>>3819877
[The Pernicious Priest]

It’s easy to lose track of time when locked away in the dark. When the sway and rumble of the chaintrain, a shattered gemstone in a sack, and your thoughts are all you have to keep you company, it’s only natural that you would spend your time dozing. Maybe as a younger man you would have clawed and gnawed at your bindings, scrabbling for anything you can find as a weapon, anything to stave off your fate.

You’re not young anymore. In fact, your bones ache, and long ago the righteous anger has faded into bitterness. In all honesty, you should be focusing on building the vessel that would take you into the Glow, not wasting away in a filthy cargo hold. For the hundredth time you pick at the maggotsilk rope tying your wrists to the floor. A futile gesture, you know.

There are a few things you understand clearly. You failed your role as a protector, incapable of embodying the guiding hand of the Glow in your fellow practitioners' time of need. The fate of your fellow Glowbearers from the Underrock Cloister is unknown to you, though all the possibilities of slavery and death plague your waking worries. How can you forgive yourself for being tricked so thoroughly by that pirate’s slick words?

And why has Victor not even spoken to you since he took you aboard this vile smelling chaintrain?

A rattle shakes you from your thoughts, followed by the clang of wood on metal, and then a blinding ray of dim light engulfs your cell.

“Heretic, you’re up.” The sneer in the women’s voice sends chills down your spine.

That’s right. You, Gregory Reef, a heretic. Convicted of crimes of the highest order from a religious body you’ve never heard of. That is, until that thief returned with their inquisitors and a writ for your arrest. The Villaltian Dependency, whatever that was supposed to mean. Damnedable elves. Damn them and the deceit that brought them to your monastery. May the Glow boil the flesh from their bodies.

As your eyes adjusted to the light, your jailer comes into view through the door’s barred slot. She’s barely an adult, wrapped in thick scarves with a reddened nose dribbling with snot. No pointed ears, blessed be the Glow. If Victor’s smooth talking was a headache, the elves’ way with words could trick you into denouncing the Glow. If you died without seeing another knife-eared scum, that’d be enough.

A sharp wind blows through you as she fumbles with the lock, and it’s all you can do to keep your teeth from loudly chattering. Pathetic, how quickly your indignation is quenched. As you mentally kick yourself, a bolt of lightning crosses the sky behind the crew woman. A violent clap of thunder reverberates through the chaintrain, throwing the youth off balance. A current of Glow caresses your fingers and swells the fragmented gems in your hand with the barest hint of energy. A chance, maybe? But for what?

---

>>3819880
[The Unwilling Usurper]

A haze of Glow emissions adds faint hues of color to the shadows cast by the hanging chain, intermingling with grey clouds to form a glittering tapestry. Among the clouds, a fleet of 15 lurk in waiting for the signal. Far below, a single track runs along the horizontal links of the great chain. Down there, somewhere, is their target. A chaintrain, the Resolute, and its three miles of thickened iron hide bristling with cannons and other weaponry to fend off a raid similar to what’s about to descend upon it.

At the head of the gathering of ships, a pair of elven songships daintily hover and flutter around each other. The Dancing Wisp and the Soaring Spirit. Aboard, a tense silence has weighs itself on the crew, with the only sounds being the natural creak of the ancient wood alongside the audible sparkling of their butterfly wing sails.

You stand at the bow of the Wisp, clearcut quartz telescope in hand. The occasional gusts of freezing wind slice through your hastily assembled layers of clothing, throwing off your view of the track below. Better that than to admit that your trembling hands betray your nervousness for what’s to come.

“Phoebe!” Otto’s voice, above and behind you. Turning, you gaze up at the bow of the Spirit and spy the messy black hair leaning over the edge. “Eyes on! The Resolute is entering the storm ce-”

A crack of thunder reverberates in the sky somewhere in the clouds, cutting him off. The gathering of decompressing glow appears to be making the storm clouds temperamental.
Following Otto’s pointed hand, you train your spyglass and- ah yes, there. Just at the edge of the cloud line, a cyclopic orb of emerald casting its ruddy light out from the fog and mist.

You can feel the anticipation well up in your crew. The busywork of final, unnecessary checks on their weapons cease at once. Like a well tuned string ready to be plucked, the Wisp stands poised to follow your every command. You glance back to your helmsman, and the weathered face of Ronaldo stares back. As if to affirm the churning worry in your gut, he gives you a small nod.

“Orders?” Otto calls out.

It’s already time, and the impatient hums of the fleet’s crystals build in the particles cast into the clouds. Other ships must have spotted the Resolute as well. You know all too well the tale you spun about this chaintrain, a treasure train filled with something precious to the Villaltian League. Few men can resist the allure of elven goods, especially in this drought of profit all pirate fleets have been suffering through. Maybe it was that that persuaded them. It’s not as if your ascension did you any favors.

You just hope that your lies and speculations have some bearing in truth. You’re not here following desperate rumors of fresh loot, after all.

---

>>3819889
[The Furious Fisherman]

“Dad.” Diana stares over the stern of the Needlenose, scrawny arms holding tight to the knots of ropes holding up the lone sail.

“The sky’ll be clearing up soon.” You reassure her. The near blackened sky has long begun to lighten to grey over the past hour. Manipulating the worn levers of your craft, you adjust your path through to avoid the worst of the turbulence. “We just need to ride the currents, just like always. This ain’t no different from fishin’ back home, you hear? Just gotta little extra weight than usual, that’s all.”

Diana doesn’t respond, looking no less fretful. The usual silence of a long trip descends over the narrow deck. Still, you can’t help but keep an eye on her. It hasn’t been that long since she’s started taking to the skies with you. She’s gone through a growth spurt recently, you notice. Of course, she’ll never ever get as tall as Gerald was-

You clench your teeth to push back the bitter memory. Tightening your grip on the machete hanging from your belt, you ride out the white hot knife of rage piercing your chest. Diana shouldn’t have to be here, trying to fill her brother’s shoes. You glare up at the chain above, and imagine the train you know to be puttering along its tracks. In one of its cars, likely gorging himself on someone else’s wine, is the man that stole your son with sweet words.

“Seven winters is long enough, you rat bastard.” You growl under breath. You spy Diana darting a look towards you from the corner of your eye, but she turns her back to you before you have the chance to face her. Your throat tightens. She knows why you’re here, of course. You tried to dissuade her to come with, but a part of you knew she would be by your side when the time came to set off.

Then why are you worrie-

A bright flash, searing your eyes.

The clap of thunder throwing you onto the deck from the sheer force of its sound.

A moment later, a gurgling roar erupts from behind the Needlenose that rattles your bones.

“Dad!” Diana is above you, shaking your shoulder. “Dad, get up!”

You wave her off, struggling to catch your breath to speak, to comfort her, to-

“Dad, it’s burning!” She’s pointing back towards your cargo, a mess of ropes coated in grease and tar. Now, it is a fireball of golden flames thrice the size of your small fishing boat. Tethered inside the fiery cradle, a fleshy orb ungulates and squirms violently. Fluid oozes through gaps between the ropes, congealing over like large droplets of dried pus.

You grunt while pushing yourself up from the floor with Diana’s help. Her fearful eyes stare up at you.

It’s too soon. Damn the Glow’s scorching gaze. You turn and look back up at the chain, slamming levers into place. You need to act now.

>>3819894
Diana stumbles as the Needlenose shoots upwards, straining against the weight of the roped cargo. The rough hewed trio of red gems, whose names have long escaped your memory, flare up. Diana barely grabbed a hold of a rope before the ship punches through the cloud cover, accelerating at a rate far beyond what its design would suggest.

“What? Dad!” Diana screams. “We gotta cut it free!”

You ignore her.

---

>Choose your perspective.
>Votes particular to each choice to come after this initial selection
>Be aware, you will be shifting between all three throughout.
>May the Glow be kind to these struggling souls.

> [A] [The Pernicious Priest]
> [B] [The Unwilling Usurper]
> [C] [The Furious Fisherman]

>>3819899
> [C] [The Furious Fisherman]

I feel grumpy today.

> [B] [The Unwilling Usurper]

>>3819899
>> [B] [The Unwilling Usurper]

>>3819899
> [B] [The Unwilling Usurper]

>>3819899
>[C] [The Furious Fisherman]
He's in some shit right now.

>>3819939
>>3819940
>>3820006
>>3820042
>>3820103
> [The Unwilling Usurper]

Now, one more time.

> [A] Order the fleet to assault now - It will please your subordinates, however it will show your hand earlier than planned.
> [B] Continue to hold. The time is coming soon enough
> [C] Head forward with the songships alone. If nothing else, you'll have the privilege of the first strike!
> [D] Writein

>>3820245
> [B] Continue to hold. The time is coming soon enough

Haste makes waste. When you're planning a battle you always want to be the Player Three that has Entered The Game if at all possible.

>>3820245
> [B] Continue to hold. The time is coming soon enough
We might have one or two ships yeet in early, which would be unfortunate but unless a major part of the fleet splits off we probably don’t want to dive headfirst into throwing our plans away quite yet.

>>3820264
>>3820291
Seconding. Prudence above all things in combat.

>>3820264
>>3820291
>>3820298
A good commander knows when to hold her dogs at bay.

Writing.

>>3819939
>>3819940
>>3820006
>>3820042
>>3820103


[The Unwilling Usurper]

“Otto,” You irritably call up. “Send it back. Any who break formation before we hit the train will forfeit their piece of the prize.”

He responds with a sharp salute before disappearing into his ship. Not long after, a small bird dives from the Spirit and glides over towards its destination, the [Idle Hands. Grouchy Marcus will surely chew you out after this, but despite his talent for bitching he does understand the need to follow orders. If he and his squadron hold the line, the other captains you convinced to come along should hold as well.

Bloody pirates. Always so competitive.

Keeping an eye on the Glow fumes, you toy with the trio of flares packed into a satchel off your thigh. It’s simple, really, you nod to yourself. Three colors. Green flare to initiate the attack, red flare for when a ship is making their retreat, and finally, a flare only yourself and Otto carry. Blue, not a color of flare used by anyone you’ve encountered. Embedded inside is a pristine sapphire, and theoretically its glow should stand out from the chaos of a raid.

