>>2527600

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

With thunder rumbling away above you, the others file out and go about their separate ways. As they leave, you hear Gunny – perhaps oblivious to Alexander's hostility, perhaps tactfully ignoring it – offering to show the churchman his deck. Soon, it's just you and Freddy left. She hides it well, but the storm has her unnerved. Every so often, she brushes her hair aside and compulsively tugs at one ear. “I wonder if the church taught him to talk like that,” you remark, aiming to distract her, “All sly, like.”

“Maybe,” she replies, “I'm concerned, captain, about Alexander. He reminds me of someone I met when I was going through basic training. Not someone in my unit, but they were famous... infamous.” Freddy pauses for a moment, gathering her thoughts before continuing onwards. “He was an officer once, I heard, but he made some kind of mistake. There was a training exercise, and people died,” she explains, “When something like that happens, the one responsible is usually stripped of their rank and sent right back to basic training. This officer, he was... driven, determined to get back into his old position. He would have done absolutely anything necessary to meet that goal.”

“And Alexander reminds you of him,” you pause, “You think he's dangerous?”

“I think he has the potential to be dangerous,” she corrects you, “So long as his goals and ours oppose one another, he's an enemy in waiting.”

Which is, truth be told, an idea that you've already considered. “You know, he'd probably say the same about you,” you point out.

“That's true,” Freddy admits with a simple nod, “But I'd like to think that we trust each other by now. I'm ready and willing to follow your orders, captain... and I'm certain that Alexander is ready to follow HIS orders as well.” Picking up her cup, Freddy looks down into the murky remnants of her tea. Wine had not been served with the meal, for obvious reasons. “You know,” she adds, “In Iraklis, we're taught to be proactive – to remove a threat before it can cause any problems.”

“Sure,” you reply with a cynical smile, “But maybe that causes as many problems as it prevents.”

Pain flickers across Freddy's face, almost as if she had been struck. “Maybe,” she agrees, before shaking her head and dismissing the subject. “Anyway,” she continues, “My point is, how do you want to handle Alexander?”

>We'll give him all due courtesy. With luck, he'll reply in kind
>Keep him at arm's length. We can't allow him to get in the way of our mission
>Ignore him. We've got enough to worry about without wasting time on him
>Other

>>2527604
>We'll give him all due courtesy. With luck, he'll reply in kind. He's a guest after all.
>However I still want you or Caliban to keep an eye on him while we are in the vault. I shudder to think what might happen if we find something in there he decides no one else should know about.

>>2527604
>We'll give him all due courtesy. With luck, he'll reply in kind..... jokes make sure some one is near him at all times

“We'll give him all due courtesy,” you reply as you rise from the table and wander through to the kitchen. Grabbing the first bottle of wine you see, you bring it back and slosh a measure into your cup. “If we treat him well, he might see fit to reply in kind,” you add with a crooked smile, “But that doesn't mean we should let our guard down around him. I want someone to keep an eye on him at all times.”

“I understand,” Freddy nods, touching the holstered pistol at her belt, “I'll be ready.”

“Good,” you reply, downing the wine in a single swallow, “I shudder to think what the church might make of some of the things we might find there. Our “impartial observer” might have reason to keep us silent.”

The ominous thought hangs in the air for a moment, and then Freddy hastens to change the subject. “Maybe you should slow down,” she suggests mildly, gesturing to the cup of wine, “We might be moving into dangerous territory.”

“All the more reason to enjoy it while I can,” you counter with a laugh, “Besides, it's medicinal – steadies the nerves.”

-

The last traces of the storm are just fading away as Dwight guides the Spirit of Helena towards Zenith. Murky clouds part as sharp rays of sunlight reach down to the rapidly receding islands beneath you. Standing behind him, you overhear the pilot grumbling to himself. “Storms like this... ain't right, this weather,” he complaints, “Hell, what's the world coming to? All I want is an easy ride.”

“Then you joined the wrong crew,” you tell him bluntly, “You'd be better off hauling cargo if you want an easy life.”

“That's too easy. Too dull,” Dwight sighs, letting go of the controls for a moment to mime a set of scales, “Moderation in everything, that's what I say.”

“Moderation IS a virtue,” Alexander announces as he enters the bridge, “You have a wise head on your shoulders. It almost makes me wonder why you're here.” Approaching you both, he sits down without waiting for an invitation. “Well, Captain Vaandemere, from here on out the expedition will be in your hands,” he adds, “I hope you're well prepared for this.”

“As prepared as anyone can be,” you reply calmly, “I'm looking forwards to working with you. Hopefully, we can both get what we want out of this mission.”

You say this in your most diplomatic tone. Alexander looks amused by your words, perhaps sensing the ambiguity of them. He doesn't know what you want, and you don't know what he wants – hardly a solid foundation for cooperation. Abruptly rising to his feet, as if he had heard everything he needed to hear, the churchman strides out.

“Huh,” Dwight mutters to himself as the bridge door closes sharply, “He needs to calm down. Being that uptight has got to be bad for his health.”

[1/2]

>>2527677

The Vault of the Sun, seen from outside, is a strange thing to behold. It has all the hallmarks of the usual Zenith architecture, but a markedly different structure clings to the base of it like a tumour. A modern addition, probably built around the original entrance to the vaults by the church. Jutting out from the base of the structure is a pair of landing pads, and Dwight cautiously guides the Spirit of Helena down onto one. Then, he waits.

“Odd,” you remark, sensing the reason for his hesitation, “They should have hailed us on the radio.”

“Yeah...” Dwight leans back, “They didn't even ask us what our business was. This smells like trouble, chief.”

“Of course it does,” you agree, “But what else is new?”

-

Wind whips at you as you exit the ship, frigid gusts tugging at your clothes and hair until you can hurry into the shelter of the entranceway. The door is made from thick metal, but it opens easily on your first attempt – a lock of considerable strength left undone. Drawing your revolver, you stalk inside the gloomy building and glance around for any signs of life. Nothing – the place is deserted.

“Damn,” Alexander hisses, his breath clouding in the air before him, “I don't see any signs of combat, any struggle at all. This outpost should have half a dozen attendants, but...”

“Awful bloody place to be stationed,” Keziah mutters, glancing around her with nervous eyes, “This whole place... makes my spine tingle bein' here, like we arenae supposed to be here.”

“I'm putting this operation on hold,” the churchman announces sharply, his voice sounding harsh against the stillness, “I need to call this in. There should be a radio station here, I can send for an investigation team.”

“Boss!” the witch thinks at you, her thoughts edged with panic, “If he calls them in, this whole place is going to be crawling with churchmen. There's no way we can sneak the key fragment out if they're crawling all over the place. We've got to stop that call going out – you... you stall him, and I'll disable that radio!”

You meet her eyes for a moment, sensing the desperation in them. She's got a point – the key fragment is a relic of Saint Alma, and the church likely won't look kindly on you taking it for yourself. With just Alexander here, you should be able to sneak it out but if he has a full investigation team...

>Stall Alexander and send Keziah after the radio
>Try and talk Alexander down
>Allow Alexander to send for aid
>Other

>>2527720
>Stall Alexander and send Keziah after the radio

>>2527720
>Stall Alexander and send Keziah after the radio

Good to have you back Moloch, how was real life?

>>2527720
>Try and talk Alexander down
>Stall Alexander and send Keziah after the radio

Stall him by trying to talk him down? That way even if we fail Kez has the time she needs.

I hope Kez is good enough at disabling radios to not make it obvious, or repairable. I thought engines were her thing.

>>2527739
The difference is talking him down makes it obvious that we don't want him to call reinforcements while stalling we keep that desire a little less overt. So when the radio is disabled he might be more suspicious if we tried talking him down right before then.

He'll probably be suspicious either way but you get what I mean.

>>2527720
>How much time is necessary for the team to arrive? Maybe we can grab the fragment before then.

>>2527772
Yeah, I just feel like the risk of him being a little more suspicious if we fail is worth trying to get him to not even try to make the call.

“I'll try and talk him down. That should stall him, at least,” you think to Keziah, colouring your thoughts with urgency, “Go and disable that radio, but try and make it look... natural. Be subtle!”

“My middle name!” she replies, “Now do something about him, he keeps staring at me!”

At first you think this to be nothing more than paranoia, but then you realise that she might be right. Alexander does seem to be looking her way with uncommon frequency. He opens his mouth to say something, but you cut in first. “Hey, look, maybe that's being too hasty,” you begin, grabbing his arm. He looks around at you, and you notice Keziah skulking away out of the corner of your eye. “I'm not saying that this doesn't look bad,” you continue, “But I don't want to wait around for another ship to get here. This was supposed to be my operation!”

Alexander looks you in the eye for a long moment. “I was only supposed to be an observer,” he concedes, “But you have to understand my position.”

“We both stand to gain from this exploration,” you continue, stalling him for as long as possible, “If we get even more people involved, you might get edged out. Don't you want this mission to reflect well upon you?”

This seems to find a chink in his armour. His brow furrowing into a pained frown, Alexander breaks his gaze away from you. “We still need to investigate the outpost,” he argues, “We need to assess just what has happened here. Depending on what we find here...”

“We can decide our next move later,” you agree, making a conciliatory gesture, “Where do you want to look first? I can send my people to sweep the outpost, so a search shouldn't take too long.”

“This way,” Alexander turns and starts to march off in the same direction that Keziah had gone. Panic rises within you, only to fade as he stops by a map pinned to the wall. “There are three general areas – the personal quarters, the workshop, and the observation room. If we're to search, I want to check the workshop first. The breathing apparatus we need should be stored there, and I need to make sure it's intact. Follow me.”

“Right you are,” you agree mildly, ignoring the fact that he just gave you an order, “The rest of you, split up and sweep this place. Nobody goes alone, got it?”

“Yes captain!” Freddy snaps, shouldering her rifle and making a few curt gestures. Caliban stares at her for a moment before heading off towards the personal quarters, Grace following close behind him. Frowning at his retreating back, the Iraklin lingers for a moment more before following Keziah's trail.

[1/2]

>>2527738
>I'm feeling better now, so I should be able to focus more on writing. I hope I've not gotten rusty!

>>2527822

With his jaw set, Alexander marches towards the workshop. Letting him move ahead, you reach out to Keziah with your thoughts. “Give me a progress report,” you order, “Is it done?”

“I think so. This radio is a strange thing,” Keziah replies, “I've never seen anything like it. Maybe something to do with encryption? It's got all sorts of... odd bits. I'm pretty sure I've got it broken though – I pulled about half its guts out.”

“Subtle, I said. Subtle!” you curse aloud, wincing at the sound of your voice. Fortunately, Alexander doesn't seem to hear. When you join him in the workshop, you realise why. There are a dozen pegs lined up on one wall, with half of them carrying a dull bronze helmet. Space for twelve helmets, but only six of them are still here. “Alexander,” you ask quietly, “Remind me. How many people were stationed here?”

“Six,” he replies glumly, “That settles it. We have to call in an investigation team.” With a sudden motion, he turns and glares at you. “Unless you have any objections?” he snaps.

“No objections here,” you agree, “You said there was a radio here? Lead the way.”

-

An ill air hangs over the cramped observation room, with Alexander's fraying temper only adding to the stormy mood. He looks down into the disembowelled radio, all torn wires and shattered glass, and lets out a harsh sigh. Keziah flashes you a brief look of apology, then clears her throat. “I tried fixin' it as best I could,” she offers, “But I cannae claim to be an expert in these things. Never had much cause to fix a radio, you see.”

Alexander stares bleakly at the radio for a moment more before looking away. “Look for a book,” he orders, “The staff here were under orders to keep a log of any unusual activity. There might be a clue as to what happened here.” Once again allowing him to take charge – grudgingly – you get to work searching the small room. With three of you looking, it doesn't take long for you to find a fat book. Alexander snatches it out of your hands and starts to flip to the most recent entries.

“They were having dreams,” he mutters, “Dreams of something calling out to them from within the vault. They were supposed to report this!”

“Dreams?” Keziah repeats, “Why report dreams?”

“Any abnormality, any at all, was to be reported,” the churchman snaps, “Instead of that, they destroyed their radio and stole church property!” Drawing in a deep breath, he steadies himself and returns his attention to the book. Flipping back through the pages, he shows you a specific entry. “This is the first abnormal report,” he announces, pointing to the date, “Does this date mean anything to you?”

Frowning, you count back the days. You can't be certain, but... it could be the day you entered King Worm's tomb. The day that Gunny unleashed Saint Alma's staff.

[2/3]

>>2527919
Oh boy. How many ancient evils are we going to unleash?

Yay molochs back!

Good to have you back man, I hope your stuff got sorted out and ended well for all parties involved

>>2527953
All of them should be just enguh for a monsters ball

>>2527919

“Well?” Alexander prompts.

“I'm not sure,” you tell him, glancing back down at the report. The writer – who only signed it with their initials, “RN” - speaks of a dream in which their brother called out to them from within the vault. He recorded it in as much detail as he could, not much, then signed off with a dry note that any further dreams would also be recorded. Flipping through the pages, you read a few more entries at random. They all follow the same theme, although with growing intensity. Towards the end, the journal entries suggested that the outpost's staff were hearing these calls even when they were awake.

And then the entries end on a sombre note - “I'm going to meet them.”

-

An hour passes as you search the rest of the outpost, but you turn up nothing else. Keziah and Grace take careful inventory of the breathing apparatus, checking that the remaining pieces are serviceable. Most of them are, fortunately. The air tanks are free from rust, and the cumbersome leather suits meant to accompany the masks have little in the way of wear and tear. Two of the suits had some problem or another, but Keziah was able to make a single complete unit from their parts.

“Why the suits, though?” Gunny asks as he prods at one limp sleeve, “They look damn awkward to use, and that's no mistake.”

“There was some, ah, uncertainty about the exact nature of the miasma,” Blessings explains, thinking back to the notes you recovered, “They thought that it might even be absorbed through the skin. So, ah, these suits were intended to... well, you get the idea.”

“Ugly things,” you mutter, picking up one of the metal helmets. It has a glass visor set on a hinge, presumably so it can be raised in an emergency. “But I suppose they'll have to do,” you add with a sigh, “How long do these air tanks last?”

“About... an hour, I think,” Grace replies, “Maybe a little more. Apparently, a healthy man can withstand a brief exposure to the air down there without any ill effects. No more than a few minutes at a time, I should think. After that, the reports suggested that you might suffer hallucinations, sickness, difficulty breathing...”

“Bad things,” you conclude, “So we have five suits. I'm going, and presumably Alexander is as well. Who else?”

“You're an expert in Zenith linguistics, are you not?” Alexander suggests, gesturing to Grace, “I suggest you accompany us, then.”

Grace looks your way, a troubled look passing across her face. Nevertheless, she nods. “If those are your orders, captain,” she says quietly, ignoring Alexander and answering directly to you.

Three remaining suits. You glance around at your crew as you think. Keziah, Caliban, Freddy, Gunny, Blessings and Grace – they look back to you, their faces pale but determined.

>Who should you bring with you?

>>2527981
>caliban, gunny, freddy
time for some survival horror

>>2527981
>Caliban
>Gunny
>Blessings

Blessings should be enough to make up for Grace, and unlike her he probably wants to go.

>>2527981
>Gunny, Blessings, Grace

>>2527981
>Grace, Freddy, Gunny
We need at least Grace for translations and two fighters in case shit gets wild.

THERE IT IS

THERES THE QUEST

>>2527981
Grace for knowledge and documentation.
Gunny for the staff. Might be important here.
Freddy or Caliban for fighting

>>2527981
Gunny, Grace, and either Caliban or Freddy.

“Grace, Alexander is right – we'll likely need you to do some translations. I just hope you can work quickly,” you grimace a little at that last part, all too aware of the countdown you'll be facing. “And Gunny, I'd like you to come with us,” you add, gesturing to the older man, “Think you can go a full hour without a smoke?”

“Tough work, brother, but I think I can hold out,” Gunny replies with a chuckle. His laugh is strained, forced. Saint Alma's staff leans on one of his shoulders, looking like nothing more than a staff now that the Abrahad capstone is covered with a scrap of burlap. You both know why you're asking him to come with you, but neither of you wants to say it aloud. “Who else?” he asks, “Someone to help with the dirty work?”

“Right,” you agree, “Caliban, Freddy... I'd like one of you to come along. Which one of you wants to sit this one out?”

The pair look at each other for a moment, and then Caliban lets out a low growl of frustration. “I don't think I'd be much help in there,” he mutters, “I wouldn't be able to move properly in one of those suits. I'll stay here and keep watch. Lhaus, you can have this dance.”

“Understood,” Freddy nods briskly, “I'll accompany you, captain. Grace, stick close to me while we're inside – I'll keep you safe.”

“That's decided then!” you conclude, clapping your hands with false confidence, “In that case, I suppose it's time to get dressed for the occasion.”

-

As Keziah helps you get into the bulky suit, the others go about their business. Blessings studies a religious text that he found somewhere, while Caliban paces like a beast in a cage. Staying behind like this doesn't sit well with him, it seems. A few paces away, Freddy runs through the motions of some Iraklin training drill, repeatedly bringing her rifle up to her shoulder until the action is smooth and natural. The suit barely seems to trouble her at all.

“Oh,” Blessings murmurs, “This is odd. Ah, I mean, whoever had this book underlined a quote.” Clearing his throat, he glances up at you. “An ailment in the soul is as a splinter in thine own eye,” he reads, “It means that a moral sickness is as bad as a physical illness. I... don't really know why they chose this passage in particular, but it must have meant something to them.”

“None of this church stuff means anythin' to me,” Keziah counters cheerfully, “I dinnae understand a word of it.”

“You wouldn't,” Alexander mutters, tucking his helmet under one arm as he waits. Keziah happily ignores him, leaning in and patting you on the shoulder.

“Any trouble up here, and I'll let you know,” she thinks to you, “If you need help down there, call me. I'll... I'll do whatever I can.”

“Nothing foolish,” you reply, “You hear me?”

“Captain!” Keziah thinks with a shocked smile, “As if!”

[1/2]

>>2528076

As Keziah moves away to help Grace with her suit, Alexander approaches you. “Thank you,” he murmurs, “For your consideration.”

“My what?” you reply, distracted, “What did I do?”

“You didn't bring anyone... unclean into the vaults,” he explains, gesturing at Keziah, “I was concerned that you might. Under normal circumstances, I would have been compelled to stop you. Considering that I'm alone up here, that would have put me in quite a difficult position. Fortunately for us both, we have nothing to worry about.”

Unclean... he doesn't know about your Nadir-tainted hand, then, or your uncertain heritage. That makes things easier for you. “Well, I'm glad we've got nothing to argue about.”

“Well,” Alexander replies with a sly smile, “I wouldn't go quite that far.”

-

Suited up and ready, Alexander leads you and your chosen companions towards a set of heavy iron doors. Grasping the handles, he hauls the doors open with a muffled grunt. “These should be locked,” he says to himself, “The vault itself is close, behind the next set of doors. Open your air tanks now, and then we can enter.”

Reaching down to your belt, you twist the valve on the metal tank strapped there and close the glass visor. Rubber seals around the edge make an airtight seal, and soon you're struck with the flat taste of stale air. Behind you, you hear Gunny coughing. Without waiting, Alexander closes the first set of doors behind him and throws open the second set. These, you realise, have been set into the white Abrahad stone of Zenith origin.

The Vault of the Sun now lies open to you.

-

With the metal-shod boots leaving your stride heavy and sluggish, you descend a long staircase and try to figure out just what it is about the vault that seems so strange to you. Then it strikes you – there are no lamps, no lanterns or sources of light, but a soft glow illuminates your path. The air itself seems to be glowing, faint light glinting off dull motes suspended like snowflakes in an imago. A chill seeps through your suit, silently and insidiously settling into your bones.

For one single moment, you want nothing more than to rip this absurd suit off and flee back to the surface. Then, you feel a hand on your arm. Looking around, you see Grace peering at you through her visor. Her eyes – the only bit of her that you can see – are deadly serious. Saying nothing, she simply gazes at you for a few seconds before letting her hand fall away. With the mania passed, you find yourself able to walk calmly on. Thinking back to the map, you recall your first landmark as the stairs level out. The Hall of Assembly, they called it.

