>>45457407

First off, the name might not mean much to you, but the object itself is significant – a handkerchief, one made of particularly fine cloth. That's not something you see very often, especially in an out of the way place like this. This is something from the capital, you'd bet your horse on it. As you fold the handkerchief neatly back up into your pocket, you rub a hand across the stubble growing around your cheeks, thinking hard about your next move.

Aya suggested that money was at the root of all this. Rare and valuable examples of artisan pottery would only grow more and more valuable if the supply was to be cut off suddenly. So anyone with a large amount of the Asahisaki pottery would stand to profit from it – even the Asahisaki family itself. It was only a theory before, baseless speculation relayed to you in the darkest corner of a tavern, but now you might have something to link it with... something else. Your suspect, if such a word is appropriate.

Then again, you consider, you've never actually heard from the Asahisaki family themselves about this, never listened to their version of events. They might be the victims in all this, their livelihood cruelly snatched away from them. It would be fair, then, to pay them a visit and see what they know. You weigh your options as you stroll back into town, taking the long route through the forests as you return. When you've arrived back there, you think you've come to a conclusion.

Your next move should be...

>Show Aya the handkerchief, see if she recognises the name
>Visit the Asahisaki manor and hear their version of events
>Report back to the Nameless Temple. You've done all you can here
>Other

>>45457409
>Visit the Asahisaki manor and hear their version of events
And don't tell them that the Goddess is back in business just yet.

>>45457409
>Show Aya the handkerchief, see if she recognises the name

Haha, I have the first reply twice in a row!

>>45457439
>>45457436
;_;

I shouldn't have spent so long over deciding

>>45457409
>>45457436
I say go with this. If they are up to something they might clam up as soon as they know the problem is solved.

>Calling the vote there, looks like we're heading to the manor first. Writing now.

It's about time you got some information, fresh from the source. It will be interesting, you decide, to see what the Asahisaki family itself has to say about things – especially considering the revelation that their artistic “talent” were all thanks to the doll's divine blessing. The question, then, is how much you should reveal to them. If you reveal that the problem has already been solved, assuming they've not found out yet, you lose much of your leverage over them. If they are hiding something, it'll just encourage them to bury their secrets even deeper.

You'll play your cards close to your chest, you decide, and see how they play things. If they strike you as the honest types, you'll open up and give them all the information you know. If not, well, you'll play it by ear.

Your footsteps kick up great clouds of dust as you approach the manor, pausing a moment to lament on your rough, unshaven appearance before knocking hard on the wooden door. When you listen carefully, you hear a faint shuffling inside for a few moment before the door is opened by a squat man, his bulk contained by a sombre black robe. He stares at you for a moment, his expression turning distasteful as he takes in your weapons, before standing aside so you can enter.

“The master of the house is waiting for you,” the servant says stiffly, “He has been waiting, in fact, for quite some time. We sent for you a number of days ago.”

As much as you'd like to ask what the butler actually expected from you, you force back a spiteful response and nod humbly. Getting yourself thrown out this early won't do you any favours.

“Follow me,” the butler sighs after a moment of silence, “The family is waiting in the studio. This way please.”

[1/2]

>>45457610

The studio, as it turns out, happens to be located in a basement, beneath the surface. A curiously rustic place, with rough walls and dull lanterns flickering at the walls. It's almost like a tomb, you think to yourself, a kind of family mausoleum. Every alcove you pass, you expect to see a leering skull or pile of gnawed bones. Instead, you just see more and more of that blasted pottery, fine examples of the craft. There's a small fortune here, being used to decorate a room that few people will ever see.

Following the butler through a small corridor into a strangely cavernous room, you're confronted by a long table – and the group of sullen looking men and woman sitting around it. Atop the table are some objects, their vague forms obscured by draped cloths. Bowing once, the butler turns and quickly leaves, leaving you alone in the company of these... unenthusiastic looking artists. They stare at you with a kind of contempt, like you're something dragged in by the family cat.

If you didn't know better, you think bitterly, you'd think they resented your presence. Still, they stare in silence – are they waiting for you to introduce yourself?

>You sent for a Wanderer. Here I am
>My name is Ira Furyo. Your problem has been solved
>Before we get to business, I have a few questions... (Write in)
>Other

>>45457646
>>You sent for a Wanderer. Here I am

>>45457646
>You sent for a Wanderer. Here I am

>>45457646
>>You sent for a Wanderer. Here I am
This seems like a good time to use our water spell. It would make things easier at least.

>>45457646
>You sent for a Wanderer. Here I am

>>45457646
>>You sent for a Wanderer. Here I am

>>45457678
I agree. Maybe after we test the waters (heh) with our introduction.

They sent for a Wanderer, you say with as much politeness as you can scrape together, and here you are. If you were expecting a warm reception – or perhaps just a reception of any kind – you would have been disappointed. Maybe it's something about your accent or appearance, both hinting at a low upbringing, that they find so unpleasant, but the only reactions your introduction gets is a hushed murmuring amongst themselves.

Forcing back a frown, you focus your mind on the sound flowing water, picturing their faces turning grateful and welcoming as you tap into your learned magic. You feel a kind of ripple spreading out through the room and, one by one, all their faces turn your way once more. This time though, they are animated by a spark of humanity that spreads, returning some trace of warmth to their features.

“That's right,” the gentleman at the head of the table says, “Good to see you came, damn good. Sit down, outsider, and we can talk business.”

That's more like it. Pulling out the chair he gestures towards, you sit and return his gaze. So, you say calmly, what seems to be the problem?

