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The morning sun casts rays of light over the rooftops as you sit outside the King’s antechamber. The work you did in killing Hooks is valuable, you tell yourself, even if it was too much of a risk. The intelligence and small cash you have in the bags and binders at your feet are proof of that. Vier will be stopping by later to update the list of conspirators and brief the King, too.

After that, you have lots of things to do. For now, you should focus.

The door to the King’s antechamber swings open. Four officers in Guard colors walk out, looking relieved. The King is still standing at the desk visible through the door at the far side of the antechamber.

A servant bows before you as you rise to your feet. You chose your Auxilia formal uniform for the occasion, so you wouldn’t draw any odd looks for having a hat indoors. “Sergeant, His Majesty will be just a moment,” the servant says politely. “May I offer you some refreshment?”

“No, thank you, sir, I just need to deliver my report and go,” you reply. “May I come in?”

“Certainly.” The servant follows you into the lush antechamber, where a small group of courtiers and Shadows are standing around the door to the meeting office, chattering or reading. Other Shadows stand watch from alcoves in the wall around the edges, keeping an eye on the group through their opaque crystal masks.

No sooner do you enter, however, than your forehead warms up. [My daughter, I’m sorry about before,] Asa’s weary voice says. [The fighting in the south is madness. Ghosts nearly got past us.]

{No trouble, my Lady, I’m sorry you’re stressed out like that,} you reply, discreetly palming the gem in the guise of a salute. {Can I help? I’m about to meet the King.}

[No, thank you. Good luck.]


Game plan time.
>present evidence without delay
>ask for an Avatar to be present
>ask about Newlar knowing who you are
>writein

>>32923824
>present evidence without delay
>ask about Newlar knowing who you are
The second isn't much of an issue I think, but may as well mention it.

>>32923824
>present evidence without delay
>"I assume Newlar has the discretion necessary to keep my position a secret?"

As you wait, the courtiers file out one by one. Apparently, the King was dispatching orders for the various Guard reserve units in the city to be activated to help keep the peace without the Army and Legion around, and also to help secure the city with the fighting in the south getting worse.

“Sergeant? His Royal Majesty will see you now,” the servant says from beside the door to the audience office.

“Thank you, sir,” you say automatically, grabbing the bags. You march in and come to attention before the desk, offering up a crisp salute.

The King looks up at you curiously as the door swings shut and the enchanted sound sponge activates. “I don’t think that’s necessary, Your Eminence,” he says.

“Perhaps not, your Highness, but I am your Auxiliary even now,” you say, snapping the salute and coming to rest at ease. “And, I suppose I’m feeling a bit martial after last night.”

“Yes, I imagine,” he says, paging through Newlar’s report. “Three dead, including a conspirator and two non-Guild courtesans-cum-bodyguards, breaking into a building…an assassin using Bloodrot. Interesting. Newlar is fine, by the way,” he adds, glancing over the papers. “I hear she miraculously overcame the effects of Bloodrot toxin.”

“So she did,” you start.

“…By the powers of a Demigoddess,” he finishes, his voice laden with hidden meaning. “She was quite specific in her mention of your status as a Herald, Lady Ledren. I find myself curious as to how she came to know of it.”

“Pure happenstance,” you admit. “She saw the brand while I was removing my breath mask.”

“Ah.” Maas taps a finger on the papers. “She also makes mention of her policing some weapons, and you acquiring some papers and bags of coin. Do you have them?”

“I do, Sire,” you say.

“Good. Newlar will keep her trap shut, fear not,” Maas says dismissively as he accepts the bags and binders. “She’s a Shadow.”


(con’t)

“Yes, Sire.”

He opens the bags and spills the coins out over his desk. “Hmph. Not much pay for a pair of women of pleasure and function alike,” he mutters. “Or so I’d think. Admittedly, my wild youth is far behind me.”

Genuine surprise fills your reflexive reply. “Sire? Forgive me, but didn’t you…”

“Get involved in the Royal Family absurdly young?” Maas says drily. “Yes. It was a joke, Sergeant.”

“…Ah.”

Maas paws at one coin, then stops cold. “…Sergeant, lift this coin and tell me if you sense something off,” he says, passing it to you.

You balance the silver coin in your hand, frowning. “It’s…a shade light.”

Maas grabs another and presses it against the corner of his marble desk. The coin bends down the middle. “Well…I’ll be damned,” he mutters. “This money is counterfeit!”

“All of it?” you ask.

“I’ll have to send it to the Mint to be sure, but…probably,” he says. He drops the money back into its bags and sighs heavily. “Conspiracy, murder, archaeo-ordinance, sedition, treason…they’ll do anything, this collection of rogues you’ve found, Your Eminence.”

“So it seems,” you admit. “Troubling.”

“Nothing surprises me any more,” Maas grumbles as he drops the bags into a drawer on the desk. He opens the binder case of paper. His deep purple eyes scan the contents and go wide as teacups. “…I must amend my statement.”

You peer over to the case and gasp.

The entire thing is packed completely full of high-denomination paper bills. Four or five thousand times your annual salary, at the least. And from the way Maas is fingering the paper, and the enchanted seals on the tender glitter in the light from his window, this isn’t counterfeit at all.


>wat say

>>32924154
>Dibs

Joke! Ask if it's real just to make sure, then ask where they could have gotten all this money.

You break the silence with the obvious question. “Where in the world did they get that kind of money, Sire?” you ask, baffled. “I thought they had to spend everything they had to get the Orb!”

“Perhaps Hooks was laundering the money for the Explorer,” Maas wonders aloud. The traces the little magic seal on the paper. “This is real. Cenderian legal tender. One hundred fifty million, at least…”

“Or maybe they never had the chance to pass the money along,” you realize. “We did interrupt them before the trade took place. Maybe the Explorer never got paid, Sire.”

“Possible.” Maas stares at the money a bit longer before snapping the binder case shut. “Well. This changes things,” he says quietly. “To your favor, too, your Eminence.”

“It does?”

“Now, I can use this to bankroll any Brotherhood or Firesoul hire you need, without having to deduct from my own wealth, or the national Warchest. I could, of course,” he says with a wave, “but in times of escalating war, it would raise some eyebrows in the Treasury if I spent a fortune on mercenaries and Brothers only to have them seen killing people in the city instead of the front lines.”

“Naturally, Sire,” you say. “So…this is a bankroll for us now?”

“Unless you have a better idea,” he says.

“No, it’s perfect,” you say.


>”Mind if I spend some to get a suit of real stealth armor for myself, Sire? A black tunic isn’t cutting it.”
>”Where will you keep it, Sire?”
>”Should I tell Culler or Garren when I see them this afternoon, my Liege?”
>writein

>>32924389
>”Where will you keep it, Sire?”

>>32924389
>>”Where will you keep it, Sire?”

And a question the the other guy: what should we spend it on? Fancy armor? A team to raid the mage's place? Save it for a rainy day?

>>32924439
A raid team, but I'm kinda hoping they won't be expensive enough to use up the entire thing in one go.

>>32924489
When you see Culler and garren this afternoon, you can just ask them how much it would cost for a Brotherhood hit squad or Garren to tag along. Maas has the Shadows, so he doesn't have the prices of those other groups memorized.

Spending it on a hot-shot killteam would be pretty great, you have to admit…but how will Maas keep this secret?

“I don’t mean any disrespect by this, Sire, but a Firesoul or Brotherhood team will raise eyebrows either way,” you point out. “Where will you keep the money?”

He smiles. “In my quarters, where else? Nobody is allowed in without my permission, and even permitted guests have to log in and out, and have their possessions searched. Only the Governor, my wife, my daughter, and I can come and go at will.”


>any other questions before you go try to find Haret?

>>32924572
I assume he's going to have someone count it so we know the exact amount. So no, let's go see what Haret has for us to do.

Back in your suite some while later, you sit on the bed and press the Gem. {My lady, the binder was full of money.}

[Come again?]

{The binder was full to bursting with cash, my Lady. Mountains of money. The money he gave the whores was counterfeit, but the paper money in the binder case was real tender bills. Hundreds of millions.}

[…Odd. Why?]

{Does Haret know?}

[I asked as soon as you said it. He says Hooks thought it was receipts for something. I guess he never opened it.]

{Weird. Nobody in this conspiracy seems to trust the others.}

[I agree, it is very strange.] Her voice pauses for a moment. [Haret would like to speak to you.]

{Very well.}

“Thank you, Herald,” Haret’s voice says from behind you.

You glance over your shoulder to see him standing at the window, facing out over the city. “Pardon my intrusion, but I need someone from the military to do this, and I’ve come to trust you.”


>”Trust me enough to punch me for daring to suggest you not kill the whole city?”
>”What, now?”
>”You do?”
>Say nothing at all!
>writein

>>32924900
>"What do you need?"

My sister's car just died and I need to retrieve her, so I'll be back when i can I guess.

>>32924900
”What, now?”
Oh NOW he trusts us.

“What do you need?”

When he turns to face you, he’s actually smiling. “Straight to business, eh? I respect you for that, Herald. Propriety isn’t common enough.”

He rests his hand on the back of a chair and pierces you with his bright blue eyes. “My sister Vier and friend Asa are aware of this request, but not aware of the cause of my urgency. The package I need delivered is mundane, to those who don’t know its contents. It is the recipient that I wish to keep secret. The substance inside is an alchemic ingredient, one that appears to be alum. Just normal alum, which people have been using for purifying water for millennia. In the hands of an Alchemic master, however, its true nature as a piece of Spireling magic fuel is obvious.” He pauses as he sees the look on your face. “You won’t ask, so I’ll just tell you. The fuel is technically prohibited, because of the horribly toxic byproduct it releases when used. The problem is that if I get into the business of destroying things in the world because they’re prohibited, no matter how unharmful they are when inert, it’s not a pattern I’ll be able to break.”

“No, of course not,” you say flatly.


(con’t)

He’s quiet for a long moment. “I do owe you an apology for my behavior before, don’t I?” he asks quietly. “I regret forming that tornado. I truly do. It was premature.” He sits in the chair. The cloak he has over his shoulders drapes across the arms, making him look like he has wings. “I could see only all the times I failed to act in the past, the three thousand years since the Collapse. Do you know that of the nine or ten times we’ve been forced to destroy cities, two of those times came AFTER the weapon we wished to destroy had already been used? I could have prevented both if I had simply destroyed them before activation. The damage would have been far more contained, far less likely to spread.”

“I’m sure,” you say. “The problem is that now the whole city knows about the weapon here.”