Blue means your target has been spotted. If you never see the flare light up, then you’ll have to schedule a meeting with your informant Wally. Maybe you’ll string him up in front of a wasp queen’s lair, that’ll get him talking for sure…

“Phoebe.” You fail to notice Otto walking up behind you. You jump, slightly, before he rests his hands on your shoulders. He gives you a knowing smile. “Nerves, eh?”

You shrug off his hands, turning to face him. The Spirit is floating alongside the prow of the Wisp, and the crewmen on both are making it obvious that they’re not watching your exchange.

“None more than usual.” You admit in a small voice.

“We’re close, I can feel it.” He trains a severe gaze on the track far below. “The bastard’s down there somewhere.”

“We’ll get him this time.” You rest a hand on his chest. “Hey, he’s got nowhere to go, right?”

“Do you really think three chainlinks is enough time?” Otto murmurs.

“This isn’t Gemsteinn.” You remind him. “We’ll hit him hard, here, and that’ll be it. He’s only got two directions he can go. Towards Harris Port, or starve on the way back to Heighton.”

The two of you are silent for a moment, watching the chaintrain thunder out into the open. More green gems line the cars, each casting a different shade of green against the pale mist dispersing around it. Before long, it will leave the horizontal link and enter the track suspended in open air between the two of them. Then, that’s the moment you’ll descend.

> [Cont.]

>>3820479
“Do you really think,” Otto breaks the silence, only to stop when you flinch back slightly at his sharp tone.

“I do.” You interrupt him, taking his hand. “We can’t afford to fail. We’ve been through too much to let Lorenzo to control us any longer, all right?”

Are you pleading with Otto, here, or are you pleading with yourself?

“Hey, Phoebe?” Otto murmurs.

“Yeah?” You lean in towards him.

“Just don’t forget about me when you’re facing him.”

“What do you mea-”

Otto holds up a hand to stop you. “Phoebe, please. Promise me.”

The chaintrain is pulling onto the bridge now, but Otto’s eyes are locked onto yours.

Why is he asking you this now? What you’ll think of when facing Lorenzo…

Your heart skips a beat.

> [A] “I promise.”
> [B] “You know what he did to me, Otto…”
> [C] “I can’t promise you that. I never could, and you said you were okay with that.”
> [D] Pull out the green flare. There’s more important things to do right now.
> [E] Write in.

>>3820489
>> [C] “I can’t promise you that. I never could, and you said you were okay with that.”

>>3820489
>> [D] Pull out the green flare. There’s more important things to do right now.

>>3820489
> [A] “I promise.”

>>3820489
> [C] “I can’t promise you that. I never could, and you said you were okay with that.”
Respect is important. Then pull out the flare.

>>3820552
>>3820565
>>3820618
>>3820641

Calling now.

“Otto…” You pull away from him. Worry jumps across his features as you give him a disapproving frown.

“Phoebe, I…”

The two of you stare at each other, awkward. Your hand travels down to one of the two sheaths hanging from your belt. It rests on the unadorned hilt with a leather strap looped through the guard, tethering it to a thin sheath. It’s perfectly unassuming, but it’s the most precious thing you own. Not once have you drawn it. The reason?

It’s a promise. To yourself, to him. That, once you’ve got Lorenzo in your sights, you’ll be sure to skewer him with the gift he mockingly laid on your bed before leaving you out to dry.

You refocus. Choosing to deliberately pull out the green flare, but not immediately igniting it. You poke Otto in the chest with it instead.

“Hey, wha-”

“Being clingy doesn’t suit you.” You cut him off. “We’ve already talked about this. You know I can’t promise you that. I never could. If I lay eyes on him, I’m going to focus on taking him down. Besides,” You prod the flare deeper into his chest. To his credit, he doesn’t pull away from you. “You were the one who said you were okay with it, right?”

Otto gives you a clipped nod. He’s keeping his reaction hidden from you, you note. It’s always the same, really. He never did learn about how maintaining a poker face is more than just keeping your face devoid of emotion. Still, it does come as a relief to see him bristle at your words.

At least he’s still willing to challenge you, up to a point. Lorenzo never acted like he cared a damn about what you did...

“Good.” You quickly pull the flare from his chest, shaking off that train of thought. Offering the ignition end of the flare, you tilt your head.

He blinks. “What?”

“No maggotshit, right?” You waggle the flare back and forth. “We’re in this together. I’m not going to go dumping your ass off out here. I need you.”

There it is. That particularly sly smile Otto reserves only for you.

“Right. No maggotshit.” He grabs ahold of the flare, twisting the top off in a deft motion. The sizzle of green light immediately springs to life.

“To your post, XO.” You grin up at him.

“Aye aye, Captain.” He bounds off, already barking orders before he’s even left your ship.

In return, you life the flare up high.

“Come with me, everyone!” You call out to your crew. All eyes are on you. “We’ve got shit to steal and even more the blow up!” You’ve always been one for short and sweet speeches, and the cheers you receive from the crew of the dual songships feels good.

A larger flare at the aft of the Wisp fires up a puff of green glow. As one, the gemstones embedded in the airships blossom into vibrant color. Greens, blues, purples, reds, pinks, all transforming the shadowy edge of cloud and open sky into a line of beacons chasing away the darkness.

> [Cont.]

>>3820868
The gleaming orange of the Idle Hands pulls out from the concealment behind you. An ugly thing of blocky stone, it makes up for its lacking aesthetics with lines of cannons and rapid firing launchers. Where your songships are designed for quick strikes and even faster retreats, Marcus’ ship is well known for its ability in a prolonged gunfight.

It’s a good thing, too, that its trio of sister ships are along as well. The Zapper, Rotund Delivery Service, and Glow Willing. Each look like it was broken off from an entirely different island, with completely different rock types and colors of crystals growing out of them.

At the prow of the Idle Hands are two familiar figures. Marcus stands with his prominent elven ears on display, long and proudly adorned with earrings inset with blazing crystals and gems. A bladed chain lined with cabochons of various other gems is wrapped around his body. If his airship glows, the elf is practically blinding.

At his side, color muted in comparison, stands Charlotte in her usual ponytail. What stands out the most is how plain she looks next to not only Marcus, but also every other crew member. No weapon is holstered at her side, though you know first hand that she doesn’t need one.

If you ever need someone to cover your ass in a barroom brawl, Charlotte’s your girl.

“Finally!” Marcus explodes into joyous laughter as his airship sidles up next to the Wisp. “I thought you were going to let the prize slip through your fingers, Ms. Keeling!”

“And what,” You call back, resting your hands on your hips. “Let you get your grubby hands on it?”

Marcus loudly scoffs, while behind him Charlotte gives you a happy little wave. You can practically see the Verve aftereffects shimmering in the air where her hand used to be. You nod back with a smile.

She’s a Verve user you can trust, at least. Focuses all her bubbling life force back into herself. You really don’t understand how it works, but it basically means her fists hit as hard as a plummeting stone, and any wounds she receives close up before too long. If she were like Lorenzo, then-

You fail to suppress a shudder rolling down your back. The worst part was always the dreams he left behind in your head, the bastard…

Behind Marcus’ squadron of heavies, a hodgepodge of other ships reveal themselves from the clouds. Modified fishing boats, renovated cargo ships, the usual sort of ad hoc constructions an empty pebble pouch and big dreams can create.

> [Cont.]

>>3820871
“Anything else you need to say, your highness?” Marcus playfully jeers at you. “Shall we all grovel before your might?”

“Hey!” Charlotte lightly punches Marcus in the arm. You spot him flinch back in pain, barely able to stay upright. “Phoebe’s trying her best! You don’t need to be rude.”

“I know, Char, but-” Marcus pleads.

Charlotte flicks his ear. A cacophony of resonating Glow and the jangle of metal on metal explodes from the elf’s ear. As Marcus all but collapses on one knee, Charlotte makes a “tut tut” motion with her finger while saying something drowned out by the noise. She then gives you a cheery thumbs up.

Glad to see she’s always got your back, you respond with an appreciative smile. You turn towards the train track, and yes, it is still plunging ahead at full speed. It’s halfway onto the bridge. Perfect.

You pull a pistol from your belt and raise it into the air. Blue cabochons at the end of the barrel brighten as they greedily suck in the residue Glow in the air. Your other hand rests on a fancy scimitar, a prize you wrenched from the hands of the ol’ stuck up Pirate Queen’s asshole attendant. It was only fair, you tell yourself. He broke your cutlass, you broke his skinny little neck. Was it really a bad thing that you walked out of there with that prissy bitch’s crown? Its crown jewel hangs from your neck, glistening a multifaceted hue. It’s how you persuaded these bunch of callous assholes to follow you today, that should be enough.

“To arms, gentlemen.”

You fire your pistol into the air, a blue streak of Glow piercing and distorting the clouds above.

With that, a battle cry.

With that, the descent.

With that, you can feel vengeance on your lips.

> With that, we now rejoin…

> [A] [The Furious Fisherman] ...
>> [A1] Pushing the Needlenose beyond what is reasonable.
>> [A2] Arguing with Diana about what needs to be done.
>> [A3] Unconscious, flung into the mast thanks to a spike of turbulence.

> [B] [The Pernicious Priest] ...
>> [B1] Stowing the body of a youth, taken before her time.
>> [B2] Being led to destinations unknown, berated the entire way.
>> [B3] On the run, scrambling for a place to hide.

> Please, vote only within A or B. The Glow’s gaze is limited, here, and may only shine on who it deems the most worthy...

>>3820874
> [B1] Stowing the body of a youth, taken before her time.

>>3820920
Seconding.

>>3820874
>> [B1] Stowing the body of a youth, taken before her time.
Oh hey, it's back. You doing good, QM?

>>3820975
>>3820971
>>3820920

Called, writing soon. It's such a shame, she had a whole life in front of her. I had her backstory right here and everything...

And I've been doin' well anon! Wrote it at a bad time originally, now I'm finally at a point where I can do words. Hope you're enjoying it!

