>>2981667

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

“So,” Freddy asks, looking up into the churning clouds above, “Creation and destruction, they said.”

“It's complicated,” you grunt.

“I'll bet,” the pilot agrees, “These things always are. That's the wrong flare, by the way.”

You look down at the bulky gun in your hand, and the red tinted cartridge you were loading into it. She's right, of course, but your thoughts were miles away. “Right. Green for go,” you mutter to yourself, fumbling out the fat flare and slotting in the correct round. That would be a bad joke, to get this far only to mistakenly abort the attack because of a foolish mistake. “Feeling okay?” you ask, partly to mask your blunder, “I mean, your head...”

“I'll feel a lot better once I get the chance to wash this blood out of my hair,” Freddy replies with a wry smile, “But it doesn't hurt. That little healer rubbed some salve into it, and it's perfectly numb. She's got a talent, that one. Last time I saw her, she was chasing after Caliban and trying to stop him from exploring those side tunnels.”

“The side tunnels,” you repeat, “You mean the side tunnels that we were specifically warned against going down?” Freddy replies to this with a shrug, and you sigh heavily. Glancing back around at the cave entrance, you spot Gunny staring forlornly up at the ravaged corpse. It's hard to guess what he could be thinking – nothing pleasant, to judge by his gloomy expression. Masque sits nearby, although it's clear that the two men are trying to ignore each other. At least they're not trying to kill each other.

“I can round the others up,” Freddy adds quietly, “You know, get everyone together and ready for the attack. We shouldn't tarry for much longer, after all. The longer we stay here, the more we risk one of Eishin's patrols finding us.”

You're not so sure about that. While you couldn't say how you know, you feel certain that there won't be any patrols tonight. Maybe it's something about the absolute stillness of the failing night, the absolute silence. The pieces have been set up, and it's too late to change things now. So, perhaps you have time to wait. Time to... savour the moment.

Perhaps.

>Gather your people and signal the attack
>Head down into the side tunnels to find Caliban
>Check on Gunny as Masque
>Speak with Freddy while she's here... (Write in)
>Other

>>2981668
>Speak with Freddy while she's here... (Write in)
"So what do you think about this whole 'kingship' business?"

And on a lighter note. Gossip time.
"Sooo what did you think of the Chancellor meeting her face to face? Probably good considering the smile you had plastered on your face."

>>2981668
>>Other
It's a bit from since we are taking a breather but we should burn that mutilated witch's body. Maybe right before we leave.

>>2981697
>from
grim*

>>2981668
I can get behind >>2981687
Almost wanted to go into the side tunnels, but now isn't the time for a risk like that. Maybe after the battle?

“Give them some time,” you tell Freddy, shrugging as you gesture back towards the cave mouth, “I think we can take our time here.” When she doesn't look convinced, you change the subject and press on. “So what do you make of this “kingship” business?” you ask, “I've been wondering what you might make of it.”

“I'm not entirely sure, captain,” the pilot admits, “It's all a little beyond me. I can say this, though – people who try and bring about great changes are never popular. Even if those changes are for the better, there will always be people who object. No matter what you end up doing, you might end up making a few enemies... but what else is new?” Taking off her cap, Freddy runs a hand through her hair and winces as she touches her injured scalp. “If you're asking me what I'd do, if I was in your position...” she continues, “I don't know what I'd do. Nothing, probably – I'm not the sort to take command like that. Better that someone else gives the orders.”

“I guess that'll have to be me, then,” you remark with a dry laugh, “You're not worried about what I might do?”

Freddy looks surprised, as if the idea had never occurred to her. “I trust your judgement, captain,” she declares, “Most of the time, at least. The other times, you've got good people to help keep you out of the wrong kind of trouble.” Saying this, she glances across at Gunny and nods to herself. It seems, for a few moments at least, as if she's about to say something else, but she remains silent.

“Well, I appreciate the vote of confidence,” you reply after a pause, “Speaking of good people, what did you make of Chancellor Wellager? Judging by how much you were grinning, I'd say she made a positive impression on you.”

“You'd be right. I always wondered what she was like in person. I half expected her to be awful – the sort of haughty terror that I tried to hide from as a child. You know the sort, right?” she guesses, “So when I got a chance to meet her, and I realised that I couldn't have been more wrong... well, you saw how things played out. I barely knew what to say to her. Talk about embarrassing...”

“I've got something to help take your mind off it. Not what I'd call a pleasant task, mind you,” you tell her, gesturing for her to follow you as you start off towards the cave entrance. “I wanted to take that body down,” you explain, “Give them an honest cremation. It's not much, but it's the least we can do.”

Nodding in agreement, Freddy rolls up her sleeves and prepares herself for a spot of hard work. The idea of taking down a flayed and brutalised body doesn't seem to phase her much – at least, she doesn't show it if it does.

[1/2]

>>2981712

Your stomach lurches as you feel Freddy's boot digging into the small of your back. Grunting softly to yourself, you push off the ground and hold steady as the Iraklin shifts her position. By the time you're standing upright, with the woman standing on your shoulders, you feel about ready to pass it. This shouldn't be so difficult, but your body is rebelling against you. As much as you'd like to tell yourself that it's just the gruesome task you have to deal with, you suspect there's more to it than that.

“These nails are hammered in deep,” Freddy curses, “Gunny, do you have any tools on you?”

“Right here, sister,” Gunny replies, handing up a pair of pliers, “Never go anywhere without them.”

Keeping your eyes locked on the ground, you wince at the grisly sound of flesh tearing as Freddy pulls the nail free. Before she can work on the second nail, you hear a cry of alarm as the ravaged body falls free, the remaining flesh on its wrist giving way under the body's own weight. The weight on your shoulders suddenly lifts as Freddy pitches backwards, one of her wildly kicking feet almost smacking you in the back of the head. There is a loud thud as she hits the ground, then an equally loud groan of dismay.

“Well, sister, you got it down,” Gunny remarks with a wan laugh, “Got a little dirt on your face, though. Got a rag right here, if you want to wipe it-”

A thin scream, choked into a gurgle at the last second, causes you all to look around at the cave entrance. Branwen stands there, her eyes wide with shock as she stares at Freddy. Looking back around, you can see why. The Iraklin still holds the ravaged body close, a tacky smear of blood staining her face. “You mustn't!” the young healer squeaks, bustling over and flapping her hands at Freddy, “You... Mhallachd! Tha thu mallaichte!”

“Calm down, lass, calm down!” Gunny urges, taking the girl by the arm, “We were going to give them a decent funeral. Nothing wrong with that, is there?”

“I... no, I... that may be permissible,” Branwen relents, gesturing for Freddy to set the body down. Taking a small clay bottle out of her medicine box, she sprinkles a dark resin over the body as Gunny takes out a book of matches. Striking one, he tosses the tiny flame down onto the corpse. It ignites with a flash and a puff of smoke, the flammable resin catching light immediately. Staring down at the burning body, Branwen murmurs a quiet prayer to herself.

“Strange smell out here,” Caliban announces, emerging from the depths of the cave, “Are you cooking again, captain? I think you're getting better.”

[2/3]

>>2981745
damn. There's a corpse on fire but the one handing out burns is Caliban.

>>2981745
>“Strange smell out here,” Caliban announces, emerging from the depths of the cave, “Are you cooking again, captain? I think you're getting better.”
oof

>>2981745

A solemn air hangs over the impromptu funeral, stifling any attempt at conversation. Even Caliban doesn't offer much in the the way of comment once he realises that nobody is going to take the bait. The longer you stand there and watch the body burn, the more intensely you feel a lingering sensation of dread. Not a dread of Eishin's patrols, but of a more intangible threat. Freddy has long since wiped her face clean, but it's hard to think of her as anything but marked.

Shaking your head, you turn away and put some distance between you and the smell of burning flesh. As you walk, you pull out the flare gun and check it over once again. It's about time to get this show on the road – if you wait much longer, you might lose your nerve. As you toy with the bulky pistol, you hear soft footsteps approaching you from behind.

“I misspoke,” Branwen mumbles, “To burn her body was a kindness. It was... a surprise to see. In my village... my old village... handling the dead is a dangerous thing. For an outsider to do it is a terrible thing. But, ah, my village is gone now. Perhaps the ways of my ancestors are gone with it.”

There's nothing much you can say to that. “There's going to be an attack soon,” you tell her, raising the flare pistol, “You'd better be careful. Otherwise, you might get caught up in it. The soldiers that are coming won't have time to stop and ask questions – they'll shoot you if they spot you. Do you have somewhere to go?”

“If King Eishin is victorious, he will learn that I helped you and I will be punished. If King Eishin is defeated, this place will be reduced to ruins and the forest will reclaim it. As I have said, my old village is lost – I have no other place to go,” Branwen heaves a heavy sigh, “I must trust my fortunes to the Deep Forest. Perhaps I can find some place that will take me in – I have some modest skill as a healer, I can only hope that will buy me shelter. Do you, by chance, know of a place that might take me in?”

There's always Sybile, Maeve's village on the western shore. It's a bit of a trek, but you're fairly sure that Maeve would be willing to take the girl in. Otherwise, you're not sure what else you could suggest. Well, there is one other possibility...

>I'm sorry, but I can't help you. Just take cover with the Mavens and you'll be safe
>Travel to Sybile, on the western shore. They'll take you in
>Take shelter in my skiff for now. You can come aboard my ship when all this is over
>Other

>>2981780
>>Take shelter in my skiff for now. You can come aboard my ship when all this is over

>>2981780
>Take shelter in my skiff for now. You can come aboard my ship when all this is over
I think Barnum might like the help, and if his recent patients have been any indication, some Nadir medical perspective could really come in handy.

>>2981780
>Take shelter in my skiff for now. You can come aboard my ship when all this is over

Yay new companion

>>2981785
It also gives her way more options in case she doesn't want to stick around instead of trekking through the dangerous forest alone.

>>2981780
>Travel to Sybile, on the western shore. They'll take you in

With a faint sigh, you realise that things were always going to end this way. As soon as the idea started to form in your head, it became the only real choice ahead of you. “Take shelter in my skiff for now,” you tell Branwen, “When all of this is over, you can come aboard my ship. If you've got nowhere else to do, it's better than trusting yourself to the Deep Forest.” When your offer is met by silence, you laugh. “What?” you joke, “Not a fan of the idea?”

“A ship. No, an airship...” Branwen murmurs to herself, “Are they really safe?”

“Perfectly safe!” you assure her. Then, thinking of all the numerous close calls you've had in your career as a Free Captain, you correct yourself with a shrug. “Mostly safe,” you add, “Safer than wandering about alone out here, certainly.”

“I've never...” the young healer muses, but then she nods firmly. “I will accept this offer,” she decides, “What skills I have, I offer to you!”

As she turns and hurries back to where the skiff waits, you hear the others approaching. When you all stand ready, you raise the flare gun towards the sky. Your finger starts to tighten on the trigger, and-

“You have the right flare this time?” Freddy asks quickly, causing you to freeze, “The green flare?”

Caliban snorts with laughter, and you give the Iraklin a scowl. “I guess we'll just have to see for ourselves,” you grumble, adding a few last pounds of pressure to the heavy trigger pull. The gun discharges with a thump, sending the flare soaring high into the sky. A few seconds pass, and then it explodes into life. Sickly green light floods across the entire area, bathing you all in an uncanny glow.

“And there we go,” Gunny murmurs to himself, holding his staff closely as the flare climbs higher still. It seems to hang in the air for a few moments more, and then blinding white searchlights pierce through the cloud layer above. From far above you, you hear the rumbling drone of approaching engines.

Then drums, echoing out from Eishin's camp.

-

Already, the din of automatic gunfire is starting to fill the air as you skirt closer to the edge of Eishin's camp, sticking to the cover of the tree line and watching out for any sign of the king himself. The image of him, as seen in the changeling Imelda's memory, still burns in the front of your mind – you'll know him when you see him. A crooked tower – HIS tower – looms over the rest of the encampment, an eerie light burning in the uppermost windows. As you watch, the ground beneath your feet trembles restlessly.

“This isn't right,” Caliban mutters to you, “The land shouldn't shake like that. I don't know what Eishin is doing, but-”

Whatever else he has to say is drowned out by the roar of engines as a skiff cuts through the air above you. It swoops down low, large side doors already open, and a unit of Iraklin soldiers leap out with their rifles raised.

[1/2]

>>2981844

Almost as soon as they've landed, the Iraklin soldiers start taking fire from several directions at once. Plumes of dirt are kicked up around their feet as they scatter, firing on the nearest buildings as their transport lifts higher into the sky. Stilling hanging on inside it, you spot Al-Farabi sighting down the length of a long rifle as she searches for a target. Slung over her back is a featureless white staff – her Abrahad weapon, you assume, although she seems reluctant to use it.

Before you can dwell on that, a bullet slams into the tree next to you and showers you with splinters. So much for hanging back and taking stock of the situation. Freddy points towards a stone hut – one anonymous building among a dozen others – and you light it up with gunfire. The Iraklin rifles you were provided with are heavy and clumsy, definitely not what you're used to using, but they certainly pack a punch. After a few seconds of sustained fire, the hut has fallen silent and Freddy gestures for you to move forward. With the squad of white-cloaked Iraklins moving alongside you, you charge the hut.

Stray bullets pluck at the ground around you as you run across the open ground, circling around to the entrance. Inside, you see a pair of savages laid out in a crumpled pile, fallen rifles lying by their bodies. Crouching low, you take a moment to get your breath back.

“What's the plan, sir?” Freddy snaps, “Are we heading straight for the tower?”

“I wonder how Caldwell is doing,” Caliban muses. He refused an Iraklin rifle, instead taking the hunting piece he took from Captain Rusalka's dead body. After considering the maimed assassin for a moment, he shrugs. “His cosy little home isn't in the direct line of fire,” he decides, “He should be fine.”

The shattered wooden door bangs open, and you almost shoot Al-Farabi as she barges her way in. “There's a gathering of targets in the northern edge of the area,” she barks, “I saw them from the air. It looks like they're rallying around some... thing. He's not like the rest of them.” When you quickly describe Segharl, she shakes her head. “No, it's not him. No horn. He had a cloak, white like ours, and a long spear,” the churchwoman reports, “Whoever he was, I took a shot at him but he didn't seem to notice. I think he's preparing for a counter attack. Khusraw was headed his way to cut the attack off before it begins.”

She rattles off her report in a quick, curt tone, then rests her rifle in the hut's crumbling window frame. “Why are you still here?” she adds, glaring around at you, “What's your assignment?”

“Do we have an assignment?” Gunny thinks aloud.

>Head straight for Eishin's tower
>Seek out Caldwell
>Join Khusraw on the northern edge of the camp
>Other

>>2981886
I'm split between finding Caldwell and helping Khusraw, but Caldwell probably isn't sitting still for us to find him.

>Join Khusraw on the northern edge of the camp
Whatever is going on over there we might be able to stop.

>>2981886
>Help Khusraw

What are we even gonna do about Eishin? He's invincible. Just avoid him and break all his shit, don't go where he is.

>>2981886
>>Join Khusraw on the northern edge of the camp

>>2981906
We suspend him with cables so he isn't touching the ground and then we shoot him!

>>2981886
>Join Khusraw on the northern edge of the camp

>>2981906
Lift him with an airship. It always helps.

“Come on, we can't let Khusraw handle this on his own!” you snap, waving for the others to follow you, “Let's move!”

Al-Farabi glances around at you as you're leaving, her expression showing both surprise and a reluctant gratitude. “Take Sabin with you if you see him,” she calls after you, “If there's a daemon with them, he should be able to drive it back! His unit was approaching from the west, if you circle around...”

“Got it!” you add, slapping the churchwoman roughly on the shoulder before you head out into the pitched battle. The smell of smoke is already starting to fill the air, a few of the wooden shacks on the outer edge of the camp burning brightly. You couldn't guess whether it was the Iraklins or Eishin's people who started the fire, and it really doesn't matter much. What bothers you is the smoke itself – or what could be hiding within it. “Gunny, stay close!” you order, involuntarily ducking down as another skiff cuts above you.

“I hear you, brother,” Gunny growls, holding his staff close as he scans the area for any sight of the black smoke daemon.

-

On the western edge of the camp, hiding within a half-ruined dwelling, you find Sabin desperately fumbling at an Iraklin soldier. Blood bubbles out from beneath a folded scrap of cloth as the pudgy man struggles with the chest wound. Freddy looks down at the soldier, then shakes her head curtly. You're no doctor, but you know a fatal wound when you see it. Even so, Sabin is doing his best to fight against the inevitable. “H-help me!” he stammers, looking up at you, “I don't know what... I'm not that kind of doctor!”

“Just keep doing what you're doing, brother, and say a few prayers,” Gunny suggests, kneeling down beside Sabin and fumbling a fresh – relatively speaking – rag out of his pocket. As he starts to fold it into an improvised dressing, you glance down at the white weapon lying in the rubble. Not a weapon at all, you realise, but a long clarion horn. You have to assume that it's no conventional instrument, but its true function remains a mystery.

“Leave him with me,” Masque rumbles, looking down at the wounded soldier, “I understand the bodies of men. I will take care of him.”

“No!” Gunny protests, immediately realising what Masque really means.

Sabin flinches, then bends over the dying soldier once again. “I can still help him!” the churchman insists, “I can... I have to...”

Hissing a curse, you feel the ground shudder beneath you again. It's pointless, Sabin remaining here, but... letting Masque put the soldier down as if he was a wounded beast?

>Leave Sabin here and keep moving. You don't need his help
>Take Sabin with you, let Masque “care” for the wounded
>Try to explain the situation... (Write in)
>Other

>>2981958
This world wouldn't have the equivalent of morphine does it?

>>2981965
>It does, yes, there are various forms of analgesia. Members of the attacking forces would have a kit with some ampoules of it. If given all at once, it would likely be enough for an overdose

>>2981965
Well if it does use it on the soldier.

>>2981958
>Try to explain the situation... (Write in)
"Sabin he isn't going to make it. The only thing you can for him is to make him comfortable during his passing. We need your help so we can support those that can still survive."

>>2981958
>>Other
Use the soldier's ampoules to keep him comfortable

>>2981958
Supporting >>2981979

>>2981958
>"None of us are that kind of doctor. Make him comfortable and move on."

Grabbing Freddy by the arm, you steer her a few paces away and gesture down at the wounded soldier. “Listen. Iraklin kit – does it include any analgesia? Any way to deaden his pain?” you ask her quietly, “There isn't much else we can do for the poor bastard.”

“Regular issue kit, no. Special assault equipment... yes, it should have some medical supplies. I don't know exactly what...” shaking her head, she crosses back to the wounded soldier and strips a small pouch off of his belt. Sabin cries out in protest, but the pilot ignores him. “Laudare, four ampoules,” she announces, holding the pouch up to you before showing it to Sabin, “Why didn't you give him any of this?”

“I don't...” Sabin stammers, shaking his head frantically. This, you realise, is his first time seeing real combat – a hell of a way to get started. It's a wonder that he's able to function at all. As Freddy takes one ampoule – and then, after a brief second of hesitation a second one – you kneel down next to Sabin.

“Listen to me, Sabin,” you hiss, holding him firmly by the shoulder as Freddy stabs both ampoules into the soldier's upper arm, “He's not going to make it. There's no sense in deluding ourselves here – he's a dead man already. The best we can do is make him comfortable during his passing. So let us give him the injection, you can say a few prayers for him, but then we need to move. Without your help, a lot more people might die. Are you with me?”

A few seconds crawl past, and then Sabin nods like a man slowly waking from sleep. Picking up his clarion horn, he clutches the instrument protectively to his chest. Caliban helps him to his feet, giving you a dark shrug. How much use the churchman might be, you can't say, but at least he won't be wasting his time here.