“No, most bought Maas’ story,” Haret says. “That’s not the problem.” He sighs, rising to his feet again. “Anyway. The package is hidden in one of seven lockboxes in the bank at the north gate to the city. I don’t know which; the courier died knowing only the combination for the lock.”

“This isn’t something you had planned?” you ask in surprise.

“No. Pure luck.” Haret raises one empty hand, closes it, opens it again… now it has a piece of paper in it. “Here is the combination. Go, take the package, then give to Master du Bois at the Alchemists’ Guild office downtown. He knows what to do when he gets it.”


>any questions before you go?

>What do I get out of this?
>Why not just send an Avatar to do this?
>Why do you need a military person to do this?
>writein

>>32924900

>"What do you need?"

>>32926195
>Why do you need a military person to do this?
>Any complications that might come up?

You take the paper and fold it into a pocket. “Why a military person?”

“Because a soldier is invariably the one who delivers volatiles to the Alchemy office, for legal reasons,” Haret says. “Even international shipments.”

“And do you anticipate trouble?” you ask.

Haret thinks that over. “No…not until the delivery. The Master may take some convincing to dispose of this. He doesn’t want to get caught with it. Say whatever you need to.”

“All right.” You know where the bank is, you’ve been there before. “Then I guess I’m off. Then, I’m going straight to contact the Circle and find out what’s going on with them.”

“Very well.” Haret holds up one hand as you make to leave. “Herald?”

“Yes?”

His lip twitches. “I do apologize. Striking you for what you said was out of line.”

You let that sit there for a second. “Thank you, sir.”


The little bank is a tidy box of stone in the middle of the military district. The façade is almost designed to be defensive: it looks like a part of the city wall behind it. The guards out front are private security, not military, but they’re dressed sharply and well-armed.


>walk right in and ask to be taken to the safe deposit boxes
>try to get to them quietly
>writein

>>32926584
>walk right in and ask to be taken to the safe deposit boxes
It's not like this is illegal. Please Haret, say this isn't illegal.

Not like this is illegal, right?

You march in, taking the time to give a completely unnecessary salute to the guards, and wait patiently in line until you reach the teller.

She gives you a harried smile. “Hello, Sergeant. What can I do for you?”

“Well, I have a package to retrieve here, and I don’t know which box it’s in,” you say. “I have the combination, but I’m afraid the courier didn’t know which one it’s for.”

“Hmm.” She sticks her hand out for the combination and examines it. “We change our combinations every time a box’s contents are changed. Do you know when the package was deposited?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” you say.

“Then where did you get this combination?” she asks reasonably.


>”The courier died while carrying it.”
>make something up (what?)
>Call for backup (divine/mundane?)
>writein

>>32926734
>”The courier died while carrying it. It was recovered from his corpse. Some investigation revealed that the combination was for a lockbox here, but we couldn't find out which one.”

>>32926734
>”The courier died while carrying it.”

As you sit in the tiny, cramped lobby, you tilt your head back and think about the next item on your list of things to do. The Circle is probably a bit hostile right now, thanks to your amateurish attempt at following their members the other day. Arisa herself should be available, and now you know where she lives. Maybe she can be helpful?

“Sergeant!” a voice says. You look back down to see the bank manager, resplendent in his Merchants’ Guild robe, looking at you nervously. “Madam, can you come with me? We think we’ve found your box.”

“Certainly,” you say briskly, rising to follow.

His office is quite spartan, compared to the decorations in the lobby. The manager sits you down and takes his own place behind the desk. “I need say first and foremost that this is highly irregular,” he says. “You should have come to me directly.”

“Perhaps, but this is somewhat time-sensitive,” you say calmly. He’s putting up a front, you’re sure of it. The protocols aren’t so cut-and-dried as he makes it sound. For all he knows, you have a warrant. “The contents of that box must be destroyed at once.”

He blinks. “Destroyed?”

“They are extremely toxic.” You lean forward and meet his pale green eyes. “Sir. Which box is it?”

“Ah…we think it to be box four,” he says. “But…toxic? The listed contents of that box are mere water purifiers!”

“They listed the contents?” you ask in surprise.

“Yes! The customer had to! We can’t be used to launder goods!” the manager huffs.


>”Then let’s waste no time.”
>writein

>>32927094
>"I assure you they are toxic. Where is box 4?"

“I hope you can understand how urgent my mission is, sir, that I need to destroy something for being toxic… while it is contained within an unbreakable vault,” you say quietly. “The box, sir?”

“Yes…well, here,” he says, handing you the combination. “It’s in the vault, as you say.”

“Thank you.”


The vault is a dreary place, but bone-dry. Makes sense, you think to yourself as you enter the combination on the little wheel. Wouldn’t want all these documents and bills getting moldy.

Ah hah, there it is! You grab the innocuous package from the steel box and old it under one arm. “This doesn’t look suspicious at all,” you mutter.

Above, the teller and manager are waiting. “Would you like to close out the account?” the manager asks, before the teller can.

“Yes, I would. The courier who used the box is dead, so just refund his company the security deposit.” You shuffle the box to a better grip and quickly shake their hands. “All right. Must be off. Any idea where the Alchemy Guild office is here in town?”

“It’s in the Merchants’ quarter,” the manager says. “Can they dispose of… of whatever this is?”

“They can indeed. Thanks for your help.”

Outside, you squint against the sun and orient yourself. The Merchants’ Quarter is due south of your location, across the whole city. You could walk it, but with the package, that would suck. You could rent a horse, but that’s pricy. Either way, you don’t want to spend one damn minute more with this thing than you need to.


>wat do

>>32927094
"Anything else listed?"

>>32927618

>Bite the bullet and rent a horse.

>>32927618
>Rent a horse

As much as you don’t want to, spending the money would be safest. You swallow your annoyance and walk the few hundred yards to a horse stable at the northernmost part of the city.

Inside, a small queue waits at the counter. As your patience frays, it works its way up to the counter, until you’re finally at the front. The stablemaster is an old, old cavalry officer, by his looks. He has the shoulders you’d expect from somebody whose job it is to carry a lance. His sun-beaten light elf features crinkle into a tired smile. “Hello, soldier. Need to rent one of my steeds?”

“I do indeed, sir, to whichever stable is closest to the Alchemists’ Guild headquarters in the city,” you say. “What’ll that do me?”

“Fifty silver,” he says idly. “Stable’s five blocks from the Guild hall. Just leave this counter with the stablemaster there to get your deposit refunded.”

You slap fifty silver on the table and collect the counter, which says “Fifteen Silver” on the bottom. You’ve rented horses before, so you know all you have to do is present this to get the deposit portion of your payment back. It’s just insurance, to make sure nobody walks out of the city with a horse that isn’t trained for the wilderness.

“Here you go,” the stablemaster says. “All right. Take the little apple-colored one at the end of the row, Quonois. She’s pretty tame, and you’re not going far.”

“Thanks, old-timer,” you say. “Anything I need to do at the other stable?”

“Nope. Have a safe trip.”


(con’t)

The stable smells like dung and sweat, so you’re in the right place. You shuffle the box out of your aching arms into the cargo sack at the saddlebag and rub the horse’s neck affectionately. “Hey there, Quonois. That’s a pretty name,” you say quietly. The horse blinks its big wet eyes and nips at the wooden fence door.

“You got it. Off we go,” you say, slipping up into the saddle. It’s been a long time since you rode, but it’s not like it changes year-to-year.


Roll 1d100.

and pray for better luck than the last two times you rolled for random encounters

Rolled 72

>>32927937

Rolled 31

>>32927937

The ride through the city is uneventful, if slow. The roads are large enough to accommodate the horse, and despite the cost of renting her, you have to admit, it beats walking. Even if it’s your ass that’s sore instead of your feet at the end of the trip.


The Alchemists’ Guildhall is a Master-level structure. That doesn’t mean much for the layman on the street or the apprentice taking lessons, but it means everything to the city. Master-level Guildhalls have all manner of resources for hire, from crafting to arming, from teaching to bomb disposal. They’re an economic booster to any city they’re in.

You just wish they could do something about the smell. Sulfur and salt, everywhere. Ugh.

The horse snorts a bit as you pass the building. You can’t blame her. With a gentle pat on the flank to calm her, you direct the animal towards the stables. They’re much better-decorated than the one in the military district, that’s for sure. But then, who’s surprised? They’re surrounded by merchants who were probably dying to donate to make them look nicer, so their own property values go up.

You hop off the mount and hand the reins to the stable boy with a few coppers’ tip, then drop the counter off with the stablemaster, who hands you your money without complaint.

When you finally arrive at the Guildhall, it’s just before noon. A few Alchemists’ Guildsmen are wandering out of the place, on their way to the many eateries in the city, but there look to be many more inside.

How to approach?

>Ask for the Master by name at the desk
>Be the military archetype and just pull a Master aside
>writein

>>32928220
>>Be the military archetype and just pull a Master aside
We are boring and normal.

>>32928220

>Ask for the Master by name at the desk

Rolled 20

>>32927937

Rolled 45

>>32928220
>>Ask for the Master by name at the desk

You could just go in and act the military drone, demanding to see someone of rank, but since Haret was kind enough to give you a name, why not use it? You walk up into the imposing stone structure and look around. The walls are massive, meant to contain any explosions that may occur inside. The entryway is decorated with all manner of plants, too, though that’s probably more to make the air breathable than anything.

The receptionist looks up as you walk in, but immediately frowns. “Sergeant, the meeting is tomorrow.”

“I’m not here for a meeting,” you say, keeping your surprise hidden. What meeting? “I’m here to deliver something to Master du Bois.”

The receptionist shoots a nervous look around the room. “Shut up, soldier, do you want to get us caught?”

“Pardon?”

“The fuel! Do you want to get us caught?”

Wait. WHAT?


>”The courier is dead. I need to offload this now.”
>Page Asa
>writein

>>32928624
>>writein
"Well, then you better hurry up."
Wing it till things make sense.

>>32928624

>”The courier is dead. I need to offload this now.”

Okay, clearly the courier didn’t know everything when he died, or Haret forgot to mention something. Either way, time to play along.

“Of course not, but the courier is dead, and I need to never see this package again,” you murmur. “Get me du Bois or I vanish.”

The receptionist glares, but finally she leaps up and disappears into the hallway behind her. After several minutes, she returns, with an Alchemist in her wake. His robes are decorated with a small steel pin in the shape of a pyramid – he’s the Guildmaster! What the hell is this?

“Sergeant! Hello, hello, do come in,” he says jovially. The rather portly wilderness elf man in in his late sixties, but vibrant and cheerful, with the nearly stereotypical array of pouches at his belt that you expect of alchemists. “Care to step into my place of business?”

