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>>528443

“The Wehrlain Engine is intact and unharmed, functionality unhindered,” Wehrlain announces to the world, his voice trembling faintly with the effort of staying calm, “I suggest we return to our initial aim of searching-”

He doesn't get the chance to finish that sentence, his words choked off as you step close and grab is fur collar. Holding him tightly for a moment, it is only with a great deal of effort that you stop yourself from throwing him back into that damn machine of his. No matter how satisfying it might be, you know better than that. Taking your hands from Wehrlain's collar, you turn away from him in disgust. Even without looking, you can sense him trembling with rage. You're not the only one who can feel the bitter mood, for Lars steps forwards.

“A moment, Master Wehrlain, just one moment,” he pleads, taking you by the arm and futilely trying to drag you away. Resisting him for a moment, just long enough to make him nervous, you let him lead you aside. “I know how this is going to sound, but he has a point. The chances of Captain Bach still being alive-”

Are not yet zero, you interrupt, he still has time – less and less with every moment you waste here.

“Be that as it may, we have an opportunity here – a chance to finish our research while that thing is away... distracted. I don't like it much, I won't pretend that I do, but we have to be pragmatic. We can get back home without the captain, if that's what you were worried about. In either case... do you even have some way of surviving out there?” Lars pauses, glancing meaningfully across at your travelling case and the witch's idol that lies within. It was with you, silent and protective, when you boarded the Polaris, and you have faith that it'll do its job again... probably.

“All I'm trying to say is that you'll be alone out there, and that thing...” Lars shudders, after the pause, “Nothing we hit it with made it so much as flinch.”

“Ain't quite the case,” an uncouth sailor, shamelessly eavesdropping, butts in, “The damn monster shrugged off buckshot like it was spring rain, can't argue that point, but one of the boys drew blood with his harpoon. Drove it back a step, even. You gut the thing, I wager it won't be fit to cause any more trouble.”

Enough, you tell them both, you've made up your mind. You know what you must do.

>I'm going to kill that monster, and I'm going to bring Captain Bach home in one piece
>Bach sacrificed himself. Let's finish things here and make that sacrifice worth something
>Other

>>528446
>>I'm going to kill that monster, and I'm going to bring Captain Bach home in one piece
Let's do the challenge!
We are a hunter after all.

>>528446
>I'm going to kill that monster, and I'm going to bring Captain Bach home in one piece
I like Bach and that thing is just going to keep picking people off.

>>528446
>I'm going to kill that monster, and I'm going to bring Captain Bach home in one piece

>>528446
>I'm going to kill that monster, and I'm going to bring Captain Bach home in one piece

>>528446
>>Bach sacrificed himself. Let's finish things here and make that sacrifice worth something

You're going to kill that monster, you tell him, and then you're going to bring Captain Bach home safely – in one piece, if possible. This “opportunity” is nothing more than a false hope – if you let that bastard roam freely, it's just going to keep picking people off. Maybe Wehrlain is prepared to accept that, losing men in ones and twos, but you're not going to turn a blind eye to it. You're up for this challenge, and you won't leave the captain to die out there.

Lars is lost for words, but Wehrlain – as you pass him by – manages to find his tongue. “I won't stop you from going out there,” he offers, “But I can't recommend it. If you insist, though, I do have one request for you. If you should manage to kill that anomaly...” Turning away from you, he digs out a small tin box and hands it over. Opening it, you see a syringe and a number of glass jars, all safely secure in plush velvet. “Take samples – blood, tissue, whatever else you can. The chance to study something native to these parts doesn't come along every day, now does it?”

Laughing aloud, a bitter laugh, you tuck the sample kit into one of your deep pockets and start for the shattered door. Dragging your case, and the protective idol within, along with you, you pause only to take a harpoon from one of the sailors. He doesn't resist, letting you pluck it from his limp hands. Shamed perhaps, you consider, by his own inaction. Putting him out of your mind, you step out into the cold abyss.

Immediately, once there is a wall between you and the rest of the expedition, you crack open your case and throw aside the layer of clothes. You can't exactly carry the damn thing with you, but you need the idol's protection. It's hardly subtle, but you're past caring about such things. Tearing a spare shirt into strips, you fashion a crude harness and hoist the totem onto your back. It's bulky, but light enough to be no burden. The bristling thorns are no problem either, not with the thick coat protecting your bare back.

Looking like some primitive warrior, clutching his spear and trusting in a pagan idol for protection, you clear your mind and focus on the task ahead – on the hunt. First step, picking up the trail, is easily handled. Although the footprints are long gone, filled in with falling snow, the monstrous child left a faint trail of blood behind it, one that shines through no matter how much snow drifts down onto it. So, you consider, the land wants to make things easy for you – that's fine with you.

With the red moon leering down upon you like a single bloody eye, you set off into the cold night in search of your prey.

[1/2]

I hope Artemis kisses us for one of the power ups.

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>>528474

Even without the boon of your keen senses, not much duller than those of a beast, you can catch the child's scent on the wind. A sour, animal stink, one that is mixed with the strangely human smell of an unwashed body. That trace of humanity sickens you, reminding you of its tainted origins. Born of the forbidden union between the nameless northern gods and a formerly barren prostitute, this deformed child has no place in any world.

So you'll remove it, and wipe away its filthy presence.

Shifting the harpoon from one hand to the other, you look up from the trail for a moment to get your bearings. In what seemed like a short time, the Old University has vanished from sight completely, leaving you in a barren, near featureless wasteland. The only things around to break up the expanse of snow and ice are looming spikes, like pale trees shorn of all branches. No, not trees – ribs. The scattered ribs of some ancient, and truly vast, being. Hallucinations, brought on by the red moon's influence, or a real and true feature of this place? Upon resting your hand on one, it feels solid enough... but that too may be the work of a delusion.

No matter. Questions of reality or illusion mean little in a place like this, and the time you waste on them thins Bach's odds of survival. Looking away the rib – if that is truly what it is – you spy a dark form in the distance, a crumbled shape against the snow beneath. As you turn and hurry towards it, you glance left and right for any sign of the child. Nothing – it's nowhere to be seen.

For now, at least.

-

The dark bundle is human, a beaten and abused figure that you nevertheless recognise as Captain Bach. As you roll him onto his back, he coughs and opens his bloodshot eyes, the wavering gaze falling upon your face.

“Loomis, is that you?” he rasps, not recognising you for who you truly are, “I knew you wouldn't leave me... not this time. It's a tough scrape, but we've... we've been through worse, haven't we?”

Sure, you grunt as heave him upright, this is nothing. His leg, you notice, hangs limp and crooked as he rises – broken, or dislocated at the very least. Either way, the captain won't be walking out of here.

“It's coming, Loomis, it's coming back,” he breathes feverishly. As his words rush out, you hear a distant roar – coming, it seems, from all directions at once. Scanning the flat ground around you, though, you see nothing. “Give me a weapon,” Bach pleads, “I can still fend for myself!” With weak and grasping hands, he reaches for the hunting knife in your belt.

>Fine, take my knife
>No way, stay down while I find this thing
>We're not fighting – I'm getting you out of here right now
>Other

>>528495
>No way, stay down while I find this thing
Dude is too wounded to help and we shouldn't give a weapon while he is this delusional.

>>528495
Give him the knife but tell him it's only for emergencies - we'll be doing the real fighting here.

>>528495
give him the knife AND the totem thing.

We're using a melee weapon anyway, and it'd kinda suck if the totem broke while the Child was raking our back or knocking us into some trees.

>>528505
>>528495
I'll second this but we need to keep the fight near the totem

>>528495
>>We're not fighting – I'm getting you out of here right now

>>528495
>>No way, stay down while I find this thing
>>528498 has the right idea, we need to finish this up and drag his ass back to somewhat safety.
Nice to have ya back Moloch.

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Setting him down once more, you take a long look around the landscape. As dead and desolate as ever, there's nowhere for a looming monster to hide – and yet, it has melted into the night with an uncanny ease. Short of squeezing its bulk into the cover of a single rib, there's nothing that might hide it from sight.

So you'll have to go looking for it.

Drawing your hunting knife, you kneel down beside Bach and offer him the weapon. When he reaches for it, though, you pull it back an inch. This is for emergency use only, you tell him in a warning tone, he's too injured to go looking for trouble. Is that understood?

“I know, I know,” he nods, and even that much exertion makes him look like he's about to pass out. Putting aside your doubts, you let him take the knife from you. He holds it close, like a mother cradling her precious child, and his expression grows a shade calmer. He may still be wounded, damn near crippled, but with a weapon in his hands he has some control over his own destiny. What more could a man ask for, in a place like this?

Before you head out to find the monster, you untie the makeshift harness and set the witch idol down next to Bach. It's too precious to risk on a hunt, when a single blow from the child might tear it apart and leave you defenceless. You can fight against a brute like that with muscle and steel, but not against the insidious influence of a demon moon. So long as you don't stray too far away from the idol, you needn't fear the moon's curse. Much.

“There it is, Loomis,” Bach's voice drops to a deathly whisper, and his quavering finger points into the night, “Watching. Waiting. Can't you see it?”

Following his finger, you see nothing but the night sky... at first. Then, gleaming like new coins, you see two points of light. Not quite motionless, they heave slightly with the rhythm of ponderous breathing. As your eyes lock onto those distant lights, their owner starts to lumber closer.

Stay down, you mutter to Bach as you take up your harpoon, you'll be back in no time.

-

Now that you have a target, prey within sight, you feel a strange calm drop over you like a shroud. There's nothing complicated about what you've got to do – just cut this thing open and be done with it. Simple, in theory at least. As the deformed child lumbers closer, though, you notice something unusual about it. Out here, it has none of the mad wrath that you saw earlier at the Old University. Out here, it has the air of a predator – confident, almost sadistic.

You'll see how long that lasts. Once blood has been spilled, you figure it'll show its true colours.

>Calling for a Physical Combat check. That's 1D100+15, aiming to beat 80/100, and I'll take the highest of the first three results.

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Rolled 97 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>528544

Rolled 51 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>528546
Ya nailed it Anon.

>>528546
git rekt

Rolled 62 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>528544

Dropping low, the child beats its hands against the ground and lets out a gibbering howl, one that carries an almost victorious note. Celebrating its victory in advance, perhaps, heedless of the arrogance the act conveys. Using its knurled fists as a springboard, it launches itself into a sudden storm of motion, an animal charge that sees the distance between you vanishing into nothingness. In the face of such a charge, your calm hardens into cold precision – the kind that leave no room for doubt, hesitation or confusion.

As the charge nearly reaches you, you throw the harpoon to the side, leaping after it a second later. Without the long weapon to hinder you, you can roll neatly out of the beast's charge. The ground shakes as it pounds past you, a frustrated bellowing reaching you as the creature realises its error. Still, that much momentum can't just be ignored, and its charge carries it past you as you rise, snatching up the harpoon and moving into your own attack.

Brandishing it like a pike, you lower the harpoon and run across the open ground. As the child finally stills its motion, you close the gap between the two of you and lunge. The vicious point of your harpoon, all glistening steel and cruel barbs, punches deep into the back of the child's knee, bursting out the front in a welter of dark, tainted blood dirtying the snow before you. Already howling out in pain, the beast's screams reach a new height as you rip the blade free. As it turns to face you, the child stumbles and falls, its wounded leg – damn near hanging by a tendon – buckling under it. Even in falling, though, it swipes out at you with a clenched fist.

Blood flies in scattered droplets as you leap back, out of the beast's reach, to ready your next attack. Even crippled – about as crippled as Bach is, you notice with a distant irony – the creature is far from harmless. Wounded beasts, with nothing to lose, never are.

>Calling for a Physical Combat check. That's 1D100+15, aiming to beat 70/90, and I'll take the highest of the first three results.

Rolled 64 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>528569

Rolled 82 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>528569
Let's see if we can hit its eyes.

Rolled 16 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>528569

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Rolled 29 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>528569

Rolled 63 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>528569

My only gripe about this quest is the lack of agency during combat. Combat is well written but it's less compelling when we just roll a few times consecutively instead of making decisions. Just my two cents. Still one of my favorite quests though.

>>528584
I'm pretty sure we're supposed to make suggestions. Hence my advising we hit the eyes.

>>528590
>>528584
Sometimes there are options (Snake Great Beast Fight), sometimes it's just a roll.

Drawing back for one last desperate lunge, the child puts its weight on its uninjured leg and leaves the crippled limb to drag uselessly behind it. Throwing itself forwards with its powerful arms, it reaches out to seize you, those same strong arms ready to crush the life out of your frail, human body. It dives for you, and you leap back out of the way. Hindered by its wounds, this is one competition that you win easily. Darting back out of reach, you watch as the deformed child lands heavily, its impact casting up a great mass of snow.

Piercing that veil of powered snow, you slip close and lash out with the harpoon. Although not a weapon designed for slashing, the harpoon nevertheless has a wicked point – a point that rakes across the creature's face and blinds it. Rearing back, clutching its hands to the ruin of its face, the child lets out a shrill, keening wail. In that defenceless moment, you throw all your weight behind the harpoon and thrust forwards, piercing its skull and plunging the point into its brain.

The creature's cry dies in its throat, and it slumps forwards to the snow. It takes a long time, and a great deal of effort for you to pry the harpoon free from the corpse.

-

Circling the corpse like a vulture, you draw the sample kit from your pocket and begin to take a few quick samples. Its hide resists the syringe's needle, and pushing hard only ends up in the thin point snapping clean off. In the end, you have to slice open its arm and let some of the sluggish blood drip down into a jar. Already, it's taking on the dull brown of old blood, and you can't help but wonder what Wehrlain could even learn from something like this. Well, you decide, that's his problem.

Joining the sample of blood, you sever a finger and drop it into the case to serve as a tissue sample. It's a far cry from the clean, clinical specimen's Wehrlain is used to dealing with, you're sure, and you eagerly look forwards to seeing his reaction. Spiteful, maybe, but after everything he's put you all through...

No point in dwelling on such things now – you've got to get the captain back to the Old University, and whatever relative safety might be found there. Making the short trek back, you find him asleep – lost in a kind of fitful doze, muttering and murmuring to himself. As you're strapping the idol back on, he wakes and looks slowly at you. His eyes are muddled, like those f a man unsure of where he has woken.

“Loomis?” he asks, “No, you're not... him. Hunter, is that you?”

Who else, you ask, would be fool enough to come out here after him?

“Hah, it IS you,” he grunts out a laugh, “Damn glad to see a friendly face out here. Last thing I remember, I was... we were all at the University, and there was a great crashing noise...”

[1/2]

>>528596

Never mind that, you tell him as you haul him upright once again, you can't imagine it's too difficult to work out what happened. If it is, he could probably guess once he sees the entrance to the Old University... what's left of it, at least.

“Damnation,” Bach wheezes as you let him lean on your shoulder, “Was it bad, did we lose many men?”

A few, you reply, you didn't have time to count heads. You arrived just in time to learn that the beast had carried him off – maybe hoping to save a snack for later. Your gallows humour draws a dark laugh out of Bach, one that ends in a pained hiss as he tries to put some weight on his wounded leg. It's not a mistake he makes again.

“I suppose that snake made it out without a scratch,” he mutters as you hobble along through the wilderness, walking in what you think is the same way you came. Truth be told, though, you can't be exactly certain about that. “I know his type,” Bach continues, “The type to sit back and watch as others bleed, only to take the glory when things are over.”

That sounds like Wehrlain, you agree, and he's right – you saw him when you arrived back at the entrance hall, barely a hair out of place. More worried about his damn machine than anything else.

