she remains silent.

-

“You were awfully long for someone who was just sayin' their thanks,” Keziah teases as you approach the Spirit of Helena, “You arenae cheatin' on me, are you?”

“Your mother had an offer for me,” you explain, “She suggested calling up a dangerous, uncontrollable daemon to strike at Eishin.”

“Aye, that sounds like somethin' she might do,” Keziah sighs.

[1/2]

>>2851916
Just to entertain the idea, if she could summon and temporarily bind it, shouldn't she has a way of banishing it back to the void?

>>2851993

Sol Carthul is your next stop, to deliver Hess' message to Provost Sandoval. Letting Dwight enjoy some more time off, you take the Helena's controls for what seems like the first time in a long while. As you fly, Freddy and Caliban lurk nearby and murmur to each other. They're planning something, obviously, but you're not sure what. When your curiosity finally gets the better of you, you glance around and ask.

“Okay, I give up,” you concede, “What's got the two of you so interested?”

“Scheduling,” Freddy answers simply, “I'm trying to think about how we can take care of everything in the most efficient way possible. We need to recover the key fragment from the Deep Forest tomb, hit Eishin's camp to earn the final fragment, and then ascend the Mountain of Faith. Before we can hit Eishin's camp-”

“We need to take out the Mavens, stop them from calling up any daemons,” Caliban interrupts, “But if we take them out too early, Eishin might learn that we're working against him and the Deep Forest will get a whole lot more dangerous. So, I think we should do it like this – we get the fifth key fragment from the tomb, hit the Mavens on our way out, then send word for the attack to begin. Nice and easy, see?”

“It's only nice and easy when you don't consider the dozens of things that could go wrong,” Freddy sighs, “But there's only so much we can do to prepare. If we can't help the Carths and the Iraklins work together for the attack, then we can't get past square one. For now, I think we should focus on meeting Hess' contact. The rest can come later.”

All this planning makes your head spin.

-

As you're guiding the Spirit of Helena towards Sol Carthul, a vast white airship snatches your attention away from everything else. The Palanquin, crown jewel of the Carth fleet, is hanging over the city like one of the Zenith islands. You've never seen it from such a close distance, and the sight of it takes your breath away. The sheer size of it, for one thing – it must be almost half again the size of an Iraklin dreadnought – but also the ornamentation. It puts most cathedrals to shame, and you quickly realise that the ornate buttresses are not just for show – hidden within are potent batteries of Pleonite cannons, along with whatever else the Carths have been able to fit inside it.

“That's just showing off,” Freddy mutters, giving the vast ship a look of disgust, “And I'm willing to bet that their pilots have no real experience. They'd be useless if it came to a real fight.”

“It's okay, Lhaus, there's no need to be bitter just because it's bigger than anything your people have,” Caliban jeers, “Size isn't everything.”

[2/3]

>>2852002
>Not reliably. Particularly powerful daemons can sometimes resist attempts at banishing them - especially if they've grown in power since being summoned. They can resist attempts at summoning as well, but they're far less likely to do that

>>2852088

After washing yourself in one of the many ritual baths located in the city, you went out in search of Provost Sandoval. At the archives, the first place you thought to ask at, you were directed to a perfume shop of all things. Following the directions you were given, and then following your nose, you arrive at the discrete little shop and take a slow look around. Pots of fragrant incense line the shelves, mingling with thick candles and delicate glass vials of perfume. As you're studying a small flask of jasmine scented water, you hear someone clearing their throat behind you.

“Can I help you?” the woman asks. She's the sort of person who perfectly fades into the background, becoming virtually invisible with just the slightest effort. A small woman with slate grey hair and the tanned skin of someone used to working under the merciless sun, she studies you with cold eyes.

“I'm looking for Provost Sandoval,” you tell her, “Is she in?”

“I'm your woman, although it's just “Sandoval” now – I'm retired,” she tells you, “Now that's out of the way... can I help you?”

“I certainly hope so,” you tell her, holding up the document pouch.

-

After turning the shop's sign to read “closed”, Sandoval leads you through to a quiet back room and sits you down. Then, she takes her time reading through Hess' letter, occasionally glancing up to give you a dubious look. When she's finished, she drops the letter down onto a low table and gives you a stubborn shrug. “So what?” she asks, “What do you want me to do with this?”

You had been expecting a little more courtesy. “Consul Hess wants this information delivered to whoever can make the most use of it. He trusted that you would know who that is,” you reply, “Was he wrong?”

“I respect Consul Hess' judgement, but this...” Sandoval taps the letter, “This is politics. He's been very coy about what he's willing to share. No doubt he wants us to confirm that we'll play along before he tells us everything. You're Vaandemere, yes?”

“That's me,” you nod.

“Good, he mentions you here,” Sandoval frowns at you, “So why don't you tell me exactly what's going on here?”

>It's all in the letter, that's it
>Here's what you should know... (Write in)
>Other

>Sorry for the delay, I had an unexpected errand dropped into my lap

>>2852199
We don't actually know what the letter tells her, right? Maybe we should know what Hess was willing to divulge before telling her anything.

>>2852199
>Here's what you should know... (Write in)
King Eishin is gathering power and is going to move against both Carth and Iraklis eventually. I proposed that both countries should plan a joint preemptive strike on him and his followers to nip him in the bud.

>>2852199
>Here's what you should know... (Write in)

Eishin is getting out of hand. To take care of this and improve Iraklin-Carth relations, they're planning a joint strike on his base. Due to certain witchcraft being in play, it would be beneficial to have priests on hand wielding holy artifacts during this strike, to drive away any conjured daemons. Hess implied you could coordinate this effort on your end.


>>2852211
Yeah, might want to give the letter a read before we tell her all that actually.

>>2852199
>Well.....put on your tinfoil hat, this is going to get a bit weird.
>So there's this Iraklin conspiracy, and then these weird Nadir daemons and rituals and prophesy mumbo-jumbo, but what it boils down to is that Eishin's been doing some real covert shit and it's bad enough that Iraklin and Carthul could actually team up against him.

>>2852199
>Read the letter first

“You're not giving me much to work with here,” you reply, reaching for the letter, “If you could just...” Before you can take the letter, Sandoval slaps her hand down onto it and pins it down. Sighing, you slowly draw your hand back. “I don't know what to tell you, Sandoval,” you explain patiently, “If you don't let me read what Hess wrote. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you were being deliberately obstructive.”

“Or maybe I wanted to get your unbiased take on things,” Sandoval counters, “How about we meet in the middle? You give me a quick rundown – the situation as you see it – and then I'll let you take a look at the consul's version of events. We can compare notes later.”

Hiding another sigh of frustration, you begin your explanation. “The simple version is, Eishin has been planning something big – I don't know the exact details, but whatever he's planning will strike a blow against the church. The Iraklins want him dead as well, and they're willing to cooperate with you in order to make sure that it happens,” you tell her, “That's the short version, at least. Now then...”

Raising her eyebrow, Sandoval slowly lifts up the letter and offers it across to you. Taking it, you give the brief letter a quick read. Hess has given her the barest possible outline of the situation, stressing how much of a danger Eishin poses to the church and downplaying how badly the Iraklins want him dead. The way Hess explains it, the Iraklins are offering information and military assistance out of the goodness of their hearts. As is to be expected from an official missive, Hess omitted almost all mention of witches or daemons – it would be unseemly, you assume, for an Iraklin to be caught speaking of such things.

“I see what you mean,” you admit, “Okay, fine. Here's what Hess isn't telling you – first of all, Eishin can call upon a great many daemons. Any attack would require support from whatever holy relics you can muster up. That's something that you might be able to help with, isn't it?” Sandoval leaves this unanswered, gesturing for you to continue. “Second of all, the Iraklins want Eishin dead, and badly. I'm guessing that Hess didn't want to admit just how much they want this, but it's serious,” you continue, “And finally, this all needs to be kept quiet – the Iraklins may have traitors among their ranks, men who would report this to Eishin. Is that good enough for you... provost?”

“Well, you're certainly more honest than the usual spy I have in here,” Sandoval purrs, obviously pleased with your openness, “You passed the first test, Vaandemere. Next up, I need to test your patience – wait here, and don't touch anything.”

“You've got to be kidding-” you begin, but Sandoval swaggers out of the room before you can say anything more than that.

[1/2]

>>2852299
Yes, tell a professional treasure hunter ("Free Captain") to stay there and not touch anything.

>>2852299

As you wait for Sandoval to do... whatever it is that she's doing, you find yourself wondering about Hess' schemes. You can understand not wanting to reveal your hand too early, but his missive had seemed almost too brief. A precaution, in case it fell into the wrong hands?

It isn't long before you get bored with simply sitting back and doing nothing, and soon you start to glance around for something to do. There isn't much to occupy your mind here, in this drab back office. Rising from your seat, you study the one thing of note that you could find – a shelf lined with a collection of small brass medals. Most of them have religious icons on them, and you recognise a few of them as being associated with some saint or another. When you come across the image of an axe head, you pause.

“Didn't I tell you not to touch anything?” Sandoval remarks from behind you. Tensing up, you turn around to face her.

“Then you shouldn't have taken so long. I get bored easily,” you reply, “This medallion... the Brotherhood of Saint N.?”

“I'm surprised you recognise it. Yes, they even let women join these days – very progressive, wouldn't you say?” a faint smirk twists one corner of Sandoval's mouth as she says this. “I was on the radio, passing your information further up the chain. As you can imagine, it wasn't something I could rush. The good news is, this little exercise in cooperation might just be possible,” she continues, “We'll need to get our people to meet with your people, and-”

“They're not my people,” you correct her, “I'm just the hired help.”

Waving away your correction, Sandoval moves on. “This business with daemons and holy relics. I can help you with that, yes, but not immediately. As you might expect, I don't exactly keep all the weapons hidden away upstairs. No, we'd need to go to... we'd need to go elsewhere for that,” she explains, “There are other arrangements to be made. Can you stay in the city until, say, tomorrow? I can arrange for accommodations if need be.”

Something hard in her voice catches your attention. “I thought I was just the messenger,” you reply cautiously, “Do you need something from me?”

“I need someone with a ship. I could get in touch with some of my associates, but...” she shrugs, “The fewer people who about this the better, right?”

>Very well, I'll be available tomorrow
>I'm sorry, but I had business elsewhere
>I have some questions to ask you... (Write in)
>Other

>>2852466
>Very well, I'll be available tomorrow

>>2852466
>I'm sorry, but I had business elsewhere

Gotta raid that tomb before this attack gets underway. I'm sure these kids can take things from here.

>>2852493
We are hitting the tomb right before we hit the Mavens so we shouldn't go until the attack is about to kick off. It's going to take more than a day for Carth and Iraklis to come to an agreement and organize.

>>2852466
>>Very well, I'll be available tomorrow
Isn't that Barrow guy we need to talk to for finding the tomb somewhere in Carth? We can chat him up while we wait.

>>2852466
>Very well, I'll be available tomorrow
Let's go meet Barrow in the meantime.

>>2852505
That sounds like we're cutting it way too close for my liking.

“Very well, I'll be sure to be available tomorrow,” you tell her, “I have some business to take care of for the time being.” Next on your list of targets is the Nadir tomb, and for that you need to speak with Barrow Jackson. To speak with HIM, you'll need to get in touch with Trice. Which... might not be as easy as it sounds, especially if she's out on a mission. “This might be a long shot,” you add to Sandoval, “But I don't suppose you know where a provost named Trice is, do you?”

Sandoval looks sharply up at you. “Trice?” she repeats, “Why do you ask?”