“Of course, sir, I’m at your disposal,” you say with a polite nod. “Lead the way.”

He does so, taking you into the stairwell that leads to the top floor of the six-floor building. Despite the climb, he’s not even puffing at the end – clearly, he’s worked here a long time. Once inside his office, however, he rounds on you with a sudden anger. “All right, soldier, what is this?” he says coldly. “Where’s my man? What happened to him?”

>”Don’t know. He died. He had the combination on him. I got the goods here.”
>”Who cares?”
>writein

>>32929047
>”Don’t know. He died. He had the combination on him. I got the goods here.”

>>32929047
>”Don’t know. He died. He had the combination on him. I got the goods here.”
Elsa am just pawn in game of life.

You shrug. ”Don’t know. He died. He had the combination on him. I got the goods here.” Now Asa’s power compels a rough, informal tone. Isn’t being the demigods’ voicebox weird sometimes?

“He DIED? What?” du Bois demands. “He got killed over packing clay?”

“…What?”

“This is a sting, you fool!” the old Alchemist groans. “My receptionist has been smuggling alchemic warhead components to a fence for months, and we wanted to bait her contacts out with packing clay, enchanted to look like Spireling Feltourite! Tell me you knew that!”

Anger darkens your face. “My superiors only told me to retrieve the package and give it to you!”

“Yes, so that I could pass it along to my receptionist and she could try to sell it!” du Bois says angrily. “I hope the cross-purposes here didn’t tip her off. I have no idea who her fence is!”

You slowly rub your fingers over your eyes, trying not to hate the world. “And the courier?”

“Part of the ring. I guess he got picked off by a rival or something,” du Bois sighs. “So who told you about this operation? And why didn’t they tell you about the smuggling?”

>”I’m not sure I believe you.”
>Play the ‘divine sponsor’ card
>”It doesn’t matter. Is this stuff really harmless?”
>writein

>>32929492
>”It doesn’t matter. Is this stuff really harmless?”

I have no idea who is doing what. I abstain.

Remember that you can ALWAYS use your Divine abilities, and you have one that can automatically detect lies.

>>32929689
>>32929664

Yeah, sure. Let's go with that instead.

Rolled 78 + 10

You heft the package and set it on the table. “So. Is this really just clay?”

“Of course,” the Alchemist says distractedly. “All right, I’ll just pass along the package to my receptionist and see what she does…”

You reach into the depths of your power and activate it. “Sir. Tell me whether this package is actually a part of a sting, or if I have to kill you for smuggling,” you say coldly.

He recoils. “Sergeant, please! It’s a sting! This is just clay, my receptionist is a smuggler!”

Rolling Mother Always Knows.

>>32929925
Rolling? Wasn't it automatic?

The Power is. It determines whether or not his words contain a lie. The roll is to determine whether or not you can tell which PART of what he said is a lie. I break it down on the character sheet.

You haven’t used this power before. You watch in fascination as the world seems to slow, and his words coalesce in the air. Shimmering strands of divine energy sparkle through the words, and then…nothing. His words fade, time resumes, and you’re left with no sense of discovery. He’s telling the truth.

A sense of sudden weariness washes over you. It’s not the power, it’s the sense that you’ve wasted your time. “All right,” you say wearily, rubbing your hand over your eyes again. “I believe you. What now?”

“Now, I give this to my receptionist, and have one of my security guards follow her,” the old man says. “I think you should make yourself scarce, so she doesn’t know we’re on to her.”

You frown indignantly. “Who else knows about this?” you ask.

“A few Guard officers. I thought you worked for them.” He looks at you quizzically. “Except you don’t. So who are you?”


>”You know what? You don’t want to know.”
>Make something up (what?)
>writein

Rolled 85

>>32930095

>>”You know what? You don’t want to know.”

>>32930095
>"It's not important."
I guess it's job complete? Might want to check with Haret through Asa since it all became convoluted.

>>32930095
>>Make something up (what?)
Lies are best with truth.
"Logistics, just glorified package delivering anyway. Order came from on high(hehe). A courier for some operation died. Pick up his package and deliver it. Nobody mentioned the rest of this to me."

I'm still wondering how the hell this smuggling operation works? Why does she think du Bois is receiving this stuff and how is she attempting to avoid detection if it's gonna disappear as soon as he hands it to her?

“So how does this work, anyway? Why deliver things to you if the smuggler is the receptionist?” you ask.

“Fair question. My predecessor was…prone to lifestyle excess, if you know what I mean,” du Bois admits. “He would gamble, spend money on silly things. When he had a stroke, I replaced him, and I was approached by the receptionist in question several times to retrieve packages that had belonged to my predecessor from around the city so she could pass them along to the right family members. I didn’t think anything of it until one spilled open on my desk, and I found it to be Firegrit powder. That stuff is about as rare as naturally cut diamond.”

“So your predecessor was siphoning off alchemic material to fund a gambling addiction, used the receptionist as an errand girl to move the packages…and she thought you were in on it?” you wonder. “That’s…crazy.”

“Yes, yes it is,” du Bois admitted. “When I found out, I reported it to the Guard, so they set up this sting. I thought you were in on it. To which, I find I must repeat: Who are you?”

“You don’t want to know,” you say, suddenly done with cloak and dagger. “I’m Logistics, that’s all you’ve seen.”

“Very well.” He shuffles awkwardly as you drop the package on his desk. “All right. I suppose you should be going, then.”

“Yeah. I’m out of here,” you say. “Good luck.”

“Thank you.”

You shut the door and lean back against it, massaging your temples. {Oh, Lady Asa? Would you kindly pass along a message to Haret for me?} you ask archly.

[Uh, yes…what is it?]

{Next time he ropes me into a smuggling operation, please have him check with the local authorities first!}


(con’t)

Silence for a moment. Then: [The look on his face is priceless. What in the world are you two doing?]

{I honestly couldn’t tell you. Just let him know the package was safely delivered, and this was all very, very silly.}

[What in the world are you talking about?]

{That Spireling alchemic material wasn’t alchemic material at all! And the man he wanted me to instruct to destroy it was the man to whom it was supposed to be delivered, so he could use it in a sting operation to catch a smuggler!}

[…That is… hilarious, actually. He’s an anthropomorphized cloud, and he’s still finding a way to blush.]

You snort at that mental image. {Can I go talk to the Circle now?}

[Hang on. He wants to ask you something. Are you somewhere private?]

{No. Wait one.}

You duck into a nearby conference room and shut the door behind you. {Yes.}

“Herald, you have my apologies,” Haret says from the darkness of the room. The faint light through the blinded windows shimmers slightly against his outline where he suddenly appeared. “I had no idea the courier’s package was false.”

“I’m sure,” you say diplomatically. “du Bois was most embarrassed.”

“You didn’t reveal my involvement, did you?”

“Of course not! I can barely tell what’s happening!” you explode. You quickly recite all the details you’ve uncovered.

“Calm yourself, Herald. At the end of this, all you’ve done is assist in a Guard investigation and clear an Alchemist of a crime,” Haret says soothingly. “And you have my thanks. I haven’t actually asked a mortal to assist me so in a very long time. I see I’ve made a poor impression.”

“You think?” you mutter. “So I should just pretend this never happened?” you ask, louder.


(con’t)

“Of course, but don’t let me release you unrewarded,” he says. “You spent your own money to enable this mission.”

“Lord?”

“Here.” He grips your hand and places something in it. A cool metal token glints in the dim light of the room. “A gesture of thanks.”

“Is this money?”

“No, but you could sell it for rather a lot,” he says blandly. “I’d show it to that Circle woman, if I were you. I suspect she could tell you exactly what it is.” Then he’s gone.


Well, you’re done here. Where to now?
>Go change into civvies first
>Meet Arisa pronto, in uniform
>Go talk to somebody else beforehand
>writein

>>32930665
>>Go change into civvies first

>>32930665
>Go change into civvies first
Circle people are gonna be unhappy anyway, but at least we can be not blatant.

The last time you saw the Circle, they knew you were a soldier the second they saw you. Maybe it’s your bearing, or all the scars. This time, you’re going to ensure you’re in civvies when you go see Arisa, so fewer people are suspicious.

You make your way out of the huge Alchemists’ building, avoiding eye contact with the receptionist as you go. As soon as you’re out of the door, you pull the metal object out of your pocket and look at it in the noon-day sun.

It’s a small, golden, circular object, not quite a flat disc. It’s about as thick as a ten-piece gold coin, about a tenth of an inch or so, but only at the middle. It tapers to incredibly thinness around the edges, and the rim is a point as sharp as a sawblade.

The coin – or whatever it is – is heavy, very much so. Might be solid gold. “Quite a gift,” you murmur. You slip it into a pocket and head for the streets beyond the fence that rings the Guildhall.


The roads are full of people, moreso than before. The lunch crowd has brought people out to the cafes and restaurants by the thousand. Workers sit on the steps of their job sites, munching on sandwiches and smoking. Guards keep a fair eye on the crowd, looking for pickpockets, while message birds flutter from building to building. The road from the merchants’ district to the noble quarter is bustling with the rich and powerful; rather, their servants, all looking to buy fresh ingredients for their masters’ suppers.

You blend into the crowd as you walk back to the castle, wondering what to wear to this uninvited meeting. Your stealth gear is damaged, your uniforms are all either damaged or military…but the clothes you were wearing when you met the Circle yesterday would be too obvious. Hmmm.


(con’t)

The suite in the castle is packed. The other five elves are all gathered around the table, eating lunch. Your mother looks up when you walk in. “Elsa. How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” you say as you sink into a chair. “You all?”

“We’re okay. We didn’t get shot last night,” Coby says.

You shoot a look at Jerome, who directs it right back. “Jerome told you?”

“Of course he did,” Belle says. “Why wouldn’t he? You should have told us all!”

“I don’t want you all to worry,” you say defensively. “I can handle this.”

“Getting shot?” Coby demands. Darril and Laura shift uncomfortably. “How could we not worry?”

“Fine, it’s not wrong to be worried, but please trust me,” you say. “Asa picked me because she thinks I can pull this off.”

The others exchange glances, but nobody disputes the point. “We know,” Jerome says quietly. “It’s just hard to watch you come home, more and more badly hurt.”

Guilt. Guilt is not what you needed. “Well, this at least will be a simple task,” you grunt, shedding your uniform jacket. “I’m just going to a meeting.”

“When will you be back?” Laura asks.

“Not long. I’m just dropping in on someone,” you say. “I saw her yesterday, too.”