>>3820920
>>3820971
>>3820975
Surprised you guys jumped on killing a kid so fast.

>>3821087
As a father, I understand the urge to kill children.

[The Pernicious Priest]

Your cell door hangs open far behind you. Three or four train cars away at least. Your jailer wasn’t fast enough to react after she finally opened the door.

Should you give her a name?

The limp body of the teenage girl is cradled in your arms. You keep her close to you as you hobble from corner to corner, maggotsilk tied around your wrists like the broken bracelets of an escaped convict. You’ve been in luck so far. The cargo cars seems to be laden with, well, cargo. Stone cubes molded by Glow to be seamless boxes for whatever is inside, wooden crates nailed shut, and various other containers.

No, but should you give her a name?

Her belt is slung over your shoulder - its material far too short to fit around your emaciated girth. Attached to it is a stone canteen filled with wine, a chipped obsidian knife, and a pouch containing what must’ve been her pay. Three pebbles and a half dozen fragments of rough gemstones. Not even a snack, and with how light her small frame is, you doubt she’s had much chance to eat. Poor thing.

You wonder what her-

You’re not sure why you chose to head towards the front of the train, in the direction the train is already going. Not that it matters, because for all you know it’s cargo all the way to the engine room.

But if that’s the case, where was this girl trying to take you? Victor, that bastard, it dawns on you. It was him who did this!

Stopping in the middle of the train car, you lean against a sealed cube to catch your breath.

It’s obvious. He stole away your parish, your followers, everyone who relied on you for protection. It was him who set the library on fire, him who forced your people to flee from the safety of your walls. How could you know that it was a trap him and his goons, the Villaltian Dependency? Ha! More like grovelers suckling on Victor’s manteats. What did he do? Did he pay them? You hope they were paid more than three pebbles, nay, you would be offended if they were paid any less than three stones! Or did he fuck them? His wiley charms were something you surely witnessed, not that they worked on you of course, but you wouldn’t put it beyond ol’ Vicky to be an elf fucker. He’s a manipulator, yes he is, a manipulator of the highest order. He manipulated all of them, manipulated your followers into fleeing towards his waiting, elf fucker arms, you bet they’re all in positions in that blasted, fictional elven church, probably all fucking elves like, like, like- well, he manipulated you to get trapped in that library! Right, it was his fault they cornered you there, surrounded by smoke, struggling to breath while trying,
trying,
trying-

>>3821139
You sputter out loud in frustration. Catching your breath, again, still. The air here, it really must be thin. You weren’t kept in your cell that long, and they did feed you from time to time…

Moving to wipe the sweat from your forehead (it is also WARM in here, what gives?), you find the face of a young girl bumping into yours.

“Ope, I’m sorry.” You respond automatically. “I was just on my way to see a friend, could you show me the way?”

There’s something weird about this girl, you notice right away. The way her head seems to droop to the side. The darkened eyes - what is it with children and make up these days? Don’t they know it makes them look like elves? And to get it all over her cheeks too in big, darc circles too, poor child. There’s also the way she hangs limply from your arms. Oh, yes, you’re carrying her. That’s right, you were, you were, you were -

-The scorched Glow-
-a desperate dash-
-her screams-
-she’s screaming, why won’t she-

Right! You were trying to find her a place to rest up! She must be exhausted, poor, poor thing.

“That’s alright, uh,” What’s her name? “I’ll find you a nice place to lay down. Here, uh, hm…”

You look around you. There’s plenty of benches, etched stone covered in plush cushions. Outside - yes, you can see outside! - there’s not much to see. Clouds, thick and grey, the black metal of the chains filling up a portion of the sky, a golden orb glittering to and fro like a lantern at one of your sermons. The all-providing Glow flows into you, and you feel refreshed like you haven’t been in ages. Seasons. Perhaps you’ve never felt better your entire life! All seems calm.

You are calm.

You hope she is calm, whoever she is. Your arms are big and strong, or so all the followers back in the Cloister would whisper in your ear. Before the elf fucker and his fucked elves came to pilfer them from your hands.

That’s right! Vicky! That’s her name! You shake your head in bemusement.

“I’m so sorry, Vicky.” You absentmindedly brush her hair to cover up her absolutely atrocious makeup. “Here, I’ll make it up to you, let me just find you somewhere…”

> [A] A bench would do just fine.
> [B] It’s far too warm in here for a child to sleep, imagine the nightmares she’ll have! Find somewhere nice and cool instead.
> [C] It’s not like she weighs too much, bring her with you!
> [D] Writein

>>3821140
>[B] It’s far too warm in here for a child to sleep, imagine the nightmares she’ll have! Find somewhere nice and cool instead.

Alright we've got our crazy priest murderer PoV. Might as well go full steam ahead here.

>>3821140
> [B] It’s far too warm in here for a child to sleep, imagine the nightmares she’ll have! Find somewhere nice and cool instead.

>>3821147
>>3821150
+1. Be sure to be quiet so we don't wake her.

>>3821147
>>3821150
>>3821151
I do believe that's a decent amount done for the first session, don't you think?

I must go and be a responsible student, however. Expect more updates tomorrow, and for now,

Thoughts, comments, concerns, feedback me up. I must gorge on your thoughts so I may return, well fed and ready to write.

Ta ta!

>>3821160
Do the events of the first thread matter or are we starting over?

>>3821165
Think of this as a fresh start with no strings attached. Characters and some ideas may return, but the aborted plotline of the previous does not play into this current version of events.

For instance, Gregory has become an entirely different beast thanks to some bloodthirsty anons. Oh, what FUN we'll have together

whew, i had to disappear after the first couple of votes, but looks like you guys've upended a whoooooole barrel of crazy

“No, nonono.” You fiercely shake your head. “This won’t do! It’s far too warm for a child to sleep. You a proper cold spot!”

Hobbling to the end of the train car, you pull open the sliding door and find yourself what looks like a restaurant. Pristine tablecloths topped with all the markings of fine dining - wine glasses, a dozen different forks, and napkins folded in fancy little triangles. The crystals in the ceiling are dimmed, and thick red curtains are drawn along the edges of the car. Even the carpet is plush and soft!

You whistle. “Look at that Vicky.” You pat the girl’s head. “There’s some real fancy folk around here.”

It’s still very warm inside. Thankfully, with your experience attending the court functions you were forced into when back at the Underrock Cloister, you can make your way through without disturbing any of those partaking in the cuisine. You wonder what they are having tonight, brushing a hand through your uncombed beard.

“Normally they’d start off with a tasting tray.” It’s only natural to explain to Vicky the intricacies of aristocratic life. Besides, with what they’re paying her, you doubt they’d deign to let her get her filthy little hands into any of the food! “Something light and easy. Really, it’s more to prepare the nobles for the real meal that’ll be coming later. Ah!” You spot something interesting!

Off along the side of the train car there are doors on opposite sides of the room. Through the slim window, you spot the rolling clouds outside.

“Aha!” You declare. “Vicky, you need to understand, the pungent concoctions nobles in these days love to partake in would be mighty dense if there wasn’t,” You pause, grunting while blindly fiddling with the door’s handle. ”Here, Vicky, stand there for a moment.”

It’s not long after pulling at the door with both hands that you’re able to wench it open. Along the outside of the train car is a small balcony, rounded off by a wrought iron fence going up to your hip. And there, that’s the cool breeze you were looking for! Glow’s obscured, unfortunately, but the twilight’s still fine enough to see by.

Down below, you spot your familiar golden lantern getting closer to you. A practitioner, coming to hear you speak? Your breast swells with pride. Sure, you weren’t expecting that you’d be giving a sermon here of all places, but, what a better time? You’re free! You’re on your way to rip Victor’s jaw off his smiling face! And you have to be a good example for Vicky here, oh Vicky, you do wonder how she got her name...

“Hey,” You turn back to your companion. “Are ya comin’ or not?”

She slumps further into her chair.

“Alright, alright, I know you’re sleepy,” You reassure her, before grabbing the back of the chair and rotating it out through the doorway. “Upsie- Right, here you are! A lovely spot to sit back, relax, and watch-”

> [Cont.]

>>3822896
The Glow reverberates through your chest. Shockwaves slam into you, once, twice, then dozens of times in quick succession. It’s all you can do to stay upright with a white knuckled grip on the fence. You hear it, then, the shredding of metal and the squeal of crystals struggling to keep the train upright. The train tips[/] precariously. A fierce rumbling shoots up from your hands and feet to make your teeth chatter and shake.

“By the Glow’s bountiful bos-” Your curse dies in your throat as you turn and see the commotion. At the front of the train, a hundred different gouts of multicolored fire erupt from rents in the armor. It’s majestic, really, the sheer spectacle of Glow radiating off of the flames. The gemstone embedded in the center of your holy symbol flares up so brightly that you can feel its heat through the coarse leather of their pouch.

The damage is cataclysmic. You can feel more than see the chaintrain breaking apart, train cars wildly flinging themselves down towards the Glow Below, as everything crumbles, screaming in sounds only twisted metal and shattered crystal can make, all the while you’re plunged endlessly down-

There are no flames. No punctures in iron, no final tumbling into the Glow Below, and not a grain of sand separates the chaintrain from its tracks. All is well.

Do not test my patience.

-you blink back the fierce wind that buffets you. A shadow crosses between you and the Glow in the blink of an eye. What brainless fool was interrupting your sermon? Now, of all times, in your moment of victory? Indignation floods your mind, and a hand reaches down to bring forth your holy icon to smite these unbelievers from soiling your sight with their presenc-

Your gemstone is shattered, and no Glow resides in its fragments.

A wooden ship twists through the air in front of you. Immediately, before the sonorous Glow emanates from its delicate wings, before the melodies built into its ancient wood flood your heart with calm bliss, even before it fully turns about to show you its full profile, you recognize the telltale shimmer of an elven songship. The sounds of straining sails and swelling Glow overwhelm your ears, but all you have eyes for are a set of bright blue sails.

The Dependency. They caught wind of your escape, the conniving bastards! And they brought an entire fleet to bring throw you back in your cell?

