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>>814259

When Cid cuts the power to the Navaja's engines, letting it drift in the open water, the resulting silence feels like a slap in the face. This stretch of water, you realise, is not as empty as you first thought – looming up out of the waters, only very dimly lit, you see a lumpen structure. Like a fortress ripped from the ground and cast into the waters, the sight of the fortified platform is a jarring one. The Shell, you assume.

“Why have we stopped?” Camilla demands, asking the same question that you've been thinking, “Is there a problem?”

“No problem,” Cid assures you both, “It is not good, you see, to run the engines so hard. I have been terribly cruel to my ship, and now I am regretting it dearly. We will not wait long.” He offers a suitably pained smile as he says this, but Camilla just grunts in response. As she wanders back to the rear of the ship – hardly a long way away – Cid lowers his voice and speaks to you alone. “I like to come here sometimes,” he murmurs to you, “To look at The Shell. Every time, it always surprises me. The size, no, the simple... foreignness of it. Men live there, you know.”

You've been on a platform like that, you tell him, you were forced to stay there for a few days. It wasn't very interesting, you add, but it was a necessary hardship. But this isn't about The Shell, you ask a moment later, is it?

“No,” Cid admits, a slight smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, “I'm curious. You left, earlier, with the old woman. What were you doing? She is not, ah... what I took to be your type.”

Laughing curtly at his attempt at a joke, you shake your head. Not your type, you agree, but you did have a long talk. She told you a story, a pretty interesting piece of history. Falling silent here, you wait for Cid's response. When his reply is silence, paired with an imploring look, you slowly recount the story Cique told you. Almost word perfect, you remember it easily – it is as though the mazka opened your mind, allowing the old woman to carve her words into your memory. When you finish the story, you ask for Cid's take on it.

“An interesting story, to be sure,” Cid nods, “My mother, she told me a tale of her own – a rather more, ah, simple version of events. At the birth of the world, she said, a great flower blossomed and spread seeds across the land – seeds that would become all the living things in the land, man and beast. I always thought of it as a pleasant fable, not something to be taken as truth.”

Strange how things work, you remark.

“Strange, yes,” the southern agrees as he fires up the engine, “Well, about time we were headed back, I think.”

>Wake me when we arrive. I need some rest
>Ever hear anything about the wild child?
>The Orphanage. What did you make of it?
>I need to ask you something... (Write in)
>Other

>>814260
>>Ever hear anything about the wild child?
>>The Orphanage. What did you make of it?
Nice to have ya back Moloch.

>>814260
>Ever hear anything about the wild child?
>The Orphanage. What did you make of it?
Not quite as terrifying as we thought huh? Still disturbing though.

>>814260
>Ever hear anything about the wild child?
>The Orphanage. What did you make of it?
Welcome back Moloch

While you're trading stories, you decide to ask Cid about the wild child. It might be a long shot, but it's worth a try. Besides, it'll pass another few moments without raising the subject of the Orphanage – still uncertain ground for the both of you.

“The wild child...” Cid savours the sound of the words, his accent lending them an exotic air, “I have never heard tell of such a thing – at least, not by that name. Southern men, you see, we have our own stories and legends. So, if you wish for me to spin you a yarn about this child, you will be disappointed. Yet, perhaps I can tell you some other tale – they may share common ground.”

Of course, you think, the wild child might well be known by many names. Stories have a habit of changing, twisting as they pass through language barriers. Go on then, you tell Cid, what's this story?

“Not one my mother told me, for certain,” he laughs lightly, “I heard it over a flickering campfire, in the deep jungle. A good place for a suitably frightful tale, would you not say? The tale spoke of a hunter – inhuman, although it wore the skin of a human. Not literally, I always presumed, but you never can tell. This devil stalked and killed freely, hunting man and beast alike. Why, I hear you ask, why would it do such a thing? Well, my friend, the answer was a simple one.”

Cid leaves the conversation hanging here, a pregnant pause as he relishes the drama of it all. If only you had a campfire here, you think, he'd be even more satisfied with all this.

“To prove itself, to declare its superiority,” Cid tells you in a grave whisper, “Do you see why I think of this old story now?”

The contest, you suggest after a moment, it reminds you of the contest. The wild child – born of the north – seeking to prove itself superior to the southern creatures. It's all a futile effort, though – who would it prove itself to? The northern tree was left broken, and the southern flower was destroyed.

“Sad, is it not?” Cid shrugs, “Ah, but I wonder. Would a child really understand that? Or perhaps all the killing, all the bloodshed, was just a cry for attention. Maybe it was seeking approval, love from an all too distant parent.”

That's a pretty interesting way of looking at it, you remark. Privately, you picture it – Artemis, tearing apart some great beast and lifting her eyes to the sky, waiting and hoping for some sign of acceptance. A sign that would never come, of course.

“Ah, my friend, perhaps I'm talking nonsense,” shaking his head, Cid offers you a bright smile, “Or perhaps I'm... what is the word? Projecting, I think. Perhaps I'm projecting myself a little too much.”

He says this with a kind of faltering awkwardness, a hesitation that kills the conversation dead until you can mercifully change the subject.

[1/2]

>>814308

The Orphanage, you say at last, what did he make of it? It wasn't really as terrifying as you'd been expecting, given the stories, but it was disturbing enough. He saw that was done there – what's his take?

“It was not a good place,” Cid offers after a thoughtful moment, “Your Scholars, I think, were all too happy to satisfy their appetites there, knowing that nobody would ever stop them. It is no wonder that so many people disappeared there, back in the day. The papers I saw, they spoke of midnight burials and mass graves. Bad business, my friend, very bad. However...” His voice trails off as he thinks some more. Either he's struggling to fight through the language barrier, or he just can't think of the right words to say. Perhaps both.

“Perhaps it is not my place to decide such things, but some good might have come from there as well,” he suggests at long last, “Progress has a price, yes?”

His words make you think of Wehrlain, with his talk of sacrifice and progress. Some prices are too high to pay, you reply quietly.

“As I say, friend, I think neither you nor I can decide that,” the southern takes his hands from the wheel and holds them up, ten fingers raised, “Escher, he lost two fingers for what he has. A price he was happy to pay. The lives that were lost in the Orphanage, your men were happy to trade them for knowledge.”

It's an easy trade to make, you grunt, when they weren't the ones dying. Even as you say that, though, you feel a flush of guilt. You're here to hunt down Yvette, trading her own life for... what? Artemis' assurances that she can help you. Perhaps you're not so different from Wehrlain, or any other of those greedy, self-serving Scholars. As your mood takes an unexpectedly dark turn, Cid notices your face and waves you away.

“Go, get some rest,” he urges you, “You look like you need it, yes?”

Well, he's not wrong there.

-

For all Cid's urgings, you don't really have much time to rest. By the time you've managed to find a comfortable spot to stretch out – the Navaja is a small ship, not meant for people to sleep in – New Odyss is already fast approaching. At least your head feels a little clearer by the time you arrive, your thoughts cooling off. In the cold light of morning – already warm and humid, really – the Orphanage feels like something from a surreal dream. Not even a nightmare, just a strange fever dream.

Too much mazka, you think with a faint smile, although a single drop of that filth might be too much. Maybe Escher can give you a decent drink – and a few answers to go with it.

[2/3]

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>>814331

“So you're back,” Escher asks, glaring out at you with the reddened eyes of a man long without sleep, “How was the Orphanage? Oh, don't give me that innocent look - I guessed well enough that's where you were going. I won't pretend that I approve, but you're free to follow your own wishes here.”

How generous of him. The Orphanage was fine, you assure the old man, nowhere near as bad as the stories make it out to be. Quite educational, in a way.

“Huh, whatever. Just don't start spreading stories about the locals,” Escher shrugs to himself, putting the entire issue aside, “In either case, I've got some news for you – good and bad.”

You'll take whatever news you can get, you assure him, the good with the bad.

“Well, the good news is that I might have found a lead on this island of yours. The bad news is, it's a pretty weak one. The other good news is that it points us to a stronger lead,” the old man shrugs, “A fairly mixed bag, all in all.”

Which is about what you expected, all things considered.

“I'll keep this brief. One of my agents on Kolm talked to an old man with an interesting story to tell. Essentially, the old man was looking for anything worth salvaging – he was a treasure hunter, in other words – when he found more than he was bargaining for. A settlement, more of a military outpost than a town, with uniformed soldiers guarding it,” Escher spreads his hands wide, “And not Ministry uniforms either. No real insignia to speak of. They explained that he was on private land and sent him away with a warning – never mention this to anyone.”

Looks like they should have been more serious, you point out, considering that he talked.

“If he'd been in his right mind, I suspect he wouldn't have,” shaking his head, Escher grimaces, “His mind wasn't what it used to be. It's not always easy to get answers out of a man like that, and there are often gaps. Gaps like, which damn island he was talking about. That's the bad news – he doesn't remember that. His son, however, might know.”

And his son was... not there, you guess, right?

“Right. Ran away to The Boneyard in search of a better – more exciting - life,” Escher shrugs, “Not uncommon. So, I've ordered my agents to ask around after him. With a little luck, we should get a report back by... tomorrow, maybe a little earlier. Assuming Skinner is willing to play nice, at least. More waiting, I'm afraid.”

It'll give you a chance to get some sleep, at least.

“There you go, look on the bright side,” waving a hand, Escher gestures to the private rooms, “I'll send word for you when I know more.”

>Good. I'll be there as soon as possible
>How safe is this Boneyard?
>Tell me about Skinner
>I had a question... (Write in)
>Other

>>814359
>>How safe is this Boneyard?
>>Tell me about Skinner
Boneyard sounds like a scary place.

>>814359
>How safe is this Boneyard?
>Tell me about Skinner

>>814359
>How safe is this Boneyard?
>Tell me about Skinner

Think we'll find the Majestic being chopshopped over there? Yvette probably kept it unless her benefactors wanted it to disappear.

Hey Moloch is stealing the Majestic back a secondary objective? It is Ministry property right?

>>814359
>Tell me about Skinner
>How safe is this Boneyard?

>>814381

>The Majestic is Ministry property, yes. Our mission didn't specifically involve getting it back, but recovering it - even just providing information about it - would reflect well upon us. So, yes, I'd call it a secondary, optional objective.

>>814359
> Tell me about his son. Did he leave behind any debts or maybe a lover?

So this Boneyard, you ask, how safe is it? If this runaway died in a random brawl or knife fight at any point between now and then, you'd be shit out of luck – looking at a dead end. How likely is that?

“Brawls and knife fights? Fairly common,” Escher takes out three glasses and pours a measure of dark liquor into each, “Now, people dying in brawls and knife fights? Not nearly so common. Skinner lets his boys run loose, to a certain extent, but he doesn't tolerate them killing each other. It's bad for business, and he takes it as a personal insult. So, short of disease, accidents or open war with another gang, I'm fairly sure our boy should still be alive.”

And what about still at the Boneyard, you ask, what if he decided to leave and try his luck elsewhere?

“Unlikely. That's just one more thing Skinner would take as an insult. Once you're in his crew, you're in for good. I've heard that you CAN leave... provided you can win Skinner's favour. Bringing him something valuable, or performing some service,” taking his glass, Escher throws back the alcohol, “Bloody service, usually. Hunting down someone who's left without permission, for example. Happened here once, right here in the docks. The runaway was a nervous wreck, trying to buy passage on a ship headed north. Halfway through his negotiations, someone came out of the crowd and shot him dead – right there and then.”

“And he got away with it?” Camilla cries, outraged, “Just shooting a man dead in the street?”

“He announced that he was doing Skinner's bidding after taking the shot, shouted it out so damn near everyone could hear him. When the Ministry officials got there, nobody could remember a thing about it,” Escher shrugs, “That's how it works around here. Sure, someone could have talked... but who wants to risk their life for that? Word would have reached Skinner – it always does – and they would have been next to die. No, this sort of thing has always been ignored. Skinner's people sorting out Skinner's problems, nothing to do with us.”

“I can't believe this,” sitting down, Camilla throws back her drink, “The governor here is shirking his duties, allowing this to go on. If he can't enforce law and order, what good is he?”

“That's just how things work here,” the old man leans heavily on the bar, “Things are different. Trying to rule here like you would up north is just asking for trouble – or worse, a knife in the back.”

“I can't believe this,” Camilla repeats darkly.

This runaway son, you ask quickly, did he leave behind any debts or lovers? Anything that might have given him good reason to run to the Boneyard?

[1/2]

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>>814402

“Interesting idea. True enough, men usually have a good reason for leaving their old lives behind in such a dramatic way,” Escher thinks for a moment, toying with his empty glass, “From what I was told, he must have lived a destitute life up until he left. The old man lived in a squalid hovel, without much to suggest a good life. Anything, I should think, would have been better than that kind of life. A debt, though...” another pause as he thinks, “Well, paying it back would have been difficult. As a part of Skinner's crew, he would have been protected – safe from anyone looking to collect.”

The more you hear about this Skinner, the less you like it. What can Escher tell you about him, you ask, what kind of man is he?

“He comes from the deep south. This part of the world, New Odyss and the other islands around here, are like beacons of civilisation compared with the deep south. Skinner is a perfect example of the men down there. Brutal, perfectly suited to horrific violence, but he's smart. Damn near one of the sharpest men I know, in fact,” Escher holds up a warning finger, “He likes to think of himself as a businessman more than anything, but he rules his gang like a king or a cult leader. Any insult, any disrespect, and he'll lash out. So long as you play by his rules, though, he's a fair man to deal with.”

“He sounds erratic,” Camilla argues, “And killing anyone who doesn't bow and scrape is hardly good business. Is this another one of these southern things?”

“Yes, actually,” Escher meets her gaze, “And if you don't mind me saying, you'd best start getting used to it. I learned how life works here quickly – and painfully. I hope you don't have the same misfortune.”

All eight of his fingers drum on the bar as he says this, the quiet tapping sound underscoring his words.

-

“I hate this place,” Camilla says simply, once you've withdrawn to the relative privacy of your room, “No, it's worse than that. Every moment I spend here, I feel like I'm being tainted, like some part of this place is going to stick with me for the rest of my life.” The vitriol in her voice is sharp, a bitter edge of frustration that only starts to fade once she's burned through her first cigarette. “Do you feel it?” she asks suddenly, “Or is it just me?”

You've got to think about your answer to that. The southern colonies are nothing like what you'd been expecting, you'll admit that, but you're not as repulsed as she is. There's something here – a rough, untamed feel – that appeals to you on a primal level. A place where men can be beasts, you think to yourself, little wonder that it has such a curious attraction.