You're moving on.

-

Wind plucks at your clothes as you hurry northwards, and you feel a curious dizziness sweep through you. This isn't illness – this feels like a sudden gain in altitude, as if you were clinging to the roof a skiff as it raced towards Zenith. You're not the only one who feels it either, as every one of your companions stumbles against the sudden obstacle. Ahead, you see what Al-Farabi was talking about. Gathered around a smaller set of ruins, some ancient structure rendered formless by age, you see a large group of Eishin's soldiers. They hoot and holler abuse at the Iraklins taking cover nearby, occasionally firing a badly-aimed volley at the uniformed men.

Khusraw is flattened against the back of a crumbling pillar, a vile expression on his face and a massive sword stabbed down into the ground before him.

“Come out, churchman!” a mocking voice taunts, “Come out and die!”

[1/2]

>>2982027
We shoulda taken more flares so we could call in air strikes.

>>2982027

Looking out from cover, you spot the man Al-Farabi described. A handsome enough sort – surprisingly so – clad in a suit of leather armour dyed the colour of old blood. His hair is long and pale, flapping in a wind that constantly changes direction. A white cloak, sewn with a pattern of hunting birds, flaps around him as well, occasionally revealing his withered left arm, the useless limb strapped to his body. In his right hand, he carries a long halberd engraved with the image of writhing snakes.

“A new face!” the warrior jeers, “I am Vissan of the Four Winds, and no bullet can find me. Go on, outsider, perhaps you can be the one to touch me?”

Even before his taunt has finished, you're raising your rifle to fire on him. His bulky form fills your sights, and yet every one of your shots flies wide of the mark, plucked out of the air by violent winds. As Vissan laughs haughtily, you see something behind him – the squirming shape of a bird formed out of loose dirt and wind. A daemon, some spirit that the warrior has bound to his own purpose. Feanor's blade agrees with you, the sword burning brightly in your hand when you draw it.

“We just can't hit the bastard!” Khusraw curses, “Or any of his curs. We even had... look, now!” Engines wail as a skiff flies overhead, the side-mounted autocannons blazing away at Vissan, who responds by thrusting his halberd up at the tiny airship. Even those heavy shells are thrown aside by a potent wind, and the skiff itself is almost blasted out of the sky. Pulling up, it flees away before the turbulence brings it crashing down. “Bullets won't end this!” the churchman continues, ripping his sword out of the ground as if it weighed nothing at all, “You men, give me covering fire. I'll take his head and end this!”

“You fool!” Freddy snaps, leaning out from her own cover and spraying a long burst of gunfire at the Nadir forces. None of the barbarians seem to fall, but simple instinct forces some of them to duck down. Closing the distance in a matter of seconds, Khusraw charges Vissan and swings his mighty sword down in a heavy arc, the blade cleaving into the ground as Vissan leaps back, jumping far further than any man should be able to jump. Landing neatly, Vissan thrusts forwards with his halberd and sends Khusraw stumbling back, blood dripping from the back of one hand.

A mocking wound, deliberately shallow - Vissan is toying with his opponent, his minions hanging back and cheering him on. If you intervene, though, you get the feeling that they won't just stand by and let you interfere.

>Cut into Vissan's warriors while they're distracted
>Fight alongside Khusraw and take on Vissan
>Focus on getting Gunny close enough for his staff to do its work
>Other

>>2982093
>>Focus on getting Gunny close enough for his staff to do its work

>>2982093
>Focus on getting Gunny close enough for his staff to do its work

>>2982093
>Focus on getting Gunny close enough for his staff to do its work
Banish the daemon, shoot the man.

>>2982093
>Give Gunny cover

“Gunny, stay with me!” you snarl, grabbing the burly man by the arm, “We get that staff close enough, and the saint will do the rest.”

“Got it, brother!” Gunny replies, ripping the burlap cover away from Saint Alma's staff and revealing the Abrahad medallion set atop it. Even before he's activated the potent enchantment, just revealing the staff is enough to change the tone slightly. Masque recoils a step, involuntarily raising his sword in a defensive stance before he turns his aggression on the Nadir soldiers. With his heavy cleaver in one hand and his thinner sword in the other, he crouches low and charges towards them. Partly shielding Gunny with your own body, you do the same.

Seeing your approach, Vissan jumps high again and lets his halberd flick out, the weapon snaking down to bite into Khusraw's thigh. Again, a shallow cut but nevertheless one that forces the churchman to falter in his attack. Even before he's landed, Vissan is stabbing his blade towards you. “Shi-Malia!” he hisses, and the winds hit you like a speeding airship. Blasted off your feet, you and Gunny both hit the ground hard and roll back a few paces. This forces was enough to threaten a skiff, what hope do you have to-

A shrill horn note rings out, and the wind is abruptly cut off. Glancing back, you see Sabin with the clarion horn at his lips, his face pale and glistening with sweat... but hard with determination. Before the daemon can gather its strength for another attack, you drag Gunny to his feet and press on ahead. As you charge forwards, you form a rough guess as to what the clarion horn does. Much like Gunny's staff, it repels them – but unlike the relic of Saint Alma, it's power is all too brief. It's not as potent either – the daemon is still gathered close around Vissan, shielding him from harm.

Not for much longer, though.

You're still a ways away from the witch-warrior when a pair of Eishin's soldiers move forwards to bar your passage with drawn swords. Without breaking stride, you make corpses of them – Feanor's blade moves almost too fast for your eye to follow, dropping both of the savages in spraying gouts of arterial blood. Even before the blood has stopped flowing, Vissan meets you with the point of his halberd, a thrust that you barely turn aside.

“Segharl the Broken has spoken of you, outsider!” Vissan laughs, “He thinks that you rely too much on that friend of yours. Maybe I should take his head – a fine gift for my liege!”

[1/2]

>>2982153

His next strike comes in two parts, a low swing that scuffs through the dirt to throw up a curtain of loose soil, and then a deadly thrust that comes whistling through the smokescreen. Hastened by the winds at his back, he comes damn close to running Gunny through. It's only by roughly pushing the older man aside that you save his life. Scrabbling to his feet, Gunny draws in a deep breath to shout the ancient word that will awaken Saint Alma's staff.

“No you don't!” Vissan snarls, lunging forwards. He was fast before, but this time a desperate energy is behind his blow. He knows exactly what Saint Alma's staff promises for him, and what he risks without his pet daemon's protection. Everything he has, every drop of spite and violence, he throws into one single act.

To end Gunny's life.

>Calling for a dice roll here. 2D6, aiming to beat 9-10 for a partial success and 11+ for a full success. For this, we'll be at +2 due to Feanor's blade, and I'll take the highest of the first three results.

Rolled 5, 4 + 2 = 11 (2d6 + 2)

>>2982161

Rolled 3, 4 + 2 = 9 (2d6 + 2)

>>2982161

Rolled 3, 1 + 2 = 6 (2d6 + 2)

>>2982161

>>2982166
Nice

>>2982166
Oh thank goodness.

>Full success!

With a crash of weapons, Vissan's writhing halberd meets Feanor's blade of killing light, the two blades struggling against one another for a brief moment before you twist around and thrust forwards, the spoiled momentum sending Vissan stumbling away from you. Even as he spins around, the blade of his halberd aiming for your neck, Gunny lets out a loud cry that rouses his staff. As always, its power hits you like a wall of force – not so dissimilar from Vissan's own daemon, in fact. If buffets you, but Vissan... he is blasted from his feet, the dust-form of his daemon sent shooting up into the sky.

“Impossible!” the witch-warrior protests, kicking himself upright and blinking in horror, “Shi-Malia?” When the daemon offers no help, forced to keep its distance by the power of Saint Alma's staff, its owner lets out a wail of rage and lunges forwards. Compared with before, though, it's a sluggish and clumsy attack. Grabbing the shaft of his halberd, you pull him forwards and send him stumbling into Khusraw's reach, the churchman having rallied and readied his weapon.

With the sound of a cleaver striking meat, Khusraw's oversized sword slams down into Vissan's shoulder, hacking almost halfway through his entire body before getting lodged in the warrior's sternum. He dies without a word, and his servant Shi-Malia takes flight at the very instant that the life leaves Vissan's body. Whatever contract that bound them together is now concluded, and the daemon seems to have no desire to avenge its former master. As the loose dust and dirt that made up its body rains down upon you, the Nadir fighters break and scatter. Some run for the Deep Forest – they'll have a nasty surprise when they run into the second wave waiting within – while others flee towards Eishin's tower. Khusraw starts after them, only for his wounded leg to give out from underneath him.

As the churchman blurts out a very un-righteous curse, you hasten over to pull him upright. “Let them run,” you tell him, “We'll take them once you're-”

Before you can finish this sentence, a powerful tremor sends you both falling to your knees. Compared with the previous tremors, this one seems to last for a very long time. Even the gunfire falls silent for a moment, allowing you to hear the sound of coarse chanting. The sound seems to well up from deep beneath you, vibrating through your bones with an ancient, instinctual fear. Vissan and his fighters were just the beginning. Something else is coming.

“Boss? Boss... Milos, please!” Keziah cries out, her thoughts hitting you like a slap, “Herod is going crazy up here, tell me what's going on! I've never seen him like this before, I don't know what he's-”

This time, the ground doesn't just tremble – it heaves, rising up like a giant shaking off its sleep.

[1/2]

Incoming fuck huge daemon

Maybe

>>2982261
Worse, possessed Wyrm

>>2982246
We've made Eishin's daemons the big daemons

>>2982246

From deep beneath the soil, something explodes out into the gathering light of day. Showered with a wave of soil, you're blinded for the first few moments – the smell of it hits you before you ever lay eyes upon it. It's the smell of an opened grave, an overwhelming charnel stench that causes your already weakened stomach to lurch uncontrollably. Crying out, you roll over and thrash at your face, clawing dirt out of your eyes, your nose, and your mouth even as you retch. To judge by the moans and wails of protest that rise up about you, you're not the only one suffering from this.

When you finally lurch around to look, your first impression is that of a worm – a worm of grotesque size. Perhaps a full twenty feet in length, it drags its weeping, reddened body about with an awful, pulsating movement that reveals its true nature. In its movements, you see a tangle of dead limbs surfacing and submerging within a slurry of flowing flesh. Whatever this thing truly is – daemon, changeling, a monstrosity without name – it was made from human flesh.

Otherwise disciplined soldiers scream and break as it writhes around a loose circuit of the camp, blindly crashing through buildings and units of men alike. Gunfire splashes off its hide without effect, and even grenade blasts do little more than divert its path. Grinding through anything that gets in its way, the abomination winds its way towards Eishin's tower and coils possessively about it. As you stare in horror, you see Eishin's form standing at the window.

“You see, invaders? You see the forces that I command?” the king in exile bellows, his voice seeming to reach up to the airships above, “I have gnawed at the roots of this world, and there is no power barred to me! You may scatter my people and burn my settlements, but you will never rule this land – I will tear your islands down from the sky before I allow you to reign over Nadir!”

Lying sprawled out on the ground, you watch in horror as the abomination's blunt head peels open like an obscene flower, folds of flesh and bone clenching like the fingers of one giant hand. Equally mute, Khusraw doubtfully lifts his sword. Then, reconsidering, he lowers the weapon again.

Then a hand reaches down, helping to pull you to your feet. “Milos, brother, you see this?” Gunny asks you grimly, “This shit is why I say my prayers at night.”

Considering the circumstances, you may have just become a religious man.

>So it's getting late on my end, and I'm going to close things here for today. Into the Skies will continue tomorrow, hopefully starting at the same usual time
>Thank you for your patience today!

>>2982313
Thanks for running.

So uh... think we can get a Megido shot in that mouth? ...we do have the other flare.

>>2982313
Thanks for running!

Have we left Keziah with a son she can name after us after we get killed by a shitty dice roll?

>>2982313
Thanks for running!

How long did it take Eishin's workers to collect and sew together all those bodies?

>>2982340
Well, that's certainly possible. Nuking it from orbit might be a little out of our reach, but blasting it from the skies is close enough!
>>2982362
I suppose we'll just have to find out in nine months or so!
You know, unless something unfortunate happens between now and then.
>>2982372
They're very industrious people, very hard working. Plus, Eishin's camp tends to attract a fair a lot of dead bodies for some reason, so gathering them up was no trouble at all!

>>2982422
It may have been fast, but I can bet it wasn't pleasant.

>>2982573
Title of your sex tape?

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>>2982313
Eishin has a giant worm strewn together with the corpses of his enemies (and random civilians) holy shit.

That's both incredibly metal and incredibly evil I'm glad we are stopping this guy.

>>2982313
I don't suppose we have napalm to deal some tick damage?

Wait a minute, with all this earth churning, is there an easy path going down to the roots of the world? Not saying we should head there, but between now and after the battle, someone ELSE might be doing some root munching.

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You've seen a lot of what this world has to offer you. You've seen daemons, both in the form of spirits and as creatures bound to dead flesh. You've seen changelings, those spiders of the soil capable of wearing a dozen different faces in a single minute. You've seen holy things made from living Abrahad stone, and you've even seen wyrms rampaging across the open skies. This... abomination before you is none of those things.

But it has to be something. It's a creature of flesh and blood, just like any of the many men you've killed in your lifetime. It's something they called up, just like the daemons you've seen. Even its form is fluid, like the changelings that Eishin seems so enamoured with. It might not be a perfect match for any of the creatures you've seen and fought, but it has aspects drawn from many of them. With such diverse origins, it must also have a weakness of some kind.

At least, that's what you tell yourself as Gunny helps you to your feet. “At least it's not that black smoke thing,” Gunny jokes as you dust yourself off, forcing a smile for your benefit and for his own, “Figured that thing would be here as soon as the fighting started. It's blood that draws it near, isn't it?”

“I think so,” you rasp, swallowing the taste of bile. Right now, you really need a drink – just to steady your nerves, of course, and maybe to wash the foul taste out of your mouth. Before you can waste any more time with thinking about the absent thread, a ripple of gunfire reminds you of the present danger. One of the Iraklin skiffs descends, the side-mounted cannon sending a stream of shells into the beast. Pulverised flesh explodes outwards as dozens of wounds crater the beast, yet as soon as they have hit the ground the scraps of flesh begin to writhe back towards their master. Rolling its blunt head around, the beast tracks the skiff as it flies over.

Then, a convulsion runs through it, and the worm vomits out a grasping limb – a shapeless tendril that slaps the skiff out of the air, hitting it so hard that the little craft's engine explodes into flames even before it hits the ground. When it crashes, the weakened ground crumbles and collapses beneath it.

Tunnels. The whole area is unstable ground, riddled with tunnels and caverns. Already weakened by the abomination's explosive entrance, it didn't take much for the ground to give way beneath the force of the crashing skiff. As if the crash had been the signal that the surviving soldiers had been waiting for, countless rifles began to open fire upon the creature. While apparently futile, you can't blame the soldiers for their efforts.

It feels better than doing nothing at all.

[1/2]

>>2982973
>The ground is getting broken up, but there isn't a path leading straight down yet. Things might change, though!

>>2984441

The abomination endures the gunfire for a moment before writhing away from Eishin's tower and returning to its rampage. As it falls, you realise that it isn't just propelled by its pulsing motions – wavering limbs reach out from its underside, helping to drag the creature across the broken ground. You're spared the displeasure of thinking on this for too long, a bold note from the clarion horn rolling out across the battlefield and stilling your thoughts.

It might not be a pure daemon, but the abomination is nevertheless affected by the clarion horn's note. It pauses for a split second before convulsing with rage and launching itself towards your group. “Be ready!” Khusraw yells, pulling his weary body up to its full height and raising his sword, “We'll hit it as we pass. Sabin, be ready to move!”

“Oh, this is a bad idea...” Freddy groans, igniting her glaive as Caliban draws back his bow. There's no time for further complaints, though – the beast is upon you in a matter of moments, rampaging towards you. Throwing yourself aside, you slam Feanor's sword into the creature's side. Almost as soon as you've done so, you realise that you've made a mistake. Unwilling to let go of the blade, you're lifted up and yanked off your feet, dragged along with the frenzied worm. Unclean blood spurts out of the wound you've made, the tear in the flesh ripping wider and wider as your sword tears through the fluid flesh. Just before you're shaken loose, you spot a glint of darkness within the beast.

Lodged deep within the abomination is a black lodestone, about the size of a curled up child and ornate with carving symbols. Just as quickly as you've seen it, your blade falls free completely and you tumble down, hitting the ground hard and rolling away as the wound closes up completely. “It's like a changeling!” you cry out, forcing the words out of your aching lungs, “There's a lodestone. That's what we need to destroy!”

Easier said than done. As you're struggling to rise, your eyes fall upon Eishin's tower. The king himself still stands at the window, looking proudly down upon the carnage he's created. As you unsteadily raise your pistol, though, he turns away and vanishes inside. If he has some measure of control over this thing...

>Keep up the fight against the abomination
>Send orders to Keziah, to bring the Helena in and attack
>Storm Eishin's tower and confront the king directly
>Other

>>2984442
>Send orders to Keziah, to bring the Helena in and attack
Maybe we can fire our missiles first to tear open the skin widely like Milos just did and then follow up with the Megido Cannon at the wound before it closes. One, two punch.

>>2984449
>>2984442
Also warn Dwight about the worm's ranged capabilities in case he gets too close.

>>2984442
>Send orders to Keziah, to bring the Helena in and attack

>>2984442
>>Send orders to Keziah, to bring the Helena in and attack

Gunfire flares out as the worm crawls away from you, drawn towards another group of targets as a clutch of church soldiers emerge from the Deep Forest. Almost as soon as they've set eyes upon the abomination, their morale breaks and their attack becomes a rout. Even as you spit out a curse, you take advantage of the momentary distraction.

“Keziah?” you call out, the words spilling from your lips even as you reach out with your thoughts, “Can you hear me?” It's hard to focus on her, you find, as if your thoughts were cloaked in a thick layer of radio static. Not just static, but a hissing roar that has the rise and fall of words in a tongue that you cannot understand. “Keziah, I need you to bring the Helena in!” you continue, hoping to push through the haze, “We need to bring in the big guns!”

No immediate response, but then you feel her mind clinging desperately onto yours as the haze parts for a moment. “I hear you,” she snaps, “We're descending now. What's the target?”

Despite everything, you laugh aloud. “You'll know it when you see it!” you reply, forming a faint image of the worm in your mind. As the image takes shape, Keziah's thoughts almost break away from your own – in reality, you can just imagine the witch recoiling in horror from the hideous creature. “But make sure Dwight doesn't bring the ship in too close,” you hastily add, recalling the tendril that shot out from the abomination's maw, “It can spit, it could-”

“Captain!” Freddy yells, grabbing your arm and jolting you back to reality, “It's coming back!”

Looking back, you spot the abomination returning to your location. The impenetrable wall of the Deep Forest seems to have defeated it for now, compelling it seek easier prey. As it writhes towards you, some mindless hunger drives it to feast on the scattered bodies without ever slowing or pausing. Multiple tendrils reach out from all sides of the beast, snaring bodies as it passes them and sucking them into the larger mass.

Above you, breaking through the cloud layer, the Spirit of Helena descends like a gift from the heavens. “Everyone scatter!” you yell, waving your glowing blade through the air like a flag, “Break for the tree line and prepare for-”

Even before you finish this sentence, the Helena launches a missile down towards the worm. Sensing danger, the abomination rears up and vomits forth a broad tendril to slap the missile out of the sky. The creature is too slow, though, and the boneless limb flails harmlessly at the empty air. The missile detonates with a fiery explosion, heat and pressure slamming into you even as you see great hunks of meat blown away from the worm's charnel body.