“Snake,” the venerable captain mutters the word, giving it all the bitterness of a curse. That's the last thing either of you saw for a while, silence descending as you march stoically through the snow. As you forge ahead, though, you notice Bach's breathing growing shallow, and his head starts to hang limply.

Hey, you order, no sleeping – not out here. At the sound of your voice, his head raises back up and some semblance of life returns to his eyes. All too quickly, though, he starts to fade again. With a mounting sense of hopelessness, you shake him awake once more and speak to him, your voice the hushed whisper of a conspirator.

>Hey Bach, who's Loomis?
>How about another one of your stories, old man?
>Wehrlain wanted to leave you behind, you know
>I had a question for you... (Write in)
>Other

>>528618
>How about another one of your stories, old man?
Keep him talking.

>>528618
>Hey Bach, who's Loomis?
>How about another one of your stories, old man?
The more to talk about the better

>>528618
>>How about another one of your stories, old man?
He'll be alright, r-right?

>>528640
He's probably exhausted.

>>528618
>How about another one of your stories, old man?

>>528618
>Talk about Vas
>Hell, talk about witchcraft. The totem, flat out. If it'll keep him awake, it's worth the risk.

You've got to keep him talking, keep him from slipping into a deep sleep. You don't know if this is just the creeping chill of this place, or the time he spent outside of the Wehrlain Engine's protective influence, but there's something gravely wrong with him. For now, all you can do is keep him awake – keep him talking.

Hey old man, you grunt, how about another one of his old stories? You're always up for swapping a tall tale or two, and he's got plenty to share. He said that he'd been through some tight scrapes, didn't he, so how about he tells you about one?

“Enough of that “old man” talk...” he mutters, before coughing and spitting to the side. You glance across at where he spat, and you see a faint splash of dilute blood. Grimacing, you nudge the old man to keep him focussed. “I'm awake,” he grumbles, and he actually sounds like he means it, “A story, is it? You'll have to pay me back in kind, mind you. I don't just give them away for free.”

That's a trade you're more than willing to make, you reply, now stop stalling. How about a tale from his time as a young man – can he remember something like that?

“All too well!” the jibe works, and a new strength comes into Bach's voice, “South... we were travelling to the south, to the colonies. I was just a normal sailor in those days, serving under captain... I forget his name, now. We were off duty, slumming it in the awful pits that pass for bars in those lands, when we heard a rumour. Plantations fat with spice, all selling at a fraction of what we could shift them for back home. Supply and demand, my friend – they had too much supply, and not enough demand. Eager to make some extra cash – and a little drunk – we set off to find this place. Off into the jungle...”

As he pauses, thinking on his next words, you try to imagine the scene. Wading through deep and muddy water, as hot as blood, rather than the thick snow. Trees looming high around you, their waxy leaves offering much needed shade. A sky that actually held a sun, and not this single burning eye that is the red moon. As you picture these things in your mind, it almost seems like the land around you is shifting to resemble them – but only ever in the periphery of your vision. When you turn to look, you only see snow and ice.

“We had a local guide, fellow named... I don't know, something foreign,” with his free hand, Bach waves out a dismissive gesture, “Smart though, he spoke well. He agreed to lead us there for a small cut of the profits. Even a small cut would be a fortune for a man like him, you understand. So there we were, passing from the shade of the jungle to a darker place, a swamp. That was when we learned we were lost, hopelessly so.”

[1/?]

>>528694

This isn't supposed to be an analogy, you ask as you look at the wasteland around you, for what you're currently going through?

“A what?” confused by your question, it takes a moment for Bach to pick up the thread of his tale, “We were... we were lost. And, of course, our “faithful” guide had vanished the minute our backs were turned. Smart, no denying it, but he was a slippery bastard. Gives the southern folk a bad name, his sort. We were lost, night was falling, and so we cut out a clearing and started a fire. Settled in for the night, in the hope that morning would show us the way.” Closing his eyes for a moment, Bach manages a small smile, as if recalling the foolish hope they had entertained.

So what happened, you ask, how did he get out of that scrape?

“Get out? We didn't get out – we all starved to death!” opening his bloodshot eyes, Bach heaves out a great bray of laughter, “The night... there's nothing like a night spent down there, in the jungle. It's never silent, not for a second. Birds, insects, things we never got the chance to see... a thousand little noises, all shrieking and squawking. Like nothing we'd ever heard before, like nothing I've heard since, either. Morning found us sleepless, hungry and confused. We never decided on a plan – we split up, in groups of two and three, and we just... wandered away. I don't think any of us expected to make it back to civilisation.”

But he did, you point out, he made it back. This is no different – you're both going to make it back as well. Anyway, he's not finished his story yet. How did he make it back to civilisation?

“I'll leave you guessing,” Bach gives you a wry smile, “You answer me something, and maybe I'll tell you. That spiny thing you've been dragging about... it's some kind of protection, isn't it? Ever since you brought it close, things have been... easier.”

You'll tell him, you grunt, but only if he keeps it quiet. You've got your good name to protect, and you don't want gossip muddying it.

“Good name, he says,” the old man laughs, before spitting again – that same frothy, blood-tinged mixture as before.

Ignoring his jibe, you slowly explain about the totem, about the witchcraft used to create it. Leaving out Alyssia's name, and anything else that might be able to lead back to her, you talk about cutting your hands on thorns, about stones painted with lurid eyes, about the strange vision you had. A vision of a whale, of scuttling insects and gold eyes. Two of those three, you realise, have already come true. How long before it becomes an even set?

[2/?]

>>528727

As your own story winds on, you notice Bach's attention slipping. How much of it really settled into his mind, you have to wonder, and how much passed through like so much meaningless noise? When you call his name, he doesn't respond with anything more than a mumble. Cursing bitterly to yourself, despair reaches up from within you to choke your thoughts. Before you can fall too deeply into hopelessness, though, you see faint lights in the distance, lights that soon illuminate the blocky shape of an ancient building.

The Old University – you've made it. Looking around at Bach, you snap out the first question that comes to mind. Loomis, you nearly yell at him, who is Loomis?

“What?” the sound of the name rouses Bach once again, “Loomis... he was my brother, younger brother. We used to sail together once, before...”

Keep talking, you prompt, did he die?

“I don't think so,” screwing up his brow, Bach tries hard to think, “No, I... we argued. Fought, even. There was... money involved. How much was it again? I can't quite remember... I should track him down again, when we get back to Thar Dreyse.” He coughs a few times, so violently that you have to stop and hold him upright. This time, the blood that he coughs up is darker, more concentrated. “I'm never getting back to Thar Dreyse...” he mumbles, once the fit has subsided.

Yes he will, you snap, and you'll get the rest of that story out of him on the way. He'd better not leave you guessing, understood?

But Bach, his head hanging limp, has no response to that.

-

When you burst through the broken entrance of the Old University, it seems like every gun in the world is pointed at you. When the armed sailors see you – and their captain, held slack over your shoulder – they lower their weapons and usher you inside. With nobody else to turn to, you carry Bach to Wehrlain and call out the Scholar's name.

“So, he survived,” Wehrlain covers up a brief moment of confusion with a snide smile, “I had little doubt that you'd-”

Quiet, you bark, he needs help. There's something gravely wrong with him. Internal injuries, perhaps, or something... else. Perhaps it's the urgency in your voice, or your blunt words that do it, for the sly look drops clean off Wehrlain's face and his expression turns deadly serious.

“Set him down here, I can examine him,” crisp and clear, Wehrlain gives you instructions like a born leader. As you set the captain down and step back, Wehrlain pulls out some arcane device and starts listening to Bach's chest. “No bleeding in the lungs, it seems,” the Scholar mutters, “Ah, but what about...” With a surprisingly tender finger, he opens one of Bach's eyes to reveal a black abyss – all pupil and swirling blood.

“There's your problem,” Wehrlain nods, a trace of satisfaction in his voice.

[3/4]

>>528749
>With a surprisingly tender finger, he opens one of Bach's eyes to reveal a black abyss – all pupil and swirling blood.

That's not Red Eye is it...?

>>528749

“Correct me if I'm wrong, Hunter, but the good captain was outside of the Wehrlain Engine's protection for quite some time, was he not?” Wehrlain asks, gesturing for you to pick Bach up again, “Rhetorical question, I'm all too aware of the circumstances at work here. Come with me, carry him through to the laboratory.”

He was out there quite some time, you explain anyway, you couldn't say how long exactly. You're not even sure if it's possible to be exact about such things in this place. Saying this more to yourself than to Wehrlain, you follow the Scholar – who looks almost excited, now that the initial moment of seriousness has passed – through to the laboratory. As you walk, you pass boxes of old books and other items.

“We're packing things up, taking everything we can with us,” the Scholar remarks in passing, “Even the books we can't read might prove vital in time. Best not to leave anything, wouldn't you agree?”

You'd rather know what's wrong with Bach, you shoot back, he has some idea... right? It's not the Red Eye Sickness is it?

“No, not that,” Wehrlain shakes his head, “You'd see a reaction in both eyes, if that was the case. No, I believe this to be a reaction to the, shall we say, hostile conditions here. The same kind of symptoms were seen in the dead recovered from the first expedition north. Pressure on the brain, the leading theory goes. I might be able to do something about it...”

You have to force back the urge to stop dead in your tracks, forging ahead as Wehrlain sweeps into the laboratory and waves an indifferent hand towards a low table. So do it, you tell him, or is there a catch to this?

“Well, it might not work, and he might die,” the Scholar thinks, “Oh, and we don't seem to have much in the way of anaesthesia, so the operation might not be... clean. We were supposed to have a plentiful supply of laudanum, but someone must have been helping themselves. Oh well – no matter.” Shrugging, Wehrlain takes a pair of linen gloves from his pocket and pulls them on. “Hold him down, will you?”

Wait, you pause, he's going to operate without any pain relief?

“Would you rather watch him die?” Wehrlain shrugs again, “Now hold him down, or get out of my laboratory!”

>Get one of your lackeys to do it, not me
>Alright, I'll do it
>No, stop. No operations. Let him die peacefully
>Other

>>528775
>Alright, I'll do it

>>528775
>>Alright, I'll do it

>>528775
>Alright, I'll do it

>>528775
>Alright, I'll do it

Is the doll still hanging from our back?

>>528791

>It would be, yes, now I think about it.

>>528791
We strapped it on in full view of people last time. If anyone cares they've made no comment about it.

>>528805
We explicitly did this outside, hidden behind a wall.

>>528813
You're right. Must have skimmed.

If anyone asks I guess we can say we pulled one from that abandoned boat just in case.

Looking at the laboratory, at the clinging dust and ancient grime, you choke back a faintly disgusted noise and focus. Not exactly ideal conditions, but not the worst you've ever seen either. There's no mud or filth, and there's nothing trying to kill you – under the circumstances, asking for more than that would have been churlish at best.

Alright, you tell Wehrlain, you'll do it. What kind of operation is this going to be, anyway?

“A simple one – I can do it myself, I should think. If our theories are correct, and this is a kind of pressure building within the cranium, all I'll need to do is...” pausing, Wehrlain rummages about a box of medical tools, pulling out what looks like a hand operated drill, “Release some of the pressure.” He finishes, with an eager grin. Far too eager, in your humble opinion.

As Wehrlain busies himself with gathering a few extra tools, you take the totem from your back and push it out of the way. No use hiding it now, but there's nothing to be gained from parading it about. Either way, you'll have to worry about that later – for now, you've got an operation to assist with.

You're not looking forwards to this.

-

As Wehrlain shaves a small patch on the back of Bach's skull, the captain manages to rouse himself a little, shifting on the table and muttering to himself. Murmuring an apology – you're not even sure if he can hear you, or if he can makes any sense of your words – you reach out and hold him down. As you pin him in place, Wehrlain soaks a rag in some acrid smelling liquid – disinfectant, you think to yourself – and wipes down the shaved head, before pouring more of the disinfectant onto the drill itself.

This, you realise, is not going to be a pretty sight.

“Remember, hold him very still,” Wehrlain warns you as he gives the drill an experimental spin, “Don't waste your time worrying about hurting him. I assure you, he'll have other things to think about.”

He's done this before, you ask Wehrlain, right? When the Scholar doesn't answer you, you assume the worst and move to the next question. He's studied the procedure though, you insist, hasn't he?

“Oh, I've studied it,” Wehrlain nods, “Just... in passing. Really, my focus is on machines. In terms of medicine, I'm really more of a... a dabbler. Still, it's not bad to try new things now and again, is it?”

This is not going to be a pretty sight. Not in the slightest. As Wehrlain gives his drill another test, you press down harder on Bach's shoulders. Again, you mutter a senseless apology to the man.

[1/2]

>>528851

It doesn't take long for things to go wrong. As soon as Wehrlain touches the tip of the drill to Bach's shaven head, the captain rouses himself. Opening his terrible, mismatched eyes – one black with blood and ruin, the other wide and very white – he looks about in blind, senseless panic. His expression, one of confusion and terror, gives no indication that he really “sees” anything – anything grounded in reality, at least.

“Hold his head still please,” Wehrlain asks, with the polite tone of a gentleman asking for a fresh cup of tea, “Hold his shoulders with your elbows, if you have to.” Your breath hisses out through clenched teeth as you obey, pinning Bach down. He's weak, surprisingly so, and it doesn't take much to immobilise him. Just when it looks like the operation is about to begin, Wehrlain pulls the drill away. “Wait!” he cries, turning away as you splutter out a curse. When he returns, he has a worn strip of old leather, forcing it between Bach's teeth. “There we go,” he croons, “Safe and sound...”

You're really not sure about this, you start to say, he's certain that there wasn't any lau-

The drill bites into flesh, and Bach's muffled screaming drown out anything else you had to say. His weakness vanishes in an instant, and soon you have to throw all your strength into holding him down. The initial round of screaming doesn't last long – a small mercy – but the horrible gurgling groans that follow it manage to be worse, somehow. As if he hasn't noticed anything wrong at all – with all the nonchalance of a man drilling into solid wood – Wehrlain keeps going, even as blood flicks out to stain his clothes.

He's humming. The son of a bitch is humming to himself.

“Shouldn't be long now,” he assures you, looking up from his work and rubbing a hand across his sweaty brow, leaving a long smear of blood in its place, “I'm about halfway, I wager. You're hanging in there, aren't you captain?”

In response to Wehrlain's mildly worded question – mildly worded, but with a venom lurking behind it – Bach lets out another groan, his hands shuddering as he tries to fight you off him. Just lie still, you plead, just lie back and it'll all be over soon. His one good eye rolls madly for a moment before settling on you, meeting your gaze and holding it until you have to look away. Grimacing, you hear the squeaking of the drill start up once more, and another deep groan escapes Bach.

A few moments more, and then Wehrlain gasps out in satisfaction. As he steps back to admire his handiwork, you hear another sound – a wet bubbling sound, like air rising to the surface of a marsh. You really don't want to think too much about that.

[2/3]

>>528889

“You should see this,” Wehrlain remarks, “I'll hold him down, if you want. How often do you get the chance to see a man's brain while he yet lives?” Even without looking at him, you can tell that he's smiling to himself, the self-satisfied smile of a general who led his troops to victory without ever approaching danger himself. “No, not interested?” he adds, when you hold your silence, “It's really very interesting. Quite a vivid pink colour.”

It's over then, you ask, when will you know the results? He's not dead yet, true, but has he been saved?

“Well, normally I'd say to wait a few hours and see how his condition has developed, but that might be meaningless here. So, I say to wait a while and see what happens,” Wehrlain shrugs, and then smiles slowly, “Of course, we're all dealing in theoretical matters here. Perhaps just spending time within the influence of the Wehrlain Engine would have cured him.”