“Well, that's who my business regarded. It's rather a sensitive matter,” you explain carefully, “Is that a problem?”

“No, I just... she should be at her post as normal. I don't think she's out on an assignment at the moment, and I like to keep track of these things,” Sandoval tells you, “You'll be able to see her tomorrow.”

If Trice is at her post, and you'll see her tomorrow, then your next destination must be... “You want to go to Cloudtop Prison?” you guess. Raising an eyebrow, Sandoval gives you an amused nod. It's a foolish question, really.

Nobody WANTS to go to Cloudtop Prison.

-

As you're walking back to the Spirit of Helena, you idly wonder how long it would take for the Carths and the Iraklins to come to some agreement. For anything else, you would guess at “never”, but with Eishin serving as a common enemy? It might work out, although you anticipate a fair degree of stubbornness on both sides of the debate. Neither of them would want to show weakness, or to appear as though they really NEED the other side.

It's tiresome, it really is, but that's politics for you.

When you arrive back at the ship, you find it strangely quiet. Most of the crew seem to have gone off to enjoy whatever pleasures Sol Carthul has to offer them – or, in the case of the more religious members of the crew, to say a few prayers while they're in the capital. The cargo hold is empty, save for Grace and Dubois huddled in a corner. Both scholars seem deep in contemplation, scratching at a piece of paper between whispers.

“Busy?” you ask them as you move over to join them.

“Just rewriting these notes, making sure everything is correct,” Grace explains, tapping Dubois' notebook with the end of her pen, “If we do go on to spread this information far and wide, I don't want there to be any mistakes – not even a single letter out of place.”

“It's an impossible standard, but the girl insists,” Dubois grunts, rising to her feet and stalking off. “You can finish off,” she calls back over her shoulder, “I'm going to take a nap.”

As she leaves, Grace sniffs the air. “You smell rather strongly of perfume, captain,” she muses, “You haven't been getting up to no good, have you?”

[1/2]

>>2852639

With the strange feeling of a man unburdening his conscience, you explain the current situation to Grace. She strips her delicate gloves off as you talk, slowly flexing her slender fingers as if to ease out a lingering stiffness. The light rippling along the silvery scales that cover her skin catches your eye, distracting you and leaving you momentarily lost for words. Taking your silence as the conclusion of your story, Grace nods slowly.

“Yes, I suppose it makes sense. Cloudtop Prison would be a far more secure place to store any... weapons the church might possess,” she muses, “The Palace of Silence is too open, too public. A fine place to keep the more harmless items, I'm sure, but certainly not any weapons.”

Considering this with a shrug, you move on. “So what do you think?” you ask her, “This alliance, attacking Eishin's camp, all of it. Give me your gut instinct.”

Pursing her lips, Grace thinks for a moment. “I rather think it'll have to be timed to perfection,” she suggests, “And once we descend to the tomb, there won't be any going back. We had best make sure that we're fully prepared before venturing down there. I wouldn't worry too much, though – the negotiations should give us ample time. I'm more concerned about what happens if something goes wrong along the way...”

“We'll just have to improvise,” you reply, all too aware of how little that might reassure her.

“Oh dear...” Grace murmurs, smiling coyly to herself.

>I'm sorry about this, but I'm going to close things early today. My focus is totally shot for some reason. I'll continue this tomorrow, hopefully I'll be able to get more done then
>Thank you for your patience today!

>>2852744
Thanks for running.

How hard would it be for the Helena to get an accurate shot through the Deep Forest?

>>2852744
Thanks for running!

If Sandoval is retired, will she be passing along this info to her replacement? Who is secretly a changeling in service to Eishin?

>>2852744
Thanks for running!
So will everything go wrong, or horribly wrong?

>>2852766
we are of course, didn't you hear carter?

>>2852762
Not too hard, really, although the accuracy largely depends on how much canopy there is blocking direct line of sight. Where the trees are sparse, cannon shots can be fairly precise. There's always a risk of collateral damage, of course, but that's not too bad.

>>2852766
Well, she's only "retired" as far as the official records have it. Being off the books gives Sandy a bit more freedom to act as required
As an aside, a changeling wouldn't last very long in Carthul. Too many prayers to learn and rituals to observe, they'd end up making a mistake pretty quickly. It's easier to hide in Iraklin land, where you can just shut up and follow orders

>>2852798
Maybe everything will go perfectly to plan!

>>2853045
How fit has Blessings gotten?

>>2854605
This is a good question.

>>2854605
Well, his athletics career still has a long ways to go, but he won't embarrass himself. He's at the rough level of an averagely healthy young man, which is a pretty big improvement!

File: Bishop Rhea.jpg (324 KB, 1181x1748)

324 KB JPG

No matter what the rest of the world might be like, the air surrounding Cloudtop Prison is always cold. Even before you've left the Spirit of Helena, you can feel the chill in the air – you can almost feel the wind cutting through the ship's hull and raking across your bare skin. Shivering a little, you turn and look out the observation window. Ahead of you is a thin metal landing strip, and you can only imagine how cruel the wind must feel out there.

Yet, incredibly, you see someone standing down there. Wrapped in a pristine white fur, they watch as the Helena eases down towards the landing pad. “Bishop Rhea,” Sandoval murmurs to you, “She came out to meet us. You should feel honoured, Vaandemere, she doesn't do this for just anyone.”

Looking down at the lonesome figure, you shiver again. Just looking at her makes you feel cold.

-

The sound of Bishop Rhea's heels clicking against the smooth Abrahad stone floor seems to be the only sound allowed in Cloudtop Prison. As soon as you had left the Spirit of Helena, she had turned to march away from you, leading you inside the prison. Not a single word has left her lips, or yours, since you entered the building. Even inside, the temperature barely seems to have risen above the frigid outdoors. Hugging your coat tighter around you, you focus on following the brilliant white of Rhea's fur coat.

When an arm emerges from the wall in front of you, you nearly cry out in revulsion before you realise what you're looking at. Rhea's path has taken you into the cells, and one of the prisoners has reached out for her. Without breaking stride, or even looking around at the cell, Rhea marches onwards. This strange sight repeats itself on several occasions, with the caged prisoners silently straining to touch her for even a fleeting moment.

Yet not one of them ever cries out to her, or pleads for help. Glancing aside as you pass one of the cells, you see the prisoner – a lean man dressed in a shapeless white smock – slinking back to the far end of his empty cell and slumping back against the wall. He makes no sign of noticing you, as if you weren't even there. Tearing yourself away from the cell, you hasten after Rhea's retreating back.

-

When you arrive at Rhea's quarters, she finally deigns to notice you. Halfway through slipping out of her trailing fur coat – one of the most sensual acts of disrobing that you've ever seen – she looks around at you. “Sit,” she urges, nodding towards a stout wooden chair before looking over to the doorway, where Sandoval still lurks. “Go about your duties, Provost Sandoval,” she continues, her voice hard and clear, “I can handle things from here.”

Bowing, Sandoval backs out of the room and closes the door behind her, leaving you alone with Rhea.

[1/2]

>>2855270

It didn't take long for Rhea to lose interest in you, her attention drifting down to some of the papers atop her desk. As she reads them over, you glance around her quarters. All this white stone is starting to give you a headache, and only the low lighting – coming from no discernable source, as is all too common for these Zenith structures – makes it tolerable to you. Her furnishings are rich wood, cushioned with soft velvet to keep them from scraping against the stone floor. Behind her wide desk, an Abrahad statue rises up and reaches forwards, as if about to place a crown upon Rhea's head.

“I believe I owe you my thanks,” Rhea muses, her eyes still fixed upon the papers in front of her, “You assisted young Lavinia with a rather troublesome matter. I very much care for her, as though she were my own flesh and blood. You wished to speak with a prisoner, did you not?”

You didn't even have to mention it. It's probably all in those files she's reading, but... it's still a disarming sensation, as if she knew everything there was to know about you. “That's right,” you manage to reply, “His name-”

“Ephrahim Jackson - “Barrow” Jackson, as he preferred to be known,” Rhea finishes for you. Finally looking up from her notes, she looks directly into your eyes. With her sharp face, hair that is almost as white as her garb, and eyes like two chips of blue ice, the bishop makes for an otherworldly figure. The statue behind her almost seems to have more life and vitality than she does.

But... Ephrahim? With a name like that, it's small wonder that he chose to go by an alias.

“It's somewhat irregular, for a visitor to be granted access to a prisoner, but I am willing to make an exemption in your case. However, there are still rules that you must follow,” Rhea pauses for a few heartbeats before continuing, “You must not give the prisoner any items. You must not share details about the outside world with the prisoner, beyond that which is absolutely necessary. Obviously, attempts at an escape are forbidden. You see-”

“Complete isolation,” you think aloud, “That's how it sounds to me, at least.”

“Freedom from the corrupting influences of the world, that the prisoners here might focus on their spiritual wellbeing,” Rhea corrects you smoothly, “Do you, by chance, disapprove?”

That's a loaded question if you've ever heard one.

>It seems needlessly cruel to me, that's all
>Whatever it takes to redeem them, I guess
>Do what you like, it means nothing to me
>I'm curious, actually. Tell me something... (Write in)
>Other

>>2855273
>"It seems a bit excessive, not letting them know about current events."

>>2855273
I think it's better to be deflective with this woman, so I'd say to reply with something like "I'll follow your rules". A sentence that doesn't betray our true feelings but shows we're willing to cooperate, at least for now.

>>2855273
"It seems like it would make one lose their minds and that you 'redeem' whatever is left of them. They'd be a shell of the person they once we're. I'd probably go crazy locked in here."

>>2855268
He's lost his baby fat then? Actually, do you have a picture for Blessings?

>>2855273
>Do what you like, it means nothing to me

“I'll follow your rules while I'm here,” you reply cautiously, unwilling to show your hand quite so soon, “So long as I do that, whether I approve or not doesn't really matter, does it?”

“Quite correct,” Rhea agrees with a simple nod. Reaching behind her, she takes a length of velvet rope that hangs from the ceiling and gives it a firm tug. From somewhere deeper within the structure, you hear the dull chime of a bell. “But as a simple matter of curiosity, I would have you speak plainly,” she continues, “Are you, perhaps, worried that I might refuse your request if I disliked your answer?”

She's got you there. “It seems a little excessive,” you venture, “To keep them cut off from current events.”

“All part of the process. To reflect properly upon one's sin, one must be free from distraction – and the world below us is nothing if not full of those. Introspection requires isolation,” Rhea explains smoothly, her hands folded piously in front of her. Before either of you can say anything else, a white-garbed aide enters the room in response to the bishop's summons. “Have Ephrahim Jackson brought to one of the interview rooms,” she orders, “Captain Vaandemere will be allowed to speak with him – privately. I will show him the way.”

Without a word, the aide withdraws. Standing and smoothing down her robes, Rhea gestures for you to follow her. Rhea isn't an especially tall woman, about as tall as you are with the help of her formidably heeled boots, and your eyes meet for a long moment as you're rising. There's nothing in her eyes that you can read, no hint at what she might be thinking or feeling. By contrast, her gaze seems to bore deeply into you. Then, she turns her face away and leaves you blinking in confusion.

“I think I'd go mad if I was locked up in here,” you hear yourself say as you follow Rhea down a blank white corridor, “This isolation... it would break a man down, break him down to nothing, and then...”

“And then we build him back up, in the image of a model citizen,” Rhea finishes for you, her words drifting to you from what seems like a great distance, “So you understand.”

Before you can say anything else, you bite your tongue until the salt taste of blood fills your mouth. She's got a strange way with people, this one. “Do what you want,” you conclude in a deliberately nonchalant tone, “It means nothing to me. I'm just here to speak with Jackson, and then I'm leaving.”