[2/3]

>>814444

This is about the Orphanage, you say after a while, isn't it?

“What else would it be about?” Camilla shakes her head sharply, anger leaving her gestures curt, “The Ministry is supposed to stop that kind of operation going on, not cover it up and encourage it! We're supposed to hold high standards, not stand by and watch as the College wallows in filth! Imagine, Henryk – what if you found out that the Hunters were breeding beasts, seeding the land with a new generation of monsters? Could you really wake up the next day and hold your head high, knowing what you know?”

No, you admit, not without doing something about it. Trying to stop it.

“And that's the thing – I can't do a damn thing about this! I can't stop something that's been stopped for years already. Anyone who might be guilty, who could face punishment for this, is either dead or disappeared. I thought that knowing the truth would help, like it would achieve something, but...” taking the burned out stub of the cigarette from her lips, she crushes it out in the ashtray, “I guess I was wrong.”

>Some good came out it all, though. Knowledge was gained, progress was made. Lives have been saved because of the Orphanage
>We can't change the past, Camilla. Dwelling on something like this is just needless torment, and a waste of time
>Focus on Yvette – we can do something about her. It's not the same, but it's more productive than brooding
>Other

>>814470
>>Some good came out it all, though. Knowledge was gained, progress was made. Lives have been saved because of the Orphanage
>>We can't change the past
Did they makes that many steps forward with the experiments that went down there? I'd say to look to those since we can't do anything about the people involved and such now.

>>814470
>Other

You can push to make sure something like this doesn't happen again. If we succeed in our mission, you can probably work that into gaining some influence as a woman who knows the North as well as the South, and is owed a favour by the man pretty much running the North.

You can make an opportunity to do right, not by the past, but by the future.

Also if you want we could visit the Governor and make some "recommendations" to get a more active Ministry presence here.

>>814470
"The ends don't justify the means but at the very least those procedures saved lives. That said we shouldn't let something like that happen again. We need good people, people like you, in the upper echelons of the Ministry. For now let's focus on Yvette. We can make a difference now by bring her to justice and saving any of Majestic's crew that remain."

>>814470
>Some good came out it all, though. Knowledge was gained, progress was made. Lives have been saved because of the Orphanage
>We can't change the past

Some good came out of it all, you tell her quietly. Knowledge was gained, and progress was made because of what happened at the Orphanage. Lives have been saved – she read the reports there, the experiments that were performed. She even recognised one of them. You're saying that the end justifies the means, but neither can you deny the benefits. What occurred at the Orphanage was done with good intentions, for good purposes.

“That's...” Camilla winces slightly, “I know. If it wasn't for the operations invented down here, Konrad would have died. Not just him, either. I know that. Sometimes though, knowing all that just makes it worse, like I'm complicit in all this.” Sighing heavily, she takes a cigarette from the pack and studies it. “I suppose I am. We all are, really.”

But she can make sure that something like this doesn't happen again, you urge her, success here could win her some influence within the Ministry – influence that could bring reform, real change. With her experience down in the south, she could well carve out a position as a local expert. Changing the past might not be possible, but the future is still up for grabs. For now... focus on Yvette and the mission. Bringing her to justice and rescuing the rest of the Majestic's crew is well within your reach.

When your voice fades, a silence hangs over the room as Camilla considers your words. “You know, I didn't come down here for status or fame,” she says quietly, almost whispering, “I've never chased promotions or set my sights on a lofty position. I perform my duties, that's all I've ever wanted to do. Do you really think that I could change things here? Do you really think I could make that much of a difference?”

There's no harm in trying, you reply, and you think the Ministry could certainly do with her experience. The local governor could be a good place to start – you could always go and make a few “recommendations”, maybe secure a more active Ministry presence.

“I'd like that,” she muses, “I'd like to meet them, see what they have to say for themselves. See what excuses they have to offer.” Her voice hardens slightly as she says this, but her lips curl up into a faint smile. The thought of doing some good, in the here and now, is doing wonders for her troubled mood. “Of course, we can't do anything now,” she decides, her voice returning to a more familiar certainty, “You're right – we need to focus on the future. Sulking like this is just self-indulgence, a waste of time and effort. For now, we should get some rest. I think we both need it.”

And that, you really can't argue with.

[1/2]

>>814535
>“You know, I didn't come down here for status or fame,” she says quietly, almost whispering, “I've never chased promotions or set my sights on a lofty position. I perform my duties, that's all I've ever wanted to do.

That's honestly why she is more qualified for higher positions in my book.

>>814535

The deep, dreamless sleep you fell into feels like a luxury, a true indulgence, but it doesn't last. After a stretch of time, you couldn't guess how long, a firm knock at the door rouses you from your slumber. Grunting, you disentangle yourself from Camilla's limbs and the clinging sheets, sitting upright in sudden disorientation. For a brief moment, you can't remember a thing – not where you are, not what you're supposed to be doing, nothing. The moment doesn't last, and by the time you've pulled your trousers back on everything has come rushing back.

Behind you, Camilla shakes off her own sleep and pulls the sheet up, wrapping it around her bare chest. As you open the door, you hear the rasp of a match being scratched alight.

Cid gives you a bland, almost unreadable look, before nodding a greeting. He takes in your hastily dressed form without comment, the grim look in his eyes suggesting that there are more important things to worry about.

Bad news, you guess, right?

“Very right,” Cid agrees gravely, “Come. Escher wishes to talk. Ten minutes.”

-

The Lucky Two Fingers is unusually quiet as you move urgently through the cramped rows of stalls, a tension hanging heavily in the air. People are nervous, glancing uneasily at Cid as he leads you to Escher. You hardly need him as a guide at this point, but you don't point that out. He was never really a guide, despite what he claimed, although his real job is somewhat vaguer. Escher's right hand man, probably, with all the duties that suggests.

Duties, you suspect, that you're getting pulled deeper into with each passing day.

Even Lu avoids your gaze as you brush past her, turning her deformed face away in nervous shock. Seeing the brash, hard barmaid reacting so nervously sets the tone of the meeting – unexpected, unprecedented disquiet. The fact that Escher appears calm and composed stands as a real contrast, until you see the cold, flat look in his eyes. He isn't calm – he's utterly furious, an anger that goes beyond curses or harsh words. Almost completely motionless, he firmly rubs his mutilated hands.

A paper package sits on the low table in front of him, dark stains marring the wrapping. It might as well not exist, for all the attention Escher pays it. Finally, he waves a hand at it.

“A message from the Boneyard,” Escher spits, “From Skinner himself.”

Reaching across, you peel open the package and look inside. Sitting in a thick stain of dried blood, the severed tongue is a sad, lonely thing.

“Stupid bastard isn't playing nice,” Escher snarls.

>Right, I'm going to have to pause things here, some family business to take care of. I apologise for the short run today. Tomorrow should be better.
>Thanks to everyone who contributed today

>>814609

Thanks for running as always man, one of the best quests up

>>814609
Wait is that the tongue of the guy we were trying to find and talk to or Escher's man that was asking around?

Thanks for running Moloch.

>>814609
Time for more wars. Thanks for running Moloch.

>>814609
>tfw no /fit/ ladycop to make love to and cuddle with after a long stressful day of discovering your government's crimes against humanity.

Why.
Even.
Live.

>>814609
time to go shank some bitches

>>815226
For a literal goddess of a Yandere muderhobo waifu.

>>814609

Thanks for the read.
Well looks like no spit for skinner

M-moloch?
didn't you say you'd write more?

Your first question, you begin as you look at the sad scrap of flesh before you, is “Whose tongue is that?” A simple question, perhaps, but an important one. Depending on whether the tongue belongs to Escher's agent or Skinner's man, the message it sends is entirely different.

Escher opens his mouth to snap out a response – no doubt something blunt and suitable caustic – but then he pauses, considering the issue. “That's... a good question,” he admits, “I had assumed it belonged to my agent. Although I didn't consider it very likely – a mistake, in retrospect – I knew that there was a chance Skinner would take it as an insult. Sending in an agent to sneak about and ask questions, it's hardly the way that gentlemen should behave.”

“Not even southern gentlemen?” Camilla asks, offering a humourless smile and receiving a dark glare in return.

“But if this... thing belongs to Skinner's man, well, that does send a rather different message,” Escher reaches out, as if to prod the tongue, but then pulls back at the last minute, “Either he would rather mutilate his own men rather than have them talk to us, or his men would rather mutilate themselves.”

What kind of devil is Skinner, you mutter, if he can incite his men to pluck out their own tongues?

“I said that he ruled his men like the leader of a cult – that wasn't an exaggeration,” Escher's voice is stern, “They fear him, but that fear also grants them a powerful loyalty. When the alternative is having the skin ripped from their backs, men are willing to do a lot of things. Of course, this is all just speculation – a severed tongue doesn't really tell us much.”

“A shame that he did not include a note with it,” Cid comments, offering a remarkably casual shrug, “All this confusion could have been avoided. He is quite inconsiderate, yes?”

Look, you sigh, whoever this tongue belonged to is a question for another time. What you want to know is, where does this leave you all?

“I have things to organise. A retaliation, for one thing,” matching your sigh with one of his own, Escher folds the paper package shut until the tongue is no longer visible, “I can't allow this insult to stand. If it became known that Skinner killed one of my men without consequence, my position here would become far more fragile. Any two bit thug with something to prove would be out for blood. My blood, specifically, but anyone connected with me would be a target. That would include you two, of course.”

“Simply because of our pale skin,” Camilla guesses, “Right?”

“Ah, try not to take offence,” Cid offers in response, “It is nothing personal, you see?”

[1/2]

>>815903

So Escher is going to raise a war party – break some heads and spill some blood. That's great for him, but it doesn't really help you at all. You're here for information, but you'd rather not get drawn into a gang war to get it.

“Don't be too hasty – it's too early to be speaking of war,” Escher taps the table slowly, “If Skinner is smart, he'll let us spill a little blood in retaliation. Perhaps this won't make sense to you, but sometimes that's how we operate here. If he wounds me, and I wound him in response, we've both suffered. There would be no shame, no loss of face, if the feud ended there. It's only war when one side refuses to back down. Skinner won't risk business by pushing too hard, not if he has any sense at all.”

He send Escher a severed tongue, you point out, that's hardly the action of a rational man.

“Maybe not up north,” Cid corrects you, “Here, it is not so strange for men to lose bits and pieces.”

True, you have to admit, you've seen that already – Lu's nose, Escher's fingers, and now this ripped out tongue. How long before you find yourself on the chopping block, you wonder, and what might you lose? An eye, perhaps? Either way, you tell Escher, this feud is his business and not yours. You had a deal, your services for his information, and he hasn't fulfilled his end of the bargain yet.

“So I'll be blunt,” Escher meets your gaze, “The quickest and easiest way for you to learn what you want to know is to work with me – go out to the Boneyard and settle things with Skinner. If you don't want to be a part of this, I'll arrange something myself, but it will take time. That's the situation we've found ourselves in.”

He's right about one thing – that WAS blunt.

>Fine, I'm in – but you'll owe me double for this
>No way, I'm through working with you
>Other

>>815912
>Fine, I'm in – but you'll owe me double for this

We do still need to get going on this

>>815912
>>Fine, I'm in – but you'll owe me double for this
Time to visit the bonezone, no wait the Boneyard.

>>815912
>Fine, I'm in – but you'll owe me double for this

>>815969
We took Camilla there last night.

>>815912
How about you go settle your feud your way and we go talk to Skinner independently?

>>815912
>An eye, perhaps?
Heh

>Fine, I'm in – but you'll owe me double for this
"So how are we going to 'settle' things?"

>>815912
So when we say 'owe us double' what does that entail? Double the information or do we get an extra favor that we can call in some time?

>>816021

>An additional favour, I would say.

Holding Escher's gaze – there's something animalistic about this, almost a struggle for dominance – you nod slightly. Fine, you tell him quietly, you're in – but he's going to owe you double for this. If that doesn't suit him, tough. It's just the situation he's found himself in.

“Very good,” he grunts, “I'm glad that we see eye to eye on this. Now, about settling this little feud...”

Yes, you interrupt, you want to be certain that there IS a feud before you do anything. If Skinner really has mutilated his own man, that's no slight against Escher. Perhaps he should consider talking with Skinner before jumping to any conclusions. Especially, you add, when those conclusions might end up starting a war.

“I was prepared to deal with Skinner's men in good faith. This is the reply I was given,” Escher waves a hand at the bloodied parcel, “An insult, whoever this tongue belonged to. However, you are correct – if it was Skinner's man that lost his tongue, enough blood has been shed already. I won't start a war over a minor insult.”

And what if it was his man who was mutilated, you ask, what would “settling the score” mean then?
“Killing one of his people, or perhaps destroying something of value that he holds,” Cid cuts in, “That is usually the way of it. Traditionally, it must exceed the original crime, but not by too large of a margin. The implication, you see, is that the feud would only escalate if it was allowed to continue. So long as neither side wishes to see that escalation, the feud dies out quietly.”

“That's right. It's supposed to discourage rash action, as well, to know that recrimination will be more severe,” Escher lets out a blunt laugh, “Go on, admit it – you think it's nonsense. Well, that's fine, countless generations of southerners have lived by these traditions. They work, no matter what you might think of them. Very well then. I have a proposal for you – a plan, you could say.”

“Go on,” Camilla leans forwards slightly, her disdain for the local traditions warring with a growing interest, “Let's hear it.”

“It's simple. Take Cid and the Navaja to the Boneyard, seek an audience with Skinner. Get his side of the story, and find out what happened to my agent. If my man is dead or mutilated, give Skinner this offer – he must put one of his own men forwards to die. If he does that, and I think he might very well agree to these terms, the dispute will be settled,” Escher rubs his maimed hands together, “If he finds them disagreeable... I'm sure the situation will resolve itself.”

That sounds awfully like “He'll try to kill you”.

“He very well might,” Escher shrugs, “But not if he values his own life. One rule of being a businessman – never gamble with something you're not prepared to lose.”

[1/2]

>>816130

“Looks like another fine mess we're getting involved in,” Camilla remarks a while later, lighting up a fresh cigarette and blowing out a thin veil of smoke, “The Boneyard. I knew that place sounded like trouble.”

Still deep in thought, you murmur an acknowlegement. Escher had “politely” encouraged you to leave his office for a while, so that you both have time to consider the situation. It's an offer you were happy to accept. Discussing things with a severed tongue lying between you left an unwholesome taste to the air, and a breath of fresh air was exactly the thing needed to chase away the taste.