(con’t)

The others clearly grasp that you’re not in the mood to share much. You walk into your bedroom and quickly change into what is probably the most ‘normal’ outfit you have: a green tunic and brown pants, which could just as easily be a farmer’s working garb as it could your Skirmisher casual uniform. When you cinch the green bandana on over it, it snags on the gem, and you tug on it irritably. You glance at it in the mirror to see it… and hesitate.

The brand looks different. Where before, it was just a single tiny blue gem inside a black circle, with a larger third-of-a-circle around it, now you have two small rings that fade into skin tone on either side.

>How do you feel about this?

>angry
>scared
>surprised
>betrayed
>delighted
>confused

>writein

>>32931227
>Surprised
>confused

>>32931227
> curious

You stab the gem with your finger. {Lady Asa, the brand around my God Gem is growing.}

[Already?]

Somehow, that wasn’t the word you were hoping to hear. {I knew it would happen, but didn’t you say it would take years?}

[It usually does. Did. Your abilities are unlocking so fast that the gem is starting to channel my power,] Asa says. [Disquieting, but not harmful.]

{I’m confused. Doesn’t this mean something is wrong?} you ask.

[Goodness no, my daughter, not at all. This is supposed to happen. It’ll just make wearing a disguise somewhat more important. Does it hurt?]

You probe the newly-marked flesh with your finger and feel nothing. {Uh, no, it feels like normal skin.}

[I see. I’m sorry that it’s disturbing, but your appearance won’t transform, even at this rate, until several years have gone by.]

{What’s the end state look like}

[Remember how the Herald in that meeting with my brother looked with the collapsing sea wall?]

{Full body? Even footsoles, genitals, scalp, eyelids, all of it?}

[Yes.]

Well, it’s better than dying.


>Stay and have lunch first
>Just go right there
>writein

>>32931499
>Just go right there

>>32931499
>>Just go right there

After a quick goodbye to your family, you make your way down to the streets, sheathing your trusty dagger at the back of your belt for safety. The road to the place where Arisa lives isn’t a long one, and in no time at all, you’re standing outside her stately manor.

You walk up to the door and knock. After a few more knocks and many uncomfortable minutes, a window on the upper floor opens up. Arisa pokes her head out and sees you standing there. “Ah, yes, hello! Sorry, I was asleep! I’ll be right there.”

Another few minutes pass, and the door swings open. Arisa, clad in a very conservative robe even in her own home, beckons you in. “Come in, come in, Elsa, it’s an honor to see you again.”

“Thank you, Priestess.” You return her bow after discreetly closing the door. “Are you well?”

“I am, yes, thank you,” she says. “Come, I’ll put on some tea.”

The little kitchenette at the back of the house is clearly left over from a previous owner, probably for dedicated servants’ quarters that had been integrated into the rest of the house. Arisa probably cooks here when she’s not using the larger one for her assemblies. She sets some water to boil and arranges a plate of crackers and biscuits as you wait at her table. “So…I thought I saw you in the back of the meeting yesterday,” she says. “Did you come?”

“I did, and I made an ass of myself,” you grumble.

She turns to look at you with worry written on her tattooed face. “Oh! Oh dear, what happened?” she asks.

“I wanted to see where the warehouse you mentioned was, but I was seen following the group that left early,” you admit.


(con’t)

File: icon_of_Asa_second_stage.png (2 KB, 172x149)

2 KB PNG

She stares. “Why not just ask me?” she asks, hurt.

“You were busy talking to someone. I didn’t want to look like I was interrogating you,” you inform her. “Besides, there were people there who had me marked for a soldier before I even opened my mouth.”

She sighs. “And they thought you were a spy?”

“Openly accused me of it.” You nibble a biscuit as she pours you some tea. “Thank you.”

“Well, I’m sorry about that, your Eminence, but I’m afraid it’s the response you’ll get from all of us,” she says dolefully. “We’re not used to positive scrutiny.”

“The person I spoke to before I left said that they sometimes study magic and medicine,” you mention. “What do you do with it?”

“Raise money, mostly. The skills we learn can help our members find jobs, which helps us cover the cost of the warehouse,” she explains. She sips at her fragrant fruit tea and looks at you through the thin steam. “The warehouse is on the corner of Alderdes Boulevard and Memorial Street, if you wish to see it. I can cut you a key if you really wish.”

“Oh.” You blush a bit behind your teacup. “Thank you.”

>writein

This the second stage of her brand, by the way.

>>32931915
>Show her the disc Haret gave us. Ask what it is.

>>32931940
>>Show her the disc Haret gave us. Ask what it is.
concured

You pull the little disc from your pocket and show it to her. “Do you know what this is?”

She looks at it curiously. “Hmm. I think so. Where did you get it?”

“Lord Haret.”

She slowly sets down her teacup. “He just gave it to you?”

“Yes.”

Her hand is shaking as she accepts it from you. “I…I know I’ve seen this before. It’s marked…here,” she says. She grabs a candle and lights it from the stove where the tea water is still simmering.

The light of the candle reflects off the slightly-curved surface of the thin disc. There’s a small hole in the middle, very small. About the size of the gem in your forehead, actually.

“This is…oh my goodness,” she says. Even her voice is shaking. “These words, along the inside of the socket, here? Do you see?”

You do indeed, with your amazing new eyes. The socket is lined internally with tiny grooves that you mistook for a setting at first. Upon closer inspection, you can see that they’re letters. “Hmmm. ‘Here is the gift, returned.’” You tap your chin. “I don’t know what that means.”

“It’s a piece of the headdress that human Heralds used to wear when they were serving as overseers of interment rituals,” Arisa says. She sets it down and just stares. “The hole in the middle would hold the God Gem of the wearer when it was their turn to be interred. This…this is real, this isn’t some copy?”

“Haret made it,” you remind her.

“But it looks brand new.”

“He made it recently. This morning, in fact.”

She shakes her head. “If you could confirm that, there aren’t many prices collectors like me wouldn’t pay. There aren’t more than ten of these left on Tarsh.”

Interesting.


>Any other questions, or do you pass on Maas’ words and then leave?

>>32932261
>Pass on the kings message
>Ask if she's had members do any spying yet

>>32932261
>>32932451
adding a specific to the spying, ask if the circle has made any progress tracking down Don Kotrick and his allies

You return the disc to the pocket, wondering why Haret was so generous. “Well…thank you. I’ll keep it somewhere safe. In the meantime, have you had any luck tracking Don Kotrick and his allies?”

She gives the disc a lingering stare as it disappears, then looks back up. “No. But, really, how far can we look in one day?”

“Fair enough.” You sip the tea again as you wonder how best to phrase Maas’ message. “Well, madam… the King spoke to me the other day about your Circle chapter.”

“He did?” She looks apprehensive all of a sudden. “What did he say?”

“To be honest, he’s concerned about a group operating beyond his authority,” you admit. “But you’re Cenderians. He knows you just want to live life as intended. He’s given me the authority to approach the Circle, openly or covertly.”

“So…our inquiries will be sanctioned by the Triad and the King?” she asks hopefully.

“Indeed.”

She sighs into her tea. “That’s a relief.”


>any final questions?

>>32932615
No questions, just remind her to be careful when searching.

You finish the tea and set the cup down. “Very well. Arisa, thank you for your hospitality. I must be going.”

“Of course, your Eminence,” she says, rising to her feet to bow. “Don’t let me keep you.”

“I wish you the best of luck in tracking Kotrick,” you say. You clasp one of her hands between yours. “Please, be careful.”

She smiles faintly. “Likewise, Lady Ledren.”


[Temporary End of Thread]

I will return tomorrow ONLY IF this thread stays alive.

>>32932907
thanks for running! hope we get bumps

>>32932956
such as this?

Whew finally caught up. Not sure what I can do but I'll try. It's a mighty large task for such a moltey bunch.

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>>32933519

bump

>>32934425
nice pic

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231 KB JPG

>>32934820

>>32935615

Cats are nice. So are shoes.

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>>32936070

Thanks for keeping it alive, I'll run throughout the day!

A strong gust of wind nearly knocks you down in the street outside the Brotherhood Chapter House. A huge autumn storm is blowing in from the south, and it’s bringing wind. More than a few people on the street are muttering that it’s Haret’s doing, but you know better.

The chapter house is nearly deserted as you walk up the marble steps and into the lavish atrium. The flower-shop appearance hasn’t changed at all, but now there’s only one person inside: the receptionist from before. You walk up and wait to catch her attention.

She glances up at you and recognizes you at once. “Sergeant. Master Culler said to expect you at some point. He’s in his office.”

“Thanks.”

You peek in the wide-open door to his office. “Master Culler?”

He looks up from a small book and rises to his feet. “Your Eminence, come in. I was hoping you’d drop by.”

“Yes, sir,” you say, shutting the door behind you. “May I ask why?”

“Really? The tornado!” he says, pointing at the sky. “What happened?”


>”I was accidentally given access to something I shouldn’t have been.”
>”Maas told the truth.”
>writein

>”I was accidentally given access to something I shouldn’t have been.”
>”Maas told the truth.”

These aren't exclusive. Tell Culler that Maas was telling half the facts.

“To be fair, sir, His Majesty was telling half the truth,” you say. You lean in, and lower your voice to a conspiratorial level. “I was shown some powerful memories, partially by accident. Haret took exception, and since the Orb is in the city anyway…”

“He overcompensated,” Culler says disgustedly.

“For what it’s worth, he did apologize,” you say carefully. “To me and to the King.”

“For what it’s worth,” Culler echoes. “Well. I imagine you’ve been busy of late,” he says, brushing aside the detritus of a lunch spread.

“I have. I was injured in the riots.”

He looks up sharply. “Indeed?”

You tap the side of your nose. He peers closer. “Ah, I see. I’m sorry to hear that, your Eminence.”

“Thanks.” You marshal your thoughts, and wonder about the money in the binder case. “Sir, I managed to confront and kill a conspirator last night.”

“Oh? Good.” Culler waves you to continue. “What did he know?”

“Little. But, from what we can tell, the conspiracy has hired a hitman of sorts to protect the group’s members from me. Another conspirator has hired assassins to kill anyone from my Battalion, in the hopes of catching me, and yet a third has is either watching me or having people watch me.” His eyes widen as you recite that grim list. “So…you can say I’ve been busy, yes.”


(con’t)

Culler frowns. “I suppose it’s a mark of confidence that you came here anyway.”

“They know I have contacts in the Brotherhood, sir. They saw me capturing Feathers.” You shrug uncomfortably. “I’ve relocated my family for safety.”

“Good.”