Again, the golden light of the lantern carried by the faithful catches your eye. Still it ascends towards you, pilgrims determined to lay their plights at your feet and listen to your wisdom. The fools! The Villaltians, they’ll slaughter them to the man! You have to find him and, and-

> [Cont.]

>>3822901
A thunderous retort blasts from the chaintrain. Hundreds, thousands of tracers and trails of smoke arc out into the air towards the swarming airships - yes, you see them now, ships of all makes dipping through the skies to avoid the incoming flak - and exploding in puffs of Glow and shrapnel. The defense has begun, thank the Glow’s guiding light!

You still have time to search, to find the traitor who stole it all from you. Spinning on a heel, you move-

In your haste to flee back into the train you stumble over a chair. What fool left this out on a balcony? Grabbing a hold of the top of the chair, you fling it behind you. It collides with the fence before rolling over the top of it. The last you see of the annoyance is it breaking apart into two halves as it takes its final plunge.

You shove the door shut. You have more important places to be than dealing with trash.

---

> What’s this, what’s this? A little present from one man to another? Oh, let’s see how they receive their surprise!

>>3822903
[The Furious Fisherman]

“Dad!” Diana’s abrupt cry is the only warning you have. You’re still reeling from something, but-

Out from the sphere of Glow beam and cannon shell around the chaintrain, an object plummets out from the haze of a cloud above you. You veer left, but the damned burning piece of shit is heavy and-

The object crashes into the deck. Your controls judder, once, twice, the Needlenose bouncing wildly through the air as the force of the impact throws you off course. Beside you, Diana is already straining against the emergency rudder, just like you taught her. You cannot let the ship capsize. Not with her up top with you.

You’ll extinguish the Glow once and for all before you’d let anything happen to her.

You’re drifting sideways now. The momentum of your cargo shoots past your floundering airship. An unexpected jolt, a crunch of rope on splintering wood. You find yourself momentarily airborne before slamming back down on the deck. You can’t breath, but you’re sliding, slipping, some instinct is making your hands reach out for anything to grab onto. The sky above you is spinning. The chain far above is a blur of motion. Greys, blacks, blazing gold, all muddled in an incoherent swirl of-

Another gut wrenching stop. You almost lose your grip on the central mast. Good thing, too, because when your equilibrium settles you find that the bow of the Needlenose is pointed towards the Glow Below. Behind and above you, your cargo sits. It strains upwards against its steadily burning ropes, but somehow it hasn’t yet broken free. It won’t last long, however, and you need to be next to the train when it-

Diana groans beside you. She’s hunched over the control panel you were flung from, holding down the emergency stop with all her weight.

“Hey Dia,” You struggle to speak up between heavy breaths.

“Yeah?” She looks towards you through her hair strewn in wild tangles over her face. Diana’s entire body is shaking.

“You did real good, kid.”

A pause passes as you hold her rattled gaze.

“Yeah.” Diana looks down to the Glow Below, and lets out a manic giggle. “Yeah, I did, huh?”

> [Cont.]

>>3822910
Her laugh is infectious, and you finally relax as relief rolls over you. The two of you sit there giggling like a ground dweller seeing Glow for the first time. Alright, you can work with this. You only need a moment to catch your breath, then you can finish what you set out to do. Easy, right? As long as nothing else catches you by surprise, the two of you can get through anything.

It’s a shock to hear Diana yelp. Spinning around, you follow her outstretched finger to look, ready to leap from the mast.

The wood of the deck is bent inward, not quite shattered. You pick out the clear pieces of a chair and are taken aback. There’s no way a flimsy wooden thing like that would’ve knocked you off course. It’s not making sense.

Until.

Wind ruffles through strands of hair. The movement draws your eye, and then you see it. Blonde hair. The shape of a girl, no older than Diana, broken and twisted on your ship.

It’s something else that makes you flinch back in horror.

Her face. It’s still smoking. Blackened holes are drilled through her eyes and claw down her features, sizzling with the residue of recently ignited Glow. Whatever cast her from above was vicious. What kind of monster…

You and Diana both cry out in fear when the girl begins to cough violently, chest bending unnaturally as she wheezes for air.

> Well well, wasn’t that a nice little gift?
> Somewhere in the clouds, the sky titters with twirling sparks.
> Who shall we follow next?

> [A] [The Furious Fisherman]
>> [A1] How will you deal with the guest? What of your plan? Writein, writein!

> [B] [The Unwilling Usurper]
> Your fleet loosed their shots, right What happened? You swear, uh…
> A memory that never was slips from your mind.
>> [B1] Maintain formation, concentrate your fire!
>> [B2] Dip under the track, the flak is too dense.
>> [B3] Order boarding parties, now that the first round of return fire has passed!
>> [B4] Writein

> And if you are so insistent…
> [C] [The Pernicious Priest]
> [C1] Writein, if you’d be so kind!

> Remember! One letter at a time! The Glow shall provide you with a place to rest your head once the time comes!

>>3822912
>> [B2] Dip under the track, the flak is too dense.
Ah shit. Here we go again.

Also how da fuck did Vicky survive all that?

>>3822910
>> [A] [The Furious Fisherman]
haven't had a full section with him, and i would like to

>[A1] Of course, we're going to try to save her. What kind of monster would leave a child to die, much less... much less whatever the hell else was done to her. Now, it seems troublingly unlikely that we'll succeed, but we have to throw ourselves into this nonetheless. Get Diana's help for this -- do we have any medical supplies on the ship? If so, she should go and get it. If not, we'll have to improvise. The best we can do right now is probably check for any possibly lethal bleeding and try to stop that. The other best thing we can do is perhaps try to keep the poor girl still, so she doesn't injure herself.

>>3822940
Gotta second this.

Vote'll stay open overnight, so don't be shy!

I must go be responsible and sleep like an adult, how horrid.

>>3822912
> [B] [The Unwilling Usurper]
> [B2] Dip under the track, the flak is too dense.

>>3822912
>[B2] Dip under the track, the flak is too dense.

>>3822940
I'll third it.

>>3822912
[A1] How will you deal with the guest? What of your plan? Writein, writein!

I'm with >>3822940's idea.

>>3822938
>>3823030
>>3823290
Feisty ones rearing to get right into the action!

>>3822940
>>3822941
>>3824141
>>3824285
Compassion? For a poor broken thing?

I wonder what the Glow has in store for her just yet, hm?

Called, let us write. Gaming session will take up the rest of the night, so a single update for you my patient players!

>>3824384
Slippery names tonight, it seems.

“Diana,” you sputter out the words. “Diana, we, the box!”

Her head snaps back towards you, confusion written on her face.

“Come on, the, under the bed! You know what I’m talking about.” You pull yourself over the mast and delicately hang over the open sky. The heat of the blazing, tangled orb bakes your arms as it flares up. It’s finding more ignition sources, a calm part of your mind notes. Before long, the fires will spread to the Needlenose. You don’t have time to waste. You’ll never have a chance like this.

“What are you doing? Dad, get back up here!” Diana’s yelling down at you.

But…

“We can’t just leave her there.” With a grunt, you ignore the straining of your arms and angle yourself back down towards the deck. If you let go just so, you should be able to land on the lip of the deck near the bow. If you’re off, or the ship shifts, you’ll just have to hope you can grab something in time…

“Stop being a fucking idiot and listen to me!”

That freezes you in place. Your daughter has never spoken to you like that.

“Just, Dad, don’t go leaping into the Glow.” Her tone softens, and when you look up towards her she can’t hold your gaze. Insteads she’s fiddling with the controls. “Let me just work the engine for a second and try to level us out, all right?”

You stare at her, baffled. “But she’s hurt, Dia-”

“Yeah and she’ll be dead if you two go off on your final dive together, Dad!” She violently shakes her head. “Seriously, I know this whole thing is a big deal but can you please, please not be a dumbass. Mom told me to bring you back, okay?” She flings a lever to the side. The crystals roar their reddish light above you, and you feel the deck angle up to meet your hanging feet.

Rapidly blinking, you call back, “Wait, when did you see Rachel?”

“That doesn’t matter!”

“Yes, it does!” You stagger to your feet. “You know the doctors said she was violent! Fuck, Diana, she tried to throw you off the edge!”

“Well, she didn’t!” She stands her ground, holding onto the control podium with both hands. “I don’t care if they have her locked up in a cave, she’s my mom!”

“Were you going to tell me about this?” Your fists are clenched at your side. Your little daughter, running off behind your back to put herself into danger? “Or was this going to be another of your little secrets?”

Diana scoffs. “What, are seriously shittalking Reina again?”

“You know,” You point at her for emphasis. You weren’t going to, but you will now. “You know what that varmit’s family is like. I swear with the Glow as my witness, if you’re still runnin’ off with that streetscum-”

“Dad!” Diana shoots you a disgusted look. With a final jerk on the controls, the airship stabilizes.“She’s my friend. Not a, a-” She cuts herself off with an exasperated sigh.

“I told you about what all those no good charlatans are like, getting their filthy mouths all over-”

“Dad!”

“Water.”

> [Cont.]

>>3824499
“Yes, stealing all the water reserves!” You nod, triumphant. At least someone is taking your side. “Do you want us to all go through a drought thanks to a bunch of broke maggot sucker-”

“No, just, shut up!” Diana storms around the control panel towards you.

“There you go again, not listening. Where did you forget all your respect-” You’re interrupted when she skirts around you. “Hey!”

“You wanted to help her, right?” Spinning on her heel, Diana gestures to the figure struggling to breathe on your deck. The two of you stand facing each other. Sweat pours from Diana’s reddened face.

“Water…” A raspy murmur drifts through the dull rumble of the battle far above.

You give your daughter a gruff nod before crossing to your unexpected passenger and kneeling beside her. Diana says nothing in response, only lugging the hatch to below deck open and climbing down. Guilt bubbles up in your throat as you really take a look at this girl for the first time. You doubt she’s experienced her summer festival, you estimate. She’s a skinny little thing, and now all her angles are wrong. You know a leg isn’t meant to bend in that many places. If you tried to move her now, you’re more likely to puncture anything that’s not already bleeding out or pulverized inside of her.