A fine mess, you agree, not one you particularly wanted to get caught up in either.

“I don't mind,” shrugging, Camilla gives you a wan smile, “You see, this is a simple matter as far as I'm concerned. A crime has been committed – a man has been mutilated, possibly even murdered. We're going to do something about it.”

No moral ambiguity, no long-dead suspects, and no lingering guilt – it sounds like exactly the kind of thing she needs right now. You mention as much, and Camilla laughs aloud.

“I suppose that's exactly it,” she admits, “We all have our needs, after all.”

“Needs that you have satisfied very well, I presume,” Cid says lightly, appearing behind you with a killer's grace. His eyes flash, and a smug little smile dances around his lips. Camilla colours a little – although you couldn't say whether it was anger or embarrassment – but Cid continue before she can offer a retort. “Escher wished to know if you were ready to leave. The Navaja is ready if you are.”

>We're ready. Let's move out
>There's something I need to do first... (Write in)
>Other

>>816214
>>We're ready. Let's move out
How much time have we killed already? How much faster would things have gone if we just said fuck you to Escher and stolen the Navaja and explored the island one by one?

>>816214
>>Other
"How many men is Skinner going to bring with him to this meeting you think? Have anything that might even the odds if we are outnumbered and negotiations go south?"

Otherwise
>We're ready. Let's move out

>>816233
All in all I think it's only been over a day since we landed at the Port so we haven't lost that much time.

How many men is Skinner likely to bring to any meeting, you ask Cid, are you likely to be outnumbered?

“Ah, I fear that may be the case,” Cid admits, “It is possible that Skinner will wish to meet before all his men. However, this may be something we can turn in our favour. The larger the audience, the more of a show Skinner must put on. He has his own reputation to protect, yes? Before a great crowd of witnesses, he must appear strong and confident. Decisive, you see.” Cid rubs his lips as he thinks to himself. “I believe that Skinner's gang place great value in traditions, the same ones that Escher is relying on,” the southerner adds, “Perhaps you could appeal to those. Skinner would not be able to go against them without harming himself in their eyes.”

This is a man whose men are willing to rip out their own tongues, you point out, you're not sure that you can dent that kind of devotion.

“Maybe so, but it is a thing to consider. Skinner, perhaps he has started to believe his own legend – he might not be willing to break the illusions built up around him,” shrugging lightly, Cid waves the issue away, “But I am a simple guide. What do I know?”

You'd rather put your faith in something more physical, you mutter, if it means evening the odds.

“Ah, I understand,” nodding, Cid gives you a wink, “Firepower, yes? We may be small in number, but we have ample weapons. Skinner's gang, on the other hand, are known to be short on new, well-maintained guns. Should it come to a fight, we will have the edge, I assure you of that.”

That wink doesn't do much to reassure you. He's got a trick up his sleeve, you don't doubt that, but the value of his tricks remains to be seen. Regardless, you don't have many other options lying ahead of you. With that in mind, you give Cid the nod. You're ready to head out, you tell him, lead the way.

“Excellent choice, my friend,” with another wink, Cid points ahead of him, “We shall make good time. Ah, the Boneyard is a sight to behold, let me promise you that!” With that jaunty assurance, he starts off towards the southern docks and his beloved ship, leaving without so much as a backwards glance.

“You know,” Camilla murmurs as the guide departs, “I'm starting to distrust him a little. Maybe I'm just paranoid.”

She might be paranoid, you reply in that same low tone, but that doesn't mean she's wrong.

>Right, I think I'll pause things here and pick up in about 13 hours time. Can't stick around for any questions, but I'll answer anything when I get back
>Thanks for sticking around for this special late session!

>>816234
>>816214
This

>>816346
Thanks for the extra updates.

In regards to Camilla possibly trying to do good within the Ministry, while the Southern Local Expert is a good idea wouldn't she also be good in a position in the newly claimed Port Tyrant/North? She would be more of an expert on that locale than the South and she could also get advice from our local white witch. Assuming of course Alyssia would get within 5 feet of a Ministry agent willingly.

>>816346
> Let's dare a spirit to mingle with our blood

Challenge Skinner to a drinking contest is what I'm saying, and let the S/spirits guide our tongues.

>>816473

Ultimately, I see Camilla as being more useful - on a permanent basis - in the north, but she could certainly offer good advice or instructions in the south. In other words, she could whip the locals into shape and leave them to their own devices. That's my take on things, anyway.

Now, I'll get things going again in about 5/10 minutes. Sorry for the delay, I ran into some unexpected stuff.

There's something joyless about the way the Navaja cuts through the water, blazing a path towards the Boneyard. No doubt about it, this is all business – Cid's features are set in a grim concentration, his eyes fixed on the waters ahead. A marked contrast from his earlier sailing, when everything seemed like a fine game despite your unwholesome destination. As he guides the Navaja forwards, you stand at the side of the ship and shield your eyes against the spray.

“Thinking deep thoughts?” Camilla asks, drawing close so she can be heard without yelling.

Just thinking about stealing this ship, you reply, and searching the islands yourself. With all the delays you've been facing, it might well have been faster than relying on Escher's help.

“Maybe so,” she admits, “But that sounds like a damn good way of ending up on his bad side. Stealing his prized ship would be a fine insult and, well, we've both seen how he deals with insults. If he caught you in the act, I wager he'd have his boy there slit your throat.”

If he caught you, you repeat. Camilla concedes the point with a slight nod, and then you move on. What about her, you ask, was she thinking any deep thoughts?

“I don't know, maybe,” there is a slight hesitation in her voice, a short pause, “I'm starting to have doubts. What if we're wrong about all this, and Yvette didn't come here for help? What if she's just blindly running, trying to get as far from the north as she can? We could be wasting our time here, chasing after someone we might never catch.”

Yvette IS here, you assure her, you're certain about that. You couldn't say how, exactly, but you don't have a single doubt in your mind. With the natural instincts of a born hunter, you can sense the chase drawing to a close. You'll find her here, you add quietly, you've got to find her here.

“Well, you're the expert,” Camilla shrugs lightly, convinced more by the sincerity in your words than the words themselves, “Listen, I wanted to talk to you. It's not about business, it's about...”

Before she can finish that sentence, however, the Navaja's engines cut to a soft purr. Slowing to a crawl, Cid guides the vessel into the shade of a small island, one choked with thick trees. Once the Navaja is shrouded, hidden from sight, he cuts the engines completely and approaches you. “I have something to show you,” he says, “And I want to hear your plans. We should all be reading from the same page, yes?”

Sure, you agree, better to make sure there will be no misunderstandings later. As you start after him, you glance back at Camilla.

“It doesn't matter,” she assures you, faint irritation still hanging in her voice, “It can wait.”

[1/3]

>>818637

There's smoke, you tell Cid as you meet up with him, you can see smoke on the horizon. Not a small amount, either – a great pillar of black smoke rising up from a nearby island, suggesting a formidable blaze below.

“That is Fallas,” Cid replies indifferently, “They often have great bonfires. The jungle, you see, is always pressing in, trying to reclaim their fields and plantations. The men there regularly cut down large swathes of plants, trees, to keep the land clear. Hard work, and dangerous, but it has to be done. Nothing to worry about, my friend, a sight that you quickly get used to. Now, as I have said to you, I wished to show you something. These.” Cid crouches down to a heavy chest, fiddling with the lock for a moment before throwing open the lid. Inside, you see the gleam of polished rifles.

“These are very new,” Camilla remarks, taking out one of the rifles and examining it closely, “Excellent weapons, and in very good condition. You must have got these from the north, right?”

“The lady knows her guns,” Cid's smile has a vaguely condescending edge to it, “You are correct. Often, traders will come bearing weapons to sell here. A well-made gun can sell here for double what it would cost in the north. Of course, a local weapon is far cheaper... if you're willing to risk something that might explode in your hand. And that, my friends, is what I really wanted to show you. These!” Yanking aside a sheet, Cid reveals a cluster of awkward looking objects. They look a little like flares, but with a bulbous lump swelling out at one end.

“Hold on a minute,” Camilla begins, “Are those-”

“Bombs!” Cid grins, the sweat glistening on his skin giving him the look of a madman, “The men at the Boneyard, they will not be expecting anything like these. The work of a clever man in New Odyss. A lunatic, of course, but a very clever one. The design for these, he once claimed, came to him in a dream. After drinking mazka for one whole day, he lapsed into a vision. In it, he met with a great serpent, one that hungered for war and destruction. When he woke, he had the designs drawn out. A weapon to liberate his homeland, he thought, to drive away the foreign invaders!”

So what happened to him?

“Ah, the Ministry heard his talk of revolution and “disappeared” him,” Cid shrugs, “They confiscated his work, but Escher managed to “find” a copy of whatever notes remained. He finds many things like that, you see. We don't use bombs like this often – explosions are bad for business – but they may serve us well here. Numbers are no advantage when they are scattered and dismayed, yes?”

“Just, ah...” he adds hastily as you pick up one of the bombs, “Be gentle with them.”

Very carefully, you put the bomb back down again.

[2/3]

>>818639

Matters of bombs and mad inventors aside, you tell Cid, what else was he wanting to discuss?

“A plan, a method of approach,” he replies, “You see, night will have descended by the time we reach the Boneyard. Out here, a man can vanish into the dark. If you wished to scout ahead...”

“And risk getting caught, likely branded a spy,” Camilla adds.

“I merely suggest an option,” a faint trace of petulance steals into Cid's voice, “In the interests of making an informed decision, you see? A man can only truly choose when he knows all his options. A little bit of traditional wisdom, there.”

“It's traditional, I'll give you that,” the Ministry agent shoots back, “But I don't know how wise it is. I can't say I've been very impressed with the rest of your traditions so far.”

“Harsh. Very harsh,” Cid shakes his head sadly, “But, ah, I must concede the point. Getting caught trying to sneak in would be very bad, bad for everyone involved. If I was calling the shots, drawing the plans and making the arrangements, do you know what I would do? I would sail right up to them, as if I was visiting nobility, and demand to speak with Skinner. Confidence, you see, certainty and surety of purpose. Men respect these things.”

“Unless Skinner takes it as an insult and flays us alive,” Camilla, ever the optimist, points out, “He might consider it a failure to show due deference. Negotiating from a position of strength is good, true, but only if we get the chance to negotiate in the first place.”

“Then we have many options to chose from,” spreading his hands wide, Cid's gestures have a trace of exasperation to them, “We could even shoot our way in, give Skinner a bloody nose that he would never forget! The choice, my friend, lies with you.”

>Skinner is a businessman, we'll treat him like one and talk things out
>I want to sneak in, scout ahead and see what I can learn
>Shooting the place up sounds like fun. Let's go with that
>I have a plan of my own... (Write in)
>Other

>>818641
>>I want to sneak in, scout ahead and see what I can learn
Let's see what we are dealing with first.

>>818641
>>I have a plan of my own... (Write in)
Cid and Camilla can walk right in like they own the place while we sneak around ahead and meet up with them later on. What could possibly go wrong?

>>818641
>Skinner is a businessman, we'll treat him like one and talk things out
If they get rowdy, we set off one of the bombs......NOT near anybody. But only after they start looking hostile. Escalation, right?

So I guess 2 of the group walks up while 1 sneaks around with some bombs as insurance if they don't play nice with the up front approach?

>>818667

>That's the current arrangement I'm going with, yes.

>>818672
I'm fine with that plan

You've got a plan, you begin, something a little bit different. If the two of them – Cid and Camilla, aboard the Navaja – head through the front door, you could slip in the back. Just like Cid said, if they march in like they own the place, it'll draw every eye in the place to them, and away from you. It'll give you a chance to sneak in, to scout ahead a little and see what you'll be dealing with.

“Ah, I see,” Cid ponders the idea, “Interesting. I had not considered this, but... I think it would work. The Boneyard is mostly swamp. If you stick to the firmer ground, you might be able to skirt around the outer edge. From there, though, I fear I cannot offer much guidance. You'll be on your own.”

You're aware of that, you reply firmly, but you're just going to take a look around. Once you've learned a little more about the Boneyard, you'll work your way back around to join them. So long as they keep Skinner and his men busy, you shouldn't have too much to worry about.

“Of course. Nothing at all to worry about,” Camilla gives you a sharp look, “Just spying on the man who rips out tongues and skins people alive.”

“That is not, ah, precisely correct,” Cid points out, “We don't yet know if he has ripped out a tongue. It is not good to make unfounded accusations, yes?”

Knock it off, you warn the pair of them, you want them to stay focussed. If they're going to hold up their end of the plan, you'll need them to work together. No bickering, no arguing, nothing. There's something satisfying about how they fall into order, shutting up without you needing to tell them twice. Now then, you add, their side of things.

“We go in politely, to speak with Skinner about his, ah... gift to Escher,” Cid nods slowly, “Peaceful negotiations, so long as we are treated as guests. If things should go wrong, we have ample means to make a show of force.”

Try not to blow up any of Skinner's men, you warn, not as a first resort. With a little luck, just demonstrating the bombs should be enough to make them back down. No sense in any needless killing, especially if it would only escalate the situation. Any last objections?

“None from me,” Cid shakes his head.

“It's a hell of a risk you're taking,” Camilla mutters, “But... no, no arguments here. I'm prepared to do my part.”

Excellent, you conclude, now it's time to put the plan into action.

-

Cid keep the Navaja slow and quiet as you approach the Boneyard, giving plenty of time for the sun to creep below the horizon. As he focuses on guiding the boat forwards, Camilla takes one of the rifles and studies it again. Pressing it against her shoulder, she sights down the barrel for a few moments before nodding, apparently satisfied.

She knows her stuff, no denying that.

[1/2]

>>818639
>he met with a great serpent, one that hungered for war and destruction
Sounds like someone needs a wanderer to pay her another visit.

>>818681

“Full power rifle cartridge, and a repeating action,” she tells you, noticing your look, “Good firepower, we'll have a real advantage if it comes to a gunfight, and that's before taking these bombs into account. Even if it doesn't come to open violence, they'll give Skinner's men something to think about. If they know we're serious, they'll be more inclined to pay attention to what we have to say.”

And less likely to go looking around for any other intruders, you add.

“That as well,” Camilla accepts the point with a nod. Then, clicking on the rifle's safety, she holds it out to you. “You should take one along with you,” she adds, “Just in case.”

That was the plan, you say as you take the rifle, although you'd rather not use it. Not here, not in an open fight. Even as you grab the gun, though, Camilla keep a firm grip on it, meeting your gaze with a cool warning in her eyes.