Saying nothing to this, Rhea continues to lead the way.

[1/2]

>>2855297
>He's looking trim these days. No picture, unfortunately - male character art is always much harder to find, I've noticed

>>2855313

Rhea's quarters had been softened by the rich furnishings she had collected for herself – all polished walnut and velvet – but the “interview room” has no such mercy. A stark white chamber, it uncannily reminds you of the cell beneath Hess' office. Even the table and chairs have the same bland, practical look to them. Jackson isn't here yet, but Rhea takes no notice of that little fact. Leaving you in the cell, she slips out and locks the door behind her. Just as you're starting to wonder if this was all a trick, a trap, you hear the second door rattle open.

Ephrahim “Barrow” Jackson, when you see him, looks like a man on the verge of death. Pale and drawn, haunted and hunted, he brings back memories of Faulkner's picture. There, he had supposedly been held captive by Nadir barbarians, explaining his poor condition. Jackson doesn't have any such excuse.

Without a word, without a change in his sullen expression, Jackson sits opposite you. His hands aren't bound, but they might as well be – he radiates an air of captivity, something that exceeds mere physical bonds. “They said my lawyer was here to see me,” he says at last, “I told them that I didn't have a lawyer. They said that I do now.”

So you're a lawyer now – Salazar would be proud. “You'll have to be patient with me, I'm still very new to the legal business,” you remark with a wry smile, “Why don't you start by explaining why you're here?”

Jackson stares at you as if you're the world's biggest fool. “They really told you nothing, huh,” he mutters, “Won't bother acting innocent – they caught me breaking into the tomb of... some former Hierophant. Don't even recall his name, I just heard that he was buried with some right fancy jewellery. Not as humble as they like to pretend, these church types. Well, catching me in the act of defiling a holy site like that, they were never going to go easy on me. So here I am, surrounded by killers and all other kinds of scum.”

“I see. I understand that you're something of a career thief,” you muse, “Have you ever done any jobs down in Nadir?”

Pausing here, a sly light enters Jackson's eyes – the first sign of real alertness that you've seen since he entered this cell. “Oh,” he says slowly, letting out a dry and humourless laugh, “Oh, I see what this is about. Sure, I did a job down in Nadir – a nice little earner, but dangerous stuff. Wouldn't do it again, not for all the coin in the land. You want to know about it, right?”

“I do,” you agree, “Tell me everything you know.”

“Not so fast,” Jackson sneers, “What are YOU going to do for ME?”

Leaning back, you spread your hands wide. “What do you want?” you counter, “I can't exactly break you out of here, if that's what you're asking.”

“I want you to kill someone for me,” the thief whispers, “A backstabbing son of a bitch. Give me your word that you'll end him, and then we can talk.”

[2/3]

>>2855357
Oh shit. Maybe we can ask that he gets released instead of breaking him out? We have done mad favors for people.

>>2855368
Well it's not really our MO but we can just lie to him about giving our word and get the Nadir info.

>>2855357


Grimacing, you consider his words. “That's not a small thing to ask for,” you murmur, praying that this conversation is as private as it seems, “Who do you want dead?”

“My partner... former partner. We were supposed to rob the Hierophant's tomb together, but the bastard got cold feet at the last minute. He pulled out, and I'm damn sure that he sold me out – the provosts got there too soon for it to be bad luck,” Jackson hisses, “You get me, right? Traitors are the lowest kind of scum, you'll be doing the land a favour by ending him. I'm never getting out of here, I know that, but I've not forgiven that dog. Promise me you'll do this, and I'll tell you anything you want to know.”

“You're placing a lot of trust in me,” you point out, “I could just lie, you know.”

Jackson scowls hard for a moment. “I know,” he growls, “Don't have much choice, though, do I? All I can do is trust that you're a man of your word. I've got a good nose for liars, though, so... what do you say?”

>Agree to kill Jackson's former partner
>Lie about agreeing to kill Jackson's former partner
>Refuse to kill Jackson's former partner
>Other

>>2855373
>Ask who it is
>Ask if there's anything he prefers over just dead. Like, for example, getting stuck in Cloudtop with him.

>>2855373
>Other
"What's his name?"

If we don't recognize it
>Agree

>>2855373
>Lie about agreeing to kill Jackson's former partner
"You're asking me to take on a lot of heat just to get some information, but... I'm already too damn far down this rabbit hole to stop now. I need a name and last known location. That should be enough to go on, though if you have anything else on him, that'll help."

>>2855373
>>Lie about agreeing to kill Jackson's former partner

>>2855373
>What if he didn't betray you?

“Who is he?” you ask slowly, “I'll need a name and the last known location at the very least, along with anything else you have on him.”

Jackson's eyes light up with a dark glee. “His name is Micah,” he tells you, “Micah Jackson.”

“Wait,” you interrupt, “You're related?”

“My cousin. Never was that close to him, but we made a good team... until he lost his nerve,” Jackson explains, “As for where you'll find him... can't promise that he'll still be there, but we had a little hideout down in Monotia – best place in the land to hide, you know? It's opposite an old bar called The Lynching Tree, real easy to find. If I was tracking him down, that's where I'd start. Shouldn't be hard to recognise him, he's only got one ear. Dog ate the left one off when he was a boy.”

That's disgusting, but it should certainly help you find the right man. “What if he didn't die?” you offer, “What if... say, he ended up in Cloudtop as well?”

“Sure, I'd like that, but I can't see them locking him up. Chances are, he cut some deal with them – sell me out, and he walks free,” Jackson growls, “No. It has to be this way.”

“IF he sold you out,” you point out, “What if he didn't? Let me track him down, and I'll ask him directly. You're not the only one who has a good nose for a liar – if he really did sell you out, I'll know.”

“And then you'll kill him?” the thief presses.

“I will,” you lie, your steady tone offering no hint of the falsehood – or so you hope. “You're asking me to take a lot of heat for you, but I can't afford to back off now,” you continue, “So now you need to tell me what I want to know. You raided a tomb down in Nadir – did you see a fragment of old iron down there? Part of a ring, quite large and heavier than it might look. Does this ring any bells?”

Narrowing his eyes, Jackson nods slowly. “I think I did see something like that,” he thinks aloud, “Seemed like an odd thing to find in a treasure trove like that. Thought maybe it was part of a shield or the like, and time had eaten away the rest. Wasn't paying that much attention to it, mind you, I wasn't there for a piece of crap like that. I had my orders – go in, get one thing, then get out. You want... let me see, you want to know where it was, don't you?”

Nodding impatiently, you gesture for him to continue. “Don't have a map on me, so listen closely. I'll give you the same directions I got. You'll want to ask a local for more details, but this should be good enough for now,”Jackson licks his thin lips as he thinks, “There's a stone circle, the locals call it the Eclipse Circle – it's just about near the dead centre of the Deep Forest. What you're looking for is west of there, maybe an hour on foot. Easy, see?”

Here, Jackson laughs and reveals a mouth filled with the blackened stubs of teeth.

[1/2]

>>2855471
Damn, they might enforce an ascetic lifestyle here but they should at least provide proper dental care. Carth why.

>>2855492
If you want a dental plan, you should join the Iraklis.

File: Young_Oswald_pic.jpg (37 KB, 600x795)

37 KB JPG

>>2855313
Something like this maybe?

>>2855492
Only the liver is sacred with the Carths.

File: lancel_lannister_par_yue_(...).jpg (102 KB, 1024x746)

102 KB JPG

>>2855313
Or this?

>>2855526
I'd rather not see Lancel when I think of Blessings.

>>2855471

“It's not nearly as easy as that,” you guess, once Jackson has calmed down, “Is it?”

“Well, you've got the locals to worry about – that's right on old Eishin's doorstep, after all, and that's just the people. A terrible place, that tomb. You know what those old heathens did? They actually buried their dead in that awful soil, and sometimes... they don't stay buried, see?” Jackson chuckles to himself, “I got taught a trick that kept me nice and safe, but it was still all kinds of scary.”

“What's the trick?” you ask, “Shoot them in the head?”

Jackson just smirks for a moment, and you start to wonder if he's going to refuse to tell you. Then, finally, he relents. “Salt,” he whispers, “Sea salt. Scatter some about, and it'll drive them back. Something about it scares them off, but don't ask me how it works. Some heathen magic, I guess. My soul's tainted enough without knowing about any of that stuff. Still, I'm not so superstitious that I won't use something what works.”

You know how that feels, at least. Apparently satisfied with his end of the deal, Jackson folds his hands behind his head and leans back. You're not so sure if you're finished with him, though – he mentioned orders, but who had he been working for? The same person who taught him to use salt to repel the risen dead, perhaps?

“So,” Jackson adds, his cocky voice interrupting your musings, “How are you enjoying old Rhea's hospitality? That old bird doesn't get many visitors – visitors that don't end up in cells, at least. She talk your ear off about holiness and redemption?”

Jackson must be bored, if he's trying to get a rise out of you with these mocking questions. Glancing back over your shoulder, you check the door again. Maybe this place is getting to you, but you can't shake the foolish idea that the guard might not let you back out again.

>Leave the cell. You're finished with Jackson
>Question Jackson some more... (Write in)
>Other

>>2855505
>>2855526
>I wonder. I do like that first picture, although it might look a little young. I'm sure that I can find some use for it, though - maybe now, maybe later!

>>2855572
>Does she talk about that with you?
Deflect, then say goodbye

>>2855572
>Question Jackson some more... (Write in)
"Who tasked you to raid the tomb? Some scholar type looking for some muscle?"

“Does she ever talk about that with you?” you ask, turning Jackson's question back around on him. With another curt laugh, the prisoner waves away the very idea.

“She wouldn't waste her time. Reckon I'm beyond saving in her eyes. Can't entirely say I blame her, seeing as this church stuff just doesn't work on me and all. Some folk here, they can put on a good show – good enough that they might be ready to leave in... oh, ten years or so. Me, though? I'm here for good,” Jackson shakes his head with a bitter smirk, “Now, if she thinks she's got a genuine convert on her hands, old Rhea will follow them about like a vulture.”

“She takes it seriously then,” you muse, “This business of redemption?”

This question leaves Jackson speechless for a few moments. “Must be,” he offers in return, “Can't see why she'd bother otherwise. Can't be doing it for the fun, can she?”

Silence falls, and you quickly move the conversation along. “So who asked you to raid the tomb?” you ask, “Some scholar looking for muscle?”

“You wouldn't believe me even if I told you,” the thief chuckles, “Hmm... how about I give you a hint? I had a pretty easy time making it through the Deep Forest - why do you think that was?”

You don't need to think about that one for very long. He's right, though – when the answer comes to you, you can't quite believe it. “Eishin?” you hiss, “He was the one who hired you? What did he...”

“He wanted a crown of his own, you see? Guess he never got the chance to wear his daddy's crown before he was chased out of Monotia. Can't be much of a king without one, can you? So, one of his people found me and paid me to dig it up. Can't say why he didn't get his own people to do it – maybe they didn't want to dirty their own hands, maybe it's sacred ground for them,” shrugging, Jackson rises to his feet and paces back and forth for a moment with obvious enjoyment. He's milking this for all it's worth, that's for sure. “The crown of King Sanquir of the Pit,” he drawls, “That's what he called it. Some old king, I guess, but who cares? He paid me well to dig it up, and he told me how to stay alive while I was doing it.”

Letting out a low breath, you nod to yourself. “You ever meet him?” you ask, “Eishin, I mean?”