The doorway that you pass through is massive – the Eliza could fly through it with ease, without any fear of touching the sides. Through the doorway, an army awaits.

[2/3]

File: Vault.png (383 KB, 800x600)

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>>2528159

Each and every one of the faceless soldiers is taller than a man – easily more than seven feet tall – but thin, willowy almost, in build. Their bodies have no armour or clothing, but neither do they have any hint of sexuality to them. Their faces, a crude and angular ruin, as if some mad sculptor had obliterated them with his chisel. With a featureless shield in one hand and a long spear in the other, they stand ready for battle.

Statues, of course, of white Abrahad stone. Even so, you regard them with a cautious eye – the right command word could give them life, or perhaps just a facsimile of it. You count sixteen of them in the front rank, each one utterly identical and spaced out with perfect mathematical precision. The room is square, so... sixteen ranks of sixteen? You wouldn't like those odds if it came to a fight. Tearing your eyes away from the soldiers, you look up at the centre of the room and the raised platform that hangs there.

It hangs. Three of its four sides have narrow staircases connecting it to the ground, but those delicate structures are the only thing keeping it aloft. The sheer impossibility of it gnaws at you, and it's only the thought of the ticking clock that spurs you onwards.

Further above, no ceiling can be seen – just a black void. You feel so small here, so tiny and insignificant!

“That's the Organ,” Grace says, pointing to the raised structure, “Our notes suggest that it's the key to unlocking this place.”

“A song opens the path, wasn't it?” you reply, searching your memory, “Something like that, at least...”

“No movement,” Freddy reports, the muzzle of her rifle panning around the room as she searches for a target, “No movement anywhere!” Those last words have a ragged edge to them, the uncanny atmosphere of the vault taking its toll on her too.

“Calm yourself,” Alexander snaps, without looking around at her, “This is a holy place, not some... common battlefield. If you can't control yourself, perhaps you should return to the outpost.” The Iraklin doesn't reply to that, although you do notice the barrel of her rifle twitching towards Alexander's exposed back before darting away.

Grimacing beneath your mask, you start to make your way towards the Organ, weaving your way through the ranks of statues. Climbing up those impossible stairs, you find a strange... device waiting for you at the top. It was named after a church organ, you suppose, but it bears only the most passing resemblance to that mundane object. Three rows of keys, eight keys each and each one carved with a Zenith symbol. A row of glass jars crown it, nigh-imperceptible motes of light shifting within them. A strange thing, and no mistake. You reach out a hand to touch one of the keys, and then-

Then you pull back, curling your fingers into a tight fist.

[3/4]

>>2528272

“Good idea,” Grace calls out from behind you, “I suggest that you touch nothing, at least until you know what it is.” Ungainly in her suit, she joins you and lets out a muffled sigh as she examines the organ. “I'll need a moment to study this,” she explains, “I don't want to... cause any problems. You know what sort of problems I mean.”

Turning around, you glance across the ranks of statues. From here, you can see them better – sixteen ranks of sixteen. “I know,” you tell her, “But try and make it quick. Remember, we're on the clock.”

“Understood, captain,” she says, turning to study the Organ.

“Then I shall take a look around,” Alexander decides grandly, gesturing to the ranks of soldiers, “These are fine workmanship, their sadly mutilated faces aside. I should like to study them in greater detail. Call me when we're ready to move on.”

“You shouldn't go alone, sir,” Freddy says slowly, “I'll accompany you.” She'll be keeping an eye on him, in other words, to make sure he doesn't get up to any trouble. Alexander's laugh sounds crude from behind his mask, but he makes no objection. As they start to move off, a sudden silence occurs to you and you glance behind you.

Gunny sits on the stairs and gazes off into space, seemingly lost in thought.

>Stay with Grace while she studies the Organ
>Stay with Alexander and Freddy as they take a look around
>Check on Gunny, see what's on his mind
>Other

>>2528307
>Check on Gunny, see what's on his mind

>>2528307
>>Stay with Grace while she studies the Organ
Thanks for not abandoning us, like soma did

>>2528307
>Check on Gunny, see what's on his mind

>>2528307
>Stay with Grace while she studies the Organ

>>2528307
>Check on Gunny, see what's on his mind
Grace is close enough if she needs us.

Leaving Alexander and Freddy to wander off, you approach Grace and lower your voice. “How are you feeling?” you ask softly, your voice barely making it through the thick suit, “You seemed... reluctant to come here.”

“Oh, well, you know,” she glances around, her eyes flashing with faint embarrassment, “Field work again. I wasn't sure how it would feel. I'm doing okay, though – this place is... fascinating!” Laughing quietly, Grace gestures ahead of you. Peering over the edge, you see a great pit yawning open at the far end of the hallway. “Our map marked that as a path,” the young scholar explains, “My theory is that the Organ somehow creates a way forward. Perhaps some kind of retractable bridge... it seems absurd, doesn't it?”

“But look where we are,” you counter, “This platform shouldn't stay up like this. Nothing about this place should work, but somehow it does.”

“Not just that,” Grace adds, looking up towards the black void above, “From outside, this building didn't seem quite so large. We might be inside some kind of hollow mountain, but...” She trails off here, reaching up to clumsily swat at her helmet as she forgetfully tries to brush her hair back.

“The Organ,” you remind her gently, “What are those markings?”

“Oh yes, those,” she nods quickly, “Musical notes. I imagine that the right sequence of notes will... do something. I believe that the Knights of Saint Alma may have known that sequence – after all, they were able to press further in. Maybe they left some kind of note behind...”

“Keep looking here. I'm going to check on Gunny,” you tell her, “I'll be just down there. Call if you need any help.” Leaving her to her work, you descend the impossible staircase and sit down next to Gunny. He tenses up as you sit, but otherwise says nothing. Glancing down at your wrist, at the brass clock sewn into the leather, you see that barely any time at all has passed since you entered. Five minutes or so. That doesn't seem... right.

“I know, brother,” Gunny says gravely, “I'm already watching the clock, waiting till I can light up.” You laugh, feeling some of the tension leaving you as Gunny looks around. “But seriously, brother, there's something off about this place. I've been counting the seconds and comparing them to these little toy clocks. Either I'm off or they are – I've counted off a minute, but that dial barely moved at all.”

You draw in a sharp breath, immediately regretting it as you picture your air reserves slowly emptying. “A problem with the clock,” you mutter, “It has to be.”

“All of our clocks?” he retorts, “You can't think much of church workmanship, then!”

[1/2]

>>2528408

Shaking your head slowly, you try and think of some rational explanation. Finally, you give up with a sigh. “So?” you ask next, “What do you make of this?”

“First of all, brother, this place creeps me out like nothing else I've ever seen. Nothing except Cloudtop bloody Prison,” he mutters, “Second of all, we should consider our air supply... unreliable. These tanks are badly designed – no way of checking how full they are. Sloppy workmanship, brother, very sloppy.”

“Now who doesn't think much of their handiwork?” you joke, “Either way, all we can do is get out of here before we run any risk of running out of air. Easier said than done, mind you, especially if we can't get this-”

“Captain!” Grace announces, “I've got something. We have a problem.”

Of course you do. Heaving yourself to your feet, you slap Gunny on the shoulder and go back to Grace. Seeing you approach, the young scholar turns and presses down on one of the Organ keys. You wince, anticipating disaster, but nothing happens. The entire mechanism seems dead, as lifeless as the statues around you. A bad example, maybe.

“The system needs power. I don't know what sort of power, mind you, but I suspect Pleonite is involved somehow. You see these markings here?” Grace indicates a faint hollow carved – moulded – into the Abrahad Organ, like some channel for water to flow through. The channel runs up one of the staircases and enters one side of the Organ, with an identical channel located opposite. As you watch, a faint pulse of grey light – so faint as to be almost unnoticeable – runs through the left channel. The right channel, you notice, remains dark.

“Right,” Grace says, guessing your thoughts, “Power flows through these channels, I think. I think this Organ somehow... It's like the power is water, and the keys direct where that water, power, flows. Some of it is going into the air around us. See how it glows?”

“Little sister,” Gunny says gravely, “How do you KNOW this?”

Grace hesitates. “I'm theorising,” she admits, “I could be completely wrong, like... the Organ might be what's generating the power, not directing it. If that's the case, our power shortage is due to a problem with the Organ itself, and... well, then we'd be stuck. I can't see any way to dismantle this thing, can you? Even if we could open it up, I'd have no idea how to fix any problem we could find!”

Glancing around, you spot Alexander and Freddy making their way back to you from the far left of the hall. Gesturing for them to hurry up, you turn back to Grace. “So?” you ask, “What would you suggest?”

“Power seems to be flowing from our left, the Hall of Birth, but not from the right,” she pauses, “The Hall of Death. The problem, whatever it is, lies there.”

Silence for a moment. “Of course it does,” you sigh eventually.

[2/3]

>>2528512

Discussions are put on hold for a few more precious, and ambiguous, minutes as you wait for Alexander and Freddy to return. When they arrive, you notice that Freddy's eyes are wide and tense. She's afraid of this place, more frightened than you can ever remember seeing her, but she's keeping her emotions in check. For now. “Captain!” she snaps, “We found this. Broken glass, probably from one of these helmets.”

She offers out the sliver of glass out to you, and you hold it up to your visor for a closer look. No signs of blood on it, although you're not sure if that's a good thing or not. “You found this?” you ask, “Where?”

“There,” Freddy points across the left edge of the hall, close to what your map claims is the entrance to the Hall of Birth. “There were more, leading towards a passageway of some kind.”

“I wanted to investigate further,” Alexander adds, his voice betraying a suppressed anger, “But I was... politely reminded that my duty here is to observe, not search on my own. So, we returned here. I'll make my case clear – I believe that some of my people may be located in the... what did you call it?”

“The Hall of Birth,” Freddy tells him.

“The Hall of Birth,” the churchman repeats, “In either case, loyal churchmen may have strayed down that path. If so, I have a moral duty to investigate - if only to find confirmation of their passing.”

Again, silence. Gunny wrings his hands in dismay, Alexander's words tugging at his conscience. Grace glances towards the Hall of Death, her eyes narrowed with concentration. Freddy waits for your orders, her rifle held in a close embrace.

>We're going to the Hall of Death. We need to restore power to this place
>Very well. We're going to the Hall of Birth to check for the missing churchmen
>We're going to the Hall of Death, Alexander, but you can go and search the Hall of Birth
>Other

>>2528567
>>Very well. We're going to the Hall of Birth to check for the missing churchmen
Well, something got them and I'm not feeling too great about walking around without knowing what

>>2528567
>We're going to the Hall of Death, Alexander, but you can go and search the Hall of Birth
Let's split up, gang!

>>2528567
>>We're going to the Hall of Death. We need to restore power to this place

>>2528567
>>We're going to the Hall of Death. We need to restore power to this place

>>2528567
>>We're going to the Hall of Death. We need to restore power to this place

>>2528567
>We're going to the Hall of Death. We need to restore power to this place
>We'll head to Birth after.

“We're going to the Hall of Death,” you announce, “We need to restore power to this place, and Grace seems to think that the problem takes us in that direction. That's our priority right now.” To this, Alexander has no visible reaction – his eyes narrow slightly, perhaps, but that's all - but Gunny turns sharply towards you. For a moment, you expect him to protest your decision but he never speaks up. “We can check the Hall of Birth later, time permitting,” you add with faint reluctance, “You must admit, Alexander, that we have little chance of finding anyone alive.”

“...Aye,” Alexander concedes after a pause, “The dead can wait, if need be. I just hope that they weren't attacked – or if they were, that their attackers aren't still prowling about.”

“What could have attacked them?” Grace murmurs to herself, “I... good lord, I don't want to think about such things!” Shaking her head, she gestures down towards the right hand staircase. Following that shallow channel in the floor, you hasten down it and step around the first statue that bars your way. The channel seems to flow under, or perhaps through, the statue. At that, a terrible idea begins to form in your mind.

“Grace,” you ask, “When the Organ is fully powered up, could it be connected to these statues in some way? Abrahad stone reacts to language, but can it also react to sound? Music?”

“It's possible,” she admits, “But I don't see any other way forward.”

Grunting, you glance down at the clock on your wrist. The dials blur before your eyes, the minute hand wavering between ten and fifteen minutes. Blinking quickly, you find your eyes to be watering – the air in your suit is growing stale, tainted with the smell of sweat despite the coldness of the vaults. Dearly wishing to rub your eyes, you hasten on to the far end of the hall. Before heading towards the Hall of Death itself, you find yourself inexorably drawn towards the chasm, the pathway you hope to open.

An abyss welcomes you, with nothing to suggest any mechanisms – no retractable bridge, nothing but smooth and seamless stone. As best you can tell, the pit is bottomless. All you can see below you is a faintly glowing mist, the light pulsating ever so slightly. Holding your breath, you listen to the drumbeat of your heart.

Somehow, you're not surprised when the pulsing light matches it beat for beat. Looking away, you meet Grace's eyes.

“Mine too,” she murmurs, her eyes wide and awestruck.

Turning sharply away, you gesture for everyone to stay close and march off towards the Hall of Death.

[1/2]

>>2528736

A sharp bend in the path seems to mark the transition from the Hall of Assembly to the Hall of Death. For the first time since your arrival in the Vault of the Sun, you have a visible ceiling above your head – although still a high one, with large doorways to match. When you enter the Hall of Death, Grace lets out a loud gasp at what she sees. The walls are lined with what look like mortuary slabs, too many to count and stretching off in both directions. The hall seems larger than the map suggests, large enough to overlap with the Hall of Assembly despite how impossible that seems.

Swallowing back a sudden wave of disorientation, you turn your eyes back to the mortuary slabs, and the bodies lying upon each and every one of them.

No, not bodies – more statues, more Abrahad stone. Approaching one of them, you realise two things. First of all, the statues have normal human proportions. Second of all, they still have their faces. As you're trying to puzzle out the significance of that, Gunny blurts out a curse. “What IS this?” he groans, “Bodies laid out like that... isn't this supposed to be a holy place? Why would they-”

“They drained the bodies of blood,” Grace says suddenly, her voice oddly toned, “They placed the bodies here, and cut across the wrists.”

“That wouldn't work,” Freddy argues, “If they were dead, the blood wouldn't drain out. They would need to hang the bodies... wouldn't they?” She approaches you as you lean down and examine one of the white statues. True enough, there are neat slashes visible there – albeit as pale and bloodless as the rest of the statues. “How do you know that?” the Iraklin adds, not quite able to keep a note of accusation out of her voice.

“I've... seen it,” Grace explains in a faltering voice, “An imago of some carvings. Ancient Zenith death rituals, linked with ideas of cleanliness. They burned bodies in Nadir, but here they drained them of blood. Different rituals, different... ideas.” Shaking her head, she points to a gloomy corridor leading down, deeper into the vault. “This level must be... have been ceremonial, they would have done the real work below ground,” she continues, “What we seek is there. Look, see? The channel lead that way.”

The channel does lead down into the corridor, as well as passing through the slabs. “Wait,” you caution, thinking back, “The map never showed any passages leading off from here.”

“They never had a chance to explore any further than this!” she replies, “The map is incomplete, remember? A rough approximation at best! No, we need to go deeper in.”

“You might be right,” you admit eventually, “But do you really have to sound so excited about it?”

>I'm going to have to pause things here for today. I'll continue this tomorrow, same usual time
>Thank you for your contributions today, I'm very glad to be writing again!

>>2528923
Oh god
We're going to die in here
This tomb is just too creepy

Moloch thanks for running man.
It's good to see you back.
I hope life is treating you well.
How are you so good at this?

>>2528923
Alright, who's betting we see at least one dead churchman down here?

>>2528923
So this is like mummification right? There are corpses in those statues maybe? Or are the corpses the statues themselves through some Zenith magic?

Thanks for running.

>>2528954
Well, I can't claim to any great secret. I read a lot and write a lot, that's pretty much it. Either way, I'm glad that you enjoy that I write!

>>2529017
Mummification was one of the things that inspired me about this. The whole process spooked me out when I read about it as a kid, and I suppose some of that is coming in handy now

>>2528923
Those soldiers aren't the army, they're the bridge?

16 units of 16 soldiers, 256 dead guys all to make a bridge...and that assumes we don't need to kill someone to complete the set.

>>2528923
Thanks for running my dude, I've missed this quest. I went through all the archives and caught up just in time for you to take a break.

>>2528923
This is totally how they create Abraham, right?

File: Vault2.png (703 KB, 800x600)

703 KB PNG

Whatever fear, whatever uncertainty Grace might have felt at the start of this little expedition, it seems a distant memory now. Invigorated by the spirit of exploration and discovery, she seems only too eager to venture deeper into the vaults. Maybe, you think to yourself, she's taken your suggestion to work quickly to heart a little too much. You can't fault her for that, but still you have to rein her in a little.

Pacing back and forth, almost like Caliban back at the outpost, the young scholar waits while you and the others sweep through the Hall of Death. Despite her talk of bloodletting and death rituals, you can't find any traces of tools or instruments. Freddy has her own complaints about the scene.

“These slabs should be slanted, so the blood could flow out,” she mutters, “And there's no drainage. This place would have been filthy.”

“She did say that this level was just ceremonial,” you point out, “Like... a pretty mask covering up the ugly truth. The lower levels might not be nearly so clean.” Slapping her on the arm, you gesture towards the passages leading further in. There are three of them, with nothing to suggest their respective destinations. “But we won't know until we find out,” you add with forced levity, “Let's move – remember, we're still on a timer.”

A broken, uncertain timer, but a timer nonetheless.

-

As Grace leads you deeper into the vaults, she whispers to herself. The thick suit muffles her voice to the point where individual words can't be heard, but still you can hear a constant, sinuous hiss as she mumbles theories and speculation to herself. At first, the sound sends a chill down your spine but it soon grows to be simply irritating. When you put a hand on her shoulder to get her attention, she jolts as if struck.

“Oh!” she yelps, “I was... talking to myself, wasn't I? Bad habit. Stress, you know, and...” Finishing that comment with a shrug, the young scholar turns her eyes back to the path ahead. Quicker now, as if embarrassed, she hastens off ahead. As you follow her, you realise something – you're yet to see any other evidence of bodies, despite what she suggested. You do pass two other corridors, which you realise are the other passages from above. Apparently, they all join onto the same path.

A deeper gloom hangs over these corridors, and so you only find the scrap of paper when you scuff it with your boot and kick it ahead of you. Stooping down, you pick it up and call for the others to stop. The paper is stained and fouled, but you can make out most of what it originally showed. What it's supposed to represent, though, is unclear. There are three lines marked... the three passageways? If so, it represents a crude map of the lower level.

A very crude map of the lower level.

[1/3]

>>2531447

“The machine is sick,” Grace reads, studying the map, “Well... I suppose that's one way of looking at it. A failure in the power supply is a kind of sickness, if you want to put it in human terms.”

“If I'm reading this correctly, the passageway connects up to both the Hall of Birth and the Hall of Death. No matter which path you take, it all leads to this chamber at the far end,” Alexander adds, taking the map from Grace, “But... these routes are crossed out. Do these lines represent blockages?”

There's only one way to find out. Taking back the crude map, you slip past Grace and lead the way down the corridor. As you walk, one thought gnaws at you – the map suggests that the passages lead towards the centre of the vault, and yet you started off moving outwards, away from the Hall of Assembly. At no point did you turn back around, but... it gives you a headache just thinking about it.

-

Mist coils around your feet, glowing one second and almost sucking in the light the next. Grimly thanking the church for their foresight in providing full suits and not just masks, you press onwards. You find a new detail here, pebbles and chips of rock scattered across the floor. Some of the shards are Abrahad stone, while others are a more mundane rock of deep grey. Here and there, the walls or ceiling have been pierced by outcrops of that same dark rock.

“Some ancient cataclysm,” Grace thinks aloud, “Something that caused the structure of this island to shift. Perhaps there are blocked tunnels ahead.”

“Could this cataclysm of yours have broken the power supply?” Freddy asks, “Could it have caused... all of this?”

“I suppose so,” the scholar ventures, “Although I'm not sure about this mist. I can't even begin to guess what that is. Some... medium that carries the power?”

“She's making this up as she goes along,” Alexander mutters, “I was a fool to trust her guidance, that girl is surely mad!”