“Better safe than sorry,” she tells you, before finally letting go on the rifle.

-

When the night descends, it is a moonless one. Thick, dark clouds – fat with rain – hang heavily in the sky, blotting out any serious light that might foil your approach. The perfect weather, in other words, for an unseen intrusion. It's almost enough to make you feel like the nameless northern gods are looking out for you, sending their aid despite the distance between you and their lands. Whether by accident or design, though, the result is the same – a dark pall, offering you cover and concealment.

“Here we are,” Cid says to you, his voice just barely raised over the purr of the Navaja's engine, “This is where we split up. You see the Boneyard ahead?”

It's hard to miss, even in the gloom. Dark shapes – crooked, angular and skeletal – loom out before you, while garlands of lanterns shed a flickering light across the scene. Slinging the borrowed rifle over your shoulder, you step carefully from the Navaja to the soft, boggy ground. Immediately, you sink almost an inch into the filth, but no more than that. It looks, feels and smells vile, but you can walk fine enough. Giving Cid and Camilla a confident wave, you turn away from the departing Navaja and press on into the jungle.

Within the first few minutes of your approach, you realise that it'll be slower going than you expected. At points the ground beneath you drops away, unable to support any real weight, and you find yourself testing every step before taking it. The dark, which had seemed like such a blessing not so long ago, now feels like a curse, a burden. A flashlight would help, but that defeats the entire point of sneaking in.

No sense complaining about it, you tell yourself, just make the best of things.

[2/3]

>>818708

When you draw closer to the Boneyard, stepping carefully through the muck and half-sunken paths, you start to get a better idea of what you're dealing with. The angular shapes are the remains of old ships, some stripped down to rusting skeletons while others are still left with meat clinging to their bones. They've been converted into buildings of sorts, complete with paths and gangways strung up between them. You've got to admit, you've never seen anything quite like it.

The people, as well, are strange to look at. A fair mix, you even see a few northerns among the savage gang. All of them wear thick paint on their skin. The palest men are coloured red, like flayed bodies, while the darker skinned men are daubed with white, lending them the appearance of walking bones. Most carry guns of some kind – old rifles crusted with dirt and rust, or pistols of equally crude condition – but all of them carry knives. For the most part, they seem at ease. Nothing, in other words, to indicate trouble.

Settling in at a distance, you sit for a while and watch the painted men wandering back and forth. Very few of them move with any kind of purpose at first, but all that changes when a blaring siren howls out. An alarm, you think at first. Then, a hollow, echoing voice sounds out and corrects you.

“All men, gather! The Skinner has called an assembly, all men gather!” the voice, amplified by some ramshackle system of pipes and horns, bellows out that same command a few more times before falling silent. As it does, the painted guards begin to withdraw, retreating towards one specific ship. You follow them with your gaze, and then a murmured curse falls from your lips as you see just where they've gathered.

The Majestic looks a lot different, with the vast guns stripped off and torn away from it. Almost... broken, like an aging fighter who has lost his edge. A sad sight, perhaps, but still one that quickens your pulse to see. She was here, Yvette was here.

You're so focussed on the Majestic that you almost miss the pair of painted guards leaving it, and the other man – notable because his skin is unpainted – they carry. They have the air of guards escorting a prisoner, while the man they carry looks two steps away from death.

You've found your missing agent.

>Press forwards, try to meet up with the agent
>Investigate the remains of the Majestic
>Pull back, you've seen enough
>Other

>>818740
>Press forwards, try to meet up with the agent

>>818740
>Press forwards, try to meet up with the agent

>>818740
>>Pull back, you've seen enough
Let's go through 'official' channels

>>818740
>Investigate the remains of the Majestic
Agent looks like he is going towards the meeting which we'll be going to anyways after and if he doesn't show up to the meeting it'll tip Skinner off that we are out here.

>>818740
>>Press forwards, try to meet up with the agent
Welp the ship was scrapped guess we don't get to bring home the big guns.

>>818747
Ship is fine. Only the guns were removed I think.

>>818747
>>818755
I think they will fit the guns on smaller ships so they can harass northern ships, hide in shallows and move faster.

>>818757
I'm beginning to wonder that other than lack of manpower why shouldn't we blow this place sky high and steal back the Majestic?

>Okay, I'm going to close the vote here. We're starting with meeting the agent. There may be a slight delay, though. Hopefully not too long

File: 9c0.jpg (43 KB, 600x480)

43 KB JPG

I'm a bit late but
>>818637
that death flag.

You won't be able to tell whether he still has a tongue in his head or not without getting closer, but at least you know that Escher's man is still alive. That's a good start, but you're not about to stop there. If you can press ahead and meet up with him, you might be able to get the information you need. Communication might not be all that easy, but he can at least nod or shake his head. So long as you stick to yes or no questions, it should work out fine enough.

That's getting ahead of yourself. You need to reach him first, and hope that the guards are generous to give the pair of you a few moments alone. The bellowed message said “all” men were to assemble, so you've got to assume the prison guards are included in that.

Lingering for a few moments more, you watch as the pair of painted men vanish into the guts of one of the more intact ships. The prison, or whatever passes for one, must be somewhere in there. The coast looks clear, so you crouch low and scurry out from the undergrowth you had been hiding in. With the paper lanterns above casting a flickering light over the Boneyard, you can see the murky outline of sunken pathways crossing the swamp. With one final check, ensuring that there aren't any lingering guards, you sprint out across one of those swampy roads and throw yourself into the relative cover of the closest ship. Panting lightly, you wait and listen for any cries of alarm.

Nothing. Good. The only voice you can hear is drifting from the crippled Majestic, and distance robs the words of all sense or meaning. Just dull, booming sounds, that's all you get from here. Skinner, you suspect, throwing his weight around. Trusting that Camilla and Cid can deal with him, you focus on your own tasks. First step – get up and onto the ship. That's easily enough done, with the aid of a crude ladder slung down from the upper deck. All too aware of how exposed you are, and how rickety the ladder feels, you scale it as quickly as you can. Just as you're about to pull yourself up and onto the deck, a harsh voice reaches you.

-

“I hate how he stares,” the voice complains, “Never saying anything, just staring.”

“His tongue is gone,” a second voice retorts, “I would be more worried if he DID say something, yes? You are a fool, scared like a little child. Too much snow in your blood, it makes you soft.”

“Smug bastard, like you southerners have anything to fear. If you saw the beasts we had back home, you wouldn't talk so much shit,” the first voice snaps. It's louder now, almost completely on top of you. All it would take for your cover to be blown, you realise, is for the man to lean over the railing and look down.

Holding your breath, you force yourself to be very still indeed.

[1/2]

>>818800

“Beasts again,” the second voice – heavy with scorn and a coarse southern accent – sneers, “What does a beast do? It eats you, yes? Bah, I would sooner fight one dozen beasts, naked and armed only with my bare hands, than anger the Skinner. He would see me die slow and screaming, yes? You understand my point, yes?”

“Yeah,” the northern voice, sullen, replies, “Don't piss off Skinner. I get you.”

“So why are we still here, when he called an assembly?” the southerner snaps, “You are very stupid indeed, if you think Skinner will not notice we are missing. He does not just miss these things.”

“Yeah yeah,” the first voice mutters, “He's all talk, got you southerners wrapped around his little finger. I've seen his type before...”

The rest of that sentence is lost to you, fading as the pair of guards move away from you. When the sounds of their voices and footsteps have completely vanished, you let out a slow sigh of relief and pull yourself up onto the deck. One more step closer to your goal.

-

From the vantage point of the deck, you take a slow look out across the Boneyard, taking in the unique sight from a new perspective. This new angle only makes the Majestic look worse, more abused than you first thought. The deck itself has been carved open, the metal plating torn away so that the cavernous engine room is open to the air. The thought of how much work must have gone into that, and the short space of time allotted to it, staggers you. These men are like insects, stripping a carcass to the bone with brutal efficiency.

Crowded within the engine room, blurred together into a single surging entity, you see Skinner's men forming a loose circle. Within the circle, you spy three figures. Camilla and Cid stand perfectly still, while a third man prowls around them. Distance robs him of most detail, but you know on instinct alone that Skinner is that third man. Taller than any man you've ever seen – the White Tyrant was taller still, but he was no man – Skinner moves like a shadow, pitch black and smooth. Trying to intimidate them, you assume, trying to strike fear into their hearts.

All you can do is trust that Camilla and Cid have the situation under control and leave them to it. You've got your own side of the plan to work on. Turning away, you descend down into the gutted ship in search of the prison.

A prison – what you find there, at the lowest depths of the crippled ship, barely deserves such a lofty name.

[2/3]

>>818873

Skinner's men were helpful enough to paint signs on the walls, directions scrawled in sloppy letters. Most of the ship's corridors are just marked as “rooms” - bedrooms, you assume – but a downward pointing arrow is labelled “cells”. Taking the directions given, you descend down until you reach the lowest level. Opening out into a surprisingly wide, empty hall, the ship offers nothing that you might call a cell. Until, that is, you look down.

The cells are crude cages, half-sunken in the swamp and topped with thick bars. All but one of them are empty, and you only know that someone is here by the sight of their hands, clinging desperately to the roof of their cage. Pausing only to check that there really are no guards, you hurry across to the single occupied cell, crouching down and peering into the murk.

What looks back up to you is a pitiful example of humanity, badly beaten and verging on hopelessness. Even your arrival, and the prospect of rescue, does little more than light a weary hint of relief in the man's eyes. His mouth yawns open, and what you see there is hollow. No doubt about it – it was his tongue that landed on Escher's desk. Even as you recoil back from the sight of his mutilated mouth, the prisoner reaches out to point – not at you, but at the far wall. It almost takes more strength than he can muster, but he jabs his finger regardless. Rising, turning away, you follow his pointing to see what got his attention.

A ring of heavy keys, dangling from a hook. No prizes for guessing what they unlock. It takes a moment to find the right key, but eventually the iron cage door squeals open and you can pull the man out. His skin feels clammy, almost waxy, but you suppress your shudder and lift him back onto dry land. More than once, he lets out a flabby, shapeless kind of groan, the sound that only a man without a tongue can make.

>I've got some questions for you. Just nod or shake your head – understand?
>Come on, I'm getting you out of here. The questions can wait until later
>Other

>>818920
>>Come on, I'm getting you out of here. The questions can wait until later

>>818920
>Other
Get him out of here but ask him questions when it's safe to. I'm assuming we're going to carry him, so 1 tap for yes, 2 taps for no.

Only important questions though, like would Skinner be willing to kill messengers from Escher. Actually ask that first, it's really important.

>>818920
>>I've got some questions for you. Just nod or shake your head – understand?

"Did Skinner mutilate you to get at Esher from some reason or was it because of what you were specifically asking about?"

"Is the man you were asking about here?"

"Do you think is Skinner is going to offer one of his men to kill the feud or does this go way beyond a feud between the two?"

>Come on, I'm getting you out of here.
Give him our pistol. We have a rifle. We need to get into position to overwatch the meeting in case it goes south.

>>818941
Where do we toss him? On the Navaja? Should we just leave Camilla and Cid to handle things?

>>818920
>>I've got some questions for you then you can get out. Just nod or shake your head – understand?

>>818953
I was thinking we take him with us to find a spot to hide near the meeting, in case shit goes down like I expect it to.

Come on, you tell him quietly, you're getting him out of here. You've got a few question to ask, but you'd rather not ask them here. Better to get somewhere safe first, somewhere that you won't need to worry about getting disturbed. It doesn't look like he can walk, though. Frowning, you turn around and crouch down, urging him to hold on to you. The arms that wrap around your neck feel weak, without much strength to them, but he holds on as best he can.

You're going to ask him a few questions while you walk, you continue, just tap on your shoulder to answer them. One tap for yes, two taps for no. Is that understood?

One tap follows this. Good.

First of all, you start, would Skinner be willing to kill a messenger from Escher? A single grim tap, and you feel your scowl deepen. Would he be eager to do it, you press, would he look for a good reason to do so? Two taps here, for no. A small bit of good news, and you move onto the next question.

Did Skinner mutilate him specifically to strike out at Escher? Two taps, no. Was it because of the questions he was asking here? Another two taps, another no. Why then, you ask before cursing softly. That's not a question he could answer, of course. You fall silent for a while as you carry him up a few more floors, thinking about what to ask him next. If only you had a pen and paper with you!

What about the man he was sent to ask about, you press, was he here? One tap for yes. Did he get the chance to talk to him? Another lone tap. Was he able to learn anything? A moment of hesitation, and then a single tap. At that reply, your frown softens into a victorious smile. Exactly what you wanted to hear... feel, whatever.

-

Arriving up on deck, you hear a new and unfamiliar sound. Heavy drumming, dozens of men beating drums without any hint of rhythm or discipline. If what you saw of Skinner before was bad, this has plunged straight into disaster territory. Cursing again, you draw back into a secluded alcove and lower the agent down. You wanted to get him out, you mutter, but this changes things. You need to get over there, to see what's going on. Can he wait here for you?

The agent nods firmly, a flicker of resolve surfacing in his eyes. Before you leave, though, you ask one final question. Is Skinner likely to offer up one of his own men, you ask, to end the feud?

He thinks for a moment, but then the agent just shrugs helplessly. From his expression alone, you grasp the deeper meaning behind that shrug – who knows what Skinner is likely to do next?

Well then, that leaves you with little other option. Taking out your pistol and handing it over to the wounded man, you rise and hurry off. You need to be there, to keep an eye on this meeting. To make sure nothing goes wrong.

[1/2]

>>819038

Holding the rifle tightly, you cross the swaying gangway from one ship to the next, placing all your trust – all your blind faith – in the theory that there will be no guards. It's a gamble that pays off, and you don't see another living soul until you reach the Majestic's deck. Pausing to catch your breath, you lean over and glance down into the swamp. The Navaja waits there, tied up with a number of other small boats. Unlike the rusting hulks used for construction, these ones are honed and ready for use. The Navaja could probably outpace them, but you wouldn't like to bet on it.

Crawling, your body pressed flat against the deck, you approach the yawning hole in the deck and look down. Camilla and Cid are still alive and well, you note with a sigh of relief, although they look far from at ease. Up close, relatively speaking, you finally get a good look at Skinner. He's dark, without a single hair on his head or body, and sweat glistens like polish. Stripped bare to the waist, you can see gnarled trails of scar tissue winding up and down his torso – visible, even at this distance. He's armed, brandishing a heavy bladed machete and punching the blade into the air every gesture.

Someone's going to lose a limb, you realise with a sudden chill, and that's if they're lucky.