“Nah, never did. Only ever worked through an agent,” Jackson replies, “Just a normal guy. Looked a bit beastly, but they all do, don't they? Paid with a stack of old gold coins – pain in the ass trying to trade them for real money, let me tell you.”

Some people will complain about anything. Giving Jackson your thanks, you cross over to the door and bang on it until the guard opens the lock.

The door takes an uncomfortably long time to open.

[1/2]

>>2855667
We'll have to ask Maeve about that crown when we have the chance. Could be a dusty normal crown or could have it's own power.

>>2855667

Stepping out into the corridor, you feel a slight shift in the oppressive weight that hangs on your shoulders. You won't really feel good until you've left this bleak place, but this is a good start. Just as you're stretching your shoulders, a hard voice splits the silence.

“Did you learn everything that you came here to learn?” Bishop Rhea asks, her voice hitting you like a bucket of ice water. She stands at the far end of the corridor, her arms sternly folded across her chest. To judge by her expression, she could be either angry, pleased, or any number of other things, and you might never guess. “Provost Sandoval will be a while longer,” the bishop continues, “When she is ready to leave, she will meet you at your ship. Please, do not leave prematurely.”

With that, Rhea turns and smoothly marches away.

-

When you return to the Spirit of Helena, still not quite sure what to make of... anything, you find Trice waiting for you in what passes for the ship's mess hall. Well, not waiting for you exactly – she seems quite content to chat with the rest of your crew. Waving you over, she shifts aside to clear a space on the bench and you sit. “Good to see you again, Milos,” she begins, “I was surprised when I saw your ship outside. She's changed a little since I saw her last, hasn't she?”

“You mean the lump, right? Yes, we've made some... modifications since then,” you explain, “Was there something you needed, or did you just drop in for a chat?”

“I'd say this was a social call. In fact, I was just saying that your ship isn't the only thing that's changed,” Trice replies, nodding across to Blessings, “Although I really shouldn't compare the two, should I?” Laughing as Blessings flushes red, the provost shakes her head to the flask Caliban offers her. “Can't. I'm supposed to be on duty,” she laments, “Still, Milos, I wasn't expecting to see you here.”

“I had some business that brought me up this way,” you reply vaguely, “So I thought to speak with Jackson while I was here. Everything worked out pretty well, if I do say so myself.”

“Hmm,” Trice's expression grows more serious, “Did you meet Bishop Rhea, then?”

Slowly, you nod. “I did,” you muse, “Is she always so...” This sentence goes unfinished, your words trailing futilely off into nothing.

“So what?” the provost asks, sounding both cautious and curious.

What indeed? You're not even sure what you were trying to say, how to put your gut feeling into words. Maybe it's just Cloudtop Prison in general that's getting to you, but something about Rhea...

>It's nothing. Forget about it
>It's just... (Write in)
>Other

>>2855767
>>It's just... (Write in)
She seems pretty intense.

>>2855767
So weird, awkward, and generally creepy.

>>2855767
Like all the things that make a human a human have been burned out of her.

>>2855767
>It's just... (Write in)
"I can't read her and I find myself pretty good at that. It's troubling. Not to mention we have fundamentally different values on freedom and free thought. Burning out a person's self until he's nothing but a husk that worships her and the Rising Light seems incredibly cruel. The prisoners in there were reaching out to her like she was their god Trice. I guess she might as well be."

>Other
As a hunch I want to draw Feanor's sword and see if it glows here. All this talk of her not seeming human makes the crazy speculation part of my brain consider that she might not actually BE human.

>>2855767
>It's just... (Write in)
It's like she'a a walking statue, not a human

>>2855767
It's just... (Write in
Shes like living stone

“It's just... she's very intense, isn't she?” you begin, pausing a moment to see if Trice reacts to this. Other than nodding thoughtfully, the provost says nothing and so you tentatively continue. All background chatter fades and dies, with several pairs of eyes settling on you. No pressure, then. “I can't read her, as a person I mean, and I'm normally pretty good at that – not to brag, of course,” you continue, “We have very different values, I can say that for sure. Different ideas about freedom, about free will, about... everything. The way the prisoners there treat her...”

“She represents their hopes for salvation. It's only natural that they would respect her,” Trice argues, “But... sometimes it can seem like more than that.”

“It seems like they worship her,” you insist, “It's like they've had everything BUT the ability to worship burned out of them.” Letting out a low sigh, you take the flask of liquor from Caliban and take a deep swig. “Although I guess they not be so different in that regard,” you murmur, “Rhea herself... it's like she's had all the humanity burned out of her as well. She's like a living statue.”

“That's not... totally true. She does have some...” Trice begins, biting her lip as she thinks, “She has her own vices, like any other person, she just keeps them under careful control – as we all should.”

“Really now?” Caliban asks, a leering smile on his face, “I always like to hear about this sort of thing. What kind of vices does a bishop have?”

“Well...” pausing, the provost searches her mind for some example, “She has a bit of a sweet tooth, I suppose.”

Freddy lets out a snort of dismissive laughter at this, standing and stalking out of the room. With her exit distracting you for a moment, some of the tension escapes from the scene. Caliban lights up a fresh cigarette, Keziah leans forwards to peer at something Grace has scribbled down on a scrap of paper, and things just... go back to normal. “So that's my take on her,” you conclude, “Being totally blunt, I found her pretty weird and creepy.”

“I did too, the first time I met her,” Trice admits with a laugh, before snapping her fingers as an idea comes to her. “Oh, I just remembered something,” she adds, “I found something not so long ago. A bit of carved stone – I think it's from Nadir. Would you like to take a look at it, see if it's anything significant? It won't take a moment. Ah, but you might not be able to translate it...”

“I can,” Grace offers, “I shall accompany you, if you so wish.”

There was something else you wanted to do in Cloudtop Prison, and this gives you a good excuse to go back. “Okay, let's take a look,” you decide, “Lead on, provost.”

[1/2]

>>2855866

“I remember when I first came here,” Trice says as she leads you back into Cloudtop Prison, “I was with a group of other people, junior provosts. There was about... maybe twenty of us in all? When we got here, we all gathered in a single room and waited. Nobody said a word for a while, we just stood there and shivered, but then Bishop Rhea arrived. I thought she was about to give us a welcoming speech or something... although she didn't exactly look like the welcoming type, Light forgive me.”

“So what happened?” you ask, reaching down until your fingers are almost brushing the hilt of Feanor's sword.

“Nothing. Or rather, she said nothing,” Trice answers with a shrug, “She looked at each of us in turn, then send us away. A few days later, we received word of who she had chosen to serve under her. The way I hear it, she only picked a handful of us – me, and a few others. I still don't know how she picked us above the others. It's not like I was ever top of the class or anything like that.”

“How curious...” Grace murmurs, pulling her cloak a little tighter around herself.

-

The stone is about the size of your fist, flat and heavily worn, with the carving on it almost worn away to nothing. After giving it a quick look, you pass it to Grace. The young scholar barely needs to look at it before she shakes her head. “It's nothing,” she states bluntly, “This marking just means “luck”, or something of that sort. A talisman of some kind. You see this ragged edge here? It probably had a hoop once, to tie a cord through.”

“Ah. That's what I thought,” Trice sighs, “I took it off a man I arrested. A lucky charm, he said. It didn't seem important to his case, so I... kept it. I couldn't really say why. At least I've not been holding onto anything dangerous all this time!”

As Grace laughs delicately, you murmur an excuse and slip out of Trice's austere quarters. Glancing both ways to make sure that you're alone, you take Feanor's sword in a firm grip and draw it smoothly from its sheath. The ruined stub of a blade is smoking, white mist boiling out of the countless holes to form a blade of killing light – a warning sign for sure, but warning you of what? The blade wakes in response to the supernatural – daemons, or the living Abrahad statues – but you're perfectly alone here.

At least, you think you're alone.

Feanor's apparition takes form nearby, languidly leaning against a wall and purposefully ignoring you. If he has any thoughts on this place, he's not in the mood to share. From somewhere deep within the prison, the dull tone of a bell startles you. Hastily sheathing your sword before someone notices the weapon, you return to Trice and Grace.

“...And that's when he pulled a knife on me,” Trice is saying as you return, “Last mistake he ever... oh, Milos! I was just telling Grace how I got that rock.”

[2/3]

>>2855992

The rest of the story is short and violent, largely revolving around how a thug ended up with his arm broken in three different places. You barely listen to it, your thoughts still swirling about within your head. Could it be, you wonder, that the prison itself is what Feanor's blade is reacting to? Needless to say, it's not an idea you especially care for. Your sword isn't exactly a precise instrument, though – all it tells you is that something in the area is unnatural.

“You're awfully quiet, captain,” Grace murmurs, tapping you on the arm, “You're not feeling ill, are you?”

“I'm just...” you begin, shaking your head before continuing, “I'm just a little sensitive when it comes to broken arms. Personal experience and all that.”

Nodding demurely, Grace rises to her feet and gestures towards the door. “I understand, and I think I'll be returning to the ship now,” she tells you, “I'm sorry that your find wasn't anything more significant, provost, but it's still a nice little souvenir.” Bowing slightly, the young scholar slips though the door and vanishes. Now that you're alone with Trice, the air seems to take on an entirely different mood. Clearing your throat, you start to follow Grace out before the mood can become too awkward.

“Stay safe out there, Milos,” Trice calls out, “I don't know if you've noticed or not, but the world isn't such a safe place these days.”

Laughing wearily to yourself, you move to show yourself out. You should really be getting back to the Spirit of Helena, but... you're in no rush. Maybe you could take a little look around first, see if you can find out more about what Feanor's sword is reacting to.

>Head straight back to the Spirit of Helena
>Pay Bishop Rhea a visit
>Take a wander about and see what you can find
>Ask Trice something else while you're here... (write in)
>Other

>>2856094
>Pay Bishop Rhea a visit

Ask what conditions would have to be met for Barrow Jackson to be released.

Ask how she selects aspirants to become provosts.

ask what she thinks of our sword and trinket

>>2856094
>>Take a wander about and see what you can find

>>2856103
We don't want him released cause he'll go kill his cousin. Leave him where he is.

>>2856094
You know part of me doesn't want to rock the boat here, but most of me is very curious.

>Take a wander about and see what you can find

I'll also second not trying to release Barrow. We have way too much on our plate right now to take the time to prevent him from killing his cousin or going through some hoops to get him freed.

>>2856119
We should at least learn what it would take, might be preferable.

>>2856094
>Take a wander about and see what you can find

You're a firm believer in the investigative powers of a good wander, and so that's what you'll do first. Even if you don't find anything, taking a walk around might clear your head a little. So, bidding Trice farewell, you pick a direction at random and move deeper into the prison. With no map of the place, and only a meagre idea of the layout, you don't really know where you're going. The corridors are unmarked, which doesn't offer much help either. Terribly inconvenient if you were trying to go somewhere in particular, but perfectly adequate for roaming about. Besides, if you do stray into somewhere you shouldn't be, you've got the perfect excuse – you just got lost.

No guards, you notice after a while. A prison should have guards patrolling the halls and corridors, but this place is as silent as a tomb. Only once do you see another human being, and that is when a robed aide hastens past with a stack of papers under her arm. She doesn't look around at you, barely deviating from her path to avoid bumping into you. Watching her vanish around the previous corner, you frown and take the next turn at random.

Ahead of you is a lengthy stretch of corridor, leading to a staircase delving deeper into the guts of the building. Pausing for a long moment, you try looking about you only to find your eyes drawn back to the stairs. Feeling like something else is taking control of your body, you walk towards the stairs and peer down into the gloom that yawns open ahead of you. The stairwell seems to swallow up all light, and yet the steps themselves are clearly – almost painfully – visible.