This entire operation was pointless, you wonder aloud, just something for satisfy his ego...

“Better safe than sorry, wouldn't you say?” the Scholar counters, “Doing nothing could have led to his death. Would you have preferred that?”

No, you admit, not really. At least he didn't die on the operating table. That's one small mercy.

“Then we can call the operation a tentative success!” Wehrlain claps his bloodied gloves together, “Ah, I wish I had a glass of brandy to toast this occasion.”

Turning away in disgust, you turn your attention to Bach again. He's slipped into a merciful unconsciousness now, his breathing slow and regular. The worst has passed by now, it seems. What now, you ask, just leave him here?

“I have to take some notes on this. You keep an eye on him, and call for me if anything goes wrong,” Wehrlain strips off his bloody gloves and shoves them into his pocket, “Call me if he wakes up, as well – I'll see about that leg of his later. Are we in agreement?”

>Fine. Go write your damn notes
>I'd rather focus on searching the rest of the University
>I wanted to ask you something first... (Write in)
>Other

>>528935
>I'd rather focus on searching the rest of the University
"You can write your notes while watching your patient. Have one of your scholars do it if you can't sit still."

>>528935
>>I'd rather focus on searching the rest of the University
See if our possible buddy Lars can watch over Bach. I want to see if we can read some books.

>>528935
>I'd rather focus on searching the rest of the University

>>528935
>Other

"You should work on his leg now. When will you seal him back up?"

>>528935
>I'd rather focus on searching the rest of the University
Got shit to do.

>>528944
This, and dont they have any doctor kind of scholars in the party?

>>528935
Seconding this:
>>528941

You'd rather focus on searching the rest of the University, you tell Wehrlain, he can write his notes here can't he? Or, if he can't sit still for long enough, he can get one of his Scholars to do it. Lars could do it, you suggest, he's competent enough. You do have a few questions about Bach's treatment, though.

“Oh? I'll be sure to take your expert opinion into account,” Wehrlain spreads his hands, giving you a good view of the blood splashed onto his robes, “Go on then, ask away.”

Well first of all, you say as you point to Bach's skull, when is he going to seal that up?

“I could probably put a cover over it fairly soon – and, indeed, I probably should – but it'll be an improvised job,” The Scholar examines his fingernails, needlessly scouring them for any traces of blood – heedless of the smear decorating his forehead, “We don't have the facilities or the resources here for a more permanent job. Still, as long as we keep changing the dressings, it shouldn't be a problem.”

And the leg, you point out next, that should be sorted soon as well. It's not an open wound, but there's no sense in roaming around with injuries going untreated – not in a place like this, at least. Perhaps it would be a good job for a real doctor, you suggest mildly, one with more extensive medical training.

“I'm sure that can be arranged,” Wehrlain manages to look agreeable for a short moment before a hungry look descends over him, “Oh, and while we're here, were you able to recover any viable samples? I'd like the chance to study them here and now, to compare them with a later examination in the College proper. I have a theory that their properties might change once leaving this place.”

You got him some samples, you tell him as you pass the tin over, both flesh and blood. They're plenty fresh as well, at least they were when you harvested them.

“I'm sure they-” Wehrlain eagerly cracks open the case and looks inside, his smile faltering a little as he pulls out the severed digit, “How... generous of you to bring me this.”

Yeah well, you tell him as you're leaving, you made sure to get the middle one – you've been wanting to give him it for a while now.

-

Back out in the entrance hall, you run into Lars and give him a brief explanation of the situation. When the time comes to describe the surgery, he pales and suppresses a shudder. Before he can sink too deeply into his own thoughts, though, you send him up to the laboratory to keep an eye on Bach. You'll owe him a favour, you add, if he does this.

“No need for that, I'll do it, no strings attached,” Lars assures you, “Best to have someone else keeping an eye on things, just in case. You'll stop by later, won't you?”

Sure, you reply, you've got the end of a story to hear.

[1/2]

>>528999
>you made sure to get the middle one
Based Henryk.

>>528999

Your first stop is the Serpent wing – the long abandoned dormitories – to see if there was anything left behind. Judging by the steady flow of men moving in and out of it, the search has moved to focus on things there. At the entrance, you stop one of the more listless looking Scholars – a fat one, with watery blue eyes – and ask about the progress.

“Slow,” he grunts, “There's a lot of rooms, and a lot of clutter. We've got to check everything over, every individual item, to see what's junk and what's not. We're working hard here.”

Definitely, you remark, he really looked like he was putting in the long hours.

“Got to take breaks now and again,” he replies, sounding vaguely offended, “The eyes grow tired, you see, and the mind clumsy. Frequent breaks are a vital part of-”

Of course, of course. So, you ask in order to move things along, you're here to put in some time. Where should you start?

“Well, we've been working our way along, starting from the close by rooms. You could start at the far end, see if there's anything there. I think the furthest room might be significant, in some sense – back at the College, that's where the student representatives would have their quarters. Everything else here follows a similar pattern, so...” he shrugs ponderously, leaving the end of his offer to hang in the air.

With a shrug of your own, you get started on your way. You've got to start somewhere, and this is as good a place as any.

-

Moving past the occasional Scholar – and a fair few sailors who look more interested in looting than research – you head to the furthest section of the dormitories. Behind a heavy set of double doors, heavy enough that you have to throw your whole weight into opening them, you find an exceptionally cluttered room. Most of it looks like normal student clutter – fairly conventional books left where their stacks collapsed, mouldering rags that used to be items of clothing left in piles, that sort of thing – but one wall is taken up by numerous grainy photographs. Naturally, this display draws your eye more than anything else.

Most of the photographs are unremarkable as well, their quality too degraded to make out much. They might depict the Old University from the outside, with a cluster of blurry figures standing by it. Flipping one over, you read the faded ink on the back.

“Success! The Bartzov expedition finds its target!”

A message from kinder times, back when the explorers had some traces of hope and optimism. That couldn't have lasted very long. As you start to turn away from the wall, though, you spot an envelope. Inside, there's another photograph – folded in half - and a scrawled note.

[2/3]

File: Photograph.jpg (126 KB, 729x527)

126 KB JPG

>>529048

“This isn't the photograph I took,” the note reads, “I took a picture of the entrance hall, but this... I don't know what this scene depicts. Master Bartzof said it might have been the caverns beneath the University, but I don't believe that. I think I see the moon in these pictures, our familiar silver moon. Everything else, though, I cannot explain. I don't know if I want an explanation. From the moment I first developed this photograph, I fear what it depicts.”

That's all it says. Rereading the note – it's long on dread and short on explanation – you set it aside and move onto the photograph. Handling it with care, you unfold it and take a long look. True enough, you see something that might well be the sane moon – a disc of pure light up in one corner. The other orb you see, though, is far less recognisable. A giant, swollen... eyeball, maybe?

Folding the note and the photograph back up and returning them to the envelope, you start back to Lars and Wehrlain. Maybe they can offer some opinion on this.

-

“Anything of interest?” the fat Scholar – still on break, apparently – asks as you're leaving the dormitories, “Take it to Master Wehrlain if you have, he'll want to see it... and take credit for it, if you give him half the chance.”

You would never have guessed. Brushing past him, you hasten up the stairs to the laboratory and the Scholars within. Only Lars turns around at the sound of your entrance – Wehrlain is too busy gazing down the eyepiece of an ancient microscope and making odd humming sounds. Sparing him only the briefest of dirty looks, you move to Lars. He sits by Bach with a heavy book in his lap, ready to look up at the slightest reaction from the captain. He needn't worry about that – Bach looks, finally, like he's sleeping restfully.

“Hello,” Lars says quietly, “How are things on your end?”

>I'm not sure. What do you make of this photograph?
>I want to take a look at some of those books, see if I can find anything significant
>Has Wehrlain's research found anything?
>How's Bach doing?
>Other

>>529115
>>I'm not sure. What do you make of this photograph?
>>I want to take a look at some of those books, see if I can find anything significant
>How's Bach?

>>529115
>>I'm not sure. What do you make of this photograph?
>>I want to take a look at some of those books, see if I can find anything significant

>>528449
kill those who cannot obey

>>528446
>Bach sacrificed himself. Let's finish things here and make that sacrifice worth something
The value of the sacrifice endures and reveals itself throughout time...
if you can add value, your contribution is appreciated.
>pro tip, you probably cannot.

>>529115
>I'm not sure. What do you make of this photograph?
>I want to take a look at some of those books, see if I can find anything significant

Wasn't the carving of the next Knight a orb or sun looking thing?

>>529170
"oLnzlYse"
hey, I'm a samefag
surely someone(else) will post in this thread
soon

I'm guessing that whatever madness plaguing Bartzov is the current Knight. Dunno if it has a physical form though.

>>529181
>sane moon disc of pure light

>>529187
Let's hope it has some kind of tangible form. We need a trophy after all.

You're honestly not sure, you reply, you found a photograph and you're not sure what to make of it. Taking it out, you offer it to him. What does he think, you ask, has he seen anything like it? As Lars takes the photograph and studies it, he reaches up and rubs his stubbly cheeks. He looks like a man who doesn't take well to being unshaven, you think absently as he thinks to himself.

“Well,” he says eventually, “It definitely has a certain... impact. It looks a little like an eye, doesn't it?”

That's what you thought, you tell him, but not quite. It almost looks like it's starting to unravel – like a wound that's shedding its bandage. The note that came with it, it claimed that the photograph was supposed to be of something else.

“It's possible,” again, Lars touches his bristly cheeks as he thinks, “If the members of Bartzov's expedition were here without any protection, they would be fully exposed to this land's influence. That means we can't assume a logical order of events. This could well be a picture of something long past... or yet to come.”

It might be a look into the future, you muse, really?

“I don't think any of us can say for sure,” Lars shrugs, offering a faintly hopeless smile, “But I don't see anything like that lurking around here, do you? Though, it does make me think...” Reaching into a box beneath his chair, Lars takes out another book and starts to leaf through it. Stopping at a blank page – blank, save for a number of scrawled drawings – he hands the book over.

Eyes. The page is covered in scratchy images of eyes, several of them trailing crudely drawn hands or fingers. How old is this, you ask slowly, is this from Bartzov's expedition?

“Earlier than that,” Lars tells you, “But I couldn't be any more specific than that. Not with any degree of certainty, at least.”

Taking another long look at the page, you hand the book back to him. You'd like to take a look at some more of these books, you tell him, see if there's anything significant in them. Is that a possibility?

“Uh, wait, let me think,” Lars glances across to Wehrlain for a very brief moment, “The books we've collected have been divided up into two groups – the fragile specimens, I'm afraid, can't be handled. Everything else, though, you can help yourself with. If you don't mind me saying, however, I'm not sure...”

How much you'll get from them, you ask wryly, how much you'll understand?

“Well, yes,” the Scholar gives you an awkward shrug, “No offence intended. I won't stop you looking at them, of course. Would you like to see what we've got?”

In a moment, you tell him, you wanted to know how Bach was doing first.

[1/?]

>>529212

“Bach, yes,” a dark look flashes across Lars' face, and he gives Wehrlain's back another fearful glance, “Come with me, I wanted to show you something. Don't worry about leaving Bach alone for a moment – he's sleeping. He'll come to no harm.” Standing, Lars slips his book back into the box and leads you out. Back in the entrance hall, looking out at the softly humming Wehrlain Engine, Lars sighs.

So, you press him, what did he want to show you?

“Nothing. Sorry about that,” he shakes his head, “I wanted to talk to you in private, that's all. Bach IS fine... which is to say, he's alive. He woke up briefly, and he could talk. His mind was intact, and his memory has only a few very minor omissions. He doesn't remember the... the operation, if you call that a mercy. Still, he has suffered some lasting – permanent – consequences.”

Sounds bad, you suggest, is it?

“His pupil collapsed, and that's not something we can do anything about. He won't lose the eye, but he's lost all sight in it,” Lars covers one eye with his hand, “He'll likely suffer headaches for a long time as well, crippling ones. He was in a great deal of pain when he woke up, but I gave him a dose of laudanum and he-”

Laudanum, you almost shout, but there wasn't any! Wehrlain said that someone had stolen it all, and that's why the operation had to be performed without any anaesthesia. Would he lie about that, you ask as a dark suspicion forms in your mind, just because Bach had argued with the Scholar in the past?

“...Maybe,” Lars lowers his voice, growing a shade paler, “If you believe the rumours, Wehrlain has certain... undesirable traits, a severe lack of empathy among them. It wouldn't be entirely unexpected if he-”

A cry, dry and choking, rises up from the laboratory. Exchanging a panicked look with Lars, you both hurry back through.

-

Bach has woken from his drugged sleep, crying out in fear upon arriving in this hostile world. Still too weak to rise fully, he struggles to turn and look at you as you enter the laboratory. In the background, as if no noise had ever been made, Wehrlain continues his “important” work. Upon seeing you, fixing his one good eye upon you, Bach seems to calm... slightly. At the very least, he lets himself slump down again.

“Are you hurt?” Lars asks, his voice clipped and efficient, “Are you in any pain?”

“Not too much,” Bach whispers, “Thirsty, that's all.”

“No water, not yet,” there is an apology in Lars' voice. As he checks Bach over, you circle the table and look at the back of his head. A white square of gauze covers his wound, faint stains rusting the cloth.

“Lars,” Wehrlain announces, rising to his feet, “A word please. Outside.”

The look that Lars gives you before leaving is a helpless one.

[2/3]

>>529275

“I knew a sailor, once, who said that no captain was complete without an eye-patch,” Bach speaks slowly, as if every word has to be forced out, “I thought it was just a foolish joke. Looks like he's going to have the last laugh.” What you assume was supposed to be a laugh ends in a feeble cough, one too weak to bring up any blood. “Get me into a chair, will you? I can't stand lying here like an invalid.”

Against your better judgement, you help Bach into the chair that Lars recently vacated. Sitting upright seems to do him some good, for his intact eye manages to clear a little. How's the head, you ask him, is the pain bad?

“I've had worse hangovers,” he rasps, “Some of them, you know, they feel like people are trying to drill into your skull. Now those are bad...” Trailing off, Bach looks around in confusion before returning his eye to you. “I was supposed to tell you something,” he says suddenly, “I promised you I'd tell you... something. What was it?”

The end of his story, you tell him, he never told you how he made it out of that jungle. His party had split up into smaller groups and fled, you explain, but he never got to the part where he reached civilisation safely. You've been wondering – how did he manage that?

“Luck, my boy,” Bach tells you, with a pained smile, “We stumbled across a wild animal, red in tooth and claw, and we ran like lunatics. We ran and ran, and when we finally stopped running... there we were, standing at the border of that miserable little port town. The grace of fortune – that's what brought us home safely. Disappointed?”

Well, you hesitate, a little.

“That's life for you,” leaning back, the old captain closes his eyes and lets out a faintly nostalgic sigh, “And we never made a single coin out of it either. Now THAT was a disappointment.”

Not every story can have a happy ending, you suppose.

>I think I'll have to stop things here for today. I'll pick things up tomorrow, and I'll stick around in case anyone has any questions or comments
>Thanks to everyone who contributed today!

>>529328
Thanks for running Moloch.

Add another eye to the counter.

File: An eye patch for you.jpg (19 KB, 500x500)

19 KB JPG

>>529328

>>529328
So uh...is a Nameless God going to be pissed about us killing it's kid?