A grimness settles over you as you survey the damage to her body. You wouldn’t even know where to start. What she needs right now is a priest, not your rusty healer skills.

“Where’s the Glow gone.” She whispers. How could you forget about her incinerated eyes? They’re nothing more than charred, empty sockets. “Where’s it gone, where’s it gone…”

Diana pokes her dirty blonde head out from the open hatch. Grunting, she hoists a large box over the edge of the deck. It lands with a thump. “Dad, come on.” She pants, resting on the stairs. “That’s seriously heavy.”

“Bring it over here.” Diana must’ve noticed your tone. She immediately leaps up onto the deck before pulling the stone lockbox over beside you.

“What do you think, Dad?” She pulls a bag from inside her shirt and takes a slow drink from it.

“I don’t know. Give her some of that, would you?” You pivot to the combination lock. It’s been a very long time since you’ve opened this, you just hope you remember code.

“Here.” Diana leans over the girl, gently tipping the sack over her lips. “Slowly, slowly. There you go! We’re gonna fix you up in no time.”

Her hair is might lighter than your daughters, but something strikes you. They both look so young next to each other. Children, caught in the middle of a feud between men.

Why would the Glow give light to something like this? Who would torture a little girl like she’s an untamed beast being branded for slaughter? Did he do his to her?

Shaking off the dark thoughts, you pop open the chest. Inside amongst the junk is…

> [Cont.]

>>3824502
> [A] … a sealed journal made of dried whaleskin, containing precious memories you swore you’d never lose.
> [B] … a heavily creased piece of paper a peddler once called a “photo”, bought at an exorbitant price.
> [C] … a scroll make up of thin strips of wood, a final memento of a life you put behind you long ago.

> And please, the Glow simmers with anticipation.
> What do you ask the wounded girl?

>>3824505
> [A] … a sealed journal made of dried whaleskin, containing precious memories you swore you’d never lose.

> What do you ask the wounded girl?
Her name and who did this to her.

>>3824505
> [B] … a heavily creased piece of paper a peddler once called a “photo”, bought at an exorbitant price.

>>3824511
Backing this question

>>3824505
> [B] … a heavily creased piece of paper a peddler once called a “photo”, bought at an exorbitant price.
Her name.

>>3824505
This>>3824511

>>3824505
> [A] … a sealed journal made of dried whaleskin, containing precious memories you swore you’d never lose.
A picture is worth a thousand words, but is only a single moment in time. A journal will have information.

> What do you ask the wounded girl?
Her name and who did this to her.

>>3824511
I'll also back this up.

>>3824505

> [A] … a sealed journal made of dried whaleskin, containing precious memories you swore you’d never lose.


> What do you ask the wounded girl?
What's her name

>>3824511
>>3824760
>>3824957
>>3825011
>>3825044
Journal.

>>3824642
>>3824556
Photo.

Also seems we are trying to get to know our new stowaway a little better. I suppose it's only polite!

Calling the vote here. Will see if sleep deprivation wins out or if I can write something tonight. Thank you for your patience!

The thin block of whaleskin vellum is exactly where you left it. The inscription on one side, GL, sends a chill up your spine. You only told Gerald about this once when he was a small child. It was a promise you knew he didn’t understand. The same day you etched his initials onto the drying sleeve and tied it shut with a braided lock of his mother’s hair.

Your finger absentmindedly traces the strands as you search the box for a knife to cut the vellum wrapping open. The hair is as smooth as you remember it, and it’s the same shimmering yellow that you remember in the good times with Rachel. Before Diana almost wasn’t born. Before Rachel’s hair turned black overnight and her eyes gleamed an unnatural white. Before you lept after the mewling shadow, cast from your home with the malice one might give a piece of trash being returned to the Glow.

With a deft twirl of your ivory blade, you cut away the knotted hair.

The whaleskin covering opens for the first time in many, many winters. Setting aside the knife, you pluck out the thin journal. Already you can feel the preserved, lively residue seep out from between the dead pages. What better container for something brimming with energy and the desire to be set free than a cage constructed of death? The vellum acted as the perfect container, for even inanimate stone refracts the lives of those who live within and atop it. Some say stone and dirt alike is porous, too, absorbing the liveliness of living things much like how crystals and gems gather Glow in its fractal patterns.

In practiced motion, you begin to collect what’s being radiated between your fingers.

The toil of reliving memories long shunted from you mine.

The pride of a completed task.

The joy of anticipation, of a promise well kept.

You work fast, pressing your hand up against the girl’s head. Now that your long dried attunement is being flooded, you find your senses have been torn open. Rachel never could understand when you tried to explain to her what it felt like. It’s akin to whisking water from something, you explained one storm when the rains kept the two of you indoors. Only, instead of casting the droplets off into the air, you said she would have to catch them on the tips of her fingers. She’d then need to keep moving her hand in harmony with the water, molding it into whatever shape you wanted it to be. This was when Rachel smiled in her mischievous way. Her hand slid down along her chest.

“Like this?”

“Just like that.” You murmur as the residue forms the shape you want. It goes by many names, the substance being whisked from your fingertips. It flows over the broken girl’s head and seeps in through the skin. Witchcraft, heresy, dark magics, necromancy. Something no one learns without being scorned by the Glow.

Verve.

> [Cont.]

>>3827935
The fever brought on by shock lifts from her blonde head, and you know her mind is coalescing into a sharp focus.

“I’m not dead.” A statement of fact, but a good sign. Her faculties haven’t been splattered across the deck of the Needlenose.

“For now.”

“It hurts.”

“Only for a little while longer.”

More Verve from the forgotten gift to your son licks your fingers. Flashes of your own childhood sear themselves into your heart. Wild flights of fantasy, dreams too pure for this world, coalesce around your gnawed nails. It’s a simple twist, a flick from one finger to another, and the sensation of dreams taking a rough tumble over hard soil shatters the beautiful illusion. You tease out the pain and catch on your thumb. The resilience of children to being hurt is something that you learned all over again each time Gerald would try race off over the craggy roof of your small hut. The most impressive thing of all is how quickly they heal from scrapes and cuts. This is what you spin around the nail of your pointer finger.

Regeneration. Verve, flooding the body with its own life reflecting back at itself. You collect more, mixing in memories stripped of their specificity. You need more.

The journal lays open on your lap, its words merely a haze to your eyes. A haze the clutches at your heart and reinvigorates it with a liveliness you’ve forgotten. A quarter of the way through the journal, a quarter of your entire existence, threatens to drip off the clammy skin of your hand and evaporate into the Glow’s presence as if it never was.

“What is your name, child?” You whisper through gritted teeth. If her mind is gone by the time you finish embroidering the slippery Verve around your hands, all your effort will be wasted.

“Mae.” Her pale lips barely move. Her steaming blood laps and pools up against your knees.

“That’s a very pretty name you have.” You wrench your eyes from your hands, from the images of times long past. With Verve sparking behind your eyes, you trace the lifeforce still contained Mae. “Why did this to you?”

“A demon.” Her inner Verve is getting weaker. Already you can see death claim parts of her body. Her left arm up to the elbow is pulverized, likely from the impact, and nothing flows within it. Shattered fragments of starving bone are embedded throughout her body. It’s difficult to trace what’s still intact among what’s been shredded beyond repair.

“What did this demon do to you?” You gently rest your hands on the sides of her head. Even now the Verve quivers and jockeys on your skin, fiercely struggling to be flung into the void.

“He stole the light.” Mae’s monotone breath tickles your wrists. “He took it all into his greedy hands.”

> [Cont.]

>>3827936
What one man stole from her, you now must give of yourself. Sliding your hands down her cheeks, you begin to disperse the Verve along her body. Down along the nape of her neck, along the sides of her modest chest, over her flattened waist, you gently press your fingers into her cold skin. A mix of sweat and tears dribbles down your face as you work. You don’t need to see, now at this point. The feel of Verve dipping into Mae is all you need. Before long you can hear a harmonious strumming as the injected Verve begins to revitalize her own.

Still, there are problems. Firstly, of course, are her eyes. The Glow, though a provider for life according to the popular teachings, is itself also an abolitionist of the mortal coil. It obliterates that which it shines on too strongly. Mae’s blackened sockets fail to react to the Verve racing through her system, and without extreme action you’re not sure if they’ll ever be able to heal over. Though, perhaps you might be able to give her her sight back with more from yourself. One eye, though, is far more doable than both. After all, only so much remains in your journal...

There is also her left arm. While the fragmented hip will heal thanks to the connecting bones and flesh, the arm will begin to die off before long. You’ll have to cut off the damaged flesh and preserve what’s left. As is, thanks she is unable to walk as well. Even if her legs weren’t rendered useless by the sheared ligaments shattered among the damaged muscle, the regrowing hip bones would crumple under her weight.

A demon stole the light from Mae and left her body nigh-pulverized in preparation with being returned to the Glow.

“How are you feeling now, Mae?”

“Sleepy.” She has no eyelids to flutter shut, but the way her head is leaning against your knee is enough to indicate her tiredness.

“Dad.” Diana sets a hand on your shoulder. “The train’s slowing down.”

You look up, and it’s true. The chaintrain is entirely on the bridge between chain links. Around it, an angry swarm of airships buzz around its metal hides. Even through the dissonant hum of battle, the squeal of a thousand different brakes echoes off the gargantuan chain.

“What now?” She looks back towards your flaming cargo. The ropes are very nearly burnt through, and a frightful amount of ooze and slime is surging out from the bottom of the orb. It still strains to ascend.

>>3827940
> Well well, crafter of flesh and mind.
> Well well, affront to the Glow’s purifying light.
> Well well, what shall the intervener between absolving Glow and its children do...

> … about Mae?
> [A1] Preserve your precious Verve. Other than what you’ve kept close to your heart since Gerald was stolen away, you have no other means to procure more.
> [A2] Return the girl one of her eyes. A life unable to survey the Glow’s illumination is a life not worth living.
> [A3] Return both eyes. It will be costly. Don’t you know how delicate eyes are?
> [A4] She needs to be up on her feet. Focus, pour more of yourself into her.
> [A5] What else do you want with her, this child you plucked from imminent oblivion? Writein, writein, write all about it!