“Eh, well, we were hoping you'd be able to tell us that,” the man begins with a grimace, “My name is Palo, the head of the family – I shan't bother with the formal introductions. You know of our trade, I take it? Our... art?”

Asahisaki pottery, you tell him smoothly, the finest in the land. At least, that's what you've heard.

“You heard right,” Palo says, puffing out his chest with a kind of desperate pride, “At least, it used to be. Lately, nothing we've tried has worked out quite as it should. Cousin – unveil the first specimen.”

Sullenly silent, one of the bland faced youngsters reaches out and sweeps a sheet away from one of those hidden objects. It's... not a pretty sight.

[1/2]

>>45457782

What should have been a delicate porcelain vase, coated with a glistening white glaze, is instead a darkened and twisted mess. If a vase could suffer illness, you decide, you'd diagnose this one as terminal. You almost feel the need to shatter it, just to put the poor thing out of its misery.

“This should have been a perfect example of our craft,” Palo says slowly, choosing his words with care, “We did everything as it should be done – I shan't bore you with the specifics, even if they weren't closely held family secrets – and yet it turned out like... this. Clearly, the land – or perhaps the clay drawn from it – holds a great sickness. It's quite ruined our collective muse, I've not picked up my tools in weeks!”

So, what the doll said was true. Without her blessing, these people are nothing but phonies. Fakes, leeching off her divinity while she languishes at her shrine with a single priest taking care of her. You're not the kind of fanatic that calls for anyone who insults the gods to be beheaded, but this disrespect irks you. Swallowing your irritation, you meet Palo's gaze and ask the first of your questions.

>Tell me, what do you know about the local god? Or the priest, perhaps?
>Does the name “Rokugah” mean anything to you?
>I know your secret. I spoke with the doll
>The problem is solved. I won't bother you for a moment longer
>Other

>>45457834
>Tell me, what do you know about the local god? Or the priest, perhaps?

>Does the name “Rokugah” mean anything to you?

>>45457834
>Tell me, what do you know about the local god? Or the priest, perhaps?

>>45457834
>Tell me, what do you know about the local god? Or the priest, perhaps?
>>45457857
I think we should keep the name to ourselves for now

>>45457885
Fair enough. To be honest I wasn't sure if that was tipping our hand too much,

>>45457857
No Rokugah for this vote.

>>45457834
>Tell me, what do you know about the local god? Or the priest, perhaps?

What you like to do first of all, you explain patiently, is gather information about the local faith. You heard talk of a shrine nearby – and a shrine means both god and priest should be nearby. Is there anything they can tell you, you ask, about either one?

“Eh, I can't say I've ever been much for all that religious talk,” Palo admits, glancing your way as if you're about to cast judgement upon him, “But... I do know the priest. He was family, actually. Still is, I mean, even if he doesn't consider himself one of us. Ande, his name was. One day, as I recall, he just packed a few things and walked off into the mountains. He always was a strange one. So, you really think this could be due to a god?”

You wouldn't rule it out, you say with a sly smile, but you're still gathering all the facts. Leaning back in your chair – it's probably a terribly uncouth gesture but you don't care – you consider the situation. They seem like idiots, all bluster and fraud, but not murderous ones. Unless they're far better at lying and deception than they first appear, you're willing to rule them out as the primary suspect. That just leaves you with the handkerchief to chase, and Aya might be a better option for that information.

“So, we don't want to keep you from your important work,” Palo add quickly, to fill in the silence, “You understand, don't you sir? It's not just our family that is suffering now, but all the village. We're, well, we're the only thing keeping this community together.”

You've noticed that. Keeping the community together, you think privately, in what might as well be slavery – and for what? For the sake of having their own little kingdom to rule over? Shaking off your dark thoughts, you stand again and thank Palo for his time. Before you leave, though...

>A few final questions... (Write in)
>Thank them again, go and see Aya
>Thank them again, take some other action
>Other

>>45458044
>A few final questions... (Write in)
"Was anyone else other than Ande seen going up to the shrine after he left?"
>Thank them again, go and see Aya

>>45458067
>>45458044
This

One last question, you begin. Was anyone else seen going up to the shrine lately, you ask, anyone other than Ande? As you ask this, the gathered family members – only one of which has ever actually spoken aloud to you – exchange glances and meaningful looks. Threatening each other with silence, you think at first, before a second and altogether more disturbing theory surfaces in your mind. This family, this bunch of inbred fools, has no idea what goes on out there. You'd be surprised if they even leave their damn estate regularly.

“Ahem, perhaps that is a question better asked at the inn,” Palo suggests slowly, all but confirming your suspicions, “You see... that is to say... Sir, we are of an artistic temperament here, we cannot be responsible for every moment of daily life in the village. I'm afraid I can offer you little in the way of common gossip or rumour.”

No matter, you say with a feigned shrug, it was only a passing curiosity. Thanking them again for their time – even if the words almost stick in your throat – you bow slightly and leave them to... whatever it is they usually do. Play around with mud and sleep with their cousins, probably.

You didn't realise how tense the atmosphere in that gloomy subterranean space had made you until you see sunlight again and feel the muscles in your shoulders smooth out. Just the fresh air is a blessing, after being stuck in that stuffy room for even the short time you were down there. Silently thanking every god in the land that you're done with them for now, you walk down into town and check, first, in the tavern for Aya. It's time to pool your information.

[1/2]

File: Aya.jpg (18 KB, 254x736)

18 KB JPG

>>45458278

The reporter is waiting for you, when you arrive, sitting in the same dark corner with a glass of cold tea in front of her, barely touched. A tax to pay for a seat out of the hot sun, and nothing more. Getting a drink of your own – although this is one you definitely intend on drinking – you sit down opposite her and give her a nod of greeting.