>>529328
Thanks for running Moloch. Wehrlain is definitely going to get his just deserts right? Maybe we can ditch him here so he can hang out with Bartzov.

>>529340
>>529358

I couldn't resist it

>>529363

I wouldn't worry about it, they don't really have enough of a conscious mind to take these things personally.

>>529366

I wonder. Wehrlain is a pretty unpleasant guy, so he might earn an equally grim fate. He doesn't have many friends, either, even among the other Scholars.

>>529328
Well, I'm all for beating the crap out of Wehrlain.

Good to have you back Moloch.

>>529382
We could always just toss him overboard after putting a knife through him a couple times, on the way back.

>>529464
He's a prick but murdering him like that is overkill. Just punch him in the face real hard.

Wehrlain is a gigantic asshole, but he's also a genius. The engine he made and will improve could be a huge benefit for humanity. By killing him you'd be fucking over everyone.

>>529473
>>529579
Hey. Remember how he waited until after the surgery to tell us Bach could have recovered without it?

And when he hid the Laudenum from us so that it wouldn't affect his data from the surgery, even though using painkillers for stuff like that can really help recovery?

And even though Bach survived so far, there's not a good prognosis for his future recovery?

Like damn dude. He's a pretty evil cunt at this point. And like one of you said, still a genius so there's no way I'm leaving him alone to become more of a monster.

Besides. Turns out the totem we have does the same thing and also doesn't drive men mad from lack of sleep and possibly worse.

I feel like Wehrlain might have spent too much time around his engine and it's ruined him as a person.

>>529620
Still stabbing him and throwing him overboard probably won't go over well nor should we easily commit murder just because he is gigantic cunt.

That said though, I'd put money on him joining whatever the thing Bartzov is part of if it would give him knowledge/be remembered forever so you might get your wish.

>>529473
No No you see we don't kill him, We have the crew hold the cock sucker down, Then we take that drill of his, And we slowly and without anesthetic Drill through his palms,

>>529643
People fall overboard at sea. It's a thing ththat happens. If you're not a strong swimmer, like if you were a scholar that spent his days studying for instance, you could drown.

It does happen a lot more often to unpopular people, it's true.

Regardless. He needs to feel he's in control of us until we move, otherwise he'll probably fucking poison us or something.

>>529661
Glad we're on the same page here Anon, I was just thinking something similar. Maybe we can knock him out and toss him outside for a while so his eye gets fucked up like Bach, then we can drill his head real nice and gentle like.

I get being vindictive, but don't do anything stupid yeah?

Wehrlian WUZ A GOOD BOI!

HE DINDU NUFFIN

>>529741
that's really the hard part: getting some proper revenge without massive consequences.

And we can't NOT do it, not after knowing that he's perfectly okay with witholding anaesthetic. I'm 50/50 on whether the surgery should have taken place at all, though. It's not like the totem was helping much, so I doubt putting faith in the machine alone would have been wise.

>>529770
Bach was exposed with out the machine or totem for bit before we caught up.

Surgery did save his life. Dude was a cunt not giving him anesthetic but he did save Bach's life.

>>529775
He could have improved but Wehrlain didn't tell us that was an option so he could do the surgery.

Dudes going to go full Mendel. We need him to maintain the machine to protect everyone, but once we're close to port . . .

And he's simply too dangerous to try and get some form of revenge that leaves him alive.

>>529780
We'll see how it goes. Shit hasn't gone all tits up yet (and you know it will) and the whole situation can change in an instant.

>>529786
Yeah. That's why I said we should do it later.

Wehrlian: Hey this engine is necessary so I'm testing it now to get y'all used to it

Hanson: FUCK YOU FAGGOT! YOU'RE A PIECE OF SHIT! TURN THE ENGINE DOWN!

Wehrlian: . . . Alright, I'll turn it down but I'm telling you there will be visions.

Hanson: FUCK OFF! HALF POWER YOU SNAKE!

*5 minutes later*

Hanson: TURN THE ENGINE BACK TO FULL POWER! THESE HALLUCINATIONS SUCK!

[Urge to Mad Scientist Intensifies]

When Lars had told you that the books had been divided up into two separate groups – the fragile collection, not to be touched by inexpert hands such as yours, and the intact collection – you had been expecting the fragile collection to be the majority. After all, these are ancient books, held in uncertain conditions for an abstract length of time – a span of years both unknown and unknowable. That's why, when Lars – still uneasy from whatever “discussion” he had with his superior – let you through to the library, and the considerable stacks of books left there, you you realise how much work you have ahead of you.

“We were surprised as well,” he offers dryly, “And that wasn't the only thing that took us by surprise. You remember the first time you were here, don't you?”

Damn near every book you came across was written in an unknown language, you tell him, a language they couldn't even begin to read. But one that you could, you think to yourself, thanks to a certain goddess.

“That's right. Now, though...” Lars takes a book at random, and opens to an equally random page, “I'm certain that they're changing, slowly resolving themselves into something we CAN read. I have a theory that eventually, if we stayed here long enough, these books would end up written in our own printed word. How this happens, though... I can't tell you that, I can't even begin to understand it myself.”

The world is changing to better accommodate men like him, you muse, but why? As a trap, to encourage them to stay longer, or as something less malicious – a natural response?

“I dare say we won't get the chance to find out. There's already talk of leaving, of getting out of here as soon as possible,” Lars lets his gaze play out across the strange library for a moment as he considers this, “I can't say I disagree. We've got supplies to last out a while longer, but... well, I suspect that the will to remain here won't last nearly so long. I already heard some of the sailors talking about mutiny. While Captain Bach is... resting, Wehrlain holds total authority here, and the men just don't respect him. I fear the situation could get ugly, if Wehrlain insists on remaining here much longer.”

You wanted to talk with him about that, you begin quietly, about Wehrlain. Here, in this land without League regulations or moral laws, he's allowing himself to indulge his every whim. First by running the Wehrlain Engine early, and driving the crew to despair-

“I won't defend him,” Lars interrupts, “But if he hadn't done that, he would never have been able to make his later refinements. It's experimental technology he's dealing with, and that's always going to involve risks.”

[1/2]

>>530929

Maybe so, you accept the point with a grudging nod, but what about the surgery? The operation might have been completely senseless, and to perform it without any relief for the pain...

“That... I can't defend,” Lars admits, “Oh, I'm sure he'll have a good reason for not using any anaesthesia – maybe there was a risk that Bach's weakened state couldn't take it, maybe it would have interfered with the operation itself, I don't know. Wehrlain will have a reason, a nice smooth explanation to bat away any criticism... he always does. He's played this game for a lot longer than you or I, he knows how to come out on top.”

Maybe so, you repeat, but you're starting to wonder if he's the real danger here. The land is hostile, true, but it has the unthinking neutrality of nature. Wehrlain, on the other hand, is malicious – spiteful and prepared to answer any slight against him. While he's around, and holding authority, you've got one extra problem to deal with.

“You know, Wehrlain doesn't have many friends among the Scholars here,” Lars thinks aloud, “He has their respect – as one thinking man respects another – but I dare say not many here would raise a voice in his defence. If anything, a fair number of the Scholars here – and I may include myself in that number – would stand to benefit from his, ah, removal from power. When Bartzov was disgraced, it left a power vacuum that was quickly filled by eager men – the same may apply here.”

So what he do, you ask Lars, what's his ideal way of resolving this mess?

“I wouldn't kill him, if that's what you're asking,” the Scholar takes a long time to think, running his fingers along the spines of several nameless books, “I'd ask him to stand down, to surrender his leadership for the good of the College. Then, upon arriving back home, I'd give full account of his crimes and let the proper authorities deal with him.” Turning back to you, Lars gives you a surprisingly cold smile, “Why bother dirtying my own hands?”

A careful, measured approach to the situation, as expected of a Scholar. Say Wehrlain refused to stand down, though – what then?

“Then,” Lars' smile doesn't waver, “I would have to insist. If he stands down willingly, he can remain a valued part of this expedition. If not – if he was forced out – he would not nearly be so fortunate. Of course, that's just what I'd do. What about you, Hunter?”

>You've got a good plan. How about making it happen?
>Even that allows him too much freedom. We're putting him under arrest, as soon as possible
>No arrests or deals – he deserves to die for what he's done
>Other

>>530930
>>You've got a good plan. How about making it happen?
>Other

Wehrlian was a good boy and he dindu nuffin.

>>530930
>You've got a good plan. How about making it happen?

>>530930
>You've got a good plan. How about making it happen?

>>530930
>>You've got a good plan. How about making it happen?

He's got a good plan, you admit, but how about making it happen? Talking about a change in leadership is all well and good, but putting it into action is another thing entirely. Is he prepared to take that step?

“I think so,” Lars muses, “But I want to be sure – I want to speak with a few of the others about this before making a move. I wager that most of them feel the same way, but it doesn't hurt to make sure. If they're already in Wehrlain's pocket when the times to make a move, we'd be high and dry.”

And Wehrlain isn't the type of person to ignore a slight like this, you remark, as Bach could attest to. No, that makes a lot of sense – get the other key players on side first, and then confront Wehrlain with a united front. So what's the plan?

“This, ah, might be a delicate issue, one best discussed one Scholar to another. Would you mind waiting here while I test the waters?” Lars looks a little awkward, as if he fears this bad news might jeopardise the entire plan. “You wanted to take a look at these books, didn't you?” he adds, “Well, I can't promise there's anything useful in them, especially with the language barrier taken into account, but...”

You'll be fine here, you tell him, there's just one thing you want him to remember.

“Oh?” Lars raises a curious eyebrow, “And what would that be?”

Be careful, you warn, be discreet. The last thing either of you need is Wehrlain getting wind of things early. Lars considers this and then, with a solemn nod, leaves you alone in the library. Sighing, listening as your voice fills the empty room, you look at the rows and rows of books.

Where do you even start?

-

Picking a book out at random, you weigh it in your hands – as if there is some knowledge that can only be divined through the physical feel of the object. Holding it for a moment longer, you eventually open up to a random page and let your eyes wander across the inhuman words. As the translation springs, unbidden, into mind, you learn that it's a collection of myths – old northern legends, the kind that would normally be passed down through the family. Likely, they would never see the printed word if not for the nameless, ancient Scholar who collected them.

Now you think about it, this all started with a book of old stories – a whimsical tale of twelve noble Knights and a wicked goddess. How far you've come since then, and in a relatively short space of time.

Flicking through the pages, you reach the start of a new section. Less a tale and more a set of facts, it speaks about a mystical northern land. At first, you wonder if it's talking about the same lands you travel in now, but then you realise your error. The tale speaks of an uncharted land, one beyond even the oldest map.

[1/2]

>>530962

If the lands you now tread – considered the sacred lands, in this text – are the border between mankind and the divine, the book reads, then this northernmost land is wholly the realm of the gods. If time is mutable in the sacred lands, then it ceases to be entirely in the northernmost land. A land said to be populated only by those who have left behind every attachment to the mortal world, shedding even their names and pasts.

Quite understandably, this all remains an unproven myth. No map leads the way to these inhuman lands, and no-one has ever seen them with their own eyes. No-one who has returned to tell of them, at least.

When you hear a firm knock at the door, you close the book and look around. Expecting to see Lars, you are instead greeted by one of the sailors. An old fellow, his eyes practically lost in a sea of creases and folds. He carries a tin can, and the smell of warm food surrounds him. Taking a moment to clear your head – tales of ancient lands are soon replaced by a curiously muted hunger – you wave for him to come in,

“Thought you might be hungry,” the sailor explains, setting down the can on the table with a battered metal fork, “Though, not many of the men have been complaining about it. How long since we last ate, do you think? I can't tell the time in this hellhole...”

It's been a while, you reply vaguely as you take the food, that's about all you can say. The food – beans and some unknown meat in sauce – is only lukewarm, but you eagerly gulp down a few mouthfuls. As you eat, the sailor lingers in place for a moment longer, a question hanging on the end of his tongue.

“You brought back the captain, aye?” he asks, forging ahead before you can answer, “Only, there's talk – men saying you came back with a bit of witchcraft strapped to your back. Sailors are superstitious sorts, you see, and it doesn't take much to rattle them.”

And are they rattled, you ask cautiously, disturbed by your presence here?

“There's been talk,” he repeats, “Folks here, they don't know what to make of it. All they know is, you brought the captain back alive and... mostly well. That's keeping you in their good graces. Captain Bach, he's well liked – for him, I wager the men are willing to overlook just about anything. Still, I... I figure if I had something to tell them, something to put an end to this wild talk...”

It might keep them settled, you ask, keep them calm and put them at ease?

>I found that thing out there, and I brought it back for study – that's all
>It's witchcraft, I won't deny it, but it keeps me safe out here
>Just tell them not to worry – it's no risk to them
>Let them talk, I'm past caring
>Other

>>530975
>>It's witchcraft, I won't deny it, but it keeps me safe out here
They might get spooked with the first choice and the other two are sketchy.

>>530975
>It's witchcraft, I won't deny it, but it keeps me safe out here
If anyone takes issue with me then they're welcome to try to do something about it

>>530975
>>It's witchcraft, I won't deny it, but it keeps me safe out here

>>530975
>It's witchcraft, I won't deny it, but it keeps me safe out here
"I sure as hell wasn't going to place all my faith in Wehrlain's engine out here, so I researched alternatives before we started this expedition. Seems to be working out considering it allowed me to rescue Bach without the Engine.

Go tell your crew that if for any reason the Engine stops working they come find me and stick with me alright?"

It's witchcraft, you tell him carefully, you won't deny that. However, it's what kept you safe out there – and it kept Captain Bach safe as well. You're saying this in the interests of being honest and open, rather than hiding it like a dirty secret. This is something you prepared, just in case the Wehrlain Engine failed – you were never going to trust that thing completely – and it's served you well so far. If the machine should fail on the journey home, tell the men to stick close to your quarters, that should keep them reasonably safe.

Your voice is calm, quiet and unhurried, as you say this, but the sailor's eyes widen a fraction anyway. When you're finished talking, he swallows nervously before forming a reply. “I see...” he begins, “I can't say how much comfort that'll bring the men, but if you're prepared to offer them another shield... I dare say a fair few would take you up on that offer. I thank you, sir, for your honesty. Seems to be a rare thing in these parts.”

And if any of them feel disconcerted by it, you add, they're welcome to come and speak with you personally. It's an innocent sounding statement – you don't need to weigh your words down with threats – but the implicit meaning is clear.

“I'll be sure to tell them that,” the envoy nods awkwardly, “But I wager you won't have any trouble with them. When Captain Bach is on his feet again, it'll do wonders for their peace of mind. I'll tell them, then.” He starts to leave, but then lingers at the doorway. “And... many thanks,” he adds, “For not leaving the captain out there. Brave thing you did, going after him.”

He's a friend, you reply simply, you weren't going to abandon him. The sailor weighs your words for a moment before nodding and letting himself out.

Hopefully, that's the last you need to worry about that matter.

-

“We're good to go,” Lars says, skipping past any formalities or pleasantries and getting straight to the heart of the matter, “I have it on good authority that the majority of the Scholars here are in agreement with us, and most who disagree are willing to step back and let us take action. That's the best outcome we could have hoped for.”

No catch, you ask suspiciously, nothing you need to worry about?

“Nothing,” Lars assures you, “All of the important figures are with us. If Wehrlain still refuses to cede leadership, we'd be perfectly justified in forcing him to stand down. How about we get this show on the road?”

Sounds good, you tell him, you're ready.

“Alright then,” nodding, Lars glances at the book you had been flicking through and smiles faintly, “Good book?”

You just looked at the pictures, you reply.