Grace actually laughs at that, and just for a moment you wonder if Alexander might have a point.

-

The further in you go, the thicker the mist becomes and the more violent it seems. When it glows, the light is nearly blinding. When it dims, the darkness seems absolute. Stumbling through the worst of it, you guide your way by keeping one hand on the wall as you blunder forwards. When you stumble into the rough wall of fallen rock, it's only blind luck that keeps your glass visor from shattering. The map was accurate – the tunnel, and the path to what you hope is the power source, is blocked.

“I think I saw a way around,” Freddy reluctantly reports, “But you're not going to like it.”

[2/3]

>>2531449

Her plan, if it can really be called a plan, is simple. Where the ethereal mist is thickest, Freddy saw a crack in the wall. Through that crack, she could see a hollow chamber from which the mist seemed to originate. It was a long shot, but if there was another hole on the far end of that hollow, it might lead through into the power source itself.

“The mist itself doesn't seem to harm us,” she concludes, “We've passed through tunnels thick with the stuff, and our suits seem to have protected us well enough. What alternative do we have?”

“Short of blowing through those blockages – which might bring the whole damn tunnel down on our heads – I can't think of anything,” you sigh, “Hell, this had better be worth it. Let's do it.”

-

The mist sings.

That's the only way you can put it. As you plunge back into the thickest part of it, you can hear a high note ringing through your mind – a note that seems to come from some great distance. Freddy's hand sits heavily on your shoulder, the only way for you to tell that you're not alone here. Your eyes are almost completely useless, the strobing light too much for them. All you can do is push forwards. Just before you were blasted with a pulse of brilliant light, you saw the far end of the hollow – there WAS an exit. You just need to fight your way to it. Light that feels like heavy winds, darkness that feels like a weight pressing down upon you, you feel-

You feel your lungs seizing up, the air around you suddenly turning rancid and sickly. It burns and it chokes, and it's with mad desperation that you fumble for your visor. Scrabbling for purchase, your fingers close around the thick glass and throw the visor open. The mist, cold and cloying, washes over your face, your hands, your...

Your hands?

Looking down at yourself you see bare flesh gleaming back to you, with the bulky leather suit nowhere to be seen. As if you were moving through deep water, you sluggishly look up and around yourself. The mist has dimmed now, but in place of the blinding light you see ghostly images sliding through the air. Images of... a forest, lit by a blazing bonfire and filled with an air of fear. A bustling city street that drips with paranoia and panic, Alexander's face briefly seen through the crowd. The gloomy corridor of a fine manor... unmistakably your own childhood home.

The illusions swirl around you, tempting you with possibilities.

>Press on ahead. Touch nothing
>Touch the image of a forest
>Touch the image of the city street
>Touch the image of your childhood home
>Other

>>2531452
>Press on ahead. Touch nothing
I'm damn curious but I'm not sure if we'll get trapped in an illusion. Though we might already be trapped.

>>2531452
>Touch the image of your childhood home

>>2531452
>Press on ahead. Touch nothing

This isn't gonna end well is it?

Through the haze of your disordered thoughts, the memory of Grace's earlier words - “I suggest that you touch nothing, at least until you know what it is”. They seem almost prophetic now, with unknown and unknowable illusions swarming around you. Gritting your teeth and clenching your fists, you blunder forwards one step at a time. At first you feel as if you were walking upon air, but slowly you feel firm ground forming underfoot.

One step after another, you feel your body growing heavier and heavier. Looking down at yourself, you see both your unclothed body and the bulky leather suit, the two images superimposed upon each other. Sluggishly reaching up, you fumble for a visor that you can only half feel and, bracing yourself for the worst, you slam it back down.

The illusory world surrounding you bursts like a soap bubble, and you feel yourself falling forwards. You land badly, but you manage to throw an arm across your face to keep the helmet from being damaged. With your eyes closed, you lie still for a moment and listen to the rasp of your lungs, the hammering beat of your heart. The air you breath seems... clean now, free from the choking taint you had tasted. Swallowing hard, you slowly open your eyes and heave yourself to your feet.

Vibrant light, blueish-grey, washes over you. It's source is obvious – a great crystal of unrefined Pleonite occupies the centre of this small chamber, blue fire dancing within its heart. Buried deep in the Pleonite crystal is a long iron sword, its blade blackened and charred. Blinking against the glaring light, you tear your eyes away from the crystal and look around the rest of the room. A pair of shallow channels run away from the Pleonite crystal, channelling its power to the rest of the vault. One of the channels – the channel closest to the sword wound - is dark and lifeless.

A body lies in one corner of the room, and you clumsily kneel to take a closer look. Your attempt at rolling it over is met with failure, and you soon realise why. Where it touches the ground, the dead flesh has been somehow... changed, transformed into white Abrahad stone. No, it's more than that – the body itself has been fused with the ground under it. Forcing back a wave of revulsion, you focus on the body itself. Its face is turned away from you – a fact that you feel absurdly glad of – but it wears archaic metal armour. One of the Knights of Saint Alma?

Touching the body, you hear a distant, echoing voice uttering some feral yell – a wild scream of rage, of madness. A scream that has no place coming from a human throat.

[1/2]

>>2531556
Fuuuuck

Of course they found something so disturbing they died to seal it away, and now are suffering an eternity of unimaginable torments.

>>2531556

Turning, fumbling your revolver out with a clumsy hand, you see an armoured figure stalking towards you, a sword clasped in his hand and his face alight with a fever of anger. His gaze seems to pass right through you, instead focused on the Pleonite crystal itself. “I'll put an end to it!” he snarls, his voice echoing within your head, “I'll shatter your heart, and put an end to this horror!”

Grasping his sword in both hands, the armoured warrior lunges forwards and brings his blade sweeping down. Yelling, you duck back and bring up your revolver to fire, already fearing that you're too slow. The sword drops like an executioner's axe, silently passing through your body and into the crystal, its arc bringing it to rest where the other, the real, sword lies. Light - or something that isn't quite light - flashes, and the man is thrown back to where the physical body lies frozen in place. With a chill, you realise that you just witnessed the man's last moments – some echo of them, at least.

He tried to destroy the Pleonite crystal – but why? Perhaps he was mad, you think as you recall his manic expression, that could have driven him to any irrational act.

Curtly shaking your head, you focus on the more immediate problem. The others are gone, vanished, and you have an idea of where they might be. The hollow chamber you passed through to get here had... power. Power to create illusions of some kind, their subjects ripped from the memories of those unlucky enough to be nearby.

Perhaps your companions retreated back to the Hall of Death, and the relative safety it offers. Then again, they may yet be lost inside that labyrinth, led astray by any number of delusions. If that's the case, then you'll have no choice but to delve in and drag them back out. Or... do you?

>Enter the illusion to search for your missing companions
>Retreat to the Hall of Death and search there
>There's something else... (Write in)
>Other

>>2531660
Well the mist seems to induce the illusions and it seemed to originate here. Is there a way to shut it off?

Otherwise we'll probably have to dive back in.

>>2531660
>Retreat to the Hall of Death and search there
Though we have to go through the illusions to make it back right?

>>2531660
>Enter the illusion to search for your missing companions

Do we still have that Abrahad amulet? Might come in handy here.

>>2531660
>Other
Also ask Kez how long it's been for her.

>inb4 telepathic static

>>2531678
>Is there a way to shut it off?
Nothing that can be seen. The chamber only has the Pleonite crystal and the corpse.

>>2531704
>Though we have to go through the illusions to make it back right?
We would, but it should be possible to pass straight through now that we know that it's possible.

>>2531714
>Do we still have that Abrahad amulet?
We still have it, hidden in our pocket.

>>2531747
Can we get the amulet out? it might require skin contact to work.

“Keziah,” you think, holding your breath as you reach out to the witch, “Keziah, can you hear me?”

“I can hear you,” she replies promptly, her voice thin and distant, “You sound like you're miles away, like you fell all the way down to Nadir!”

“I feel like I'm miles away,” you think back to her, “I need you to tell me something. How long have we been gone? I need you to be as precise as possible.” As Keziah goes silent, you glance down at the brass clock sewn into the cuff of your suit. The hand stands at twenty minutes, but it shows no sign of moving for all the time that you stare at it.

“Blessings says you're just shy of forty minutes out,” the witch tells you at last, “About time for you to start hurrying up, I reckon, but... wait, why are you asking me about the time? Don't those awful suits have their own timers?”

“They do,” you think, “But I'm not sure how reliable they are. None of the others have returned, have they?”

“No, they...” Keziah pauses, and then a note of panic enters her thoughts, “Did you get separated down there? I'll... I'll...”

“You'll sit tight and wait for my orders,” you scold, “I need you there, just in case I need to contact the others. Stay there!” Grimacing, you reach up to your helmet and start to flip open the buckles holding it in place. You're good for a few minutes of exposure, Grace said, and that's as long as you need. Holding your breath, you pull the helmet off and clumsily reach down into your suit. Although your lungs are bursting by the end of it, you manage to fish out Maeve's protective talisman. It might be a blasphemy, but you need every bit of protection that you can get right now. Letting it hang around your neck, cool against your bare skin, you fumble the helmet back on.

Thus prepared, you plunge back into the labyrinth and look for any hint of your companions. The mist dims and thickens around you as you reluctantly lift your visor, bracing yourself for the chamber to work its insidious magic on you. Perhaps it's just your imagination, but the talisman seems to squirm against your bare flesh. Shuddering, you look around you. If you can't see any trace of your companions here, you'll forge ahead and make for the Hall of Death – if they're not there either, then...

Then you'll be in trouble.

Around you, more images swirl. Although you look around, you can't see the snapshot of Alexander in the crowded street anywhere. Does that mean that he's no longer here? Could he have found his way back out?

Then you see Grace, walking calmly through a corridor of white Abrahad stone with a tall figure by her side. The androgynous figure is human, unarmed and unarmoured, and the young scholar seems quite happy to be accompanying them. Reaching out, you...

>Touch Grace's illusion and see what happens
>Pass through to the Hall of the Dead
>Search for someone else
>Other

>Sorry for the delay

>>2531841
>Touch Grace's illusion and see what happens
Let's get her out of there. She can fantasize about Caliban later.

>>2531841
>Touch Grace's illusion and see what happens

>>2531841
Actually say this>>2531897 to her, see if that'll snap her out of it.

“Grace!” you call, shouting into the image. Your voice doesn't seem to reach her, as she simply continues following her guide. There's nothing else for it, then.

Reaching out, you touch the uncanny image and watch as the surface ripples like water, like the surface of a lake. Nothing happens at first, but then the mist around you begins to thicken and pale until it's as white as milk. Almost as quickly as it gathered, the mist begins to dissipate once more – but when it falls away, you find yourself standing within the image, within that Abrahad hallway. With a jolt, you realise what it is.

You stand now within the Vault of the Sun – a version of it that is brightly lit and somehow... softer, more welcoming. In the distance, you can hear voices raised in some wordless hymn and a faint perfume smell hangs in the air. Behind you, a dull window hangs in the air – a picture of the labyrinth visible through it. This place, you realise, must have been what the Vault of the Sun looked like in better times, before it became the tomb that you now explore.

Neither Grace nor her sexless guide are anywhere to be seen, but you can hear footsteps echoing from down one branch of the corridor. With no other trail to follow, you hasten down the gently sweeping corridor. As you round it, you see them a few paces ahead. When you call out to them, your own voice seems like a distant echo. Distant it may be, but it causes Grace to pause and look around to you. Her companion does the same, regarding you with a greyish, emotionless face.

“Captain!” the young scholar calls out, “Isn't this amazing? Look at where we are, just think about what we could learn! We... Oh!” Slapping her forehead – in this illusion, she wears her usual clothes instead of the protective suit – she gives you a bright, embarrassed smile. “Forgive me,” she adds, “I should have introduced you. This is Rub'al. They're a priest here, you see, and they were just... explaining things.”

“Yes,” Rub'al says, their voice flat and toneless. They say nothing else, leaving that single word to hang in the air. Utterly hairless and dressed in a simple, shapeless grey robe, the priest makes for an alien figure. It's impossible to know what they could be thinking, with their placid eyes revealing nothing. Judging by how Grace described them, she doesn't know if they're male or female either. Their shoulders are broader than a woman's, but not wide enough to be male. Likewise, their hips have a faint curve to them that hints at femininity but stops short of confirming anything.

Maeve's talisman seems to grow even more restless against your chest. Just to reassure yourself that it isn't burrowing into your chest, you reach up and touch it. As you do, Rub'al tenses.

“Captain?” Grace asks, tilting her head to the side as she gazes at you with curious eyes, “Is there something wrong?”

[1/2]

>>2532016

“We need to leave,” you tell her, your voice tight. As you do, you glance behind you – but there is no exit, no window back into the real world. Looking back, you see the tiniest of smiles passing across Rub'al's face.

“Captain?” they repeat, “A... term of rank. We have moved beyond such things. Even my own status, that of a priest, is kept for ceremonial reasons.”

“Rub'al was telling me how this facility worked,” Grace gushes, “You see, that chamber we entered... we really shouldn't have done that. It's terribly unsafe, they never meant for people to actually enter it. Over the years, the walls must have ruptured somehow – that same cataclysm I assume, but I dare say that we'll never really know now. They called it the soul trap, and it was where...”

“Where the animus is cleansed of all impurity,” Rub'al continues, “Even now, you are likely being exposed to spiritual contamination – the thoughts, memories, and experiences of those who await their return to the cycle.”

Spiritual contamination... is that the miasma that the church feared? Tearing your gaze away from Rub'al, you focus on why you came here in the first place – getting Grace out. “I told you, we need to leave,” you repeat, “Now!”

“But I haven't been able to figure out how to restore power yet!” Grace protests, pointing a finger at Rub'al, “You won't tell me!”

“I do not understand these things you speak of. Machines and mechanisms, devices... I do not know of these things,” Rub'al's eyes narrow a little, “Do you not have priests to instruct you? Knowledge is to be kept by those with the means to use it best.” They seem to think for a long moment, and then they nod. “Then I will instruct you, child,” they decide, “Walk with me. We can talk awhile.”

Grace opens her mouth to reply, then looks around at you. Slow uncertainty begins to grow in her eyes, the thrill of new knowledge giving way to doubts, suspicions. Privately, you feel just as uncertain. You had been expecting illusions and deception, not this... priest. Not something that can talk and reason like a living mind.

The priest awaits your answer, studying you with cool eyes.

>No, we're leaving this place. Either release us, or tell us how to get out of here
>Fine, we can... talk. I want to hear what you have to say
>Other

>>2532206
>No, we're leaving this place. Either release us, or tell us how to get out of here
"Grace we don't have much time left in our tanks. Rub'al there is a sword stuck in the crystal in the next chamber. If I remove it will this place be restored?"

>>2532206
>No, we're leaving. We need to restore our air at the very least. Fate willing we'll be back soon enough.

>>2532206
seconding >>2532223

“No,” you snap, “We are leaving this place! Either release us or tell us how to get out of here, but either way we are NOT staying!” This, Rub'al answers only with silence. Grace looks around to you, but before she can say anything you quickly continue. “We don't have long left in our air tanks,” you tell her, “If we don't leave soon, anything we can learn here will just be wasted. Fate willing, we'll be back soon enough but for now, we need to leave!”

“I... yes. Yes!” Grace nods hastily, “Rub'al, please! We can't stay here!”

“But I am not keeping you here,” Rub'al says, their voice growing a shade louder, “I do not understand you. We are not keeping you here under duress. Has someone tried to stop you leaving?”

“What are you talking about?” you growl, grabbing the priest by one of their slender arms, “We're trapped in this damn illusion, or memory, or... whatever the hell it is!”

“Memory?” Rub'al pauses again, and their eyes slowly widen. “Then... I am no longer among the living?” they murmur, “I thought... why have I not been returned to the cycle? Girl, is that what you meant when you spoke of needing repairs?”

Confusion swamps you for a moment. This memory, this echo, still thought itself alive – little wonder that they seemed so at ease here! The priest seems to somehow shrink, to diminish as realisation sets in. Around you, the white walls seem to lose some of their lustre. The illusion is fading, collapsing, but you can't afford to waste what little time you have left here. Tightening your grip on the slender priest, you shake them. “Listen to me!” you bark, “The Pleonite... the crystal is damaged, it has a sword buried in it. If I remove that, will this fix anything?”

“A sword... impure matter?” Rub'al murmurs, their eyes losing focus, “A splinter in thine own eye... yes! Pluck it out!” They slump down as you release them, already looking around at the fading illusion. Darkness is growing outside the failing image, creeping in to swallow you back up. As the last shreds of the illusion fall away, you hear Rub'al call out again. “But be cautious,” they call, “It may react, it may...”

And then they are gone.

-

In the following darkness, Grace clings to you for safety until you gently pry her away and reach up, closing her visor. Slamming your own helmet closed, you fight back a wave of disorientation as the darkness around you seems to lurch and shift. Directions are meaningless here, with even up and down starting to lose their significance. You could be falling, or swimming through deep waters, or...

Then you see the ghostly knight, dragging his sword through the gloom as he lets out that awful, maddened cry. Clinging onto one another like a pair of drunks, you and Grace follow the armoured figure as he relives his last moments.

[1/2]

>>2532357
Well fuck. He could have taught us a shitload about this place and his civilization if we weren't on the clock.

>>2532357

As you tumble into the crystal chamber, you see that you're not alone. Another suited figure stands with their back to you, facing the crystal. That's when you realise that they have a rifle aimed at the Pleonite spire, their destructive intent all too clear. “Stop!” you yell, “Don't!”

“I have to destroy it!” Freddy shouts, her voice wild, “I have to... I have to put an end to this horror!”

Your stomach lurches with sudden panic. If the crystal is unstable – because of the ancient cataclysm, say, or even the sword buried within it – then a single bullet could cause it to explode. If she shoots, she could cause the entire island to collapse. You can't-

You can't afford to take that chance. Launching yourself forwards, you grab the Iralkin from behind and tackle her to the ground. The rifle discharges once, just once, as you knock her to the ground, and Grace screams. Absurd memories of your drunken sparring flash through your mind as you wrestle the gun away from her, shoving it away before pinning her grasping hand down.

“Stand down!” you snap, watching out of the corner of your eye as Grace scurries across and grabs the rifle, “That's an order, soldier!”

Instinct, more than anything else, causes the Iraklin to grow limp. Behind the thick glass visor, you see rationality stealing back into her eyes.

-

As much as you'd like it, you don't have time to rest and recover. Heaving yourself off of Freddy, you turn your attention to the sword itself. Tentatively grasping the handle, you tug gently on the blade. It would be a crowning irony, you decide, to fight Freddy away only to blow up the crystal yourself. As much as you'd like to be delicate and careful, it doesn't seem like the blade is going to shift without some serious force.

“Careful,” Grace warns as you're shifting your grip and preparing to pull.

“Yes, thank you,” you grunt. Gritting your teeth, you begin to pull at the sword. It shifts a little at your first attempt, but the dancing light within the Pleonite crystal seems to grow more intense, more volatile at your rough handling. You hesitate for a moment, but then anger drives you to redouble your efforts. Throwing all your strength into the task, you let out a strained cry and rip the blade free. As you fall back, a terrible rumble shakes the chamber. The mist boils and churns, drawn into the ruptured crystal with sudden violent. It's like being caught in the middle of a great storm, winds whipping past you as the mist is pulled in. Soon, very soon, the air grows clear.

And when the last drop of mist has been swallowed up, a dull explosion of force blasts out across the chamber. It hits you full force, and your consciousness is blown away like a leaf.

[2/3]

>Next post might be slightly delayed. Need to run a quick errand

>>2532528

You surface only a few short moments later, and immediately you can tell that something has changed. The air is brighter, and the light is steady – not the pulsing light from before, but a warm and consistent glow. Sitting up and looking behind you, you see the hollow chamber as never before. The soul trap, as Grace called it, is no more. Now it's simply an empty space, with the opposite corridors visible through it.

No more illusions. Grace might mourn for the lost opportunities for learning, but you're quietly glad. You reach up to open your visor, but then you reconsider. Just because the mist is gone, it doesn't mean that the air is clear. Then again, you're wondering if the suits had any purpose at all – perhaps the miasma was not airborne but somehow psychic in nature. That theory will have to wait, though. For now, you need to find the others.