“So,” Aya asks, wasting little time, “You've seen the family, right? You've got this look on your face.”

You didn't need her to tell you that. Wetting your throat with cool beer, you recount everything that you've learned, including your surreal encounter with what seemed like the entire Asahisaki family. Aya, for once, stays silent as you talk but her face tells a different story. First her eyes grow wide when you describe finding the dead priest, and then they darken when you speak of the lonesome doll. Finally, they crease with a mixture of disgust and amusement as you tell her about the family.

“Boy, they're more of a mess than I ever thought,” she muses, “But this priest, you think he was murdered, right? And our mystery pilgrim might just be the man we're looking for?”

Until a new suspect presents themselves, you agree.

“About him, actually. I've been doing a little digging,” Aya gives you a conspiratorial wink, “Asking around if anyone else saw him, and what they remember. Surprisingly little, actually – he was a very plain looking sort. But, and this is the important part, his outfit drew some attention. He wore a suit, very unusual in these parts. Ah, you know what a suit is, right?”

Yes, you sigh, you know what a suit is. You even know what a tie is as well.

>Present her with the handkerchief
>Ask her to keep this information private – for now, at least
>Other

>>45458335
>>Present her with the handkerchief
>>Ask her to keep this information private – for now, at least
At least until we get everything straight.

>>45458335
>Present her with the handkerchief
>Ask her to keep this information private – for now, at least

>>45458335
>Present her with the handkerchief
>Ask her to keep this information private – for now, at least

Getting back to business, though, you've got a request to make. You're going to need her to keep this information – everything you've told her about what's been going on in this town – private. For the time being, at least, just until you've got the full story.

At first, Aya's brow dips into a deep frown. Then, once she realises that you're not trying to censor or suppress her, the scowl passes. “Got it, chief,” she tells you with a nod and a smile. “Don't worry, I wasn't planning on publishing half a story – especially if it gives them time to cover up the other half. Ah, whoever “they” might be, I'm not sure about that yet.”

You might be able to help with that, actually. You've got a clue. Unfolding the handkerchief, you pass it across to her. As she eagerly takes it, you point out the name. Is it something she recognises?

“Rokugah,” Aya says aloud, narrowing her eyes into slits as she pronounces the word, “It's definitely a name and, you know what? I think I have seen it before...” Taking her hat off to reveal a boyish haircut, she raps her knuckles lightly against her scalp. “Oh, but where? Normally, you know, I'm very good with names, so this can't be something I've seen very often. It's... ah, come on...”

You're surprised to see how worked up she's getting, as if this little failure of memory is causing her genuine distress. Just as you're about to take the handkerchief from her, she snaps her fingers in what appears to be triumph. What, you ask, has she remembered?

[1/2]

>>45458538

“No!” Aya declares, “But I know where to start – I'm almost certain that I wrote an article using that name once. When I'm back in the capital, I can go over my old notes and get you a proper answer. Although... I'd need to go back to the capital, and that's, oh, almost a day and a half ride. Even if I send a bird back to you as soon as I get there, it would take a while to get the information out. Then, if it's someone in the capital, you'd need another two days to get here...”

The time adds up, you agree. You could always ride out with her, but if her memory was mistaken you'll have wasted the time spent travelling, plus a few more days to get back here...

“It's not great, is it?” Aya fiddles with her glass, “I'm going to have to head back soon anyway, so it's not really my decision. I'm going to keep digging, no matter what, but I'd feel a lot more comfortable doing it as part of a team, you know?”

Besides, you add, you need to send your report back to the Nameless Temple. The incident, after all, has technically been resolved. That's even more time added onto your already busy schedule.

“Just send it by pigeon already, jeez,” Aya sighs with exaggerated impatience, “They're just birds!”

Maybe, but you've never trusted pigeons. Those beady little eyes...

>Send your report by pigeon post and head to the capital with Aya
>Return to the Nameless Temple and wait to see what information Aya sends
>Other

>>45458573
>Send your report by pigeon post and head to the capital with Aya

>>45458573
>>Return to the Nameless Temple and wait to see what information Aya sends
Man, fuck birds.

>>45458573

>Return to the Nameless Temple and wait to see what information Aya sends

File: 1453747951436.png (76 KB, 500x500)

76 KB PNG

>>45458573
>Return to the Nameless Temple and wait to see what information Aya sends
Finnnnne. For the sake of not having a tie. Never going to see the capital ;_;.

>>45458573
>Head to the capital

>trusting birds
Ducks are birds, and I learned everything I needed about ducks from this song
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yVkQo9dqq9g
That doesn't sound like anything I want to be around.

>>45458573
>>Send your report by pigeon post and head to the capital with Aya
We can trust a few birds just this once.

>>45458726
Better than geese, at least.

>It looks like the current vote is a tie, so I'll put it to sudden death. The single next vote will decide it.

>>45458781
Capital.

>>45458781
Go to temple

>>45458786

>Then the capital has it, by four seconds. Writing the next post now.

>>45458786
>>45458781
And I make that vote as the dude that deleted his Captial vote to NOT have a tie but then it happened anyways at the last minute so fuck it!

You go with your gut instinct. No, you tell her sternly, no birds.

“Really?” Aya raises an eyebrow, “Never took you for the kind of guy who'd be scared of a few birds.” She seems almost... disappointed, as if she was looking forwards to the long ride together.

You're not scared of them, you correct her, but you don't trust them either. They can be easily trained to deliver their messages – often quite important – into enemy hands. Even without working as feathery double agents, they can be shot down and their cargo stolen. No, you're quite content to do this the old fashioned way, carting the messages back by horse and giving them in person. She can send her information by bird if she likes.