Stepping into the darkness, you descend those glowing steps. Although you know, in your rational mind, that the walls must still be close around you, you can't shake the feeling that the stairs are simply hanging in the void. Swallowing down a wave of nausea, you continue on until a blue glow starts to unfold before your eyes. The dull sound of your boots echoing against the stone steps fills your ears as you hurry towards that light. Then, with a transition as swift as stepping from one room to the next, you stumble into a wide chamber. Glowing Pleonite medallions hang from the ceiling, casting that blue light that you had followed.

And standing in the centre of the room is a white Abrahad statue, its hands pressed together in a gesture of prayer. Drawing Feanor's sword, you find it burning brightly – but then, that's no different to before. Painfully aware that the wrong word might rouse the statue from is slumber, you press your lips together into a tight line as you circle the statue, examining it from all angles.

“It would kill you in an instant, if it had the chance,” Feanor mouths, the looming phantom appearing out of thin air, “Purely for what you are – for the blood that flows in your veins.”

[1/2]

>>2856278

“I've seen this before,” you reply, wincing as you immediately break your own rule against speaking aloud. “A chamber like this, with medallions hanging above a statue,” you think, trusting that the apparition will skim the thoughts from the surface of your mind, “Do you know what any of this actually is?”

“A cold and lifeless imitation of the old rites,” the apparition answers, his thoughts dripping with scorn, “Have men truly grown so detached from their primal origins that they make shrines to these... things?”

Considering these words, you grunt with irritation. “So you don't know,” you guess, “You could have just said that.”

“An admission of ignorance is a display of weakness,” Feanor counters, “If I do not know something, that thing is not worth knowing. Tear down their idol and be done with it!”

You were halfway through reaching up to tap one of the medallions when he says this, and his words cause you to freeze. “What?” you blurt out, not caring that your voice echoes off the walls, “Why?”

“They revere this place, that much is clear, so we must take action!” the apparition hisses, “Strike against the hated foe!”

He just said that he didn't know a damn thing about this, and now he's telling you to destroy it? It's the purest foolishness... and yet, perhaps he does have a point. These statues have never shown themselves to be anything but hostile once roused, and you have this one at your mercy. A single strike to cut the head from the body, and...

>Destroy the slumbering statue
>Leave the statue, and retreat back to the survive
>Other

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>>2856370
>Other
"What did you to piss of Dogma so much back when you were the thief?"

>Leave the statue, and retreat back to the surface

>>2856370
>“A cold and lifeless imitation of the old rites,”
Whose rites? What do they do?

>>2856370
Nah bro just leave it

>>2856370
>Leave the statue, and retreat back to the surface

Well, let's get Grace and Blessings to work on this. It seems like another part of the puzzle of this world

Turning around, you give Feanor's phantom a dubious look. “What rites?” you ask, “What rites are these imitating?”

“The ancient rites of the land men now call “Nadir”. There was a time when a great many temples and shrines could be found, raised in praise of the gods and their messengers. Sacred cadavers were enshrined within the greatest of the trees, so that even in death they could bless and protect the soil of their birth,” Feanor growls, his emerald green eyes flashing with anger, “This... parody, though? It is a hollow idol, praising nothing at all – a fool's imitation of the old ways!”

If what he's saying is true, then this statue is here as a... a guardian of this island. A holy version of a profane Nadir practice. Although, that all assumes that Feanor has any idea what he's talking about, and you're not willing to place much faith in that. “What did the followers of Dogma do to piss you off so badly?” you ask him, “When you were alive, I mean.”

“Turning their back on their birthright, and siding with the god who stole man's rightful inheritance from him? How could I not despise them?” the apparition insists, “When all men were one, we were liberated – our lives were wild and free. These spineless wretches turned their back on that life, suckling instead at the teat of a tyrant god!”

You say nothing for a long moment before silently sheathing your sword and turning back towards the stairs. “I'm trusting you,” you tell the statue, looking back over your shoulder, “So you'd better not hit me in the back. Do we have a deal?”

The statue, of course, says nothing.

-

The stairs don't seem nearly so long on the way back up – a small mercy – and soon you find yourself back in the stark white corridors. A vague feeling of urgency settles over your thoughts as you hasten away from the stairwell, taking turns at random until you start to feel more at ease. Just as you're allowing yourself to relax a little, a hand falls firmly on your shoulder. Almost crying out aloud, you jump away and spin around to find yourself face to face with Bishop Rhea herself. Those icy blue eyes carve into you as the woman studies you, your barely-contained panic drawing no reaction at all.

“Were you lost?” she asks quietly, “One of my aides noticed you wandering the halls. This place can be quite confusing at first.”

“Lost, yes, I was... lost,” you manage, feeling your heartbeat slowly return to normal, “Actually, I was looking for your office. For you, I mean. To speak with you about something.”

Rhea looks through you for a moment more, and then her lips twitch with the tiniest suggestion of a smile. “Come with me, then,” she instructs, “I will guide you.”

[1/2]

>>2856521
>“The ancient rites of the land men now call “Nadir”. There was a time when a great many temples and shrines could be found, raised in praise of the gods and their messengers.

Interesting.

>>2856521

With a refined grace, Rhea sets two cups out on her desk and gestures to one of them. Taking the cup, you raise it to your lips and take a deep swallow of cool, refreshing... water. Well, you really shouldn't have been expecting anything stronger. As you set the cup down, Rhea begins the conversation. “Speak,” she urges, “Why did you want to speak with me?”

“I was just wondering what it would take to get someone released from here,” you ask, picking the first question that comes to mind, “As a hypothetical matter, at least. I'm not looking to-”

“The prisoners here will be released when they are ready to be released,” Rhea explains patiently, “That is all. If one shows no sign of repenting their crimes and finding redemption, then they shall not leave here.” Pausing for a moment, the bishop frowns slightly as a new idea occurs to her. “If you were hoping that some kind of... bribe might be offered, then I must disappoint you,” she laments, “There is no material wealth in this world that could convince me to abandon my duties. I have no need for riches.”

“That wasn't...” you begin, only to stop yourself short as you realise how futile a protest would be. Accepting the chastisement with good graces, you bow your head for a moment before looking up and moving on. “I was curious, though,” you continue, “I was speaking with Trice, and she mentioned her first time here. What's your trick to choosing provosts?”

Refilling your cup from an urn of water, Rhea gives you another one of those tiny smiles. “This may sound strange to you, Captain Vaandemere, but I trust my instinct. I believe that instinct is given to us by the Lord of Rising Light – those whose souls are clearer are more capable of hearing His guidance. When I saw Lavinia Trice, I had... a good feeling,” she explains, “And my instinct was proven correct. She has not disappointed me.”

“She's one of the good ones, yeah,” you agree, smiling fondly to yourself.

Rhea nods slowly, closing her frigid eyes for a moment. “I wonder,” she murmurs, “Did you see anything of interest, while you were looking for me?”

The question takes you off-guard like a fist to the gut, and it does just about as much to leave you gasping for breath. Somehow, though, you manage to retain some kind of external composure despite the utter panic that sinks into your thoughts. Once again, it feels as though the bishop has thrown a very purposeful question your way.

>No, nothing. Just a lot of prison cells and empty corridors
>I saw a statue hidden away deep beneath the prison, if that's what you mean
>Other

>>2856619
>I saw a statue hidden away deep beneath the prison, if that's what you mean

>>2856619
>I saw a statue hidden away deep beneath the prison, if that's what you mean
>I've seen similar things down under, although in much worse condition

>>2856619
>I saw a creepy statue in the basement

What the hell, sometimes honesty really is the best policy.

“I saw a statue hidden away deep beneath the prison, if that's what you're trying to suggest,” you admit, “It's not the first time I've seen something like that either, although I've never seen one in such good condition.” Rhea does not react to this, sitting in silence as if you had said nothing at all. “There was nothing to suggest that I shouldn't have gone down there,” you add, feeling absurdly guilty all of a sudden, “There wasn't even a door, or a guard to-”

Rhea raises one finger, and you immediately fall silent. It's not something you intended to do, but it just seems to... happen. “Yes, we possess one of those. To be more accurate, it was here when we first arrived,” Rhea explains, “For some time, it was regarded as a secret, but now I have little desire to hide it away. In truth, I would welcome anyone who could tell me more about it – its function, say, or its origins.”

“Oh. So you don't know either...” you murmur, her frank admission taking you by surprise, “Is it used for anything?”

“Normally I say my prayers in the upper tower, bathed in the rays of the sun, but sometimes I feel compelled to meditate beneath the prison, in the company of that statue. As I have said, Captain Vaandemere, I listen to what my instincts tell me,” Rhea presses the palms of her hands together, mirroring the posture of that statue down beneath you, “I would dearly wish to know what you think, as you have some experience in these matters.”

“Well... I've spoken with a contact, an expert, about them,” you begin, trusting that “contact” sounds better than “ranting ghost”. Wetting your lips with a sip of water, you think for a moment before continuing. “These kinds of sites reminded them of certain Nadir sites, shrines of a sort devoted to their gods. The statues mimic certain... mummified bodies,” you explain, “If their theory is correct, it suggests a sort of... common origin. The Nadir faith and the Church of the Rising Light may have their roots in the same source.”

Rhea considers this, taking a pen out of her desk drawer and meticulously testing its balance. When she says nothing else, nothing at all, you take the hint and start to show yourself out. As you rise, the bishop speaks up. “Captain Vaandemere?” she remarks, her tone soft and almost seductive, “It would be wise of you... very wise... to keep such talk to yourself in future. It may cause... undue offence if the wrong person was to hear it.”

She asked for your opinion, and now this?

“I understand,” you reply stiffly, “And I appreciate the advice.”

>I think I'm going to pause things here. Into the Skies will continue next Saturday, as I'm going to be busy all day on Friday.
>Thank you for your contributions today!

>>2856819
Thanks for running!

We should also mention they sometimes come to life if motivated by the right words.

>>2856819
Thanks for running.

It sounds like rhea needs a night in town! If Milos were a braver man, do you think he'd succeed?

>>2856819
Thanks for running.

Any more interludes or no more since we caught up with Caldwell?

>>2849539
>Randomly click on quest, title and pic seem interesting
>QM is Moloch
>OH SHIT.PNG

>>2856856
She'd be a hard nut to crack, but with a good bit of time and attention I imagine that someone might be able to give Rhea the Dogma
>>2856912
Oh yes, there should hopefully be an interlude on Wednesday. We can see how Caldwell goes from sleeping in a cage to living in domestic bliss!

>>2857010
>living in domestic bliss!
Nani the fuck?

>>2857051
Well, "domestic bliss" might be stretching it a little. Currently, he has a little house on the outskirts of Eishin's camp that he shares with Gorgon. All very comfy and cozy, and he's definitely NOT plotting bloody revenge against Eishin.

>>2857184
Have Caldwell and Gorgon... you know?

>>2858422
Caldwell's busy fucking segharl

>>2858422
That's a more complicated question than you might think. I can't answer it though - prying into two people's private life is just rude!
>>2858424
Segharl is pure. PURE

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When they came for him, Caldwell allowed himself to be taken. Almost as soon as he was pulled from his cage, the barbarians forced a thick sack over the assassin's head and shoved him forwards, forcing him to march. Even with their rough treatment, Caldwell was relieved to be out of the cage. Just being able to stand up to his full height seemed like an unimaginable luxury to him. More than just that, though, he felt... ready. The heavy weight of despair that had settled over him was gone now, and his mind grew sharper by the minute.