But the worm wasn't the only thing to suffer damage. Beneath your feet, great cracks begin to spread out across the ground.

[1/2]

>>2984499

Turning away from the worm's burning body, you begin to flee from the crumbling ground. Even knowing the risks, you can't resist glancing back over your shoulder. Already, you can see pieces of burned flesh writhing and crawling back to their master. The worm itself has been almost completely split open, the black lodestone glinting with a sheen of blood and less wholesome fluids. One more shot should finish it off, but the Helena holds her fire. You're too close, you realise. Another shot now would cause the whole area to collapse – with you caught in the firing line.

So you run. Before you make it more than a dozen paces, though, you see Khusraw tumble and fall. His wounded leg gives way beneath him, Vissan's mocking wound coming back to haunt the churchman. Bellowing with frustration, he slams his fist into the ground before struggling to his feet. For a split-second, you hesitate.

He won't make it – not without help, at least. On the other hand, if you stop to help him up then you'll be putting yourself at risk. Glancing back again, you see a hole opening up in the ground. Never mind tunnels, it seems more like Eishin's camp was built atop a bottomless pit. Looking about you, you see nobody else nearby – the Iraklin skiffs have withdrawn, and the Helena is too high up. Even if she descended now, it would be too late to...

This is bad. This is all kinds of bad

>Abandon Khusraw. Right now, it's every man for himself
>Stop to help Khusraw. Leave no man behind
>Other

>>2984509
>Stop to help Khusraw. Leave no man behind
Fucking hell I'm going to regret this. He's going to have to drop his giant sword though. We can't have it weighing us down right now.

>>2984509
>Stop to help Khusraw. Leave no man behind
Shit. If anyone has any bright ideas, now would be the perfect time.

>>2984521
Other than dropping weight from his sword I can't think of anything.

I'm not sure how strong our Nadir arm is but we could maybe chuck him to safety? Then we could run unhindered. I don't know how far safety is right now though.

Masque would probably be better for this, but no one else is around.

>>2984509
>Abandon Khusraw. Every man for himself.

He can gnaw on some roots at the bottom.

>>2984525
With the ground breaking and his leg wounded, I believe we'd need our arm to be a cannon if we wanted to throw him to safety.

Not really sure, I think we'll have to roll with the punches.

>>2984509
>Stop to help Khusraw. Leave no man behind
Unless it's Al-Farabi, fuck that bitch.

>>2984509
>Stop to help Khusraw. Leave no man behind

>>2984531
We're going to fall with him. He might die anyway. Or our crew will while we climb back up.

>>2984545
Hey, there might be loot underground.

There are times when a man has to be ruthless, even to be cruel, in order to survive. Times when it is every man for himself, when the strong must devour the weak. Times when sacrifices have to be made. There are times such as those.

But damn it, this is not one of those times!

“Drop the sword!” you yell as you hurry over to Khusraw, “It'll just slow you down!”

To judge by his expression, you'd think that Khusraw was having to leave his own right arm behind. It pains him, but he lets the oversized weapon fall and reaches out to you. Grabbing him with your strong arm, you haul him upright and pull him along with you. Hanging onto each other like this, shoulder to shoulder, you must look like the world's most urgent pair of drunks as you hurry away from the epicentre of the collapse. Eishin's tower looms high and unshaken in front of you, mocking you with how safe it seems.

“We can make it, my friend!” Khusraw laughs as you forge a path towards the tower, “We're going to make it!”

Optimistic – perhaps falsely so. Gradually, the yawning abyss is getting closer and closer to you. Realisation dawns, and you throw down all your cards in one last gamble. Putting all your strength into one motion, you shove Khusraw on ahead. He stumbles, his arms flailing as he struggles to keep his balance, but when he falls to the ground, it is solid ground that he lands upon. Feeling the rocky ground give way beneath your feet, you yell out a wordless curse and jump, hurling yourself forwards as a chasm opens up beneath you.

You fall short of the solid ground, slamming into it with enough force to knock the wind out of you. Scrabbling for grip, you dig your fingers into the soil and slow your fall just long enough for Khusraw to recover. Lunging forwards, the muscular churchman grabs your hand. “I told you we'd make it!” he grunts, holding tightly to you as he begins to haul you up, “Have you out of there in a moment. Just-”

He falls silent. The whole world seems to fall silent as you feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You know that feeling all too well – somewhere above you, a Pleonite cannon is gathering power. Before you can send out a protest to Keziah, an order for the Helena to hold fire, the cannon opens up. Like a bolt of lightning, the cannon shot slams down into the ground. Taken by surprise, Khusraw cries out and covers his eyes with both hands.

Both hands.

You seem to hang in the air for a second, for an eternity, before gravity reaches out to claim you. Flailing for anything that might arrest your fall – and failing to find anything – you tumble down into the abyss.

[1/2]

>>2984566
>Taken by surprise, Khusraw cries out and covers his eyes with both hands.

Really missing that Iraklin discipline right about now.

>>2984566

Deep in the blackness, you hear the steady pounding of... a heartbeat? If so, then it cannot be yours. Your own heart is fluttering within your chest, its pulse frantic and skittish, while this thundering beat is slow and purposeful. Slowly, you force your eyes open and peer out at the ruddy red glow that surrounds you. Almost everywhere you look, a warm blood-red light pours across the craggy rock that makes up the cave walls. Only one hint of normal, natural light is visible, and it comes from far above you.

Daylight?

Rising onto unsteady legs, you check yourself over for any broken bones or lost equipment, finding neither. Your sword and pistol are at hand, and your body seems aching but intact. Moving on, you take another look at the cave system you've fallen into. It almost seems to be a straight shaft leading down, with dozens of holes lining the walls – tunnel mouths, you realise, leading out into the emptiness. The main shaft grows narrower as it goes lower, a winding path spiralling downwards towards some final destination. It is this path that you landed upon, although you can't say if it leads back to the surface without interruption.

Against your better judgement, you lean over the edge and peer down towards the very bottom of the shaft. The red glow is strongest there, a hazy light hiding the bottom from view. That slow pounding comes from the bottom of the pit as well, you're certain of it.

“Do a good deed, this is where it gets you...” you mutter to yourself, stepping back from the edge and sitting down heavily. Weariness creeps over you, and for a few moments all you can do is stare up towards the sky. Either the battle has ended, or the sounds of gunfire can't reach you down here – either way, that pounding is the only noise you can detect. Reaching out to Keziah's mind ends in failure, your own exhaustion spoiling your attempts at focus. An idea strikes you, then, and you fumble at your belt. The bulky flare pistol is still there, secured with a sturdy lanyard, and the red emergency flare is tucked away with it. A relieved laugh starts to escape you, and then you hear something.

The deep rumble of a voice echoing through the corridors around you. It's faint, too faint to make out any of the words, but there's someone else down here. No, you correct yourself as a thin shout rings out, not just one other person. Multiple people.

Slowly, you lower the flare gun and consider your options.

>Send up the flare and call for an evacuation
>Follow those voices to see what the situation is
>Descend the path to seek out the source of the pounding sound
>Other

>>2984606
>Follow those voices to see what the situation is

>>2984606
>>Follow those voices to see what the situation is
The secret to Eishin's immortality might be down here. There might be more to it than eating roots.

>>2984606
>Descend to investigate the heartbeat.

Shaking your head, you thrust the flare gun back into your belt and start to look around for the source of the voices. Of course, you see nothing in the immediate area, but the winding path leads up towards a tunnel entrance that – unless the echoes are throwing off your sense of direction – should bring you closer to the voices. Before you leave, you glance back towards the bottom of the chasm. Perhaps you're wrong but it may very well be that the path leads down to the roots of the world. Definitely something you want to investigate, but... later. Right now, these voices take priority.

As you lurch up towards the tunnel, you hear a new sound to join the voices – the hard crack of a pistol shot. Immediately drawing your own weapons, you hasten towards the source of the the gunshot. Even the slightest of movements hurts, but you force yourself to ignore the protests your muscles sing out.

“Damn it!” a gruff voice yells out, the words coming close enough that you can finally make them out, “Why won't you die?”

The only answer to this is a harsh laugh, as cruel and unforgiving as rocks grinding together. You know that voice all too well – Segharl the Broken. Rounding the corner, you find yourself confronted by a long, straight corridor. At the far end, you see the giant fighting with a pair of smaller men. He wears no armour, but his obscenely muscular torso is lurid with body paint. Fighting with a long sword in one hand and a dagger in the other – a dagger that most men might consider a sword in its own right – the giant easily beats back the attacks that come his way. Even when Khusraw – now wielding a rifle and bayonet like a spear – manages to land a blow, the wounds simply close up a moment later. The other man, Gunny, hangs back with a pained expression on his face. Scattered around are a number of other bodies, the uniformed soldiers bloodily hacked apart.

“Give up and die, churchman,” Segharl growls, beating aside Khusraw's blade and punching the man square in the face. The blow knocks Khusraw sprawling, stumbling back until he hits the cave wall and falls away. “This is sacred ground. You cannot hope to win here,” the giant continues, rounding on Gunny and pointing his sword at the faithful man, “Go on and call out to your god. It has no power here.”

Cursing your body for its weakness, you raise your pistol and lurch closer. At this range, your gun is close to useless. You need to get closer...

“Segharl!” you yell, your voice echoing down the corridor. The giant pauses, looking around at you before raising his sword in a mocking salute.

[1/2]

>>2984702
>manages to land a blow, the wounds simply close up a moment later.

Looks like he's been chewing that good shit too. I don't think there is any way with how weak we are right now to beat him in combat.

So uh, politically, we're gonna get blamed for leaving Nadir "in a state unsuitable for reclamation" because we brought out the big guns, aren't we?

>>2984726
Nadir's still a big place and only Eishin's camp has a hole in the ground. I don't think it'll deter Azimuth from trying to carve the continent up.

>>2984739
The whole point of the infantry assault was to not damage the land, though.

>>2984702

Taking advantage of the distraction, Gunny breaks away and starts to run. There's no cowardice there – any man would do the same in his position, faced with a futile battle. Quick as a snake, Segharl stabs his short sword into the cave wall to block Gunny's retreat. It's solid stone, but he pieces the wall as if it was made from soft mud.

“I want you to see this man die,” Sehgarl snarls, looking around to stare at you with hate-filled eyes. Backed into a corner, Gunny lets out a cry of anger and swings Saint Alma's staff like a bludgeon. Without even looking around, Segharl catches the blow and stops it fast. Holding it for a moment, he pushes Gunny aside with an off-hand twist of his arm. Lifting his larger blade in both hands, Segharl swings it down in a powerful overhead arc. The pistol barks in your hand as you fire, but the shot flies wide. Even if it had hit, what would it have achieved?

Scrabbling to his feet, Gunny raises the staff in a guard as he retreats. The blade connects, smashing into the staff and cleaving it in half. Gunny cries out as if he was the one who had been struck, his eyes wide with horror. Casually tossing aside the sword, Segharl draws a cruelly notched dagger from his belt – a ritual dagger, a ceremonial weapon.

“Leave him alone. I'm the one you want!” you yell, shooting Segharl in the side. He grunts a little, and blood flows for a moment, but the blow does nothing more than that. It doesn't even make him flinch. Grabbing Gunny by the throat, the murderous giant draws back his hand to strike.

Desperate now, you turn your aim towards the dagger. You might not be able to harm Segharl, but if you can shoot the weapon from his hand...

>Okay. Dice time. Give me a 2D6, aiming to beat 9-10 for a partial success or 11+ for a full success. This will be at +1 due to our pistol, and I'll take the highest of the first three results!

Rolled 1, 2 = 3 (2d6)

>>2984744
Roll good baby, come in RNG

Rolled 4, 1 + 1 = 6 (2d6 + 1)

>>2984744
RIP Gunny. Two near-death experiences too close together

Rolled 6, 4 + 1 = 11 (2d6 + 1)

>>2984744

File: what the fuck m8.jpg (1.33 MB, 5000x5000)

1.33 MB JPG

>>2984747
RNG why

>>2984750
Phew. Gunny ain't dead yet, but you know third time's the charm.

We are going to emerge from the tunnels with Eishin pointing a cannon at him

If anyone deserves to die the least, it's Gunny.

>Full success!

Your immediate urge is to fire quickly, to snap off a shot as soon as you can and to keep firing until your revolver is empty. You almost do just that, and then... you recall her. Miriam bloody Hawthorn, taunting you for being careless with a pistol after you saved her life. You had been dining together, drinking far too much, and she had teased you for shooting before thinking. Since that night, you worked hard to improve your aim and prove her wrong. One of the first things you leaned was to take your time, no matter what the circumstances.

So you pause, you steady yourself, and then you fire. The revolver kicks in your hand, your shot finding its mark and plucking the knife out of Segharl's hand. Bellowing with rage and surprise, he throws Gunny's limp body aside and turns to you.

“Fine,” he snarls, “If you are so eager to die, it would be rude of me to refuse.”

Your plan never accounted for this. Hell, your plan never accounted for anything past that one shot. Gritting your teeth and drawing your sword, you feel new strength flooding into you. The blade burns brightly – normally a sign that some kind of daemon or unnatural presence is near, but you don't have time to worry about that now. Picking his sword back up, Segharl stalks towards you. Now that his attention is fully on you, you start to back away from the murderous giant. Time to improvise.

But Segharl has other ideas. Before you can even begin to think of a plan, he lunges forwards and slashes at you, his blade beating against Feanor's sword. The two weapons clash, his sword coming away with a brand new scar. Again and again, he strikes out at you and forces you into a hasty defence, retreating as you bat aside the oncoming blows. In the back of your mind, you recall the cave structure. He's backing you up against the edge, leaving you with nowhere to retreat to.

“You are a fool,” Segharl growls as he pushes you back, “To refuse King Eishin's offer of friendship. I pity you – you have allowed these men to ensnare you, to beguile you with their lies and schemes. What do they offer, save for a slow and meaningless extinction?”

“They never tried to kill me with a giant worm!” you gasp back, slashing your sword across Segharl's bare chest, “That's something!”

“Ah. I am glad to hear that my handiwork was appreciated,” the giant laughs, his expression hardening as he glances down at his chest. Blood still flows from the cut, dripping freely down to spatter against the ground. “No more games,” he snarls, launching forwards with another flurry of attacks, each one sending a painful shudder running up the length of your arm. Even so, you feel a faint hope blossoming.

If you can make him bleed, then...

[1/2]

>>2984813

When your retreat brings you back to the main shaft, a new noise accompanies the thunderous heartbeat of whatever lies below you. The shrill roar of a skiff's engines pierce through the background rumble, and you nearly lose your head as you glance up. Better late than never, one of the Iraklin skiffs is cautiously descending into the pit. Unable to tell much more than that from your brief glance, you turn back and focus on the important matter of staying alive.

To your dismay, you realise that the wound on Segharl's chest is closing up, just slower than the wounds left by mundane weapons. His arrogant smile returns, and the giant batters down on you with another series of strikes. Each blow you have blocked has left his simple steel sword in worse and worse condition, and eventually he strikes his final blow with it. When your weapons clash, Feanor's blade simply shears through the giant's sword and rips it from his hands. Grunting with surprise, Segharl hesitates for a moment.

He hesitates – you don't. Yelling with rage, you swing Feanor's blade up towards the giant's neck. Shaking off his surpise, Segharl blocks the strike with the only means available to him – by catching the glowing sword. Blood streams freely down his arm, and his face contorts with pain, but Segharl holds the blade fast. “Lucky, for you to fall this far without harm,” he spits, slowly but surely pushing the blade aside, “You won't survive the second time. I will cast you from this ledge, and-”

With a sound like a woman's scream, something strikes Segharl in the arm. A beam of white light, clean and utterly pure, that severs the limb completely. Speechless, the giant stares down at his shorn limb as you stumble back. Looking back up to the skiff, you see Al-Farabi leaning out of the open door, her Abrahad staff shouldered like a rifle. Before Segharl can recover, you swing high and rake Feanor's blade across his throat. Black blood sprays, and the giant clutches at the wound with his one remaining hand. Stumbling back a few steps, he teeters on the edge for a moment before tipping over, falling down into that ruddy red glow.

Laughing weakly to yourself, you slump down and stare over the edge for a moment more. Waiting, you realise, for Segharl to climb back up out of the abyss.

>Okay, I'm going to have to take a quick pause here. Next post should be up in an hour or so. Sorry about the unexpected pause

>>2984866
>Stumbling back a few steps, he teeters on the edge for a moment before tipping over, falling down into that ruddy red glow.

[Worry]

>>2984866

“What a sorry sight we must look,” Khusraw laments, wincing as the Iraklin field doctor prods at his wounds, “This was supposed to be a rescue attempt. Instead, you ended up saving us. Had we know that that monster was down here as well...” He starts to shake his head, only for the doctor to hiss a curt curse at him. “No, I would have come regardless,” the churchman decides, “My friend, you put your life in jeopardy to save mine. I knew that I had to repay that favour.”

“As soon as the tremors stopped, he gathered a team to investigate. We found some tunnel entrances on the outer edge of the camp, hidden away within common huts. The skiffs were busy evacuating the wounded, but he wouldn't wait,” Al-Farabi adds, pacing restlessly as the medic checks her colleague over, “Sabin and the rest of your people came in by another entrance. The Light only knows where they ended up. These tunnels are half a maze, and the other half has collapsed.”

“And the worm?” you ask, glancing across at the glum, taciturn Gunny. He's still clinging forlornly to the remains of Saint Alma's staff, whispering prayers to it.

“Destroyed,” Al-Farabi reports, “That last shot from the Thelema finished it off.”

You blink, her words taking you by surprise. “The Thelema?” you repeat, “She fired the final shot? Who ordered it?” Even as you ask this, a scenario begins to play out in your mind. DuPont, sensing an opportunity to take you out and retain plausible deniability, ordering the final shot. An acceptable sacrifice, he might explain later, a chance to take out the worm before it could recover. He might even get a commendation for it...

“Captain,” Gunny mutters, touching your arm, “Won't no good come of starting any trouble now. Let's settle our accounts later, once everything has calmed down a little.”

It's his saddened tone that calms you down as much as what he's saying, and you force yourself to nod. Maybe it's too early to jump to any conclusions. For all you know, Gehrard ordered DuPont to fire. One way or the other, you'll get the answers in due time.

“Sir,” the Iraklin pilot reports, leaning out from the skiff cockpit. With its engines locked in place, the skiff has been hovering in the empty shaft for some time now. Waiting, you assume, for someone to give out new orders. Gesturing for the man to continue, he nods briskly. “Captain Vaandemere, sir, your crewmen have returned to the surface. They hit a series of blocked tunnels and were forced to turn back. I've briefed them on your status,” he continues, “I can bring you up to the surface to meet them. Just say the word.”

Grimacing, you glance down into the abyss. No sign of Segharl coming back up so far, but...

>Head back up to the surface. You're in no fit state for going deeper
>Venture deeper down below. You need to investigate this
>Speak with the others... (Write in)
>Other

>>2985024
>Venture deeper down below. You need to investigate this
"I need to confirm that kill. Segharl had some form of regeneration and we don't want him coming up behind us."

>Other
"Pilot can you take the wounded up and bring my crew down to come with me?"

>>2985024
>Head back up to the surface. You're in no fit state for going deeper

You live for now, Seg.

FOR NOW.

>>2985024
>Venture deeper down below. You need to investigate this

>>2985024
>Head back up to the surface. You're in no fit state for going deeper
We're half dead, and most of our crew as well. Give them some respite.

>>2985024
>Venture deeper down below. You need to investigate this
Until we find the body, assume Segharl is alive.