“There was one other thing, though. The man I killed last night had some of the group’s money with him. Lots of it.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” You spread your arms to indicate the whole Brotherhood. “Enough to hire on the Brotherhood for some more attacks. I think I’ll need them, as well. We’re up against mages and combat veterans.”

Culler cocks an eyebrow. “He must have had quite a lot, then.”


>”Several hundred million.”
>don’t reveal the exact amount

>Don't reveal all of it

Do we even know how much it was?

“It was,” you say succinctly. “The King is having it counted. We also found some counterfeit money.”

“Counterfeit? Was this conspirator running a false tender ring too?” Culler asks. “Goodness, they’re busy.”

“Indeed.” You lean forward. “Can I count on your Brotherhood’s assistance, if the King authorizes it?”

“Of course, your Eminence.” Culler half-smiles. “It would be foolish to deny you assistance. We of the Brotherhood of Adventurers may be beside the law, but we are not above it. Cender’s good health is in our best interest. That, and the Orb can kill us as much as it can kill anybody.”

“Don’t I know it?” you say. “Very well, then, Master. Are those three Brothers I called upon before well?”

“Indeed, all’s fine, and I’ll be sure to tell them you asked,” Culler says magnanimously. “However, as I’m sure you saw, many of my Brothers are out on the roads, protecting the highways while the Legion marches to Margent to meet their delayed reinforcements. They will then return, once the Legion moves south.”

“I guess as much, yes. Still, do you have anyone left behind?” you ask.

“Dozens. They don’t all stay here. Some stay with family, or at inns, or in the Courtesans’ Guildhall,” Culler reminds you.”


>any more messages to pass along, or do we go talk to Garren?

>>32938277
>Go to Garren

“Then I feel I’ll take my leave, sir,” you say, rising to your feet. “Thank you for your time.”

Culler rises as well. “Certainly, your Eminence, and do drop by when you get the chance, so we can talk about hiring.”


The walk to the Courtesans’ World Headquarters is a very brief one, and in no time at all, you’re standing in the lobby. The delicious smell of fresh-baked bread wafts in from the bakery as lilting flute music fills the spacious room, and various well-dressed young people offer passers-by a relaxing afternoon. Giselle Beckhert, your old friend, is nowhere to be seen, but there are dozens of other Companions about.

You’re not here to get laid, though. You don’t even stop by the counter. Instead, you just walk right up to the stairwell and climb all the way to the top.

The penthouse suite. Somehow, you doubt it’s empty often. There can’t be much more prestigious a lodging than the penthouse of the world headquarters of the Courtesans’ Guild.

You settle your nerves and tap on the door.

The voice inside is Garren’s. “Yes?”

“I was given your note, madam,” you reply.

After several seconds, the door swings open. Traveler Garren is inside, looking quite exhausted. “Oh, yes…come in, Sergeant,” she mumbles.

You follower her into the tastefully minimalist penthouse, which is fully four times the size of your actual house. The door swings shut behind you, and Garren drops into a chair by the door. Her rumpled bathrobe and frizzled hair are not at all as intimidating as her armor and flesh-burning robe were.


>”Am I interrupting something?”
>straight to business
>writein

>>32938989

>”Am I interrupting something?”

“Pardon my interruption,” you say sheepishly.

She snorts and waves a hand. “I’m not entertaining, Lady Ledren. Not now, anyway. I was just up late last night, working on something. I’ll be having some guests come by later.”

“Ah.” You don’t ask, but she supplies an answer anyway.

“A navigation system that uses the relative distance of the weather machines in the Islands of Passage as a guidepoint,” she says wearily. “It’s not going well.”

“Sorry to hear that,” you remark.

“Mmm. It happens. What can I do for you?”

You quickly relate the story of Hooks’ death and the capture of his wealth. She sits up and pays close attention as you tell the tale. “Interesting,” she murmurs. “That’s a lot of money. You say the King has authorized you to use it to hire me directly?”

“For the good of Cender, yes,” you say. “Please keep that discreet. I imagine the people would rather it be spent on bettering the plumbing or funding the war.”

“Obviously.” She rises to her feet and ambles into the kitchen area, where you can see the remains of a small dinner. “Interesting. Very interesting. This sniper…he has a name?”

“We think it to be Forest, an assassin that Elger Moor hired to protect his boss,” you say.

“I know the name. Bloody good sharpshooter. Almost Brotherhood-tier experience,” she calls from the kitchen. “You don’t mind if I make some breakfast?”

“It’s two in the afternoon.”

“Breakfast is what you eat when you wake up,” Garren laughs. “Want something?”

“No, thank you.”

The sound of clattering implements and smell of bread and sausage floats in on the air as Garren keeps talking. “Well, from your description of the take, I suspect you could afford to purchase my direct assistance, if you want it,” she says. “Not to appear mercenary, but I need to make a living.”

(con't)

>”How much would you charge to help me in killing a conspirator?”
>”Even on a job this important?”
>writein

>>32939172
>”How much would you charge to help me in capturing or killing a conspirator?”

“That’s fair. What would you charge me to ask you to take down a conspirator with me?” you ask.

She considers. “Mage? Gifted?”

“Mage, no gift. He lives on a farm out in the wilderness.”

She wrinkles her nose. “If he seems me coming, it’ll be tricky, but not too much, unless he’s got some magic weapon or another. Figure eight hundred thousand per day. Do you need me to? Sounds more Culler’s speed.”

“Guaranteed success is a powerful thing,” you say.

“No guarantees. The Orb will kill me as much as it will anyone.” She finishes whatever she’s making and sets it on a plate. “Frankly, I think you’d be better served hiring Brotherhood hit teams. My assistance in combat would only be useful in certain circumstances.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean that I could fight as well as anybody in an urban battle, which would be a waste.” She picks up a piece of bread and sets it on the tray with the rest of the food. “But this farm-dwelling person…what’s the name?”

“Kerry Ding.”

She sets her tray down on a table and digs in. “Oh…hmm. I’ve heard that name. Used to work for the King, didn’t he?”

“Yes.” You lean back in your seat and think of the meeting. “Royal War Mages’ College.”

“Hmph. Thought so. He was an Ice magic specialist. Very skilled. Maybe this would be worth my help after all.”

“To be honest, I thought you’d charge more,” you admit.

She smiles. “A world where this conspiracy wins would be one in which I wouldn’t be alive, Lady Ledren. I’m giving you price-at-cost.”


>Any questions?

>>32939336
That's not bad at all. How much would she charge if they were gifted but not a mage? If they were both?

She lifts some orange juice and sips. “Also…I should point out that I don’t get exemptions under the law like Brothers and Shadows do. If I kill somebody, there’s a lot of work I have to do afterward. We’re not mercenaries in the strictest sense, we don’t get licensed to kill people. It’s a huge pain in the ass.”

“I imagine.” You consider the offer she made. “Er, what if he were Gifted as well?”

“That’s an x-factor. You can’t know what skills he has…but he would actually be easier to track, thanks to the Gift-sense I have.” She tilts the glass your way. “If he were both, I’d charge a million for the added risk.”

“Then…with the money I have now, I could hire you on full-time,” you note. “I mean, we recovered over a hundred and fifty million.”

She gapes. “What? Really?”

“Yes.”

“Mai’te’s tears, that’s a hell of a lot of money,” she says. “What was he doing with it?”

“He didn’t know he had it. He thought it was a packet of receipts from his boss,” you say. “Maybe he was given it for safekeeping.”

“Foolish of them,” she says, shaking her head. “Was it secured?”

“Heavily. He, the two women he had with him, and the sniper on the roof were all armed.”

“He had a sniper?”


(con’t)

You shudder as you remember the arrow penetrating your shoulder. “Yes. It was Forest. He had Bloodrot ammunition. I took a hit in the shoulder. Forest killed Hooks when he saw he was going to be captured.”

“Disgusting,” Garren says. “You’re all right? Bloodrot isn’t curable.”

“Asa healed me,” you say. “I healed the Shadow who was helping me.”

She looks over at you. “I thought you aren’t a Mage.”

“I’m not. It’s a Heraldic ability.”

She slowly sets the cup down. “…Do tell.”

You recall what Asa said about praun magic. “It was a praun ability she gave me.”

Garren’s eyes flash gold for an instant, and that prickling-scalp feeing comes back. “I see…how interesting,” she murmurs. “Your aura’s changed color. Do you feel quite all right?”

“Never better,” you assert.

“Hmm. You have this little…orange thing grafted onto your soul now,” she muses. “Haven’t seen that before.”


>How react?

>>32939482
Um, define grafted? Is it bad?

Grafting. Well, your eyes were grafted, right? “So… is grafting a bad thing?” you ask.

“Probably not. I can’t imagine Asa would hurt you,” she says casually. “Like you say, it’s a praun ability. Elf souls are silver and black in color. Humans are white and grey. Another way we’re quite similar to them, you know. I guess prauns were orange.” She squints at you. “Speaking of, what happened to your eyes? They’re glowing a different shade than the rest of you.”

This is invasive enough that it’s actually kind of uncomfortable. You hesitate a moment before answering. “I lost my eyes in the fight during the riot,” you say slowly. “Asa grafted hers on, from an Avatar.”

Garren stares at you, stunned. “…What an honor,” she finally says. “That’s… even the leaders of the Heralds during the Age of the Empire were never granted that privilege.”

“I guess I didn’t realize.” You hastily divert attention away from your soul’s mismatched bits. “So, uh… the flying city. Skyborn.”

“Yes! The city of Skyborn,” Garren says. “My research at the Mages’ Academy library turned up the name. There was speculation that there was an active demon up there somewhere, and Skyborn is the only one that is still flying, has never been reached, and has a temple large enough for a demon’s power to be contained,” she says. “I can’t get up there. Master Sun could, perhaps, if he spent enough mana to do it. I can’t imagine he will, though. He’ll probably just destroy it.”

“Seems wasteful.”

“They’re a hazard anyway,” she says dismissively. “Falling Dragon-men and Harpy cities have destroyed entire towns.”
>”Did you find out more about the Orb?”
>”What else did you learn in the library?”
>”Isn’t there another Firesoul in town?”
>writein

>>32939814
>”Isn’t there another Firesoul in town?”

>”What else did you learn in the library?”

“What else did you learn in the library?” you ask.

She shrugs. “Not much I didn’t already know. The Harpies were a pernicious and spiteful people, by our standards. There wasn’t much they wouldn’t do to avenge losses, even desecrating their own demons. I doubt there are many original Orbs left, though. Or any of the other superweapons they created. Blood-fog scrolls, Corpse-waker scrolls, Infector knives… I suspect that your conspiracy has the last of them.”