The painted men, red and white flowing together as one, howl and jeer, the pounding drums offering a nightmarish background roar to their cries. Sweat trickles into your eyes as you gaze down, blurring and doubling your vision. Every time you wipe it away, the men below you seem to have shifted, swapping positions and jostling for the best view. Snarling silently to yourself, you bring the rifle to bear and settle the sights on Skinner.

Not yet, you mutter as you keep your finger off the trigger, not yet.

The drumbeat dies, cut off in a single motion, and your next breath catches in your throat.

-

“Escher has favoured us with guests!” Skinner howls suddenly, thrusting his machete up to the moonless sky. His voice is deep, almost guttural, while the cruel sarcasm of his words cause the assembled men to roar with laughter and cheers. “Not just guests, but witnesses!” the looming savage continues, “Here to see how strong we are, how fearless we are, how mighty we all are! They are here to witness this... and yet you have disappointed me.”

His voice drops lower – yet still sickeningly audible – as he says this, and the crowd moans with dismay.

“There is one among you who shames us all,” Skinner snarls, “One weak link shatters the chain. One weak cog destroys the machine. Bring him to me, bring him so that strength can return to us all!”

The crowd, briefly silent, explodes into a fresh round of jeering and howling.

[2/3]

>>819137

Oh grate his going to fuck up the guy we are looking for.
Mybe ask if he just loses a hand or ear idk.
Also i think he might have got the guns off to put them on the boneyard or something

>>819209
I'm getting more partial to blowing Skinner's head off.

>Sorry for the delay, I'm having to rewrite a pretty significant chunk from scratch. There some pretty serious issues with it. Hopefully, the next part should be up within half an hour or so.

>>819244
No problem.

>>819244
Does Henryk have any explosive shots or do only Cid and Camilla have them?

>>819282

>Right, yes, that was something I meant to mention when we were getting that rifle. Henryk has three of the bombs.

>>819137

Amidst that chorus of roars, you hear something altogether shriller – a scream of pure panic, pure terror. A scuffle breaks out in the crowd as a small knot of the gang falls upon a lone, luckless figure. Quickly resolved, the struggle breaks apart to reveal a single red figure, as red as a flayed corpse, being dragged into the centre of the circle by a pair of bone white minions. Camilla and Cid stiffen as the captive is dragged before them and forced, whimpering, to his knees.

Still prowling like a beast, Skinner circles behind the captive man and leans down, whispering something to him. What he says was meant for the few at the centre, not for the massed crowd. With his message delivered, Skinner straightens up and hefts the machete.

The blade drops, and the captive man's head tumbles free of his body. As blood flows, and the body crumples, the crowd once more roars out their approval. Holding his hands wide, Skinner basks in the adulation for a moment before casually dropping the machete. Stooping down, he picks up the severed head and thrusts it into Camilla's hands. Offering her one last, unheard comment, he steps back and barks out an order, a command for his men to disperse.

They'll be returning soon, coming back this way. You don't have long before they're on you, and you doubt that they'd be happy to see you here. Camilla and Cid were guests, after all, but you're a spy – hardly the kind of person that invites mercy. Yet, even though you know a swift exit would be the smart choice right now, the thought of what you might be leaving behind taunts you. Yvette spent a long time on this ship, in the captain's quarters, and she might well have left something behind. Even just the idea of being somewhere that might still hold some trace of her essence, her scent, appeals to your hunting instinct.

How long would it take, really, to give the captain's quarters a quick search? Even carrying the agent on your back wouldn't slow you down too much – he's not all that heavy.

Torn between the two ideas – fleeing and digging a little deeper – you hesitate. Indecision, you know all too well, is the real danger here. You need to make a call, the sooner the better.

>Take the agent and escape. Meet up with the Navaja where you separated
>Take the agent and search the captain's quarters. There might yet be something to find there
>Other

>>819318
>>Take the agent and search the captain's quarters. There might yet be something to find there
What kind of disaster would happen if we just took out Skinner and leisurely investigated the place?

>>819318

Take the agent and escape. Meet up with the Navaja where you separated>>819332

Probs would have had to fight everyt h ing in the boneyard

>Take the agent and search the captain's quarters. There might yet be something to find there
We're up shit's creek now and the cabin's the only place to find a paddle.

>>819318
>>Take the agent and search the captain's quarters. There might yet be something to find there
Only real opportunity to do this.

>>819332
Dunno how his men will react. Will they want revenge or will they run away out of fear that we killed their leader? Can't really tell.

>>819341
If we made a show of it and placed someone in charge it could work out I think.

>>819353
I had that idea as well. Directly challenging him for control of the operation.

But as it stands now it's a huge risk for not that much gain. We can tell Loch where the Majestic is and the Ministry can roll in here blow this place apart later.

>>819318
>>Take the agent and search the captain's quarters. There might yet be something to find there

>>819318
Would activating our blood boost our speed in this case? Both movement and searching speed?

>>819384

>Yes, it would certainly help us move quicker, and the boost to our strength would help us carry the agent. It would heighten our senses as well, in case any scents or similar sorts of things were left behind

>>819413
We should use it then. It'll also keep us aware if someone is approaching while we are searching.

>>819413
Then I say we use it.

You're taking a gamble, you can't even begin to deny this, but you can't let the chance to search the place slip through your fingers. With Skinner lingering down below, and the massed crowd showing no particular haste in returning to their posts, you might never get another shot at this. So yes, it's a risk – but once your curiosity has been roused, you've never been very good at ignoring temptation.

So, before you've even finished returning to the wounded agent, you've settled on your plan. Just a quick search, to get a stronger feel on Yvette if nothing else, and then you'll be away. Easy, no harm in it.

When you return to him, the agent gives you a wide eyed look, nodding towards the jungle beyond. The implication is clear - “get me the hell out of here” - but you shake your head in reply. Got a quick detour to make, you murmur to him, but you won't leave him stranded here. Resignation clouds his features, but he makes no attempt at a protest. At least, if he has any complaints, he doesn't voice them.

You're starting to like this guy. He doesn't argue back.

-

As you hoist the wounded man up onto your back and return to the Majestic, you realise that you've slowly slipped into more bestial state, calling upon the power of your blood almost by reflex. The thought, the idea that it might not be fully under your own control, sends a chill running down your spine until you force the thoughts aside. You don't have time to dwell on such things, not while you're on the clock. You need to focus on the task at hand.

>[Focus remaining: 0]

But it's hard, damn hard, to sharpen your thoughts. The wounded agent stinks of blood and filth, the stagnant swamp odour clinging to him like a shroud. Every breath that escapes him reeks of old blood, blood from his shorn tongue, and the smell of it clouds your thoughts. The whole swamp stinks of death, in fact, and something else – a very familiar smell. What is it, you ask yourself, what IS that smell? A hint of ocean salt, mingling with sickness and contamination. A bad smell, a smell that doesn't belong here.

It'll come to you soon enough, you're sure.

-

Slipping into the captain's quarters – the door is unlocked and ajar, casually open in a way that Yvette would never have allowed – that familiar smell is smothered by a new array of scents. Faded perfume, a relic from Yvette's time here, and the sour reek of sweat. Masculine sweat, you assume, although you couldn't quite say how you knew that straight away.

No matter. You're not here to dwell on the smell of sweat. Setting the agent down, you begin the search.

[1/2]

>>819530
>What is it, you ask yourself, what IS that smell? A hint of ocean salt, mingling with sickness and contamination. A bad smell, a smell that doesn't belong here.

Red eye.

>>819530

Quickly, you realise that someone else has ransacked this place before you. Maybe Yvette herself, reluctant to leave even a single thing behind. The closets are empty, although you catch a faint musty smell of old clothes, and the shelves have been swept clean. The unmade bed has the same sweaty smell clinging to it, while the sheets themselves are spotted with blood. You're not sure whose blood, and that uncertainty unnerves you.

Without much hope, you rifle through the desk – the last bit of furniture in the room – and find it empty. Cursing your luck, you step back and glance down at the floor, keen eyes drawn by a flash of white. Paper, a neat card. All too easily, you can picture it slipping out and landing, unnoticed, beneath the desk. It could be nothing, of course, but it's the closest thing to a clue you've found. Reaching down and snatching it up, your first instinct is to lift the card to your nose and smell it, tasting it for any lingering scent.

There, beneath the ghost of Yvette's perfume, you catch another odour. A man's aftershave maybe, albeit a particularly foppish kind. Not a familiar smell, but one you'll be looking out for in future. With that done, you move on to reading the card – there's not much to it.

“Y, we've made the arrangements with Skinner and his association. You need only confirm the arrangements and depart. We will take care of the rest, clean up included. Looking forwards to meeting you at last – E.E.S.”

Y, of course, must be Yvette, and the second set of initials must be another name. A Saive, probably, one struck from the family record but still clinging to the name. Proof, at least, that she is working with another group here. The rest, though, you're not so certain about. What arrangements, you wonder, and what clean up?

No time to think about that, though. Just as you're slipping the card into your pocket, the distant thunder of footfalls reaches you. Someone is coming, and you're almost entirely certain of who it might be – Skinner.

There's still a good distance between him and you, although that distance is quickly closing. It's risky, but you might be able to slip out under his nose. What other choice do you have, confronting him here and hoping that he's in the mood to talk? Shooting him dead as soon as he appears in the doorway?

>Slip away while you have the chance
>Wait for Skinner. Perhaps you can work with him
>Shoot on sight, you're not taking any chances
>Other

>>819626
>>Slip away while you have the chance
Yeah let's just get out of here. Rather not deal with the crazy bastard.

>>819626
>Slip away while you have the chance
He knows something, but he's not going to tell us. And shooting in the middle of his base doesn't seem to be a good idea. Who knows how many people there are in this place.

>>819626
>>Slip away while you have the chance

>>819626
>>Slip away while you have the chance

>>819638
I'd not call him crazy, to me it feels like he's made a deal with Saives and all of this was done to keep it under wraps. Hid it behind veneer of madness and cult worship.

>>819626
>>Slip away while you have the chance

Whatever Skinner knows, or might know, he can keep it to himself. Not so long ago, you watched him decapitate one of his own men with a machete, striking the head from the body in a single swing of the blade – you're not about to sit down and hope he'll play nice. No, you've got a chance to slip out, and you're not going to waste that. Searching this place was your intention, not forcing a confrontation.

Come on, you tell the mute, you're getting him out of here. You've already outstayed your welcome here.

Even mute, the naked relief in his eyes tells you everything you need to know about his opinion.

-

Half carrying and half dragging the agent, you rush from the captain's quarters and turn the corner, flattening yourself against the wall. Above you, the night sky is beginning to clear and the first few stars are beginning to shine through. When the moon shows its face, you'll be that much easier to spot in the jungle. All the more reason to hurry.

Luckily for you, there are many ladders bridging the gap between the ships and the swamp beneath, not just one. You're not far from one, and you're halfway down by the time you hear Skinner bellowing out a curse. It's hard to say how he knew someone was in his room – maybe he just sensed an intruder in the air – but that hardly matters now. The jungle is there, waiting to embrace you and shield you from searching eyes.

Flattening yourself up against a tree, you let out a long, slow sigh of relief. This is your territory now, and you've got nothing to fear. All you need to do is pick your way through the marshland and meet back up with the Navaja. Provided everything went to plan, Cid should be waiting where you parted ways. You murmur this, a constant stream of your thoughts, to the mute agent as you creep through the jungle. His only response, of course, is to pat you on the shoulder every so often, just to remind you that he's still alive.

Really, sometimes that's all you need out of a conversation.

-

Pushing aside a low fan of waxy leaves, the blissful sight of the Navaja springs forth before you. The rustle of your footsteps causes Camilla to spin around, the barrel of her rifle pointed dead at you, but then she relaxes.

“You took your time,” she remarks, smiling a crooked smile as you helps you aboard, “Getting your friend there to give you a guided tour.”

He's not the most talkative guide you've ever had, you reply in a deadpan tone, but he sure can point at stuff.

Grunting in his own kind of way, the agent punches you on the shoulder. He hits pretty hard, for someone who looked half-dead a short while ago.

[1/2]

>>819780
>Really, sometimes that's all you need out of a conversation.
This guy is alright, can't make trouble if ya can't talk shit.

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>>819780

“It was all a stupid mistake,” Camilla, her clothes still stained with blood, tells you later, “That's all. A stupid damn mistake, and Skinner knew it. Still, he couldn't come out and just say it, not without making himself look foolish, erratic. He needed a way to make amends with Escher, without admitting any kind of weakness.”

How does she know all this, you ask, did he tell her this himself?

“The drums,” Cid calls back, “While they were pounding away, he told us this. Nobody else could hear. He knew that he needed to settle the feud, he knew that one of his own needed to die. So... he picked one, on whatever, ah... flimsy pretence he could come up with. Disloyalty, he said.”

You recall the northerner, and his disrespectful talk. That's all it takes, you murmur to yourself, to earn the death sentence. So why did he mutilate the agent in the first place, you ask, what spurred that on?

“Apparently, he's been having some trouble. Deaths, nothing he can explain,” Camilla frowns, “It's got him on edge, and it started not long after the Majestic arrived at his door. He knows all about this – the Saives, the Majestic, everything. So, when he heard that Escher's man was asking all kinds of questions, he made a bad call. Thought that our man here had something to do with it, and punished him accordingly. Well, it didn't take him long to realise his error.”

“And so he killed his own man,” Cid finishes, “Leaving us with a kind gift for Escher. This should settle the feud, and we have our agent back. A success on all counts, yes?”

More of a success than you were expecting, you remark as you think of the card in your pocket. Pieces are slowly falling into place. The Saive family must have done something here, released something in the Boneyard that would, in theory, kill off Skinner and his crew – simply because they were witnesses, because they knew too much. It's callous, not least because you have a damn good idea what weapon they used. That familiar smell was the smell of a parasite – of the Red Eye Sickness, or something like it.

One more crime to lay at their feet, one more reason to chase Yvette down. Now that you've got Escher's man, you finally have an idea of where to start looking.

Fetch a map and a pen, you tell Camilla, you've got a damn good lead.

-

With the map in front of him, the agent – Oscar, Cid called him – frowned for a long time before taking up the pen. With an undeniable certainty, he makes a neat marking on the paper and hands it back to you, nodding firmly as he does so.

Isla Saiva. At last.

>I think I'll finish things up here for today. I'll continue tomorrow, same sort of time, and I can stick around to answer any questions
>Sorry about the delays today!

>>819897
>Saive weaponizing Red Eye

That shit ain't good.