>>2985024
>Head back up to the surface. You're in no fit state for going deeper
Dang it, DuPont

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>Okay, it looks like we're pretty much deadlocked here, so I'm going to roll off to break the tie. 1 is for returning to the surface, 2 is for venturing deeper down.
>I'm sorry about this delay!

You're tired, every inch of your body aches, and you're nursing a healthy grudge against DuPont. It may be that Segharl is down there, alive in some broken form, but... he'll have to stay down there. With the state you're in, you're not convinced that you could survive a second round with him. Reaching over, you slap Khusraw on the arm. “We need to get you out of here,” you tell him, “You too, Gunny. You're wounded.”

“No, brother, I...” Gunny begins, only to wince and shake his head, “No, you're right. I'm done – that's two close calls now. Don't reckon I'll survive a third time. Best that I sit the rest of this out rather than pressing my luck. Won't be sorry to see the sun again, that's for sure.”

Nodding slowly, you gesture down at the broken staff he holds. “I'm sorry,” you begin bluntly, cursing yourself for how uncaring that sounds, “I wish I got there sooner.”

“Don't reckon it would have changed things all that much, brother,” Gunny assures you with a wan smile, “And don't worry about the staff. It's... I think maybe I was growing to rely on it too much. Not for what it does, but what it meant. I was becoming a staff that sometimes had an old guy carrying it about.” Turning the Abrahad medallion over in his hand, Gunny rubs one grubby thumb over it. “It might still work, you know,” he adds, “Far as I could tell, the staff was just a bit of old wood. This stone is where the magic really happens.”

“I don't care about that,” you declare, “I'm just glad you're okay.” Leaning further over, you pull Gunny into a rough, awkward hug. Almost as soon as you've begun, you pull away from him as Al-Farabi clears her throat.

“Are you going to do this here?” she asks, scowling at you, “The rest of your people are waiting above. I'm sure they'd appreciate this tender moment more than I would.” Turning away from you, she help Khusraw limp inside the skiff before strapping him down carefully. Then, she looks back to you. “Thank you,” she mouths silently, gesturing back towards her colleague.

In her own way, you have to assume she's being friendly.

-

When you arrive back at the surface, it feels like being reborn. The morning sun has started to burn through the clouds, and Eishin's camp has changed completely. The giant hole is the most obvious change, but other than that you see a number of tents erected around the perimeter. The Iraklins have wasted no time in setting up a base here, establishing a foothold for whatever comes next. A fresh wave of troops have arrived, surrounding Eishin's tower in a ring of bodies.

“Hey!” you ask the pilot, “Why are those men standing guard?”

“Eishin!” the pilot shouts back, “They took him alive!”

[1/2]

>>2985331

As you jump out of the skiff, your crew hurry across to join you. Freddy hastens ahead of the others, reaching out in what starts as an embrace before awkwardly changing into something more friendly. Slapping you roughly on the shoulder, she quickly moves past you to help Khusraw. Smirking nastily – but these days, all his smiles are nasty smirks – Caliban takes a flask out of his pocket and offers it out to you. Gladly taking it, you swallow down a mouthful of the burning liquor.

“Eishin's locked up, his people are scattered, his camp is in ruins,” the hunter announces, “Seems to me like this is a job well done.”

You look around at the ruins left in your wake, the yawning abyss and the burned out ruins of primitive huts. Bodies are piled up on the far end of the settlement, a mass funeral pyre just waiting for a flame. A few prisoners – mostly just women and children, and damn few at that – kneel beneath the waiting guns of uniformed soldiers. The Themela and the Spirit of Helena hang in the sky above, a skiff descending from DuPont's ship. Looking at this scene, you find it hard to feel much of a sense of triumph.

You just feel weary.

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

>>2985331
Oh shit

I guess that's possible? I thought tackles and restraints would just slide off or miss.

>>2985401
I got a bad feeling about this. Eishin isn't someone that would be taken alive unless he had something up his sleeve imho.

Thanks for running.

>>2985401
Thanks for running!

Has Segharl joined the hive-mind now?

>>2985401
Thanks for running!

Now that we've arrested Eishin, do we have to worry about who his lawyer is? Will they spring him free after all our work to get him? More importantly, how will we provide him with his monthly phone call?

>>2985450
Segharl? Well, I don't want to give too much away right now. I wouldn't worry about him, though - I'm sure he won't cause any problems ever again!
>>2985499
Unfortunately for Eishin, some mischievous changeling stole all his gold, so he won't be able to pay his legal fees. Looks like he's going away for a long time!

>>2985508
>Unfortunately for Eishin, some mischievous changeling stole all his gold

Oh god it's even canon. I'm playing tic tac toe to your 3D chess here.

>>2985508
So did Caldwell just take his waifu and got the hell out of there?

>>2985524
Full details coming soon - and even fuller details coming on Wednesday - but Caldwell is currently elsewhere. Missing in Action, I suppose you might say.
>>2985513
>I'm playing tic tac toe to your 3D chess here.
And you just sunk my battleship!

>>2985508
> lighter tone

>>2987742
I had forgotten about this.

>>2987742
wasnt that last quest though, not so much this one...

File: Branwen Mac Hillborg.png (1.34 MB, 749x1049)

1.34 MB PNG

In your dreams, you see a creature that seems to be some terrible fusion of Segharl and the worm abomination slowly crawling up from the lowest level of the abyss. Just as the first rays of sunlight fall upon it, you crash back into the waking world to find two wide eyes staring down at you. It takes a long time for you to recognise the girl, Branwen Mac Hillborg, as your newest crew member. With her unwashed hair falling about her face in sheets, she stares down at you for a moment more.

“Back in my village, we said that men who talked in their sleep were blessed by the gods,” she tells you quietly, “But a blessing from the gods is often no different from a curse.”

“That sounds about right,” you groan, “What was I saying?”

Branwen just shrugs at this, turning away from you and strolling out of the tent. You don't even remember laying down to sleep here, but you must have been asleep for almost the entire day. It was early morning when you emerged from the pit, and now it looks like early evening. At least you feel refreshed. Shaking off the last of your ghastly dream, you follow Branwen out and look about the camp. The vast hole in the middle of the camp has been encircled by a ring of crude fencing, all salvaged wooden posts and rope.

Sitting on the edge of the hole, you see Al-Farabi gazing down into the void beneath. Bracing yourself for the abrasive woman's attitude, you cross over to her and call out a quiet greeting. She turns only briefly, but she does offer out a crumpled paper bag as a peace offering. Candied ginger, you notice. You refuse, but Branwen eagerly takes a sticky handful of the sweet. “Looks like things have quietened down,” you begin, ducking under the rope to sit beside her, “No trouble so far?”

“None that I've seen, and I've been keeping watch,” Al-Farabi reports, “There's talk of exploring the abyss. I've already put my name forward. I wouldn't have done so normally, but Khusraw volunteered. He thinks his sword might be down there somewhere. That damn fool is going to get himself killed one of these days.”

After what you've just been through, that hits a little too close to home. Glancing across at Eishin's tower, you see that the building is still under guard. “I can't quite believe Eishin was captured,” you remark, “I imagined he might fight until the end. Death or glory, that sort of thing.”

“He allowed himself to be captured,” the churchwoman corrects you, shooting the tower a dark glance, “When the soldiers broke into his tower, he just sat there and greeted them. The way I hear it, one of the soldiers shot him on sight. Apparently, it didn't really do much. Now, nobody really knows what to do. There's talk of bringing him back to Azimuth, but...”

She shrugs, and that shrug is heavy with implications.

[1/2]

>>2988511

When Al-Farabi offers little else in the way of conversation, you rise to your feet and wander off. Branwen remains with the surly woman, quietly nagging at her for more treats, and you leave with a faint smile on your face. Looking around for a moment more, you spot a large tent pitched far from the rest of the camp with a number of guards surrounding it. Above it flies an Iraklin victory flag – you know that insignia all too well, having seen it fly over your homeland in the aftermath of the Annexation War. Now, it flies over your other homeland.

It feels bad, worse than you imagined it might.

Approaching the command tent, you pass by a number of other shelters and spot your colleagues at rest. Gunny sleeps, Freddy cleans out her weapons, while Caliban sits with a burning cigarette. Masque is nowhere to be seen, but that's about normal for him. After exchanging a brief greeting, you continue on to the command tent. The guards part to allow you inside, and you spot Gehrard talking to a clutch of officers over a creased map. DuPont lurks near the back, but he quickly excuses himself after glancing up and noticing you.

He flees like a guilty man, and the smile hardens on your face. Before you can think about chasing him out, Gehrard looks up and gestures for you to join him. “The attack was costly, but I'm willing to call it a success. Eishin is in our custody, and we've broken the back of his army. There were some men who escaped through our cordon, but I'm prepared to accept that. The collateral damage...” he sighs, glancing over your shoulder and looking out towards the chasm, “Regrettable, of course. Far beyond even our most extreme estimates. On the other hand, I'm not convinced that there was any way to avoid it. That anomaly...”

“Nobody saw THAT coming,” Miata agrees, “Considering the circumstances, we can excuse a little artillery fire.”

You get the impression that they wouldn't be nearly so lenient if a regular Iraklin soldier had been responsible, but you're hardly going to complain about that. “What about Caldwell?” you ask, “His house should have been on the outskirts of the camp. Is he here?”

Gehrard and Miata trade a glance. “No,” the administrator answers shortly, “We searched the house. There was no sign of him. We found some clothes and belongings that might have been his, but nothing else. We're all quite perturbed.” He looks back down to his map, here, and you start to turn away. Then, almost as an afterthought, he continues. “Eishin asked after you,” he muses, “He wanted to speak with you, in fact. I won't order you to speak with him, but...”

>Volunteer to explore the abyss with the churchmen
>Speak with the captive Eishin
>Follow and confront DuPont
>You've got questions that need answered... (Write in)
>Other

>>2988513
>Speak with the captive Eishin

I still want to check out the abyss if possible though

>>2988513
>Follow and confront DuPont
Lots of things to do here. I want to speak with Eishin as well, but the bastard can wait.

>>2988513
>Volunteer to explore the abyss with the churchmen

>Speak with the captive Eishin

Not sure what we'd say to DuPont. He knows what he did.

“You're taking volunteers for the abyss exploration, right?” you ask, glancing over Gehrard's shoulder as you look for any sign of DuPont. You spot a flash of that obnoxious cape of his over by one of the skiffs, the haughty airship captain mingling with a number of church soldiers. Safety in numbers, you suspect – it's the only reason he'd have for mixing with the common folk. “Put my name down for that, but I can't leave just yet. I WILL speak with Eishin, and I want to take care of that first,” you add to Gehrard, “Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to-”

“Captain Vaandemere,” Gehrard interrupts quietly. He says nothing more for a moment, leaving you with the impatient urge to tap your foot as you wait. “You're welcome on the exploration team, and I'm willing to hold them until you're ready. You have experience of the conditions down there, and I feel that the team would benefit from having you there,” he continues at last, “Regarding Eishin – I will not tell you what to say to the man. In time, we will question him thoroughly. However, I would like a report on anything he tells you. As he asked for you by name, we have reason to believe that he may... reveal certain things to you, and you alone. Do you understand?”

Depending on what Eishin has to say, that might make things a little awkward. Then again, Gehrard will likely have no way to check what the defeated king tells you, so...

“Oh, and there is one last thing,” the administrator concludes, turning and casting a very deliberate glance in DuPont's direction, “Try not to make a scene here. I would hate to see this victory marred by any ugly brawls.”

Letting out a low growl, you reluctantly nod. Brushing out of the command tent, you start towards Eishin's tower... with one little detour. Crossing over to the idle skiff, you see DuPont tensing up with a sudden fear. “Good work, men,” you begin, nodding to the gathered soldiers and offering your hand out to shake. The churchmen smile and return your greeting warmly, and you spend a few moments bantering with them. All the while, DuPont stands frozen in place as he waits for his turn. When you've spoken with the last of the church soldiers, you turn towards DuPont and...

And then you keep on turning, ignoring him completely as you set your sights on Eishin's tower. He's not worth your attention.

When you arrive at the foot of Eishin's tower, the ring of Iraklin soldiers part to allow you access. As you start up the crumbling stone steps, you feel a strange unease creeping into you. After all this time, you're going to come face to face with the king in exile himself.

Maybe you'll get his autograph.

[1/2]

>>2988572
>However, I would like a report on anything he tells you.
Yeah that probably isn't going to happen. Not everything anyways.

>>2988572

You weren't sure what you were expecting. The door to Eishin's personal quarters isn't even locked, and just a single guard waits outside. Dismissing the man's salute with a vague nod, you hesitate before opening the door and letting yourself in. As you enter, one unwelcome thought occurs to you – the guards are here as a formality, nothing more. If Eishin wanted to walk out of this tower, no amount of guards would be able to stop him. Al-Farabi was correct – he allowed himself to be caught.

The king himself sits beside a crackling fire, seated in a high-backed chair that groans with age. A second seat, empty, waits beside him. When you sit, you take a long moment studying Eishin – his roughly-made garb has a bullet hole drilled through it, with a dark stain surrounding it. Not so long ago, someone really did try shooting him. With the crackle of the fire as the backdrop, Eishin begins to speak.

“What I miss most about Monotia was the warmth,” King Eishin begins, a dark note of humour in his low voice, “The nights are cold here, and the buildings do little to keep the heat in. Even with a fire like this, I never feel truly warm.”

Of all the things he has to complain about...

“I'm sure the Iraklins will be able to find a nice warm prison cell for you,” you reply dryly, “Although I'd enjoy it while it lasts, if I were you. I don't think they're in the habit of keeping prisoners for very long.”

“Yes, yes,” Eishin laments, waving a dismissive hand at you, “I'm sure they have everything planned out. A show trial, a spot of spectacle - dragging their prisoner through the streets like a caged beast, perhaps - and then a quick execution. Such is their privilege as the victors. Let me ask you this, though...” Turning his head, Eishin finally looks you in the eye. His eyes are like deep pits of black, devoid of anything but darkness. “Is this what you wanted?” he asks plainly, “Are you happy now?”

For a moment, you almost put a second bullet hole in his chest. A boiling anger wells up from deep within your chest, created from seemingly nothing at all. Clenching your fists, you force down the unnatural anger. “At least you're losing gracefully,” you tell Eishin, leaving his question unanswered, “Is that all you wanted to ask me? I'm told that you wanted to speak with me.”

“I wanted the chance to see you with my own eyes. No matter what the Iraklins may think, a man's file is of little real use. I wanted to see the man who I once had such high hopes for,” Eishin answers, looking away from you, “A disappointment, in reality. Had I realised this sooner, I wouldn't have wasted so much time on you.”

This time, your hand actually goes to the pistol at your hip before you calm yourself. He's just trying to rile you – that's all he has left.

[2/3]

>>2988649

“Why DID you waste that time, then?” you ask bluntly, “You wanted me to do something for you. You needed me to do something for you. I don't know why it was, but you were willing to go to any expense to make sure that I completed my mission. I was never going to help you, so why-”

“Do you know what will happen when you unseal that vault?” Eishin interrupts, “In truth, I don't fully know either. What I do know is that it will usher in a new world – a transitory world, a world where the rules have been wiped clean. That world was MY goal. Do you know why?” He pauses for a brief second, not even close to long enough for you to answer. “Of course not,” he sneers, “It would be an equal world – a world where any man could achieve any goal. To reach the stars, to dethrone the gods, to shape the land into his own image... nothing would be impossible for those with the strength to claim their goals.”

“And then what?” you hiss, “Say you got this world, what then? What “goal” would you claim?”

“You're not listening,” the king growls, “That world IS my goal. It would have been my gift to all mankind – and now it will never be realised. Instead, this world will sink into a new age of stagnation, ruled over by men in offices who command armies of paperwork. This is the world you want to create?” His dark eyes narrowing into slits, Eishin leans over and spits at your feet. “I welcome the day of my execution,” he snarls, “If it means that I will never see that world realised.”

The pleasant guise has fallen now, and Eishin's bitterness is laid bare for you to see. His words drip with venom, and his expression has twisted into something bestial. You saw this once before, in the snippet of Imelda's memories, but seeing it in real life is an entirely different thing. Scoffing quietly, you rise out of the chair and start towards the exit. Before you can reach for the door, though, Eishin speaks once more.

“Is that it, then?” he asks, his voice quiet and humble once again, “You're running back to your masters?”

“They're not my masters,” you counter, unable to stop yourself from speaking aloud.

“They are, even if you will not accept it,” Eishin sighs, “You have failed, Vaandemere, and the vault will remain sealed. This is the path you have chosen, now see it to the end.”

You freeze, feeling your anger bubbling back up again. He's wrong, he has to be wrong...

>Goodbye Eishin. Enjoy what little time you have left
>Tell me, then. Why have I failed?
>You never even tried to unseal the vault. Why?
>I have questions for you... (Write in)
>Other

>>2988711
>Tell me, then. Why have I failed?

>"Pretty sure Iraklins are gonna give me their last fragment as thanks for taking you out. Then I can mosey on up and open the vault. You should be happy, I'm achieving your goal for you. Despite all the resources of your kingdom you never could have done what I have."

>>2988711
>You never even tried to unseal the vault. Why?

>>2988711
I saw your world of "freedom" and it was more opressive than a irakhin funeral.

>>2988711
>You never even tried to unseal the vault. Why?
"Let me guess, you want me to do all the legwork so that you don't have to leave Nadir? Or are you trying to find a loophole in some prophecy you've heard?"

>>2988711
>Tell me, then. Why have I failed?
"Impurity seems to be hedging his bets on me killing Dogma. Did he never come to you or did he stop because he knew this was going to happen?"
>You never even tried to unseal the vault. Why?
>I have questions for you... (Write in)
"You realize your potential world might just end up like this one. Freedom at first, but eventually those with power gather people around them and those people require governing. Governing methods would change, succeeding and failing, and you might end up with another authoritative parliament or another theocracy or another republic. The no god interference sounds nice though, I'll give you that."

>I have questions for you... (Write in)
"What's at the bottom of the hole we made?"

>>2988711
I have questions for you... (Write in)
"What's at the bottom of the hole we made?

“Tell me, then,” you spit, the words cold and hard in your mouth, “Why have I failed? I'm not the one locked up in his own tower – I'm free to go and do whatever the hell I want. I've never been closer to my goal. The Iraklins have one of the last fragments I need, and they're going to give it to me for what I've done here. One more fragment, and then there's nothing stopping me from opening that vault.”

“Nothing... save for your own weakness,” Eishin answers. Even without looking around at him, you can hear the sickly smile in his voice, “You lack the will to see this path to completion, to face whatever price you may pay to unseal the vault. Looking at you now, I know this - I was a fool to expect anything more from you.”

Turning away from the door, you march back across to Eishin and grab his chair, twisting it around with a groan of wood against stone. “But the Master of Impurity himself has been pushing me to destroy Dogma. ME,” you spit, “Did he ever come to you? Maybe you're the one who can't live up to expectations. He must have known that your path would end up here, with your defeat.”

This silences Eishin, and you realise that he has no idea what you're talking about. Whatever else he knows, he's never spoken directly with his impure god. Pressing ahead, you stare down into Eishin's black eyes. “You never even tried to unseal the vault yourself, did you?” you ask him with a sneer, “Let me guess. You wanted me to do all the hard work so you wouldn't have to leave your precious Nadir – so you wouldn't have to risk your precious life. You wanted me to do the real work while you searched for some loophole to exploit.”

Placing a hand on your chest, Eishin pushes you backwards and rises to his full height. “It is no small thing to walk another's path. I refuse to do it,” he rumbles, “The path you walk... the path you once walked, it ends in defeat and destruction. I had hoped to turn your defeat into a victory for all of mankind – to make your sacrifice worth something, Vaandemere, to make your LIFE worth something.”