“I sincerely hope so,” you say fervently. “I’ve seen quite enough of them.”

She nods sympathetically. “I bet.”

A memory of a conversation with the Governor floats to the top of your mind. “Isn’t there another Firesoul in town?”

“Kelscik,” she confirms. “He’s a War Mage with the Royal College. He’s on some sort of teaching exchange program. I doubt he’d help us if he knew I were here. We’re not friends, and we’d just get in each other’s ways.”

That mindset is downright alien to a soldier like you. An army fights as a team, especially the auxiliary to a larger one. “Really? You don’t train to fight together?”

She shrugs. “Why bother? We rarely encounter one another. There aren’t more than a few hundred of us alive at any time, and it’s a big planet.” She finishes her food and sets the table on the kitchen counter. “If you really care, you can contact him, I just don’t think he’ll be all that helpful.”


>Any final questions before you being reconnoitering for the attack on Ding?

>>32940163
>nope, we covered everything

She casts you a look over the counter. “So. I have to ask. How do you think you’re doing so far?”

“In truth? I don’t know. I’m becoming more powerful, for sure, but…I’ve made mistakes,” you admit. “I’ve made enemies. I nearly got some allies killed.”

“You’re new to this kind of power,” she says. Garren rounds the counter and sits across the circle from you. “I think that as long as you remember to always ask for advice when you need it, you’ll be all right.”

“Thank you.” You clear your throat self-consciously. “On that note…how would you recommend I reconnoiter this Ding guy?”

“Don’t. At least, not by yourself.” She considers. “I’d take a squad of woodland fighters. Dedicated, skilled woodland fighters. Army scout specialists. Or a Brotherhood member. I’d do it, but I have a lot of work to do, and I can’t delay my meeting tonight.”

“All right.” You search your mind for something else to say and can’t find anything. “Then I guess I’m done.”

She rises to sketch a quick little bow. “Well met, your Eminence. Good luck.”


>Set off to the castle and get Dietrich to lend you some scouts
>Go to Culler and ask for a Brotherhood specialist
>go to your house and take the tunnels somewhere in the city in secret
>writein

>>32940363
>Go to Culler and ask for a Brotherhood specialist

Time to find out their rates.

>>32940363
>>Set off to the castle and get Dietrich to lend you some scouts
>>Go to Culler and ask for a Brotherhood specialist
Shit, just do both.

Back to the Chapter house. At least it’s a nice day.

The receptionist doesn’t even look up as you walk back into the building and head straight for Culler’s office. As you arrive, you see him locking the door behind him, a bundle of papers under his arm. “Excuse me, Master?”

He looks up at you in surprise. “Sergeant. Back already?”

“May I hire one of your Brothers for a reconnaissance mission?” you ask.

Culler nods. “Certainly. I assume you’ve arranged payment with the King?”

“As soon as I return to the castle tonight,” you say. “They can meet me there.”

“Tonight? Hmph. Not many Brothers around tonight,” he says thoughtfully. “Perhaps…Sister Cassandra would be willing to help, though I warn you: she is not cheap. If I were you, I’d look in the garden out back, or the archery range behind it. She’s often there.”

You bow. “Thank you, Master. Have a good day.”


(con’t)

*Thunk.* *Thunk.* *Thunk.*

You know that sound. An archery range sounds like nothing else in the world. You grin to yourself as you watch rows of Brothers and few plainclothes mercenaries firing salvo after salvo of arrows and bullets into straw practice dummies at the far end of the range. A metal grate overhead prevents ricochets from killing pedestrians nearby.

A few Brothers lounge or meditate in the lovely little garden out back, where a soothing fountain burbles over polished white ceramic balls. Some chairs circle a barbeque pit in the middle of the garden, where some landscapers tend to a rose bush.

The range is behind them, and there’s several people there.

Never have you seen a more eclectic group of killers. Some are stripped down to bare skin save wrist guards above the waist, others are in full harness armor, others yet are in flowing robes and cloaks, while most are wearing leather stud armor or metal circlets.

There are a few women, but you don’t know Cassandra by sight. You wait for the rangemaster to bellow for the clear before walking over.

The rank of Brothers and mercs disperses a bit as several people climb over to sweep up arrows and straw. You pause near the closest Sister and clear your throat. “Sister Cassandra?”

She jerks a thumb at a light elf woman leaning against a support pole in the middle of the range firing station. You nod thanks and head over.


(con’t)

Cassandra certainly looks like a scout. She certainly looks like a storybook heroine, too. She has thin metal armor pieces arranged artistically over her clothes, and they overlap to form a scale-like pattern that reminds you of a snake’s belly. The armor isn’t pristine, either. It’s painted brown, and it has the shimmer of enchantment on it.

Her face is a gallery sculpture. Her eyes are a deep purple, suggesting a dark elf father, but the rest of her is practically portrait-perfect light elf. The only thing you could call a blemish is a patch of grey at her temples, but with Brothers and sisters, that doesn’t mean anything. A scar, age from the passage of time slipping past the power of the Well, or acid damage from some horrible beast? Who knows.

You stand behind her until she notices you. “Sister Cassandra?”

“Yes?” she asks.

“My name is Sergeant Ledren, Second Home Battalion Auxilia. May I have a moment of your time?”

She raises a blond eyebrow. “I’m practicing.”

“I can see that, ma’am, but Master Culler specifically asked for you,” you say politely.

“Oh? Very well. Let me get my arrows and I’ll be right in.”

While she climbs over the hay bales retrieving her ammunition, you wonder how to phrase your request.


>Be direct and honest – mention Asa and everything
>Be direct, but conceal some facts – mention the Orb as a safety precaution, but nothing about the Triad
>Be indirect – leave the details for when they come up in the field if they come up at all

>>32941063
>>Be direct, but conceal some facts – mention the Orb as a safety precaution, but nothing about the Triad

Not sure about going more than this.

>>32941063
>Be direct, but conceal some facts – mention the Orb as a safety precaution, but nothing about the Triad

>>32941063
>Be indirect – leave the details for when they come up in the field if they come up at all

As soon as she has her ammo gathered, the two of you make your way back through the garden. Rather than walk in, though, you pull her aside into a small conversation circle in the meditation garden.

“Will Master Culler be joining us?” she asks.

“No.” You sit down and gesture for her to do the same. “I want to hire you on directly for an indispensable mission.”

She sits, eyeing you more carefully. “I thought you weren’t a messenger.”

“Oh?”

“The bearing. Like you’re expecting an attack at any moment,” she says.

“Hmm. I suppose I might be, at that,” you admit. “There’s a mage, named Kerry Ding. He’s responsible for killing the battalion on the Grand Highway the other day.”

She inhales sharply. “They found him?”

“Yes. He’s in a farmhouse on the outer edges of the old latifundae that the King broke up,” you say. “I’m going to recce his house tonight, in preparation for a larger attack. I want you to be the chief scout on the trip.”


(con’t)

She leans back in her chair, clutching her bow. It’s a work of art, like her armor. Even the string shimmers with enchantment. It’s nearly as tall as her, too. She must have magic in her muscle to pull the break on that thing. “A scouting mission in farm country, hmm? I can do that. I’m between missions right now anyway.”

“Good.” You lean forward. “The problem arises from the weapon the mage stole. He has a pre-Collapse weapon.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrow. “Oh? What kind?”

“Harpy.”

She’s silent for a long moment. “An Orb?”

Your jaw drops. “How did you know?”

“I saw several dozen carts full of empty carts and clothes being hauled into the city yesterday,” she says. “Haret’s behavior makes more sense if there were a pre-Collapse weapon involved, too. Between that, and the fact that three of my Brothers were dispatched to capture one woman – embarrassing overkill at the best of times – and it wasn’t hard to figure out.”

“I would greatly appreciate it if that knowledge didn’t leave this Chapter House,” you say nervously, looking around. “The people are scared enough as it is.”

She quirks her lips up in a tiny smile. “Even some of my Brothers and Sisters don’t know, yet, soldier. I’ll keep it quiet.”

You nod in relief. “Good, good.”

“So. If all we’re doing is reconnaissance…for one evening…I’ll figure it at fifty thousand,” she says. “If I’m allowed to…peruse his possesions afterward, forty.”


>”No looting the dead. He may have other superweapons I’m bound to destroy.”
>”Help yourself.”
>”Absolutely no chance of that whatsoever!”
>writein

>>32941317
>"No perusing. I'll pay the fifty thousand."

>>32941317
>>writein
Anything innocuous. Bags of money, a nice knife. If it's potential evidence then it needs to be collected. As long as we get a veto power to whatever she wants to take.

“Considering that half the reason I want him dead is that he’s hoarding superweapons, no. I’ll pay the fifty thousand. Let the Army destroy his possessions,” you say firmly. “If you see a nice knife or something, we’ll discuss it, but otherwise, no larceny.”

She shrugs. “It is your money. Who else are you bringing?”

“A squad of Army woodland combat scouts.”

“Hmm. I can live with that. Who is in command?” she asks.

“Me.” You point your thumb at your scarred chest. “I’ve tangled with this clown before. I want him neutralized.”

“Oh? Captured or killed?” she asks. “Which do you prefer?”

“Captured, of course. Can’t put a corpse on the stands. Don’t want to lose his knowledge, either,” you point out. She doesn’t need to know you’ll get it either way. “Any questions?”

“Does he have allies?”


(con’t)

“Yes. How many, I don’t know. He will probably have at least one other person with him,” you say. “But that’s half the point of recon.”

“That is a perfectly valid point,” she says drily. She stands – more like unfolds, in that armor – and shoulders her huge bow. “Will we actually attack tonight?”

“Not a chance,” you tell her. “We don’t rush this.”

“Mmm.” She raises one hand, palm up. “Did Culler tell you I’m a mage myself?”

“You are? No, he didn’t say that.” You frown at her hand. “What’s your specialty?”

She smiles. A tiny bird flies down to her hand from one of the many arbors, then another, then another, then two more.

You stare. “…Animal bonds?”

“Precisely. It’s why I’m such a good scout. It’s not like having the Gift of animal speech, but it’s close, and I can perform all basic battle and healing magics,” she says. “Animals listen to me. Hide me, when I ask. It’s tiring, but amazingly effective. Just suggesting to a snake that perhaps he wants to bite that fellow over there, or telling that horse they’re overworked…it can be so very helpful.” She raises her hand. There’s a tiny finch on every finger. “Point proven?”

“Indeed. Meet me in the parade ground at nineteen hundred hours.” You shake her hand that isn’t full of avians. “Bring everything you’ll need. I’ll supply the horses and maps.”