Freddy is sullen and withdrawn as you help her to her feet, her earlier mania replaced by a deep weariness. Grace is similarly thoughtful, although more talkative.

“I think they knew, in some way,” she muses as you trek back towards the Hall of Death, “Rub'al, I mean. I think they knew that they were... dead... on some level, but they just couldn't accept it. I mean, they didn't seem at all surprised when I found them.”

“I'm surprised that you could talk at all,” you remark, “Considering how ancient they must have been.”

“Well that's just it, we couldn't talk at first. They spoke in some Zenith tongue at first, only gradually adapting to my words,” once again, Grace tries to brush back a lock of hair only to flap a hand at her helmet, “If all our thoughts and experiences were gathering there, along with those of the churchmen and the knights, perhaps they somehow... assimilated some of that knowledge.”

You nod slowly, but say nothing.

“But then, if those were their memories then... wouldn't they have been seen through Rub'al's own eyes?” she wonders aloud, “I don't understand this at all...”

“This whole place is irrational,” Freddy states bluntly.

-

When you arrive back at the Hall of Death, you find Gunny and Alexander waiting for you. Gunny has lapsed into the same kind of glum silence as Freddy, while Alexander's helmet sits at his feet. The visor, you realise, is completely shattered.

“Your man struck me,” Alexander explains, “He seemed to be having some kind of fit, and so I tried to pull him out. Whatever you did, the air seems to have cleared – I've experienced no sickness, no more hallucinations. Even so, I think we should return to the surface and replenish our air. And... to rest.”

You glance down to your clock. Fifteen minutes left, according to its reading – although what that is worth in reality remains unclear.

>You're right, let's head back for now
>We're staying. We'll go without suits if we have to
>Other

>>2532661
>>You're right, let's head back for now

>>2532661
>You're right, let's head back for now

>>2532661
>You're right, let's head back for now

>>2532661
>You're right, let's head back for now

>>2532661
>If you haven't experienced any symptoms, we could try resting here, make sure the air really has cleared. I can loan you my helmet.

>>2532661
>Other

Check out time with Kez again.

>>2532661
>You're right, let's head back for now
Let's ask Gunny for his side of events while we're at it.

“You're right, we should head back,” you decide, reaching down to help Gunny to his feet, “I think we could all do with a rest.”

“Yes..” Alexander winces as he stands, his eyes betraying just how fatigued he really is, “Lead on, then.”

“You could always rest here if you want,” you suggest with a faint smile, all too aware that he can't see your expression, “If the air truly is clear, I mean. I could lend you my helmet, just in case there's still some danger. Save you the walk back.”

“I appreciate your concern,” the churchman replies, cynical amusement tugging at one corner of his mouth, “But my orders were quite clear – I'm to accompany you at all times. Even this short time that we were apart is a failing on my part. You will, of course, tell me what you saw?”

Before you started this mission, you said that you would cooperate with him. Nodding, you gesture for Alexander to walk with you as you describe the maze of illusions, the Pleonite crystal and the fallen knight. He listens carefully, nodding along with your story but keeping his questions to himself. By the time you're finished, you're just about back at the Hall of Assembly. With the lights brightened like this, you can finally see the ceiling far above you. It's a small comfort, but you're willing to take whatever you can get.

By the time you're leaving the leaving the vaults, you're starting to doubt Alexander's claim about the air. He looks pale and sickly, although he has yet to voice any complaints. “You need to see a doctor,” you tell him bluntly, “I have a man on my ship, he'll examine you – and I won't take no for an answer.”

He doesn't argue the point, accepting it with a wan nod.

-

As Doctor Barnum gives Alexander a thorough examination, you pace the length of the humble infirmary and enjoy the simple feeling of moving without that ghastly suit. Keziah is busy refilling the air tanks and repairing Alexander's damaged helmet, while the others are taking their well-deserved rest. You'll want to check on them later – Gunny especially - but for now you're waiting on Alexander's diagnosis.

“Large deposits of Pleonite have been known to cause... anomalous activity,” the churchman offers as Doctor Barnum fusses over him, “Breaches of natural law, unexplained phenomena, that sort of thing. It's same principle that allows airships to function - people can make use of it, but nobody really understands it.”

“Breaches of natural law...” you repeat, “Like time moving out of synch with the rest of the world?”

“Perhaps,” he concedes, “We just don't know.”

[1/2]

>>2532848

“Fatigue, stress, and hunger. I wager that the air down in that tomb was stale, but not dangerously so. In other words, you have a clean bill of health,” Doctor Barnum concludes, his voice its usual sibilant whisper, “I'm sorry to say that you have no excuse to spend the rest of the week in bed.”

“Lassitude is a vice,” Alexander replies briskly, “I shall resume my duties as soon as I'm ready. Captain Vaandemere, it seems as though I'll need to trouble you for another meal.”

“Help yourself,” you tell him, waving a hand in the direction of the mess hall, “Don't drink too much.”

With a hollow laugh, Alexander leaves the infirmary behind. You start to follow him out, but then Doctor Barnum clears his throat delicately. “You were in that vault for over two hours,” he informs you, “I'm told that your air supply was for one hour, and you used less than that. Quite strange, wouldn't you agree?”

“Well, you heard the churchman,” you reply vaguely, “Unexplained phenomena...”

“Indeed,” Doctor Barnum thinks for a long moment, “I had an... associate who made a business of studying Pleonite. He had some fascinating theories about it, but... ah well, this isn't the time or the place for nostalgia. You should get something to eat as well, captain, and make sure everyone rests up. Straining yourself won't get you anywhere.”

There's something strangely comforting about being lectured by a doctor, but you've got things to do. Waving him off with a good-natured gesture, you hasten over to Gunny's quarters. He doesn't answer your knock, but the door is unlocked. Inside, you see him lying on his bed with a cigarette, unlit, clamped between his lips. Rummaging through the clutter on his desk, you find a crumpled book of matches and toss them across to him. They bounce off his gut, but he doesn't seem to notice. Then, at last, he picks them up and strikes a match.

“Hell of a thing, brother,” he murmurs, idly holding the lit match without touching it to his cigarette, “Seeing things like that. You saw them too, right?”

“My old home,” you tell him, “Among other things.”

“Your place, huh? I think I saw that too – nice corridor, thick rug underfoot?” Gunny asks, and you nod, “I saw my place as well, in a way. I-” he drops the match with a hiss as it burns low and singes his fingers. Snuffing it out, he sits up and strikes a fresh match. This time, he lights his cigarette and quickly shakes it out. “I saw my prison cell. Not the dungeon, but the first one. The cell up in Cloudtop Prison,” he explains in a low voice, “And brother, I felt glad to see it. I never thought I'd see it that way, but... it felt safe.”

[2/3]

>>2532995

Safe. How bad must things have been for Cloudtop Prison, of all places, to seem like a safe option? Shaking your head slowly, you watch as Gunny takes a long and grateful pull from his cigarette. “So what happened?” you ask, “Alexander says that you struck him.”

“I never meant to!” Gunny protests, “I was... hell, brother, I guess I should thank him. If he hadn't pulled me back, I might have done something damn stupid. Scurried away into that damn cell, probably. When he started to pull me back, I guess I... lost it. Don't remember much, but I recall having one hell of a struggle. Must have been when I hit him.” A deep furrow appears in his brow as Gunny frowns. Seeing him so tired, so weary, is always uncomfortable – he looks like an old man. “I'll tell you this, brother, I thank the Light that the air cleared up,” he admits, “If it had killed him because I broke his mask, I... I don't know what I would have done with myself.”

An awkward air descends. Clearing your throat, you fumble for some way to change the subject and grasp onto the first idea that comes to mind. “What do you make of him?” you ask, “Alexander, that is.”

“Seeing as we're both churchmen, you mean?” Gunny forces a laugh, “He's a hard man, brother. Hard right down to the bone. Fair though – I offered him my helmet, but he wouldn't take it. Wouldn't even consider it, and that was before we guessed that the air was clear. He said... he said that if it was his time to die, he'd die.”

“Huh,” you murmur, “I guess it wasn't his time.”

“No,” Gunny agrees solemnly, “Not yet.”

>I'm going to pause things here for today. I'll continue this tomorrow, and if anyone has any comments or questions I'll answer them if I can
>Thanks to everyone who contributed today!

>>2533110
Thanks for running!

How do we get around Alexander's divine protection?

Why is the world so mysterious? What are those scientists doing? Get them to stop being so lazy!

>>2533110
Thanks for running.

So let me see if I can get close here.

This civilization took their dead to the 'Hall of the Dead' where they prepped the bodies by draining them of blood and transforming their body in the Abrahad stone somehow. During this process they somehow were able to trap the dead's souls using this Soul Trapper thing, And I'm guessing they put the soul back into the statue in the Hall of Birth resulting in the somewhat sentient statues we've seen around the land?

>>2533110
Thanks for running!
So, is Pleonite people?
Or it's Abrahad that's people?
Or maybe everything is people?

>>2533150
>How do we get around Alexander's divine protection?
He might not die until it's his time, but that doesn't say anything about horrible crippling injuries!
>Why is the world so mysterious? What are those scientists doing?
Mysteries are fun. If those boring old scientists just went and found all the answers, what else would we do with our lives?

>>2533168
We'll likely see the Hall of Birth soon, there may be more answers there or more questions

>>2533207
I can conclusively say that, at the very least, people are made from people.

>>2533287
>but that doesn't say anything about horrible crippling injuries!
Ah. The Moloch Classic!

>there may be more answers there or more questions
Probably more questions.

So did us restoring the crystal wake up Super Statue Zombie Alma?

>>2533287
> I can conclusively say that, at the very least, people are made from people.

Says that in a place of people made from stone.

>>2533110
Did those flecks of abrahad that we passed by have the same feeling as our "protective" charm?

>>2533287
If Abrahad statues contain pure souls uncontaminated by memory or other impurities, I wonder what happened to our Abrahad pendant to make it cold and dark. Did someone put some Nadir style soul in it? Something touched by the god of "corruption"? Or maybe they just ripped the soul out of it?

>>2536221
Most likely something along the lines of the latter.

>>2536221
Its kinda weird. "Gaping wound" implies a whole body missing a vital organ, but we're holding a small bit. Maybe its the vital piece itself? A bit of brain or heart, as it were.

>>2536424
Maybe it's something like a lobotomized brain?

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

770 KB PNG

Bloodshot eyes stare back at you from the mirror, and you find yourself willing them to look away. The purest foolishness, of course. If they DID look away without you moving a muscle, that's when you'd really have something to worry about. Even so, you can't shake the thought from your head. You can't bring yourself to look away either, and so the futile staring contest continues.

You're still thinking about what Alexander said, his words repeated to you by Gunny - “if it was his time to die, he'd die.”

When will it be your time to die?

Not until you've finished this grand treasure hunt, you decide, although you can't quite figure out why you feel so certain of that. Perhaps because your predecessor – that nameless thief – succeeded in opening the way. After that, all bets are off. He unleashed a plague of wyrms upon the land, if the old stories are to be believed. Just what will YOU unleash?

You blink, and that breaks the spell. Looking away from the mirror, you stride out of your quarters.

-

On the bridge, you spend a short moment talking with Dwight. It's strange to talk with someone who knows virtually nothing about what you're doing here, and doesn't want to know anything more than that. His conversations never search for chinks in your armour or unguarded secrets – no, he talks about simple, innocent things. He complains about the weather, then idly talks about missing his older girlfriend. You relax and let the words wash over you, only half listening to what he has to say. It's better than taking a nap, really.

“Hey, chief,” Dwight asks suddenly, “What was it like in there?”

“Strange,” you reply, struggling to think of how best to easily describe it, “When I was in there, I never felt certain that things would... work the way they should. You could toss a coin in the air, and never be quite sure that it would come down again.”

“Well ain't that a thing,” he remarks with a lazy shrug, “I knew a guy who tossed coins whenever he was irritated or stressed out. Kind of a nervous habit, I guess.”

And that's Dwight in a nutshell. Anyone else might have probed further, trying to cut to the heart of the matter. Your pilot, on the other hand? A shrug, a vague anecdote and that was the end of it. He seems to think for a moment, slowly scratching at one unshaven cheek, and then he speaks up again.

“Had the kid in here earlier, asking me if I knew anything about the church,” he says, “Boy seems to be worrying himself stupid over some quote or another. I mean, do I look like I go to church all that often? I don't think I've ever been inside one of those places. For all I know, they could be throwing wild parties every day...”

“They're not,” you assure him, “Trust me.”

[1/2]

>>2533897
>They did not, no

>>2536636

“Well, I guess it doesn't matter much. When I told him that I couldn't help him, the kid hurried off,” Dwight yawns, “Good thing too. I was worried that he was going to give me a sermon. Who has the energy to listen to all that stuff?”

“He's not that kind of person,” you reply, “Well, not usually. Did he go back to his quarters?”

Dwight shakes his head, and it looks as if that takes most of his strength to do just that. “Back to the outpost,” he informs you, “They have more books there, apparently. Not the kind of books that I'd like to read, I bet you that. Most folk are still there, by all accounts. Lhaus and her young friend went off on their own, looked like they were whispering about something serious, and the chief engineer is still there. Still playing around with her new toys.” He chuckles at that, but the laugh doesn't last. “Oh yeah,” he adds, “I had the churchman in here.”

“Alexander?” you ask, “What did he want?”

“Asking about you. What I thought about you, why I was here, that sort of stuff,” Dwight shrugs, “Not much I could tell him. You're a regular sort of guy, and you needed someone to fly your ship. Can't say that he liked my answers much, but that's his problem isn't it?”

Slowly nodding your thanks, you consider Dwight's words. It's odd to see Blessings taking the initiative like this, asking around and searching for information. Either he's really looking for a way to be helpful, or he's just that bored. Alexander's questions hardly come as a surprise, but they still irk you a little. You're trying to play nice with him, and he's sneaking around behind your back.

Frowning to yourself, you set that thought aside for now. You've given your crew ample time to rest – as soon as you're ready, you can return to the Vault of the Sun.

>Gather your team and continue the mission
>See what was on Blessings' mind
>Check in with Keziah at the workshop
>Have a few words with Grace and Freddy
>Other

>>2536641
>See what was on Blessings' mind

>>2536641
>Ask Blessings what was up

>>2536641
>See what was on Blessings' mind

So the leaking mist has a tendency to suck the soul out of the body, but in lesser amounts you get those enlightened guys who can spiritually connect with other souls. Over time either way, your flesh slowly turns into abrahad?

So we should at least poke Blessings if there were any passages about bodies being "purified" and if they were maybe being more literal than we thought.

>>2536641
>See what was on Blessings' mind

Saying goodbye to Dwight, you leave the Spirit of Helena and head for the outpost, shielding your eyes against the bright, cold glare of the sun as you cross the walkway. After the gloom of the vault, the light of the sun seems almost too much to bear. When you enter the church outpost, you let out a sigh of relief and take a moment to decide on your next move. Dwight's comment about Blessings returns to you, and so you head off in search of the boy.

You find him in one of the bedrooms, surrounded by books of a predictably religious nature. He flips through pages at random, every so often glancing down at a list, and you have to rap your knuckles against the door to rouse him.

“Ah, captain, I was...” he yelps, leaping out of his chair with such violence that one of the stacks of books is toppled. Letting out a low groan, he stoops to pick them back up. You help, taking a glance at some of the titles as you sort them. A book of quotations here, an interpretation of some older church text there... not the kind of book you'd ever expect to read by choice. “I, ah, I'm sorry,” Blessings apologises, “I was so busy reading that...”

“My fault for sneaking up on you,” you assure him, “Dwight tells me that you were asking questions about some quote. The same one from before?”

“Yes, the very same. It's been bothering me ever since you left,” Blessings pouts, “But I can't figure out what it is! Maybe I'm just, ah, just being foolish...”

“Listen to your gut, lad,” you tell the boy, “It'll serve you well. Remind me, though, what was the quote?”

“An ailment in the soul is as a splinter in thine own eye,” he recites, “I don't suppose it means anything more to you now, does it? Since, ah, since you had the chance to explore the vault, I thought maybe it might make more sense.” Rub'al said a similar thing, you realise, about the sword lodged in the Pleonite deposit. You tell Blessings about it, and he nods slowly. “That would make sense...” he admits, “But... oh, I don't know. It seems almost too simple. I read through the logbook, and there were references to several other passages – all concerning the same general theme of removing impurities.”

This catches your attention. “Go on,” you urge him, “Give me one of these passages.”

“Um...” Blessings glances over to a book and starts to read aloud, “...And so Salman, in his wisdom, went to the woodcutters and told them to pluck the splinters from their hands, so that they would be clean.”

“How literal is that?” you ask.

“Not very,” the boy says, shaking his head, “It's just a general parable about teaching good habits. There are more, but... well, ah, you get the idea.”

[1/2]

>>2536781

“I have a theory,” you offer at last, “The beginnings of one, at least. The Vault of the Sun was a place where some ancient people brought their dead. Their... rituals somehow drained the thoughts and memories – anything that might be considered an “impurity” - from the dead and stored them. Maybe disposed of them, I'm not exactly sure yet. The soul – if that's what you want to call it – could them be...” Pausing here, you gesture vaguely as you search for the right word to use.

“Given new life?” Blessings whispers.

“Right,” you nod, “In some form or another. Bodies of Abrahad stone, perhaps?”

Blessings' eyes widen, and he scrabbles for a book. Hastily flipping through the pages, he searches for a passage before reading aloud. “The day will come that there will be a great burning,” he reads, “And all those who are without impurity shall be granted perfected bodies, that shall know no pain or grief.”

A great burning... you've heard that phrase before, in Gunny's chapel. A rather uncommon interpretation of the faith, as you recall. “That does sound possible,” you tell Blessings, “What book is that from?”

“The Wisdom of the Ignorant,” he replies, holding up the slim volume, “It's a collection of writings that the church no longer recognises as correct, but still valuable for the mistakes they made. If you know how they went wrong, then-”

“Then you won't be led astray,” Alexander finishes for him, his voice causing you both to jolt around in surprise. “Captain Vaandemere,” he adds, “Are we ready to return to work? I checked the workshop, and your engineer was able to repair my helmet. It may not be necessary, but I'd rather have it just in case.”

That man could teach Caliban a thing or two about sneaking up on people. Just how long has he been there, listening to your conversation? He's been sneaking around far too much for your liking...

>Ignore it, and proceed with the mission
>Confront him about his prying
>Invite him to join the discussions
>Other

>>2536868
>Invite him to join the discussions
>needle him by speculating that the splinter blade was caused by a knight of saint alma.
>if everyone is going to resist the illusions, we also need to talk to freddy about what made her try to do the same

>>2536868
>Ignore it, and proceed with the mission
"They forget to teach you how to knock when the church was grooming you?"

>>2536890
I thought Freddy fell under control of the illusions and was reenacting the Knight's final moments. She said the same lines.

>>2536868
This>>2536891

>>2536868
>Ignore it, and proceed with the mission

>>2536868
>Invite him to join the discussions

“Didn't the church teach how to knock when they were grooming you? Any manners at all?” you grunt, “I mean, eavesdropping has to be some kind of sin.”

“Actually, keeping secrets is considered worse,” Alexander counters, “You know that, don't you boy?” Here, he looks around at Blessings and fixes the boy with a firm gaze. His lips form a faint smile, but his eyes hold little in the way of warmth.

Blessings colours, his cheeks darkening as he wilts under the senior churchman's gaze. “That... is true,” he concedes, “But nobody is without sin. The... the church says that as well. You should remember that... sir.” Forcing these words out seems to take the last of the boy's resolve, and he hastily looks around at the stacks of books that little the desk.

Silence descends for a moment, and then you let out a blunt laugh. “We're wasting time,” you state, “Let's get back to work. The rest of my people should be ready by now.”

“Indeed,” Alexander agrees, “Lead the way, captain.”

-

Although you don the suits once more before entering the vault, you leave your helmets off for the time being. The upper level of the vault seems clear, and so you'll save your air supply for an emergency – there may yet be pockets of miasma left over. As you enter the vault, you glance around at Freddy. She returns your look with a hard nod, her features rigid with determination. All traces of her earlier fear have been ruthlessly suppressed now, crushed down by cold discipline.