Thanks for running Moloch.

>>819897
Thanks for running Moloch. See you tomorrow.
What would've happened if we stayed and talked to Skinner?

>>819897
Thanks!

>>819897
>all the way across the map
Damn I was way off. Time to get down to business though.

>>819913

Well, he wouldn't have tried to kill us on sight, at least. His main thing would have offered a little more insight into the Red Eye problem, and his own version of events. Nothing I'd really call vital information, in either case.

>>819897
The real question now is which is faster: the extermination rate of Red Eye Parasites dying to hotter climate and Skinner's quarantining policies....

or the adaptation rate of the Red Eye Parasites.

>>819994
I thought Red Eye thrives in warm areas which is why the hide in whales in the far north. They probably love the south.

>>819938
Right?

>>820010
Ah, so basically Saives brought disaster to the south.

>>820010

Ah, yes. The Red Eye parasite grows well in warm conditions, going into a kind of stasis when the temperatures get too low. In the north, they grow inside whales, but they don't need that in the south.

>>820045

Just some minor teething problems, nothing to worry about!

>>820010
warm is one thing, hot is not necessarily the same.

.....It often is, though

There's still competition from other organic life. Possibly better immune systems, inferior infection rate but superior survivability, etc.

>>819897
Thanks for running, Moloch!

>>820062
True. In these hot climes, competition would be fierce, and it wouldn't be out of possibility for the parasites to be choked out. But, as an introduced species, adapted to explosive growth in brief periods of abundance... It is all together likely that the growth won't be curbed, especially if the native organisms can't or don't know how to safely predate the population into a safer level.

I wonder if Camilla will try to come back later, or set things in motion with the governor, to burn out the parasites?

>>819897
Shit. We HAVE to report this to the Ministry.

Not out of any sympathy for Skinner, but because this shit could spread out of control.

Also we should inform Escher, so he can work with Skinner to stop it.

A nice side effect would be that if we cut out the Governor from the Ministry here, we can use it as proof of his incompetence and get him replaced with a more effective one.

As well, finally, it could in some small way help make up for the College's previous atrocity with the Orphanage if we could get them involved as well with helping study and contain the parasite.

Finally, it could quite possibly be related to the guys experimenting with it back in the Capital. Maybe they're also experimenting with it here.

Maybe whatever was released there also is infecting what's it's name where Camilla comes from, where the Majestic got supplies. Given to the Sailors that came on board.

>>820312
>it could in some small way help make up for the College's previous atrocity with the Orphanage if we could get them involved as well with helping study and contain the parasite.
Like hell would this end any other way than bad, we know how the Collage works.

>>820343
Hmm. What if instead of going to the College proper for this we see if we can get a Scholar that we know and somewhat trust be a decent person to head this.

Remember Mirrah? That young Scholar that worked with us during the snake great beast incident? I didn't seem like she hasn't gotten too deep into the Collage's bullshit.

How we go about this I have no idea but I am throwing the idea out there.

>>820343
collage
a piece of art made by sticking various different materials such as photographs and pieces of paper or fabric on to a backing.

?

>>820343
It would be under Ministry oversight, and the College itself has it's own factions within it I'm sure.

>>820412

It could give reasion for the ministry to come down and purge both the governor and the boneyeard

>>821068
no more bone zone

>>821068
>A nice side effect would be that if we cut out the Governor from the Ministry here, we can use it as proof of his incompetence and get him replaced with a more effective one.


I think fucking up the Boneyard would be more than justified by them ganking the Majestic.

Like, you take that shit AND YOU SELL IT RIGHT THE FUCK BACK.

Not to the rebels.

Because now we are going to report that the Boneyard is supporting the rebels, and armed them with the Majestic's weapons.

Or we could go back again and talk to wossname privately and let him know that he's made a very, very bad choice.

I mean, this is the weapon made for the pacification of the North. Which is now pacified, meaning the Ministry has time and manpower to get *really* interested in the south if things go wrong.

Also, we have a white bird on our shoulder and we've already killed one King who was a Demon and carrying the blood of Godlings long dead.

And we managed to spirit away Eschers man unseen, although he'll probably blame that on the man he killed and reinforce his "mystical" knowledge by claiming that the spirits told him of his mistake.

Moloch why do you play with my feelings like that

>>823278
Since there isn't a tweet I'm guessing he took a nap and overslept or internet is down up there.

There's something unnerving about the trip back to New Odyss, and it's not hard to guess what that is. The things you've seen, the things you've learned, are bad enough – Skinner, and his brutal discipline, the Red Eye Sickness used as a weapon – but there's one other little detail that leaves you ill at ease.

There are four people riding in the Navaja, and five heads. Skinner apparently insisted on taking the severed head back to Escher, to present it as evidence. It's still red with paint, although the splattered blood gives it an altogether darker shade in places. In this heat, it'll start to reek soon enough.

Perhaps that's why Cid pushes the Navaja so hard, racing back to New Odyss before the smell can taint the whole ship. You've had to burn clothes before, because the smell of death and decay has sunk into them, but clothes are easily replaced. An expensive and highly customised ship, less so.

-

“We've got a problem,” Camilla tells you simply, raising her voice over the snarl of the engine.

You've got plenty of problems, you reply, but you're assuming that she's talking about something specific this time.

“Funny,” she grunts, without a single trace of humour, “But you're right, this is a specific problem. You suggested we might be dealing with the Red Eye Sickness – how certain are you about that?”

A phantom echo of that smell – so familiar, and yet so hard to place at first – rises up in your mind. Ocean salt and sicknesses, a very distinct combination. You're certain, you tell her, it was the Red Eye Sickness. It's strange, though, you've never seen in acting in such a subtle way. By definition, it's not a discrete thing – the parasite's hosts fly into rages, biting, clawing and spreading the infection by any means they can. An outbreak is a sudden, violent thing, not a slow burn.

“That's what bothers me,” Camilla shakes out a cigarette, offering the pack to Oscar as an afterthought. He takes one with a predictably silent shrug, letting her touch the flame to it. “If we don't keep this contained, a lot of people could die. We have no information on how the Red Eye Sickness spreads in this climate, on how long it could survive for. This is unknown territory, and it's far bigger than you or me.”

Having seen the effects of the Red Eye Sickness with your own eyes, you can't bring yourself to disagree. Disease and contamination are her trade, just as much as tracking down criminals is, so you'll bow to her experience in this. What's the best way to handle this, you ask, where to start?

[1/3]

>>823400

“The first step is always to analyse the situation. We need to know exactly what we're dealing with. The Boneyard is contaminated, but has the infection spread further afield?” she frowns, “There were several islands nearby, I believe. Isla...”

“Isla Calvara,” Cid tells her gravely, “And, ah... we have heard nothing, no news from it. That is, perhaps, not a good sign. To the south of the Boneyard, as well, is Isla Nomann, but... it could never be searched, never swept clean. If some rot has taken root there, it will never be dug out. Not with a thousand men working every hour of the day. The other island? Kolm. A civilised place, and I have heard no bad news from it. Safe, I should think.”

“For now,” Camilla adds, “All it would take is a single person slipping through a quarantine, and the infection would have a whole new area to spread across. Think of it as a wildfire, and you won't go far wrong.”

“The best thing for a wildfire, I think, is to run. To get out of its way and let it burn itself out,” Cid shrugs, “Maybe this is the same. Isolate the Boneyard, Isla Calvara, anywhere that might be infected. You have a word, I think...”

Quarantine, you tell him, that's the word.

“But we'd need help, we can't quarantine anything with three people,” shaking her head, Camilla throws her burned out cigarette aside. Before saying anything else, she takes you aside and lowers her voice. “When we get back to New Odyss, I'm going to speak with the local governor. This needs to be made official,” she pauses, “I just hope the governor is worth a damn. From what I've heard, I'm not confident. Henryk, I wanted to warn you – you might need to go after Yvette on your own. If I don't think the governor is capable of handling this themselves, I'll need to step in. The situation is too sensitive to leave it in inexperienced hands.”

It's interesting, you note, how quickly Camilla's priorities can change. Her pursuit of Yvette had selfish roots, boredom and dissatisfaction playing their part as much as duty, but this outbreak has changed all that. Official business comes first, before anything else.

Talk it over with Escher before deciding anything, you suggest, he's likely to have some insight into the local governor. Failing that, he might be able to step in and take action himself. An outbreak, after all, is bad for business.

-

Cid has the good sense to wrap the severed head in sackcloth before carrying it through the streets of New Odyss, and so you attract only a few passing glances. Entering the Lucky Two Fingers and marching right up to the bar, you place the sack down in front of Escher. He opens it slightly and peers inside, eyebrows lifting in polite surprise.

“Well then,” he says simply.

[2/3]

>>823404

Once you've explained the situation, everything that occurred in the Boneyard, Escher nods gratefully. “Just like Skinner to make a show of things,” he grunts, “Without ever admitting that there had been a mistake. Now, where's my agent?”

Cid took him to see a doctor, you tell Escher, or whatever passes for one around here. Let them both get some rest, you add, they've earned it. Besides, you've got other matters you wanted to discuss with him – starting with what he owes you for bringing back his man.

“Yes, I suppose you've earned it. Hold on, one small thing to take care of first,” Escher lifts the sack and weighs it in his hands for a moment before calling Lu over and passing it to her, “Take that outside and burn it, please. Discretely, if possible.”

“Sure thing,” Lu accepts the sack with only the slightest pause. She doesn't ask what's inside, simply shifting it to a more comfortable grip and scurrying away. Once she's gone, Escher wipes his hands on his rough shirt and turns back to you.

“Now then,” he says, “What can I do for you?”

>I need to borrow Cid and the Navaja for a little longer – there's an island I want to visit
>Can you tell us about the local governor? Do they have any experience dealing with disease?
>Have you heard about any outbreaks of disease?
>Other

>>823406
>Can you tell us about the local governor? Do they have any experience dealing with disease?
>Other
"Escher have you ever dealt with Red Eye down here? The Boneyard is contaminated, but it's acting different from how it does up North. Have any insight?"

Then
>I need to borrow Cid and the Navaja for a little longer – there's an island I want to visit

If I had to make a guess maybe when in the cold north the parasite is desperate to breed so it has it's host attack people to spread it faster. But down here they can flourish so they've adapted to be more covert about spreading. There is also Nethe's situation to consider where she wasn't violent so maybe that new strain is the one that got down here?

>>823406

>I need to borrow Cid and the Navaja for a little longer – there's an island I want to visit
>Can you tell us about the local governor? Do they have any experience dealing with disease?
>Have you heard about any outbreaks of disease?

>>823406
>Can you tell us about the local governor? Do they have any experience dealing with disease?
>Have you heard about any outbreaks of disease?
>I need to borrow Cid and the Navaja for a little longer – there's an island I want to visit

Maybe one of Skinner's boys went to Calvara and spread it. Or vice versa since Calvara has been out of communication for awhile.

>>823406
We'll need to drive the point that an outbreak is a dangerous thing, but at the same time it can be turned to one's advantage.

If the thing is too big for the governor to handle on his own he will call upon the Ministry and the College, those will fuck the balance of this place more than the disease. This has never happened and they'll be here for weeks, maybe months if not years studying and doing whatever. There will be hunters coming to deal with the nasty stuff and those, on the contrary will bring a lot of money if they find a place where they can unwind after a day of hunting.

Play it smart and one can gain a lot of favor by having the network and logistic to handle such ordeal...

Though if one beast makes it way here....

You'd like to know a little about the local governor, you begin, do they have any experience dealing with disease before?

“The local governor, is it? Corbyn Wells... Let me tell you one thing right now, before we go any further. Don't expect too much from him – he's a fool, one who spends more time avoiding his responsibilities than working on them. If he has one virtue, one single thing worth praising about him, it's that he knows how to delegate,” Escher laughs bitterly, “He delegates so well, he might as well not be the leader of anything. Most folks around here, they'd rather look to me for leadership or authority. Disease, though... that's a different matter.”

“Different how?” Camilla presses, her eyes hardening as she leans heavily on the bar, “You mean he might actually be worth a damn?”

“No, but he has people to handle things like that. Delegating, just like I said,” setting out three glasses, as is his habit, Escher pours drinks, “I met him once, you know, and some of his henchmen. Wells himself wasn't particularly impressive, but there is some talent there. His personal physician was sharp enough, if you can stomach Scholars, and his bodyguard isn't a man I'd like to cross. He's Ministry as well, of the more practical sort. If there's an outbreak of disease, he'd be in charge of keeping it contained. He's done it before.”

This, at least, is a faint glimmer of hope. What kind of disease has this bodyguard seen before?

“Small scale matters. Fevers, tainted water supplies, that kind of thing,” shaking his head, Escher takes a sip of his drink, “Nothing big, but he certainly stopped them getting any larger.”

Has he ever seen the Red Eye Sickness appearing here, you ask him, down here in the colonies? You've seen signs of it in the Boneyard, but it's strange, not acting like you'd expect it to. Any insight he could offer?

“The Red Eye Sickness? No, I've never seen it down here. Never expected to, either – it's not even slightly local,” he thinks for a moment, “Maybe that's why it's different. I'm no expert, but I know a few things. Folks say it can't be cured, that it changes to some new strain whenever someone cooks up a remedy. Maybe it's mutated into something new. Some of the northern folk here, they're always complaining about the heat making them lethargic – maybe this is the same thing!”

Escher grins as he says this, but the joke rings hollow. Like most men, the talk of parasites and infections has struck an instinctive fear into him. He would be a fool not to be afraid.

[1/2]

>>823522

“Right,” Camilla throws back her drink, grimacing slightly, “Speaking of disease...”

“Must we?” Escher smiles grimly, refilling her glass without being asked, “I'd rather talk of better things.”

Those will have to wait, you tell him bluntly, this is important – damn important. Before you move onto anything else, you need to be sure about this. Has he heard about any other outbreaks of disease? Or anything that might be an outbreak of disease, even?

“Nothing I can confirm, but Isla Calvara has been quiet for a while now, as you've probably heard. If what you say about the Boneyard is true...” Escher grimaces, unable to summon even a bitter smile now, “Skinner's men often go there, Isla Calvara, to visit the local girls.”

“Perfect conditions for an outbreak to spread,” Camilla mutters, rubbing her weary brow, “And to spread even further afield, if anyone else visits for the same reason. All it takes is one man...”

You remember the pamphlet you were given back in the north, with the dramatic warning against associating with the local women. That warning, you think bitterly, doesn't sound quite so paranoid now. No trouble with his girls, you ask Escher, with any of them?