[1/2]

>>531027

Moving with purpose, you and Lars leave the library and head upstairs to the laboratory. Outside, waiting for you, are a pair of Scholars. One is the fat gentleman from the dormitories, and the other is a bookish, aged fellow. Shaking hands, you realise that these must be your co-conspirators.

“This is Haight, an expert in linguistics,” Lars nods to the bookish man, “And Kranz, who manages... I suppose you could say he's a teacher by nature.”

“Meaning, the students do what I tell them,” Kranz explains, a faintly sly smile touching his face, “I know that I'm not the most important man here, but I hold a good deal of influence. Fortunately for you, I see the sense in removing Wehrlain from his position. He's... too enamoured with this place, I fear he would try to keep us here longer than strictly necessary.”

“Well then, gentlemen,” Haight adds, “No sense in waiting around. Shall we get started?”

Everyone nods their agreement, and those nods feel like the signatures placed on an arrest warrant. Hopefully, it won't be an execution warrant as well.

-

“Quite the gathering we have here,” Wehrlain remarks, a snide note in his voice, “To what do I owe this honour?” He sits facing you, with his back to the research he had been so devoted to, and there isn't a trace of concern or surprise on his face. Sitting not so far away, Bach sleeps peacefully.

A shame that he'll miss this – you figure it's the sort of thing that he'd enjoy watching.

“After much debate and careful consideration, questions have been raised over your position here,” Lars begins, phrasing everything in carefully formal language. Should Wehrlain resist, you expect the politeness to fall away completely. “And so, we've come with the majority view – a request that you stand down immediately, and give your position of authority to a representative of the College, to be chosen at a later date.”

Meaning, you tell him, he needs to stand down and let someone else call the shots.

“And you're all in agreement?” Wehrlain looks between you. Kranz looks away, avoiding his gaze, while Haight stares him dead in the eye, a distant smile on his lips. Lars tenses up, but he doesn't back down. “I see,” the chief Scholar decides, “Then I have no choice. As I've said before, I bow to the will of the majority, no matter how ill-informed or poorly advised it may be. I ask you, what will become of me once I step down?”

“You'll be treated as a member of the College, one with no special authority,” Haight explains coldly, “You will have the freedom to continue your own studies. We're not taking you prisoner, Wehrlain.”

Sitting back, as content as you've ever seen him, Wehrlain considers the “offer”.

>Let him think
>Add something to the discussion... (Write in)
>Other

>>531056
>>Let him think

>>531056
>Add something to the discussion... (This place is dangerous, more so than you realize. It is best to gather what we can and leave, soon.)

>>531056
be prepared for Barztov to butt in with his own comments/invitations

>>531056
>Add something to the discussion... (Write in)
"A leader needs to keep the well being of his followers in mind. While I can understand the logic of some of your previous actions, doing something as petty as withholding anesthetic during Bach's operation makes me sure that you are not up to the task."

>>531075
>>531056
If we are going to say something, do it it on behalf of the sailors. Point out that his initial refusal to help Captain Bach, and the fact the he lied about the laudenum - whether by omission by accident, or because he had his reasons and simply didn't want to explain - combined with his previous attitude towards them . . .

While he might be an excellent Scholar, he needs more qualities than just that to lead the expedition. A new person in authority would go a long way to keeping the sailors from doing something possibly drastic and even more "ill-informed or poorly advised" than this.

You'll give him one piece of advice, you tell Wehrlain as he considers the issue, this place is dangerous – more dangerous than he realises. The best thing to do would be to gather whatever materials there are to gather in this place and leave quickly. Lingering here would do good.

“I have no intention of lingering here, no matter what you might think,” Wehrlain leans back and looks up at the ceiling, staring hard at a single point, “However, neither do I have any intention of leaving before I'm ready. This is not a place you can just casually visit, after all. I'm prepared to stay here for as long as it takes, regardless of the danger.”

While you can respect that commitment, you reply, you have to point out that there's more than just him to consider. A leader must remember to keep the well-being of his followers in mind at all times. Some risks are acceptable, but callous acts with withholding Bach's pain relief are not. That kind of spite is what leads you to doubt his leadership.

“I suppose that does reflect badly upon me,” the Scholar doesn't sound particularly put out by the idea, and he definitely doesn't sound guilty over his abuse of power, “So I can well understand why that has shaken your confidence in me.”

It's not your confidence he needs to worry about, you explain, there are the sailors to consider. He's been alienating them since the very first days of this expedition, and they hold their captain in high regard. They won't happily follow his orders, if they follow them at all. With someone else in a position of leadership, they'll be far more likely to obey their instructions. For the good of the expedition as a whole, he has a duty to step down.

“Very well,” Wehrlain lowers his head to look you in the eye, “I have little desire to see this expedition end in a disastrous failure – better than I return as one small part of a successful party, than I not return home at all. I concede your point, and I willingly surrender the mantle of leadership. Who wants to take it on in my place? You, Lars?”

“That will be determined in due time,” Lars says patiently, not rising to the faint taunt, “Thank you, Wehrlain, for making this easy. You've done the right thing.”

“I wonder,” the deposed leader gives you a faintly mocking smile, “Now then, I believe we have work to do – we're yet to search the caverns beneath the University, are we not? I would be honoured if you bring me along – I have a theory, a hunch you might say, that we'll find interesting results down there.”

You trade a look with Lars, then you glance to Haight and Kranz, before nodding towards the door. This deserves discussion.

[1/2]

>>531107
We should casually mention as well that we were reading the books when we first got here.

Shrug it off as a quirk of the blood maybe, we didn't think it was important given the nature of the place.

Then use that excuse to say there were mentions of the dude we're here to shank. The Many or whatever.

>>531125
Eh rather not. We'll reveal things if necessary like we did the witchcraft.

>>531107

“Gentlemen, I leave this choice with you,” Kranz is quick to speak up, passing the responsibility onto someone else, “For what it's worth, Lars, I'll support you if you want to make a claim for leadership. I think a lot of people would do the same.”

“I certainly would,” Haight agrees, “You've shown aptitude for direct leadership, and a prudent judgement of when to use it. I wonder, though, how much that has to do with your present... associations.” He glances your way as he says this, rather like a man regarding a dog that might not be fully trained.

“This is irrelevant,” Lars says, his voice quiet but firm, “I'm not going to waste time on a leadership challenge, when every moment we spend here poses a risk. We're going to check these caverns over, and then we're leaving. The books are boxed up and ready, the laboratory has been searched, and we've even recovered samples from the local life – thanks to our good Hunter, here. We're DONE here.”

He'll get no arguments from you on that count, you tell him with a nod, but that doesn't resolve the matter of Wehrlain. He agreed too easily for your liking, and he's shown himself to be the kind of man to nurse a grudge. Now that he's asking to descend into the caverns with you, you've got to wonder if there's a reason – some nasty surprise he has waiting for you, perhaps.

“If there's a danger there, wouldn't he stay well away?” Kranz asks, “For his own safety?”

Logically, yes, but then he'd miss out on the chance to watch you die. You wouldn't trust Wehrlain to pass up that chance.

“Let's not get paranoid,” Lars warns you all, “I agree that it's suspicious, but if Wehrlain is to be treated like any other member of this expedition, we have no right to bar him from coming down with us. Besides... would you rather leave him up here, without anyone to keep an eye on him?”

That... is a good point. Either you bring the snake with you, or you offer him your exposed back. Neither option seems particularly ideal.

>Fine, he can come with us. Better to keep him where we can see him
>No way, he stays up here. His part of this expedition is over
>Other

>>531138
>>Fine, he can come with us. Better to keep him where we can see him
We can always use him as a meat shield if he tries something funny.

>>531138
>Fine, he can come with us. Better to keep him where we can see him
I'm curious about this hunch he's got.

>>531138
>Fine, he can come with us. Better to keep him where we can see him

We'll kill him when he suddenly but inevitably tries to kill us.

>>531138
>Fine, he can come with us. Better to keep him where we can see him
Do these choices have any significance to the red moon? Is this all some battle of wills to maintain a sense of community?

>>531138
>Fine, he can come with us. Better to keep him where we can see him

Fine, you decide, he can come with you. If they're looking for your opinion on the matter, then there it is – better to keep him where you can keep an eye on him, after all. What do they think?

“I respectfully decline from voting,” Kranz actually backs off a step, physically retreating from the debate, “I won't be going down with you – it's no work for an... unfit man like myself – and so it wouldn't be right for me to offer an opinion. I wish you luck on your endeavours, however!”

“I am of the opinion that he should come along, if he sincerely wishes to,” Haight answers, “As has been said, we have no justification for preventing him coming along. No matter what sins he has committed, he remains an excellent Scholar. So long as he doesn't try to kill us, he may prove a useful asset in any investigation we have to carry out.”

“Then we have two votes to allow him along. I'll throw in my support as well, making things unanimous,” Lars decides, “I'm glad we're all in agreement – it would be a poor show of leadership if we immediately descended into squabbling, wouldn't it? So, it's decided – we'll allow Wehrlain to join our party, and deal with whatever risks may arise from it when they show themselves. If he's wise, he'll know better than to start any trouble.”

And if there's any other trouble down there, you add, you can throw him into its teeth. Let him serve a useful purpose that way.

Your fellow conspirators laugh awkwardly at that, before realising that you weren't joking.

-

Upon hearing that he has been allowed into the exploration party, Wehrlain is cautiously pleased, covering up any extravagant display of satisfaction with a decisive nod. Just as he reaches for a pack, though, Lars stops him. Taking the leather case, he takes it aside and carefully scrutinises the contents.

“Paper, several pens, various pieces of surveying equipment... and a pistol,” Lars takes out the decorative weapon – it makes his artistically crafted gun look austere by comparison – and examines it, “Not an usual thing for a man to carry in a place like this. I have my own, after all, and I wager Haight has one as well.” Sighing, Lars put the gun back in the case and hands the entire collection back to Wehrlain. “I can hardly send him down below without anything to defend himself.”

He'll be slow on the draw as well, you add, if his gun is tucked away like that. If he thinks to draw it on you, he won't get very far.

“So, am I permitted to join you?” Wehrlain asks, with mocking politeness.

Fine, you tell him as Lars hands him the pack, but you'll be watching him.

[1/2]

>>531138
>Other

Dude has to stay up here to maintain the engine.

Also I want to be able to take our totem down with us somehow.

We should also really remind everyone that Bartzov is still around and a concern, and you doubt that his students would have allowed whatever happened to them to be done without conflict, so there's danger there as well.

Quite frankly, if he dies while we're here then we're quite possibly all Fucked.

>>531182
Aw shit. Too late to dissent..

>>531177

For the descent into whatever lies beneath the Old University, Lars – who has defaulted to a position of leadership, to no overt objections – decided on a small group. If the tunnels are tight and cramped, a smaller group will move easier. If they are vast and expansive, sending for extra numbers will be easy enough. The group number six – Lars, Wehrlain, Haight, yourself and two more Scholars who don't bother to introduce themselves. As indifferent to them as they are to you, you set off on your way.

It drew a few eyes, but you decided to take along your protective totem – there's no telling how deep you might be descending, and you want to stay protected regardless. Preparing flashlights and pistols, you arrive at the first door – this one leading down into a storage cellar. It looks, you have to admit, uncommonly study for a normal cellar door. Haight, apparently stronger than he looks, throws open the door.

Wait, you tell Wehrlain as you grab his arm, don't go running ahead. If his invention suffers any problems later, you'll need him alive and well to repair it. He's too valuable to go running ahead. You'll let him come along, but he's going to stay nice and safe in the middle of the group. Not far enough ahead or behind to get lost or isolated. If he doesn't agree to those terms, he can stay right here.

“I agree to your terms,” waving you off, Wehrlain takes his place in the midst of the group, “Don't think to dictate my every move, Hunter – I'm still a man with thoughts of my own.”

And valuable thoughts they must be, you grunt, now stay close.

-

“Look,” Lars murmurs, his voice reaching you from the front of the group, “Up here.” He points his flashlight up to the ceiling to reveal a tightly bound cluster of wires entering into a hole. From there, they'd run up into the entrance hall, and then...

The speaker system, you ask, is that what he's thinking? If so, following this bundle of wires-

“Would lead us to whoever “kindly” greeted us, yes,” Lars finishes, “Maybe it IS Bartzov, but I won't – I can't – believe it until I see him with my own eyes.”

It's curious, you remark slowly, he never spoke again after his welcoming message. He was able to answer your questions, so it wasn't a recording, but he hasn't made contact since – unless he spoke while you were out recovering Bach?

“No, not a word,” Lars shakes his head, and Haight agrees, “Very strange, very strange indeed. Maybe he had nothing to say.”

“If you knew Bartzov, you wouldn't suggest that,” Werhrlain offers, “He always had something to say.”

A ripple of uncertain laughter stirs the air, your party following the stairwell deeper into the bowels of the Old University.

[2/3]

File: Bartzov.jpg (83 KB, 648x648)

83 KB JPG

>>531211

When the staircase levels out into a flat corridor, you come across another doorway, this one empty and hollow. The bundle of wires leads into the room beyond, a storage chamber large enough that your lights are dim by the time they reach the far walls. Before entering into the chamber beyond, you turn back and point your light up the stairs you just walked down. Close by, your light falls upon the doorway. Too close by – far too close, considering how long you were talking for.

Distance, and not just time, has started to degrade. Swallowing nervously, you join the others in forging ahead.

Inside the storage room, you feel a cold wind coming from somewhere, a wind that carries a very distinct copper stink. Playing your flashlight beam about, you try to find the source of that breeze, but you can't see anything. There's nothing down here – no crates or barrels, no shelves or storage containers. Nothing at all, at least at first. Haight is the first one to find something, his light falling upon a body. A corpse, judging by the sunken grey skin. The body sits in a low chair, while the rope of cables reaches down like a noose.

The cables reach down, and they end buried in the back of that corpse's skull. Muttering a faint curse, you slowly approach it. With the others lighting up the scene, you reach out to touch the body.

It looks up. It speaks.

“Are you seeking wisdom?” it rasps, “Like so many who came before you?”

That voice – that's Bartzov's voice. Cursing again, this time aloud, you start to jerk away from it – him – but then the old Scholar's hand closes around your wrist, as tight as a vice. Grunting in pain, you slam the butt of your pistol into his side, but the blow goes unnoticed. You might as well have hit a sack of dirt.

“Below, further below. You wish to speak with the moon, do you not? The nameless god that WE have bound here?” his voice, dry and dusty, takes on a desperate intensity, “Share your mind, share your wisdom... no one mind is vast enough to hold all knowledge, but with unity, perhaps...”

>You're mad, deluded – that thing is no god
>Perhaps what, old man?
>Let go of me, or this time I'll shoot you
>Yes, I come seeking wisdom. Answer me this... (Write in)
>Other

>>531255
>>Yes, I come seeking wisdom. Answer me this... (Write in)
The blood that provides us boons, that now can run rampant turning men's bodies and minds against themselves, is there a way to fix it?

>>531255
>>Perhaps what, old man?

>>531255
"I don't need all knowledge. Just some."

>Perhaps what, old man?
"Am I even talking to Bartzov or just something wearing his face? Maybe some Bartzov is a part of perhaps?"

"Tell me about this 'moon' you think is a god."

>>531261
supporting

>>531255
>Perhaps what, old man?

>>531272
>some
something*

>>531255
> Rip the wires off it.

>>531295
That'll just give us a corpse and no information. I imagine all this guy is, is a 'physical terminal' to a hivemind/unified mind.