“Freddy,” you ask quietly, “When you were about to destroy that Pleonite... what do you remember?”

“My memory is hazy,” she admits “But I felt like... I had to destroy it. It was like someone had placed the idea in my head, that destroying the crystal would put an end to everything. It was a foolish thing to try – I'm sorry, captain.”

You wave off her apology. “You weren't the first one to try destroying the crystal,” you tell her, glancing around at Alexander, “That sword belonged to one of the Knights of Saint Alma. It's enough to make a man wonder what he saw, that he was driven to such a rash course of action.”

“I wonder,” Alexander agrees, his voice dry. For a moment, it looks as though he's about to say something more but then his lips narrow into a hard line. Raising one clenched fist, he gestures for you all to be silent. Following his lead, you listen for a long moment – and then you hear it. From deeper within the vault, you can hear a faint scraping sound like metal grinding against stone. Compared with how silent the vault had been on your first visit...

“Maybe...” Grace whispers, “Maybe it's natural? If we restored the power, the vault might be...”

“Waking up?” Freddy suggests, grimacing at the thought.

[1/2]

>>2536979
We keep waking up stuff we don't want to wake. I swear, this is like path of exile all over again.

>>2536979

The Hall of Assembly is just as you remember it, albeit brighter now. The motes that hang in the air seem larger now, brighter but just as intangible as ever. Even when you clasp one within your fist, you don't feel anything - it's like trying to hold onto sunlight. At first nobody talks as you creep towards the Organ, with everyone listening out for that scraping sound or any other hint of movement, but then Gunny speaks up.

“What?” he hisses, looking around at Grace, “What is it?”

“I didn't say anything,” she replies, fear flickering across her wide eyes.

“You did,” Gunny insists, his voice growing louder, “You called my name. I heard it!” Scowling now, he looks around at the rest of you in search of support. One by one, though, you all shake your heads or look awkwardly away. You can't speak for anyone else, but you certainly didn't hear Grace say anything to him. “I heard it!” Gunny repeats, although now his tone verges on desperation.

“So did the staff of the outpost,” Alexander tells him calmly, “They heard someone calling to them as well. According to the rather scattered reports they left behind, it was usually a loved one... or a sibling.” He adds that last part rather hastily, when both Gunny and Grace look as if they're about to yell at him. Mollified, they settle back down... and then the air is stirred by that terrible grating sound. Spinning around, you cast a hasty eye over the ranks of Abrahad statues and search for any hint of movement. As silent and impassive as ever, they remain perfectly motionless – and still that noise scrapes against your nerves, sometimes coming from your left and sometimes from your right.

Grace's nerve breaks first. Pushing past you, she blunders forwards and clips one of the statues, stumbling before recovering her balance and charging on ahead. She drops her helmet and races for the Organ, for the high ground that it offers you. With a strangled cry of frustration, you snatch up her fallen helmet and give chase, weaving in and out of the statues as you go. The others follow, although you barely notice them. When she reaches the Organ, Grace halts and spins in a wild circle, glancing this way and that as she searches for any sign of trouble.

Then she sinks down to the ground, and by the time you reach her, she is laughing softly. “Nothing there,” she whispers, “I... I've gone and made a fool of myself again, haven't I?”

“A little bit,” you tell her, handing across the helmet, “You dropped this.”

Taking the helmet, Grace looks down at it. “Good lord,” the young scholar laughs nervously, “It didn't break, did it? I don't think so... that's a relief. I'm sorry, captain, I just felt so... so...”

>Don't let it happen again. This place is dangerous
>Just stick close to Freddy from now on, okay?
>Don't worry, I'll keep you safe
>Other

>>2537180
>Just stick close to Freddy from now on, okay?

>>2537180
>Don't worry, I'll keep you safe
>Stay close to either Freddy or I from now on, okay?
>Other
"Now that we have power restored can you do anything with Organ? Or should we visit the Hall of Birth first?"

>>2537180
>What did you see? What did you hear?

>>2537213
Supporting.

>>2537180
This>>2537213

Biting back a sharp comment, you crouch down next to Grace and look her in the eye. “What did you see?” you ask her, “What did you hear?”

“I don't... I'm not sure,” Grace shakes her head, “I could hear that noise, that scraping, but it coming from all around us. It kept moving from one place to another, wherever I looked it seemed to be coming from behind me. I thought of all those statues, and...” Drawing in a deep breath, Grace steadies herself before continuing. “And I felt certain that they were moving whenever I was looking elsewhere,” she admits at last, “All I could think of was getting up here. I thought it might be... safe here.”

“As safe as anywhere,” you sigh, standing back up again and looking around as the others reach you. Their pace had been more cautious, more measured. “Did any of you see anything?” you ask them, “Anything out of the ordinary?”

“Nothing, captain,” Freddy tells you. Alexander nods, while Gunnny – who arrives last of all, lagging a few paces behind everyone else – says nothing. He has the haunted look of a paranoid man about him, and you'd wager that he's been hearing more than just those grating sounds.

Reaching down, you offer Grace your hand and pull her to her feet. “Just stick close to me or Freddy from now on, okay?” you warn her, “We'll keep you safe, but not if you keep running off like that.” She winces a little at that, and you hasten to change the subject. “Now that the power is on, can you do anything with the Organ?” you ask, “Or do we need to search the Hall of Birth first?”

Clearing her throat, Grace gives the Organ a long look. When she speaks next, her voice is clipped and businesslike. “I believe the Organ should be functional now,” she declares, “But without any clue as to what to do with it... It may be best to follow the trail you found, Alexander. Your people may have had some... insight into this facility that we can use. I'll examine the Organ again, though, just to be certain.”

Nodding, you leave her to study the odd machine and cross over to Gunny. “Still hearing that voice?” you ask, pitching your voice low enough that Alexander won't be able to listen in. Gunny's eyes widen in surprise, but then he slowly nods.

“I can hear... no, I can feel something calling out to me, brother,” he croaks, his words crawling from a dry throat, “I think it's her.”

Her. You're sure about one thing – this time, he doesn't mean Grace. “Alma?” you guess, sneaking a look around at Alexander's back. He seems to be busy examining the Organ as well, sharing his thoughts with Grace.

“Alma...” Gunny says the name as if he's never heard it before, as if it was a strange and alien thing – and then he nods once again.

[1/2]

Whoops, wrong quest. Sorry.

>>2537307

“Milos, brother, what if...” Gunny pauses, hesitates, then plunges on ahead. “What if that sword you pulled out wasn't the real problem?” he whispers, “This impurity, this... splinter. What if she's the problem?”

In truth, you had been putting off that idea. The thought of a reborn Saint Alma had always been a lingering menace hanging over the mission, an unknown element waiting to drop. The idea that all this could be happening because of her, because of what the Knights of Saint Alma did... it makes a certain degree of sense. They used one of the key fragments as part of the ritual to revive her, and what is that key if not a potent Nadir relic? Although their intentions had surely been pure, Coteaz and his knights might have done nothing more than driving a vast splinter into the very heart of this place.

“I know, brother,” Gunny mutters, reading your bleak expression.

-

Gunny's words linger in the back of your mind as you creep through the Hall of Assembly, heading the Hall of Birth. The vaults have fallen silent once more, but still you wonder what might be waiting for you at the end of this path. Birth, creation... you picture a crude infirmary one moment and a mad artist's studio the next, and neither idea seems any more likely than the other. The sound of a quiet crunch from underfoot jolts you from your thoughts, and you lift your boot to find tiny specks of broken glass glinting up at you. Shards from a visor, you guess, just like Alexander found earlier.

Listening out for any other noises, you carry on down the hallway. An oversized doorway leads into the Hall of Birth itself, and you realise that your earlier guesses had not been so far off the truth. Both walls are lined with low podiums, some of which have the remains – or the beginnings – of statues resting upon them. There are legs, identical to those of the stone soldiers in the Hall of Assembly, but nothing more. Crossing over to the closest statue, you rub your hand over the unfinished stump. It's perfectly smooth, without even the smallest of tool marks.

“This is...” Freddy murmurs, “No stonework could do this. It's like they were built from... from nothing!”

With your gloved hand still resting on the stump, you close your eyes and try to picture the scene in your mind. You see the base of the podium rippling like water, the liquid stone flowing upwards as the beginnings of a human form take shape. First the feet and ankles, then the flowing stone climbs higher and higher, and-

And you pull your hand abruptly away, your eyes snapping open. You're no dullard, but you've never imagined anything quite so vivid as that.

“Captain,” Grace calls over, giving you a merciful distraction, “We found something.”

[2/3]

>>2537492

As you turn to face Grace, you give the room a quick skim over. In shape, it's much the same as the Hall of Death – the same long, simple hallway with three corridors leading deeper into the vaults. If your map is right, those corridors should connect up with the lower level. In other words, there's nothing there for you. Dismissing them, you look around at what the others have found.

Slumped in one corner of the room, you find the body of a churchman shrouded in a thick suit identical to the one that you now wear. Their visor is shattered, but the face that you see through it is... strangely placid, as if they had simply sat down and gone to sleep. With a faint chill, you realise that irregular patches of their suit have turned to stone. You're looking down at your own suit, looking for any patches of spreading Abrahad stone, when Alexander clears his throat.

“This was nearby,” he says, holding out a silver scroll case with a crest on one cap, “That crest belongs to the Knights of Saint Alma.”

With renewed interest, you open the case and slide out the scroll, skimming the contents. It seems to be a hymn of some kind – the “Melody in Praise of the Sun.” One side of the scroll has the words to it – simple enough things, the sort of song that a child might sing – while the other side has musical notations. Looking up from it, you give Alexander a curious look. “Why this?” you ask, “This just looks like a regular church hymn to me. Why would it work here?”

“It's old - very old. In fact, it pre-dates the church by several hundreds years at a minimum. At first, the church thought it was just a silly old piece of pagan sun worship,” here, he grimaces as if reluctant to say any more. “And then fragments of this very same hymn were found in what is now Cloudtop Prison,” he eventually adds, “The lyrics were different, of course, but the music was-”

Again, that jarring sound of metal against stone, but this time it comes from somewhere far closer. Spinning around, you raise your revolver and point it at the deeper corridors. You see movement there, and then an armoured figure lurches out of the gloom. His armour is like that of the fallen knight you saw earlier, and he drags a similar sword across the ground – the source of that scraping sound. As with the dead churchman, patches of the knight have hardened and turned to stone, leaving their stride clumsy and cumbersome.

Not slow, though. The knight lurches from the mouth of the tunnel with a predatory hunger, followed by three more. His face is a horror – a blank mask that calls to mind the stone soldiers outside. Gunny lets out a cry of disgust, and that broken muzzle turns his way.

>Hold your ground and fight
>Flee back to the Hall of Assembly
>There's something else... (Write in)
>Other

>>2537585
>There's something else... (Write in)

Have Gunny try to repel them with the staff. If that doesn't work, try the same thing with your amulet.

>>2537585
>Flee back to the Hall of Assembly
We got what we came for in here. If we are lucky they won't follow us there. If we aren't the Organ should be a defensible position.

>>2537585
>There's something else...
Sing the hymn.

>>2537609
This sounds good.

>>2537585
They might be blind since they only noticed us when Gunny cried out. Not something I'd solely bet on though

>>2537642
I guess we could quietly walk away from where Gunny made noise. See if they still track us.

“Gunny!” you shout, glancing around at the older man, “Gunny, the staff!”

Your words, helped by Grace punching the larger man on the arm, shake him from his horror. Snatching the scrap of burlap off the tip of Saint Alma's staff, he reveals the white Abrahad stone mounted atop it. The staff was said to repel daemons, but you're not sure what the hell these things are. They were human once, but now?

“Luciftias!” Gunny cries, activating the charism bound to the stone. A wave of invisible force blasts out around you, flapping your clothes and washing over the knights. They aren't blasted away, as you hoped they might be, but... they stop in their tracks. Swaying in place, they turn their blind faces towards the stone and wait. A near silence falls over the scene, broken only by the faint scrape of their metal armour grinding against the stony parts of their bodies. For one insane moment, you have a chance to study the closest knight.

His entire head has been changed, you notice, turned to oddly grooved stone. The face is not flat, like you first thought, but gently tapered to a blunt point. Faint lines run through the stone, and a dull light occasionally strobes along those lines – like power along the channels that run through this place. They seem to be able to see in some fashion, despite their lack of eyes, as their muzzles follow the staff whenever Gunny moves it.

“It's not the power of the staff,” Grace whispers, “It's the staff itself. They... they remember it!”

“Everyone, back off,” you order, fighting to keep your voice calm, “Back to the Organ. No sudden movements – I don't know how long this trance might last.”

“You heard him. Move,” Alexander adds, his voice as hard as you've ever heard it. He gestures back towards the Hall of Assembly with a clenched fist, and you slowly begin to creep back down the narrow corridor. Gunny lingers a pace behind you at all times, with the knights placidly following him. You keep talk to a minimum, communicating with gestures as much as possible. The ordered retreat seems to be working, although you can start to see cracks forming.

The knights are getting closer and closer, reaching out to the staff as if wanting to claim it for themselves. Some of them have dropped their swords, but that comes as small comfort – their hands look strong enough to strangle the life from a man without much trouble, to say nothing of the fingers hardened to dull stone spikes.

At this rate, you won't have time to make it back to the Organ. You need a backup plan to slow them down. Fortunately, you have an idea.

“Sing!” you hiss, “Someone sing the hymn!”

Everyone, even Alexander, turns to stare at you as if you had lost your mind.

[1/2]

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>>2537708
I just realized the hymn should probably done with the organ.

>>2537738
Yeah I assumed that was the song needed for the organ since Alexander said it was really old. Not sure if it'll pacify these guys or we are about to get punched for making noise.

>>2537738
yeah good job now everyone thinks we're a retard

inb4 it works

>>2537708

Then, Freddy snatches the hymn from you and unrolls it. Drawing in a sharp breath as she skims the first line, she begins to sing. At first her voice wavers, never quite hitting the right notes, but she quickly adjusts. Her singing voice, once she's hit her stride, is a surprisingly rich, warm tone with a faint edge of huskiness to it. It's a voice that you wouldn't mind hearing again, under less appalling conditions.

Heard aloud, the words are just as childish as they seemed on paper – all pious thanks to a benevolent sun and a wish for it to rise again the following morning. Childish as it is, the hymn has a strange effect on the knights. If the staff had appealed to remnants of their humanity, the hymn seems to provoke a reaction from something... else.

One after another, the knights drop to their knees. One convulses, while another clutches at their misshapen head. Gesturing for the others to hurry away, you glance back at the knights. As you watch, one of their heads somehow peels open, the blunt muzzle spreading like the petals of a flower. Light glows within the hollow head, a dirty white light that grows brighter and brighter with every second that passes.

Realisation dawns, and you hastily jerk your head away from it. Even looking away, you see a flash of light bursting off the walls around you as if the knight had lit a magnesium flare. As the light washes over you all, the ordered retreat turns into a panicked rout. Stone soldiers flash past you as you run, their obliterated faces seeming to leer menacingly at you as you pass them by. Ahead of you, the Organ rises above their ranks and you follow it like a beacon. Freddy's singing stopped long ago, replaced by her strained breathing, but the hymn seems to have worked its magic.

The knights are nowhere to be seen, although the Hall of Birth still flashes with dirty blasts of light. As the others catch their breath, Gunny turns to you. “That light...” he gasps, “Is that... what's inside those statues? What gives this damned stone it's power?”

“I don't know,” you admit, shaking your head. You wonder about his words, considering how unclean that light had seemed. A tainted version of that power, perhaps? If the bodies of the knights were impure vessels, then perhaps...

“Even the cleanest water will foul,” Alexander says gravely, “If the urn that holds it is caked with filth.”

“But they were knights!” Gunny protests, “Knights of Saint Alma!”

“No man is without sin,” Alexander reminds him, brusquely turning away and pointing to Grace. “Can you play this hymn?” he asks, “We need to see if it will create this... bridge.”

“I can play it,” Grace answers, although her voice wavers. Taking the scroll from Freddy, she steadies her nerves and turns to the Organ.

[2/3]

>>2537818
>As you watch, one of their heads somehow peels open, the blunt muzzle spreading like the petals of a flower. Light glows within the hollow head, a dirty white light that grows brighter and brighter with every second that passes.
I figured Nadir corruption would be the creepiest thing we'd encounter on our quest but thanks for proving me wrong.

>>2537881
Nothing quite like a tainted holy petrification.

>>2537893
True purity is hard to find. Maybe even impossible.

>>2537818

As Grace tentatively taps the keys of the Organ, practising the simple hymn with the air of an obvious amateur, Freddy looks around at you. “Captain,” she ask, “How did you know that the hymn would work?”

“I didn't,” you admit, “But we needed something to distract them. I never expected it to work that well.”

“You...” she pauses, “I was the BAIT?”

Despite yourself, you laugh. “That's not what I meant. They were knights once, and that scroll had their crest on it. They seemed to recognise the staff, so I thought the hymn might work as well,” still grinning a little, you reach across and slap her on the shoulder, “But I never thought I'd get to hear you singing it!”

Freddy's cheeks darken a little. “You said to sing,” she mutters, “Orders are orders.”

-

When the Organ's first note rings out, it sounds like nothing you've ever heard. More like a voice than any kind of instrument, it seems to sing in a hundred voices at once. No, you realise, you have heard its like before – in Rub'al's memories, that same Organ had been playing. At the time, you had written it off as some kind of choir, but now... Now you know what had been making that wordless song. It's strange, hearing it in reality.

As Grace plays, you look out at the chasm that you hope to traverse, waiting for a bridge to emerge. A rumble starts, and you look around to see the stone soldiers moving. With perfect harmony, they raise their spears and bring them clashing down against the ground, causing a deafening crash to run through the Hall of Assembly. Grace's playing falters, but only for a moment. As the Organ sings, and the spears crash, you see a clean white light rising up from the depths of the chasm.

A bridge of light, rising up to span the expanse. You stare down at it in amazement, then gesture to Freddy. She hurries down from the Organ platform and hurries across to the bridge, ejecting a single cartridge out of her pistol as she goes. You watch as she throws the bullet onto the luminous bridge. Ripples spread out across the milky white light as the bullet bounces off it, but it seems stable enough. A bridge of solid light...

Solid, at least, until Grace stops playing. The haunting sound of the Organ hangs in the air for a moment before fading, and then the bridge begins to fade with it. After about a minute, you see a glint as the bullet falls through the dissipating bridge and tumbles into the void.

“I think I understand now!” Grace calls over to you, shouting over the fading song and the crash of spears, “I need to stay here and keep playing!”

“You'll be alone,” Freddy warns her, before turning to you, “Captain, let me stay with her. Just in case.”

>Do it. Keep her safe
>No, I need you with me
>Someone else can stay... (Write in)
>Other

>>2537959
>Do it. Keep her safe

>>2537959
>Do it. Keep her safe

Really don't want to get stranded in the tomb of horrors if something else emerges from those chambers.

>>2537959
>>Do it. Keep her safe

>>2537959
>>Do it. Keep her safe

>>2537959
>Do it. Keep her safe

>>2537959
>Do it. Keep her safe
shame that we lose our primary combatant, but I wouldn't trust Gunny to do it in his state of mind and Alexander is right out.

“Do it,” you order, “Keep her safe. More importantly...”

“Keep me playing this thing,” Grace finishes for you, causing the Iraklin to laugh. Grace is in good hands, you think to yourself, you won't need to worry about her. Whatever else you'll have to worry about... that's a whole other story. Grace seems to read your expression, and her own face grows grave. “That's right,” she tells you, “I have no idea what could be waiting for you up ahead. The church exploration never reached that far inside.”

“Be careful,” Freddy urges, “And be prepared for anything.”

Although she doesn't look around at him, the look in her eyes is enough to tell you that she means Alexander. You've seen it too, the way he's been growing harder as you explore more and more of the vault. How many church secrets have you witnessed, you wonder, and what would he do to ensure that they stay secret? As if sensing your unease, Alexander turns and gives you a formal nod.

“Well, Captain Vaandemere,” he says, “Lead the way.”