“Alright, alright,” Aya shrugs indifferently, “I didn't realise you felt quite so... strongly about this. Boy, and I thought I was paranoid!”

Fine, you announce as you throw your hands up in the air, you'll trust her damn birds just this once!

“Yes!” Aya pumps her fist in a remarkably unladylike gesture, “Good choice, sir! Have you been to the capital much lately, there's this little restaurant that I like to eat at, and...” Shaking her head, the young woman's words are cut off suddenly. “Never mind that though, there's no sense in wasting time. Once we've got that letter on the way, we can start riding. Let me see, the next outpost town is just a few hours down the road, and it's on the same route we'd need to take. Easy!”

Somehow, you feel like you've agreed to do a lot more than just help her with a tricky case. Time will tell exactly how this situation is going to work out.

[1/2]

>>45458944

“You know, when I was younger I was given the job of looking after our birds,” Aya says as you laboriously write out your report on a scroll of hardy paper, “That's why I trust them so well. I've always had, I suppose you could say, an affinity for them. They like me, and I like them. It didn't last, of course, I wanted to be out there seeing the world. As free as a bird, I suppose you could say!”

Grunting a response, you roll up the little scroll and tie it around the scaly leg of the bird you were directed to. Trained, or so the keeper promised you, to fly directly to the Nameless Temple. With no other option, you decide to take him at his word. Once you've handed over a few silver moons for the service, you and Aya get on your way, riding out along the dusty trail. You're riding for a few hours before you make it to the trade road, that great stone pathway connecting the cities of Tenn and Garuna.

Steering your horses around foot traffic, other riders and even the occasional wagon, you both lapse into silence, focussed on the road ahead. When things have smoothed out a little, and you find yourselves upon an empty stretch of road, the opportunity to talk a little arises.

>Ask Aya about her newspaper. Is she the only reporter?
>Ask Aya about herself. Any interesting stories to tell?
>Ask Aya her opinion on the new Emperor
>Ride on in silence
>Other

>>45458960
>Ask Aya about her newspaper. Is she the only reporter?
>Ask Aya about herself. Any interesting stories to tell?

>>45458960
>>Ride on in silence

>>45458960
>Ask Aya about herself. Any interesting stories to tell?

>>45458960
>>Ask Aya about her newspaper. Is she the only reporter?
>>Ask Aya about herself. Any interesting stories to tell?

>>45458960

>Ask Aya about her newspaper. Is she the only reporter?

Friendly reminder that romance is discouraged and platonic friendships are encouraged.

>>45459038
Kaz please. If Aya was a dude I'd still be asking the same questions. Character development and world building yo.

You might be the one with the waifu filter.

>>45459038
>Implying that ever stopped anonymous

So this newspaper of hers, you ask as you ride, is she their only reporter?

“Me? Oh no, they've got a couple of locals to handle the bulk of the work,” Aya laughs, something of a self-deprecating note entering her voice, “Truth be told, most of what we write is just the news from around the capital. Roaming news, the stuff I'm interested in, doesn't take up much room. It's hard to get it back quick enough to print, you know, while it's still news. My dad runs it, though, so I'm free to mess around doing more or less what I like.” She thinks this over for a moment, as if she's confessed something she didn't quite realise until now. “Well, whatever. There's Sens as well – he's our editor, but he's one of the good ones. Never tried to tell us not to print something.”

Does that ever happen?

“Hard to say,” Aya shrugs, “You hear things sometimes, rumours about stuff that the palace wouldn't like the public hearing about. Scandals, the wrong people seeing each other, you know. Gossip stuff, you know? Not the kind of toss WE print.”

Nothing you've ever heard about, you admit, but that might be her point. Catty gossip, either way, has never really caught your attention so perhaps it's to be expected. But anyway, you ask, does she have any interesting stories about herself to share?

“You asking because you're curious, or because you're being polite?” Aya chuckles, “Not much to say about me, actually – maybe that's why I spend so long looking for interesting news? No family to speak about, other than my dad I mean. I don't know, I try to live a simple life – don't want to end up in my own newspaper!”

She seems relieved, almost, when the boxy shape of a tavern rises up over the horizon. Combined with the gathering dark, it seems like a fair place to pause for the night. In the morning, you'll make it to the capital with time to spare.

[1/2]

>>45459204

The tavern is exactly the kind of place that you've visited countless times in your travels, a shabby establishment designed to cater to passing riders. If it wasn't for the trade road, and the constant flow of bodies moving through, it wouldn't exist. You mention this in passing as you're sitting down to a simple meal with Aya, bowls of steaming broth served alongside sticky cakes of rice. Better than trail rations, at least – and less likely to break your teeth than hardtack.

“Yeah,” Aya looks around with a faint air of melancholy, “I don't think this place has much longer left in it. Don't know if you've heard, but it's a changing world out here.”

You've not heard, you tell her, what's changing?

“They say the Emperor has a new toy, something he calls a steam train. Don't ask me how it works, but once the trade road has been prepared, it'll make the trip between Tenn and Garuna in a matter of hours,” blowing on her steaming broth, Aya looks across at you with a growing wonder in her eyes, “Hours! I mean it, Ira, once that happens, this place is going to be deserted. Let's face it, we wouldn't be stopping here if we could help it.”

True, you agree, but you're not sure if you believe it. Hours? Such a thing can't be possible.

“Maybe,” Aya shrugs, “Some people don't want it to happen. They have to lay these thick metal rails, and that means tearing up the ground. As for crossing the Dragon River...”