“I run a clean operation here,” Escher snaps back, “You won't find any kind of infection here – no disease, no sickness, nothing – and I'll not have you making accusations of that sort. I have a reputation to protect, after all.”

And this is more serious than any reputation, you shoot back, so you'll ask as many awkward questions as you have to. If he has a problem with that, he needs to step back and face the facts. Things could get very unpleasant here if the Ministry has to get officially involved. Better for everyone that this remains a local matter.

“I won't argue with that,” he grunts at last, settling back down, “Alright, fine. I take your point. Now, was that everything?”

One small matter, you finish, you might need to borrow Cid for a while longer – and the Navaja with him. You've got an island you need to visit. Is that good with him?

“Well, you've more than earned my help,” Escher nods, “Alright, fine. You find Cid, you tell him that I've given permission. He'll follow your orders, as if I'd been giving them myself. Just... bring him and the Navaja back safely. I've invested a lot in the both of them, too much to just throw them away on an errand.”

His voice is gruff, but there's a softer edge to it that he can't quite hide. You'll take good care of both of them, you assure him, you know how hard a good ship is to replace.

[2/3]

>>823593

So, you ask Camilla as you're leaving Escher to brood, what's her take on all this?

“It could certainly be worse,” she admits, “But... no, I don't like it. This governor, Wells, at least he knows how to hire good people. That's more important for a leader than Escher makes it sound, but I have to question their experience. They've not got any experience with the Red Eye Sickness, and that could be a big problem.”

You don't have much experience either, you point out, not with this abnormal strain. You're not sure if anyone has any experience with this kind of thing.

“Stay optimistic,” Camilla shakes her head, “Look, Henryk, Yvette is your mission, Loch tasked you with dragging her back. I was just tagging along for the trip. You go after her, but I can't come with you. I'm needed here.” She looks across New Odyss, setting her sights on the grandest building in town – grand by southern standards, at least – and sighing. “I just hope Wells takes my warning seriously. He'd be a fool not to.”

>Good luck with that. I'll try and get in touch when I'm finished with Yvette
>Wait, I'll come with you. Wells will be more likely to take this seriously coming from two of us
>Other

>>823646
>>Good luck with that. I'll try and get in touch when I'm finished with Yvette
She's got this. Just hit with that stick she has.

>>823646
>Good luck with that. I'll try and get in touch when I'm finished with Yvette

>>823646
>>Good luck with that. I'll try and get in touch when I'm finished with Yvette

>>823646
>>Wait, I'll come with you. Wells will be more likely to take this seriously coming from two of us

It'd be better if we could give her our papers so she can say "this certified hunter says that this shit is going down and request that shits gets done while he's doing a critical mision for this high ranking dude, you don't have to take my word but take the warning of the goddamn man build for this kind of shit." if the guy acts like an dick.

>>823717
Yeah we can give her our League papers. We aren't going to need them where we are going.

And besides if this guy is a dick we can always confront him after we take care of Yvette.

Good luck with that, you tell her, you'll try and get in touch when you're finished with Yvette. You'll leave a message with Escher if you get back first.

“Then I'll do the same,” Camilla nods, “I've got this under control, so you don't need to worry about me. This isn't the first time I've had to deal with fools or obstructive bureaucrats, Ministry work teaches you a thing or two about that. It must be easier, being a Hunter – you just have the kill things.”

There's less paperwork, you admit, that's a small bonus. Speaking of paperwork, though, you can give her one last bit of help. Taking out your League papers, you offer them out to her. Wells might be more willing to play along if he knows that there's a Hunter involved as well. For some reason, the sight of that wolf crest tends to make people sit up and take notice. You couldn't really say why.

“Thank you, Henryk,” Camilla takes the leather wallet from you and flips through the pages, glancing down at the picture, “Old photo?”

Don't laugh, you warn her. In either case, you won't be needing your League papers where you're going. It might even be better if you don't have them. If you get caught with them, there's no way you could pretend to be a lost fisherman or anything like that. Without them, you've got more room to manoeuvrer.

“If you're sure, then,” pocketing the papers and covering up a smile, Camilla gives you a nod, “We'd better be going our separate ways. No point in standing around wasting time. Good hunting, Henryk.”

Good hunting, you repeat. Then, returning her nod, you turn and walk back to the Lucky Two Fingers. Find Cid, fire up the Navaja, and get back on Yvette's trail – that's all you've got to do.

>I'm going to have to pause here for a little bit, hopefully no longer than an hour. Sorry for all the delays today.

>>823400
I'm a bit late to the thread, but what about the doctor's pregnant wife? She was pretty subtle about being infected. She tried to escape into the sewers instead of murder everyone. They could be connected.

>>823844

No worries, I just caught up, see you when you get back

Returning to the cavernous interior of the Lucky Two Fingers, you focus on seeking out Cid. It's not easy, picking out one man amongst a dense crowd, but you eventually stumble across him by one of the cooking stalls. With a plate of some spice-scented food cooling in front of him, he trades a few quiet words with a disinterested northern woman. Knowing full well that you might be interrupting something, you approach and call out a greeting.

“Later,” Cid promises the woman as she yawns and struts away, then he turns to offer you a broad grin, “Alone as well, my friend? Ah, but men like us never have to be alone for long, if you know what I mean. What do you say, how about-”

How about some business first, you cut in, and leaving the rest until later?

“I thought you might say that,” he nods ruefully, “You northerners, it is always business with you. Ah, never mind. This business of yours, is it...” Letting his words trail off to nothing, Cid casts a meaningful glance up to the bar.

Escher knows, you tell him, he said that Cid should follow your orders as if he was the one giving them.

“Really? Very impressive,” Cid raises an eyebrow, “You have landed on his good side. To business, then – where do you want to start?”

Taking the folded, crumpled map out of your pocket, you shake it out and stab a finger at Isla Saiva. Here, you tell the southerner bluntly, you're going here.

-

Cid doesn't ask any questions until the Navaja is in motion, powering through the waters towards your destination. “This island of yours,” he calls to you, “Why are you so interested in it? Looking for something, perhaps?”

Someone, you correct him after a moment, a woman. It's a long story, you add, and not a particularly simple one.

“It always is, when women are involved,” laughing more to himself than to you, Cid glances away from the controls, “Ah, but it is not romantic, that much is obvious. Business, then? You came from the north to find her, yes? That is no small effort to make, my friend, she must be important to you.”

She's not the important one, you muse, not really. Finding her is the important part. It's like... if Escher sent Cid after someone, at that person fled all the way to the north, would he follow them that far?

“Without hesitation,” Cid replies immediately, “Without even a moment of doubt. It is the same with you? Following orders?”

Something like that, you offer vaguely, there's another woman involved.

“You live a complicated life, my friend,” his voice is solemn, almost sympathetic.

[1/2]

>>824117

Isla Saiva isn't much to look at - just one more patch of swamp and choking jungle in a region full of such islands. A good place to hide something, you muse as the Navaja draws closer, although you're not even sure what it might be hiding. A grand old mansion hidden away within a patch of jungle? A secluded little town, too small to be noticed? As the boat slips into the mire, slowing to a crawl as the swamp sucks and clings to the hull, you're forced to consider how little you know.

Theories and speculation are nice, but they pale in comparison with solid facts.

Stop here, you tell Cid as a ridge of solid land rears up ahead of you, you'll go the rest of the way on foot.

“I understand,” Cid mutters, his voice unusually serious. Something about the thick trees, the heavy and humid air, is undeniably oppressive. He knows less about this than you do, but he knows enough to fear what might lurk here. Nevertheless, despite whatever fear and uncertainty he might be feeling, he obeys. Making a few minute adjustments to the Navaja's controls, he nudges it up against the squalid ridge. Taking up one of his rifles, hanging a few of the bombs from your belt – better to be prepared – you take one long step from the boat to dry land.

Your first steps on Isla Saiva, and nobody is shooting at you. That's a good start.

“I think, ah... perhaps it would be better if I stayed with the ship,” Cid tells you slowly, looking about as he picks up a rifle of his own, “I can hide it, you see. Some vines, some loose ferns, it will be as good as invisible. Better that you have a safe way out of here, yes? It would be bad, I think, if I should die and leave you stranded.”

Very bad, you agree, fine then – you'll try not to be too long. Don't wander off, you add, he might get lost.

“Bad business,” nodding gravely, Cid offers a thin smile, “No, I will stay here. All the better for, ah... a quick exit, yes?”

It's almost as if he's expecting trouble. Turning away from him, you give the rifle one last check and start off into the jungle. The trail is nearing its end now, you think to yourself, and the time for running is over. All that's left is for you to close the meagre gap and bring Yvette down.

This hunt has gone on long enough.

>I'm just going to close things here, this isn't really working out. I'll hopefully continue this tomorrow.
>Thanks for your patience today

>>824391
Thanks for running Moloch. Sorry you're having so much trouble.

>>824391
No problem, shit happens.

Thanks for running.

Hey if we kill Yvette (we probably will) does Loch want proof? Finger, head, some other identifying object, etc?

>>824391
Thanks for running, Moloch!

>>824391
Cid's a cool guy, making sure we can hot foot it outta here should the need arise. Finally time to start the hunt though, looks like we can expect some more fun times.

>>824391
Nah bro it's cool. Get some you time in on the weekend!

>>824391

Thanks man

>>824409
Her sabre might work. Any part of the body will likely rot until we're back up.
And I'd rather avoid traveling for weeks with a honeyed head in a jar.

Jungles, you note, should not be this quiet.

Silence, in your somewhat limited experience, is a rare commodity in the southern colonies. All too often, the streets bustle with trade and riotous conversations – often covering up murkier whispers – while the jungles shriek with animal calls. The insects, in particular, stir the air with their endless cries. You had just started to get used to them, and now those shrill cries have been abruptly snatched away.

It's unnerving, to say the least. You can't imagine what catastrophe could leave this island barren and lifeless – without so much as a single insect – but you know that it's bad news. Directions are a whole other matter, the thought of where to start your search constantly evading you. At first, your plan had been to head inland and see what you could find, certain that there would be something. A path perhaps, something carved out by patrols or shipments of supplies, or the outpost Escher mentioned. A settlement, the old story had gone, more military base than native village. For all your high hopes, you've found nothing but empty swampland so far.

Disappointment and the heavy, humid air soon start to take their toll on you. Swiping sweat from your forehead, you roll up your sleeves and move on. No doubt the sun will leave you burned and aching later – it's been a long time since you thought too hard about protecting yourself – but what the hell. Something about that thought pleases you, and you take a certain childish pleasure from saying it aloud. A shame that there's nothing to answer you – no birdsong, no insects, nothing.

Cursing, without anyone else around to hear it, feels like a wasted effort.

-

Half buried in long grass and mud, something catches your eye – the glint of metal. Bending down, you brush aside the dirt and dig out the little brass cylinder. An old shotgun shell, if you're any judge, worn and tarnished with age. A very little thing, barely worth noticing in normal life. Here, though, it's the first sign of human activity you've stumbled across in what feels like a very long time indeed.

Holding the shell tightly for a moment, you slip it into your pocket. You couldn't say why you chose to keep it, but you did. For luck, perhaps, although you'd never admit it to anyone who asked. A superstitious old man might get away with placing his faith in a bit of old junk, but you don't have that luxury. You'd be a laughing stock.

No, you'll call it evidence – proof that men walked this island before you. As excuses go, it'll do nicely.

[1/2]

>>831286

The great tree, so fat that you could never hope to wrap your arms around it, looms high above the rest of the tangled jungle. Pausing beneath its spreading branches, you lean against the ancient tree and take a few deep gasps of air. Struggling through clinging swamps and grasping mud has left you fatigued, and the cloying heat only makes things worse. This place is truly hellish compared with New Odyss, the conditions that much worse than you've come to expect from the colonies. You just need to-

Before you can finish that thought, the sound of rattling bells reaches you. Twisting around, you throw the butt of your rifle against your shoulder and cast a wild eye about for the source of that sound. It's more distant than you first thought, and you feel faintly foolish as you lower the rifle. All this silence has been grating on your nerves, so much so that the unexpected noise hit you hard.

Slinging the rifle over your shoulder, you search out a few handholds and start to climb. You'll get a better view from the top.

-

Beyond the boundary of thick jungle and swamp, with the contrast so sharp that it seems unreal, an empty clearing stretches out before you. In it, milling about with a kind of casual indifference, you see signs of life. Cattle, grazing at the sparse grass, and a single man moving between them. The human moves with a particularly unhurried pace, like they didn't have a care in the world, the bells topping their staff chiming with every step. You've seen their ilk before, on Haveer. Priests of a sort, albeit to a congregation of cattle and beasts of the field.

As you watch the man – although it could be a woman, the mask and robes hide much – amble about, you consider how best to deal with them. Slipping past unnoticed should be easy enough, just stick to the jungle and avoid the open ground, but it might be worth approaching them. Should you share a common tongue, they might be persuaded to answer a few questions. Local knowledge is always useful to have, and he could point you towards Yvette's hiding place. If he should prove hostile, or otherwise try to alert someone, well... he's only one man. You could drop him quickly enough, without too much noise or fuss.

>Pass them by unnoticed
>Approach them peacefully
>Approach, but keep them at gunpoint
>Other

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>>831287
>>Approach them peacefully
Just keep a hand near our pistol holster.

Also this got made for you Moloch. Credit goes to that guy in the /qtg/ thread.

I'll see about getting him to add an 's' to 'Beast' when he has a chance.

>>831287
>>Pass them by unnoticed
I feel like Yvette already knows someone is one the island but I still want to play it sneakily.

>>831287
>>Approach them peacefully
These guys are the ones that think they're not supposed to be interacted with by people, right? He'll probably respond badly, as like the one before, but he should also have some amount of information on human activity on this island. I doubt Yvette is willing to wholly abandon civilization.

>>831287
>>Pass them by unnoticed

>>831290

>I did see that, I'm pretty impressed. I don't really know anything about pictures, so it's a bit beyond what I'd be able to do myself

>>831287
>Approach them peacefully

>>831287
>>Pass them by unnoticed

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>Okay, this is a tie by my count, so I'll roll off for it. Sorry about this
>1 for passing by, 2 for approaching peacefully

Slowly, quietly, you pick your way back down the tree and feel solid ground beneath your feet – there's always something reassuring about that, you've found. You can't spend too long savouring the feeling though, you've got work to do. You were content to wander before, but seeing this other man has spurred you on, reminding you that this is hostile territory. When the time comes to move inland, you'll do it with your wits about you.