“To create this world of freedom. I know,” you rebuke, smacking his hand away, “But I've seen it with my own eyes, this world you wish for. There was no freedom there – it was just as oppressive as the worst of this world.”

“The weak allow themselves to be oppressed. In this world, that will never change,” the king argues, “But perhaps in a new world, things might have been different. I would have MADE things different.”

“No,” you breathe, shaking your head sadly, “No, you wouldn't.”

[1/2]

>>2988843

“This precious world of yours, it wouldn't be under your control – not if you still claim to seek a world of freedom. Men must be free to chose their own paths, and if that happens... things could just end up repeating themselves. Societies form, and then they grow larger. Men take power, and then they govern. Who are you to dictate the way they rule?” you continue, “Whether they succeed or fail, they won't be created in your image. Will you seek to destroy them, then? Would you spend the rest of your days destroying things until you like what rises out of the ashes?”

“And if that WAS what I wanted,” Eishin replies softly, “Who would stop me? The gods? In this transitory world, even they can be destroyed. No longer will men have to suffer their rule.”

“And if there's one good point in this mess of a plan,” you sneer, “That might be it.” Scoffing again, you turn away from Eishin. “We're done here. You're no use to me,” you mutter, “Tell me this, at least. What lies at the bottom of that chasm?”

“You know already, I think,” the captive king replies, “The roots of the world, and the source of a power beyond compare. Go down and see for yourself – taste them as I have done, if you have any spirit left in you.”

Scowling at his taunt, you turn away and stalk out from the room. This time, Eishin watches you leave in a cold, contemptuous silence.

-

Closing the door behind you, you lean back against it and let out a long breath. The guard glances briefly around at you but says nothing. Shaking off your anger, you straighten up and march out of the tower. Outside, you see Khusraw and Al-Farabi gathered around a skiff with a number of other soldiers. The exploration team, you suspect, preparing to venture down into the abyss. Taking the quick way down, you suppose, and avoiding any of the blocked off tunnels.

“Captain Vaandemere!” Administrator Gehrard calls out as he hastens towards you. Meeting him halfway, you allow the old man to steer you away from the assembly. “Eishin,” he asks quietly, “What did he say?”

Not an easy question to answer. He said a lot of things, a lot of dire proclamations about his ideal world and how you were supposed to help create it. Taken out of context, it might almost make you look guilty by association. Lying to Gehrard, though, after he's placed his trust in you...

>Answer honestly about what Eishin told you
>Conceal the truth. Eishin blustered, but said nothing of use
>Tell Gehrard... (Write in)
>Other

>>2988932
>Eishin rambled about his ideal world. He thought I would help create it for some reason, but I just think he's nuts.

>>2988932
>Tell Gehrard... (Write in)
About Eishin's ideal world, his bitterness of his defeat, how weak he thinks we all are. Leave out kingship, vault, and god talk.

>>2988932
Backing >>2988964

>>2988964
Smart

“He said a lot of things, and hardly any of them were what I'd call useful,” you grunt, channelling your frustration into a natural scowl, “It all started to blend together after a while, but he mainly talked about his ideal world – a world he wanted to create here. Nasty stuff, like reducing all of Nadir to a lawless battlefield. A world where the strong could thrive, that kind of mad talk.” Gehrard nods carefully to this, saying nothing but gesturing for you to continue. “In truth, I think he was just bitter about his defeat and blaming anyone he could,” you add, “It was a waste of my time.”

“I see,” rubbing his brow, Gehrard thinks on this for a moment, “And he wanted to blame you specifically?”

“Well, you know how it is,” you reply vaguely, “I've got... Nadir connections. He must have taken that personally, as a betrayal of sorts. An act of weakness on my part – he was quite unpleasant about it all, in fact.”

“I see,” the administrator repeats, frowning slightly, “No mention of any allies, any attacks or plans?” When you shake your head to this, he sighs and lets the matter drop. “Very well then. I apologise for subjecting you to this, but I needed to make sure. If there was even a faint chance of Eishin letting something slip, then...” he concludes, “Enough of this. The exploration team is getting ready now. I believe another one of your colleagues volunteered to join it.”

Nodding, you let Gehrard move away with a troubled look on his face before heading over to join the exploration team. Along with Khusraw and Al-Farabi, Freddy is buckling herself in. “Caliban didn't like the smell of this,” she explains, noticing your look, “He said it was bad. Couldn't be more specific than that, but I trust his instincts. I don't smell anything, though, so I thought I'd come with you.”

“Glad to have you aboard,” you agree, sitting on one of the hard seats and buckling yourself in. “Man...” you groan, “Are all Iraklin skiffs this uncomfortable?”

“You have no idea,” Freddy replies with a wan smile.

-

Slowly but surely, the skiff descends into the abyss below. Al-Farabi stands by the open side door, scanning the area about her with her Abrahad staff. You've seen what that weapon can do, and you're glad to have her providing covering fire. Plus, it keeps her quiet. Mostly quiet, at least - she hisses a faint curse as the skiff shudders and tips sideways.

“Hey!” Freddy calls over, picking up a thick canvas strap and tossing it over to the churchwoman, “Strap yourself in before you fall. Safety first!”

Rolling her eyes, Al-Farabi picks up the strap and clips it onto her belt, securing her to the sturdy metal ring set into the skiff's floor.

[1/2]

>>2989053
aw damnit
when he asked about connections we should have said Eishin personally thanked DuPont for providing everything he needed.

>>2989053

The skiff descends for a few moments more before the pilot stops it. The red glow that suffuses this place is stronger than ever, and it's like trying to peer through a thick mist. “This passage is getting mighty tight,” the Iraklin pilot calls out, excitement causing his discipline to slip a little, “And the visibility ain't much better. You'll have to walk from here – everyone out!”

“Just got strapped in...” Al-Farabi mutters, snapping off the belt and jumping out onto the spiralling path. You follow her, squinting through the haze as you look around. This is deeper than you've ever been before, and the pulsing sound that surrounds you is thunderous. Shrugging your shoulders, you start marching down the path.

-

“By the Light...” Khusraw breathes, and it's only by the sight of his lips moving that you can tell that he spoke at all. Normal speech is impossible now, your words drowned out by the sound of that giant heartbeat.

Yes, a heartbeat – and the heart itself, like an organ ripped from some unimaginably vast beast, hangs before you. Thick veins reach out, stabbing into the walls about you to suspend the heart in the air. It swims before your eyes, the thick red mist causing your vision to blur and filling your mouth with the taste of blood. You scarcely believe what you're seeing, how it could be possible or where such an organ could come from. Spitting in a futile attempt at clearing the taste from your mouth, you stumble forwards a few paces more. Ducking under a thick, leathery vein, you see the end of the path ahead of you.

The bare rock down here is littered with rusting and crumbling blades, stabbed point down into the ground. Above you, loose veins trail down and drip with thick, viscous blood. Tearing your gaze away from the heart itself, you spot one gleaming white blade, Khusraw's oversized sword, amongst the countless iron weapons. The churchman spots it at the same time as you, brushing past you as he hurries down.

“Tunnels!” he yells, his voice just barely audible against the thunderous backdrop, “I can see tunnels down here!”

“More?” you mutter to yourself, hastening after Khusraw as he bends down to whisper something to his blade. As you approach him, though, you feel your attention drawn back to the beating heart – to the dangling veins that almost seem to present themselves to you. Up close, you can see old scars in their leathery hide, the scars left by a dozens of sets of teeth. His sword momentarily forgotten, Khusraw joins you by the veins and tentatively reaches out to them.

“I was weak...” he mouths, slowly lifting one of the roots towards him.

“Don't!” you snap, but the churchman makes no show of hearing you. You grab his arm, only for him to push you away with a sudden violence.

>Let him partake. He can choose his own path
>Stop him, by force if necessary
>Other

>>2989186
>Stop him, by force if necessary
Uh-oh.

>>2989186
>Stop him, by force if necessary
>Other
"Is your faith really that weak that you'll corrupt yourself so easily?"

>>2989186
>Let him partake. He can choose his own path

Not like we can keep this locked down forever. Also when we open the vault it won't count for much anyway.

>>2989186
>>Stop him, by force if necessary

>>2989186
>Stop him, by force if necessary
I don't want Eishin II

Frantically, you glance this way and that as you look for the others. The mist seems to have grown thicker still, shrinking around you and reducing the world to just you and Khusraw. Calling for help isn't going to get you very far either, not with the nightmarish heartbeat echoing out and drowning out any words you might shout. Most perversely of all, you feel some sympathy for Khusraw, some understanding. This battle has forced him to face his weakness, throwing him into battle against wicked and invulnerable foes. Is it so wrong, then, for a man to seek new strength?

But not like this. Not at this cost.

Yelling out a curse, you grab Khusraw and rip him away from the heart, shoving him back against the rough stone wall. Struggling against you, Khusraw brings his broad forehead slamming down into your face. Pain bursts through your head as your grip loosens, and he squirms free from you. Blinking back tears of pain, you twist around and kick out, your foot hooking around his ankle and sending him tumbling to the ground. Before he can recover, you pounce on him and grab the front of his white robes.

“Damn you!” you yell, shouting hard enough that the words rip at your throat, “Damn it, Khusraw! Is your faith really so weak that you'd willingly taint yourself?”

Despite everything, your words seem to reach him. His eyes clear slightly, a flicker of awareness returning to them. Breathing a sigh of relief, you let go of Khusraw and-

And he's up again, throwing you aside and scrabbling to his feet. This time, he goes straight for his sword. Lunging forwards, he grasps the blade only to freeze in his tracks. Holding the weapon for a moment more, he then slumps forwards as all the the strength seeps from his body. Shuddering, he kneels there with his head hanging low – crying, you realise with a faint pang of sympathy, shedding tears of shame. Crossing over to him, you feel the churchman tense up as you place a hand on his shoulder.

Then, wiping his bloodied face, he looks up and gives you a firm nod. That's twice that you've saved his life, that nod seems to say.

-

Looking up, you spot Freddy and Al-Farabi, both women looking dazed and confused. Fortunately, neither of them seems to have fallen prey to Khusraw's curious mania. Grimly shaking her head, Freddy grabs your arm and points back to the surface. “Dangerous,” she mouths, pointing upwards again for emphasis. You nod your agreement, helping Khusraw to his feet again before turning to-

“YOU,” a grating voice howls, and all four of you jolt around towards one of the tunnel entrances. There, looming tall, you see Segharl's ghastly figure. Coated with blood and filth, the giant looks like he's dug his way out of his own grave. The wounds you dealt him are gone now, even his arm has regrown – mostly. Red and glistening, the limb has the grotesque look of raw meat about it.

[1/2]

Should've double tapped

>>2989353
we chopped of his arm and slit his throat, i don't think stabbing him again would have done much.

>>2989318
"yo why did Eishin allow you to eat some roots? I'd think he'd want to be unchallenged and unique."

>>2989362
I wonder if they can come back from cremation.

>>2989318

“This is MY land!” Segharl bellows, pounding his bare chest with that mutilated hand. Shouldering her staff, Al-Farabi cuts out at the giant with another lance of killing light, but Segharl is quick, quicker than you imagined he could move. Ducking under the beam, he sweeps up a chunk of loose rock and hurls it at the churchwoman. It hits hard, shattering the protective goggles she wears and causing her to fall back with a scream of pain.

“Up!” you yell, grabbing Al-Farabi before she can fall and pushing her towards the winding pathway. Khusraw joins her, half dragging the injured woman towards higher ground. Between her and his sword, though, his retreat is a clumsy one. Pointing for Freddy to help him, you draw your sword and wave the bar of burning white light at the giant. Laughing scornfully, Segharl pulls up one of the more intact swords and tests its edge on his own hand. Barely a drop of blood falls before the wound closes up again. His healing had been quick before, but...

“Twice now, have I supped upon the heart's blood,” the giant sneers, “You won't best me again, bastard son of man.”

“I've beaten you before,” you shoot back, stalling for time as you back away up the winding path, “I don't see why I can't do it again.”

“And I will rise, again and again, until you are a corpse,” Segharl growls, spreading his arm wide as if to invite your bullets, “Cut me down, burn me to ash, drown me in the oceans... I cannot die. How long can your luck hold?”

You're not willing to put that to the test. “So tell me this,” you ask, raising your voice over the background heartbeat, “How come Eishin let you have this blessing? I figured he'd want to be special – unique, as an undying king.”

“You are a fool,” the giant taunts, “It was I who taught my liege about this blessing, who first brought him to this place. Long before King Eishin – or his father, or his father's father - was even born, I walked this land. Long after you are dust, I will walk it still. Now, stand your ground and die!”

As much as it pains you to admit it, he's right. Here, upon the soil of his birth, you don't see much hope of victory.

Not here, at least.

-

So you run. With Segharl's grating laughter echoing in your ears, you turn away from him and run up the winding pathway. The skiff waits above, and with it the promise of escape. Ducking under thickly pulsating veins as you go, you race towards your goal. Segharl is behind you, not running but steadily marching after you. Even so, you barely manage to maintain your lead on him. When the skiff emerges from the mist around you, you leap inside without slowing your pace. Al-Farabi sits slumped in one of the chairs, only the tight straps keeping the unconscious woman from tumbling out, while Khusraw fumbles at his own straps.

[2/3]

>>2989452
Damn, I thought he was just a named mook but he's ascended to big bad contender.

>>2989452

“Take us up!” you order, grabbing one of the canvas belts and buckling it to your own belt. Obeying without question – that famed Iraklin discipline – the pilot sends your skiff lurching up in a sharp ascent. Barely a few seconds later, there comes a hideous crash of shattering glass and the skiff begins to spin out of control. Stumbling into the cockpit, you find yourself confronted by a gory sight. Impaled through the chest by a thrown sword, the pilot sits dead as Freddy struggles with the controls. Just as she manages to get the skiff under control, you spot Segharl through the shattered windscreen.

Now he's running, springing around and vanishing from sight. Even so, you realise what he's doing.

“Up!” you repeat to Freddy, turning back into the skiff as it is shaken by a sudden impact. His face fixed in a rictus snarl, Segharl clings to the side of the skiff and reaches inside. Wind rushes over you, tugging at your limbs and threatening to rip Feanor's blade out of your hand, but you cut at Segharl as best as you can. The idea is simple - if he can't be killed on his home soil, then you need to go higher.

Easier said than done. Lunging forwards again, Segharl grabs your sword hand in his broad fist, tightening his grip until you feel bones grinding together. With your other hand, you drag your revolver out of its holster and jam it into Segharl's side, firing right into his gut. Even this does nothing, causing the giant to grunt in fleeting pain but doing nothing to lessen his attack. Behind you, you dimly see Khusraw fumbling at his safety belt. No room to use his sword in here, but...

Just stall for time. Buy Freddy enough time to get higher up. That's all you need to do.

Easy, right?

>Calling for a dice roll again. 2D6, aiming to beat 9-10 for a partial success and 11+ for a full success. This will be at +1 due to our pistol, and I'll take the highest of the first three results

Rolled 2, 5 + 1 = 8 (2d6 + 1)

>>2989512
Blessed be our unholy pistol.

Rolled 2, 6 + 1 = 9 (2d6 + 1)

>>2989512

Rolled 4, 3 + 1 = 8 (2d6 + 1)

>>2989512

Well shit, a partial success. Could be worse, with these rolls. At the very least Gunny isn't here, so he shouldn't die from this roll.

>inb4

>>2989512
You know, if I knew this quest was going to be 90% make or break it revolver/sword attempts I would have invested in some training. Where is the Revolver Ocelot of this world so we can train under him?

>>2989559
>Partial success has Segharl hang onto the skiff as it ascends and as it gets to the top he throws Gunny into the pit since Gunny happened to be looking over the edge at the time.

>Partial success!

Fighting against the rushing wind with every inch of progress that you make, you lift your revolver up towards Segharl's head. A gut shot might not have phased him, but you're yet to meet a man who can just laugh off being shot in the face. Sensing your intent, Segharl tightens his grip on your sword hand, slamming your arm up against the roof of the skiff. Again and again, he slams your hand into the thin steel shell until, finally, your hand convulses open.

“No!” you cry out, watching as the blade tumbles down and away. Segharl laughs cruelly, and just for one fleeting moment, his guard drops.

Forcing your hand up the rest of the way, you fire a shot straight into his forehead. Blood explodes out, spattering down across Segharl's face and seeping into his eyes. Bellowing with anger, the giant pulls back and starts to claw at his face with his empty hand. Another yell tugs at your attention, and you see Khusraw pouncing forwards. There's no room to use his sword here... but he isn't using his sword. Instead, he holds one of the spare canvas belts in both hands. Taking advantage of Segharl's momentary blindness, he loops the belt around the giant's throat like a garrotte cord.

Flailing, Segharl punches sideways and sends Khusraw tumbling away, the rushing wind almost spilling the churchman out of the skiff. Only a last minute grab at one of the seats keeps him inside. As Segharl claws at the belt, the noose, around your neck, you throw yourself at him in a desperate tackle.

You've never felt more free than you do now, in those few brief seconds of flight through the empty air. All noise seems to fade out, and time slows to a crawl. Looking down, you see Segharl staring straight into you, his eyes very white against a mask of blood. Just for a moment, a tiny smile seems to tug at one corner of his mouth.

Then the canvas belt reaches is end, and his fall is brought to a sharp end. Even with the wind howling in your ears, you hear bone break. Your own belt snaps taut a moment later, with a jolt so severe that it almost breaks your own back. Panting, gasping for breath, you cling to Segharl as the turbulence tears at your clothes. The skiff is beginning to slow now, and you see Khusraw frantically gesturing to Freddy. Your pilot shifts the skiff into hover, and then the muscular churchman begins to pull at your belt. Slowly, your arms crying with every bit of motion, you start to climb up towards the skiff. Hand over aching hand, you pull yourself closer to safety.

Every step of the way, you pause to glance down at Segharl. Watching, waiting for any sign of life.

[1/2]

>>2989636

When the battered, beaten skiff lands back down in the centre of Eishin's encampment, a crowd is waiting to greet you. Mostly armed men, their rifles aimed at Segharl's limp body. You don't blame them for being cautious. You yourself expect the giant to spring back to life as soon as his body touches the soil, yet he remains cold and motionless. Slumping back against the side of the skiff, you let out an exhausted laugh.

“Not a lot of soil up there, is there?” you ask Segharl's body, heedless to the strange looks that some of the soldiers give you, “What was that you said about me becoming dust? Well, I don't think-”

“Hey!” a gruff voice calls out, “I've got a bone to pick with you!” Shouldering through the surrounding soldiers, Gunny barges his way over to you and holds something out to you – Feanor's sword. “This yours, brother? You ought to be more careful with it,” he scolds, “Here I was, minding my own business, when this bloody thing drops right out of the sky. Nearly hit me on the head, too – could have bashed my skull open like an egg!”

“Sorry about that,” you laugh, “I'll... I'll be more careful in future.”

“You'd better be,” he grumbles, “I've had enough close calls for one day. One year, even!”

“Hey,” Caliban hisses, grabbing you tightly on the arm and pointing towards Segharl, “His foot just twitched!” Blurting a curse, you start to fumble your revolver back out before you realise that the hunter is laughing coarsely to himself. “Your face!” he chuckles, “The look on your face...”

Not. Funny.

>I think I'm going to close things here for today. I'll continue this next Friday – although I'll likely be a few hours later than normal – and I'll post a bonus interlude on Wednesday
>Thank you for your patience today!

>>2989690
Darn, we're not rid of Feanor that easily.
Thanks for running!

>>2989690
This anon >>2989559 was right.

Thanks for running!

>>2989690
Cute Gunny Near Death gag.

Thanks for running.