With the heavy burlap sack blinding him, Caldwell was forced to rely on his other senses to get an idea of what was happening around him. He was being led downhill, and towards a large group of voices. There was a sense of excitement in the air, made obvious by the murmur of conversation that seemed to surround the entire area. Before he could try and pick any single voice out of the crowd, the sack was ripped from Caldwell's head and the light stabbed at his eyes.

A roar greeted him, a cry that was both mocking and encouraging. Blinking against the harsh morning sun, Caldwell looked around at the stage he had found himself on. A deep crater carved into the ground, with Eishin's barbarians surrounding the upper level. Wooden stakes had been hammered into the dirt, their points directed towards to keep anyone from climbing out of the pit, and a gate blocked off the slope Caldwell had been escorted down. Just to make his situation even clearer, he saw several men aiming their rifles down at him.

He wouldn't be walking out of this pit until Eishin allowed it.

The king himself was seated on a raised throne, his view of the pit better than any other. Lurking beside him, Caldwell saw three hideously bound women. Their faces were bloodied, bound with jagged strips of wire, and they constantly writhed with pain. When he saw that Gorgon was not along their number, Caldwell felt a short-lived surge of hope. As Caldwell met Eishin's eyes, the king rose to his feet and gestured for the crowd to be silent. They obeyed without hesitation, and the sudden stillness chilled Caldwell.

“The promised time is drawing nearer,” Eishin announced, skipping past all preamble, “And I have need of a warrior. Today, you will bear witness as two men compete for the privilege of serving as my sword.”

Behind Caldwell, the gate creaked open. Segharl marched in, dragging a smaller man behind him. Tearing the sack off of the man's face, Segharl revealed his captive's face.

Hackett.

[1/3]

>>2863543

Captivity had not been kind to Hackett. The burly man's face was dark with bruises, but his expression seemed darker still. When he locked eyes with Caldwell, the assassin could see petulant outrage simmering there. As the two prisoners stared at each other, Segharl began to walk around them in a wide circle. He had a short sword on each hip, and he stabbed a blade down into the ground on each side of the pit.

“You all know our laws,” Eishin announces, his voice ringing out over the deathly silence, “Two men have entered this arena, and so one man must die. The victor survives... and wins their freedom.”

“To hell with you!” Hackett bellowed, spitting up at Eishin, “I won't do this! You ask me to fight a wounded man? I refuse - if you want me dead, let it be a fair fight!” Spinning around as Segharl approached him, Hackett swung a futile punch at the giant. Effortlessly, Segharl caught Hackett's wrist in a vice-like grip and pushed the man to his knees. “I... Won't... Do it,” Hackett snarled, baring his teeth in pain as Segharl twisted. There was a muted snap, and Hackett slumped down to the ground. His arm hung loose, broken by Segharl's pitiless grip.

“Then I will make it a fair fight,” the giant intoned, turning and striding from the arena. By the time Hackett had risen to his feet once again, the gate had closed behind the giant warrior and the two prisoners were alone. Ripping his blade out of the soil, Hackett pointed it towards Caldwell. His eyes were mad, the eyes of a man finally pushed past breaking point.

Feeling awkward, clumsy, Caldwell took up his own blade. “It seems that we'll be settling our business earlier than I had anticipated,” he told Hackett, hoping that his level tone might calm the guide a little. Yet, it seemed to make no difference at all. They were both caught up in the heat of Eishin's madness, swept along by a momentum that was impossible to fight against. Panting like a beast, Hackett launched forwards and swung his blade in a mad overhead arc. Eve at his full strength, Caldwell doubted that he could defend against a strike like that.

Instead, he retreated. Leaping back, the assassin almost lost his footing as the crude blade slammed into the dirt at his feet. Weary and slow on his feet, he barely managed to regain his footing in time to sway past Hackett's next attack. At any other time, this fight would have been over in a moment, but the circumstances were far from normal. Hackett fought without skill or self-preservation, leaving himself wide open to a counter, but just staying on his feet was sapping most of Caldwell's strength. Even without that hindrance, he was reluctant to attack.

After everything that had happened, he had little desire to kill Hackett. Not if he could avoid it.

Breaking away, the two men circled each other as they sought to get their breath back. All the while, their ears rang with the sound of Eishin's men baying for blood.

[2/3]

>>2863545

This could not continue.

Such was the thought that flashed through Caldwell's mind as he desperately turned aside a savage thrust of Hackett's blade. Heedless of the fact that his injured arm was hanging limply by his side, sickly flapping back and forth with every movement he made, the guide was steadily driving Caldwell back. It would only take one good blow to end the fight, and the assassin knew that if he didn't do something soon, that blow would find him eventually. So, as Hackett drew back his arm for another sweeping slash, Caldwell threw himself forwards with his shoulder lowered and crashed into the larger man. Both men tumbled, falling heavily to the dirt.

The crowd roared as the two men struggled for a moment more, a hush slowly falling as Caldwell rose up. One foot was pressed down hard on Hackett's wrist, trapping it, while he held his blade to the guide's throat. Panting for breath, Caldwell looked up and glared defiantly up at Eishin.

“Very good,” the king declared, his sonorous voice reaching to the furthest corners of the arena, “Now end his life!”

Saying nothing, Caldwell turned and hurled his sword at the tyrant. Not even in his wildest fantasies did he expect the attack to work, and yet when he saw the blade clatter harmlessly at the foot of the king's throne, he felt his heart sink. “I'm not doing it!” he demanded, staring impassively up at the rifles aimed his way, “Do what you want. I've made my choice – I'm not going to play your game.”

A deathly silence fell over the scene as Eishin picked up the thrown sword and studied it for a moment. Then, with a harsh laugh, he broke the sword in half over the back of his knee and threw away the shattered pieces. “So be it!” he roared, “I give you my word, as the king in exile, that no man shall die this day.” With an imperious gesture, Eishin commanded the gate to be opened. Segharl, accompanied by a number of heavyset warriors, swept in to seize both Caldwell and Hackett.

“But do not assume that you have earned your freedom,” Eishin concluded, turning away from the assassin, “Take him back to his cage.”

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

>>2863549
Caldwell can't catch a break.

Thanks for the interlude.

>>2863549
Huh. Well that was oddly fair.

It occurs to me that we should stop making solid plans and committing to things against Eishin. That seems to be what lets him know what we're going to do. Instead we should focus on just setting things up and being opportunistic against him.

See how he manages to plan against multiple possibilities instead of one very likely possibility.

By the same token, Iraklin and Carth should send in multiple small independent teams to attack him. Instead of responding to the intent and plans of one or two commanders he would have to plan against the intentions of multiple dudes.

>>2863921
Well we are robbing his sight via the Mavens right after we get the Nadir Tomb fragment so hopefully that'll be enough.

>>2863938
I'm just saying we should see how things lie when we get there. If there's the opportunity, sure. If not, we shouldn't pursue it.

As long as we're uncertain, He's uncertain! If possible I would even like to make a second personality with completely different plans and intentions but that was still "us" just to really mess with him.

Fucking oracles.

>>2863549
Props to Caldwell for not killing the guy. He deserves better than this.

Surprised that the Mavens are in such bad shape, if they're so important. Can we tempt them away from Eishin with a voucher for a free spa trip?

>>2864087
Implying those were the Mavens, and not just Eishin's obligatory villain sex slaves.

>>2863952
It really seems like oracles hard counter Iraklis. Have they ever been uncertain about anything? I bet they show up as veritable bastions of predictability in the miasma of future sight. Eishin probably knows the daily routines of their leaders.

Updoot wen

>>2867258
Probably either really late or not at all today. Guessing the latter. I think he had a lot of IRL stuff dropped on him.

>>2862482
>Segharl is pure. PURE
He has horns growing out of his head. I'm pretty sure he's got impurities.

>>2867258
>>2867268
He said he was starting Saturday this weekend due to being busy today.

>>2867607
Thanks friend

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

313 KB JPG

When you arrive back at the Spirit of Helena, Sandoval is busy instructing some of her assistants as they carry a heavy wooden crate aboard. Looking around as you approach, she gives you a bland look. “Your crew understands discretion, I trust?” she asks, “We won't have anyone trying to sneak a look inside this, will we?”

“Give them some credit,” you reply, stung by her implication. Raising an eyebrow, Sandoval shrugs her shoulders and goes back to ordering her minions about. You've got to admit, you ARE pretty curious about what's in that crate, but... you're not curious enough to risk jeopardising everything you've worked towards. You can only assume that the crate contains weapons to be used against Eishin's daemons. If it's for a greater good, you can keep your curiosity under control.

Probably.

Stepping away from the labourers for a moment, you catch sight of Caliban sitting atop the Eliza with a wry smile on his face. He meets your eyes for a moment, then lithely drops down to the cargo bay floor and sidles over to you. “I love hard work,” he begins, his voice low and mocking, “I could watch it for hours.”

Snorting laughter, you watch as the labourers ease the crate down to the ground. “You ever heard of a place called the Eclipse Circle?” you ask the hunter, “It's down in Nadir, in the Deep Forest.”

“Right about in the middle of it, right? I've heard of it,” Caliban muses, pausing to watch as Sandoval dismisses her helpers, “Not what I'd call a short trip, but we might be able to work something out. If we can find a clearing large enough to serve as a landing pad...” With a louche smile, the hunter takes out a cigarette and slips it between his lips, not yet lighting it. “Whatever. Won't matter for a while yet,” he adds, pausing a moment before adding, “Feels like we're getting close to the end, doesn't it?”

“The end of one thing is just be beginning of another,” you reply vaguely, half-lost in your own thoughts.

Caliban snorts. “What are you, a philosopher now?” he asks, “Anyway, are we done here? Did you learn everything you needed to learn?”

You can feel your expression darkening a little as he says this, recalling your conversation with Barrow Jackson. Lowering your voice to make sure that you won't be overheard, you explain what Jackson told you – along with what he asked you to do. Caliban listens without expression, occasionally nodding to himself but otherwise revealing nothing. “So?” you ask him at last, his silence growing tiresome, “What do you think?”

“What do I think?” Caliban muses, “I wonder if Jackson's cousin really did sell him out. Probably - family, or so I've learned, is no guarantee of loyalty. If he really did sell Jackson out though... well, I'd say he's earned his death.”

[1/2]

>>2869720

After checking in with Dwight on the bridge to make sure that the Helena is ready to depart, you bump into Sandoval in the ship's makeshift mess hall. She's not alone either, joined by three churchmen you don't recognise – two men, one portly and the other flamboyantly muscled, and a tense looking woman. Even a passing glance is enough to tell you that these newcomers are different to the common labourers Sandoval had been instructing. These churchmen are soldiers, as deadly as any Iraklin.

Well, maybe not the plump man. You're not sure why he's here.

“Colleagues of mine,” Sandoval explains, gesturing to the three churchmen before pushing a wooden scroll case across to you, “And a letter, my reply to the consul. He will, I think, find the contents to his liking – although perhaps not as much as he would have hoped.” Allowing herself a thin smile, Sandoval gives you a brisk nod. “Please take it to him,” she concludes, “Our business is almost concluded. All that I need you to do is bring us back to Sol Carthul, and then we can go our separate ways.”

If you didn't know any better, you'd say that she was looking forwards to it.

-

“We can leave whenever you like, chief,” Dwight drawls, nodding to the controls, “Back to Sol Carthul, I guess, to drop off our guests. Can't say I'll be sad to see them go – those new three especially. They've been lurking in the cargo hold for a while now, guarding that box they brought aboard. Sure hope there isn't anything dangerous in there...”