Dimly, thinking with a kind of detached wonder, you realise that the others should be stepping in right now. Stepping in to do something, to pry you free of Bartzov's dessicated corpse or to question the lich for themselves. Yet, nobody interferes, nobody steps forth, and the darkness of the cellar seems to close in around you. Shockingly intimate, the world shrinks until only you and the cadaver exist.

Once more, you try to pull away, and once again, that grip tightens. You can feel the bones in your wrist grinding together, straining against the inhuman strength lurking within those withered muscles. Thin lips peel back to reveal rotting teeth, and Bartzov's face slowly becomes a terrible thing indeed. You almost try to pull back for a third time, but some desperate act of will stops you.

Perhaps what, you ask through gritted teeth, perhaps what old man? No sooner has the question left your lips than the grip on your wrist eases, and Bartzov's face sinks back into something close to human normality.

“Perhaps there may yet be a mind large enough to hold all the knowledge in the world,” the undead thing answers you, with something that approaches politeness, “An enlightened oracle that can answer any question. A god, bound by human will. Is that not something to strive for? Would you not offer up your mind as sacrifice?”

You don't need all the knowledge in the world, you snap, just some of it. You've come seeking wisdom, so maybe he can answer you this. The blood that grants men boons, but now runs rampant through their bodies and minds – can it be cured?

“Only through the source, the universal panacea, the blood of the Ancient Giants,” Bartzov, or the thing that wears his face, tells you, “We found no other answer. Perhaps the nameless gods, who makes beasts of men and men of beasts, could rip the tainted blood from our veins, but only the least of their number answered our call. It must be nurtured...”

That's the “moon” he's talking about, you ask, right? The moon that he calls a god – can he tell you about it?

“Even as the least of their number – close enough to man that we could communicate with it – it had so many secrets to share. It could tell us more, if only it could grow larger. It MUST grow larger,” a fresh insistence comes into Bartzov's dry voice, and his grip tightens once more, “More minds, more knowledge, you must give yourself to it! Eternal life, the impurities of your blood boiled away within that vast cauldron. That was what you sought, is it not?”

Not like that, you reply, not at that cost.

[1/2]

>>531320

“Then you are a fool,” Bartzov rasps, slumping back slightly as if that outburst drained what little life remained within him, “Blind and deluded, like so many others. Some of them fought, you know, when I... when I... What did I do?”

What did Bartzov do, you retort, is that what he means?

“Bartzov... yes,” the undead thing repeats the name, “I know... I remember...”

Are you even talking to Bartzov, you ask, or just something that wears his face? Something that hides within his skin and uses his voice? Some greater power – a larger mind, perhaps?

When you ask that question, a change comes across the thing's face. Once again, the features grow sunken and ashen, bones gleaming through rotting skin. You get a curious impression as the change overcomes it – not the shedding of a disguise, but the forceful suppression of a personality. What you had been talking to, you're certain, was what remained of Bartzov. This new creature, though, this is something else. Something far older, and far more malicious.

“You speak of greater minds, as though you could possibly comprehend them,” the hissing voice pronounces, “You, a single candle, compared with a raging bonfire. If you wish to see a true mind, a true intellect, you will descend. Cast the scales from your eyes, and submit. Take your place in the legion. Return your flawed form to the source, to the blood that spawned it, and merge with the legion. Puny, incomplete being... seek wholeness, as you must, as all things must...”

And the terrible thing is, you really do feel some faint tug in the back of your mind, some treasonous desire to sacrifice your life. The more this thing talks, the more you fall under its spell. The more it talks, the less you can resist. Pulling back rewards you with nothing more than a tightening of its grip, and so you lunge forwards. Dropping your pistol, you grab the bundle of cables – hot, as warm as blood – and tear them out of the thing's skull. Sparks fly, and a shrill scream sounds pierces your mind.

The world turns white.

-

“I think he's coming around,” the voice drifts down, and the white veil slowly retracts to reveal Lars, concern painted across his features. “There you are, awake,” he murmurs, “What happened to you?”

You... you're not sure, you ask, what did he see happen?

“We were searching this place, and we found Bartzov's body. You started to examine it, so we looked elsewhere. There's a wind here, can't you feel it? We were looking for the source,” he gives you a strange look, “Do you have a different version of events?”

And you didn't say anything, you ask, he didn't hear any voices?

“None. You were completely silent,” the Scholar frowns, “At least, until you cried out and collapsed. When we came back, those cables were loose. We thought maybe an electric shock...”

[2/3]

Passage from the book we read last thread in case anyone forgot:

>That which is incomplete shall always seek to become whole, but that which is shattered can never become of one mind again. Each mind becomes part of a legion, never quite united, but ever shielding the black heart. As is formed from the blood, so too can the legion be returned to the blood. The chant is as follows, unchanged from countless generations

>>531308
> Trusting what he has to say

>>531387
>Not getting all the information available and coming to your own conclusion on it's legitimacy.

>>531393
Sure. Why don't we also leave our totem also be go outside to stare at the moon so we know what's going on as well.

Risk vs. Reward.

File: 1468697206438.png (20 KB, 510x556)

20 KB PNG

>>531398
Someone's cranky~

>>531355

Slowly rising to your feet, you look at the skin around your wrist. It should be bruised and aching, especially after that vice of a grip, but there isn't a mark on it. Not even a hint of stiffness or pain either – nothing that might indicate an injury. Nobody else touched the corpse, you ask Lars, right?

“No. You were the only one to touch it,” he confirms, “You're starting to worry me – something happened, didn't it?”

Something happened, you grunt, but you couldn't say what. You touched the corpse, and you – your mind, perhaps – went somewhere else. You spoke with something, with several things, but you're not sure how much was true or false. Maybe it spoke both truth and lies, all mixed together. If it really is a beast of countless minds, each pulling in its own direction, it might well speak with many tongues as well.

“Wait, slow down,” Lars shakes his head, “You're not making much sense. How about you explain everything, and you take it from the top?”

Swallowing hard, you manage a wry smile. How long does he have, you ask, not that time means much down here.

-

In the end, you don't explain everything – that would be too much, and you're not even sure where you'd start. Speaking quickly, to an attentive audience, you explain your theory. What Bartzov found beneath the Old University was something old, something powerful enough that he mistook it for a god. A thing of countless minds, never merging fully, it devoured his students and used him as... some kind of mouthpiece. The real mastermind is somewhere below, deeper still.

“Deeper...” Lars murmurs, before looking sharply around at the body. Hurrying over, he begins to examine the bundle of cables. “It branches here,” he announces, “There's a smaller wire – no wonder I missed it, it's so thin – that leads into the wall.” With mounting excitement in his voice, he presses his hand to the cold stone wall. “Air flow,” the newly appointed leader declares, “There's air coming from here, we need to break this wall down. Hunter, go upstairs and get a few strong men, if you would. Have them bring hammers.”

Scholarly research is one thing, you think to yourself as you head back up, but sooner or later you always need a hammer.

-

Upstairs, you relay your orders in a clipped, efficient tone, and you're heartened to see the sailors leaping to obey. Wehrlain never commanded such enthusiasm. As they head downstairs, you pause and look out across the entrance. The Wehrlain Engine hums away, prickling your mind with its energies, and boxes of books clutter the room. Something nags at your mind for a moment.

Probably nothing.

>Return downstairs
>There's something you have to do here... (Write in)
>Other

>>531412
>>There's something you have to do here... (Write in)
find the book with this >>531358 passage

>>531412
>There's something you have to do here... (Write in)

Maybe grab the tome that had >>531358 this passage in case it has any other insights on how to kill Lunatic.

Otherwise
>Return downstairs
Armed and ready.

>>531423
>>531419
>>531412
Agreed

>>531412
We don't have anybody guarding the machine? That seems . . . Risky.

>>531475
agreed

No, it wasn't nothing. It wasn't nothing at all. All that talk of legions and retuning to blood – it had been strangely familiar at the time, but your thoughts were too scattered to make any sense of it. Now you're here, looking at all these boxes of books, you remember where you saw those words. There was a chant there, one that claimed to return the legion to blood – whatever that means. Even if the chant does nothing, there might be some other secrets in it that you could use against this being.

You've just to find the book. Finding a specific snowflake in the middle of a blizzard might be easier.

Or perhaps not. Though the book itself had no special markings, nothing that might help you look for it, you find yourself drawn to a specific box. One of the fragile samples, apparently, but there's no-one here to stop you from helping yourself. The sailors certainly don't care enough to bother you. Opening the study box, you let your fingers run across the worn leather spines, setting on one in particular. What it is about this particular volume that cries out to you, you couldn't say, but you're certain that it's the right one. Taking the book out, you flip through the pages until you see the chant.

You still don't have the faintest idea how to pronounce any of them, but looking at them... you feel your lips shifting to form sounds. Not words, but sounds.

Good enough, you mutter as you tuck the book under your arm, as good as you're going to get. Thus armed – whether you're ready or not remains to be seen – you head back to the stairs. Looking back, you call out to a few of the sailors. Look lively, you tell them, that machine needs people to protect it. A chorus of voices return to you, men barking out acknowledgements as they seize their weapons and stand ready.

It's good to be in charge.

-

The wall is already halfway to destroyed by the time you arrive, and the hammers have been set aside. All the sailors need to do is pull, and the crudely built wall crumbles that little bit more. The Scholars, save for Lars, watch with varying degrees of pain writ across their faces. Lars, on the other hand, looks alive with the thrill of discovery.

“I was wondering who built this wall,” he remarks as you return, “I mean, someone had to put it up, correct? Not Bartzov or any of his students, not if they wanted to lure people down here – so who could have built it?”

Good point, you muse, you're not really sure. Maybe it was a defensive measure, something to protect whatever is down there?

“Interesting theory,” Lars takes a step over the low wall, “But I have an alternative. Come on, I'll explain as we go.”

[1/2]

>>531500

“Did you see how poorly built that wall was?” Lars asks as he leads you into the tunnels beyond. Wehrlain skulks by your side, while Haight and the other two Scholars bring up the rear. The tunnel walls are bare stone, slick with a thin layer of ice. “It crumbled right away,” Lars continues, “We barely needed the hammers to bring it down.”

So it was built in a hurry, you guess, that doesn't explain who built it.

“Actually, it gives us evidence. The northern folk, you see, don't have a long tradition of stonework. It's not alien to them, but neither is it particularly common,” Lars sounds rather pleased to play the role of teacher, “My theory is, a group of northerns stumbled across this place, but they were able to resist the urge to explore below. Scared – it doesn't take much to rattle a superstitious mind – they chose to seal up this wall and retreat. It works, wouldn't you say?”

You never get the chance to answer him. As you consider his theory, the cave walls open out, and the ceiling first soars higher before vanishing completely. It's an impossible thing to behold, you know that, but you can see the sky – a normal human sky, with a blameless silver moon above you. It feels like so long since you've seen it, the sight takes your breath away.

A shame, then, that the beauty is spoiled by the lake beneath – a lake of thick, red blood. Something like blood, at least.

-

“This is impossible, quite impossible...” Haight murmurs, looking around you. Not quite a cave, and not quite a forest clearing, you can't think of an appropriate word for a place like this. Taking a cue from Haight, you settle on “an impossibility”. As you're looking around, it takes you a moment to realise that Wehrlain had slipped past you, heading straight for the bloody lake. Slumping down at its shore, he stares into the still surface.

“Do you hear anything?” he whispers, “I think I can hear... a voice. Of course, of course... You would benefit from a great mind like mine, wouldn't you? And the secrets you have to share...”

Slowly, with a trembling hand, he reaches out to touch the surface of the lake.

>Stop him
>Let him touch the lake
>Other

>>531557
>start the chant against the legion now

>>531557
>>Stop him
Whoa there.

>>531557
>Stop him
No joining the evil collective consciousness for you.

>>531557
>Stop him
Naw man

>>531557
>>Stop him

>>531557
>>Stop him
>>"If you touch that lake I am forced to end your carreer."

>>531557
>Stop him
Nope.gif

>>531557
>>Stop him

File: Lunatic Beast.png (966 KB, 592x800)

966 KB PNG

No way, you're not having this. Whatever fate or punishment Wehrlain has earned, you'll see it come at human hands. Not like this, giving himself up to whatever ancient intelligence lies within that lake. Even as the thoughts race through your mind, though, you're already moving. First at a run, and then a sprint, you close the gap between you and Wehrlain in what seems like an instant. At some point, the book slips from under your arm, but you barely notice – you don't have time to notice, much less to stop and pick it up again. Grabbing Wehrlain by the shoulder, you pull him back away from the lake and throw him down to the ground.

He touches that lake, you pant, and you'll be forced to end his career once and for all.

“My career?” he murmurs, his voice thick and confused like that of a man rising from a deep sleep, “What are you talking about?”

Once again, you're not given a chance to answer. Before you can even put an answer into words, a deep rumble grips the cave, or whatever it is, and sets a ripple spreading across the surface of the lake. Both you and Wehrlain start to rise, but you quickly push the Scholar back down. Best he stays out of the way for this. When he doesn't move, you start to reach for your book only to remember, with sudden vividness, that it fell.

As your eye falls upon the book – lying discarded like a piece of rubbish – the tremors reach a new peak. With a slow crash, like breaking through a frozen lake, the beast emerges from its hiding place. Looking back, you see the thing in all its terrible glory – it really does look like a vast eye, one that bleeds trailing hands and shadowy fingers. They sway and wave, clutching at thin air, and their every movement seems to be accompanied by a chorus of whispered voices.

It takes a moment, and then you realise you've been staring, hypnotised, into the beast's burning eye. There's no sanity in that eye at all, and nothing that you even recognise as thought or emotion. Nothing at all... or perhaps too much. Looking away, you snatch up the book and leaf through the pages in search of the ancient chant. Just as you find it, the beast shudders and shoots something.

Like all the heat of the sun, concentrated into a single line, it draws a blazing path across the cave floor, spreading fire in its wake. It has firepower like that, while you have a book.

>Try the chant regardless
>Fight normally. Ancient words won't help you now
>Other

>>531734
>Try the chant regardless

>>531734
>>Try the chant regardless

>>531734
>>Try the chant regardless
Coming for you Lunatic~

>>531734
>>Fight normally. Ancient words won't help you now

>>531734
>>Try the chant regardless

>>531734
>>Try the chant regardless

>>531734
>Try the chant regardless
Let me see that 'black heart'

>>531734
>Try the chant regardless

Your book might not be much of a weapon, but what else do you have? A bullet would be like a raindrop against something like that, barely noticeable and nowhere close to lethal. You could empty every magazine you've got into the thing, even into the centre of that madly rolling eye, and it wouldn't shake it.

No, they might just be words on the page, but you'll have to put your faith in magic this time. As another ripple of power builds within the Lunatic Beast, you let the book fall open in your hands – of course, it opens to the page you needed. Grimacing at the sight of the gnarled arcane runes, beyond such childish concepts as “words” and “letters”, you give yourself over to a more primal instinct. Abandoning control, you feel your lips twisting to form the sounds.

It hurts to speak aloud, and the sound that you create is one that you could never, under normal circumstances, form. Forcing the pain aside, you press on and let the inhuman sounds flow through you. At the second one, you taste salt in your mouth, and by the third there is blood leaking from one corner of your mouth. Drawing in a shuddering breath, you cough out the forth sound – a dusting of your own blood staining the page you read from. If the poisoned sounds are hurting you, though, they're killing the beast.