So it's pretty much impossible for us to stop anyone taking a trip down there to gnaw on some roots huh?

What would have happened if we shot the heart? Does the world just end?

>>2989690
Thanks for running!

Segharl's stint as BBEG was short lived :(

Also the roots can stack? How many times? What happens if someone just stays down there and eats them all up?

what happens if someone eats the heart? or kills the heart? with a really big sword like Khusraw's?

>>2989690
What are the odds Gunny would be fucking dead if our rolls were shit? How close did we come to losing him?

>>2989771
Right now, there isn't much that can be done to seal off the roots, short of physically blocking the path down and putting guards in place. Secrecy is another factor, but it's not a perfect solution.
>>2989809
The roots don't exactly stack - part of that was just Segharl talking tough. Partaking does grant a brief and intoxicating rush of power before fading into the "normal" state of immortality. So, when Segharl tasted the heart's blood a second time, it gave him a new burst of strength and regeneration without changing his long-term powers. Someone who remained down below, constantly taking the blood would be very powerful, although that power would only last so long as they remained down at the bottom
>>2989815
A failure would have led to his death, yes. It's not something I approach lightly, but it was something I was prepared for. Fortunately for our brother, he's got the dice watching his back!

Finally, regarding the heart, it would take something pretty special to destroy it. It has its own means of healing itself, faster than most weapons could harm it, so it's no easy feat. Not impossible, mind you, but a pretty bad idea!

>>2989888
>but a pretty bad idea!
Bad idea because conventional weapons won't work or bad idea because of the consequences after it dies?

>>2989690
Thanks for running! How many dice rolls does it take to kill a Gunny?

>>2989950
Why not both? The world wouldn't immediately end if the heart was destroyed - say, with heavy airship fire or something equally hardcore - but it certainly wouldn't be good in the long term!
>>2990017
I suppose that depends on how lucky he was!
Poor Gunny deserves better than this

>>2990063
>Poor Gunny deserves better than this
He deserves a quiet life. He is the one I really, really don't want to die.

>>2990070
>He is the one I really, really don't want to die.

Why do you think Moloch is gunning (heh) for him? ;)

>>2990063
Who has a higher power level, the heart or Dogma before doing any restructuring?

>>2990301
They're not really something you can compare. Dogma is an entity with thoughts and will, while the heart is closer to a natural force such as gravity. In a straight up boxing match, though, Dogma could probably swing it.

>>2989589
We literally had he chance to train before this most recent assault and people chose not to.

>>2990380
I didn't think the heart, and the power it grants, was so high up on the scale. World's gonna get pretty freaky if people start getting access to that. When we open the vault first thing we should do is rebury it, and this time make no caverns leading down.

of course it'll just dig itself out or make it's own caverns in time, but we'll be dead by then so who cares!

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

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When Segharl left, the half-conscious witch slung over his shoulder like so much luggage, Caldwell followed. He made no special attempt to hide himself, simply following after the giant. Whether he tried to hide or not, it would make no difference. Segharl brought the witch to the southern edge of the settlement, where Caldwell knew that a number of animals were kept – kept and butchered, when the time was right.

Idly, he wondered if Segharl would do the deed himself, or if he would hand the task off to some underling. It could not be easy, the assassin went on to muse, to skin a human being. Certainly, it was a skill that he didn't have – and he was all the more glad for that.

Caldwell waited outside for some time, but after almost a full hour with no sign of Segharl, he turned and walked away from the slaughterhouse.

-

The next morning found Caldwell leaning against the open doorway of his humble home. His sleep had been restless and brief, his dreams vaguely unsettling. He didn't need to look around to know that Gorgon was lingering nearby. Of late, the witch had taken to daubing her body with perfumed oils, as if in self-conscious imitation of Azimuth nobility, and her scent preceded her. “You are troubled,” she began, “Are you not?”

Slowly rubbing the stump of his arm, Caldwell looked around to her. “Sometimes, I fear that my fighting days are over,” he admitted, “I've not lifted a weapon since... since Hackett, and that was hardly a fair fight. As I am now, even the least of Eishin's men could defeat me.” Studying his companion for a moment, Caldwell began to wonder. “Tell me, witch,” he asked, “Is there anything you can do to assist me?”

Gorgon's face went blank, even blanker than normal, and she sluggishly shook her head. “I never had a chance to learn much,” she answered, “And Tyrann told me even less.”

Ah yes, her familiar. The mangy little beast hated Caldwell, and the feeling was mutual. Since they had formed their... relationship, the familiar had made itself scare. In fact, Caldwell only ever saw it lingering in Segharl's shadow. What secrets might that little daemon have overheard?

As if summoned by Caldwell's thoughts, the filthy little fox sauntered by a short distance away. Following behind it, Segharl marched in the direction of Eishin's tower. Intrigued, Caldwell pressed a finger to his lips and hushed Gorgon before taking off after the mismatched pair. This time he was more careful about staying unseen, his subterfuge aided by the uncommonly distracted air with which Segharl carried himself. It was odd, to see the giant letting his guard down.

But this was too good of a chance to pass up.

[1/2]

>>2996316

An ill air still hung over the camp, causing many of Eishin's followers to hide inside their homes – another advantage. As he walked, Caldwell had the eerie sensation of creeping through some long-deserted place or the site of some ancient massacre. Shrugging off his misgivings, the assassin paused for a moment as Segharl entered the tower before stealing after him. The door to Eishin's private quarters was closed fast, and Caldwell crouched down to listen to the muffled conversation.

“Segharl, old friend, do tell me...” Eishin purred, “Our witch... did she break?”

“Defiant until the end, my liege,” Segharl replied glumly, “She died with a curse on her lips. Whatever the truth of the matter, she believed in what she told you. Yet, none of her fellow Mavens supported her claims.”

“They seek to confuse me, to distract me with their petty schemes,” the king growled, a note of frustration stealing its way into his voice, “Would that I could be rid of them once and for all... No matter. Good Segharl, I would have ask something of you. I want the witch to be moved to the southern sanctuary. The Maw is not yet fully tamed, and I am loathe to lose her before we have the spirit under our control. Can you trust one of your men with this?”

The witch? They were planning something, Caldwell realised, something to do with Gorgon. Taking her somewhere...

“Firekeeper Koumakan, I think, but... You believe that Aiseag spoke true, then?” Segharl mused, heavy footfalls ringing out as he paced. “You will be weakened, without the Maw. I would not see you rely upon those witches for your protection,” he continued, “There is something I can do. I have... knowledge, ancient secrets that can sculpt flesh and a daemon capable of bringing life from decay. Of the acts I had to commit in order to gain the service of such a spirit, I will not speak, but-”

“Your methods do not concern me,” Eishin interrupted, “What do you require?”

“Bodies. Send word to the vassal settlements, a demand for a dozen of their people apiece – old or young, man or woman, it matters not,” a pause, then, before Segharl continued in a warning tone. “I do not offer this lightly, my liege,” he added, “But we cannot stop now. Those who would oppose your will must be destroyed – by any means necessary.”

There was a soft sigh, so hushed that Caldwell could barely hear it. “I know,” the exiled king murmured, “We just need a little more time. We're close, old friend, can you feel it?”

Here, Caldwell heard nothing more – a hushed whisper, indistinct words that dripped with conspiratorial venom, but that was it. Sensing that the conversation was over, the assassin rose to his feet and hurried away from the door. As he hastened back home, a foreboding feeling settled over him.

Something big was coming.

>This concludes today's bonus interlude. Regular updates will resume on Friday, maybe two hours later than normal

>>2996318
> stealthposting

>>2996318
>Koumakan
Beware the basement dweller?

>>2996318
Thanks for posting.

>>2996318
They were so close and yet so far.

Get dunked on Segharl.

File: tumblr_ok4g7f6Hdc1tcgki8o(...).gif (541 KB, 268x267)

541 KB GIF

>>2996752
Eishan - ya basic.

Heads up for those that don't use Twitter. Session postponed to tomorrow due to Moloch's internet being very unstable today.

>>3001274
Dogma's work anon

File: Erik Khusraw.jpg (73 KB, 702x1137)

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The funeral pyres are going to burn brightly tonight. Some poor bastard has been given the job of sorting through the bodies, separating the Nadir dead from the Carths and the Iraklins. Now, three groups of bodies have been laid out. Eishin's troops will be burned here with little in the way of ceremony – which, according to Caliban, is hardly any different from regular funeral tradition. The Iraklin dead will be treated much the same, although care was taken to get the names and rank details of all the fallen. Back in Iraklis, their families will be informed – at least, you hope so.

The Carth dead – a noticeably smaller number, owing to their second rank place in the battle – will be brought home, to be washed and cleansed before their cremations. Already, skiffs from the Pagoda are carrying groups of bodies back up to the Carth airship.

When the time came for Segharl's body to be raised up onto the pyre, you glanced up at Eishin's tower. The defeated king was there at the window, gazing out at the scene with genuine sorrow written large across his features. He remained there for a long time before turning away and vanishing into his self-imposed prison. Under any other circumstances, you might feel a touch of sympathy for him, but... the time for that has long passed.

“Captain Vaandemere. I'm not interrupting anything, am I?” Khusraw asks, sitting down opposite you. Shaking your head, you focus on the churchman. All you were doing was sitting in the command tent and daydreaming, so the company is welcome. “I was speaking with your man Hotchkiss. I hope this wasn't supposed to be a secret, but he mentioned that you had business up in Cloudtop Prison,” he continues, “Is that right?”

Your promise, of course, to find some way of contacting Dogma and hearing out their side of the story. With everything that has happened, you've barely had any time to think about it. “That's right,” you confirm, “My business... it's nothing, really. I need some peace and quiet, some time to think about a few things. Is there something...”

“Ah, capital. I don't wish to impose, but I was wondering. Would you mind if I could accompany you?” Khusraw asks, idly stroking his moustache, “You're not the only one who needs some time to think. I had a lapse back there, down in the pit. A lapse of faith, of judgement, of... moral fibre. I need to do penance, and Bishop Rhea should be able to instruct me in that.”

Shrugging, you give him the nod. Taking along a passenger won't slow you down any, and it's not like he'll be a burden on you. “How's your friend?” you ask after a pause, “Her face looked pretty bad, last time I saw her.”

“Well...” Khusraw pauses, wincing a little, “She'll survive, and... being honest with you, my friend, I think the eyepatch suits her.”

[1/2]

>>3003388

Leaving Khusraw to think, you slip out of the command tent and amble through the quiet camp. You'll be leaving here soon enough, but there's no harm in lingering for a while more. If anything, you feel strangely reluctant to leave – your next stop is Cloudtop Prison, hardly the most welcoming of places. On the other hand, you think as the wind changes and you catch the scent of funeral pyres, the air will be much cleaner up in Zenith.

By the edge of the chasm, a team of Iraklin engineers were busy muttering to each other. You've caught wind of their plans already – a weak attempt at sealing off the pit, then covering up any trace of it. It's almost laughable. One hour of hard work would be enough to undo the ruse... if someone knew where to dig. That's the real trick, you reckon. The Carths and the Iraklins will work hard to bury these secrets, and to bury them deep.

At least, you hope so.

-

“Vaandemere,” Gehrard calls out to you, pausing in his tracks as he hurries towards the command tent, “I've heard word from Azimuth. Consul Hess is sending an agent down with your... payment. It should arrive by the evening. You weren't meaning to leave before then, were you?”

And now you've got an excuse to stay here. “I'll be here,” you assure the administrator, “But after that, I'm going to keep moving. You know me – I start to get nervous if I stay in one place for too long.”

“And I start to get nervous when I'm away from my office for too long,” Gehrard replies, his crooked smile suggesting that – unbelievably – he's actually joking. “I'll be leaving here soon,” he adds as he's leaving, “Excellent work here. You've done our nation... you've done the whole land a service.”

As Gehrard is leaving, you hear a gruff snort of amusement from behind you. “The whole land, is it? I'm not sad to see Eishin broken, but I figure that some are likely to benefit far more than others,” Caliban remarks with a cynical sneer, “You're wandering about like a lost child, captain. Looking for someone?”

“Oh, you know me,” you reply breezily, “Always looking for trouble.”

“Still plenty of that going around. I was thinking of heading back to the Mavens, taking another look down those tunnels. I never got very far last time – the new girl wouldn't let me. Dangerous, she said, and I've never been good at saying no to girls,” the hunter continues, “Oh, and I saw Masque heading north. Following the scent of old death, apparently. Lhaus took the Eliza back to the Spirit of Helena and Gunny was hanging around the medical tent when I last saw him, so...”

“So that's that,” you finish for him.

>Rest and wait for Hess' agent to arrive
>Explore the tunnels with Caliban
>Follow Masque northwards
>Visit Gunny at the medical tent
>Other

>>3003390
>Follow Masque northwards
Might be interesting

>>3003390
>Follow Masque northwards
>north
>old death
do we need to bring a syringe to loot some ancient superblood?

>>3003390
>Follow Masque northwards

>>3003390
>Play cave explorer with Caliban

>>3003390
>Visit Gunny at the medical tent

“Masque didn't say anything else, did he?” you ask, slowly massaging your brow. You're starting to sense trouble whenever the daemon gets excited about anything – it might be fun for HIM, but the feeling is rarely mutual.

“Don't recall. You know what he's like, I was lucky to get that much out of him,” Caliban replies with a shrug, “He didn't march of swinging his sword at anyone who came near, so that's one thing. You're going after him, then?”

“Probably best,” you agree, turning and making a start northwards. When Caliban shows no sign of following, you shrug and leave him be. You can always come back later, if he's still curious about those tunnels. After a moment, though, you hear another set of soft footsteps behind you. Glancing around, you see Branwen hurrying over to join you. “Something wrong?” you ask the girl, “Or were you just looking for something to do?”

Branwen just shrugs at this. “The arena is north. It is where King Eishin held his games. Men would challenge one another to settle their disputes, fighting to the death to prove their virtue,” she explains after a moment, “I watched some of the fights. They were... exciting.”

Silent for a moment, you nod stiffly and continue on your way.

-

You find Masque sitting in the middle of the arena itself, although it hardly deserves such a grand name in your opinion. A pit dug in the dirt, surrounded by spiked wooden posts and barred off with a crude gate, it just seems like a more savage version of the fighting pits you're used to seeing in Monotia. The daemon has his back to you, although you notice his iron mask resting within reach. Rare, to see him with it off. Hanging back for a moment, you watch as Masque leans forwards as if to press his mutilated face into the dirt.

Savouring the smell of old death, perhaps. It isn't long before he straightens up and dons his mask once more, fastening it on with practised familiarity. “This is a special place, Milos Vaandemere,” he announces without looking around, “A man must be willing to kill and die both for his beliefs. If not, what use are they?” Rising, he lifts his sword in a half-hearted salute. Not a real challenge, but the sight of that gesture – in a place like this - still gives you a thrill of unease. “Are you willing?” he asks.

“You know I am,” you reply, approaching him and gently pushing his sword aside, “Although I'd rather not prove that. I find pointless killing to be tiresome.”

The daemon lets out a hard and grating laugh. “You would never have found a home here,” he decides, “It would have broken you, or you would have broken it.”

“The latter, most likely,” you suggest, casting a pointed glance back towards the encampment and its funeral pyres, “Is this it, then? You came here to see this place?”

“No,” Masque says bluntly, “There is something else here. I can smell it. Come – I will lead the way.”

[1/2]

>>3003453

It isn't a long journey. Moving on past the arena, Masque leads you to a great, dead tree. Spotting a crack in the bark, you peer inside the hollow trunk and see a thick, oily darkness. Muttering a curse, you start to turn back to fetch a flashlight from the camp, but Branwen stops you. Rummaging in her bag, she produces a glass vial of greenish liquid. When she shakes it, the vial begins to glow with a sickly light. Accepting the vial with a muted nod, you squeeze through the broken trunk and enter the tree.

The outside edge of the hollow tree is set with shelves, and each shelf bears a number of skulls. Human – or, in some cases, mostly human – the skulls leer down at you with hollow eye sockets. Shuddering, you hold up the vial to get a closer look and catch a glint of metal. Wiping dust away from one of the small brass plaques fixed in front of one skull, you read the tiny letters engraved there. “Constance Ardeux,” you mutter, holding the light a little closer, “Scholar of folklore and natural philosophy.”

The others are much the same. Mostly scholars, a number of military officers and even a few churchmen. All of them learned men and women, according to the labels given to their remains. A long time ago – not all that long, in the grand scheme of things – you heard tell of Eishin gathering scholars for his own purposes. Now, at long last, you've found what became of them.

“Is this what you brought me here to find?” you ask Masque, glancing around to find the daemon lurking just outside the tree.

“I did not bring you here,” Masque corrects you, “You chose to follow me here.”

Sometimes you forget just how obtuse he can be. Masque turns away and leaves you here, but Branwen slips into the hollow tree and looks about her with subdued curiosity. Standing on the tips of her toes, she looks at one of the brass plaques. “This one,” she asks, “What does it say?”

“Julius Beringer, officer of the Iraklin military,” you tell her, “You can't read?” Branwen just shakes her head to this, her head tilted to the side with curiosity. “These are all like that,” you add, “Military men, or scholars of Nadir folklore. Eishin brought them here, I guess, to learn from them.”

“Why would King Eishin need to learn from outsiders?” Branwen wonders aloud, “What could they tell him about the Deep Forest that he did not already know?”

“Because...” you begin, unsure how serious she's being, “Because he wasn't born here. He was from Monotia originally, before he was driven out here. Don't you know this?”

“King Eishin tells us that he was born here, in the heart of the Deep Forest. That is why he defends it so,” the young healer answers, “He... lied. I see now. So that is why he could be defeated.”

You don't quite follow her chain of logic, but never mind.

[2/3]

>>3003503

With two people, even if one of them is as tiny as Branwen, the hollow tree soon starts to feel suffocating. Squeezing outside, you follow Masque as he strides back towards the arena. “King Eishin tells us many things,” Branwen continues, “That the gods chose him to guide us into a new world. A promised land, he called it. Until that day, we would face a path of strife – all the nations of the sky would seek to oppose us, and to steal our future. His words won him many followers. Those who would not join him, he said, were enemies – allies to those above.”

“Join or die...” you muse, “Is that it?”

“No. Not then. He still feared the Maw in those days. When they came to my village, they came with simple threats. We would be cast aside when the way to the promised land was opened. We would be remembered as traitors to our gods and our land. That was all it took to sway my people. In those days, he knew... restraint. Not now,” Branwen shakes her head, “Now, King Eishin sends his men to spill blood without fear of the consequences.”

“Not now,” you correct her, “Now, Eishin won't be doing much of anything.”

“Yes,” the girl concedes with a tilt of her head, “That is true.” She starts to say something else here, but the words die in her mouth as the ground shakes slightly. It's not much, not the sort of thing you'd even notice if you were aboard an airship, but it causes her face to pale with fear. Even after the ground as settled, she remains silent with her brows drawn together in a tight scowl. No matter what else she might be, Branwen is still little more than a child – as easily frightened as any other.

The silence draws out, growing stiff and awkward.

>Come on, let's head back to camp. We've seen enough here
>Why don't you tell me about your village?
>Do you know anything about the tunnels beneath this place?
>I wanted to ask you something... (Write in)
>Other

>>3003530
>Why don't you tell me about your village?
>Do you know anything about the tunnels beneath this place?
>What made you get into healing?
"The Doc aboard my ship is one of the best. I can't think of a better teacher for you."

>>3003530
>Why don't you tell me about your village?
>Do you know anything about the tunnels beneath this place?

>>3003530
>Why don't you tell me about your village?
>Other
Anything else you smell Masque? Dunno if he just took off though.

>>3003530
>Other
Oh, we should also make a list of the dead and give it to the authorities. I imagine Iraklis would want confirmation of their missing officers.