> … about the chaintrain?
> [B1] You’ve come this far, and it’ll be a perfect target when slowing down. Quickly, cut away the cargo below it!
> [B2] You have a greater need than ever to get on that train. The back of the train is facing little assault.
> [B3] Those raiders are dangerous. Let the cargo free in the middle of their midst. It’ll provide the distraction you’ll need to reach the front of the train - where that bastard waits, you know it.
> [B4] Writein what comes next to this constructed beast of metal and Glow.

>>3827945
>[A2] Return the girl one of her eyes. A life unable to survey the Glow’s illumination is a life not worth living.

One Punished eye patch Mae coming right up.

> [B2] You have a greater need than ever to get on that train. The back of the train is facing little assault.

>>3827945
> [A2] Return the girl one of her eyes. A life unable to survey the Glow’s illumination is a life not worth living.
Legs aren't worth much if you can't see where you're going.

> [B2] You have a greater need than ever to get on that train. The back of the train is facing little assault.

>>3827945
> [A2] Return the girl one of her eyes. A life unable to survey the Glow’s illumination is a life not worth living.

> [B3] Those raiders are dangerous. Let the cargo free in the middle of their midst. It’ll provide the distraction you’ll need to reach the front of the train - where that bastard waits, you know it.

We're now saddled with two kids, one of who can't walk. Stay safe until we can settle the score.

>>3827945
>>3828029
Good point. I'll swap to
>> [B3] Those raiders are dangerous. Let the cargo free in the middle of their midst. It’ll provide the distraction you’ll need to reach the front of the train - where that bastard waits, you know it.

>>3827945
Hmmm


> [A2] Return the girl one of her eyes. A life unable to survey the Glow’s illumination is a life not worth living.

> [B3] Those raiders are dangerous. Let the cargo free in the middle of their midst. It’ll provide the distraction you’ll need to reach the front of the train - where that bastard waits, you know it.

>>3827961
>>3828019
>>3828029
>>3828038
>>3828072

Oh yes, perhaps you too should be allowed to see, since you were so kind to gift a dead girl her sight once more! Writing, writing, update halfway done.

There’s really only one thing you can do.

“Those raiders, pirates, whatever.” You nod towards the fuzzball of violence. “If the train’s stoppin’, they’re our biggest threat. An’ that rope isn’t going to hold out any longer.”

You pluck at the extracted Verve laden with pain from your thumb, and stretch it over the palm of your hand. There’s something that seems intuitive, but maybe it’s a part of Verve manipulation particular to how you’ve learned to finesse it. By taking one emotion, feeling, and so forth, and inverting it, - slapping your palms together, you transfer the Verve to your other hand - it can work as its opposite. Pain, now working as a duller of pain. You slather the Verve on the ivory blade of your knife.

It’s not enough.

“Okay,” Diana worriedly shuffles behind the controls. “So what do you mean, Dad?”

“What I mean is,” It’ll have to do as a start, your fingers are straining from the balancing act. You lift the matte ivory knife up into the air with both hands. “I’ll have to fly us in the middle of all of them.”

“Dad! What the fu-”

You slam the blade through what was once her left eye, jamming the edge of the hilt against her brow. Her skull makes a gurgling pop as the charred bone caves in. Blood and other liquids well up around the knife only to pour down the side of her face and join the rest of her drying blood. Heaving a deep breath, you adjust your grip on the knife in preparation to-

“No!” Diana collides with your back, making you push further down on the knife. A crack of Mae’s skull punctures Diana’s words. “No, stop! Why the fuck are you killing her?”

“Diana-” She’s clawing at your hair, pulling your head back in an attempt to drag you away from Mae. You still yell back at her. “I’m working to save her!”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Diana glares down at you. “I thought stabbing someone in the face was how you killed people.”

She has her mother’s eyes. The eyes before something twisted her mind into someone unrecognizable.

You throw your hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, just let me explain, please.”

Diana pauses. “Why are you killing her?”

“I’m not- fuck!” Diana wrenches your neck back. “Fuck, DiaDiadiadia! Dia! I’m giving her back her eye! Her eye, her eye,” You pant as Diana loosens up on your hair. “I’m giving back her eye.”

She pulls your face up close to hers. “You can do that?”

“I think?”

“What do you mean you think.” She squints.

“I know how to do it, in theory. I gotta excise the damaged parts and-”

“And what does that have to do with putting a knife through her brain.”

“I, look. We don’t have time for this. Just trust me when I say I’m healing her, okay?”

“Dad,” Diana rests her forehead against yours. Her speckled blonde hair splays itself over your eyes. It’s only when she takes in a deep breath do you notice how shaky her breathing is.

Behind you, a flaming spout of ooze arcs through the air.

> [Cont.]

>>3828483
“You could’ve just warned me.” She murmurs.

“Look at her, Diana.” She does, peeking over your head. “You see how she’s breathing peacefully?”

“Yeah. I also see your knife lodged in her eye.”

“Dia, I-”

She places a hand on your cheek. “Just, Dad. Promise me you’re not killing her.”

“Of course.”

Diana releases you, taking a step back. “Who is she?”

You grab the knife again. The Verve still rumbles along its blade “She said her name is Mae. And, Diana, I need to twist the knife.”

“Why.”

“To finish excise the scorched bone.”

“Then what.”

“Then, well. I’ll need to get some material to use as parts to remake her eye.” You twist the blade, and slide it out of her skull. The once blackened crater now sits as a gaping wound. A pulsing Verve emanates from the opening in tune with the pulsing brain matter. Diana blanches behind you.

“I think, I’ma, uh.”

“Take the helm, Diana. You can do that as I work, right?”

Silence, followed by a hurried, “Yeah, yeah. Flying. You know me, best pilot of the family.”

“Please be careful though. Tell me when we’re reaching the edge of the fire, and we’ll go from there, okay?”

In response, the Needlenose’s Glow engines swell and in a moment you’re accelerating.

Now, material for her eye. You suppose that’s simple enough. Using the last of the anti-pain spun Verve on your blade, you amputate her left arm at the elbow. The flesh may be damaged, but you think you can use it. However, you need more from the journal, and the emotional drain is already hitting you.

Still. You need to work fast. Dicing the girl’s hand into small bits you can more easily drench in Verve, a thought crosses your mind.

What would Rachel think of you now?

> As our loving father works his hellish magic, pray tell, pray tell, who shall we walk along with now? Let’s see let’s see, they’re currently…

> [The Unwilling Usurper]
> [A1] Reeling.
> [A2] Screaming.
> [A3] Laughing.
> [A4] If you come up with a juicy Writein, you’ll get a prize!

> [The Pernicious Priest]
> [B1] Reeling.
> [B2] Screaming.
> [B3] Laughing.
> [B4] Oh look, oh look, the possibilities! How similar they might be, what a coincidence! Once more, if the oh-so-stable Priest is who you want to see, Writeins will give you a prize!

>>3828490
> [The Unwilling Usurper]
> [A3] Laughing.

> [The Pernicious Priest]
> [B2] Screaming.

Let's see how far down the rabbit hole we can go.

>>3828490
>[A1] Reeling.

>>3828490
> [A1] Reeling

>>3828490

> [A1] Reeling

>>3828490
>[A4] Drowning

Frazzled day. No undate for tonight, my apologies.

>>3828490

> [The Unwilling Usurper]
> [A4] If you come up with a juicy Writein, you’ll get a prize!
Cursing and raging, spiting out the blood of her enemy while unloading her pistols.

> [The Pernicious Priest]
> [B4] Oh look, oh look, the possibilities! How similar they might be, what a coincidence! Once more, if the oh-so-stable Priest is who you want to see, Writeins will give you a prize!
Preaching insanely. 'Within me is the Glow, ever lasting...'

>>3828523
>>3828599
>>3829110
>>3829146
>>3829226
>>3829993
Let us write. Called.

I expect you to resolve this quickly. I’ve upheld my end, but know this. If a single one of those scum so much as looks at my daughter, I’ll be taking your head to my father instead. Understood?

The drowsy sky is awash with fragmentation. The pirate fleet is in disarray, incapable of concentrating their fire while pushing their airships through increasingly desperate evasive maneuvers. The brawlers, more floating wrecking balls filled with guns than actual airships, are being pounded by the sheer volume of fire. Among the maelstrom of traditional ordinance, Glow sears through rock and slags metal plating. The magical energy darts back and forth across the sky in kaleidoscopic arcs.

A section of the train ceases fire. The whir of hefty mechanisms floods the battlefield as the conjoining metal plates spiral open. A barrel nearly the length of the train car angles up and out through the new opening, rotating to angle towards a collection of airships maintaining the barest semblance of a formation. Crystals swell with Glow at the rifled barrel’s base.

Elsewhere, broad mortars peek up through the roofs of various train cars. Dozens upon dozens of large greyish orbs are lobbed into the Endless Sky, lazily rotating towards the gathered pirates.

The counter attack has begun.

Good. And remember this, she will be needing to go down for her nap. Do not let these scum disturb her rest.

[The Unwilling Usurper]

Scorched skies, how did everything go so wrong? The initial approach was perfect. As one, your ragtag fleet descended on the train. The surprise was absolute, you’re sure of it. You ordered the opening volley yourself, dammit!

But what happened to it? Did no one follow your orders? The Resolute should’ve been torn asunder, ripe for boarding. Instead you’ve been struggling to keep your footing on the deck of the Wisp.

“Captain.” Ronaldo intones, ever the beacon of calm in the storm. He stands firm behind the helm even as the crew scurries all around him carrying ammunition, dragging the wounded underneath, and working the sails. “Your orders?”

“Keep her steady, my friend.” You grit your teeth. “We can’t let those cannons wear us down. Can you get us close?”

Ronaldo simply nods. He piloted this airship long before you came across it rotting away in the wreckage of a fragmented chain. Even then, he stood like he’s standing now. More a part of the ship than a man.