But first, you want to see if you can get anything out of this priest. By their nature they tend to pariahs, and so you're not sure how much you'll be able to get out of him, but it's worth a try. The prospect of local information outweighs the risk of him alerting Yvette or her allies. The thought that you could always silence him afterwards, as unwholesome as it is, dances around the back of your mind as you approach the edge of the jungle. You'll do what you have to do, but you'd rather not kill him without due cause.

If he gives you due cause, well, that's his choice – his problem.

-

Casually, you rest a hand on your pistol as you enter the clearing and approach the man. He is a man, no doubt about it – the closer you get, the more you notice things about him. Broad shoulders beneath a thin layer of ragged hides. A mask to hide his face, but made out of bone rather than the metal ones you saw on Haveer. The bells hanging from his staff look like true antiques, maybe even handed down through the generations. Unarmed, as far as you can tell, but you've already noted how concealing those robes can be.

You make no effort to creep or hide your approach, and the priest has turned to look your way long before you reach him. He doesn't run or cry out, which you take to be an encouraging sign, but neither does he make any attempt to greet you. When a dozen or so paces separate you, you offer a greeting.

A lot of cattle, you remark, more than enough for one man.

“They do not belong to me,” he retorts, “To anyone, if you believe the old talk. I don't – I merely herd the beasts for your fellows.”

Northerners, you ask, is that what he means?

“It is so,” the priest confirms, giving you a grave nod. Having said this, he tugs off his bone mask – revealing a creased, ancient face – and spits. Not a man who thinks highly of northerners, it seems. “They have a great hunger, your fellows, always wanting more beasts, more cattle. They do not eat them, though – I've seen them burn the bodies myself. A waste, some might call it a crime, but it is not my business. I merely herd the beasts.”

He speaks quietly, his voice flat and uninspired. A man too old to give much of a damn about anything, you think to yourself. Not a friend, but not an enemy either.

[1/2]

>>831328

The cattle around you start to stir, and the old priest gives his bells a quick rattle. That quietens them down well enough. As the clatter of bells falls still, the old man gives you a weary look – almost disgusted, but you couldn't guess at what.

“I was taught that these bells appease the beasts, their proud spirits,” he tells you quietly, his voice taking on a sullen note, “Now I am told that they are just well trained, and the bells mean safety to them. Superstitious beliefs are to be left in the past, where they belong.” This last part has the tone of rote memorisation to it, as though someone has hammered the words into his mind.

Did they tell him that, you ask, the other northerners?

“It is so,” he agrees, “Who am I to argue with educated men? They have spent their years studying, while I cannot read a word. They spend their hours performing experiments, while I...”

He merely herds the beasts, you finish, right?

Looking at you with faint petulance, the old man slowly nods. “World needs beasts, sure as it needs educated men,” the priest tells you after a pause, stressing each word carefully, “But I don't figure a man like you would understand that. Too much snow in your blood.” Having said this – and apparently dismissed you as another haughty foreigner – he turns away and rings his bells once again.

>Leave quietly
>Hey, where are these other northerners?
>Do you know what they're doing with the cattle?
>Ever hear the name “Saive”?
>I had a question for you... (Write in)
>Other

>>831337
>>Hey, where are these other northerners?
Then we can book it in that direction. Other questions don't seem as important.

>>831337
>>Hey, where are these other northerners?
This guy seems willing to talk. However, the only thing we care about here, is Yvette.

Unless we think we can get more info on the situation around the inhabitants of the island, the defenses and attitudes?

>>831337
>>Hey, where are these other northerners?
>>Do you know what they're doing with the cattle?
"Just burning them?"

If this group is just burning the cattle I am going to give it good odds that they are experimenting with Red Eye using the cattle and burning them after they are done. Or I could just be paranoid here.

>>831337
>Hey, where are these other northerners?
>Do you know what they're doing with the cattle?
>Ever hear the name “Saive”?
>Not all the world's wisdom is in books, and sometimes those who only value books learn this when the world smacks them down for their presumption.

>>831348
Huh, I was thinking plain offerings to the gods or such but that sounds much more reasonable. Nice paranoia Anon, good job.

>>831337
>>Hey, where are these other northerners? Especially *insert description of our target*?

>>831337
>>Hey, where are these other northerners?
>>Do you know what they're doing with the cattle?

>>831348
I was thinking the same thing, especially if they're testing a mutated strain.

So these other northerns, you ask, where about are they? One place, or scattered across the island?

The old man turns back to you with a frown, as if irritated that you're still here, and then looks up to the sky. Apparently, he finds an answer in the stars – or, more likely, he gets his bearings by their light – because he points off towards the south-east. Not quite the south-east, but close enough for you. “Their town is that way,” he says slowly, “Past the old native town. You will know, I think, when one becomes the other. I live in the old town, they live in the new. Mixing is discouraged.”

Does anyone else live in the old native town, you press, or just him?

“There are others. Men who have sold themselves for a pittance,” judging by the old man's sour expression, he's forced to include himself in that inglorious category, “Fighters. Thugs, to scare away any who stray. They play at rebellion, but that is just talk – they take northern coin with smiles on their faces.”

A gang of local toughs, operating under the pretence of being revolutionaries, would certainly serve as a good cover story. It gives them a good excuse to chase people away from the island, while making it seem unlikely for there to be northerners hiding out here. There's a certain ironic humour about the idea, and you can well believe the old man's words. While you've still got his attention, you ask a further question.

Has he seen a woman among the northerners, you ask, a pale noblewoman with light hair? Haughty, probably with an erratic edge about her. If that doesn't sound familiar, you add, does the name “Saive” mean anything to him?

“This woman, I have not seen. Others have. Words spread quickly, when she arrived by sea. Your fellows were very glad to see her, welcoming her like long-awaited kin. Since then, I have heard nothing. She is reclusive, this woman of yours,” with his usual unhurried pace, the old man reaches up to scratch his jaw, “Saive, is that her name? They are careful, your fellows, not to use names. Even among each other, I have heard that they are cautious. Paranoid, even. Bah, you northerners make no sense – greeting one another as kin one minute, scheming and plotting against one another the next.”

That does sound like northerners, you admit, you can't really deny that. Before you can say anything else, one of the cattle lets out a low grunt.

“Restless,” the priest mutters, “They always are.”

Why is that, you ask, does he have any idea what they're doing with the cattle? He said that they were burning the bodies, but does he know why?

[1/2]

>>831375

“These bodies I have seen, they are bad things. Ruined things,” he shakes his head slowly, letting the bells on his staff chime out a few more times, “Have you seen an animal, left for decay and scavengers? These bodies were not like that, but they were close. Like they had been torn apart by wild beasts... from the inside. Their bones, their hides, all pushed out, not in.” With his empty hand, the priest pushes away from his body, mimicking the action of something bursting from his stomach.

Grimacing, you swallow and taste a faint note of bile in the back of your throat. You've got a damn good idea of what those cattle were being used for – raw materials for Red Eye parasites to grow, mature and reproduce. At least they're not performing human experiments – a small mercy.

“And that is not the end of it,” the priest continues, and you get the impression that he's been aching for a chance to voice these complaints for a very long time, “They send bitter clouds across the island, sicken my herd. Then, they complain that my animals are frail, sickly. What am I supposed to do, when they make it this way?”

It sounds tough, you offer. You might as well be shouting down an empty well, for all the impact your words have. As if you hadn't even spoken the old man presses on.

“I do not ask questions, but I can see well enough. I pay attention, despite what they might think,” the priest frowns at you again, “I take a beast into their town, to the warehouse, and they bring out a corpse. I might not read so many books, but I am no fool.”

Not all of the world's wisdom lies in books, you reply with a shrug, and too many people forget that. They forget that, and then the world slaps them down for their error. You get the feeling that these “educated” men have a damn good slap coming to them, and it might arrive sooner rather than later.

Staring at you for a moment, the old priest suddenly lets out a flat, blunt laugh. “A slap, yes! There is one man, I would dearly wish to see him struck. His is a face, I think, that would well suit a blow.”

Maybe you'll see for yourself, you reply as you turn to leave, and maybe you'll give him that punch.

Grunting, the old man nods and returns to his beasts. As soon as his back is turned, you might as well not exist. Which, you must say, suits you just fine. Taking your hand from the pistol at your belt, you start off towards the south-east. Once you've entered the jungle, you hear the muffled sound of bells sounding out once again.

[2/3]

>>831411
So, a thought, with the suspicions on the Ministry infiltration by these guys, are we going to find here that Red Eye researcher that disappeared?

>>831421
That's what I was thinking too. These guys have some reach considering the shit they were pulling with that guard that was watching Saive estate back in the capital.

I just hope that this a small splinter group or something instead of being a major conspiracy in the Ministry.

>>831411

As with before, the transition between jungle and grassland is like stepping from one world into another. The only way you could have a more extreme change, you think, is if you passed from north to south in a single step.

The old native town, as the old man called it, is a strange thing. It almost reminds you of the Boneyard, with the skeleton of some older town taken over by new inhabitants. At least, that's the way they want it to look – there's something vaguely unconvincing about the shacks and crude shelters that cluster together. They're too study, you decide after examining the town from a distance, too defensive to be anything other than a deliberate attempt.

This must be the military outpost you heard about, just submerged under a new layer of deceit. Perhaps the powers that rule this place had a change of heart, or they felt that a military post would be too blatant. A shanty town like this seems more natural, even with the various failings you've noted.

Now that you've seen one man here, the old priest, it seems like you're seeing a lot more. Gathered around a flickering fire – as if there was any damn need to keep warn in this place – you could eight men. Bulky, coarse looking southerners, each one carrying an old rifle. That's a nice touch, you think, giving them weapons that could have been scavenged from some old stockpile. Camilla would probably be able to tell you every little detail about the rifles, even with just a passing glance, but she's not here. The men are armed, that's really all you need to know.

Moving slower than ever, you start to skirt around the edge of this first settlement, never leaving the jungle for more than a few seconds at a time. Even when you do leave it, it's just to keep the lounging guards in clear view. At least they seem uncommonly lazy, reluctant to stray too far from their shelter. While that certainly plays to your advantage, it does raise unpleasant questions – namely, what are they afraid of?

Considering what the highly educated fools up ahead are toying with, you can't think of many good answers to that question.

-

There's no boundary marking out the old native town from the newer, northern district – not like the noble quarter back in Thar Dreyse, it its walls and guarded gates – but there doesn't need to be. The difference between the two settlements is like night and day. The native town sprawled out, with shacks and rough housing scattered about at random, while the northern town is very neat. Two buildings, that's all – a larger box, the warehouse that the old priest mentioned, and a rather humble manor. At first glance, the manor looks derelict and abandoned, but that illusion doesn't hold up to careful study.

[3/4]

I think his internet got him again.

>>831518
Moloch's internet is scarier than a beast.

>>831518
If it is he is going to be so pissed.

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>>831472

From within the last lingering knots of jungle, you watch the pair of buildings for a while, waiting for... something. Any sign, perhaps, that there might be life within. The longer you study it, the more the manor seems to resemble a fortress, albeit a well-disguised one. What appears to be crumbling stonework is just a façade, covering thick and study looking masonry, while the doors have the solid look of new construction about them. The windows are barred, without a hint of rust on the metal cages, and the glass within is perfectly intact.

The warehouse, on the other hand, looks somewhat less secure – more like a temporary structure, with all the flaws and weaknesses that implies. As you study this second building, you see a flash of bluish light, gaps in the doorways letting bright slits of light escape out into the night.

Wincing against the sudden – and very brief – flash of light, you chase the dark lines away from your vision with a few blinks. That flash was the last draw, exactly the signal you needed to break your stillness. Readying your rifle, you crouch low and sprint across the barren ground between the jungle and the warehouse, stopping just short of the sheet metal wall. Easing up against the doorway, you hold your breath and listen. You listen hard, listen well, and a sick, gnawing anger bubbles up within you at the sound of the oily voice you hear.

“Too much power, obviously,” the voice murmurs, “Now I'll need to start everything from the top. How long for new materials to arrive?”

“Weeks,” a second voice replies, the word coming out in a slushy slur, “I told you it was a bad idea. I told you.”

“You tell me a lot of things, but that doesn't mean I have to listen to them,” the first voice snaps back, “And what do you know, anyway? I was under the impression that you studied biology, and we're not probing through blood and guts now. So just sit there and be quiet while I-”

That's it, you've had enough of this. Gripping the rifle tightly, you barge through the door – maybe it's unlocked or maybe the lock shatters, you don't bother to stop and look – and point the weapon at the pair of men. Both are familiar, faces known to you, and the sight only causes the anger to churn in your gut. The first man is slumped in a wheelchair, his face slack and waxen. A dark patch covers one eye, while his skull bulges sickly. The second man looks tired, but otherwise in perfect health.

Brandr and Wehrlain, two of your least favourite Scholars, united in one room.

>I'm sorry about this, but I'm going to have to finish early. My internet is just not cooperating today. With luck, I'll continue on Friday with a new thread.
>Sorry that this thread has been such a disaster, your patience is definitely appreciated!

>>831571
Thanks for running!

Coincidentally, my Internet has been acting up all day today as well. Is it a conspiracy?

>>831571
Ah shit. It's like we thought. We are going to grill these two so hard on what they've been doing and how we blow it all up.

Thanks for running.

>>831571
Thanks for running, Moloch!

>>831571
Would have wanted to go in quitely.

>>831574
Mine is too. It's been out since around 11 last night. I'm on my phone right now.

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>>831290
>>831571
Fix'd

>>831571
Can I get a quick refresher on Brandr? The name is ringing a few bells but I don't know if he's the guy we found up north or someone else. Thanks for running Moloch, I was only around for the beginning but it doesn't seem like I missed that much so it's all good.

>>831571
Don't worry about it Moloch.

"Brandr. Wehrlain. I had a feeling your deaths were faked."

>>831668
Do you remember when we were searching for Nethe's husband? Brandr was his partner and the one we captured and turned into the Ministry. He mysteriously 'died' not too long after.

>>831689
Shit, that was other guess. Thanks Anon.

>>831571
Pop Pop Pop making Scholars Drop.

But seriously we should get them back to Cid first.

Saive might run, but where to? Where could she be as safe as she is here?

Also we can use their escape to bait out the Nobles forces. What, using them and Cid for bait is wrong somehow? Navaja is fast right?

>>831574
>>831571
I had an internet meltdown a few weeks ago, but that's sorted out now.

>>831571
What the hell Brandr? Weren't you trying to cure Red Eye Sickness? Why are you turning it into a bioweapon now?