“Hey,” you call out quietly, “Why don't you tell me about your old village?”

Branwen glances around at you, stirred from her fearful thoughts by your question. “It was... nice,” she begins weakly, frowning a little as she thinks back, “It was... Àite de fhlùraichean fiadhaich.” Pausing again, you wait as Branwen fumbles for the translation. “A place of wild flowers,” she continues at last, “We grew them, made them into medicine as we were taught by our ancestors. In our old stories, we learned that a man came down from the mountain to share their wisdom with us. I don't understand those stories – what mountain?”

Shielding your eyes, you look up towards the sky and the Mountain of Faith that hangs beyond. You've heard much about people ascending the mountain, to get away from the impurity of Nadir, but you can't recall hearing about someone coming back down again. Even in those barbaric days, it seems that there were those who wished for the two groups to cooperate. “So is that why you chose to become a healer?” you ask next, “Tradition?”

“Yes. I wished to follow in the footsteps of my ancestors,” Branwen nods proudly, “Although I am only a novice...”

“You'll have to meet the doctor I have on my ship. He's a good man, and I think he could do with an assistant,” you tell her, “I can't think of a better person for you to study under.” The idea of this seems to rattle Branwen, and her expression darkens a little. “Do you know anything about the tunnels that lie beneath this place?” you ask her instead, changing the subject, “I've been down there, and...”

“We are forbidden to venture too far below. There is... was... a ritual chamber there. Some rites can only be performed in the womb of the soil. Beyond that, we were not permitted to pass,” the girl explains, “King Eishin tells us that the beating heart of the world sleeps there. If it were to be harmed, the land would slowly sicken and die. The grass would not grow, all our animals would leave us, and even the birds would fall from the skies. We have a duty, he tells us, to defend the heart – those in the lands above might one day seek to harm it, to destroy us by any means necessary.”

“Oh,” you hesitate, “Do you believe that?”

“Now? I do not know what to believe,” Branwen shakes her head, “But I think that there are powers men ought not to meddle in. We are still young and ignorant, I think.”

Some more ignorant than others, perhaps. “Masque!” you call over, watching as the daemon picks at the ground, “Did you smell something else?”

“Not smell, no. This was half buried here,” the daemon growls, holding up a thick gold coin for a moment before clutching it in a tight fist, “It owner died in the attack, shot down by three men. He would have evaded them, if not for the gold he carried. Most of his treasure was taken before his body was cold. This is all that remains.”

[1/2]

>>3003573

Before you head back to camp, you spent a while noting down the names engraved on the brass plaques. Bringing back a sack of skulls is a little macabre even for you, but the dead deserve to have their names recorded. If nothing else, the Iraklins might want to learn the fates of their missing officers. You read the names aloud as you write them down, while Branwen quietly repeats them to herself as she squints at the letters.

As you return to the camp, she speaks up again. “The Mavens told me not to wander through their caverns,” the healer murmurs, “Lest I stumble into raon nan damhain-allaidh. Ah, the... I'm sorry, I don't know how to say it. It is a grove, the changelings are born there, they said to me. Not even the Mavens are safe there. Only King Eishin, or his right hand, can force those spiders into fealty.”

Only Eishin or Segharl? It might, you think, be connected with the roots of the world. Perhaps they gained other powers from tasting that blood, powers beyond that unnatural regeneration. You start to reply to this, but then-

“Changelings, eh? You've been holding out on me, girl,” Caliban remarks, his voice coming from above you. Turning, you see the hunter sitting up in the branches of a tree. “I was asking what was down there, but she wouldn't tell me,” he continues, “Breaks my heart, captain. Seems like girls just don't want to trust a man with a face like mine. Now that I know what's down there, though...”

“Now hold on!” Branwen protests, “It isn't safe. You have ears, do you not?” Huffing a moment, she frowns up at the hunter before sulkily continuing. “Besides,” she adds, “That isn't all that's down there. There is a shrine to the twin mistresses – the Mistress of the Soils, and the Mistress of the Flames. If you must delve further down, go no further than that.”

“Hmm,” the hunter hums, “And why not tell me this before?”

“Because you have no love for the gods,” she replies simply, “Is that not true?”

Already growing tired of the back and forth, Masque turns away and starts to leave. Before he flees completely, though, he tosses the gold coin he found over to you. Snatching it out of the air, you run your thumb across the scarred, dirty metal. In truth, you're still thinking about what Branwen told you. A place where changelings grow, where only Eishin and Segharl could walk without fear. Not a bad place to hide something, perhaps.

“You two, stop bickering,” you tell Caliban and Branwen, causing them both to look around at you, “Here's what we're going to do...”

>Remain above ground. No more tunnels
>Search for the shrine to the twin mistresses
>Search for the changeling grove
>Visit both locations
>Other

>>3003653
>Visit both locations
Sounds interesting.

>>3003653
Search for the shrine

We're hearing out Dogma and Impurity, why not all of them?

>>3003653
>>Visit both locations

>>3003653
>Visit both locations

“This shrine, at least, is safe enough?” you ask Branwen, “And you can lead us there?”

Slowly, reluctantly, the girl nods. “I have been there many times,” she confirms, “I warn you now, it is a humble place. No grand shrine, this. If you're not happy with it, don't complain to me. I didn't build it.” Pouting a little, she turns on her heel and bustles away in the direction of the grotto. Leaping nimbly out from the tree, Caliban lands beside you and smoothly starts to follow her.

“But we're not stopping there, are we?” the hunter prompts, “Just visiting a shrine? Seems like a waste...”

You're curious about how eager he is. Maybe you're just imagining things, but ever since his face was scarred, Caliban has been more and more cavalier about danger – even seeking out fights where there's really no need for violence. You'll have to keep a closer eye on him in future. For now, though, he might just have a point. “We'll see what we can find,” you tell him slowly, “But, yes, I do intend on exploring this grove a little. I dislike the idea of a hive of changelings growing beneath our feet.”

“That's my captain,” Caliban laughs, eagerly slapping you on the shoulder.

-

Once again producing her glowing flask, Branwen leads you down into the grotto. She seems a little calmer now that the gristly body has been taken down and burned, but she still creeps like a fugitive through the dripping stone tunnels. For a short while, you follow the same path as before. Then, pausing to get her bearings, Branwen leads you down a new branch of the tunnel. A strange crackling sound reaches you, and it takes a moment for you to place it – the sound of an open flame, distorted by these echoing tunnels.

When it gets into view, the tiny flame seems painfully bright compared with the rest of the tunnels. It burns at the tip of a twisted spire of rock, burning without any sign of fuel. With the flame drawing your attention, it's a moment before you spot the arms reaching out towards you. Stumbling around and drawing your pistol, you come face to face with... a crude statue, the bare rock carved into a sexless human form. The statue reaches out towards you, their open palms locked together to form a rough bowl. Within the statue's hands, you see a number of other gold coins glinting softly.

“An offering to the dead, that they might be peaceful upon their return,” Branwen whispers to you, “The spirits of the dead can rise but one day a year, and so we want their return to be a blessed one.”

“I see...” you mutter. This all started on that day, the Festival of Walking Ghosts. On that day, it almost feels like you too rose from the dead. “Leave me, both of you,” you add, “I need a moment alone.”

Caliban and Branwen exchange a dubious look, but neither one argues. They retreat, and you kneel down before the humble stone statue.

[1/2]

>>3003737

You're not even sure if this will work, but you figure that it's worth a try. You've heard from Impurity, and you plan on hearing Dogma out, but what about the other gods? So far as you know, they're not the ones making a play here – but that doesn't mean that they don't have an opinion. You just need to figure out a way of learning that opinion.

Easy. No problem at all.

The longer you spend kneeling here, the more your mind begins to wander. That's fine – you let it roam to wherever it wishes. Slowly, the image of a mountain takes shape in your mind. Not the Mountain of Faith, but a more generic mountain. With your mind's eye flying up it, you come to rest at the peak – at an empty throne carved into the top. Around you, storms rage and waves crash against the sides of the mountain.

“Because the throne is empty,” you hear yourself say, alien understanding filtering into your mind, “It doesn't matter who, but someone needs to take up the throne. Why, though?”

A new image, split into so many smaller images that you find it hard to watch them all. You see people and animals going about their lives, from birth to procreation and then death. Beyond death, the bodies decay away into nothing before the cycle repeats. “Because it's just the natural state of the world?” you wonder, “I thought Dogma created a perfect, unchanging system?”

One final image – stark in its simplicity. A lake of crystal clear water, despoiled as a single drop of dark blood falls into it. The blood spreads, muddying the entire pool of water.

Impurity.

-

Jolted awake, you look around to see Caliban standing nearby. “Heard you muttering to yourself,” he says quietly, “Thinking deep thoughts?”

“Yes, maybe, I...” you shake your head, “I don't know. Maybe.”

“Decisive as always, I see,” Caliban chuckles. Turning away from you, he takes a closer look at the carved statue – and then the coins it holds. “Hey, ancient temple coins,” he mutters to himself, “Sounds like a good souvenir to me. Don't mind if I do...”

He reaches out to take the coins, and then...

>Allow him to take them. He's earned a little souvenir
>Stop him from taking them. They're supposed to be offerings
>Other

>>3003811
>Stop him from taking them. They're supposed to be offerings
"I'm surprised you didn't find a souvenir from the entire battle."

>>3003811
>Stop him from taking them. They're supposed to be offerings.

Give him the one Masque tossed to us, if he wants gold so badly. Ask where Branwen went.

>>3003811
>Stop him from taking them. They're supposed to be offerings
There's power in the tribute.

Quickly reaching out, you grab his wrist. “I don't think that's such a good idea,” you warn him, “Do you really need a souvenir? I thought that you might have taken the chance during the battle. Nothing catch your eye?”

“I was a little busy, chief,” Caliban replies with a crooked sneer, something that might have been a smile before his injury, “You think I was roaming about with a sack of treasure?”

“Some people were,” you counter, thinking back to what Masque said. Taking out the single coin he gave you, you toss it across to Caliban. “Take this, if you're really keen on the idea,” you add, “Unless desecrating a shrine is part of the appeal?”

Catching the coin out of mid-air, Caliban walks it across his fingers and nods with satisfaction. As he thinks, you glance across at the tunnel entrance. Branwen lingers there, her back facing you. She probably doesn't even know about this little exchange – a fact that you're glad about. “Good enough for me,” Caliban decides after a moment, “Finding religion then, captain?”

“I know what sort of thing I shouldn't mess with, that's all,” you tell him, “But speaking of things we should mess with... why don't we go and check out that grove?”

Caliban nods, and you start to leave together. As a reluctant Branwen leads you down towards a new fork in the path, you feel strangely... good. As if a weight had been lifted from your shoulders, or if you had found solace in the company of a friend.

-

The closer you get to the grove, the harder it is to breathe. A dreadful scent of decay hangs heavily in the air here, like rotting vegetation and excrement. After a while, Branwen stops you and retrieves a small clay flask from her bag of supplies. Pouring some of its contents into her hand, she splashes all three of you with the perfumed liquid. It isn't much, but it goes some way to covering up the filthy reek. Then, and only then, does she allow you to go further.

When you arrive at the grove itself, you feel a stabbing urge to retreat. Not just from the smell, but the simple nature of the grotesque sight before you. Mud has replaced bare rock here, with twisted limbs reaching out from the filth. Here and there, heads or partial torsos peek out as well, the expressions twisted into rictus snarls. In some cases, the bodies hold only a meagre resemblance to the human form, distorted by extra limbs or contorted shapes. The air is hot, here, hot enough that you feel sweat forming on your back.

Confronted by this sight, Branwen lets out a groan of dismay. “Look,” Caliban mutters to you, “There's a passage back there. We just need to walk on through.”

Easy. No problem at all.

[1/2]

>>3003933

Holding Branwen's glowing flask out ahead of you, you edge into the grove and step over a withered limb that immediately bars your passage. You're no expert, but these half-grown changelings seem... wrong. When you spot a stray torso nearby, the flesh split wide open, you kneel down to take a closer look at the black lodestone within. It doesn't look quite like the others that you've seen. Those ones had a black lustre to them, their carvings crisp and clear. This one is mottled brown, the carvings partially rubbed away already. Inferior stone?

As you reach down to pull out the lodestone for a closer look, though, the shorn halves of the torso slam shut around your wrist. Pain blossoms up your entire arm, and Branwen screams from somewhere behind you. Glancing around at the shrill sound, you see an arm – the limb dangling from the wall – groping at the girl's head, squirming fingers tangled up in her hair. Caliban is there in an instant, his hunting knife shearing through the limb and causing it to flop limply down.

Grunting in pain, you close your fist around the flawed lodestone and rip it free from the torso, inwardly sighing with relief as the decaying jaws flop open to release you. Dropping Branwen's flask into your pocket, you go for your weapons. Feanor's blade remains dull and dead, so you pull a knife from your belt instead and get to work. A chattering, half-fleshed skull is your first target, your heavy blade splitting it open and cracking the lodestone that lurks within the soft skull. Withdrawing your blade, you turn and search for the next threat.

More of the half-formed changelings are digging themselves out of their birthing pits, although none of them seem to be complete yet – complete enough to be a real threat, at least. Clumsy, uncoordinated attacks flail away at you as you hack away. Caliban does the same, cutting at limbs and lumps of flesh. Even Branwen does her part, bashing in a changeling's skull with a heavy rock and laughing all the while.

Time loses all meaning, lost in the brutal cut and thrust of your butchery, but eventually the last of the changelings dissolves into a bubbling sludge. You're breathless and exhausted, bleeding from a few stray scratches here and there, but none of you are harmed all that much. Little chance of it, really. A single man might have been overwhelmed and dragged down, but with both you and Caliban here?

Easy work.

“I told you!” Branwen gasps, throwing aside her rock with a weighty thud, “I told you it was-”

“Dangerous?” Caliban interrupts, “This was nothing. Not even good exercise. Now then, captain, you want to see what this slime was hiding?”

With that, he strides off. Watching him go, Branwen sticks her tongue out at his retreating back.

[2/3]

>>3004064

“You know, I didn't know what to expect,” Caliban begins as you enter the small chamber at the far end of the grove, “But it was something better than THIS.”

Stepping around him, you take a look at the treasures that Eishin had hidden away. A crude stone table – little more than a spire of rock with the top broken off and worked flat – occupies the centre of the tiny room, with a mouldering blanket spread out before it. It's not hard to imagine someone kneeling down on it, facing the stone altar. Atop the altar table, though, you see... not much at all. Three framed pictures, nothing more, all of them showing the same woman.

The first two pictures are nothing special, showing the woman smiling shyly out at the viewer or standing at a balcony, her attention fixed on the horizon. A beautiful woman, you've got to admit, with long dark hair and elegantly swirling patterns painted across her face and hands. No particular signs of Nadir blood, but... she has it. You know this on an instinctive level, even just from seeing her in a picture. The final Imago shows her with a young man, who you realise – with a jolt – is a handsome, well-groomed version of Eishin. Unable to resist yourself, you pry open the frame and take the Imago out. Along with it comes a flimsy scrap of paper, cut from some society newsletter.

“Prince Eishin of Nadir, seen here with noted courtesan Alyssia Deoradhán,” you read aloud, squinting at the faded ink, “The woman widely expected to be his bride...”

“How old is it, do you think?” Caliban asks quietly, “It must be pretty old, if Eishin looks like that.”

Of all the things that Eishin kept, in this most secret of places, he kept these. Three pictures of the woman he once loved. “He's still a bastard, though,” you mutter to yourself, letting the Imago fall back down onto the stone table, “Come on. We're leaving this damn place.”

“Uill, tha e mu dheidhinn ùine...” Branwen mutters loudly to herself.

>Okay, I think I'm going to call things here. I'll continue this tomorrow, probably an hour earlier than normal. My clocks are going back, so things are likely to be a little mixed up for a while
>Thank you for your patience today!

>>3004201
Thanks for running

>>3004201
Thanks for running!

>>3004201
Thanks for running!

If we had looked harder, would we have found an album of Eishin's baby pictures? What forbidden photos would this tome contain?

>>3004246
No baby pictures, I'm afraid, Eishin would never risk any of those escaping into the public eye!
He was a pretty cute baby, actually

File: Keziah.jpg (101 KB, 816x1600)

101 KB JPG

“Do you know what the worst thing about this is?” Al-Farabi asks, without looking around at you. Some bored soldier has painted a crude target on the one of the wooden hut doors, and the wounded churchwoman has been throwing darts at it. So far, she's barely landed any hits on the target. Little surprise, considering her condition – you've always found it easier to aim with two eyes.

“What is it?” you ask eventually, when Gunny fails to. He just gives you a helpless shrug as Al-Farabi throws her last dart, just barely landing it on the target.

“Everything,” she answers bluntly, turning around to scowl at you. A white strip of gauze covers one eye, but her scowl retains all the taut anger that you're used to. Glancing again at Gunny, you see him sigh. Judging by his expression, he's been trying to cheer the churchwoman up for some time now. By now, he's probably starting to realise just how futile this goal is. Some people, in your experience, just don't want to cheer up.

-

Flying low, the Eliza skims just barely above the tree line as it approaches the encampment, swooping around in a wide circle before coming in for a landing. Freddy must be in a good mood, to be showing off like that. Even before the skiff has fully landed, Keziah hops out the rear door and hurries across the open ground towards you. Even before you can call out a greeting, she lunges forwards and presses her lips hard against yours. A few of the nearby soldiers whistle before their officer bellows a command at them, and the witch pulls away to reveal flushed cheeks.

“I was so worried!” she breathes, “I mean, I knew you could do it, but I was so worried!” Laughing nervously, Keziah pulls back and places her hands upon your chest as if to reassure herself that you're real – not a ghost or an illusion. “When the ground just... opened up like that, I thought I lost you. I couldn't feel you, not at all, and then...” she continues, only to cut herself short and clear her throat, “What I'm sayin' is, you'd better make it up to me later!”

“You still owe me dinner, remember?” you shoot back, “So if I eat that, and tell you that you did a good job, will you-”

“Excuse me,” a calm voice interrupts from behind you. Turning, you see Administrator Gehrard standing a few paces away with a metal carrying case in one hand. Your prize, you don't doubt – what else could it be? “I believe this is yours,” Gehrard adds, “And there is a matter that I would discuss with you. Please, step into my office.”

Holding out his hand, Gehrard leads you towards the command tent.

[1/2]

>>3006610

“I've got to ask,” you begin as you sit, “Alyssia Deoradhán. Do you know the name?”

Gehrard pauses for a moment, giving a passable imitation of a man searching his memory. “It's been a long time since I heard anyone say that name,” he muses, “For a time, it seemed as though she might marry Eishin and become the queen of Nadir. Then, of course, it all fell apart. Eishin poisoned Old King Hakone – I suppose the old man wasn't dying fast enough for Eishin's liking - and fled into exile, while Deoradhán was arrested as part of his conspiracy. I believe she was executed, although I don't recall the specifics.”

That's certainly the official story. With Hakone dead and Eishin fleeing into exile, the throne fell to Roegar – a weak and easily manipulated man. Very convenient, for the Azimuth powers. “Tell me something, Gehrard,” you ask quietly, leaning forwards so that your words won't be overheard, “Did Eishin really kill his father?”

He's good – Gehrard's expression doesn't even flicker. “The evidence certainly points towards that conclusion... and innocent men don't run,” he answers calmly, pausing for an unhurried moment before changing the subject. “I'm going to be returning to Iraklis soon,” he continues, “My work is hardly finished – even with Eishin in our custody, dismantling Faulkner's operation will take some time. Neither of us, I should think, can spare the time to obsess over the past. One must always look ahead to the future.”