That's sacred ground, you point out, the locals won't stand for it. There would be riots, armed resistance...

“You think I don't know that? I told you, Ira, the world's changing. The Emperor wants technology, machines, to steer the future,” she sighs, “Not gods or faith. What do you think about it?”

>I'd be out of a job
>People need the gods for guidance
>If machines make things better for the people, I'm all for it
>Other

>>45459311

>I'd be out of a job.

Clint Eastwood intensifies...

>>45459311
>I'd be out of a job
"There might be a compromise out there. A way for man's advancement and the gods to coexist. Way easier said than done though."

>>45459311
>I'd be out of a job

>>45459311
>>I'd be out of a job
And speaking aloud you REALLY don't want to see a strong God pissed off. It's not pretty.

>>45459311
The Emperor is Amelia Bishop, hah.

>>45459311
>I'd be out of a job

We in the prequel to Touhou?

You'd be out of a job, you say bluntly. Maybe it's the simple honesty of your answer, but Aya laughs out loud.

“Looking out for number one, huh?” she nods to herself, “You know, I don't blame you. It's kind of a big deal for a lot of people around here, but I don't really have a horse in this race. I've never been much of a believer, I mean, but I don't want to get rid of the gods or anything. Some people do – the Emperor among them, I think.”

There has to be a way of reaching a compromise, you point out. Mankind has to be able to advance without getting rid of the gods, it doesn't have to be one or the other. Easier said than done though, you grudgingly admit. If it comes down to a fight, though, you're far more afraid of the gods than of any man. The powerful ones – the MOST powerful ones – are nothing for any mortal man to tangle with.

“Yeah?” Aya tilts her head, “You'd be the expert in that, I suppose. I've got to admit, I wouldn't mind being able to skip out on staying in a place like this whenever I take a long trip. But, you know, it wouldn't end there. The train starts to run, all these little inns and taverns close down – what are the people running them supposed to do? Get jobs building more trains?” Sighing heavily, Aya looks around the tavern, as if it might be her last chance to do so. “Times are changing, Ira, but I think they're changing faster than we are. Folks like you, no offence, are going to get left behind.”

That's what you're worried about, you mutter darkly as you signal the innkeeper for another drink. It's going to be that kind of night.

[1/2]

>>45459555

Where you come from, the capital city is often called a city of five quarters. There are two main reasons for this, firstly because there are five districts – high residential, low residential, crafting, mercantile, and the palace itself. Secondly, and this reason is often given in a tone of snide disdain, because the place feels like a contradiction. In stark contrast to the rest of Tenngaru, the capital city has no shrines at all.

No official ones, at least.

Perhaps it's that alien property that fills you with the usual sense of unease as the first blocky building comes into view, following the pillars of dark smoke that had started to appear over the last hour or so. The first building you see up close is a sealed chamber, bigger than a barn and shut up tight.

“That's where they keep it,” Aya tells you as you're hitching your horses, “The train, I mean. Rumour has it – rumours that the palace denies, of course – that someone tried to blow it up. That's why it's locked away like that.”

It must be huge, you mutter to yourself as you enter the city gates, an iron monster. You try to imagine something that size, like a fallen tower, charging across the land but it just can't be done. You can't even picture such a curious sight.

“C'mon, staring at it won't get us anywhere,” Aya urges you, “My place is in low residential – yes, I know – so we're not far away.” Having dragged you out of your thoughtful trance, she proceeds to lead you away into the city streets. Although wide and open at first – in the relatively “nice” parts of the city – the streets soon grow narrow and cluttered. The rest of the city might be advancing, but the low residential district is sliding deeper into decay.

[2/3]

>>45459733

“Here we are!” Aya announces, cheerful despite the grim surroundings, “It's not much, but it's home!”

It's... really not much. The wooden building is particularly ramshackle, as if it was built without a design in mind and then never quite stopped expanding. In fact, the way it bulges at the seams almost reminds you of the festering pots that the Asahisaki family produced without the doll blessing their efforts. Not quite as diseased, perhaps, but...

“It might take a while to find the right notes,” Aya apologises, “So, uh, you might want to take a stroll. See the sights, you know? I mean, you can stay if you like, but you'll need to keep yourself busy.”

>Take a walk around while Aya searches her notes
>Wait at her house as she searches
>Other

>>45459781
>Take a walk around while Aya searches her notes

>>45459781
>Take a walk around while Aya searches her notes

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dlmdrYgZ-4Y

>>45459781
>Take a walk around while Aya searches her notes

Taking another look at that lumpen house, you quickly decide to take a walk around the block instead of waiting. A large man like you would only get in the way, especially if Aya might need to search high and low. You'll check back in an hour or so, you tell her, and she gives you a jaunty wave. Leaving her to it, you pick a direction at random and start walking.

Down narrow streets and foetid alleys, you follow some nameless instinct in your slow, ambling journey through the low residential district. You could always find a bar or restaurant and spend the time there – there seems to be a drinking den or a stand offering food every few steps – but something stops you. Maybe it's just the long ride, giving you good motivation to stretch your legs, but maybe there's something else, something that has snared your senses.

Still obeying some unspoken command in the back of your mind, you pause outside an anonymous building, the roof half caved in. Stepping carefully inside, you scan the gloomy building. It feels... ancient, like you're in the presence of something far older than the building itself. An old shrine, you realise with sudden shock, long since abandoned by any faithful. Whatever god once took up residence here has gone as well, vanished into the same sleep that might claim every god – if the Emperor has his way.