> [Cont.]

>>3835141
As always, the Spirit is at your side. Blackened tears along its wooden hull speak of near misses through the torrent of incoming fire. Its turquoise wings visibly vibrate in harmony with your own, reflecting a song back between the two that your ears are not sensitive enough to hear. Otto, his familiar shock of black hair catching your eye, he is dislodging a sparking cannon from its housing. A fierce kick, and the gun goes tumbling off behind your spry wingman. The stone barrel combusts out in the open air, shredding itself apart as the damaged gem inlays overload and burst. He turns to pull the shaken crewman to his feet, and you know Otto’s giving him a reassuring smile.

You can trust he will be with you until the end.

“Captain.” Ronaldo points towards an orb of verdant Glow coalescing above one of the train cars, between a pair of mortars firing their easily avoided shells. It pulses, curdling the metal below it and sending out a gentle wave of shimmering particles throughout the sky. There is no avoiding the benign lights settling over your airship. One small puff of Glow settles over your hand, and you are immediately flooded with warmth. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. It’s like waking up in your mother’s arms, swaddled up in wool and cradled nearby a pleasant fire. You’ve never realized how cold your entire life has felt until this warmth brushes away the shivering years, warming and rejuvenating you to your core.

This battle no longer rattles your heart. Warmth soothes the tension gripping your chest, and the chaotic skies around this chaintrain no longer fills you with dread. Even as you watch a converted cargo ship slow down alongside the train, why would you worry? You can see the warmth enveloping the airship. Maybe you too should follow its example, to stop racing through the skies and simply be warm forever.

The glimmering guns on the train car reorient towards the sluggishly coasting cargo ship. You watch as they unload, blasting chunks of ship and man alike into the air. A haze of expelled Glow and black powder shrouds your ally’s ship. Even as concentrated fire shears off the port side of the cargo ship, you are warm. Even as the ammunition stockpiles ignite, cracking the ship asunder in a gut wrenching explosion, you are warm. Even as you watch the remains of your fellow pirates disintegrate in their final dive, you are warm.

Even as a trio of drifting mortar shells slam into the deck of the Wisp, you are warm. You watch the smoking spheres, expecting them to surge through you with a blast of fire and death. How would their heat compare to the warmth you’re feeling now? Even as a golden fireball shoots up beside your floating fleet, you are warm. Can any of these other flames compare, you wonder?

> [Cont.]

>>3835144
The steaming spheres crack open. You watch as they unfurl, smooth metal unwrapping into a blossom of delicate hands and legs. Arms bend outwards as hundreds of small articulations fold over and back onto themselves. A pristine porcelain bosom rises up through a cavalcade of ticking gears. Lifting itself up, themselves up, three heads atop three women of gently clinking metal rotate into place.

Yellow zircons lock onto you, Glow narrowing in the gems in an approximation of eyes. You can feel these bizarre constructions staring at you while their final panels slot into place. They are flawless now. Blindingly white figures taking on a woman’s shape, and not a seam is to be found on their metallic skin.

Even as one of these shellspawn approaches a crewman and plunges its delicate fingers through his throat, even as gore splatters its pristine frame and the man’s head is rent from his body, even as one approaches you with a demure expression etched into its solid ivory face, you are warm.

You stand alongside your entire crew, warmth coating your bodies. There are no cries of terror, screams of fear, desperate curses. The violence is peaceful. So peaceful, even, that the pulsating particle on your hand begins to emit a sound. Music, perhaps? But there, over the music, someone begins to speak into your ear...

> [Cont.]

>>3835150
Explain this disgusting aura, now. It’s another of your wicked games, isn’t it?

[The Pernicious Priest]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=susyrRr2Ulg&list=LLgFoFt3IIq1tAgoPBBmrnzg&index=11&t=0s

“If you can hear these words, rejoice, for salvation awaits!.”

Around you, the fragments of your holy symbol swirl in complicated orbits and refract your channeled Glow. Below you, the chain train rumbles along its tracks as its metal roof simmers and pops. Above you, the deep green sphere pulses and casts out waves of your warmth. Before you, the lantern’s golden light has joined your new congregation of Victor’s elven whores.

“All is not well. You are struggling, suffering, signing away your allotted time above the Glow with deeds drenched in blood and violence. You are toiling away under false promises, my friends. How can you not see that your cause is deceiving you? How can you not see that the orders you follow are being given by a nefarious prophet, a trickster who is exploiting your trust?”

The lantern dances and twirls to your words.

“Do your lives mean so little to you that you are willing to throw them away thanks to sweet words whispered in your ear? Have they not already cast aside the lives of others choking on the collar tethered to his whims? Know this, my children. They do not care about you. They are abusing your trust, your greed, your fears, they are deceiving you for their selfish ends. You are nothing but trash to be disposed after they drain you dry of every ounce of use to them. You life, shunted into the Glow or cast into the darkest dungeons. Your life, meaningless filth to be discarded once your master’s nefarious goals are in sight. Your life, not your own!”

You are warmth incarnate.

“However! I am not your conniving master. I am not a tyrant who crushes your feelings under their boots and ignores your cries. I am not stained with the blood of the innocent, those sacrificed lambs that blindly followed your master’s poisoned lies. I am here, freely gifting you myself! There are no strings to hang yourself with, no traps to clamp down on your ankles, no deceitful wording buried deep within the promise I shall make to you. I am generous! What you are feeling now, this is my blessing made just for you! Rejoice, for salvation awaits!”

Your swirling Glow expands. More Glow from the Endless Skies around you flow up through your fingers. Your body is overflowing with warmth.

> [Cont.]

>>3835153
“Unlike those who feed you tainted promises, I freely give and expect nothing in return! Know this, my children. Know that you should throw off the chains your tyrants have shackled around your neck. Know that you need not throw away your lives for one person’s sickly machinations. Do not bow your head in submission like a mewling whore! You are not beaten! You are not broken! Take the abuses laid upon you and return them to your tyrant threefold! Three times you shall remind them of the cursed words they have ensnared you with! Three times shall they learn the punishments for their crimes against you!”

The golden lantern is reaching a crescendo of arhythmic contortions.

“Take control of the lives your tyrant is willing to cut open like a defenseless maggot! You are not grub to be mulched and churned into paste! Take my blessings, my gifts! Take everything that has been stolen from you! Your salvation is at hand! Go, my children! Rip salvation from the guts of your tyrant! Rejoice when you see the final flickers of life get doused from the tyrant’s disbelieving eyes! Take back yourselves, my children! Make your life your own again!”

Warmth boils off the edge of your skin. All shall be well, now. The Villaltian Dependency, those scoundrels, will be clawing at the throats of their superiors. Knowing Victor, he’ll be too tricky to allow even the more fervent of your new disciples to lay a hand on them. That is fine.

A vicious grin is etched on your face.

That is perfectly fine with you.

> [Cont.]

>>3835156
> Well then, when then, what a show-
Your games have gone too far!
> You see, it’ll all work out, trust-
No! I care not for your lies. This, this is treason! Disrespect against my authority! How dare you incite a rebellion against me?
> Complications are arising, but worry not!
I will not tolerate you patronizing me.
> Can you see what’s going to happen next?
Resolve this. I cannot have you putting my daughter through undue harm
> Can you, can you?

> [The Pernicious Priest]
> [A1] What now, what now? Writein, if you please!

> [The Unwilling Usurper]
> [B1] It is warm.
> [B2] Why would you ever reject this warmth?
> [B3] The words you heard. The tyrant who’s shackled you…
> [B4] Lorenzo.
> [B5] Lorenzo
> [B6] LORENZO!
> [B7] I WILL MAKE YOU REMEMBER

> Oh dear oh dear, our royal friend appears to be in trouble. I wonder I wonder…
> [B8] What writein can you provide to help her through this trying time?

> Am I forgetting anything?
> Oh, who knows, who knows. Maybe something important is happening somewhere else, but I can’t put my finger on it.

> [The Furious Fisherman]
> [C1] What important things might be happening, I wonder, I wonder?

>>3835159
> [The Unwilling Usurper]
> [B7] I WILL MAKE YOU REMEMBER

>>3835159
>[B8] What writein can you provide to help her through this trying time?
Otto and your men need help. Wake up bitch. Warmth ain't worth seeing them all die.

>>3835226
Agreeing with this anon

>>3835159
>> [The Pernicious Priest]
>> [A1]
It is time! (unleash your blessing upon all)


> [The Unwilling Usurper]
> [B8]
Fuck that noise, I have ships to save, loot to despoil and a man to kill.

Classes and assignments are eating up my time, will update once I can.

>>3838904
You can do it!

>>3835183
>>3835226
>>3835252
>>3835429
Let us call the vote!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=koOcZdydZS0

It’s time. The fever pitch of pulsating Glow yearns for release. You promised your new children a blessing, did you not? Only fools and heretics ever call you a liar. For them, and for all the skeptics feeling the effects of your divine Glow now, it is your duty as a Glowbearer to embed your teachings into their minds.

“Prepare yourselves, my children.”

How dare you fail to so much as stand after I give you an order.

“The time is upon you to receive the ambrosia birthed from the vibrant soul of I, Gregory Reef.”

As of this moment, by my authority as the Halcyon of Villaltia, you are hereby labelled as a criminal of the state.

“Open wide, my children, and drink greedily so that you may have the power to cut down your tyrants.”

Leave this room, and my guardsmen will cut you down. I shall return after I deal with your pet.

The orb of golden flames before you tears open, unleashing a torrent of blinding flames upwards. Your Glow, verdant green and swelling like an overripe fruit. It floats there across the divide in the Endless Sky between you and your lantern, your congregation. What pilgrim deserves an audience in your chambers later on, you wonder? A place to rest their weary head, oh, how exhausted that lantern bearer much feel…

Here. The verdant green condenses, pulling its hazy edges into a solid surface. The waves of golden light thrash wildly before you, the orb nothing more than a wildfire of Glow. Now, when everything reaches their crescendo. The time is now, and all you need to do is let go, and your new followers will be infused.