She grins. “Done. I take cash and banking promissory notes.”

“Cash. See you tonight.”


>Any more errands before you go and talk to Dietrich? You will get no more chances to explore the city before leaving!

I think we're good.

>>32941679
I can't think of anything, though today's not a good day for heavy thinking so far.

Captain-General Dietrich leans against his desk, listening to your request. “At least some woodlands combat experience,” you finish.

He shakes his head. “Not the way it works,” he says. “Rural combat and woods combat aren’t interchangeable. You want people who can fight in an agricultural zone, not woodlands specialists. Fortunately, we didn’t send the whole Army down to the border.”

“Can you spare a squad?” you ask.

“For one night, I certainly can.” Dietrich rubs his chin in thought. “Mounted?”

“Dismounted, but we’ll need horses to get there.”

“I imagine so,” Dietrich says. “You have the exact location?”

“I do, sir. Lady Asa provided it.”

The old General nods once and pulls a book from his desk. “All right. When do you want them mustered? And do you care if they know who and what you are, your Eminence?”

“I would prefer to remain covert,” you say. “Keep them in the dark. I’ll brief them on the way.”

“Very well.” He pages through the book until he finds what he’s looking for. “All right. Let’s see… the best-suited unit for this would be the Clen Fifth Regiment, Second Battalion, First Company, First Platoon, Second Squad,” he lists. “They’re in town, and rested well.”

“Good.” You rise to your feet and salute, despite your lack of uniform. “I’ll meet them in the parade ground at Nineteen Hundred hours.”

“Very well. Good luck to you, your Eminence,” Dietrich says.


(con’t)
Taking a break for dinner. Be back in an hour and a half or so.

Upstairs, in the King’s quarters, you wait outside his office, wondering how much of the money is already counted. After a brief delay, you are summoned into the chamber, making your way quickly to the desk where he sits.

Maas looks up after several seconds of sorting papers. “Your Eminence. Can I help you?”

“Yes, your Majesty. I intend to reconnoiter the mage Kerry Ding this evening,” you say.

“Will there be any action this time? There was last night,” he cautions.

“There shouldn’t be. We’re not going to the building itself,” you inform him. “And I have contracted the service of a Brother. Sister, actually. She’s offered her services for fifty thousand.”

Maas nods. “I see.” He pulls the cash from a drawer in his desk and peels off a wad. “All yours, your Eminence.”

“Thank you, Sire.” You pocket the money and awkwardly clear your throat. “Uh, your Majesty…might I trouble you for a suit of stealth gear? Mine was damaged in the battle last night, and I haven’t had time to fix it.”

“Why not use your normal armor?” Maas asks reasonably. “You’re not getting anywhere near him, are you?”

You pause. “True. Very well, Sire.”

“Of course, if you wish to commission stealth armor, you can,” Maas continues. “It will just take some time. I’ll deduct it from the money you’ve seized.”

>Do you wish to do this? It will cost approximately two hundred thousand of the 1,450,000 you have left in your budget. An enchanted version will cost one quarter of a million instead.

>>32943850
>1,450,000
Didn't we have 150 million?

>>32943850
Mmmmm...... tempted to go for it though we're not in a real hurry to use it.

>>32943906
I'm stupid and can't count.


The normal stealth armor costs 200,000, the enchanted armor is 250,000. You have 149,950,000 left right now.

>>32943936
Ok. Let's get the enchanted set.

>>32943850
I say make an enchanted version just to be prepared then, though it won't be a factor tonight.

“A suit of enchanted stealth armor would be perfect for the future, Sire,” you say gratefully. You half-smile at the amount of money he’s talking about. “May I ask what you’ll do with any money we have left over at the end?”

He shakes his head. “No idea. Probably put it towards the war effort. It’s not germane now.”

“I suppose not. Thank you, Sire.”


After a hasty meal, you duck into your room to change into your armor and weapons. It feels good to be back in your kit, with the heavy weight of the spear on your back and the shield on your arm. You wrap your sling around your waist and fill the bullet pouch to the brim, then tuck the dagger away.

As you finish, Jerome pokes his head in the door. “Elsa, where are you off to tonight?”

“Recon. We’re checking out the next target site,” you say distractedly as you cinch your bandana. “I’ll be back by sunrise.”

He grimaces. “No fighting this time, okay?”

You offer him a quick smile and kiss on the way past. “I promise.”


(con’t)

The parade ground below is almost abandoned with so many Guards on patrol and soldiers in the field. Your team is already assembled, you notice, with the ten recon troops standing in a rough circle in one corner of the field.

As you approach, your new eyes let you pick out details. The Sergeant has five chevrons and a star on his pauldron – a Senior Sergeant. Trouble. He outranks you significantly.

Their gear is pretty standard. Chain armor, leather spaulders and greaves, no shields. Swords at their hips, a single alchemic smoke grenade each, and a medical kit on one man’s back. All have food and sleeping bags on their saddles.

You ride up and salute. “Senior Sergeant?”

He looks over at you askance. He’s a graying human man, with several campaign decorations on his helm. “Yeah?”

“Sergeant Elsa Ledren, Second Home Auxilia,” you say. “I’ll be leading this mission.”

“That a fact,” he says flatly. “Seems to me that five is bigger than three, Sergeant.”


>”Want to go ask Captain-General Dietrich about the chain of command?”
>”Just do as I say.”
>writein

>>32944217

>”Want to go ask Captain-General Dietrich about the chain of command?”

I suggest we use Voice of the Divine. Can't have him undermining any orders we give during this.

>>32944517

He already understands us. I don't think Voice of the Divine will do anything.

>>32944217
>>”Want to go ask Captain-General Dietrich about the chain of command?”

>>32944615
Voice of the Divine: Elsa’s voice carries a tone of authority that can override social restriction, anger, drugs, sleep, even madness. Infinite total uses, limited to one per day.

>>32944664
Exactly. It won't do anything inn this situation.

You don’t even muster a glare. He’s obviously bluffing. “Want to go ask Captain-General Dietrich? I’m sure he told you to fall in line when he gave you your orders.”

He grimaces. “Yeah, he did.”

“Fantastic. Shut your pie hole.” You shoot a stare at the rest of the squad, but they’re all hiding laughter, so there’s no problems.

Right on cue, the sound of another horse approaching breaks the moment. You all turn to see Cassandra, heading purposefully towards you.

The Army team pauses to look her over, and you have to admit, it’s surprising. She’s not just carrying her longbow now, she has a gladius on both hips and a dagger in a sling on her left spaulders. “Sergeant, good to see you,” she says pleasantly. “This is the escort?”

“Affirmative, ma’am,” you reply. “Are you ready to head out?”

“I am indeed, barring a lack of funds,” she says as she draws her horse alongside yours. Hers is clad with a small, thin saddle, and nothing else save reins. She does have a small saddlebag, though, and it’s full of something you can’t quite see.

“Of course. Cash upfront, as promised,” you say, passing her the bills.

She doesn’t count them, she just drops them into her saddlebag and seals it shut with a magic whisper. The soldiers all look a bit disgruntled, but keep their mouths shut. “Good. Good, good. Maps?”

You produce the address the King provided and pass it over. She scans it once and hands it back. “I know the place. What is your plan?”


>”Ditch the horses somewhere and go on foot when we’re close enough.”
>”Just ride past the place like we have all the business in the world there. There have to be lots of troops on that road all the time.”
>writein
>”I’ll follow your lead, Sister.”

>>32944777
>”I’ll follow your lead, Sister.”

>>32944777
>>”I’ll follow your lead, Sister.”

She has experience on this so I'm willing to go with her word.

>>32944777
>[x] ”I’ll follow your lead, Sister.”

I support this course of action, whatever it may be.

“I’ll follow your lead, Sister.”

She nods. “Good. We’ll go to the nearest inn or tavern – there’s plenty out in the farm country. We’ll tie the horses there, dismount, and approach the place on foot. We won’t get within a stone’s throw of it, but I’ll be able to pick out salient details. The farm in question…it’s far enough from the road that we have room to circle around and study the place without being seen.”

“Then that’s what we’re doing,” you say. “All right. Move out, people.”


The road out of the city is largely empty at dinnertime on a Saturday, so you make good time on your way to the farms. This whole section of the countryside was a series of noble-owned slave farms before the abolition movement, and even then, the landowners controlled the workers through indenturing. It was only after King Maas’ father broke up the indenturing system and sold off the land piecemeal that it broke up into individual farms, rather than massive ones.

The one you’re going to was one of the farthest from the city, so it’s no surprise that the land isn’t used very much. After two hours of riding at a good speed, your group calls a halt at a little inn. Several troops lick their lips and cast longing stares at the open door and visible revelry inside, but the Senior Sergeant – Nicholas Balman, apparently – keeps them all in line.

Cassandra barely speaks throughout the trip. She occasionally casts a stare at the roads, as if remembering this trip or that, but for the most part, she’s a silent guide.

You all hop the ditch at the far side of the road and land in the edges of the fields. Wheat grew here once, but now it’s all just a mish-mash of local plants and fallow grain. Clearly, nobody who bought land this cheap this far from the city was interested in farming it.


(con’t)

Cassandra glides through the grass in her brown armor and deep green cloak, to which she’s affixed a Brotherhood pin. Her movements are even more snakelike than before, and they match the nature of her armor so well that you catch yourself wondering if she learned from her animal friends.

After nearly another whole hour of marching, the sun is low, and she calls a halt for water. The soldiers drop into crouches, facing out for threats, while the battle medic sorts his supplies in the middle. Cassandra lies flat on her back in the grass, looking up at the ruby clouds, while you sit alone to the side and think.

Abruptly, your forehead gem warms. [Elsa?]

{Here.}

[Are you out in the field?]

{I am. I have a Sister and ten troops with me.}

[So the King tells me. Did I not ask you to tell me BEFORE you deploy into battle?] she asks tartly.

{Oops. Sorry. We’re not fighting, though, this is recce.}

[So was last night. Stay safe.] Her voice trails off, but the gem doesn’t go cold. [My daughter, it’s time to tell me what you were screaming about, last night when you woke up. ‘Not the water?’]


>Be honest
>Keep evading the answer (roll 1d100+1)

>>32945458
>>Be honest

I don't see any reason to lie as while her brother might have done things differently, I doubt she's the same way.

>>32945458

>Be honest

You brace yourself for her anger. {…I said I saw Airo Silver-taker?}

[Yes.]