Investigating a little further – to satisfy your curiosity, if nothing else – you find a faded mural painted on one wall. You actually recognise the goddess depicted, recalling some old story Howa once told you about. An old god, long forgotten and discarded. The keeper of history, her one eye permanently fixed upon the past, if your memory is correct.

Shaking your head sadly, you work your way out of the fallen shrine and glance at the sun overhead. Time to head back to Aya.

[1/2]

>>45459994

When you return to her house – or possibly her office, depending on how you look at it – she's already sitting on the front step. Looking up at the sound of your footsteps, she hops to her feet and hurries over, an eager light in her eyes.

“It WAS a name,” she announces, “A business name, in fact. Rokugah Trading – kind of a general trading company that made it big a year or so back. From what I can tell, they bought a great deal of Asahisaki pottery recently, just before the supply was cut off believe it or not. Now that the price has been rising, they've been putting the pieces to auction. Honestly, tell two rich men that a pebble is rare and they'll fight to the death over it!”

Frowning, you picture a scenario in your mind. An assassin, working for this trading company, slipping into town and throwing Ande, the poor priest, from the cliff – just to raise prices? It's so... petty.

“Money, Ira,” Aya shrugs, “Here in the capital, that's more powerful than any god. So, what do you think? They've got a warehouse in the mercantile quarter, if you want to check it out. If they're willing to murder a priest over this, though, they'd be willing to kill us to keep this matter silent. We print the truth, though...”

>Run the story, expose this whole mess
>I want to see this warehouse. Can you take me there?
>Give me the address, I'm going to the warehouse alone
>Other

>>45460061
>>Give me the address, I'm going to the warehouse alone

>Give me the address, I'm going to the warehouse alone

>>45460061
>>Give me the address, I'm going to the warehouse alone

>>45460061
>Give me the address, I'm going to the warehouse alone
Crying shame that a goddess of something important like history can be forgotten like this.

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>>45459994
>The keeper of history, her one eye permanently fixed upon the past, if your memory is correct.

I see that tiny reference.

You're going alone, you decide flatly, and you'll need that address.

“Sure thing, chief,” Aya says as she hands over a scrap of paper, the details already written out, “Hope you don't think I'm a coward or anything, but this isn't really my department. I mean, you're the one with a sword at your hip, I've got a stick of charcoal and a pistol to keep the wolves away.”

It's better this way, you assure her, you can work better without having to keep an eye on someone else. You might be trained to deal with gods getting rowdy, but you're no rookie when it comes to fighting humans either. If anything, you've got a little too much experience of that. As you're turning to leave, you glance back to the reporter. If you're not back by nightfall, you tell her, you're leaving the matter in her hands. Do with it what she sees fit.

“Good luck,” Aya tells you, a slight wavering in her voice, “...Ira.”

Loosening your sword in its sheath, you vanish into the tight web of streets, Aya's voice still hanging in your ears. You'll be back, no question about it – the kind of thug that would kill an unarmed priest won't be the type to put up much of a fight. That's what you tell yourself, at least, as you pass into the mercantile district. Through streets that are suddenly much wider and cleaner, you forge ahead until the warehouse comes into view. A great barn of a structure, the Rokugah name is painted onto a sign above the door.

You pause, then, as you try to figure out the best way to approach this. Marching in and throwing accusations about could get very messy, but it would be direct enough. On the other hand, sneaking about might not get you anywhere, not quickly at least.

>Scout out the area, remaining unseen as long as possible
>Fake a story about returning a lost handkerchief
>March in and throw some accusations about
>Other

>>45460308
>Scout out the area, remaining unseen as long as possible

>>45460308
>>Scout out the area, remaining unseen as long as possible
We are not in a hurry

>>45460308
>Scout out the area, remaining unseen as long as possible
The more we know, the better we can plan

The more you know, the better you can plan ahead. Besides, you think to yourself as you begin to circle the warehouse at a leisurely pace, you're not in any kind of hurry. Information gathering doesn't just end at learning about gods and shrines, it applies to any situation, any time when there might be danger or risk involved. Strolling slowly, with your hand balanced on the grip of your sword, you finish your circle of the warehouse. No guards walking the perimeter, which is a good start.

Returning to a stack of crates, helpfully piled up by a small hole in the wooden wall, you climb up and steal a quick look inside. Rows and row of high shelves decorate the inside of the warehouse, each one piled high with sealed boxes and chests. Judging by the straw peeking out through some of the wooden boxes, there must be fragile cargo inside. Like, say, rare pottery. Letting your gaze wander as best as you can from the limited viewpoint, you spy a closed off area, isolated from the rest of the warehouse. An office, you figure, where the important people sit and count their money.

You need to get in there – and the quieter you can do it, the better.

>Please roll 1D100 for stealth, aiming to beat 50 and 70. I'll take the highest of the first three!

Rolled 25 (1d100)

>>45460531
NAT 1

Rolled 72 (1d100)

>>45460531
REV UP THOSE 1Ss!

Rolled 54 (1d100)

>>45460531
This is how you get a 1

Rolled 30 (1d100)

>>45460531

Rolled 64 (1d100)

>these people can't get nat 1s
Get on my level.

Rolled 12 (1d100)

>>45460575
You mean this nat 1?

>>45460531
Speaking of nat 1s, you taking crits this time around Moloch?

I get why London didn't have them. We rolled A LOT of d100s.

Rolled 12 (1d100)

>>45460595
Naw dog, this 1

>>45460596

>Other than the fact that a 1 is a definite failure and 100 is a definite success, they don't have any special results. So, no crits I'd say.

>>45460638
Gotcha. So rolling a 1 doesn't autofail the other two rolls correct?