How simple. Your lips are salivating. The satisfaction, the warmth pouring from you down through their willing gullets. You are positively giddy. Your Glow, your warmth, it is glorious.

What a disgusting aura.

Now. Show those Villaltian scum the power of a true priest.

Release!

Cease!

Pieces of golden lightning shoot forth.

A collision. A twisted blessing, cessation, a hungry maw’s teeth. Glow roars and squeals. Green and null and gold trash and scream as ferocious shock waves rake their claws along the skies. The air quakes. The chains bend and sway. Light annihilates light.

For the briefest moment, there is nothing at all.

---

> [Cont.]

>>3842689
The Unwilling Usurper

”LORENZO, YOU BASTARD, YOU WILL REMEMBER!

The alabaster figurine looming above you snaps into focus. Its motherly expression blankly bores into you. Its triplets behind it swivel like dolls. Freshly harvested crimson mars their bizarre, pristine forms. A rivers of gore drip from their bodies as they hobble at you.

When did you end up on your back? How are you pressed into the deck so forcefully?

Freezing gusts rip through you. Clouds disintegrate as winds tear apart the skies. The Wisp’s sails screech, trailing thick afterimages of azure Glow. The ancient tree beneath you rattles.

For a moment, you think you are falling. Upside down and plummeting along your final dive. But why, then, do these clockwork vixens seem unaffected?

It becomes clear when the airship bursts through the cloud cover. The illumination from the Glow Below washes over you, and now you can see that you are flying upwards at an incredible speed. The Wisp rattles and shakes as it struggles to keep its nose down. Looking up and behind you, Ronaldo is there. His grizzled features strain as if determination alone will be enough to keep the ship from tumbling backwards end over end, spinning like a stick thrown aloft in a rainstorm. He is riding the violent updraft.

A shadow passing over you, a flash of motion. On instinct, you force yourself to roll onto your side. A white arm plunges through the deck beside you and showers you with splinters. That demure mask sidles up close to your face as one of its knees slam into your lower back. Its hips land on you, hard, holding you in place. Its other hand shoots out at your neck. It’s all you can do to raise an arm to defend yourself, its razor sharp nails razing the sleeve of your blouse and gouging your arm. It devolves into a flurry of motion, your squirming and inarticulate snarls pierced with precise strikes and the soft whir of gears.

Its right arm is trapped in the hull of the Wisp, the ancient tree oozing sap to seal off the opening. Still, you can barely deflect its left hand while it slices your arms to ribbons. Your blood is splattering everything around you.

“Phoebe!” Somewhere nearby, Otto screams your name.

The automaton is wearing you down. You can’t roll away, its legs are clamped like a vice around you. It’s taking both of your arms to bat away the construct’s attacks, but you know you’re running out of time. The deck bends as its mechanical strength strains to free its other arm from its congealing prison.

The other two march along either side of you. Their yellow eyes gleam in the bright sky.

> What do you use, my liege?
> [A] The pistol at your belt, hopefully you’ll be fast enough.
> [B] Your scimitar, eagerly awaiting a chance to bite through mechanical flesh.
> [C] Your hands, you need to act fast and swift.
> [D] Your voice, calling for help.
> [E] Something someone might be generous enough to Writein.

>>3842691
> [B] Your scimitar, eagerly awaiting a chance to bite through mechanical flesh.
No time for the pistol, we're being ripped to shreds. Call out for help, too, if at all possible.

>>3842691
>[E] Something someone might be generous enough to Writein.
Sever the right arm. Let this immaculate cunt fall back into the Glow.

>>3842705
>>3842742
Writing

Your scimitar’s hilt is jammed up against your stomach, with its sheath pressed between the clockwork automoton’s leg and your own. Its gemstones glimmer in the shadow between your body and the machine’s torso. If you can be fast enough, you should be able to pull it free, and-

The bot’s left hand bats aside your arms before swinging down at your throat. You twist, pulling your head up towards that maddenly calm face. You press up against its shoulder and wrap your left arm around its back. The attack slices through the wood behind your head. The swing halts perpendicular to the deck, and the automaton’s head jitters as it attempts to look down at you.

Your abdomen burns. The scimitar’s jeweled pommel is pressed so deeply into you that it’s difficult to breath. However, you need to act fast. Your right hand squeezes between your two bodies, awkwardly getting a grip on the sword’s grooved handle.

Off to your left, a familiar tuft of black hair pulls itself up and over the edge of the ship. Otto tumbles onto the deck, scrambling along the floor. The unsteady momentum of the Wisp’s jagged ascent throws off his balance. The blood soaked doll between the two of you pivots towards him, serene and methodical. His eyes are frantic. For a split second, you catch their wild gaze.

“Otto!”

That’s all you can say. The other doll flicks out its leg and kicks Otto down the length of the deck like he’s a small child. You turn away, dropping from the automaton’s chest to open the space between you. If you’re fast, you can help him! Wrenching the scimitar from its hilt, you bring it up across its leg, its stomach, up until-

The screech of metal on metal ceases. Your scimitar abruptly stops, stuck between your body and the construct’s torso. There’s so little space to draw it, and the steel completely fails to slice through its metal plated exterior. Even as you squirm to try and free up enough room, its curved blade remains stubbornly wedged against its metallic skin. It’s too long to get out of its sheath, dammit!

Its yellow eyes brighten when they reacquire you. The machine tilts its head to the side. A pause. The light from the Glow Below shimmers around you. There, your chance. You need to concentrate, use the stones in the scimitar as a focus and drench your blade in its aura. How much Glow do you need? Does it matter? Just like that bastard Lorenzo taught you, take Glow from the air like catching raindrops between your fingers. Pretentious fuck, always talking in riddles like an asshole.

You hear a staticy tittering.

Wait, is this immaculate cunt laughing at you-

You scream when its left hand jabs through your shoulder. Icy fingers curl up against your muscles, and you can feel it rip deeper into the flesh. Its palm pins you against the floor. Still, you desperately twist and try to pull away.

> [Cont.]

>>3842976
The perfectly smooth fingers wrap themselves around your clavicle. It pushes down on your chest, its significant weight holding you in place. You’re choking. The bone, it’s bending around your windpipe. You glare up at the clockwork doll, snarling in pain. Again, it titters at you, before pulling its right arm from the deck in a shower of sap.

You reach up and slam your left fist into its face. Your knuckles rebound off its cheek. Fuck, that hurt, like punching a solid rock wall, and it was completely ineffectual. That at least stopped its insufferable little laugh.

“Yeah,” You spit out at the machine. Glow funnels down along your hand, filling the gems. “Didn’t expect me to fight back, did’ya you damn bucket of bolt-”

The automaton lifts you up by your collarbone and thrashes you against the floor. Your head collides with the wood before being dragged up to slam into the automaton’s chest. You’re vision’s spinning, each thwack pouring more blood into your eyes.

It’s going to throttle you to death. That fucking bitch is laughing at you. What sort of sadistic grubfucker made this?

It starts punching you with its free hand. Across your jar, into your eye, pounding your face over and over as it shakes you. That laugh is coming out more as a staticy screech. This is your world. Pain, that damned laugh, blurred vision laced with blood.

You can’t let this stop you.

The sapphires along the scimitar’s hilt radiate light. Glow, channeled even as you’re being knocked senseless, runs down the length of the blade. You still can’t unsheath it entirely. Instead, you push Glow down along the edge of the blade. A fizzling blue light emanates from between you. Shoving it upwards, you feel it slice through the leather sheath. It bites into the metal of the doll.

It doesn’t seem to notice. Cramming your left hand behind the blade, pull it up into the automaton through its leg. The volatile Glow jumps and sparks as it shreds the metal, mulches the gears, and tears through the other side of its thigh.

The automaton topples backwards. Its punch goes wide, though you’re wrenched up. The iron grip threatens to rip the collarbone from your chest.

Everything is black.

Until it isn’t.

You’re awkwardly sitting up in front of the porcelain doll. It sits on its legless hip, yellow eyes blinking red.

Your chest is searing with pain. It’s all you can do to lift the scimitar and begin wildly hacking at the doll’s arm. It sits motionless. After a half dozen strikes you shear through its elbow, and follow it up by heaving the machine onto its back with your foot. Pushing yourself to your feet, you half scramble, half drag yourself away from the doll with its hand still tightly gripped around your clavicle. Distance, you need distance.

> [Cont.]

>>3842980
Each breath makes you want to scream in pain. Your right arm is going numb, you’re surprised you still have a hold on your sword. Your brain feels like its oozing out of your skull, and it’s incredibly difficult to focus.

Still, you see it. The doll’s yellow eyes blink, alternating between yellow and red. It looks down at itself, and the demure expression makes it appear so confused at its current state. Beside it, the shellspawn on your right watches you. It doesn’t approach, for a reason you can’t fathom. Behind them, Otto is getting the shit kicked out of him by the third doll. All around, the lifeless bodies of your crew loll their tongues and pour their extinguished lives into the ancient tree ship.

Why were they killed so brutally, while you’ve been toyed with?

The damaged doll’s eyes flick red. It tries to stand up, only to topple over immediately. It tries again, balancing on one leg for a moment before tripping over, falling towards you. A third time, it hops once, twice before slipping on your blood and slamming into the deck.

The entire time, its red eyes are locked on you.

> What now, I wonder?
> [A] Writein. I believe in you.
> [B] Beg for options. I’ll provide, if you ask nicely...

>>3842981
>[A] Writein. I believe in you.
Stab it through the head?

I'm sorry Observer I really don't have enough experience with the metaphysics of your setting to even have an inkling of anyone's capabilities. Like for instance I have no idea if our ship is actually fucking eating our crew's souls or you're just being flowery with their blood soaking the wood. It's hard following logic trains when everything is so alien and even harder to make informed, good decisions.

So yeah hurr durr stab thing in head with Glowy sword.

>>3842981
Ask the doll why it's toying with us. Maybe we can get some answers. ...stab it through the head if it looks at us the wrong way, though.

> Leave it, Otto needs help

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/3819877/
twitter for updates: @ObserverQM
thanks for for being patient with my slowness.