Grace starts playing the Organ once again, and its innumerable voices begin to sing. The bridge reforms, motes of light pulling together until it is complete. Even so, you don't set foot on it until you throw a spare bullet of you own ahead of you. Any sound it might make as it strikes the bridge is lost beneath the crash of spears striking against stone. Without further hesitation, you boldly step forwards and place one foot upon the luminous bridge.

A tingle runs through your body at the contact, like stepping into the engine room of an airship and feeling the charged Pleonite core burning within. Pushing it out of your mind, you put one foot in front of the other and march across the bridge.

Beneath you, the chasm yawns wide and endless. After the first dizzying time, you learn not to look down.

An airship captain feeling afraid of heights. Now that's a bad joke.

>I'm going to have to pause things here for today. I will continue this next Friday, and if anyone has any comments or questions I will answer them if I can
>Sorry for the delays today, I'm still getting back into my rhythm!

>>2538090
Thanks for running!

It's just the light bridge, right? We have solid stone on the other side, and Grace doesn't have to keep playing for however long we're in there? That would be awful.

>>2538131
she wouldn't know when to start playing again. Getting stranded with limited air would kinda suck.

>>2538090
Thanks for running.

>>2538151
Depends if she can see us from the other end of the chasm.

>>2538131

There is solid platform on the other side, and we will be visible there. So, we should be able to wave over to them once we're ready to leave.

You know, unless something goes wrong.

>>2538224
>unless something goes wrong.
Yeah but what could possibly go wrong?

>>2538224
Hey Moloch, Alexander is a member of the Brotherhood of Saint Nuada right?

And Nuada is Nadir. Seems odd he has such a problem with 'unclean' Nadir if he is part of that group.

Unless of course the Brotherhood is really just devolved into a title for the Church's secret police and doesn't have much to do with Nuada anymore.

>>2537609
>>2537602
Congrats dudes, those were good plans.

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

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He had been silent for a long time, but that would not last forever. Caldwell could sense an explosive anger building beneath Hackett's sullen face, and soon the broad-shouldered man would break his silence. Then, there would be trouble. Gorgon seemed just as uneasy, and she clutched her familiar tightly to her breast. The familiar, that mangy fox, occasionally struggled and scratched at her face, but the witch paid these tiny wounds no heed. Even when blood trickled down her cheek, she showed no reaction.

Eishin knew that they were here – whether he knew their mission or not, Caldwell couldn't say, but the facts remained the same. Eishin had sent his agent to find them, to invite them into his kingdom. Ever since receiving the invitation, Hackett's route had abruptly changed. Caldwell knew, on some instinctual level, that they were straying off target, and yet he said nothing. He was curious, quietly eager to see what Hackett was planning.

“Dark soon,” the guide grunted in a typically abbreviated fashion, looking around at Caldwell, “We'd better hunker down for the night. I know a place.”

“I'm certain that you do,” Caldwell replied mildly, noting as a faint trace of alarm flitted through Hackett's eyes. Alarm, bordering on panic – but why should that be?

-

Hackett led them to a tiny clearing, one littered with the crumbling remains of stone buildings. There were countless clearings like this in the Deep Forest, although the canopy above hid them from sight. Passing overhead in an airship, someone might never know that there were people beneath. As Hackett built a campfire and Gorgon stared into space, Caldwell roamed the ruins and studied them with a curious eye. One wall in particular drew his attention – it was riddled with holes, as if it had been struck by a tremendous volley of gunfire.

Kneeling, Caldwell began to sift through the dirt. Slowly at first, but with a growing intensity, he dug through the loose soil until he saw the dull glint of metal. Although it was terribly corroded, Caldwell had an inkling that the brass cartridge case was terribly old – perhaps dating from the first Iraklin expeditions. The Iraklin government presented those days as bold and glorious, but Caldwell knew that there was little to be proud of. Those first soldiers had not been brave pioneers – in many cases, they had been ill-disciplined louts or even convicted criminals. Entire units had disappeared, either through desertion or destruction, and there had been reports of clumsy massacres.

Looking down at the cartridge casing for a moment more, Caldwell drew back his arm and hurled it into the undergrowth. Swallowed up by the forest, it vanished without a trace.

[1/3]

>>2546587

That night, they were visited by something - something that was neither man nor beast. Caldwell was the only one awake, keeping watch while the others slept, when the first wisps of oily black smoke began to snake out from the tree line. In the gloom, it was hard to tell one darkness from another, and Caldwell's first thought was that his fatigue was playing tricks on him. Over the course of his life he had experienced brutal sleep deprivation before, and he well knew how unbalanced the world could seem without a chance to rest. Yet after blinking and rubbing his eyes, he could not deny that the darkness – formerly kept barely at bay by their campfire – was encroaching upon them.

Making no sudden movements, Caldwell rose to his feet and edged across to Hackett, never once letting his eyes stray from those probing tendrils of black smoke. They were like nothing he had ever seen before, and their presence filled him with something that was not quite fear – awe, perhaps, the awe of a man coming face to face with some greater existence. The tendrils crawled sluggishly through the ruined buildings, caressing old stone with the touch of an obsessed lover. Watching this, Caldwell gently kicked Hackett awake.

“What...” Hackett muttered, rolling over and waving a hand at Caldwell. When he opened his eyes and saw what was happening, though, the last of his slumber was banished in an instant. He didn't dare leap to his feet, although Caldwell could see the urge to flee filling his thoughts. Hackett recognised that oily black cloud, or at least what it represented – danger, no doubt, as with so many other things in Nadir. “This is bullshit,” the guide whispered to himself, “We didn't spill any blood, why is that-”

“Death has stained this place,” Gorgon murmured, her voice stirring the air, “It has come to taste that pale reflection. Be... very... careful.” There came a rustling sound as the witch rose to her feet, cautiously approaching the two men. She moved with a pace slow enough that she almost seemed to glide across the ground, creeping forwards until she stood before the coiling smoke. “It will not attack,” she added, “So long as we do not raise our hands against it.”

Her voice, Caldwell realised, was dull and sluggish – the voice of someone talking in their sleep, or from the depths of a drugged trance. The smoke coiled around Gorgon as she spread her arms wide as if to embrace it. A dark growl escaped from Hackett, the growl of a beast driven into a corner. He raised his rifle in a manner that seemed more helpless than threatening, his fear soon urging him to lower the weapon. Instead, he shot Caldwell an imploring look.

The assassin took a step towards the witch, reaching out to her. Before he could touch her shoulder, though, the tendrils grew solid and tightened around her like a fist.

[2/3]

>>2546588

“Gorgon!” Caldwell snapped, his voice shattering the silence and causing the mists to recoil – carrying the witch with that. Gorgon's limp body flailed like a ragdoll as the tendrils lashed back and forth, threatening to dash her against a tree or the ground underfoot with every violent movement. With one final spasm, the grasping smoke hurled Gorgon to the ground and withdrew, vanishing back into the trees.

Gorgon lay still for a few long minutes before a soft groan escaped her. When Caldwell stalked closer and rolled her over with the tip of his boot, he saw that her face was fixed in an ecstatic rictus grin and her eyes were glassy. Reaching down, he slapped her across the face – first lightly, but then hard enough to leave a red welt on her face when his first blow failed to rouse her. Grimacing, the assassin heaved Gorgon to her feet and propped her up against his shoulder. “We need to find somewhere for her to rest,” he ordered, looking around at Hackett, “Somewhere safe. A village, if possible.”

“To hell with that. If she can't walk on her own, leave her,” Hackett snarled, “You saw what just happened. Bad luck, travelling with a witch. Next time, we might not get off so lightly.”

Caldwell fixed the tracker with a long glare. “She is yet to fulfil her purpose,” he replied slowly, his words low and even, “Until she is no longer of any use to me, the witch is to be kept safe and well.”

“No longer of any use...” Hackett scoffed, “And what if I stop being “useful” to you?” That, Caldwell left unanswered. The two men glared at each other for a moment more, then Hackett turned away with a low laugh. “Fine. So be it,” he spat, “I know a village not too far from here. They're no friends of Eishin, but that doesn't make them our allies. I wouldn't normally trust their hospitality, but... you're in charge here. If you want a village, I'll take you to a village.”

“Good,” Caldwell replied, his voice low and flat, “Lead the way.”

With a harsh, almost savage shrug, Hackett turned and prowled away into the trees. Carrying the limp, murmuring witch, Caldwell followed him. The night, dark and infinitely deep, yawned wide and took them.

>This concludes today's bonus episode. Into the Skies will resume on Friday!

>>2546590
so who is best girl:

>Kez
>Fred
>Maeve
>Grace
>Gorgon
>billowy NO FIGHTING ALLOWED smoke
?

>>2546631
Caliban's stone hand friend whose name I forgot.

>>2546631
Mara

>>2546634
Priscilla.

>>2546588
I like how universal the line "This is bullshit" is.

>>2546631
Priscilla.
Once we find the rest of her.
Mybe she will save us in spooky place

>>2546631
Caldwell

>>2546631
Maeve > Fred > Kez > Trice - Mara - Priscilla > Grace (not for lewds).

>>2546631
Kez, though grace is cool but shes a child.

File: Alexander Serafini.jpg (100 KB, 850x1134)

100 KB JPG

As solid as the luminous bridge seems to be, you're still glad when you have normal stone – as normal as Abrahad stone can be, at least – under your feet again. Judging by how Gunny lets out a sigh of relief and Alexander allows himself a small smile, you're not alone in that. Reaching down inside your bulky suit, you touch Maeve's protective charm to remind yourself that it's there. As you touch it, you find yourself thinking of the old witch. Just what could she be doing at this very moment?

Something unholy, you decide, or at least that's probably how the church would see it.

Looking behind you, you see Freddy wave to you from the Organ, but... she seems far more distant than you ever expected. You weren't walking for all that long, and you had been taking it slowly, but still she seems to have faded into the horizon. Blinking a few times, you turn to Gunny and start to ask if he's seeing the same things you are.

“Right, brother, I see it,” he mutters, “I can't explain what I'm seeing, but I see it.”

-

Proceeding onwards, you follow the corridor as it widens out into a larger hall, the walls lined with yet more of those stone soldiers. There are eight of them on each side, each one as perfect as those filling the Hall of Assembly. Although you give them a suspicious glare as you hurry past them, they show no sign of motion. Passing through another oversized doorway, you reach the end of the path – a small room, barren save for a small dais in the centre. The room is hugely tall, with the ceiling only barely visible above you, but otherwise it seems to be a dead end.

Frowning, you look around for anything out of the ordinary. As you scour the chamber, you hear Alexander and Gunny talk.

“You know,” Alexander remarks, “That staff is a priceless relic of the church.”

“What, this?” Gunny retorts, “You must be mistaken, brother, we found this old thing in a hole in the ground. Isn't that right, captain?”

“What?” you grunt, looking up from the dais. You were hoping that it might have some kind of mechanism, but the thing is as blank as everything else here. The ancient Zenith people, it seems, didn't make use of what you'd recognise as machinery. All you can think to do is touch the dais' flat top, laying the flat of your palm against the cool stone. Another tingle runs through you as you touch the stone, and a network of glowing lines spread out across the surface of the dais. They run down the dais and spread across the ground beneath you, fading out as the ground begins to move.

Smoothly, silently, the platform rises up towards the distant ceiling. As it rises, you check over your weapons. You wear a knife on each hip, along with your revolver. Alexander has his own pistol, a monstrously oversized thing, and a thin needle of a sword. Gunny carries the staff, with a small automatic thrust into the belt of his suit. Not much, but it'll have to do.

Above, the light opens up and swallows you.

[1/2]

>>2552557

A sweet scent washes over you as your vision clears, the scent of the flowers that fill this place. For the first disorientating moment you seem to be standing outside once more, standing in a field of white flowers under a bright, sunlit sky. Then reality descends once more, and you see the rough stone walls around you. The chamber is roughly circular, with a high sloping ceiling that is crowned by a gleaming silver mirror. It is that mirror that beams light down into the middle of the chamber.

The light is centred on a single vast flower, its petals closed tightly up. Four smaller flowers, still large enough to come up to your waist, connect to that larger flower with thick, fat vines. The whole arrangement formed a square around the centre of the chamber, laid out with mathematical perfection. Everything in the Vault of the Sun is like that – precise. Funny, the sort of things that you notice at a time like this.

Grass whispers underfoot as you take a step towards one of those flowers, and you see it pulse with sudden vitality, pulsing like a beating heart. As it convulses, that central flower begins to bloom, the silky white petals unfolding to reveal...

Her.

The most beautiful woman you've ever had the fortune to meet.

She has the kind of beauty that makes the rest of the world, and all those who live within it, seem ugly by comparison. Every bit of her is perfect, the work of some master artisan. From the black hair, long and lustrous, that spills down from her scalp to the alluring curves of her body, you can't help but feast your eyes upon her. Delicately stepping out from within the blossoming flower, she approaches your group. Your helmet falls from numb fingers, but you barely notice.

“Ah...” the woman sighs, reaching out to you all. The light seems to follow her, the mirror above moving to match. As she approaches, you automatically step back from her – every little flaw that you possess suddenly boils to the front of your mind, filling you with shame. Without looking around at either you or Alexander, the ethereal woman reaches out to Gunny and places her hands upon his cheeks. “You...” she breathes, “My Nuada...”

Another step back, and something catches your foot. Tumbling over backwards, you land heavily amidst a flurry of white petals. There, half-hidden by flowers, you see the dark leather of a protective suit. The body of a churchman lies by you, a pistol resting just out of their grasp and their head blasted open. Their eyes remain, wide open and fixed in a rictus of horror. What could have led him to...

With reflected sunlight glowing on her skin, the woman's hands slip down towards Gunny's throat.

>Attack the strange woman
>Shoot out the reflecting mirror above
>Pull Gunny away from the woman
>Other

>>2552560
>Shoot out the reflecting mirror above
Just watch out for shards of the mirror falling.

>>2552560
>Pull Gunny away

Get answers from her first, we can shoot out that mirror anytime. Be ready to shoot it if she looks like she'll attack though.

>>2552560
>Pull Gunny away
That reflected sunlight is doing something though.
>Shoot the mirror

Scrabbling to your feet, you waste no time in launching yourself at Gunny and tackling him away from the woman. She recoils at your sudden motion, her lips parting in a silent gasp as Gunny is snatched away from her grasp. Hitting the ground hard, you hear Gunny grunt with startled pain – but a little pain is a small price to pay if it means he's out of her reach. Her uncanny beauty, the lone suicide lying discarded amidst the sea of flowers... the sheer strangeness of this scene presses down on you like a lead weight.

Rolling off of Gunny, you draw your revolver and aim it at the woman. “Who are you?” you hiss, forcing yourself to meet her eyes. They're dark, like pools of deep water. Your question seems to be swallowed up by those eyes, met with blank incomprehension. As Gunny hauls himself to his feet, you see Alexander reluctantly drawing his weapons. If it comes to a fight, you're not sure how much use he'll be – the sword and pistol hang loosely from his uncertain grip.

Finally, she answers.

“I am... Alma?” the woman says, looking down at her hands. The light above seems to grow brighter, the beam of light tightening around her, and her face is split by a sudden rictus of pain. Clutching her head, the woman – the reborn saint – is bent double as she wails. That cry, as much as anything else, is what causes you to jerk the revolver towards the ceiling and fire. The mirror above shatters explosively, showering you all with tiny splinters of glass as absolute darkness descends. The woman's cry is abruptly shut off, leaving you in near-silence.

Slowly, one after another, motes of light begin to brighten. Gradually, your eyes adjust to the gloom and the saint's silhouette is revealed. Lurid bruises blossom and spread across her pale skin as her flesh seems to knot and twist. She falls, only to swipe blindly around her with an arm too large to belong to any human being. Caught up in the throes of a sudden transformation, the saint lets out a feral scream.

The light... had it somehow been binding her, keeping this monstrous form at bay?

By the time the motes of light have grown bright enough to properly see by, no traces of the saint's former beauty remains. She stands half again as tall as a man, her emaciated body gleaming with exposed muscle. Her arms are sheathed in white Abrahad stone, as though she was wearing gloves, and her lower jaw seems crafted from that same material. Mad eyes roll in their sockets as she claws at the ground.

You can almost sense the corruption boiling away within her. Blood trickles out of her navel as the bruised flesh distends, threatening to split open at any moment.

White petals fly as the monstrous saint springs into motion, charging on all fours like a beast.

[1/2]

>>2552634
Well shit.
Poor Alma.

>>2552634
>Super Zombie Alma
I knew it!

>>2552634

Throwing yourself out of the way, you dodge the saint's wild charge. As she tumbles past you, you see a long tail extending from the base of her spine. No, not a tail – a thick bundle of vines, leading back to the flower that had first held her. Before you can do anything more than notice this, she whips around and swipes a claw in your general direction. Her blows are wild, barely aimed at all, but her reach is long enough that the stone claw nearly catches you. As it is, the claw rakes through the dirt ahead of you.

Alexander's pistol thunders as he fires, the saint knocked sprawling by the potent weapon. The shot blasts a massive clump of flesh out of her shoulder, leaving her arm to hang by a ribbon of flesh. Almost as soon as the damage has been done, however, a horrific regeneration begins to fill the crater with new flesh. Chasing the source of the pain, Alma rears up onto her hind legs – even though she has the shape of a human, it's hard not to think of her in terms of an animal – and lunges at the churchman.

He doesn't flinch, meeting Alma's charge with the point of his sword. The blade spits her, piercing straight through her unclean flesh with a splash of dark blood, but she barely seems to notice. Bringing both fists down upon him, she smashes Alexander to the ground. Already, the gunshot wound in her shoulder has vanished, the flesh regrown.

Glancing wildly around for Gunny, your gaze falls on one of the four large flowers. The white petals seem to have lost some of their lustre, fading to a washed out grey. Looking past the flower for now, you spot Gunny by the chamber's far wall. His face is a mask of dismay, of horror, of remorse. He holds the staff with both hands, clinging to it for dear life. You can't see his pistol anywhere, but that matters little now – you doubt that it would have much impact on the saint. Your own revolver is likely to be just as useless. Alexander's massive pistol, though...

“Gunny!” you yell, causing the man to jerk around and stare at you. Alma turns your way as well, the sword jutting grotesquely out of her sternum. She stands erect for a moment, the tail of vines pulsing, and then she begins to stalk towards you. No feral madness now – this is the confidence of a predator stalking its prey. Aware of how fruitless it might be, you raise your gun at her.

“Alma!” Gunny shouts, holding the staff high and calling out its trigger word. Light flares as he activates the staff's Charism, and a wave of force shakes the chamber. It doesn't repel Alma, but it catches her attention. Just like the knights, her gaze is drawn to the Abrahad stone atop the staff.

He's bought you a moment. Now...

>Grab Alexander's pistol. One good shot should take her head off
>Use the impaled sword to split her open
>Try to cut her “tail”
>Other

>>2552671
>Cut the tail
Head might do it too, but this should be the surest way.

>>2552671
>Try to cut her “tail”
I think the flowers are regenerating her

>>2552671
>Try to cut her “tail”

>>2552671
>Go for the base of the flower and cut there
I think the key is in there

>>2552671
>Try to cut her “tail”

As Alma sluggishly stalks closer to Gunny, her wavering stride absurdly reminding you of a drunkard, you draw the heavier of your two daggers and scan the ground for her tail. There, nestled within the flowers, you see the meaty cord trailing back to the central flower. Grunting, you swing the blade down and hack into the cord. Your blade bites deep, and Alma screams in pain.

But your first blow isn't deep enough. Alma arches her back and cries out once again as you tug the blade free, and the cord is nearly swept out of your reach as she spins around. Throwing yourself after it, you bring your blade down and slice through the remaining part of the cord. Blood spurts out of both ends, and you dimly see the other flowers withering. One of them wilts open, and you catch a fleeting glimpse of another dead churchman. Some of them, at least.

Hoping that your blow will have the desired affect, you jerk around and fire your revolver into Alma's chest. The individual shots don't do anything more than slow her for a moment, but the wounds they leave behind bleed freely with no sign of them closing up. Slumping slightly, Alma clutches at the sword buried in her chest with one hand. For a moment, she almost looks... pitiful.