>>45460657

>That's correct, yes.

Are Ira's clothes as cool as Raidou's?

>>45460769

>I don't think anyone can have clothes as cool as Raidou, but Ira tries. I imagined him as having a cross between a cowboy and an unarmoured samurai look to him. Baggy pants, a long coat and a wide brimmed hat, that kind of thing.

After taking a moment longer to watch the various labourers moving backwards and forwards as they go about their business, you slip down from your improvised perch and work your way around to the back entrance to the warehouse. Open to the elements – and to anyone who might look out and see you – you had hurried past this particular part of the building. Now though, you've got a fair idea of where the workers are likely to be, and where they rarely look. As long as you're quick and quiet, it should be easy to make it to the office without alerting anyone.

Your loose clothes whisper against the ground as you crouch low, rushing into the cover of some long discarded crates. From here, you can slip between shadowy patches and areas of cover without really coming close to where the labourers are working. Even so, you take it slowly and never let your guard down, even for a moment. It's because of that keen awareness that you're able to press back against a wall when, quite unexpectedly, a paper screen in one of the office walls is drawn back.

As you flatten yourself against the wall, pushing yourself as far out of sight as possible, you get a chance to listen in on the conversation going on within the office. Two voices, both as oily and sly as you'd expect from a pair of merchants.

[1/2]

>>45460841

“The next auction is in a few days,” the first voice says, “And the price is likely to have risen even more by then. At this rate, we'll have more money than we can count before we've sold off even half of our stock.”

“Hmm...” the closer voice, the one by the window, murmurs, “As long as you're sure. Money won't do us any good if we hang – you're sure that you left nothing that could be traced back to us?”

“Actually...” the first voice falters slightly, “There was something. I can't be sure, but I lost my handkerchief. Now, I don't know if I lost it there, in the mountains, or somewhere closer to home, but...”

“Idiot!” the second hisses, “You know you can't show your face there again! I'll need to send someone else to recover it, now. That means someone else might see the... the remains. Two people can keep a secret, you fool, but not three!”

“Calm down, calm down,” the first voice murmurs, “I'll sort it – just give me a little time to think. Three people, you know, have a way of becoming two...”

>Slip into the office and confront them
>Enter the office peacefully. You might be able to make a deal
>You've heard everything you need. See if you can sneak out
>Other

>>45460860
>You've heard everything you need. See if you can sneak out

>>45460860
>You've heard everything you need. See if you can sneak out

>>45460860
>You've heard everything you need. See if you can sneak out

>>45460860
>You've heard everything you need. See if you can sneak out

>Majority opinion seems pretty heavily slanted towards sneaking out, so can I get a 1D100 for stealth, this time aiming to beat 60 and 80? Again, highest of the first three.

File: 1453561547013.jpg (147 KB, 499x642)

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Rolled 12 (1d100)

>>45460945

Rolled 63 (1d100)

>>45460945

Rolled 1 (1d100)

>>45460945
stealthy

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>>45460958
...yup.

>>45460958
There's that nat 1 everyone was talking about.

Good thing they don't autofail.

>>45460957
Nice save

>>45460958
So. Small success this time?

>>45461004
Yeah we passed the 60 DC

You've heard everything you need, enough to confirm your worst suspicions. Murder and profiteering, carried out by a pair of common criminals. You can take this to the authorities – or let Aya write what she will – without losing sleep over it. Now you just need to get out of here without raising the alarm. Should be easy enough, even with one of the culprits leaning out the window and gazing across the warehouse. Just move slowly and stick to the shadows, no different from when you were making your way in.

And it works, more or less. There's a nervy moment when you almost stumble across one of the labourers making an unexpected trip into the dark corner you'd been planning on stopping in – he needed a piss, apparently – but you were able to duck behind an opened crate, a human sized statue looming within. An idol of some kind, you note, but you don't have time to perform a detailed examination. You are, after all, being stealthy. You're feeling quite satisfied, actually, by the time you're out of the warehouse and rising up in the open ground beyond.

So much so, in fact, that you forget that you're now standing in open ground.

“You there!” a distant voice cries, and you have time to look around at a black suited figure hoisting a musket before there is a loud crack. The lead ball just misses you, slamming into the paved ground at your feet and kicking up a spray of shrapnel. Cursing – that much is obvious, even at this distance – he begins to reload as his friend, a sword held out in front of him, rushes from the warehouse.

Well... it's not as bad as it could be.

>Stand and fight
>Fall back to Aya's house
>Hide, try to lose them in the tight streets
>Other

>>45461133
>Hide, try to lose them in the tight streets

>>45461133
>Hide, try to lose them in the tight streets

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>>45461133
>>Stand and fight

>>45461133
>Hide, try to lose them in the tight streets
Don't lead him to Aya's

Use a 'Towards the Great Land' spell to rapidly change direction into an alley while trying to lose him.

>>45461133
>>Hide, try to lose them in the tight streets
But fight if we have to.

>>45461133
>>Stand and fight
Fite me faggots

>Looks like we're hiding. Can I get a quick 2D100, both rolls aiming to beat 60. I'll take best of the first three!

Rolled 79, 22 = 101 (2d100)

>>45461355

Rolled 19, 29 = 48 (2d100)

>>45461355

Rolled 1, 99 = 100 (2d100)

>>45461355
Check out this 1

Rolled 18, 36 = 54 (2d100)

>>45461355
This is a sneaking mission Ira.

>>45461396
that luck!

>>45461396
You got that one alright.