“After Sol Carthul, what's our next target?” Caliban asks, “Across the sky to deliver that letter to Hess, I presume, unless you wanted to follow up on Jackson's cousin. I've got to admit, I'm a little curious about him. Maybe not curious enough to waste the time on him, mind you. Your call, of course.”

If there's nothing else for you to do in Cloudtop Prison, you can move on – and not a moment too soon.

>After Sol Carthul, head straight to the Pastona Union to deliver Hess' letter
>After Sol Carthul, visit Monotia and follow up on Jackson's cousin
>Check on the churchmen in the cargo bay, see if they're willing to talk
>Take care of something else in Cloudtop Prison while you're here... (Write in)
>Other

>>2869726
>Check on the churchmen in the cargo bay, see if they're willing to talk

Then
>After Sol Carthul, head straight to the Pastona Union to deliver Hess' letter

I really have no interest in doing anything with Jackson's cousin. We got what we came here for.

>>2869726
>Check on the churchmen in the cargo bay, see if they're willing to talk

>>2869726
>Check on the churchmen
Bring Gunny and Blessings

>Check out the cousin
Kinda curious what the story is there

“We're headed to the Union after this. I'm staying well out of Jackon's family drama,” you tell Caliban, “But before we leave, I want to see if I can get those churchmen to talk. I have my own theories about why they're here, but I want to see what they're willing to share.”

“Good time for it,” the hunter muses, “Last time I saw her, their boss was busy elsewhere. Some last minute errand she had to run, I guess. They might be a little more talkative without her breathing down their necks.”

Telling Dwight to stand ready for further orders, you head down to the cargo bay. There, you see the three white-garbed churchmen surrounding the bulky crate with their bodies, as if to hide it from any prying eyes. They tense up as you approach, and you find yourself feeling glad that they're not armed. Not obviously armed, at least – those bulky robes could hide a multitude of tricks up their sleeves.

“I like to say hello to all the new faces on my ship,” you tell him, “Captain Vaandemere. I understand that we won't be together very long, but I wanted to give my regards anyway.”

“Bad luck not to say your greetings, isn't it?” the taller of the two men asks, tugging at his ink-black moustache as he thinks, “Or have people left that old tradition behind?” You can't say you've ever heard of that one, but all captains have their own superstitions and quirks. Before you can answer his question, the broad-shouldered man sticks his hand out to you. “Name's Khusraw,” he announces, nodding to the plump man and the woman in turn, “Sabin and Al-Farabi. So now we all know each other, we don't need to worry about any bad luck.”

And you could leave them alone again, his bland smile seems to suggest. Shaking his hand and finding it impressively firm, you nod across to the crate. “Nothing fragile in there, right?” you venture, “I can have some of my people tie it down if you-”

“That won't be necessary,” Khusraw interrupts, placing a wide hand atop the chest, “This entire ship could crash into shadowed Nadir, and the contents of this crate wouldn't break.”

“Hey!” Al-Farabi hisses, her already tense expression twisting into a neurotic grimace, “Boasting like that, you might as well just tell him...”

“Abrahad weapons,” you guess, “Am I close to the mark?” A brief silence falls over the churchmen, leaving your words hanging in the air for a moment. “I mean, it's not difficult to figure out,” you continue, “There's a need for weapons capable of countering daemons, and Abrahad weapons are definitely effective against them. It takes a lot to damage that stuff, as well. So, there's no point in being coy about it, is there?”

Khusraw frowns for a moment, then laughs aloud. “Come on,” you tell them, “Let's talk. I've got a few people you might like to meet.”

[1/2]

Lol, we taking them to Priscilla?

>>2869798
We've got Bunny and Glessings onboard, doubt we're gonna fly them to Priscilla. Also maybe Freddy since she has The Pierrot's staff thing. Glaive.

>>2869790

When the churchmen won't leave their precious cargo, you go looking for Blessings and Gunny yourself. Having a few of your own faithful might help to ease the mood, and they might welcome the chance to speak with a few senior members of the church. Blessings is easy enough to find, but when you venture down onto the gunnery deck to look for Gunny, things take an unwelcome turn. The deck is empty when you arrive, the common crewmen having been sent away.

From a secluded nook up ahead, you hear muffled voices. Gesturing for Blessings to stay back, you slip a little closer and listen. Gunny's voice is easy enough to recognise, and it takes you a moment more to realise that he's speaking with Sandoval. Was this the errand that Caliban mentioned?

“It's a good opportunity,” Sandoval says, “Consider it. You would be doing the church a great service.”

“I suppose I would, sister,” Gunny replies, his words sluggish with uncertainty. There is a short silence, and you can just picture him struggling to find the words to say. “Not something to consider lightly though,” he adds at last, “I've been with the captain for a long time. We lost touch for a while, sure, but that doesn't change anything. We go way back, I can't change that now. Even if...”

“Even if you can't be sure if he's the man you used to know?” Sandoval offers, “No, I'm sorry, I don't mean to push you. You know how to contact me, at least. Don't let your emotions cloud your judgement, Hotchkiss.”

You know a closing line when you hear one. Glancing back towards the entrance, you prepare to hasten out before hesitating for a second. A second that you really can't spare.

>Interrupt Sandoval and Gunny
>Hide outside until Sandoval leaves, then speak with Gunny
>Hurry back to the cargo hold before Sandoval catches you eavesdropping
>Other

>>2869815
>Hide outside until Sandoval leaves, then speak with Gunny

>>2869815
>>Hide outside until Sandoval leaves, then speak with Gunny
Uh oh

>>2869815
>>Interrupt Sandoval and Gunny
It's not cool to subvert our friends

Shaking off your hesitation, you hurry out and grab Blessings by the arm, dragging him away from the entrance to the artillery deck. To your surprise – and relief - the boy doesn't cry out or fight against you, apparently trusting that you know what you're doing. Pulling him into the shelter of a storage closet, you listen as Sandoval's boots click against the deck plating underfoot. Without pausing, the sound of her footsteps peters out as she leaves.

Breathing a sigh of relief, you let go of Blessings' arm and flash him a quick smile of apology as he rubs his bruised flesh. “Didn't want her to catch me listening in,” you explain, “Awfully rude, you see.”

“Oh,” Blessings replies, blinking a little as he thinks, “This is more serious than just a little bit of eavesdropping, isn't it?”

For a moment, you consider lying. “Probably,” you admit, “But I won't know for sure until I find out.”

“Oh,” the boy repeats, “I think I'll wait outside. I don't want to get in the way of... um, anything.”

Probably for the best.

-

Gunny doesn't immediately notice you when you return, his gaze fixed on an empty corner of the room as he smokes. It's only when you rap your knuckles against the wall that he jolts upright, a look of confused guilt flashing across his face before he feigns a smile. “Cold up here, isn't it brother?” he begins, “It can get pretty warm down here, but not today. Maybe we should go and pick a fight with someone, that would get the guns warmed up!”

“I think I'd rather put on a jacket,” you suggest, “Much easier.”

“Oh huh, I guess you could do that,” Gunny agrees, nodding slowly, “You see, brother? That kind of quick thinking is why you're the captain around here.” Laughing gruffly, he crushes the half-finished cigarette out and dusts ash from his overalls. The air is thick with smoke, cloying in your lungs and threatening to choke you, but he doesn't seem to notice. “I'll be glad when we're out of her,” he murmurs, “Cloudtop, you know...”

“Brings back bad memories,” you guess, “Can't say I blame you. You ever meet Bishop Rhea while you were there? I wouldn't exactly call her a warm host.”

“Wasn't there long enough to meet her. Saw her once or twice, but I was still pretty out of it back then. Didn't pay much attention to anything,” shaking his head, Gunny reaches for another cigarette before stopping himself. After holding this pose for a little while longer, he relents and takes the cigarette. “Well, brother, I figure you didn't come here to listen to me gripe about the cold,” he says at last, “Help you with something?”

“I saw Sandoval on the way here,” you remark, “You're not having some kind of illicit affair, are you?”

Gunny laughs at this, his hand shaking a little as he strikes a match.

[1/2]

>>2869815
>Interrupt Sandoval and Gunny
If we can keep Sandoval busy, Gunny and Blessings can go talk to the cargomen.

>>2869888

“She was just taking a walk around, stopped by for a talk,” Gunny tells you, “Asked me to show her the guns, you know... now that I think about it, that does sound pretty dubious, doesn't it?” Chuckling to himself, Gunny gestures towards the Pleonite cannons with his cigarette. “Women love these things, brother, something about how powerful they are,” he adds in a furtive whisper, “That's what Caliban tells me, at least, and he heard it from...”

“Just a chat, huh?” you murmur. You were hoping that he'd be honest with you, but it seems like things aren't going to be as easy as that. Inwardly grimacing, you meet Gunny's eyes. His face falls slightly as he realises, on some level, what you're working towards. “So,” you ask bluntly, “What was it, Gunny? What did she offer you?”

He flinches as if struck. “Oh hell,” he replies immediately, put on the defensive, “I never accepted anything!”

“But you didn't exactly refuse her either,” you point out, “So what was it?”

Dropping his cigarette to the deck, Gunny crushes it out with one heavy boot. “She's a recruiter. She finds people who can use Abrahad weapons and tries to bring them into the church's service. That's what she offered me – a place in her little group. I'd be a good fit, apparently,” he murmurs, “Makes me wonder what kind of other people she has, if I'd fit in. A sorry bunch of misfits, I figure.”

A bitter laugh escapes you. “They don't sound so different to us,” you reply, “We've got three of them down in the cargo hold now. I actually came here to see if you'd like to meet them. I didn't think that Sandoval would have the same idea, though.”

“Hell, brother, I'd like that,” Gunny tells you, a smile stealing its way onto his face, “I can go right now, if you-”

“There's just one thing,” you interrupt, “I need to be certain – absolutely certain – that I can rely on you. You're not about to run out on me, are you?”

Gunny hesitates for a long moment. “No, no way,” he replies eventually, “We go way back, brother, that means a lot to me.”

Maybe it does. But still, that hesitation...

>Accept his answer and head back to the cargo hold
>Pursue the matter further... (Write in)
>Other

>>2870036
>>Pursue the matter further... (Write in)
"Yet something is different now isn't there? Going way back doesn't mean much if you don't agree with what we are doing now. You need to be honest with me Gunny."

>>2870036
>>Pursue the matter further... (Write in)
But...?

>>2870036
>I trust you Gunny. I always did, but you're making it awfully difficult to maintain that level of trust. I'd never hesitate to stand behind you. Or in front, or next to you, you know that, now I see you hesitate to stand by me?

>>2870036
>Pursue the matter further... (Write in)
>Look Gunny, we've gone as far as we have harming as few people as possible, and even helping others. I don't know if we can keep that up, but I'm damn well gonna try.
>So just promise me one thing: if you ever decide to walk out, you tell me, TELL me, no stabbing me in the back when I need you. Alright?

>>2870036
Backing >>2870107

But tone down the accusatory feeling. Focus more on how much good we've done. Saving scholars from Eishin, catching terrorists, killing insane clowns, etc.

“But?” you ask quietly, gesturing for Gunny to continue. He holds his silence for a few long seconds, refusing to meet your eyes, and so you press on ahead. “Gunny, I trust you – I always have trusted you, but now I'm starting to wonder if I'm being foolish. Until now, I've never felt as if I would hesitate to stand by your side. Now, you're hesitating to stand with me?” you ask, giving him an imploring gesture, “I don't want things to be this way, Gunny. If something has changed, I want you to be honest and tell me. All the times we've shared won't mean anything if I don't have your trust NOW.”