At least he's right there. Aside from cracking open the case to make sure that your prize is there as expected, you've barely glanced at the fragment. Time enough for that later, when you're bound for Zenith. It doesn't seem like there's much keeping you here, either – the danger has passed, and your crew are ready. Even looking out from the command tent, you can see most of them passing the time in their own idle ways. Closest to the tent, close enough that you can just about overhear them, Branwen and Keziah sit and talk. Talking about the Mavens, it seems, with Keziah pressing the young healer for all sorts of details about them. Their conversation reminds you of the promise you gave Nathair. A new home, whatever that means...

But you won't get anything done by sitting around here and gazing at the clouds. It's time to finish any last business you have here, then set off for Zenith and Cloudtop Prison.

>Gather your crew and start off for Zenith
>You have some other business here... (Write in)
>Other

>>3006612
>Gather your crew and start off for Zenith
Can't really think of anything. I would say give the Carth Trio a goodbye, but they are coming with us to Cloudtop I think.

>>3006612
>>Gather your crew and start off for Zenith

>>3006612
>Gather your crew and start off for Zenith
Yeah, I too can't think of anything else to do here.

It would be a stretch to say that things were entirely squared away here – the Iraklin forces are still busy with turning the remains of Eishin's encampment into a fort worthy of their nation's name – but there's only so much that you yourself can do. As you told Gehrard, you start to get restless if you stay in one place for too long, and that restlessness is definitely starting to set in now. So, giving the administrator a curt nod, you pick up the metal carrying case and stride out of the tent, gesturing for your crew – and your guest – to gather up.

“We're off, then?” Khusraw asks, shouldering the carefully wrapped weight of his massive sword, “I'm eager to see Zenith again, my friend. Eager indeed.”

“We're off,” you confirm, “Have you spoken with Al-Farabi and Sabin? If you vanished off with me, they might get the wrong idea.”

“They'll be staying here for the time being. If any impure spirits seek to reclaim this land, their services will be needed,” the churchman explains, “I have every confidence that they can hold this ground, and their well wishes will be travelling with me. We'll all see each other again, I should think, sooner or later.”

He needn't have made that sound so sinister.

-

With the new additions to your crew, it takes two trips for the Eliza to lift all your people back up to the Spirit of Helena. Returning to the airship feels like coming home, from the reassuring hum of her engines to the familiar – but unnameable – smells that permeate the corridors. After stopping by the bridge to give Dwight his new orders, you bring the carrying case to your quarters and ease yourself down into your seat.

A thrill of excitement runs through you as you open the case and gaze down at your prize, the ancient iron wrapped in a thick layer of velvet. Included within is a short note, something you missed before. Typed out by some nameless secretary, it bears Consul Hess' signature at the bottom. The note itself is a brief explanation of what the Iraklins had been doing with the fragment – apparently, they had been attempting to study the metal, to take advantage of its unusual durability. In other words, they had an ancient artefact... and they tried to make armour out of it.

That's so typically Iraklin, you have to laugh. Pouring yourself a short glass of brandy – previous experience has taught you that you'll want a stiff drink when this is over – you take a deep breath before reaching out to touch the iron fragment. As soon as your fingers brush up against it, a swirling pit yawns open before you and you-

[1/2]

>>3006681

And you wince as a hail of ice and snow slashes across your face, frigid air gnawing at your bones as wet snow seeps into your ravaged boots. Hanging off you in ruins, in rags, your clothes flap in the breeze. Even the air around you seems to be frozen solid, so thick with the cold that you can barely see to the end of your fingers. Even when the wind falters and the air clears slightly, you can see nothing more than the dim shape of a rock wall up ahead of you.

Unanswered questions circle like scavenging birds – what happened here, to bring you to a state of such ruin? No, what happened to Feanor? This was, after all, the path that he walked. By following in his footsteps, you have been brought here – to the site of this defeat, of this loss and failure. Everything you have achieved up until now has been lost, blown away by this nightmarish storm.

Now, you're alone here. Even your sightless mentor is nowhere to be found, leaving you to drift aimlessly through this illusion. Behind you, as if taunting you with the promise of retreat, a corridor seems to open up through the storm. Ahead of you, the storm stands as one last obstacle before you.

There's really no choice, is there? You've come too far to turn back now. Raising a numb hand to shield your eyes against the storm, you stumble blindly forwards. Step after step, you push yourself closer to the hazy shape ahead of you. When the wind next clears, you see a new shape standing in front of it – the dark shape of a man. As if in greeting, the figure spreads their arms wide open. A few steps more, and you reach out to-

-

To wake abruptly up, finding yourself sprawled across the desk. Blinking in confusion, you straighten up and fumble for your glass of brandy. This vision was shorter than usual, hardly more than a snapshot compared with your earlier experiences. Maybe there's nothing left to say, you consider as you swallow the burning liquor, nothing left for your guide to show you. Shivering, you down the rest of your brandy. The cold seems to have followed you back into reality, so much so that you almost expected to see melted snow pooling beneath your boots.

“Enough of this,” you grunt, shaking your head as you leave your quarters. A good walk should help warm you up, and your wanderings soon take you down to the cargo hold. The sound of raised voices – shouts and cheers – leads you there, and you have to elbow through a gathering to see what the cause is.

A fight – Khusraw and Masque, circling each other with their blades drawn. Seeing that nobody has lost a limb yet, you prepare to step in and stop them... and that's when Caliban's hand falls heavily down on your shoulder.

“Just a bit of sparring, captain,” he warns you quietly, “Let them have their fun.”

[2/3]

>>3006792
Those two seem like literally the least likely to ever hold a friendly spar with no grudges or ulterior motives though. Out of everyone ever.

>>3006792

Not entirely convinced by Caliban's explanation, you watch as Khusraw and Masque trade a flurry of blows. It's always impressive to see just how quickly Khusraw can swing that sword of his – when it's in his hands, it seems to weight nothing at all. Even so, Masque is able to bash aside whatever attacks the churchman throws his way. When the time comes for the daemon to counter, he doesn't hold back. Proving that the thick blade of his sword can serve as a shield as much as a sword, Khusraw fends off the daemon's attack.

You see now, that they really are just sparring. At one point, Khusraw's defence left the slightest crack in his armour. If Masque had been fighting to kill, he could have pierced the churchman with his thinner sword. As it is, the opening passed by unnoticed.

Again, the pair take turns raining attacks down on each other, but neither of them emerges as the clear victor. Panting, Khusraw sets down his blade and holds his hands up. “Enough!” he gasps, “I need a moment to rest. You fight well, daemon.”

“Such is my purpose,” Masque agrees, his rasping voice devoid of any modesty – false or otherwise.

“Vaandemere. I didn't realise you were there,” the churchman adds, raising a hand in greeting, “Fancy a few rounds? If someone can get me a drink of water, I should be ready to go in but a moment.” Even before he's finished this sentence, someone thrusts out a flask of water and he takes it eagerly. As Khusraw drinks, Masque turns away and marches out of the cargo hold. Whether or not he's pleased with the outcome of his duel remains unclear. Tossing aside the empty flask, Khusraw flexes his muscular arms and glances over towards you.

>Take him up on his offer of a duel
>Get a few moments alone with him. You'd rather talk
>Make your excuses and leave, check on how Branwen is settling in
>Other

>>3006853
Fuck it, sure.
>Take him up on his offer of a duel
"You know I usually just shoot people."

>>3006853
>Take him up on the offer
Wonder if we can use our blade of killing light against his abrahad.

>>3006853
>Take him up on his offer of a duel
We're not really duelistss, but letting off steam might do us some good.

“You know, usually I just shoot people,” you tell Khusraw with a wry smile, “But sure, I'll take you up on that. What kind of captain would I be if I backed down in front of my men?” Reaching down for Feanor's sword, you pause. “I should warn you, though,” you add, “This sword has a mind of its own – it doesn't always do what I tell it to do.” Drawing the blade, though, you find that it burns as brightly as ever. Reacting to... something. His own blade, perhaps, or Masque might still be lingering nearby.

Either way, you'll be facing him with your best weapon. Smiling, Khusraw raises his blade up towards his face and whispers something to it, his inaudible word causing the bare edge of the blade to... to shiver, almost, the edge taking on a faint glow. Waiting patiently for you to raise your blade in a ready stance, the churchman opens with a bold attack – a single step forwards, a split-second pause, and then a high swing that could easily have parted your head from your shoulders. Ducking low, you bring Feanor's blade up and the two weapons clash with a flash of light.

“The games begin!” Khusraw boasts, jumping back before renewing his attack with a series of quick cuts that switch between high and low. Rolling with the punches, you slip around his attacks – some you duck under, others you step carefully over, and a few more you parry with more flashes of light. All the while you fight, the watching crewmen cheer you on. After a few more strikes, Khusraw breaks off his attack. “You're sweating,” he jeers, tugging at his moustache as he eyes you up, “Had enough yet?”

“I didn't want to be rude. You're the guest here, so you got the chance to throw the first punch,” you counter, “But being a good host can only go so far. It's my turn now!”

Spitting out these last few words, you lunge at Khusraw with a furious series of jabs, feints and slashes. No matter how quick you are, though, his sword always seems to be there to block your strikes. When you brawled before, in the abyss beneath Eishin's camp, you had been able to best him without too much trouble. Now, with his holy weapon in hand, it's a whole other matter. As if reading your thoughts, Khusraw laughs. “Alone, a weapon is nothing!” he scolds, “It only shows its true nature when wielded by the right hand. My blade and I are one!”

“That's fine with me,” you shoot back, “Two or one, I won't lose!”

>Dice! Calling for a dice roll here. 2D6, aiming to beat 8-9 for a partial success and 10+ for a full success. This will be at +2 due to Feanor's sword, and I'll take the highest of the first three rolls

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

>>3007013

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

>>3007013

>>3007017
Nice

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

>>3007013
Khusraw can't possibly get beat on all battle only to beat us right?

>>3007019
By Dogma's beard, anon.

>>3007019
Well now. Is that our first boxcars in the quest? Khusraw's shit luck is boosting our own.

>Full success!

Lowering your blade, you spread your hands wide in anticipation of Khusraw's attack. It's his turn, after all, and you're in no rush to beat him. He was right about one thing, though – you've got a healthy sweat going now, a confident warmth radiating out from your core. Laughing with good-natured challenge, the churchman lunges towards you with a downwards sweep of his blade. It's a slow strike, meant to unnerve you rather than to hit, but you don't blink. Jumping aside at the last minute, you watch as the heavy Abrahad blade slams down into the deck.

It leaves a scar in the metal, and you wince as if in sympathetic pain. By the time Khusraw has ripped his blade up, only worsening the damage, you've jinked behind him. For a few seconds, his back is open and exposed, but you hold back. Well, you don't strike at him with your blade, at least – lashing out with your open palm, you slap him lightly across the back of his head. Yelling an oath, the churchman whirls around and slashes at you, his blow whistling over your head as you duck beneath it. Jumping back from his next blow, you put a bit of distance between you.

“You're trying really hard, you know,” you taunt, “I can't fault your effort. Just a shame that-”

Grimacing, Khusraw steps boldly forwards and puts all his strength behind a thrusting blow. Already surging ahead to meet it, you slam down on it with your blade and drive his sword into the floor. As his momentum carries Khusraw forwards, you slip behind him and swing one single blow at his exposed neck.

Silence, dead silence, and then the churchman lets out a rueful laugh. Even without looking around, he can feel the searing edge of Feanor's blade hovering less than an inch away from his neck.

“Seems like I lose,” he remarks, letting the Abrahad sword slip through his fingers and clatter on the deck beneath him. “Oh,” he adds, looking down at the scars left by your duel, “Sorry about your floor.”

“Ah, it doesn't matter,” you reply, “It'll buff right out.”

-

“You know, I was surprised when I saw you and Masque fighting. Surprised that you weren't fighting for real, I mean,” you say later, as you're sitting with Khusraw in the now empty cargo hold. “You're a churchman and he's a daemon. Hardly material for a friendly duel,” you add, “I'm glad it was just sparring, mind you. A damaged floor is one thing, but a dead body is a whole other matter.”

“One thing that old Sandoval told me once,” Khusraw answers honestly, “Have a plan to fight anyone you meet. She didn't say “kill”, obviously, but I knew what she meant. You're trafficking in dangerous forces, my friend. If I were you, I'd make very sure that I wasn't in over my head. A spirit like that... you can't trust it. Not like you can trust a man.”

Sometimes, you're not sure if you can trust men either.

[1/2]

>>3007024
well we've had pretty good rolls overall this quest, so we'll probably get all those 1's during the final confrontation

>>3007096

If the defeat left Khusraw in a bad mood, he does a good job of hiding it. As if savouring the lesson, he goes back and endlessly talks about his mistakes or what he should have done. He stops short of taking out a length of knotted rope and flogging himself, but only just. “It always happens,” he laments, “Those wide, sweeping blows. They're inefficient, but when I get fired up I just can't help it...”

“You need to keep a cool head when you fight, that's all,” you tell him, “Calm and detached, that's the way to do it. Easier said than done, mind you.”

“That's right, my friend, that's exactly right,” Khusraw agrees, looking over your shoulder and waving to someone. “Looks like we've got a guest,” he adds, rising and smoothing down his shirt, “I'll leave you to it. Your man Hotchkiss offered me the use of his quarters, and I feel about ready for a nap. I hope I'm not putting him out...”

You think about the makeshift bed on the gunnery deck, a bed that Gunny uses more than the one in his quarters themselves. “He'll be fine. He wouldn't have offered otherwise,” you assure him, glancing up to see Grace lingering in the doorway. Waving for her to come in, you look back to Khusraw. “Don't rush off on our account, though,” you tell him as Grace approaches, “No harm in staying to chat a little.”

“Well, maybe I can stay for a little longer,” he decides, stretching out his stiff shoulders and making himself comfortable, “Something on your mind, lass?”

“Not exactly. Captain, I just wanted to let you know that... ah, that our new guest has been making herself at home. A little too much, actually – I found her trying on some of my clothes,” glancing nervously across at Khusraw, she leans down to whisper in your ear, “She's got a tail!”

“No way!” you blurt out, causing the churchman to give you a curious look.

“Just a little one,” Grace explains, holding her fingers a few inches apart, “It's... well, I don't know what to think. I suppose it's almost cute, if you're not bothered by that sort of thing. The point is, she's settling in well enough.” Clearing her throat, she gives Khusraw a short bow. “Hello, sir,” she tells him, “I hope our ship treats you well.”

“Well enough, so far,” he agrees, “So, what were we talking about?”

You almost tell him what Grace told you, just to see what his reaction would be. Probably best that you hold your tongue.

>Nothing really. I'll let you go for that nap
>Mind telling me about how you met Sandoval?
>We were talking about... (Write in)
>Other

>>3007246
>>Mind telling me about how you met Sandoval?

>>3007246
>>We were talking about... (Write in)
Where did you and your sword meet?

>>3007246
>Nothing really. I'll let you go for that nap

Haha, Branwen. Ask Grace what type of tail it is. Cat? Bunny? Snake?

>>3007246
>Ask about repairing Abrahad implements

“You mind telling me a few things about yourself?” you ask Khusraw, “Like, I don't know, how you met Sandoval? Or how that sword met you?”

“The same story, more or less. I met old Sandy... oh, just about a few years after the Annexation War. She was looking for help with a little problem down in Nadir, a problem that the Iraklins weren't interested in solving. You know what they're like with matters of superstition, slow to believe in anything they can't see or shoot,” Khusraw muses, tugging on his moustache as he thinks back, “Some of the natives were afraid of something – a daemon, and the witch that controlled it. Sandoval wanted to “solve” that problem.”

“Out of the goodness of her heart?” you ask, wincing as the words come out harsher than intended.

“Light, no. She'd been pushing for the church to make a special unit for some time, and this was her chance to prove herself. There were five of us, including me and Al-Farabi. We were the only two to make it out, but we got the job done,” the churchman concludes with a pained expression, “That's where I found my sword, embedded in a tree deep underground.”

“I don't mean to pick a hole in your story, but trees don't just grow underground,” Grace points out, “They just... don't.”

“This one did,” Khusraw replies with a shrug, “I'll give you the full story one of these days, although Sandy won't exactly thank me for sharing. She's a little coy about things, that one, even when there's no good reason for it.” Yawning, stretching again, Khusraw rises to his feet and tucks his sword under one arm. “You see, my friend, I know how bad things can get. These Nadir spirits, they don't owe their loyalty to any man. When men are ashes, a daemon will remain unchanged. Keep that in mind,” he warns you, “Anything else I can do for you, then?”

“You people study Abrahad artefacts, don't you?” you ask, “Do you know anything about repairing them?”

“In truth, we're not sure if it can be done. Even if the physical item can be pieced back together, the Charism can't be restored. Sabin knows more than I do, mind you, and it's hardly a solved problem,” the churchman explains, “They're working on their research now, up in... ah, maybe I shouldn't say.”

“The Vault of the Sun,” Grace guesses, “Correct?”

“If I don't answer that,” Khusraw chuckles, “I won't have to lie to you. Have a good day now, lass.”

Grace watches as Khusraw strolls away, then looks back to you. “I still don't think trees grow underground,” she whispers to you.

Shrugging, you dismiss the issue in favour of something far more important. “So. Branwen. This tail of hers...” you think aloud, “What sort of tail is it?”

“Close to a rat's tail, I suppose,” she answers after a moment, “It's sort of bald and pink, so...”

[1/2]

>>3007365

There isn't much else for either of you to say, and so Grace heads back to her quarters after patting you on the shoulder. “A job well done,” she murmurs to you before leaving. Lingering in the cargo hold for a while longer, you think about... all matter of things. Eishin, and the obscene world he would have created. The kind of world that you might create, were that power forced upon you. Branwen's tail, sticking out above her bare backside. Cloudtop Prison, and all that awaits you there.

Too much thinking, you decide after a while, and not enough sleep. Resolving to fix that issue, you slink back off to your quarters.

-

When you wake up, you're approaching Cloudtop Prison. The foreboding structure looms in front of you as Dwight slowly circles it, the radio hissing static as he waits for a communication. “They're being awfully quiet, chief,” he mutters to you, “That's not normal. Most times, the church answers damn near immediately.”

Sensing trouble, you look down at one of the exposed walkways. A white-cloaked figure strides out across the metal, wind plucking at their robes, and you soon realise that it's Bishop Rhea herself. She shields her eyes with one hand, studying your airship as it hangs above her. It's impossible for your eyes to meet at this distance, of course, but... it doesn't feel impossible. If anything, it feels all too possible. You remain locked in place for a moment more before a voice crackles out of the radio.

“Spirit of Helena,” it rasps, “You're cleared for landing now.”

Somehow, you don't feel entirely relieved.

-

Uncomfortably reminiscent of your recent vision, the cold wind cuts through your exposed skin as you walk out to meet Rhea. She shows no sign of even noticing the poor weather, merely watching as you stride out across the metal walkway. “I understand that you're here to... what was it, exactly?” the bishop calls out, her voice as cold as the wind that buffets you, “You wished to meditate here, Provost Trice tells me. Is that correct?”

“That's right,” you reply, raising your voice above the whistling wind, “Perhaps we could discuss this matter inside...”

“If I might ask... why?” Rhea presses, “If you wish to practice faith, there are any number of chapels in Carthul that would welcome you. Instead, you wished to come here, to the roof of the world. I must confess to an intense curiosity. What are you really looking for?”

Her eyes bore into you, harsh enough to make the wind seem welcoming.

>I need clarity, the kind of peace and quiet that a chapel couldn't offer
>This isn't about faith or belief. I need to be as close to your god as possible
>I came here to see you, of course
>I came here... (Write in)
>Other