But before you can take advantage of the momentary weakness, the defiled saint shakes off her pain and hurls herself at you. Her first blow slams down like a hammer, casting a thick cloud of dirt into the air as you leap back, and a moment later the monstrous figure burst through the haze. Although she still clutches at her chest with one hand, the other lashes out towards your head, the stone fingers grasping for something to crush and rend. You've not regained your footing after your last leap backwards, and so you do the only thing you can do. Throwing your left arm up in front of your face, you take the saint's blow head on.

The attack is strong, strong enough to drive you down to your knees and to send daggers of pain shooting through you as she closes her grip. The thick leather suit softens her blow a little, but it was never designed to protect against this kind of attack. As she tightens her grip, you can't help but cry out in pain. The bones your arm grind together, blood welling up as her grip digs in tighter and tighter. Even when you bring your dagger up and bury it in her sinewy arm, her grip does not loosen.

Then something breaks, something shatters, inside your arm. Roaring, Alma twists the limb and shoves it aside as you fall backwards. You can't move it, not even a little, and-

And Gunny slams into the saint's flank, the butt of the staff lowered like a lance.

[1/2]

>>2552759
>Arm evolved into Nadir Arm
>What's this? Nadir Arm is evolving!
>Nadir Arm evolved into Viney Abrahad Arm!

>>2552759

The pair of them collapse down in a heap, the staff speared into Alma's gut, as you struggle to rise. Your left arm hangs limply by your side, pain rolling off it in nauseating waves with every little movement it makes. Alma roars as she throws Gunny off of her, tossing the man away like a doll, but her voice is ragged and strained. It's the voice of a beast pushed to its limits, bloodied and exhausted.

It's a feeling that you can sympathise with.

Somehow, you manage to pull yourself to your feet and retrieve your weapons, while Alma remains flat on her back. Wearily looking around you, you see Alexander and Gunny rising up as well. Alexander's face is a mask of blood and dirt, and he drags one leg behind him as he approaches. Gunny seems comparatively unharmed, although his skin is ashen. Not one word passes between you as you cautiously approach the fallen saint.

Alma's motions have grown weak, her white arms flailing at the weapons buried in her body as her chest heaves with laboured breath. Just looking at her, you know that you're looking at a dying woman – although the time when you could call her a “woman” seems long past. Even in her weakened state, though, you don't get too close to her. Gunny tears his gaze away from Alma, his eyes darting aside to your wounded arm.

“You okay, brother?” he asks, his voice hushed.

“Just a scratch,” you reply, doing what you think is an admirable job of keeping your voice from shaking, “She's quick.”

“Huh,” Gunny mutters, looking back down to Alma, “Not any more.” Then, despite your hissed warning, he steps closer to the saint and kneels down by her side. Grasping the staff in both hands, he takes a moment to prepare himself before ripping it out of her. It's not clean, with his efforts causing her distended belly to split fully open. As some of her decaying flesh sloughs away, you see a dull gleam of metal within the saint's abdomen.

Nestled within her flesh is the key fragment, the core of her corruption. Gunny stares at it for a long moment, then looks up at you. Giving him a tiny nod, you look around at Alexander. The churchman's gaze is still fixed on the saint's face, his mouth set in a hard line, and he tenses up as you touch his shoulder.

“Give them a moment,” you tell him, gesturing down to Gunny with your good arm. Gunny has his pistol out, ready to grant the saint mercy. Alexander grimaces, then nods and allows you to guide him a few steps away.

Once your backs are turned, you hear Gunny's pistol bark. Then he fires again, and for a third time.

Even now, the saint doesn't go easily.

[2/3]

>Sorry for the delays. I've got a pretty bad headache at the moment and it's making it hard to write.

>>2552908

With your own knife, Alexander busies himself with cutting away your sleeve and revealing your broken arm. It's a damn mess, with shards of bone jutting out of the bruised, ruptured flesh. Just looking at it feels like a mistake, with your legs growing weaker at the sight of it. Without a hint of compassion, Alexander studies the wound for a few moments before nodding firmly to himself.

“It looks worse than it is,” he states, “A good doctor should be able to salvage it, provided we get it looked at soon. Your man – is he reliable?”

“I think so,” you reply, “I hope so.”

“Good,” Alexander grunts, “That should cut down on any delays.” With a few curt motions, he straps your arm to your chest using the sleeve as a crude sling. The bleeding has already started to slow, although that is hardly a comfort. Far from it, in fact – it makes you wonder about the Nadir corruption that sleeps within your blood. When Gunny moves to join you, you welcome the distraction.

He walks awkwardly, and the key fragment is nowhere to be seen. Hidden inside his suit, perhaps – the bulky things are good for something after all. Alexander barely spares him a passing glance, instead brushing past him to examine one of the blackened, wilting flowers. You join him, wincing as you look down at the body that had been held within it. The churchman's flesh has turned to stone in places, and you can't help but imagine them being drained of their life in order to revitalise the saint. Had they been alive, within those flowers?

You hope not.

“What you saw was not Saint Alma,” Alexander states suddenly, crossing over the decaying body and pulling his sword free. “I don't know precisely what it was,” he continues, “A construct of this place, a cruel illusion intended to deceive foolish victims, some other corruption... I don't know, but it certainly was NOT Saint Alma.”

Despite yourself, you feel a weary smirk twisting your mouth. “Do you really believe that?” you ask, before good sense can stop you. Alexander turns, and he points the needle-thin point of the sword towards you.

“That doesn't matter,” he stresses quietly, “What I believe is irrelevant. Indeed, what YOU believe is irrelevant. All that I ask is that you say nothing of this. These vaults were empty, save for ghosts and illusions. I will recommend that this place remains sealed up, and you shall do the same. Do you understand me?”

>I understand. We'll keep our silence about what happened here
>I won't let you suppress the truth like this
>Other

>>2552962
Alexander I figured that running into a botched ressurection of Alma was a very likely scenario when we came here and that's from just doing a little bit of research. Now I'm willing to say the Knights failed and they cremated her body to spare your flock the hard truth,but the nature of this place should be documented.

>>2552962
>I understand. That wasn't Saint Alma. I hope you understand that Gunny's staff belongs to him in turn.

>>2552962
>Other
Yes to Alma.
No to the Vault.

I mean I guess there is chance Carth is going to use this place for evil once they get a handle on it, but better than everyone bring ignorant.

...right?

>>2552962
seconding >>2552981

“I understand,” you reply slowly, dredging up new reserves of strength in order to face down this new challenge. “That wasn't Saint Alma. Saint Alma had nothing to do with this place – and neither did my colleague's staff,” you continue, “Do we have an agreement?”

Alexander looks across to Gunny's staff, then back to the decaying body. His expression darkens a little as he calculates, but then he nods. “I understand,” he decides, “The church has no business in confiscating a man's walking stick, after all.” When Alexander returns the blade to its sheath, some of the tension in the air bleeds away. “Thank you,” the churchman adds, “I will trust that you can keep your word. Besides, if word of this does get out... we'll know who to blame.”

“Of course,” you agree, gesturing towards the dais. “But speaking informally?” you add, “I was able to figure out that this... creature... was a very possible outcome, and that was just with a little bit of investigation. Other people might be able to do the same. I don't really care what you tell the people, but you ought to be careful. Maybe you should consider documenting this place properly – so this sort of thing never happens again.”

“A proper investigation will be carried out in due time,” Alexander replies as he limps towards the elevator, “And with due discretion. I will assure you of one thing, though – what I have seen here is enough for me to suggest that the church has nothing to do with this place. The power here... it cannot be harnessed by men such as ourselves.”

“Good enough, I guess,” you mutter, placing your hand upon the dais.

-

The Hall of Assembly is silent when you arrive there, the bridge of light nowhere to be seen. As you approach the chasm, though, the inhuman song of the Organ starts up again. Far off, you see Freddy waving over to you. Wasting no time in hurrying across the bridge, you give the pair a nod as they descend from the Organ to join you. Grace looks awful, her eyes hollow and ringed by dark circles. Some degree of normal fatigue is to be expected, but this?

Glancing briefly up at the Organ, you wonder if playing it might have some other, less desirable, effect. One more patient for Doctor Barnum to check over, you decide. Freddy offers you her shoulder as soon as she notices your injury, and she won't take no for an answer.

“It's my arm that's broken,” you complain as she takes some of your weight, “Not my leg.”

“Yes captain,” she agrees, nevertheless keeping hold of you, “Was the mission successful?”

“We're finished here,” you tell her, glancing over at Alexander, “Leave it at that.”

[1/2]

>>2553054

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

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

-

And you jolt awake, dull pain throbbing out from your broken arm. Whatever it was that Barnum injected you with, it did an admirable job of knocking you out but the side-effects, the dreams...

Blinking off the last of your sleep, you glance down at your arm. Clean white bandages hide the wound from sight, but it feels better. At the very least, you can't feel any lumps or bumps when you run your hand over the limb. There's a little pain, but the drugs are keeping it at bay for now. Doctor Barnum is nowhere to be seen, but Alexander sits nearby. He has a notepad sitting in his lap, lines of meticulous handwriting visible there. Seeing that you're awake, he unceremoniously pushes the pad across.

“Here,” he says bluntly, “Sign your name, please.”

Taking the pad in your good hand, you read it over. The report is simple – the Vault of the Sun is unsafe, due to large deposits of unstable Pleonite, and any requests for further explorations should not be granted. A nice safe report, omitting all of the nasty details. You get the impression that he'll be giving a rather more accurate report to his real masters. Grunting, you scrawl your name at the bottom – anything for a quiet life.

Alexander takes back the pad, reading it over as if he'd never seen it before then nodding. “Good. That settles that,” he states, leaning back as a surprisingly pensive look passes across his face, “Tell me, Captain Vaandemere, have you ever failed at anything?”

The question takes you by surprise. The Annexation War comes to mind, but you're not sure if you want to talk about that with a man like Alexander. “By anything,” you guess, “I assume you mean anything serious?”

“Naturally,” Alexander agrees, gesturing for you to continue, “Of course, if you'd rather not say...”

>I'd rather not. If you'll excuse me, I was trying to sleep
>I have failed. The Annexation War, for one thing...
>Other

>>2553108
>I have failed. I was on the losing side of a war...
Be vague about it. Have there been any recent wars besides the Annexation War?

>>2553108
>I have failed. The Annexation War, for one thing
"I figured you'd already know about that though."

>>2553108
>Of course. The war, for one thing.

“I've failed, yes,” you reply vaguely, “The war, for one thing. But let's face it – you probably knew the answer to that question before you asked it, right?”

“I won't deny it,” Alexander replies with a nod, “I was briefed on your past before we first met. Don't worry, though, I'm not trying to pry into your past. This is just a... personal curiosity for me. I have a theory, you see, about men who have failed. It creates a certain hunger in them – a desire to succeed, no matter what it takes.” Lapsing into silence here, the churchman rises from his seat and gets a jug of water. Pouring two glasses, he sits back down and offers you one. “I've had my own failing,” he continues, “Back when I was young, a rising star in the church. I was assigned to be the bodyguard to a certain priest.”

You'd rather be drinking something harder, but you take a sip of water nonetheless. “A priest,” you repeat, “He must have been a pretty important priest to have a personal bodyguard.”

“I suppose so,” Alexander agrees, “You see, he was stationed in Iraklis.”

This catches you off-guard. “Iralkis?” you splutter, “But that would mean...” It would mean he had been operating in secret, you realise, working to spread the word of the church among the Iraklin. That sort of thing might as well be spying or acts of terror, so far as the Iraklin government is concerned – an attempt at undermining the strength of the nation. All this must show on your face, as Alexander lets out a hollow laugh.

“That's right. None of this was... “official” church activity, of course. Nevertheless, that was the situation. He was spreading the faith, and I was keeping him safe,” his expression sours, “I was supposed to be keeping him safe. I don't know how it happened, but the nation found us. They sent someone after us – an assassin. He strangled my charge to death, but I was able to escape him. I very nearly died in their heathen city, but I managed to make my way back to Carthul. My superiors...”

“They didn't take it so well,” you guess, “Why are you telling me this?”

“I wonder,” Alexander muses, “Perhaps because I've seen some of your memories, in that maze of illusions. Dark memories – unclean Nadir rituals, lives you've taken... Just snippets, but still enough to burden me. I dislike feeling like I'm in someone's debt, and this was the only way I could think to even the scales.”

“Debt? I don't understand you at all,” you mutter, “Look, there is no debt. If you really want to do me a favour, just go and let me get some sleep.”

“Of course. You'll need your rest,” he smirks a little, rising to leave. As he stands at the doorway, he looks around at you. “But do spare a thought for the sake of your soul,” he urges, “These Nadir ways will lead you down a dark path.”

With that, he turns and shows himself out.

[1/2]

>>2553230

Alone in the infirmary, you lean back in bed and let out a low groan. Alexander's unexpected confession sits strangely with you, but you can't figure out why. It's not that what he told you was so surprising – you've long wondered if the church has been attempting such things – but maybe... his reasons for telling you? It's almost as if his story had been a warning of some kind.

“I've seen your past,” you mutter to yourself, trying and failing to imitate Alexander's cultured tones, “I know what you're trying to do.”

Paranoia, surely. If Alexander had seen anything dangerous in your thoughts, would he really have left it at just a subtle warning? Would he have warned you at all? Wearily shaking your head, you try and dismiss the paranoid thoughts. Best not to dwell on such things now – and besides, you're probably not doing anything illegal. A Free Captain chasing after some rumoured treasure is the oldest story in the book.

Most times, of course, that story ends in either disaster or failure. Not this time, you promise yourself, you won't fail.

-

You sleep for a while more, waking to find Grace sitting by your bedside with a thick book open in her lap. She looks better now, although her face is still pale. Looking up from her book as you croak a dry nonsense sound, she passes across a glass of water. “Has the doctor checked you over yet?” you ask, as soon as you can speak once more, “You looked dreadful back in the vault.”

“It... wasn't much fun,” she admits, fidgeting in her seat, “I kept hearing strange things, sounds and voices and... stranger things than either of those. If I'd been on my own, I'm not sure how I would have coped with it.”

“You would have coped,” you assure her, “You're stronger than you think.”

“I don't know about that,” Grace laughs, leaning forwards and lowering her voice, “I made Freddy sing along with the hymn. The Organ was so loud that I could barely hear her, but... it helped. I'm sure that she must be annoyed at me for it, but she didn't argue. Orders are orders, she said!”

You chuckle, wincing as it sends pain shooting through your arm. “Giving orders now, are you?” you joke, “You'll be taking my place soon enough.”

“Oh no! No!” Grace yelps, her eyes growing wide before she realises that you're joking. Sighing wearily at your antics, she reaches into the small bag beneath her chair. “Speaking of Freddy. She took Alexander down to Salim aboard the Eliza. He said that it was urgent that he spoke to his superiors as soon as possible, and he was making all kinds of veiled threats, so...” she shrugs, “But now that he's gone, I thought that you might want a look at this.”

With that, she places the key fragment – wrapped within one of Gunny's dirty shirts – onto the table next to you.

[2/3]

>>2553333

As Grace silently leaves the infirmary, you unfold the shirt and look at the key fragment. It's just like the others, crafted from some dark and tarnished iron. Bare, save for a single glyph carved into it – the glyph for “impurity”, if you're not mistaken. Maybe that was why it had such a strong influence on Saint Alma, you think, although the key itself is a thing of Nadir. Bracing yourself for what you know is coming, you reach down and touch the cold iron. You feel-

-

Snow, cold and slushy, blowing into your face, carried on a cold wind. Opening your eyes, you look around at the alien landscape surrounding you. These are the Nightlands, you recall, somewhere between dream and memory. Snowy rocks surround you, along with a ring of people. Behind you are a motley group of savages, the blind old man – your “guide” here – and the witch among them. Ahead of you, blocking the path ahead, a group of stern figures awaits. Their grey robes and lifeless faces remind you of Rub'al, while the spears they carry make you think of the stone soldiers.

“It seems they mean to bar your passage,” the old man murmurs, his voice carrying to you, “They sent a champion to fight him, and... ah, here they are now.”

A single figure approaches you, pointing a spear towards you in a proud challenge. This one is more notably female, a single braid of hair left on her otherwise bald scalp. A sword is pressed into your hand as the barbarians retreat a few paces, leaving you and the champion to fight. Not seeing any alternative, you return her salute.

No more than a few seconds later, she lunges at you and slices high. The spear's crescent blade slips through the air above you as you duck, but the champion dances away before you can retaliate. Here, in the dream, your body is as light and uninjured as ever – wonderfully so, in fact, with the blade feeling utterly right in your hand. Pressing the attack, you swing the sword at her stomach and sway aside as she brings the spear cutting downwards. Locked together in this violent dance, you alternate between clashing blades and circling each other.

The longer you trade blows, the more frustrated you feel. This isn't the point, you realise, you weren't shown this vision in order to spar with this woman. Throwing all your frustration into an attack, you duck low and dash into her, slipping under her hasty counter and bashing her with your shoulder. Her attack left her off balance, and she topples easily. Planting a foot on her chest, you rest the edge of the sword against her neck.

Silence, and then the old man speaks. “You are the victor, as was he,” he announces, “But will you do what he did with her?”

“What did HE do?” you ask, but the old man simply steps back and shakes his head. Looking down at the woman, you...

>Spare her life
>Execute her
>Other

>>2553376
>Spare her
A thief, not a killer

>>2553376
>Spare her life
We're just here for the ring.

>>2553376
>Spare her life
Then help her up and thump your chest out of respect? I dunno, I imagine these barbarians respect strength and honor since they have this trial to begin with. Maybe 'He' absorbed this group of barbarians with his own.

>>2553376
>>Spare her life
>And either secure her word of good behavior or rope her up to ensure it anyways.

The woman looks up at you with hard eyes, her expression set in stone. She was prepared to die from the moment she challenged you, and this end seems as acceptable as any other. Still holding the blade to her throat, you look around you. The Nadir savages behind you wait with a barely contained frenzy, with the Zenith dwellers watch with impassive eyes. Unable to bear the weight of so many staring eyes, you look back down at the woman.

“This is just a dream,” you say aloud, “Why does any of this matter?”

“Indeed, it is a dream,” the old man responds, “So why do you hesitate?”

Letting out a low hiss, you take the sword away from the woman's neck and instead offer her your hand. Her eyes widen a little, and she hesitates for a second before allowing you to pull her upright. As you help her up, the rest of the Zenith dwellers retreat and melt away into mountains. The old man approaches you, studying you with his blind eyes. You sense something change, something shift, although you can't say what it is. “He chose differently,” the old man tells you, “He killed their champion, and led his men to ravage her people's home.”

“So he wasn't just a thief, then,” you mutter, “My predecessor. He's starting to sound more like a warlord.” The old man says nothing to this, simply brushing past you and heading for the path ahead. “Hey, wait!” you snap, hurrying to catch up with him. Until now, you've never felt as though you had much control over this place, the Nightlands, but that seems to be changing. “Who are you?” you hiss, grabbing the old man by the arm, “What do YOU get out of all this?”

He stops and turns to you. “I am just a simple mentor,” he murmurs, smiling to himself, “A guide along this crooked path – but the time will come when I can no longer guide you. Already, you have started to stray from the path.”

“Because I didn't do what HE did?” you ask, and the old man nods slowly. Grimacing, you look up at the winding path ahead. “This is the way to the treasure vault, isn't it?” you think aloud, “What's waiting there?”

“All that has been taken from you,” the mentor replies, walking off ahead. The other barbarians follow him, filing past you in silence. Soon, it's just you and the defeated Zenith champion left standing in the clearing.

Acutely aware of the spear still lying at her feet, you turn away from her and march on ahead. A moment passes, and then you hear snow crunching as she starts to follow you. The snow grows thicker as you walk, pelting you in the face. You reach up to wipe your face clean, and-

-

And you wake in the real world, feeling wetness on your cheeks.

[1/2]

>>2553444

After stashing the third key fragment in your quarters, you hesitate for a moment before wandering down to the engine room. It wasn't really a conscious decision on your part that led you down there, but it simply... seemed like the right thing to do. Keziah is already there when you arrive, sitting in a loose circle of papers and studying them intensely. Her concentration is so intense that she doesn't notice you for a while. It's strange to see her frowning so much, occasionally gnawing at a fingernail or tugging at her hair.