{Well…most of the memories I’ve seen of Heralds are either snippets of their lives, or the last few seconds of their lives. With Airo… the vision kept going. I saw him meet Ghalad, I saw Ghalad pass Mai’te’s judgment… then I saw and felt him being dragged into hell.}

The silence is horrible. Eventually, she breaks it. [You saw hell?]

{I felt the hands of the Shamblers on my arms, dragging me – dragging poor Airo – into the Falls, but he closed his eyes, so all I saw was the stone room where Ghalad left him.}

[I see.] Several more seconds of awful silence pass. [I’m sorry.]

You can hardly believe your ears. Mind. Whatever. {You’re sorry?}

[Somehow, I’ve given you more than the memories I wanted to, and more than should have been possible,] she says wearily. [I most have lost control to a greater degree than I imagined. I’m sorry you had to go through that.]

{I thought you’d be angry.}

[At you? For this? Never. This is my fault.] A pause. [You can’t see it, but the others are just glaring at me. They don’t seem to mind much about the specific memory.]

{Haret nearly killed us all last time a memory got through of the afterlife!} you protest.

[Yes, a good memory. Who wants to know about hell? Just don’t go spreading it around.]

{Well… I’m not complaining.}

[Did you hear much?]

{Just the shuffling feet of the Shamblers.}

[I apologize, my daughter. I truly do. Nobody should go through that any more.]

Cassandra suddenly springs to her feet. “Break time’s over, friends. Pack it in.”

{Gotta go, talk later,} you think quickly, and pull your hand away from the Gem.

“Any last questions before we start?” she asks.


>Wat say

>>32945889
Has Elsa been on Recce missions before? Does she know protocol? Ask if she doesn't.

>>32945940
that or some advice for the future

“Any special rules for this sort of thing?” you ask, drawing some looks of contempt from the soldiers.

“Yes. Stay low. Balance on the blades of your feet so your center of balance doesn’t shift,” she lists. “No fires of any kind. No magic. No eating or stopping to piss. Don’t use words with hard S in them, the sound carries far. Don’t make eye contact with anything, even animals. Any other questions?”

“What do we do if he starts fighting?” one of the soldiers asks.

“Leave him to me. He can’t know I’m here, I’m not Gifted.” Cassandra says quietly. “Just stay low and fall back. He’ll have to move to pursue. If he does, he dies.”


“We’re not here to engage at ALL, damn it,” you say flatly. “Just gather information on the house and the man.”

“Understood,” the squad Corporal mutters, and the group is ready.

You slither on over to Cassandra, who’s stringing her bow. “Where do I go?” you whisper.

“With me,” she says. “I’ll be closest. That half-cloak of yours is good camouflage. Just don’t forget to wrap your metal gear.”

“My shield is painted, I can wrap the spear head,” you say.

“Do it. Use the bandana, maybe,” she says.

Well, that’s obviously not an option. You pull a piece of fabric from your kitbag and rip off a chunk, wrapping that on instead. She looks at you funny, but doesn’t say a thing.

The Senior Sergeant pumps his fist, and the squad splits into two. He and four other men squat in place, eyes facing outward, while the other five slowly fan out and push into the grass, led by the Corporal. Cassandra follows in his trail while you slip in behind her.


(con’t)

The walk is long. The sun is down by the time it’s over, and the five soldiers are motionless outlines in the grass. The dim evening light shows you a large, rustic house at the edge of a field, backed up against woods that stretch in either direction for miles. The problem is, the seven of you are at the edge of a field, nearly two miles deep, freshly harvested. There isn’t a shred of cover between you and the house.


>Advance around the edge of the field and into the woods
>Play it safe and learn what we can here

>>32946478
>Advance around the edge of the field and into the woods

>>32946478
>>Advance around the edge of the field and into the woods

Not much we can learn here.

As much as last night’s misadventure hangs in your mind, you can’t learn crap here. You tap Cassandra on the shoulder and make a gesture towards the woods.

She nods once, then circles her finger over her head. As soon as she does, the soldiers rise into crouches and ease back into the fields.

They’re professional, these Army guys. They creep backwards until they’re all surrounded by grass, then move in towards you.

“Foretht. Cover better. Go quiet,” the Corporal murmurs.

Cassandra nods. You all move out in single file through the grasses and weeds.


The sun is down completely by the time you reach the forest. After all that riding and walking, you’re tired, and though you ate little solid food, you could still use a chance to take run to the bushes. No time for that, though. You work through the treeline, pausing every few feet to search for traps.

You’re about half a mile from the house when trouble starts. First, a deer spots you and takes off into the open field, which by itself doesn’t mean anything, but someone in the house may have seen it. Seconds later, Cassandra, now on point, spots a tripwire between two trees. Worse, she can’t see what it’s connected to. You debate turning back, but you can’t risk not learning anything on this venture.

You press on, trying not to remember the fighting in the woods where all this started. You try to imagine fighting Laurenz in these woods at night and shudder.

With the sky nearly pitch-black by now, 2200 at the earliest, Cassandra is invisible in the woods. You’re in your element now, the two of you, and even with all the tension and fear, you can catch yourself smiling at the feeling of Mai’te’s sculpting touch in the woods around you. Your people, the wilderness elves, were made for this precise environment. It’s easy to feel at home. Familiarity breeds contempt, though, so you look past the coziness to see the danger in every long, dark shadow.


(con’t)

The evening turns to night, and Cassandra drops prone about a third of a mile from the house. At the treeline, you’re barely visible as a green and brown smudge against the background, even with enchanted armor. She’s almost impossible to see, even with your eyes. It’s uncanny.


As you creep up next to her, the scouts pull their smoke grenades, ready to lay down a curtain of mist in case you need to retreat in a hurry. Cassandra turns to you and speaks, so quiet you almost can’t hear her.

“Houthe ith full of people. Forty. More. Singing. Dancing. Huge party.”

You frown. Even from here you can hear the music. “So why set traps?”

She taps your cheek and looks stern. You muffle a sigh and try again. “Tho why trapth?” you ask, sounding like an idiot.

“Thafety. Caution. Maybe lureth. Maybe decoyth.” She shakes her head. “Thtay here. Going to creep in clother.”


>”Hell no.”
>”Don’t get caught.”
>writein

>>32946914
>”Hell no.”

>>32946914
>>”Don’t get caught.”

Well I'm inclined to trust an expert wtih this than not.

>>32946914
>>”Don’t get caught.”
She's a professional.

“Don’t get caught,” you murmur. She nods once, then she’s gone. You rest and wait, letting the weariness of the day slide off of you, as if it’s not even there. You’re lying in the grass, you’re safe and undetected, you’re not tired at all. No, everything’s fine.

Then you hear something. One of the soldiers behind you mumbles something, and you glance back to see him nodding at his spot. You grimace at the lack of professionalism, but there’s nothing you can do without breaking cover. Another soldier leans over and slaps him, and he jerks upright, but then he starts nodding again.

[AUTOSUCCESS]

You glare at the problem as something cold drips down your spine. Why are they falling asleep? Now another one is nodding, and you can’t help but feel a bit drowsy for a second yourself.

[AUTOSUCCESS]

The cool, breezy autumn night is calming, very much so…

[AUTOSUCCESS]

The memories of heaven that you gained from Asa swim though your drowsy head, and you can’t help but feel a bit warm and comfortable, just thinking about them. It helps clear your head.

The soldiers behind you droop down and lie still. All five. At once.

Ice-cold adrenaline floods your body as you realize what’s happening. Mind control. MIND CONTROL. You’re not drowsy, neither are they… someone’s putting them to sleep. You look frantically around, and spot a seventh figure sitting amongst the soldiers, completely brazen. He’s even wearing a white cloak, for Mai’te’s sake, not hiding at all. But then, you probably walked right by him before.


>Wait for him to do something before attacking
>ATTACK NOW

>>32947171
>ATTACK NOW

File: 1394508827062.gif (78 KB, 600x600)

78 KB GIF

>>32947171
>>ATTACK NOW

FUCK.
THAT
NOISE.

You spring to your feet as the horror of what’s about to happen grips you. The mage looks stunned at the sight of one of his victims awake and aware.

“What the fuck? Stay back!” he squeals, throwing himself out of the way – but it’s too late. You throw yourself into his path and take him right in the back.

He coughs as the air blasts out of his lungs, but before he can recover, you have your free hand clamped over his mouth and nose, and the other locked tight around his neck. He tries to scream, but there’s no air in him to do it… and moments later, his frantic struggles slow.


>Let him live
>Kill him

>>32947335
>>Kill him

>>32947335
>Let him live
We took our pouch of alchemy shit, right? We can give him some sleeping gas or something.

>Let him live

Knife in throat.

>>32947335

Let him live. We can interrogate him later.

First time since Thread 1 with five votes, and it's to break a tie. Just my luck that it's the last one of the thread.

gntyfic OLD
captcha wut

He’s an elf, which means he can be interrogated by you or by Asa, but killing him might be noisy, and it’ll definitely be messy. You grip his throat until his twitching gets feeble, then smash his head with your gloved hand. He goes limp, and the soldiers all wake up at once.

Most are professional enough to keep quiet, but some are mumbling, trying to figure out what’s happening. You rush to each in turn, telling them to stay quiet. The Corporal grabs your wrist as you finish. “The Sister? Where is she?” he hisses.

“I don’t know which direction she took!” you whisper back, done with that stupid hard S thing. “Stay put and guard the prisoner. I’m going to find her.”

“No, wait,” the Corporal whispers. “We all woke up. She would have too.”

You hesitate, torn, but suddenly the decision doesn’t matter. Cassandra herself appears at the edge of your little circle, looking surprised. “What happened here?” she asks, bewildered.

“Mage crept up on us, used mind control,” you whisper harshly. “Tell me you found something.”

“Of courth, I have the place mapped,” she says. “Mind control? How? Thatth not pohthible any more.”

“Debate magic theory later,” you growl. “Get us the hell out of here now!”

She nods. “Fine. Follow me.”

You all fall back into single file, with three soldiers carrying the prisoner, and make your way back to the road in silence. The others are unnerved by what happened, but you’re more than unnerved. It was nice to remember heaven, and to feel the potency of its memory driving away the magic, but that’s immaterial, now: the mage was probably supposed to report back if he found anybody. When you return, Ding will be ready. You’ll just have to deal with that.


[END OF THREAD]

>>32947678
thanks for running!

That was a lot of fun! I've got fresh arts, which is always appreciated, and I've got a bunch of plans for the next thread, so stay tuned for Friday!

>>32947678
yeah we're definitely hiring Garren for the assault

>>32947843

Looking forward to it. Thanks for running.