With every sound you force out, the Lunatic Beast shudders, pulsing like a heart and unravelling like an ancient scroll. As its form unwinds, the grasping limbs start to boil away into blood and fall back to the lake. The more that falls away, the more you can see something coiled up inside the beast, curled up like a child clinging desperately to the womb. A frail, blackened figure, malformed and ageless, you nevertheless sense a deathly malice radiating from it. A malice... and a desperate hunger.

Through a mouth torn by inhuman energies, you keep forcing out the harsh sounds. Even as the breath heaves and rasps in your lungs, you force out the last few pieces of the chant. As the sounds are drawn from your body, and the last shreds of the Lunatic Beast boil away into blood, the blackened heart stands revealed. With a single yawning, empty eye-socket, it turns to look at you.

And the world drops away, leaving the two of you to hang – perfectly suspended – in a black void.

“I can offer you much,” the beast hisses, “Anything you want, any knowledge you seek. No catch, no sacrifice... only let me live. Burn that book, and you may drink deep of my power.”

Yet there are other voices, too hushed to hear properly, too loud to ignore. So many voices...

>Accept the offer
>Decline – violently
>Try to communicate with the being
>Other

>>531859
>Decline – violently

>>531859
>>Try to communicate with the being

Let me teach you the song of my people

>>531859
>Decline – violently
"I got a job to do 'Number 6'."

>>531859
>Keel eet

>>531859
>>Decline – violently
"You shall devour no more Lunatic Knight. Requitasce in Nihilo, Artemis sends her regards.

>>531873
>Requitasce in Nihilo
kek

>>531859
>Decline – violently

>>531859
>>Decline – violently
"Prepare to become whole."

>>531859
>Decline – violently

>>531859
>>Try to communicate with the being

>>531916
YEEEAH BOI!

For a moment, you think about trying to communicate with the beast – it can think, enough to plead for its life, so perhaps there's something you can learn from it. As you consider the idea, and your thoughts grow close to those of the beast, those mindlessly babbling voices come into sharper focus.

Die die die die die die die die, they hiss in a moment of rare unison, Die die die die...

So much for trying to negotiate. Sorry, you tell the beast, but you'll have to decline his offer. You've got a job to do, and he's just number six on a long list. He's devoured enough men already, and you're not about to let him add any more victims to his tally. Letting go of the book, letting it drift away into this open void, you pull out your pistol and point it at the beast's expressionless skull of a face.

“No!” it screeches, blind rage and frustration boiling over. Its cry is mirrored by every single one of those babbling voices, different languages, accents and cadences all repeating the same furious denial.

Give your regards to Artemis, you tell it coldly, and it'll be whole again soon. You'll see to that. It has time to screech out one last denial, and then you pull the trigger.

-

In an instant, the world rushes back in to fill the black void. One by one, sensations return to you – the solid ground beneath your feet, the weight of the pistol in your hand, and the awful copper stink of blood in the air. The lake is clotting, drying into a dusty brown crater devoid of any decorations – any, save for the withered skeleton emerging like a dying tree. Moving slowly, not quite prepared to trust the ground under your feet, you creep down into the crater and approach that skeleton.

It's dead, completely and utterly, its cyclopean skull broken by a single bullet hole. Reaching down, you take the skull – it's almost childish, shrunken and ill-formed – and wrench it free.

This, you think, will make a fine trophy.

>I think I'm going to pause things here for today. I'll pick things up on Monday, can't do Sunday this week, and I'll stick around for any questions or comments
>Sorry for the slow replies today!

>>531949
Thanks for running. Given I'll likely be working Monday I was miss most of the thread, like the Tuesday and Friday ones. Still thanks for running!


What'd the others see and hear? Was that the stillborn monster the whore gave birth too?

>>531949
Thanks for running.

What was that like from Lars' perspective?

>>531949
Didn't expect a numbered beast to be behind that. I also think you did well with Wehrlain. It would've been so easy to just let him drift off to join the legion then kill it and shrug off any blame or suspicion for his death. He's just been progressively more annoying and shitty in attitude but then we got to see that he can be dangerous too. Well played.

>>531975
>Was that the stillborn monster the whore gave birth too?
That was the thing that tried to take Bach which we killed in the beginning of Friday's session.

>>531949
Aww, yeah. Great session Moloch.

>>531975
>>531978

While we were having a little chat with the beast, Lars and the others would have seen Henryk and the beast staring each other down, until Henryk drew his gun and shot the thing. The conversation was entirely mental.

And, to confirm, the child we fought was separate from the beast itself.

>>531980

It would have been easy, I think, to let Wehrlain become part of it. I genuinely wasn't sure what people would have gone for there.

>>532004
But did Lars see us coughing up blood chanting like a wizard from out magic book and Lunatic bleeding away?

>>532035

Oh, yes - that would have been noticeable. He might have a few questions about that later, but that's a whole other bridge to cross

>>532045
How hard would the fight have been if we forgot to bring the book?

Just use Beast's Blood and fight it conventionally, hoping for the best?

>>532045
Did they also see the giant beam of light? Cause that seemed pretty real.

>>532060

That was pretty real, yes. It was basically a laser, but I wanted to avoid using that specific term.

>>532058

It would have been more of a conventional fight without the book, having to tear through its outer layers in order to get a shot off at the creature inside. The beast itself would be easily killed, but getting to it would be less so

>>532074
I'm super glad people voted the way I would have after passing out! I don't think you should be surprised at Wehrlain getting saved. We do still need him to run the engine.

Would that also help us convince the other Scholars to ignore the whole Totem and Chanting thing?

Did the totem help in any way?

>>532074
Huh. I figured shootyshooty wouldn't be that bad.

But the creature inside was different....

im really happy that
you guys didnt let Wehrlain join with that blood
would have given the beast the info about the machine he built that was keep people safe from it

hy life got crazy and i just got done ctching up from thread #5

great quest so far moloch, really amazing stuff

good job anons there weresome brutal rolls i those threads

>excited to get to participte this quest has been solid

>>531949
>>528596
Gotta say Henryk is definitely earning his keep as the Hunter of this expedition.

>Hire Hunter on to kill stuff to protect us up in the North
>Captain gets captured by monster that can shrug off buckshot.
>Hunter chases after it almost immediately and kills it without a scratch, bringing the Captain back to safety.
>Giant eye that shoots lasers rises from a blood lake
>Within minutes Hunter kills it utilizing the monster's hard counter that he brought because he was prepared for this eventuality.

Give that man a raise.

>>536511
Also the whale parasite.

>>536511
The tradition for "gets shit done" MCs continues

Like a funeral procession, like a joyless parade, the men of the expedition trudge through the wasteland and leave the Old University behind them – not without a trace of subdued relief. You share both that relief and that restraint, unwilling to let your guard down until you're back on the Fomalhaut and sailing swifty away. Even then, it'll be a long time before you can truly rest calm. As long as the red moon looks down upon you, there can be no peace or respite.

The trail of sailors and Scholars, winding like a great serpent, moves steadily onwards. Burdened by crates of books, laboratory instruments and other trophies, the pace is a slow one. Even without the cargo weighing the men down, though, the pace would never get above sluggish – this is an army that marches at the speed of its slowest. Supported by a good number of his crew, reminding you of an ailing but still treasured patriarch, Captain Bach lurches forwards. Though clouded with a faint haze of sedation – the laudanum supplies seem to be flowing freely once more – his good eye is hard and determined.

If Bach is growing stronger, recovering from the abuses heaped upon him, then Wehrlain has been left diminished by his experiences here. Other than a few murmured words as his invention was born aloft, he is yet to say anything. He wanders along, eyes fixed on the ground, and pays no mind to the sailors around him. For their part, the sailors are only too happy to return the favour – they don't even jostle him in passing, such is their disdain.

Your case rattles as you drag it – and the totem within – along, approaching Wehrlain. Whether it's pity or just common curiosity that drives you, you reach the Scholar's side and speak up. No problems, you ask quietly, with the device?

“Hmm? No, no problems,” he thinks for a moment before shaking his head, “The Wehrlain Engine is functioning as intended. I do not foresee any trouble on the journey home.” He falls silent at that, the mention of home, as If considering everything that might be waiting for him. Somehow, you suspect it will be a long way from the victorious homecoming he had envisioned.

“Believe it or not, Hunter, I consider this expedition to be a success,” a faint trace of Wehrlain's old arrogance creeps back into his voice as he seems to read your thoughts, “I'm all too aware of what is waiting for me back at the College – censure, perhaps even arrest and persecution – but that changes nothing. I was prepared to risk my life on this venture, after all.”

And what about his reputation and status, you reply, is he prepared to risk those?

“Less so,” he admits, “However I am remembered as a man, I hope that my work is seen in its own light. That would be enough for me.”

[1/3]

>>536850

From the head of the convoy, a shout pierces the gloomy mood – a shout of relief, given voice as the Fomalhaut looms into sight. Seeing it now, with your own eyes, you feel some of the tension lifting from your mind. The sight of the ship seems to invigorate the sailors, lending extra haste to their steps, and it isn't long before the air is filled with a rumble of excited voices. Men mutter to one another what they'll do upon returning to the Free States – drinking mostly, and chasing women – while others talk about the families they left behind. The mood, incredibly, starts to lift.

It doesn't last. With every step that takes you closer to the Fomalhaut, the conversations dim and die off, winking out like fading candle flames. The Fomalhaut's hull is discoloured, stained by creeping rust and marred by a thick skin of grime. It looks more like the Polaris should have looked – a hulk, long abandoned and left to rot at sea. As the conversations died off, so too does the good pace you had established, men slowing until they are not moving at all.

“Alright men, that's enough staring!” Captain Bach is the one to break the silence, raising his voice so that every man can hear him, “Once we're aboard, I want bodies down in the engine room, checking every inch of the machinery. Anything that needs fixed, I want it fixed! Anything that's stopping us leaving here, I want it dealt with!”

There is a long pause as his words sink in, and then a single voice rises up in response. “Aye captain!” one sailor cries, and soon there are countless more voices mirroring his. Slowly but surely, the expedition starts to crawl forwards once more.

-

“Almost feels like it doesn't want us to leave, wouldn't you say?” Lars asks you later, as you're both standing on the Fomalhaut's deck. The engine still lies silent, and the crew has filtered off to their designated stations. Bach has retired to his personal quarters, and so has Wehrlain. Until Lars had joined you, you had been alone on the deck, alone under the light of the red moon.

“Anyway, I heard that the engine could be started up soon – they were just giving it a very careful examination before trying anything,” the Scholar continues, “So there's no need to worry... yet.”

You're not worried, you assure him, not yet at least. What about things on the bridge, how are they looking?

“Not as bad as we were expecting. Some surface rust and corrosion, and a few of the more sensitive instruments might not be perfectly reliable, but...” letting his words trail off, Lars shrugs, “Well, so long as the engine fires up, it should be enough to get us home.”

So long as the engine fires up, you repeat.

[2/3]

>>536851

With the conversation reaching a natural end, you half expect Lars to retreat and leave you to your solitude, but he lingers around for a few moments more. The conversation, it seems, is not as over as you'd thought. Turning your back on the Old University, and the moon looming overhead, you look Lars in the eye. There's something bothering him, you guess, so what is it?

“I wouldn't say that it was bothering me, so much,” Lars shuffles his feet uncomfortably, “But I'm a Scholar – I like to understand things, to be able to reduce my experiences down to base facts. You see where I'm coming from, don't you?”

You're not sure if the world works that way, you tell him, but you understand his viewpoint. His problem, then, is that-

“What happened down there, in the caverns below the University,” he cuts you off, “I can't understand that. I simply have no theory that accommodates everything I saw... or everything that I thought I saw. Officially, if I'm called upon to give a report, much of what happened here will be considered a hallucination. Unofficially though...” with a shrug, Lars meets your gaze, “Anything you can tell me?”

That depends, you reply, but you might not have an answer that will satisfy him.

>Honestly, I'm not sure what it was. It worked though
>Just a bit of witchcraft, nothing to worry about
>It was a hallucination, that's all. Better this way
>Other

>>536855
>Honestly, I'm not sure what it was. It worked though

>>536855
>>Honestly, I'm not sure what it was. It worked though

>>536855
>Honestly, I'm not sure what it was. It worked though
"Chalk it up to following my Hunter's instinct on how to kill that thing."

5 bucks the rust and grime on the boat is natural and even though it felt like a day or two at most it's been months in reality.

>>536855
>Honestly, I'm not sure what it was. It worked though
Just think of it as a previously unobserved phenomenon.

>>536860
>tfw we return and Lize is all grown up and in mourning

>>536855
>Other
We could tell him about the book and what the passage said. All signs were pointing to some kind of 'legion of minds' creature so we brought the book with us and it worked. Though don't tell him we know the language and tell him the book auto translated for us like the other books seem to be doing, only at a faster rate.

In all honestly, you tell him, you're not sure what it was. In that regard, at least, you're not so different. Where you do differ, though, is that you're quite happy to admit this failure of your knowledge. As you said before, the world isn't always something that can be broken down into objective fact and studied. If it makes him feel any better, he can call this an unobserved phenomenon – something that few men have ever had the chance to see, or study, before.

“I'm not quite sure if that does help,” Lars manages a small smile, “But how did you know it – whatever “it” is, in this case – would work?”

You didn't, you think to yourself. You trusted your Hunter's instincts, you say aloud, and everything worked out okay in the end. It wasn't a complete guess at least – you found a book talking about this “legion of minds”, and the pieces seemed to fit. You took a gamble, and it paid off.

“Indeed?” Lars voice retains a faint note of uncertainty, almost scepticism, “Do your instincts often guide you well?”

When it comes to killing things, you reply with a cold smile, it does. That's what Hunters like you are for, after all.

“Very pragmatic,” wandering forwards a little, Lars leans on the railing a little – testing the rusty metal – before putting his whole weight on it, “Oh, I wanted to talk to you about Wehrlain, while we're here. I'm drafting up a report on him, on his various... misdeeds. I can't promise that it'll see any significant results – I'm certain that Wehrlain has friends looking out for him – but it's worth a shot. After all, I can't just do nothing. Even if all it achieves is blackening his name a little, I'd consider that a victory.”

Harming his name like that, you think aloud, might be what hurts him the most. Well, maybe not – a knife in the gut would probably hurt more, but that option is off the table now. Too many watchful eyes around here, too many witnesses. Anyway, you-

The engine, howling like a wounded beast, roars into life from below deck. Chugging a little, at first, it soon evens out to a smooth, healthy rumble. A few moments of that unbroken noise pass, and then the Fomalhaut grinds into motion. Like a beast roused from hibernation, it slowly starts to draw back from the island. Holding your breath, you wait for something to go wrong, for some last disaster to still your escape. When none comes, you let out a sigh of relief – one that Lars mirrors.

“Looks like we're in the clear,” he says, “I won't miss this place, let me tell you.”

The feeling, you assure him, is mutual.

[1/2]

>>536879

“We had to clear out the whole engine system,” Bach explains later, as you're sitting in his cabin with a meal you don't feel like eating. Nobody seems to, with the plates of lukewarm food left mostly untouched. The air in the room is stifled, awkward and uncomfortable, and it's not hard to guess why. For some reason that eludes you, Bach invited Wehrlain to dine with him once more, along with you and Lars.

Perhaps it's an attempt at rebuilding bridges between you all – or perhaps it was an attempt at making Wehrlain uncomfortable. If the latter is the case, it seems to have misfired. The Scholar barely paid the meal any mind, instead focusing on the cabin itself. Every spot of unnatural dirt or decay holds his attention, while your words fall on deaf ears. Maybe that's why you don't have an appetite – with Wehrlain buzzing around like a fly, you can't concentrate on anything.