“You're... right. Something has changed,” Gunny admits, “We've never really done something like this before, have we? Something BIG. I guess I'm worried that we're going to screw up badly and... I don't know. A lot of people could get hurt.”

“We've come this far doing our best to keep innocent people out of the firing line,” you stress, “Even helping people when we can. Look at Eishin – Maeve had the idea to unleash a daemon on him, but I wouldn't allow it. Even if it made our attack easier, it could have harmed us – harmed everyone – in the long term. I wasn't prepared for that.”

“But that's... back in the day, we wouldn't have needed to mess with any of this stuff,” Gunny insists, “We got in fights, sure, but they were honest! Not like this...” Sighing heavily, he leans back against a wall and runs a hand through his thinning hair. “I don't know if we'll ever be able to make the world a better place, but at the very least, I don't want to make it any worse,” he concludes, “And brother? I don't know if we can manage even that. Call it a hunch if you like, but I've got a feeling that history isn't going to look kindly on us. That's why Sandoval's offer, the chance to do some real good, felt... tempting.”

So that's the heart of it. “I don't know if there's anything I can say that will put your mind at rest,” you admit, “But... just promise me one thing. If you ever want to leave, to accept her offer or to do whatever else you want, just tell me first. We've known each other too long for you to slink away into the night.”

“Or leave you high and dry?” Gunny suggests, a grim smile finding its way onto his face.

“I didn't want to be the one to say it, but yes,” you concede, “So can he promise me that, at least?”

“Sure, brother. I can promise you that,” he replies immediately, this time without a second of hesitation. “Now then,” he adds, eager to change the subject, “You said that you wanted me to meet some people?”

Nodding firmly, you gesture for Gunny to follow you.

[1/2]

>>2870228

When you return to the cargo hold, things are... not what you expected. The top secret, high security crate has been converted into a card table, and Caliban is presiding over a rowdy conversation. “You're telling me that you can't tell me anything?” he demands, jabbing an accusatory finger into Khusraw's chest, “You people are supposed to be the experts, aren't you?” Looking around, he waves you over. “Captain, get a load of this!” he calls, “These guys can't tell me anything about Priscilla!”

“I keep telling you, we don't really understand these things any more than you do!” Al-Farabi protests, “I can't tell you what... she... might be thinking.”

“In all likelihood, she isn't thinking anything,” Sabin offers, in a voice that is higher than you had been expecting, “You see this broken edge here? We've often found that broken artefacts – which are quite rare actually – have far less, ah... character.” When his remarks are greeted by a stunned silence, the portly man coughs awkwardly before continuing. “You see, there is some debate about the exact nature of Abrahad artefacts, about how much they... think,” another pause, “Although that's really not an accurate term at all. They don't exactly think in the same way that you or I do...”

“Uh, I really don't think you should be telling them this,” Al-Farabi groans, looking as though she might strangle her colleague at any minute.

“No, I'm interested in this,” Khusraw argues, “I don't think I've heard this much before. Then again, I don't pay much attention to the research.”

So, in a faltering way that reminds you of Blessings, Sabin explains his idea about Abrahad items. Each item, in his theory, possesses a small fragment of will – typically a single thought, sensation or desire. More potent items tend to have more specific wills associated with them, and only those with a will that resonates with the item can make use of it. By contrast, the statues – the Immaculate – have wills that are almost complete. Broken pieces of the Immaculate, on the other hand, have equally shattered wills.

When he's finished with his explanation, you don't feel very enlightened. Caliban, looking faintly disappointed, quickly speaks up. “So hold on,” he snaps, “You're telling me that I've got a hand that does nothing but mindlessly praise its god?”

“Er, well, that does seem to be the case,” Sabin confirms.

Caliban looks down at the broken stone limb and lets out a wordless sigh. Impressive, how quickly his affections can change.

[2/3]

>>2870379
Who says you can't teach an old statue's arm new tricks Caliban

>>2870379
But it's a great God deserving praise, even if it's only an armful

>>2870379

“Say, brother, you mind if I ask how you learned all of this?” Gunny asks, offering out his cigarettes to Sabin, “Can't imagine you just strolled into a library and plucked a book down off the shelf.”

“Ah, well, I can't say too much about this, but... I'm a researcher mostly. Was a researcher. Still am. Anyway,” shaking his head to the offer, the plump man continues, “I've worked with the church a lot on researching these materials. That's how I discovered that I was a candidate, when one of the item reacted to me. And, well, since then it was field work for me...”

“Not that we really get out very often. The church has no particular interest in going looking for fights,” Khusraw adds, “But once in a blue moon, we have to go out and do some of the lord's work. It's all very small scale – there can't be more than a dozen of us, and-”

“Oh come ON!” Al-Farabi protests, slamming her palm down against the makeshift table, “I'm really going to have to pull rank now! A little conversation is one thing, but that's confidential information that you're just casually sharing with them!” Drawing in a deep breath, she points a finger at Caliban. “And you!” she rants, “You ought to treat this item with more respect. Even a broken piece of the holy medium should be considered precious!”

Caliban looks down as the woman angrily prods him in the chest, and disaster seems to loom large. Before he can do anything in return, Blessings raises his hand. “Ah, Mister Sabin, sir, I was wondering about your research...” the boy asks, “How exactly do you... do it?”

“Well-” Sabin begins, only for Al-Farabi to reach across and punch him on the arm. “I'm afraid that's classified,” he concludes, rubbing his sore arm.

“Look, we might have reason to work together in future, but that doesn't mean we're comrades. I've been briefed on you people, I know where your allegiances really lie,” the aggressive woman continues, “So let's just focus on our own work and get on with things. Speaking of which, shouldn't we be leaving now? I'd like to get back to Sol Carthul sooner rather than later – some time this week would be nice.”

Now you're starting to wish that Blessings hadn't spoken up.

>Very well then. Sol Carthul it is
>Actually, we're not finished talking... (Write in)
>Other

>I apologise for the delay, I got hit with a family errand and it took far longer than expected

>>2870651
>Very well then. Sol Carthul it is

>>2870651
>Actually, we're not finished talking... (Write in)
Let's tell them about the vault of the sun and about Pierrot. They can probably use some of the infrmation about 'souls' or whatever. It'd probably also be useful to tell then about our profane pendant, but we should probably keep that secret.

>>2870651
>>Very well then. Sol Carthul it is

>>2870651
>Where our allegiances lie? That's more than I know.

Do they know that Gunny owns the saint Alma's staff?

>>2870678
Well there is a risk that they are hardliners, or report to hardliners, that don't want outsiders to know as much as we do. If the church don't actually know about their relics, they can't use then against us when we become public enemy number one.

>>2870678
I like this.

“Actually, we're not finished talking,” you stubbornly insist, looking Al-Farabi in the eye and daring her to argue, “You know where our allegiances lie, do you? Then you know more than I do.”

“Like I said, I've been briefed on you. The Annexation War, and now your more recent work,” Al-Farabi explains, venom dripping from her words, “You don't seem to have any qualms about who you work for. Is the money that good, or do you just have no other choice?”

“Hold on, sister, you'd better slow down there,” Gunny growls, “We're not what you think we are. Sure, we've done some work for the Iraklins before, but that doesn't mean we're on their side. We're on our own side!”

“Playing both sides, you mean,” the woman sneers. Before she can say anything else, Khusraw places a hand on her shoulder and squeezes tightly. Her face pales, and the words die on her lips. When the large man lets her go, she clears her throat and wipes a faint trace of sweat from her brow. “But as I say, I'm happy to focus on my work if you focus on yours,” she concludes, “Was that all you had to say?”

“Not quite. I had some information that you might be interested in,” you continue, very deliberately changing the subject as you turn your attention to Sabin, “You know about the Vault of the Sun, correct?”

“Heard of it,” Khusraw agrees, “Never really thought about it all that much. It's been sealed up for years, hasn't it?”

“Actually, that's not quite correct,” Sabin corrects him, “Just recently, we've been allowed to-” Another punch from Al-Farabi cuts him off, and he lets out a weak groan of pain. “Yes, I know about the vaults,” he states, “How do you know about them, sir?”

So the church is working in the Vaults, even now – and they're not allowed to talk about it. That's could be interesting. “I've been inside them. Fairly recently, in fact. I'm sure you know more than I do, but they seemed to have some significant connection with the creation of Abrahad items,” you remark, choosing your words carefully, “I'd be interested in hearing what you've been able to learn... if you're able to tell me anything, that is.” When Sabin sadly shakes his head, his silence telling you everything you need to know, you move on. “What about the Pierrot Project?” you ask casually, “Ring any bells?”

Blank stares greet this. Not the blank stares of those who are unwilling to answer, but of those unable to – they simply know nothing about that particular monster. A secret, even to these people. Stepping in to fill the silence, Khusraw speaks up. “I've seen a few Abrahad weapons here,” he remarks, “Do you have any other items?”

“Nope,” Gunny replies quickly – too quickly, perhaps. Al-Farabi fixes him with a pointed, probing look, and he begins to fidget uncomfortably.

[1/2]

>>2870897
This task force is in a very small need-to-know compartment

>>2870897

“Captain!” Grace calls out, her voice breaking through the silence and causing Al-Farabi to glance away. Gunny relaxes, quietly letting out a sigh of relief as the young scholar hurries over. Sandoval comes with her, her expression sharpening as she notices how relaxed her colleagues are. “I'm sorry if you were looking for Miss Sandoval, we got talking and... well, you know how it is,” she explains, “She graduated from Saint Alma's Academy as well, you know!”

“I was asking if any of my old professors were still working there. True enough, so they are,” Sandoval agrees, “You three, get back to work. You're supposed to be professionals!”

“Yes ma'am,” Khusraw sighs.

>I think I'm going to pause things here for today. I'll continue this tomorrow, if everything goes to plan and nothing goes horribly wrong
>Thank you for your contributions today!

>>2870976
These guys, are they this world's Ginyu Force? Do they need to group pose and yell their attacks to invoke the abrahad?

>>2870976
Thanks for running!

The Church needs to ADVENTURE more. They've got a dozen people to our three, and they've got a whole lot more people and power than our airship crew.

I wonder if Sandoval would recognize Pierrot.

What was Caliban gonna do if Blessings hadn't interrupted him?

>>2870976
Thanks for running!

>>2871012
They don't NEED to, no.
But they do it anyway when nobody is looking
>>2871079
>What was Caliban gonna do if Blessings hadn't interrupted him?
I imagine he's sensible enough not to break any fingers, but he would have come pretty close!
>The Church needs to ADVENTURE more. They've got a dozen people to our three, and they've got a whole lot more people and power than our airship crew.
The church is quite a slow, cautious organisation, so it doesn't send valuable assets out lightly. Most of its interests lie in Zenith, as well, which tends not to require soldiers or fighters as much as scholars. Additionally Sandoval's recruits are a very new group, comparatively, so they don't have nearly as much in the way of resources as any other section of the church

>>2870897
Wow, this group is just a charmer.

>spilling confidential info left and right
>paranoid with a penchant for insulting people right in front of you
does Khusraw even keep these two in line?

>>2871907
They're refreshingly tranparent, not about their work obviously, but rather about what they think. I appreciate it actually. Al Farabi's borderline explicit fuck yous are easier to deal with than vague, sourceless rumors about how we sold out our countrymen. Khusraw seems like a pretty cool guy too. If we went all in on Carth rather than having no allegiance beside anti-Eishin, I bet we'd be good friends.

Take it easy, moloch

>>2870976
> “She graduated from Saint Alma's Academy as well, you know!”

Sounds like an Avenue of possibly profitable investigation. We should maybe look into the professors she asked about.

They might not be there long. Or the might be part of that Knights order.