Standing in the doorway, you call out a greeting. At the sound of your voice, she perks up and gives you a bright smile, waving for you to come in. “Good to see you up and about, boss, damn good!” she chirps, “Sit down, make yourself at home!”

“This is my ship,” you remind her, “I'm always at home.”

“Ach,” she laughs, waving away your comment, “How are you feelin'?”

“Not bad. The doc shot me up with some powerful drugs,” you reply with a forced smile. You pause for a moment, and then you find yourself telling her all about the latest vision. Everything from sparing the Zenith champion's life, to the new feeling of control you felt. She listens carefully, nodding in all the right places, and then she sighs. “I don't know, maybe I just needed to get that off my chest,” you conclude with a shrug, “What do you think?”

“I dinnae... I don't know, Milos,” Keziah admits, “My mother would really know more about this sort of thing than I would.”

“Hmm,” you think aloud, “She DID invite us all for dinner...”

“Ah, bugger,” she sighs, “I was hoping you would have forgotten about that...”

>I'm going to pause things here for today, but I'll continue this tomorrow
>Sorry for the delays today!

>>2553511
Thanks for running!

How unappealing are the dinners Mauve makes? Are we going to have to choke down boiled slug stew? Salted newts? Grilled mosquito patties?

>>2553511
Thanks for running Moloch.

Did Alexander see our Nadir hand?

>>2553549
Things were pretty messy at the time, so even if he did see it he wouldn't have noticed anything. Our hand is still pretty normal looking, after all

>>2553520
You never know, Maeve might be a wonderful chef!

>>2553663
>Eating diner with keziah and meave
I get the feeling this is going to be amazing. thanks for running Moloch!

>>2553511
I imagine the vault will be kept even tighter after alexander's report.

....but we actually HAVE confirmed that resurrection is possible, haven't we? Bring the unburned, pure body, shine that light down without adding impurity business anywhere, and...

Did we keep any shards of that mirror we broke? Or the flower vines?


Could the staff's abrahad be tainted if zombie alma got her hands on it?

>>2553799
Resurrection is possible, in a very "yes, but..." sense of the word. For almost anyone, death would probably be better than the end results.
No fragments of the mirror or the vines. For what it's worth, they wouldn't have possessed any notable qualities.
The staff's Abrahad could potentially be influenced by Alma, although it would need to be in contact with her for a long time. Years rather than days or hours.

>>2553511
Thanks for running!

>>2553882
Here's a crazy question. We saw everyone else's memories when the pleonite core was unstable, but could we see the memories of an abrahad statue, sort of like the memory Grace was in? Specifically, if we brought Priscilla in, could we potentially figure out where she came from? It didn't seem like we saw the memories of our charm, but maybe it didn't have anything to remember.

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

155 KB JPG

This Zenith air is no good for you. Despite your best efforts, you've not been able to sleep for any more than an hour at a stretch. Every time you try, you end up waking a short while later with cold sweat dampening your sheets and a head filled with distorted images. Scenes from Saint Alma's martyrdom, with your own crew prepared to carry out the stoning. Grotesquely meaty flowers opening and closing around bloodshot, unblinking eyes. Endless plains of flat white stone...

A common side-effect of the analgesia, according to Doctor Barnum. You wish that you could believe that.

Beneath the bandages, your arm is already starting to itch. You'll need to take some time off, to give the wound time to heal. That's not such a bad thing, especially in light of Alexander's enigmatic threats. After pulling off a successful job, it's best to lie low for a while – your father told you that, in one of his rare lessons. He never seemed to follow his own advice, or maybe he just never had any successful jobs.

Either way, taking some time off won't kill you. Even if you weren't injured, you'd probably take some time out after everything that the Vault of the Sun put you through. “Awful place,” you mutter, “The church is welcome to it.”

“Hmm?” Grace asks, looking up from her book, “Did you say something, captain?”

“Just talking to myself,” you assure her. Grace tilts her head to the side and gives you a curious look, but eventually she goes back to her book. You're still not sure why she asked to sit in your quarters and read, but shooing her away seemed like too much work. So, you allowed it. “Say,” you ask as an afterthought, “Do you know anything about Nadir cooking?”

“I'm sorry, captain, but that's not really my area of study,” she apologises, “Were you thinking of cooking the chief engineer a nice meal?”

“Me, cooking? That would probably end badly,” you chuckle, shaking your head at her suggestion, “No, Maeve invited us all to dinner a while back, and I was wondering what sort of thing to expect. Fish probably, seeing as she lives by the ocean.” Yawning, you rub your eyes and glance wistfully at your bed. Later, you promise yourself, once you're back in air that's better suited to restful sleep.

A firm knock at the door causes you both to look up. At your call, Freddy opens it and gives you a brisk nod. “I apologise for leaving the ship without permission, captain,” she snaps, “But I thought that you might appreciate getting Alexander out of the way. The Eliza is docked now. What are your new orders?”

“Well, you'd better tell Dwight to fly us down to Nadir,” you sigh, looking down at your bandaged arm, “Seeing as how I'm out of action for the time being.”

[1/2]

>>2554505
It's an interesting idea, and not one that occurred to me. It could work, yes, although getting access to the core might be difficult

>>2555609

Returning to Monotia always feels comforting, in a way that you've never been entirely comfortable with. Despite your misgivings, you really can't deny that leaving Zenith behind feels like shedding a heavy burden. For the first time in what you know to be hours, but what seems like days, you feel calm and relaxed. When you take a few steps out of the ship and watch the chaos of the Monotia aerodrome, you have to wonder if you're the only person here who feels that way.

As you're returning to the ship, Keziah calls out to you and gestures for you to follow her back to the engine room. There, you're not surprised to see a circle drawn on the floor in white chalk – a summoning circle for a messenger daemon. Alexander's words return to you as you sit down opposite the witch, his talk of Nadir magic leading you down a dark path. Maybe he's right or maybe he's wrong, but you're already too far down that path to turn back now.

Dust swirls as the little daemon is called up, scattering a few loose papers and causing your wounded arm to groan with a hollow pain. “Maeve,” Keziah announces, “We would like to accept your kind offer of dinner, and perhaps discuss a few things in person. Uh... okay, that's basically it.”

The daemon vanishes for a moment, soon reappearing and contorting itself into a crude imitation of Maeve's face. “Tomorrow would be best,” the reply comes, “I have been woefully busy of late, and so I would be a terrible host. Come tomorrow, and you will be more than welcome.” Even before that last word has finished, the daemon splits apart and drifts back to wherever it calls home.

“Tomorrow, huh?” Keziah repeats glumly, “Oh well, that means I've got a wee bit of time to get ready and all. Silver clouds and all that.”

“That's not...” you begin, before sighing and giving up, “I'm going to find something to do. Just sitting around and waiting feels like a waste of time.”

“Oh, aye? I heard that Caliban was lookin' for a library. I dinnae reckon he'll find one here, but he seemed set on the idea. Grace probably put him up to it,” the witch scratches her head as she thinks for a moment more, “Oh, and I passed Blessings on the way down. He was talkin' about doing some shootin'. I told him that if he wants to do some shootin', there are some pretty rough areas around here!”

“Live fire training might be a little much for him,” you sigh. He'll probably be with Freddy – at least, you hope he is. Best to have someone responsible around just in case. Keziah's mention of rough areas, though... it makes you wonder about how Morey is doing, him and all his crooked friends. It's been a while since you last saw him.

>Head to Morey's Pit and check out the scene
>Go with Blessings to do a little shooting
>Accompany Caliban on his search for a library
>Other

>>2555611
>>Go with Blessings to do a little shooting

>>2555611
>Go with Blessings to do a little shooting
I imagine he would want to be filled in on what happened in the Vault if he hasn't already.

>>2555611
>THE PiT

>>2555611
>Accompany Caliban on his search for a library

By the way, what happened to Brookmeyer?

>>2555613
>>>Go with Blessings to do a little shooting

You'll go with Blessings, you decide. While he's doing a little shooting, you can tell him about the Vault of the Sun. In fact, you're a little surprised that he hasn't already come to you about it. Maybe your little injury was enough to warn him off, as if he thought that you wouldn't want to talk about it. You'll ask him when you see him, you think to yourself as you head over to the ship's armoury. There, you see Blessings and Gunny engaged in a quiet conversation as they examine a rack of guns, with Freddy lingering in the background.

“Thinking of doing a little training?” you ask, causing the two men to jolt around. To judge by the guilty looks on their faces, it wasn't just training that they were talking about.

“Yes! Ah, yes. A little bit of shooting,” Blessings nods quickly, “Captain, sir, do you know a good place to do it? Going all the way out into the woods is a little far, so...”

“Just pick a street. Preferably one without too many bystanders, but that's optional,” you tell him with a weary smile, “Monotia is that kind of place.” When he pales, you laugh and shake your head. “Don't worry, I'm only half joking. There's a good place on the outskirts of the city – it's the closest thing to a formal shooting range that Monotia has to offer,” you explain, “Gunny, were you coming along as well?”

“Considering it, brother,” he replies, “It can't hurt to do a little bit of practice now and then. These paws never were much good with the small guns, but that's no excuse for slacking off. Are you free? We'd welcome a guide.”

Nodding, you take a rifle from the rack and pass it across to Blessings. He fumbles with it, almost dropping the damn thing before slinging it over one shoulder. As you turn to lead the group away, you hear Freddy's sigh of exasperation.

-

“Um, captain?” Blessings whispers, “Are we really... welcome here?”

You glance around at the people about you, noting a distinct lack of friendly faces. This old warehouse is a popular spot for rough types learning to shoot, including men from Monotia's gangs. There's no law, written or unwritten, about people like you coming here, but a few of the lower kinds of scum seem to have spotted an easy target in Blessings. This attention hasn't gone unnoticed, and the boy looks like he might faint at any minute.

“Ignore them,” Freddy tells him bluntly, “You'll need to learn to ignore distractions if you want to get better. On a battlefield, you won't have the luxury of peace and quiet.”

“That's a bit much, sister,” Gunny laughs, “We're not throwing the lad onto a battlefield!”

“No,” she agrees, “But sometimes the battlefield comes to us. He'll need to be prepared for that.”

Maybe it's not too late to go with Caliban...

[1/2]

>>2555629
>He's currently in a Pastonne infirmary, recovering from his injuries.

>>2555658

As Gunny and Freddy argue back and forth, Blessings lets out a low sigh and shoulders the rifle. One wall of the warehouse is covered with sloppily painted targets, the metal wall speckled with the scars of gunfire. Setting his sights over a random target, Blessings squeezes the rifle's trigger. It's not a powerful gun, but the recoil still kicks him back a pace and the shot flies high, sparking a few inches above the target.

“You need to firm up your stance!” Freddy calls out, before looking around at you with a despairing look on her face, “Don't people here know about ricochets? Someone could lose an eye!”

“They know,” you assure her, “They just don't care.”

-

Although he takes some time to adjust to the rifle, it doesn't take long for Blessings to start making hits on his target. By the time he's finished, he's shooting straighter than most of the other people here – although that isn't saying much, considering how sloppy some of them are. Even so, you clap him on the shoulder and give him a smile. “A definite improvement,” you tell him, “You learn quickly, don't you?”

“Well, ah, I try,” he blushes, staring down at your boots for a moment, “Ah, captain, can we... talk? Outside, I mean. It's awfully... personal.” Leaving Freddy and Gunny to their shooting, you guide Blessing outside and lean back against the wall. It's a warm day, and it isn't long before you feel beads of sweat forming on the back of your neck. Even now that you're alone, Blessings seems reluctant to speak. Eventually, he lets out a hoarse croak and forces himself to speak. “Gunny told me,” he rasps, his mouth snapping shut as soon as those three words are spoken.

“About the vault,” you guess, “And everything else.”

“That's right,” Blessings swallows heavily, wetting his throat before continuing, “All my life, I've been raised to believe in the church's teachings. I mean, I still do – I don't mean to suggest that... Can I be blunt?”

“Please do,” you urge him. This could take all day if he doesn't just spit it out.

“What the church has taught me, and what you all saw in the vault...” the boy mumbles, “They don't... fit. They can't both be true, can they? Zenith is supposed to be a holy place, a beautiful place, but what Gunny told me... it all sounds so horrible!”

This, you realise, is exactly the sort of thing that Alexander was trying to prevent. Even a single seed of doubt can cause irreparable damage if left unchecked. Blessings falls silent, giving you a pleading look.

>You're right to have your doubts. The church isn't as clean as looks
>A truly faithful person wouldn't be asking these questions
>You should focus on the good that the church does, that's what really matters
>Other

>>2555733
>Don't forget that a lot of it was messed up by....impurities. Guess now we know why they were so serious about keeping things clean.

>>2555733
>You're right to have your doubts. The church isn't as clean as it looks
but
>You should focus on the good that the church does, that's what really matters

>>2555733
>You're right to have your doubts. The church isn't as clean as looks but nothing ever really is. People aren't perfect. Yet in spite of that the church does a lot of good as well. You should focus on that and use the experience or knowledge of their past mistakes to do even more good.

>>2555733
>You're right to have doubts, the church isn't as clean as it looks. Nothing is.

“You're right to have your doubts, Blessings. When you stop doubting something, you stop questioning it. That's when you really need to worry. It's a bitter lesson to learn, but nothing is as clean as it looks – the church included,” you pause for a moment as you think of Alexander, and his covert duties. “But you can't let that ruin anything,” you add, “Remember all the good that the church does. This doesn't take away from any of that.”

“That's true,” Blessings agrees with a weak nod, “The church cares for the sick, feeds the hungry... if the church was to collapse tomorrow, a great many people would suffer for it loss.”

“And you mustn't forget that what we saw in the vault was... a mistake, a disastrous mistake caused by impurities,” you point out, “Who knows that the Vault of the Sun would have been like in its prime? It might have been the beautiful, holy place that Zenith is supposed to be. I guess now we both know why the church is so serious about cleanliness.”

“Yes... yes!” the boy looks up suddenly, “It's just like the “Wisdom of the Ignorant”, we have to learn from our mistakes and better ourselves!”

Taken aback by his sudden shift from melancholy to mania, you take a moment to fumble for something to say. “Sure, that's it,” you offer eventually, “Without new experiences, we'd never get anywhere. The church is no different.”

Blessings smiles beatifically, his little crisis of faith settled for now. If only all problems could be solved quite so easily, you think to yourself. “But, you know...” the boy admits, “I don't think I'm going to tell mother about this little adventure. I don't think she'd approve.”

The grave seriousness with which he says this causes you to laugh aloud. It's not his mother that he'd have to worry about – it's Alexander and his ilk.

-

As you're walking back to the aerodrome, you find yourself thinking back to Blessings' doubts. For a moment, he had been so desperate for an answer that he would have swallowed anything you told him. You could have really twisted the knife, crushing his faith with a few choice words, and he would have thanked you for it. The idea of holding that kind of sway over another person, even just for a few moments, leaves a guilty feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Shoving the ugly thought from your mind, you look around at Gunny. “Well?” you ask him, “Getting any better?”

“Not really, brother,” he replies cheerfully, “But it was fun, getting a chance to blast away for a bit. I can see why those other lads were enjoying themselves so much.”

“You were supposed to be taking it seriously,” Freddy reminds him, a note of warning in her voice, “Honestly...”

“You should relax and have fun more often,” Blessings chips in, “Gunny told me that you can sing. I'd like to hear that sometime!” Gunny chuckles as she winces, even though you can see a smile fighting to make its way onto her face.

[1/2]

>>2555840
>It's not his mother that he'd have to worry about – it's Alexander and his ilk.

>inb4 his mother is the grandmaster of the Brotherhood of Nuada

>>2555840

When you arrive back at the Spirit of Helena, you find Caliban sitting in the cargo hold with a look of intense concentration on his face. Priscilla lies on the ground in front of him, with a piece of chalk placed within... her... reach. Once the initial confusion passes, you realise what he's trying to do. Getting the Abrahad limb to write something out might be the quickest way of learning what – if anything – it might be thinking. Unfortunately, things don't seem to be working out.

“She just won't write anything,” Caliban complains, “I can get her to hold the chalk, but that's all.”

The others hurry away, eager to be somewhere – anywhere – else. “There was a place in the vaults where we were able to catch glimpses of each others memories,” you tell the hunter, “If you brought it there, maybe...”

“She,” he corrects you, “You really think that would work?”

“Hell, I've got no idea how any of this works,” you admit with a laugh, “And we might not even be able to get inside there. The church probably has that place sealed up tight by now. All I'm saying is, it might work if this doesn't. I'd like to know what she's thinking just as much as you.” Almost as soon as the words leave your mouth, a new idea occurs to you. “Maybe the church would like to know as well,” you wonder, “That might be our ticket back in. Maybe not immediately, mind you – they've got a lot of cleaning up to do.”

“I'm sure,” Caliban mutters, before leaning down and pressing the stick of chalk into the white hand's grip. “Come on, Priscilla!” he calls out, his words causing the fingers to close around the chalk, “Write something for me. Anything!” The hand trembles a little, but otherwise shows no sign of writing. Far from being dissuaded, Caliban flashes you a triumphant grin. “That's more of a reaction than I've ever been able to get,” he announces boldly, “Maybe she likes you, captain. Go on, you try it!”

“You're kidding,” you reply, looking Caliban in the eye.

“I'm deadly serious,” he insists, his voice deadpan.

>Sorry, but I've got other things to do. Incredibly important things
>Oh what the hell, I'll give it a shot...
>Other

>>2555905
>Oh what the hell, I'll give it a shot...

>>2555905
>>Oh what the hell, I'll give it a shot...

You know maybe it doesn't know how to write. Hell it could even predate writing. Ask it to draw something instead.

>>2555905
>Oh what the hell, I'll give it a shot...
maybe Caliban needs to read it a story and go over the letters.

Also
>let me just set this abrahad monster charm away somewhere before getting close to Priscilla

>>2555905
>>Oh what the hell, I'll give it a shot...

Oh, what the hell. After everything else you've done, talking to a severed arm is hardly the worst way of spending some time. Before you do anything, though, you take Maeve's charm off and set it down on the opposite side of the cargo bay. You're not sure if it would cause any problems, but it's better safe than sorry. Returning to Caliban, you sit down opposite him and look down at the arm, trying to figure out just where your life went so wrong. “Priscilla?” you ask, still unsure if Caliban is playing a joke on you or not, “Can you... write something for me?”

The hand twitches a little, the chalk leaving a faint marking on the floor of the cargo hold. It's just a shaky line, but Caliban claps his hands together nonetheless. “It's really working,” he whispers, speaking more to himself than to you, “What is it about that she likes so much?”

“My masculine charm, obviously,” you reply, rolling your eyes.

“Maybe you smell of those vaults. It might remind her of home,” Caliban counters, “Yes, that must be it!”

“Hey!” you snap, “Don't make me regret helping you out!” Glaring at the hunter for a moment more, you look back down to Priscilla and sigh. “Maybe she doesn't understand writing,” you suggest as an afterthought, “This could all be a waste of time if she doesn't have any concept of language. Maybe drawing would be better.”

Caliban frowns. “You might be right there,” he concedes, “I was showing her a book earlier, but I don't think she understood any of it.”

A moment of dead silence. “Caliban,” you point out, “She doesn't have any eyes. What were you expecting?”

“Oh, so suddenly you're the expert around here?” the hunter groans, “I've been trying anything I could think of, just to see if any of it worked. Cut me some slack here!”

“Okay, okay, there's no need to get worked up about it!” you shoot back with a grimace. Looking down, you focus your attention on the arm. “Keep going, Priscilla, you're doing very well,” you tell it, “Write, draw, do whatever you want. We'd like to know more about you.”

Despite yourself, you feel a vague excitement forming within you as the limb moves with new purpose. Chalk squeaks as Priscilla drags it across the floor – and not just in a random line, either, but very definitely writing out the letter P. As if gaining confidence, Priscilla is quicker to write the next letter, a blocky R. Before you can get too carried away, though, you hear the door open.

“Bloody hell!” Keziah cries, “What are you two doin' over there?”

“Just talking to an arm,” you call back, “Nothing to get alarmed about.”

Muttering something obscene under her breath, Keziah turns and walks out. Looking back to Priscilla, you let out a gasp as you read what she has written.

PRAISE GOD.

[1/2]