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>>45461396
Woah

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>>45461396

One advantage that cities have over small towns and villages is the mazes of tight, winding streets. Nothing is better for losing a few bothersome flies than hurrying down the kind of dark, dank streets that change direction three times in five metres. You could run all day here without crossing your own path, and they'd have about as much chance of stumbling across you. Plus, with stone tiles rather than dirt or mud, you don't need to worry about leaving a trail.

You need to lose them before returning to Aya's place, so you don't lead them right back to her. It should be easy enough, you've got plenty of time to get the better of these idiots after all. In the end, you find yourself drawn back to that long forgotten shrine, hiding away within the gloomy ruin. There, you sit and wait, patiently watching through a crack in the wooden walls. After a while, you see the pair of dark suited assassins, meeting a few streets away and exchanging frustrated gestures. You can't hear them – although you wish you could – but their accusing fingers and waving hands tell you everything you need to know. You're expecting them to fight for a while before turning away, defeated, but what actually happens is... different.

The argument seems to be winding down when one of the assassins, the one with a sword sheathed at his hip, shoves his partner. It's a petty gesture, a stupid, childish attempt at getting one over his “friend”. In response, the other man jerks his rifle up to his shoulder and fires, the sound rolling out through the streets.

That's... huh.

Throwing a panicked glance around, the lone survivor turns and flees, retreating back to his warehouse lair. Shrugging to yourself, you slip from your hiding place and begin the trip back to Aya's

[1/2]

>>45461501

“Really?” Aya asks, as you're recounting the story to her, “No, really? He just shot his buddy in the chest?”

Really, you assure her, she can go out and look at the body if she really wants. She actually looks tempted, dithering on the matter for a moment before shaking her head. In that case, you think aloud, what should be done about this?

“Jeez,” Aya rubs a hand through her hair, “We tell the guards, I suppose. I mean, that's two deaths we can pin on this thing. Why, do you think, did he do it?”

Frustration, you speculate, combined with a hint of greed. Why split the profits if you can keep it all? The fact that it would just make life more difficult probably never occurred to him. They might have been able to think of a profiteering scheme, but they couldn't deal with the pressure of making sudden decisions. So, you finish with a shrug, let the guards take care of it. From here on, it's in their hands.

“Got that right,” Aya agrees, scrawling a meaningless shape on her notepad, “Man, this is going to make one hell of a story. You reckon I can put it to print now?”

It might make life very difficult for the Asahisaki family, you consider, but that might not be such a bad thing.

>Sure. Print it all
>Let's keep this quiet for now
>Other

>>45461608
>>Sure. Print it all
What could possibly go wrong?

>>45461608
>>Let's keep this quiet for now
Best keep quiet for now.

>>45461608
>>Sure. Print it all
Maybe they'll give thier goddess some love if only to keep thier art going.

>>45461608
>>Sure. Print it all
Information wants to be free.

>>45461608
>Sure. Print it all
But do me a favor and keep my name out of the papers

>>45461717
This is very important

>>45461608
>>45461717
Seconding this as my vote.

Sure, you decide, she can print it all. If they're smart enough, it might convince the Asahisaki family not to take their god for granted. Their art will recover, in time – whether their reputation will or not remains to be seen. This time, though, you've got one condition.

“Oh?” Aya raises an eyebrow, “Go on, I think I owe you this much.”

You want her to keep your name out of the papers, you tell her sternly, and you don't care how she does it. She can call you an anonymous source, or someone who wanted to remain unidentified, whatever. This time, you're serious.

“Yeah,” Aya taps her charcoal stick on the edge of her pad for a moment as she thinks, “I don't blame you for wanting to keep this one quiet. Say no more, chief, and welcome to the exciting world of being a confidential source. So, mister mystery, what are you going to do now? I've got a fair amount of work to do here, putting the final article together and that kind of thing, so I might need some time.”

You're heading back to the Nameless Temple, you tell her quickly, back to normality. You're not cut out for this capital life. With a long ride ahead of you, you don't waste any time on a lingering farewell. One businesslike handshake later, and you're heading back to your horse.

Back to work, back on the road.

>I'll end this thread here. Next thread on Friday, and I'll stick around in case of any questions you might have.

>prints
>they think she was the spy
>kill her

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>>45461947
Oh well.

>>45461910
Thanks for running Moloch

>>45461947
Doubt it. They know their spy was at least male.

>>45461947
It can't be helped.

>>45461947

They'd need to come out of their basement for that!

>>45462083
Hey Moloch, have you gotten spoiled about SMT4Final's endings yet?

Hopefully we'll take the apprentice to the next mission.

>>45462131

I've managed to avoid that so far. Actually, I wasn't even aware that the game was out yet, let alone finished. Oh, I have seen that picture with the bunch of YHVH heads, but I don't know if that's from an ending or not.

>>45462163

I have plans for Koa as time goes on, definitely.

>>45462083
>basement
So their neckbeards?

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>>45460813
>I don't think anyone can have clothes as cool as Raidou
True.

>>45462180

I think they'd use the term "reclusive artists who seek to escape the burdens of a mundane world". So, yes, total neckbeards.

>>45461910
So is the Emperor's stance on technological advancement and his disdain for gods going to be the main plot or part of it?

>>45462174
>I've managed to avoid that so far.
Just curious.

One of the endings is similar to what we did in London. Part of it at least.

>>45462298

It will be a pretty major part of the overall plot, yes. There will be other factors, and more episodic content along the way, but it is going to be a big deal.

>>45462345
god Emperor confirmed as final boss.

>>45462600

Well, I suppose Ira already has a fair amount of experience at beating up teenage boys, so it shouldn't be that difficult!

Really though, there are a great many place the story could end up going to. Who knows what could happen?