“As I was saying,” Bach continues, raising his voice a little as Wehrlain mutters something, “We found roots and vines, of all things, growing within the engine itself. Easily cleared, once my boys took the thing apart, but they're still talking about how it grew there.”

“A consequence, I'm afraid, of taking the Wehrlain Engine ashore with us,” Wehrlain declares, without turning to face the table, “The ship was left exposed to the, ah, influence here. I believe that to be the source of this advanced decay as well.”

Not the first time you've seen a ship with vines growing in the engine, you remark, but that was further south – not something that the red moon brought about.

“If my theories are correct, the Wehrlain Engine should be able to protect against that – the more, shall we say, deliberate growth. In future, every ship the Free States builds will have my invention aboard,” Wehrlain gloats, any trace of his former humility burned away, “Travellers here will have nothing to fear from the northern barbarians. This little expedition has proved my device to be successful – true, there are a few side-effects that bear further study, but those are trifling matters. Even if they can never be erased fully, the Wehrlain Engine will prove invaluable to the League.”

You share a look with Lars, and you can tell that you're both thinking the same thing. The device will be invaluable, and its inventor will be above reproach. At worst, all he has ahead of him is a token punishment. At best – praise and further advancement.

Maybe, you think half-heartedly, you should have let him die down in those caverns.

[2/3]

>>536874
I kind of want Lize to be all grown up so she can come along on more adventures and be helpful, but I can't say I won't miss miniLize. Her growing up saves us from a time skip and a training arc since she probably handled that herself.

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>>536897
>You share a look with Lars, and you can tell that you're both thinking the same thing.

>>536897
Looks like someone needs a reminder that his machine didn't keep him from trying to commit suicide. First by pissing off everyone else in the expedition, and then again in the lake of blood.

>>536897

“Regardless,” Bach announces, a hard edge in his voice getting all of you – even Wehrlain – to pay attention to him, “I think we can regard the expedition as a success. It was not without sacrifice or hardship, but nothing is. The men who lost their lives will have their families compensated, and those who survived... they will do so as rich men. Rich by the standards of sailors, at least.”

“Really?” Lars asks with a smile, “Will it take them two weeks to drink away their pay rather than one?”

“I'd give them a week and a half,” Bach corrects him, “Ah, but what a time it will be! Gentlemen, a toast.” With his blackened eye staring blindly out at you all, Bach refills your glasses with dark wine. “What should we drink to, do you think?”

To never coming north again, you suggest, once was enough.

“I'll drink to that!” Lars agrees. With a chime, you tap your glasses together and drink. Wehrlain, you notice, does so without much enthusiasm.

-

Cutting through the water like a blade, the Fomalhaut forges a path south. With every moment it spends at sea, without any unexpected problems, the men grow more and more cheerful. Even with the Wehrlain Engine burning away at the backs of their minds, the crew can summon the energy to drink and boast of their success. A large part of their cheer is because of what lies ahead, what could show its face any day now.

An honest, silver moon. That's all you, and so many others here, want to see. Until you've seen it, you won't be home – not really. As long as that terrible red moon fills the sky you're in hostile territory, and you won't be permitted to forget that. For some petty reason, you want to be the first one to see the moon, and so you spend much of your time on deck, braving the cold wind and blowing snow. It's no hardship – nothing you're not used to, at least.

You're up on deck, as usual, when Lars finds you. No doubt, this was the first place he looked. Greeting you, he joins you in looking up at the sky for a while. The moon, slowly but surely, has been getting smaller, retreating higher up into the sky. It won't be long now, you mention.

“What?” Lars pauses, “Oh, the moon, right. Good thing too.”

Yeah, you agree, you've been waiting.

“Well, I don't want to take up too much of your time,” he pauses again, watching the sky as if the change might happen any minute now, “I finished a report on Wehrlain. Would you like to add anything to it? Even just signing it as a witness might help my case.”

>I'd rather not get involved in your politics
>Sure, I'll sign. Not sure how much good it'll do, though
>Other

>>536918
>Sure, I'll sign. Not sure how much good it'll do, though
Yeah I don't know how much weight a Hunter's word goes within the College but it can't hurt. I imagine we are considered just muscle to most of them.

>>536918
>I'd rather not get involved in your politics

>>536918
>>Sure, I'll sign. Not sure how much good it'll do, though
Surely nothing bad can come from signing a sheet of paper!

>>536918
>>I'd rather not get involved in your politics, but I'll sign. Not sure how much good it'll do, though.

Can we at least skim it first?

>>536918
>>I'd rather not get involved in your politics

>>536918
>Sure, I'll sign. Not sure how much good it'll do, though

>>536918
>>536945
>I'll need to look it over first.

You're not exactly sure how much good it'll do, and you'd rather not get too deeply involved in their politics – you know a power struggle when you see one – but you'll sign it. It's just a name on a piece of paper, how badly could that come back to haunt you?

“Excellent, I'm glad to have your support,” Lars slaps you on the shoulder, the gesture aiming for “comradely” and falling only slightly short, “Come with me, I've got my papers in my quarters.”

Like you said, you tell him as he leads the way, you're not sure if it'll do much good. Would the College really put much faith in the word of an outsider – especially a Hunter like you? You're just the muscle in this expedition, not a thinking man like the rest of them.

“Even Hunters have eyes – they can bear witness to a crime, and give testimony,” Lars explains as you delve below deck, “You've seen more than most of us, perhaps because you're an outsider. Wehrlain, in his own way, I think he trusted you. Which is to say... he saw you as a reliable tool, one unlikely to turn on him. Hubris, of course, but that comes all too easily to men like him.”

Well, either way, you'd like to read this report before you put your name to it. At the very least, you want to skim it over and make sure you're not signing anything overtly... seditious. Nothing that could come back and land you in trouble.

“Sure, sure,” Lars waves away your concern, “It's just an account of everything that might go against League regulations. I'm not even making any overt accusations – I'm simply laying out the facts, as I witnessed them, and the proper authorities can make up their own minds. It's fine, it's nothing to worry about.”

For some reason, that just makes you more worried.

-

Lars' quarters are perfectly plain, austere if not for the large number of books scattered about. Some are old – recovered from the Old University and held close at hand for safe keeping – while others are newer, reference materials that he brought with him. Mixed in with the dry texts, you can't help but notice, are a fair few trashy novels. Something to help pass the long hours at sea, perhaps.

“Don't mind the mess, I've got everything right here,” Lars takes a slim folder and holds it out to you, “Read it over, as much as you like – I'm no desperate hurry to get it finished. You never know, I might need to add something to it before the journey is over.” He laughs a little, a forced laugh, just to show that he's joking.

At least, you think he's joking.

[1/2]

>>536970
Changin to this

>>536973

Written in a dry, scholarly fashion – as if anything else was to be expected from a Scholar of the College – Lars' report is a carefully composed thing. It opens by praising Wehrlain for his efforts in forming the expedition and thanking him that Lars was allowed to take part. That introduction, you sense, has the air of a necessary evil – like polite small talk before launching into darker business. Letting your eyes skip across the platitudes, you move onto the more important matters.

Breaking the expedition down into smaller chunks – the week long trip to Port Steyr, the journey to the Old University and the exploration itself – the report wastes no time in listing Wehrlain's crimes. Starting with the excessive use of the Wehrlain Engine along the first step of the journey, Lars gives a careful account of the crew's suffering. It is only a short amendment, reminding a reader that the Wehrlain Engine was still being tested, that keeps the first section from becoming an overt attack.

From there, the report leads into Bach's surgery, and the “accidental” absence of any anaesthesia. Again, an addition that blames the absence on “supply problems” keeps the section from being too blatant, but the intent is clear – Wehrlain, under dubious conditions, drilled into a man's skull without any other qualified Scholars to assist him. That alone would be a serious offence under League regulations.

Overall, the report concludes that Wehrlain acted in an irresponsible manner, one that suggests he is ill-suited to a position of authority. What it doesn't delve into, however, is Wehrlain himself – his malice, arrogance and spite. Looking up from the report, you mention this to Lars.

“Well, those are largely subjective, not something to build a case around,” he shrugs, “And, speaking honestly, any Scholar reading that report wouldn't need to be told about them. They'd know already. What do you think, then?”

>I'll sign this, sure
>No, I've changed my mind – I don't want my name involved
>I have an amendment to make... (Write in)
>Other

>>536999
>I'll sign this, sure

>>536999
>>I'll sign this, sure
We're already down here, might as well sign it.

>>536999
>I'll sign this, sure

>>536999
>I'll sign this, sure
This is totally going to come back and bite us some day huh?

>>536999
>>I'll sign this, sure

I think he should make an addendum where the Hunter report things from his perspective.

Like the fact that the crew nearly muntined during the trip and it was only thanks to the efforts of the captain and some of the scholars that the situation didn't boil over.

Just a simple, "if you want to send an ass like him on dangerous mission be sure to place able negotiators in the crew or the next ship will never reach it's destination."

You'll put your name to this, you tell him, certainly. As you've said, you're not sure how much of a difference it'll make in the long run, but it's better than just doing nothing. Besides, you're down here anyway – it'll have been a wasted journey if you don't sign the thing.

“Good, great,” Lars hands you a pen, the corroded metal marking it out as something he left behind in his cabin. Taking the report, he turns to the back page and hands it back. “I've been collecting signatures here, a little bit like a petition. After all, the authorities can't ignore a petition!”

He is not, you suspect, being entirely serious when he says that. Regardless, you look down the rather short list of names. Haight and Kranz have signed it, and so has Captain Bach. Those are the only names you recognise, but there are about a dozen more – some of the more senior Scholars, if you had to guess. A few of the others have added short notes along with their names. Kranz writes that Wehrlain showed little concern or guidance for the younger students, while Haight offers a grudging word of defence – the expedition bore fruit, after all, and the Wehrlain Engine was not a failure.

At the bottom of the page, you scrawl your own name and a short note regarding Wehrlain's leadership. The crew nearly mutinied under his leadership, you explain, and the situation required the efforts others to defuse. As the report suggested, you have to question his suitability for a leadership position. With the report signed and sealed, you hand it back to Lars, who eagerly reads over your addition.

“Everything seems to be in order,” the Scholar assures you with a nod, “It means a lot to me. I only hope that this affair hasn't spoiled your perception of the College too much. We're not all like Wehrlain, you know, and there are people trying to bring about reform. These things take time, though, and change always invites resistance.”

Not to worry, you tell him, this hasn't changed your opinion at all. What you choose not to tell him, though, is that you didn't exactly have a high opinion of the College in the first place – it's always been a nest of vipers, eager to stab each other in the back and devour the weak.

But saying such things would be impolite, and you've got other matters to focus on. There's a fair commotion coming from up on deck, and you've got an idea what it might be.

[1/2]

>>537065

Following the noise, a growing murmur of excited voices, you leave Lars' quarters and head for the upper deck. You're not the only one with this idea, it seems, and it isn't long before you're being swept along with a flow of bodies. The energy is contagious – even though nobody is yet to so much as cast their eye skywards – and you feel a rare smile growing on your face. Forging ahead, up metal steps that bear the scars of your time in the north, you rise up to the open deck.

It's dark, up here, and very cold. True darkness like this, like the midnight sky, is something that you've not seen in what feels like a very long time indeed. The sky is utterly featureless, the leering presence of the red moon replaced by an unbroken layer of cloud. Thick clouds, mind, the kind that threaten snowstorms, but nobody seems to care about that. Everyone here, every sailor and Scholar you see, all look to the sky and wait for the same thing.

Eventually, moving at their own unhurried pace, the clouds part like a vast set of curtains. The moon that they reveal is almost disappointing – a sliver of a thing, with the dusty sheen of a forgotten ornament – but is undeniably YOUR moon. An innocent, blameless moon, one that belongs to a saner world. At the sight of that moon, it seems like a single gasp – countless voices united as one – rises up from the crowd. A single gasp, and then the cheering begins. Through the surging wall of cheers, one single voice – rendered harsh and mechanical by the decaying speakers – blares out.

“Cutting power to the Wehrlain Engine now,” the voice announces, “Repeat, deactivating the Wehrlain Engine now.”

You hadn't thought it possible for the cheers to get any louder, but that declaration renews and reinvigorates them. Suddenly old news, the moon is forgotten, and the surging crowd starts to descend below deck once more. Sailor and Scholar alike, casting aside Wehrlain's attempt at maintaining segregation, the men head for their makeshift bar. Even before they – and you, for you found yourself moving automatically with the crowd, by extension – have arrived, metal flasks full of burning spirits are being passed around.

A bawdy drinking song, the first of many, starts up, and things start to get a little blurry from there. No, you'll be honest, they get more than a little blurry – the rest of the night melts away into a single featureless void.

[2/3]

>>537155
We only took one casualty for the whole expedition right? That sailor that got smashed by a rock and dragged off when we first arrived at the University.

>>537176

>There were a few others injured or killed, I believe, when the child attacked and took Bach. Other than that, though, there were remarkably few losses

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>>537155

When normal sense returns, and you can think clearly once more, the first thing you see is blackness. Groaning in bitter anticipation, you crack open one eye and look up at your cabin ceiling. Only... you don't see a ceiling at all. What soars above you is the open sky, featureless and infinite. Opening your other eye, you roll onto your side and look out at the scene around you.

Your gaze is met, and returned, by a single vast eye – rising, half-drowned, from a pool of shimmering water. Crying out at the sight of that mindless, maddened eye, you scrabble up and rise to your feet before recognition sets in. That's the coiling, ever shifting form of the Lunatic Beast – or rather, the legion of minds that it cloaked itself in.

“Ugly, isn't it?” Artemis, placing one cool and calming hand on your shoulder, says softly, “And the way it stares – ugh!”

You weren't expecting to see all of it here, you manage to say, just the blackened heart. That would have taken up a lot less space, at least. Then again, you consider, space isn't exactly something she's short on around here.

“Even so,” Artemis complains, “It doesn't do much for the mood, does it? I was all prepared to celebrate reaching the halfway point with you – and to celebrate our reunion – but it's ruined now.” Turning, she gives the new arrival a bitter look before muttering to herself. “Ruined!” she repeats.

Halfway finished, you say to yourself, you're making good progress. Of course, next up...

“The Sibling Knights, I know,” Artemis waves a dismissive hand at the watchful eye, putting it out of her mind as best she can, “Seven and eight – reluctant and eager, craven and raging. Nasty characters, both of them, but in very different ways. Well, anyway, that's something to worry about later – I believe we have our usual... transaction to worry about.”

The usual offer – one hand red with blood, the other white and pristine. Either way, an offering of strength... and a hastening of your eventual doom.

>Accept the gift of Bloodshed
>Accept the gift of Civilisation
>Decline her gifts
>Other

>>537235
>Decline her gifts
Want to give this a shot.

>>537235
>>Accept the gift of Bloodshed

>>537235
>>Accept the gift of Bloodshed
That +20 looks really tempting. We just need enough firepower to take down a giant if we can find one and we won't have to worry about our eventual doom.

>>537252
Seconding

Rolled 1 (1d3)

>>537235
>1 Blood
>2 Civs
>3 Nah

>>537235
>>Other
"Let's compare notes. How long was I out of contact for, for you?"

>>537277
We'll need to know, for sure. But can she give us a reliable account on how much time passed? She kinda reacted quite badly after being cut off to test the engine.

>>537289
Maybe not reliable, but she might give us an estimate.

We'll know for sure once we reach Steyr.

>>537235
>Accept the gift of Civilisation

I'm already forgetting the bonus for this, but we have no diplomacy so I guess that's not it.